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sissylittlefeather · 25 days

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It Feels So Right (how can it be wrong?): Part 1

A/N: a new 3-part mini-series that was supposed to be a one-shot but got too long 😂. This is gonna be a fun one. I hate to give too much away up here, but just know we've got Austin filming Elvis, ghost Elvis, and you...

Shoutout to my beloved @ccab for hatching this one with me one late night. I love you, bestie.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI! This is gonna stay dirty. Kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (m & f receiving), p in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie

Word count: ~3.2k

Honestly, you're a glorified assistant. Your job has a technical title, but you spend most of your time getting coffee and running errands for anyone on set who asks you. It's very rarely the actors. Usually, you're at the whim of everyone behind the cameras. You've been graduated from college for five years and you're just waiting for your shot in the film industry. In a lot of ways, you're blessed just to be on the set of this movie, so you swallow your pride and fetch lattes for every grip and sound guy that hollers for one.

Admittedly, you don't know as much about it as you probably should, but watching the filming has you convinced this Austin Butler will be up for an Oscar. You know Elvis and this guy has him nailed. You've seen footage of him a thousand times and Austin's performance seems to line up perfectly.

What you don't know, what no one but Austin knows, is Elvis is there. He stands and watches, not far from you actually, and in crucial moments, he takes over. Usually, he doesn't leave the sanctuary of Graceland, but when he heard about this movie, he knew it was an opportunity. And when he saw Austin and his dedication to the role, he knew that he'd be open enough for him to step in when he wanted. The first time he tried it, he shifted from one foot to the other for a few seconds and jumped, not knowing exactly what would happen. He opened his eyes and looked at his hands. They were close, similar long fingers, but not quite right. His body was thinner, more cut, and his face felt different. He called for a break and made his way to a place with a mirror. When he cautiously chanced a glance, he was shocked to see Austin's face looking back at him. It worked. He knew possession was possible, he was a ghost after all, but he'd never tried it before this. After the scene was finished, he decided the experience was so satisfying, he'd try it again. So he did. Over and over again throughout the filming process Austin would wake up with no memory of doing certain scenes. He figured out quickly what was happening and didn't seem to mind, so when he turned on set and saw Elvis, he wasn't even alarmed. Elvis had been surprised to be seen after all these years, but it didn't take the two long to strike up a friendship.

By the time Elvis noticed you, he'd been talking to Austin and possessing him regularly for weeks.

You come back from your morning coffee run and set the tray on a table.

"Coffee's here, guys!" You holler to everyone whose order you diligently fetched. For some reason, this time, you catch Elvis's attention. He watches, amused, as you sarcastically deliver all the coffees.

"Who is she?" He whispers to Austin.

"I'm not sure. I think her name is y/n. She gets coffee for the behind-camera guys." Austin answers nonchalantly.

"Have you actually looked at her?"

"I'm way ahead of you, man."

"You asked her out?"

"Not yet, but-"

"What are you waiting for?!" Austin looks at Elvis exasperated.

"I've been a bit busy."

"Can I?"

"Can you what?"

"Take her out." Austin laughs quietly.

"I don't know. Can you?" Elvis sighs.

"Can I use your body, I mean?"

"To go on a date? With a living girl? I'm not sure that's a reasonable plan." Elvis nods, defeated, and Austin walks back out on set to continue filming.

But Elvis can't stop watching you. He hovers around you, longing to be seen. You have an undeniable grace that has him damn-near spellbound. Austin pretends not to notice Elvis's preoccupation with you. He has plans to ask you out himself, eventually.

But Elvis gets tired of waiting. There's not too much left to film and he doesn't want to miss his chance. So one day, he jumps into Austin to film a scene during the '68 Special and just... doesn't leave. Instead, he swallows his nervousness and walks up to you at the end of the day.

"Hi. I'm... Austin." He holds a hand out for you to shake.

"Oh, gosh, I know, I'm y/n." You can't believe one of the actors knows you exist, much less is talking to you. And it's Austin Butler in black leather.

"I've been watching you. And I- okay that sounds creepy. You're just very pretty and I was wondering if, maybe, you'd like to go out with me? Tonight?"

"Oh wow... tonight?" You have a bed with your name on it and a pizza you plan to order, but this is Austin Butler and he's asking you out.

"Yeah..." Elvis isn't going to take the chance that Austin might refuse to let him take you out.

"Sure? I mean. Yes. I'd love to go out with you." A warm smile spreads across Austin's face and you can't believe how relieved he seems. Truly, it's Elvis, but you don't know that.

"Okay! Great! Can I pick you up in a couple hours?" Elvis isn't sure how he'll stay in Austin for this long, but he's going to try his best.

You nod and give Austin your address. Then, you make your way home completely in awe of the fact that you have a date with Austin Butler tonight.

******

Later that night, there's a knock on your door and you put the last minute touches on your makeup and walk to it to open it. When you do, you're a little shocked to find Austin with his hair fixed like Elvis, in a suit with the shirt unbuttoned half way down his chest and a thick gold cross sitting on his sternum. For some reason, this outfit doesn't feel like him. And it's not; it's 100% Elvis, but you have no way of knowing that.

"You ready, doll?" Why does he even sound like Elvis?

"Yeah, lemme just grab my purse."

You spend the rest of the evening on one of the best first dates you've ever experienced. Conversation comes easily to both of you, and you think it's unbelievably endearing that he takes you to a diner, and a movie, and a roller skating rink.

You've never been good at roller skating, so you spend most of the time hanging on him and trying to keep your balance.

Elvis is in heaven. He hasn't had this much fun in almost 5 decades. And the feeling of your hands on his skin and your body pressed up against his, even if it's not exactly his, is something he's desperately missed. When it's time to take you home, he's dying to take you inside and feel more of you on him, but he doesn't want to push you or take advantage of you in any way. Instead, he walks you to the door and stands with you awkwardly under the awning of your apartment complex.

"This was really fun." You want to ask him inside, but you're not sure if that would be too slutty. Still, he's a movie star, he has to be used to that. Right?

"Yeah, it was." You notice his eyes flick down to your lips, so you turn your face up to signal that he can kiss you. Elvis gets suddenly nervous. He hasn't kissed anyone in a very long time. After a few seconds, you realize he's not going to kiss you, so you step back.

"Oh... I'm sorry..." Elvis wants to kick himself for missing the window.

"For what, doll?"

"Nothing, I just thought... it's nothing." He takes a deep breath and remembers who he is. Then, he reaches out and grabs you by the waist, pulling you into him. He crashes his lips into yours and kisses you deeply. It's weird to kiss with someone else's mouth, but it doesn't take him long to figure it out.

You revel in the fact that Austin Butler is kissing you. You.

After you make out on the porch for a good fifteen minutes, you pull back from the kiss and look up into his eyes.

"Do you... wanna come in...?"

"Can I?" Elvis is shocked that you'd ask that so soon. Then, he remembers that it's not 1956 anymore. 1969 happened... he was there... and women are different now.

"Yeah... if you want to..." You start to get nervous that maybe you've made him uncomfortable. "You don't have to-"

"Yes. Please. I'd like that." You nod and smile and turn to open the door. He swallows deeply as you lead him into your apartment. It's been a long time since he's kissed someone, but it's been even longer since he did this. And kissing is easier to do well without practice.

You turn to him and take his hand, leading him to the bedroom. Is it possible that Austin is shy? He seems a little nervous to be headed that way with you.

"Do you not want to do this?" You stand facing each other next to the bed and look up into his eyes as he nods fervently.

"I do. I really do. I just... haven't... in a while..."

"Oh. Well, that's okay." Elvis smiles with Austin's face. He reaches out and fiddles with your shirt on your shoulder. Then, he moves his hand up to your cheek and runs his thumb over your lips.

"I just never thought this would be possible."

"What do you mean?" Elvis's heart jumps.

"Oh, umm, just, I've been watching you for a long time. I didn't think you'd want to go out with me." You smile and Elvis relaxes. He leans in slowly and presses his lips to yours again. He's surprised by how easy it is to fall back into a rhythm with you as the kissing ramps up and his hands, Austin's hands, begin to roam over your body. Without thinking, he slides them up under your shirt, dragging them across your back. He wants to lift your shirt and pull it off, but again, he's not sure just how far you're willing to go. Seemingly reading his mind, you remove your shirt for him.

You're shocked at how shy Austin is. You assumed he'd take the lead, but he seems reluctant even to take your shirt off. You push his jacket off of his shoulders and it falls to the ground. Your fingers go to the buttons and you take his shirt off too.

"Wow..." It comes out of you as a whisper while you run your fingertips over Austin's rippling abdominal muscles. Elvis looks down at himself and flexes his stomach as you touch him. This is different, but seeing the way you look at him, he's not exactly complaining. Bodies like this weren't common in his day, but he's thankful for Austin's dedication to diet and exercise in this moment. Something about it boosts his confidence and he reaches behind your back to remove your bra, but his fingers fumble. He peeks over your shoulder and eventually figures it out, pulling your bra forward off of you and dropping it to the floor. His hands slide to your breasts hungrily and he realizes how much he's missed the softness of a woman's skin against him. He pulls you in close and his kisses reach a fever pitch as he begins to move his mouth down your body. You revel in the sensation of his tongue on your nipple, throwing your head back in pleasure.

He turns you and lays you down on the bed, scooting you backwards and crawling on top of you. You arch your back as he kisses your stomach gently, finally landing at the place between your bellybutton and the top of your skirt. He hooks his fingers under your waistline and looks up at you, blue eyes wide with lust.

"Can I?"

"Yes. Please." He smiles softly and slides your skirt down your legs, removing your shoes at the same time.

"Mmmm." He groans as he holds one of your feet in his hand and kisses your ankle. You have beautiful feet and this is just another thing Elvis has missed about being with a woman. He feels his erection throbbing where it presses against the fabric of his pants. This creates a new sense of urgency in him and he hooks your panties with one finger between your legs and drags them off, quickly tossing them to the side. Now you're completely naked and he just stares at you for a minute. He was right to take this chance. You're worth it.

"What?"

"Nothing. You're just incredibly beautiful. I don't think I've ever wanted a woman this badly." You feel the blood rush to your cheeks and your core. He's unbelievable and if he's not careful, he'll have you head over heels for him. You sit up and begin to unbutton his pants, but he stops you. "This first, honey. Come here." He lays with his head on your pillow and pulls you to him, situating your hips above his face. He puts both hands on your ass and pulls your clit to his lips.

"Oh, fuck!" You grab the headboard while he goes to work licking and sucking you like his life depends on it. His tongue makes tantalizing circles on your sensitive button and you want to scream it feels so good. Elvis can tell by your reaction that he hasn't lost his touch, even if he is technically using someone else's mouth to do it. You look down at Austin with his face buried in your pussy, eyes closed like he's truly enjoying what he's doing. He slides first one and then two fingers into you and pumps them in and out while his tongue moves on you fervently.

"Oh, God, Austin, I'm gonna cum!" For a second, he forgets that he's Austin and his eyes pop open, but he adjusts quickly as your orgasm slams into you and your walls pulse around his fingers. Electricity explodes in your core and shoots lightning bolts to your fingertips in exquisite waves. When you finally come back down, you fall sideways off of him and lay on the bed. He wipes his face with his hand and sits up next to you.

"How was that, doll?"

"Oh. My. God." That's all you can get out and he smiles widely. He's still got it.

He stands up next to the bed, kicks off his shoes, and drops his pants and underwear. This is the first time he's looked down at himself and seen Austin's cock. Elvis is a little in shock. Not only is it huge, it's circumcised. He hopes it'll work the same way. Before he has too much more time to think about it, though, he looks up and you're on your knees in front of him.

You hold the base of him with one hand, put the other on his ass, and lick a circle around the tip.

"Fuck, y/n." Yep, it works the same way.

You slide as much of him as you can stand into your mouth, letting him hit the back of your throat. His head falls back and his mouth opens as you continue to work on him, bouncing and sucking and running your tongue along his shaft. Elvis is in heaven with your mouth around him and as much as he never wants it to stop, he wants to feel the rest of you too. Still, he reaches down and takes a handful of your hair as you let him thrust gently into your mouth for a bit. Then, he stops and stands you up, looking down into your eyes.

"Can I make love to you?" Your heart skips. No one has ever asked you that before.

"Yes. Yes, please." You lay back down on the bed together and he lines himself up with your entrance. His heart is pounding in anticipation. It's been so long.

He begins to push into you slowly, letting you stretch to accommodate his size. You moan softly as the sensation almost overwhelms you. When he's fully filling you, he pulls back slowly and thrusts forward again, groaning at the feeling of your tightness around him. He picks up a steady pace of fucking into you and you wrap your legs around his waist. Elvis is impressed with Austin's body and his ability to thrust without getting tired. It's been a very long time since he had that kind of youthful vitality.

"Yes, yes, yes!" You cry out breathlessly as he pounds you.

"God, y/n, it's so good." He moans again and kisses you deeply, feeling his orgasm begin to build in his hips. You're teetering just on the edge too, breasts bouncing with his rhythm. His cock is perfect to hit just the right spot inside you as he drives into you.

You feel him tense up as he slams into you one last time, throwing you over the edge into oblivion as well. You throb around him as he shoots you full of his warmth and shudders his hips into you. He relaxes and sets his head on your shoulder, both of you sweating and breathing heavily. After a few seconds, he slides out of you and lays next to you on the bed.

He's dying to tell you that he's Elvis and not Austin. He wants you to know that it's him. But he's afraid that would freak you out too much, so he keeps his mouth shut. Instead, he turns to look at you and you look back into Austin's face.

"That was amazing." You say, smiling. He smiles in return.

"It really was."

"Do you wanna... stay...?" You feel like you should know better than to ask, but you do anyway. Elvis knows he can't hold onto Austin when he sleeps, though. He'd be shocked to wake up here with you with no memory of how he got here.

"I wish I could, doll, but I can't. I'd love to do this again sometime, though."

"Yeah?" He rolls over and runs his fingertips down the side of your face.

"Yes. I really would." He leans in and kisses your lips softly. Then, he sighs deeply and rolls over, getting out of bed and putting his clothes on. It doesn't seem like he wants to leave, but he does anyway. He kisses you at the door again, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

"I'll see you soon, doll." You think to yourself that you'll see him tomorrow at work, but you don't say that part out loud. He walks through the door and you close it softly behind him.

He stays in Austin just long enough to get him home and in bed, laying there for a bit thinking about the encounter he just had with you. Elvis hasn't had a better day in over 50 years. Finally, his eyes close and Elvis pulls himself out, letting Austin sleep.

He's nervous about how he'll react when he finds out Elvis used his body to go out with you, but what's done is done. And he has every intention of begging to let it happen again.

******

Until part 2. Thoughts?

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Taglist:

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax

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jaqueline19997 · 2 months

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I love this man so much!!!! I feel like every day I love him just a little more!!!!❤️💓💞

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austinbutlerslovers · 3 months

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Hard at Work

Label Mature 18+

You and Austin have been away from each other for 3 weeks as he films the Bikeriders. It’s agonizing for you both unable to physically be together. After pulling some strings Austin is able to have you stay for the weekend and even visit him on set. You finally reunite in his trailer and he immediately uses you to relieve his sexual urges.

Established relationship girlfriend

Fingering•restraint•orgasm•oral sex male•cum eating

Inspo: Anon request 💝 “Austin missing you and not being able to see you or have sex with you but you get to visit him on set one day and he wont have sex at work because he’s professional but he’s so stressed he makes you give him oral instead lots of oral description on Austin and how he uses you for stress relief”

~*Hard at Work*~

It’s been 3 weeks since Austin left to Ohio to film the Bikeriders. After being apart from him so long all you can do is fantasize about him. His giant house is empty the staff cleans while you run errands and work out. You comfort yourself in the evening after your shower going through the walk in closet pulling one of his white tees and smelling his scent, vanilla orange blossoms with musk you wear one to bed.

Every night you have facetime sex with him, he has a full goatee now and his voice sounds incredible as he tells you how to pleasure yourself for him as you watch him mastrubate on camera. Every time you close the laptop you feel a twinge of pain you crave his company his touch his everything.

You lay back on his empty king size bed and hug a pillow until you doze off.

You over sleep the next morning the maid knocks on the master bedroom door and you sit up in bed eyes squinting as you wake up . “Just a minute“ you say picking your phone up from the night stand to check the time. It’s blown up with texts and missed calls from Austin.

Austin 8:16 - Baby pack a bag I’m having you flown out

Austin 8:49- Baby where are you? I got approval to have you stay at my apartment ! Please answer

9:09 Missed Call

9:15 Missed Call

9:29 Missed Call

You immediately press call back

You: “Austin oh my gosh baby I overslept I’m so sorry we were on face time so late last night and l I was just missing you so much”

Austin: “Not for long your staying with me this weekend I’m kidnapping you and holding you hostage ”

You smile

You:“Austin I will be the most willing hostage for you “

You both laugh

Austin: “I need you, I’m missing you so badly baby. When I’m alone in the apartment at night after we face time I’m just gutted I want you to sleep here with me . I begged the coordinator to have you stay and they said they’ll allow two days at first to see how it affects my work and if all goes well you can come back longer for the weeks when I’m needed in less scenes. Now that it’s happening I’m just so grateful I’ll get to have you here..”

His voice trails off he misses you so much

You: “Aww Austin I’ll be there soon, I'm so excited you have no idea. I always assume you’ll be away the entire time you work this must’ve been a really big ask”

Austin:“Yea I think it was, I requested 3 weeks ago before I even arrived here and they just granted this morning. Oh! and its freezing here I’m wearing my hoodie and socks right now in the apartment, pack everything warm!”

You: “Okay I will, do you need me bring you anything? Do you need more hoodies?

You giggle

Austin:“Yes! More hoodies and more you!”

You both smile on each end of the call.

You: “Okay let me know all the details. I’m already mentally packing a bag to be there with you ”

You put him on speaker and open your notes app and he explains the dynamics of the trip what time you are arriving who will pick you up. He sends you his door code plane tickets and NDA paperwork to email back signed. Once everything is complete you say your I love yous and hang up.

You let out a shriek of excitement as you run to the walk in closet packing your weekend bag full of sexy lingerie and skimpy outfits to go see Austin. Then you smartly pack your jeans and jackets with his hoodies.

Ohio

It’s just before noon the sun is trying to peek through the overcast clouds covering the city of Ohio. Austin booked you an early flight to maximize his time with you. As you leave the airport after the 5 hour trip you rest your hand on your chin and close your eyes a little tired.

You are wearing black leggings and one of Austin’s black hoodies. His driver adjusts the rear view mirror as he speaks to you. “Austin would like me to make a quick stop at his apartment to drop off your things then promptly bring you to the filming location for the day, I have your passes. “Thank you” you say kindly then remember to text Austin. You snap a photo attaching it to the message

You: “I’m here”

You look out the window and yawn trying to be more alert .

Your phone buzzes

Austin: “Fuck you look so good,I’m so excited you’ll be with me soon. I get a break in my trailer in a few hours I want you there.” He sends a picture of he and Jody comer in their costumes throwing up peace signs making you laugh.

“I’ll be there baby” you type.

You put your phone away and rest you eyes a moment more.

The driver pulls up to a condominium community the camera scans his car sticker in the window the gate opens. He pulls to a stop at the side entrance of the building popping the trunk the sound waking you up.

He opens your door and you exit the car following him as he takes your luggage. He wheels it in as he scans his key fob entering the building. He takes the elevator with you to the second floor exiting into the hall and stopping in front of door B17. Entering the code the lock wizzes open. “Here is my card if you need anything I’ll be waiting for you downstairs” “Thank you” you say again. You giddily enter Austin’s place.

It’s dark inside all his shades are drawn. You click on a light stepping into the living room area and he was right it’s freezing. You check the thermostat its on but clearly not heating the place.

The apartment is a one bedroom Airbnb style set up, amenities with contemporary decor. There is a beige couch and beige curtains on dark hard wood floors. A shelf full of fake decorative vases a television and a desk set up against the window with a computer and a laptop.

You walk over to the desk. Austin has a pod cast mic set up next to his laptop a stack of books and a script. He also a framed photo he snapped of you laying on his bed.

You look back recognizing the chandelier and the bookshelf of vases in the living room realizing this is where he has the face time sex calls you have together making you blush.

You head to the master bedroom, there is a queen sized bed with two night stands, ornate lamps and a bookshelf, his outfit is already laid out on the duvet covers a black hoodie, gray sweat pants white socks. You enter the bathroom he has his skin care products neatly arranged on the counter it’s so cute you can’t stand how organized he is.

You bring your suitcase to the bedroom and undress, adding your plane outfit to his laundry basket and rinsing off. You exit the shower and dry off trembling the air is frigid in the apartment.

You pull your white mini skirt and stretchy black long sleeve v neck top from your suitcase adding boots a scarf with a black trench coat. You know how much he loves you in mini skirts.

Underneath you have a delicate lacy bra and panty set that he loves to feel the texture of on your body, the bra also makes your tits look amazing. You smile looking in the mirror peeking at your outfit thighs and breasts on full display then you tie the trench coat tight covering it all back up. He’s going to devour you.

You make sure to bring the gifts you picked up for him. Dark chocolate, ‘Essential Oils: Stress Relief Kit’ and one hoodie for on set.

As you exit the building the driver opens your door and you climb in with your gift bag feeling refreshed and excited to finally see him.

It takes 25 minutes to drive from the apartment to the filming location for the day.

The driver rolls down his window showing his ID badge at the first security check . You look out the and see the signage for ‘Edge Water Motorsports Park’. As you roll in the grounds are littered with tons of people dressed as bikers, there is a camera crane, camera crew, dozens of set coordiators standing around, extras makeup artists stunt men and personel with clip boards making sure everyone is where they are supposed to be. There is one person in charge with a megaphone progressing the production.

Your stomach is in knots this is such a big ordeal. It always impresses and intimidates you how Austin can just turn on and be in character with all of this chaos going on around him and that all of these people are here for the movie he is the star of. You’ve never been invited on set before and now you are feeling the apprehension as to why.

You drive through the final check point of security the leading cast trailer area. You look in awe seeing the doors with the names Hardy and Comer stopping at Butler .

Two security approach the car one speaks to the driver the other opens your door as you exit withyour gift bag. He hands you your lanyard with a VIP marking “You keep this on you at all times on set, Austin is expecting you, he’s in his trailer” he says gruffly and you thank him.

The Trailer

You approach the long air bus that reads Butler and smile. You walk up two steps and knock “Come in” you hear his familiar voice say.

You are so happy your heart begins pounding in your chest. You pull the handle opening the door to his trailer. Austin stops reading and places his script on the table eyes lighting up immediately as he sees you he watches you step in and close the door behind you.

He picks you up so quickly in his strong arms lifting you into a hug. He looks handsome in a different grungy sort of way with his goatee and his biker outfit on “I’ve missed you so much baby” he says eyes shining with excitement “I’ve missed you too Austin“ you admit lovingly. You arms are draped over his shoulders gift bag swinging behind him in your hands as he holds you to him squeezing his arms around your torso.

He lowers you back down and plants a kiss on your lips you tiptoe up wanting more. His eyes light up as he plants another softer longer one but it isn’t enough for you, he smells like diesel and motor oil driving you crazy. “Austin have you been riding a motorcycle today?” Your voice almost a hush from arousal. “Yea I did film a riding scene how did you know?” he smiles curiously.

You lean in to him just at the place under his jaw at his neck inhaling his scent again “Mmm because you smell just like fresh motor oil “ you admit and it sparks your passion for him. You trace your finger over one of his biker patches peeking up at him through your lashes “Austin I need you” you whisper running your hand down the leather vest of his Benny costume.

He smiles bringing his hand to hold your face “I know I need you too, but we’ll fix that later right now I was only able to request a one hour visit” he winks at you and making you smile you tell yourself to be good with him in this setting.

You hand him his gift bag and he looks delighted that you thought of him and immediately digs through it taking out his favorite brand of dark chocolate first “ yes” he says confirming the choice smiling up at you .

Then he sees the stress relief essential oils and chuckles to himself “I hope this work”he says making you giggle. He sees his hoodie at the bottom and thanks you with a kiss. He sets the bag down on his table and unseals the dark chocolate taking a bite.

“Come in and get comfortable “ he says as he motions you in and locks the door behind you. He guides you to sit down on his brown leather couch.

You open your coat revealing your outfit as you sit, breasts on display legs crossed showing your upper thighs in the mini skirt, he pauses dumbfounded until he regains his thoughts putting his chocolate bar in the fridge and pulling out a glass jar of filtered water. He continues staring at your body as he pours you a glass and sets it on the low table in front of you.

He pulls his chair from the high table to sit across from you his legs wide apart resting in his chair wondering how he's going to stop thinking about fucking you in his trailer and just enjoy your company while he's on break.

"You look so good" he says already faltering eyes lingering on your exposed thighs in the mini skirt. You intentionally uncross your legs spreading them wide apart showing him your panties. He sits up in his chair full attention on you. He hasn't had you in so long he's craving you now.

You see his unfaltering gaze between your legs and leave the couch climbing onto his lap straddling him as you kiss him. He accepts you hugging his arms around your waist kissing you back slowly.

Your taste your smell your sounds his cock begins to swell being reminded. "Austin I missed you so much I couldn't think straight" you say taking your lips from his. “It was the same for me" he breaths as he caresses the nape of your neck.

He pushes his cock against you and pulls your neck to his lips kissing along your throat his tongue sliding out to taste your skin getting more aroused by your neediness for him as you grind your clothed heat back on to him.

"Just show it to me” he whispers. You stand immediately and lift your skirt pulling your panties down they cling to your wetness before you pull them all the way off placing them on the table.

You go to lay on on the couch and let him fuck you but he quickly grabs ahold of your wrist quietly laughing.

"no no I can't take you here" he says whispering "I'm at work....but l'll give you something else" his eyes stare at you daringly.

He pulls you back on to his lap with your legs spread apart pussy completely exposed to him. He pulls your skirt up to the hips looking in your eyes watching your reaction as he reaches his hand between your legs and slides his fingers back and forth on your wet pussy folds. "Mmmmm Austin!" you cry out finally feeling his touch. He loves watching you get off, but he cups his hand on your mouth reminding you to be quiet as he continues.

"You're already so wet" he whispers. You get wet so easily for him it makes his cock start to get hard when he feels it seeping out of you. "Fuck" he whispers again and slips his long fingers all the way inside of you making you moan loudly . Even though his hand is muffling the sound against your mouth he stills his fingers inside of you.

"I want to make you cum...but if you can't be quiet I will stop ....and I don't want to stop" he says a glint of sexual deprivation in his eyes. "Are you going to be good for me and stay quiet so I can watch you cum"

You nod frantically with his hand covering your mouth wanting him to finish and fight yourself to remain quiet for him.

He begins again gently sliding his fingers in and out of you as your walls grip them tightly. Not having him in so long intensifying your pleasure making you fight the urge to moan so badly it's transcending you to another consciousness. Your face flushes pink and your body writhes against his palm beneath you as you make tiny muffled noises against his other hand cupped over your mouth.

He just stares at your beauty loving his large hand covering your mouth holding back your moans as his fingers derive pleasure out of you pushing you over the edge making you fall apart. He's feeling drunk from your arousal for him, speeding up his movements loving the feel of his fingers squeezing inside of you as his knuckles wetly smack against your entrance. He wants to enjoy his favorite sight of watching you cum for him.

You can't believe you're doing this in his trailer on set with security and staff right outside the door. It makes you want to rush and and try to cum faster your body begins tensing from anxiety as your heart races faster and he can already tell something is wrong.

"Just relax for me" he whispers, slowly removing his hand from your mouth placing it on the back of your neck holding you closer. With the hand that is fingering you he places his thumb on your clit so that with each push of his fingers inside of you his thumb glides on your clit too. It’s such a skilled move you stare at him in awe feeling the pleasure amplifying in your core as your eyes fill with worship for what hes doing to you. He just smiles at you and pulls your neck to his mouth kissing and sucking his favorite place just below your jaw

You give into him completely exhaling small whimpers as he kisses your neck and expertly fingers you into an orgasm, your panting heavily in his ear, rocking and clenching on him. As you start to climax he whispers his praises "You've been so good for me being quiet, I want to make you cum for me now" you nod profusely feeling the tightness in your core ready to snap at any second.

He pushes his fingers up toward your naval and curls them down pulling in a “come here” motion that has you lose all resolve he fingers your gspot faster and harder until he’s rocking your entire body in his lap. You grip onto his shoulders for dear life as an extreme rush of pleasure floods your core and it snaps as you orgasm for him holding back every loud moan that tries to escape your throat.

When he removes his fingers you whimper, and spread your legs wider wanting more. It gets him so hot knowing you need a second orgasm being without him for so long. He rewards you immediately slipping his fingers back in and pressing his other hand down across your naval plunging his fingers deeper, it feels like he's squeezing the life out of you as you gasp overwhelmed with so much euphoria your vision goes blurry.

He pulls his fingers out and waits until you whimper “Austin please” you beg, his fingers teasing just near your entrance. “ You want more?” He whispers “ Yes Austin Please!” you beg almost raising your voice from how much you need it. He then slips his fingers back inside of you doubling his pace watching your facial expression change as your about to cum again. He's getting off being able to finger fuck you and see you orgasm a second time for him.

When he curls his finger against your gspot while pressing his hand on your naval it makes your body constrict so tightly you can’t breathe you clench on him so hard until you feel overwhelmed and a burst of pleasure erupts in your core releasing liquid all over his fingers as he wetly pounds them between your legs. He stills his fingers when you shudder and collapse against his chest trembling, the double orgasm wrecking you.

"You came so beautifully for me " he whispers in your ear as he pets down your hair, he loved watching how he made you cum twice so much. He carefully pulls his fingers out of you fully covered in your slick. He planned to suck them but the taste of you always turns him on too much and he has to get through more scenes at work.

He decides to make you do it for him. “Open your mouth for me I want you to taste what I cant have until later” he whispers and you suck him clean from his knuckles to his finger tips”

His lips part and pupils dilate wide watching you, it arouses him so much you feel his cock getting brick hard beneath you . “I have to get up” he whisper's slightly panicked and you giggle leaving his lap quickly and letting him stand. “Get dressed “ he says eyeing your painties on the table.

You pull them back on as he tries to straighten himself out. The outline of his erect cock is prevalent in his jeans there’s nothing he can do to hide it.

You drop down on your knees in-front of him already undoing his belt freeing access to pull down his zipper. His body is tensing not wanting to cum at work, especially not on set, especially not in his character costume, but he doesn’t stop you hes already consumed with the thought of cumming in your mouth.

His brain starts trying to take over “Baby I can’t do this at w…” he starts but you finally release his hard veiny cock in your hand making his body jump “You can’t do what baby?” You ask looking up to him poised to suck his cock. He can’t resist the urge his eyes faltering looking down your top and seeing your breasts in a lace bra and your thighs exposed in the miniskirt riding up to be more like a belt. He wants in your mouth so badly he gives in “ baby suck my cock ” he begs.

You look at his length pulsing in your hand, bigger and redder than the last time you’ve seen it. He’s been waiting to have sex with you this entire time. You feel a surge of arousal making you wetter rubbing your thighs together wanting to fuck his brains out.

You hold the base and slowly guide him in your mouth a desperate moan escapes his throat when his tip hits the back of your throat filling your mouth all the way up.

You twirl your tongue around the tip and he grips the edge of the table to keep himself steady. You love the sound of him gasping and making small whimpers above as you hollow your cheeks and begin to suck. His eyes are shut tight and he’s panting he needed you so badly "It’s so good baby” he breaths.

You reach your hand up guiding it underneath his shirt trailing your fingers tips on his rock hard abs. He wants his release down your throat and begins gently thrusting his length in your mouth letting you know he’s ready to cum. You hold firm to his hips tracing your thumbs on the bones there knowing he’s going to go so hard when he orgasms.

He holds your hair in a makeshift pony tail ready to use your face “You gonna swallow for me baby?” he asks through ragged breaths fucking your mouth faster. You lock eyes with him and you nod with his heavy cock in your mouth making slurping sounds as he’s ramming it in, he presses deeper and your throat clenches around his tip. “ UGHH” he cries loudly from the intense feeling.

He grips your hair harder holding your head steady to milk his cock “Here it comes ..suck it out of me” he says making you moan on his length twirling your tongue over the head sucking hard on his tip until you hear him grunting loudly as his silky cum squirts across your pallatte, you relax your throat and swallow it right out of the tip of his cock

“OH FUCK” he yells so loudly doubling over. He loses all his strength as you drain him completely dry and he struggles to recover. You are sure everyone outside the trailer heard him.

You release his empty cock from your mouth and catch your breath. Both of your thoughts interrupted by a harsh knock on the trailer door.

You quickly get up and adjust your clothing as Austin zips and buckles his belt checking that you are decent. He opens the door with a causal innocence “Everything alright Mr. Butler? “ the staffer asks. Austin smiles running his hand through his hair knowing he was too loud. “Yes just rehearsing lines” He says with a cool cadence gained from his profession as an actor.

“I’m sorry to bother you but you have 10 minutes until take. The golf cart will be here soon do you need anything else before you head back on set?” The staffer asks. Austin looks over at you and you shake your head no “Were all good “ Austin says nodding to him as he closes the door.

He wraps you in his arms as soon as it shuts nuzzling his nose against your neck planting sweet kisses up to your ear “You are such a naughty girl making me cum in my trailer” he whispers and you giggle “But man do I feel great now” he smiles. “I can tell” you say affectionately.

“Yea my stress level has been through the roof … I was so distracted all the time, now I’m so clear headed I probably won’t even need as many takes today” He confesses as he holds you tighter and presses his pelvis into yours

“The fact that you’re going to watch on set today is going distract the fuck out of me, but I’ll probably get my best takes ever thinking about how I get to strip you out of this outfit when I get to the apartment later” He says tracing his fingertip along the lace of your bra peeking out of your top, he takes a hold your jaw tilting your face up and gently kisses your lips in appreciation. He’s so much sexier after you make him cum.

He takes your hand and pushes the trailer door open leading you outside just as the golf cart arrives you both hop in and take a seat behind the driver. He peeks over at you once you’re both settled and smirks watching you smiling dreamily staring off in to space without a care in the world from the orgasms he gave you. He puts. his arm around you pulling you closer enjoying having you back with him again.

You are just lost in bliss daydreaming about the ways he made you cum in his trailer and how he’s going to have his way with you so many more times over the weekend in the apartment . You place your hand on his thigh and squeeze it in anticipation, ready to go see him professionally work hard on set this time.

~*End*~

Masterlist

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precious-little-scoundrel · 5 months

Text

Fort Dix to Memphis

Summary: Having traveled for 24 hours, hopped two continents and crossed an ocean, little baby Rosalee has no more patience for the endless homecoming interviews and pageantry required of her Daddy’s precious time, time that should be her’s in this strange, loud, American new world. What’s a new father to do when his baby “Schnucki” won’t stop wailing when he leaves her? Why, do the interviews with her in his coat, of course!

Warnings: Fluffy and wholesome as can be, PG, only small upsets may include a woman nursing, a father helping a baby latch while nursing, colonel parker not minding his business and trying to shove Elaine out of the public eye, Journalists being passive aggressive, little children in some distress

Word count: 4k

Requested: yes

Masterlist

Circa: Early Spring, 1960

“I don’t think she’ll settle without nursing.” Elaine really tried to keep the emphaticism out of her voice as she reclined into the rather luxurious bed the sleeper car was furnished with, watching as Elvis paced in the tiny walk between the window and bed, cradling a fussing Rosalee, lights turned down to nearly nothing and her baby cheek pressed to his just like she liked it. She wouldn’t fully go under though, and Elvis was certain she suspected his motive of making her sleep to then slip out and speak to the journalists waiting outside, while Elaine surmised it was an empty belly keeping the sweet dreams away.

Dark Cherry wood paneling and padded headboards that made it easy to lean against and nurse, low lighting that made it feel like something out of the old Hollywood movies, the train car was coziness personified -and of course Elaine had her exhausted children all in a tidy row between her and the vibrating train wall. All but Rosalee.

Colonel Parker had balked at the expense of such a luxury car, an en-suite bathroom, two beds making an L in the room and a little sitting room adjacent through a door, perfect for press and visitors -and play space- on the long trip. Elvis thought it was perfect for his family, and that’s where he and his manager differed. Colonel Parker had been very eager and very full of plans upon meeting the freshly stateside Presley’s. He’d come aboard the plane as soon as it touched down at Fort Dix and stressed the importance of Elvis going off solo.

“Colonel, I’ve got four children outta the womb, and my wife’s only got two hands.” Elvis had pointed out the obvious and that logic had won over the Snow Job’s dream of reintroducing a rehabilitated and unencumbered Memphis Flash back to the American public.

Colonel Parker then had some ideas about various ways to ship Elaine back to the backwater by cattlecar while Elvis did press in the north -alright he didn’t put it like that but it was the essence of his intent, according to Elaine’s shrewd perception, so much so even her father, Mr. Phipps had balked in offense at the obvious intention of shoving Elaine and her growing belly away from public view.

If Elvis Presley wanted to be so besotted with her that he’d give her five children in less than four years, he could damn well walk down a jetway with her. A sentiment her Mopey agreed with, of course he did.

And before much more fuss could be made, Charlie Hodge and good ole Rex Harrison had spent their newly demobilized time procuring the best train car on the line, and they spent a great deal of Elvis’ money to incentivize that train car to go to Memphis instead of Baltimore.

Those were the sorts of logistics, haggling and arrangements that Elaine usually took great interest and responsibility for negotiating, but freshly arrived from a transatlantic flight, three press conferences deep, decently pregnant and toting four children and a jumpy husband, she found herself ceding such tactical responsibilities for the seemingly endless amount of breast-feeding and lullaby singing her jet-lagged infants needed.

To be honest she was exhausted. As was Elvis. And their children. So much traveling and so much interacting and never a quiet moment. If one pair of twins was down the other roused and neither parent had gotten a full hour of uninterrupted sleep in two days. But still, Elaine felt happy with the warmth finally soaking into her as she snuggled beneath down covers with three little heaters tucked beside her, Daisy Mae dozing at her breast.

And she got to watch Elvis pace and coo and take the responsibility of soothing Rosalee very seriously, he always did.

“C’mon Schnucki, daddy ain’t goin’ nowhere far, hims right here, you jus’ lay your pretty lil head down and close those pretty yittle eyes, alright? You just close them eyes and picture a pretty green lawn with lil blankets on it and wildflowers we can pick and I’ll even get you little lambs to jump around and -that’s home Schnuki, we’re gonna be home tomorrow baby. I know, I know s’been so long for daddy too, hims could cry to, I could, I swear I could but it’s happier to think ‘bout bein’ there soon, and if you close your yittle eyes and dream bout them pretty clover flowers, you’ll get there even sooner. Did ya know that, Schnucki? Sleep makes ya time travel, it does, honest, baby. It does. So you just close those lil eyes-“

His low, murmuring babble was so soothing Elaine felt her arm holding Daisy go limp and she nodded off for a breed second before a resumption of Rosalee’s pitiful fussing jarred her again.

“Elvis baby, let’s try nursing.” she whispered gently, snagging his blazer hem on one of his turns along the little path he’d made and keeping him close.

He pulled Rosalee off his shoulder and held her little onesie clad form at arms length, surveying his inconsolable little one. “I dunno, ya look pretty fat Rosy, but I reckon there’s always room for more, hmm? Hmm baby? You wanna snuggle with mama’s titties, hmm? Get you all nice and warm and full of milk.” he stepped closer to the bed and Elaine scooted aside, with some fear of crushing her other children, to give him room to sit beside her, “C’mon Schnucki, go to mama, baby girl, get your tummy full so those rumbly tumbly feelin’s don’t wake ya up.”

Elvis’ large hands laid his little bundle on the breast that Daisy had not just supped from and helped Elaine position Rosalee in the crook of her mama’s elbow. He helped straighten her legs and tipped her on her side and when she kept turning her little head to watch him instead of focusing on the task in hand, Elvis even fed her little mouth the nipple like feeding a dog a treat. He squished her cheeks closed and tugged at Elaine’s bud until the milk came out and at it sprayed on Rosalee’s palette the baby’s eyes finally lit up.

“There we go,” Elvis laughed quietly, “don’t know what’s good for ya yet. Shouldn't doubt me Schnucki, I knows what’s best for hers, yes I do, and I always wants what’s best and I know, I know that look, good ain’t it? S’warm and sweet and so soft for your cheek, mhmm, nothin’ to fight.” he crouched over her for a minute as she latched and vigorously began to suck, much to Elaine’s relief, and he ran his fingers across her poofy baby cheek.

Elvis and Elaine watched her, too tired to make conversation or wish to break the hypnotically cozy spell Elvis’ cajoling nursery talk had lulled them all into. Jesse stretched in his sleep beside Elaine and cracked open an eye, smiling a silly, happy, lax mouthed smile at seeing his daddy still there. Elvis laid his hand on his boy’s chest and the the little guy turned on his side, rolling his body around it for a moment before falling back to sleep.

“God, y'all look so cozy, could break my heart.” Elvis mumbled as he took his hand back from Jesse’s lax hold, his other still supporting Rosalee’s bum as the baby girl would unlatch and search frantically for him whenever his touch left.

“You could stay.” Elaine pointed out the obvious, reaching her hand to swoop up the glorious flip of hair he had grown out. In the dim light, and even the bright sunshine, now that he’d grown out his army cut, it was more obvious than ever where Rosalee got her chestnut locks. “Don’t have to do press tonight.” she thumbed at his under eyes, marveling how a man could look so beautiful and so exhausted all at once.

“Naw naw, they’re waiting.” he jerked his head back at the sitting room and the low hum of the waiting reporter’s voices through the door, “If I do it tonight, won’t have to do it tomorrow and with any luck they’ll hop off on some northerly station and we’ll have a spot of peace ‘fore Memphis.”

“Alright.” she murmured, holding very still as Rosalee had come unlatched, cheek squished to Elaine’s large breast and her breath coming out in steady little puffs. “Do you think she’s gone?” she asked the man who knew her best after a bit of study.

“I-I think, I think so.” he hesitated, peering at her pink eyelids and the lax set of her mouth.

“She’s gone very limp.” Elaine remarked.

“Here I’ll try takin’ my hand back a-and if that works I’ll wait a minute and get up.” he suggested, slowly pulling his hand away from his infant's body with all the slow precision of a man dismantling a bomb.

Both hands clutched to his chest, Elvis and Elaine watched to see if baby so much as twitched but 48 hours of traveling seemed to catch up with their Rosalee and she didn’t move a muscle. Elvis carefully snagged a pillow and brought it under Elaine’s arm now she was holding all the weight and she carefully snuggled into a position she could maintain without moving for however long the press conference took.

“You alright mamas?” he asked her as he gravely reviewed his precautions for her comfort.

“I’m perfect.” she whispered, pursing her lips and he leaned over her gently, pressing his forehead to her mouth as he knew she wanted. “Oh I’ve stained you.” she lamented, the faded remnants of her lipstick having transferred to his golden face.

He snickered softly and rose from the bed with as little motion as he could, using those strong thighs of his to leverage straight up without a bounce and when he was successful in not waking the Schnucki Monster he went into the en-suite bathroom and reviewed the pale kiss mark above his brow. It was barely noticeable and rather affectingly situated, like a pretty stamp above his more mobile eyebrow.

As Elvis stared at it his heart twisted with a burning loyalty for the woman in bed with his five children while the Colonel’s words ricocheted in his mind until he found himself emphatically redoing his lashes with more than a moderate coat of mascara and after a moment's hesitation, he opened Elaine’s matching toilette bag and took from it today’s shade of coral. Unscrewing the gold cap he pondered it for a moment before leaning into the mirror and gently dabbing it onto the places where her kiss mark failed to make an outline. He was cautious not to overdo it, pulling back to review his entire face and take in the effect.

He had no desire to make her favor look garish, but neither did he want it unnoticed. He looked rather like one of last war’s recruiting posters, white smile, long hair, fresh face with a big smooch printed thereon.

He knew all these press conferences weren’t just about his career. They were according to his manager but for Elvis, he knew he was coming back to a rather different place than he left, social change and an upcoming election had galvanized folks into a sorta mood Elvis hadn’t had the chance to gauge for himself. And in it he wanted to find his footing again, not just as a star but as somebody who could do good. And he couldn’t do nothing without Laney, whatever Parker said, and poor Laney had suffered enough, been put through the American press for her pretty figure and affectionate ways.

And for daring to love him so well.

It wasn’t just his image. It was hers too, that he was re-introducing, and as such he was introducing the parents of his children, going out there to talk about movies was only the side issue, he had the Presley reputation to establish. Tired as he was, Elvis didn’t feel daunted by it, he felt energized and revved up at the prospect of such momentous responsibilities and he snapped the lid on Laney’s lipstick with an emphatic snap of his thumb.

Elvis liked the ‘loved on’ look. He’d never pretended he didn’t with his fan’s love and he wouldn’t with his wife’s.

He exited the bathroom and upon seeing Elaine as dead asleep sitting up in bed as the rest of the babies, he tiptoed out of the cozy space and cracked open the door, squeezing out and shutting it gently, much to the amusement and chuckling cooperation of the reporters waiting outside.

“Whole crew’s sleepin’ in there, gotta stay quiet, man. How’re y’all doing?” he asked them, basking in the colder air that whistled through the cracked window and took his seat on one of the benches, splitting a smile as a camera flash whited out his vision.

It had been near twenty minutes when Elaine was roused from the dead and dreamless sleep she’d fallen into by the shift of Rosalee’s sweaty little head on her chest. She increased the calming pressure of her hand on the little girl’s back and held very still, hoping it was a gesture in sleep. It wasn’t. Soon after she began to root around and whimper, upon waking up enough to notice soft feminine flesh beneath her cheek she began to fully cry, endangering the rest of the others. Elaine promptly untangled herself and stood up, walking away from the others, pacing by the door, trying to hush her poor infant.

“-besides those three films lined up I-I-I really d-don’t have plans, no, I-I-“ Elvis paused in his answer as the sound of crying came from the inner room. He knew which baby it was and his heart clenched.

“Oops!” one of the reporters snickered, a sympathetic father who knew how annoying it could be to have a baby crying all night, keeping a guy up and the wife not able to make it hush.

“I-I uh…” Elvis tried to go on but the cries increased and while it wouldn’t disturb the journalists or even be perceptible on the recordings, he couldn’t bear it. “If you’ll excuse me, gentleman.” he apologized as he rose, determined and unabashed as he crossed across the train car and wove through the pack of reporters back to the suite door.

“Oh darling I’m sorry.” Laney gushed as he slipped in and cast a wary glance at the stirring children left in the bed.

“Don’t be.” he told her sharply and didn’t even ask for the baby, just took her out of Elaine’s arms with surety and sushed her with his familiar hums. “Ain’t no reason to be apart, we’ll just buddy up for this, huh Schnucki?” he murmured and Elaine’s eyes went wide.

“You’re going to do press with -a child?” It wasn’t an image anyone in Hollywood or even politics really tried to create, the family man leading man wasn’t really a seller at the box office or in the gossip column. Not unless he had affairs and regularly got redeemed by famous children, she supposed the Fairbanks might yet prove role models.

“I’m gonna hold my baby while they ask me questions.” he framed it with a pointed look and placed a kiss of his own on Elaine's forehead, “Now I can’t keep ‘em waiting. Go get warm, go, move that cute lil butt, go, shoo!” he swatted her nighty clad backside until she had the covers up to her chin again and Ella tucked into her side. It wasn’t till he had turned back and headed out the door that Elaine gasped in recognition of the kiss mark.

The chattering greetings of the journalists upon his re-emergence quieted as soon as they noticed the bundle in his arms as he stepped back through their ranks to his seat. Sitting with all the nonchalant confidence of a king as he tucked his pacified child into the crook of his elbow and patted her bottom rhythmically with a bejeweled hand. Those who had once lingered around him on tour, chasing him down backstage to snatch sound bites and headliner quotes over the scream of women and the edgy young performers' preoccupation with kissing and winking at every passing female were astounded by the change.

Bob Gary, one of the reporters who had covered his stardom since the hayride and had the pleasure of meeting Miss Gladys, god rest her, was a little less astounded than others that her wild boy had in him the makings of a lovely young man. Bob always thought Elvis was respectful and always got a sense of goodness when around Elvis. It made sense Elvis would set his mind to good fatherhood and perform its functions with as little shame as he felt when moving to his music. “Now who do we have here?” Bob asked kindly after the quiet room got a little too absurd even by journalistic standards.

“We’ve got a pretty little lady joining us, gentleman, this is Rosalee Presley, prefers to be called Schnuki but maybe not by you strange men. Heh.” Elvis proclaimed his sniveling baby’s chosen name proudly and jostled her mopey self a little, only succeeding in making her pout further into his jacket but the tears had ceased. “All this travelin’ has been doin’ their heads in, man, my poor babies. So, you mustn’t mistake her whinin’ as personality, ya see she’s been a very stable baby, hasn’t ever been outside Germany, ‘cept for a trip to Paris, and now she’s across the whole ocean. That’s a heap of miles for a yittle itty-bitty thang like her, you understand gentleman? So as I was sayin’, my lil daughter’s most congenial, most nights, gonna have to forgive her tonight*

Bob Gary laughed as did a few of the press who were equally lost on the topic but eager to return to their questions. “Why can’t her mother calm her?” one fellow asked benignly and Elvis squinted at him, jaw tickling before he smoothed his face and shrugged:

“My wife’s jugglin’ four kids in there, includin’ the one cookin and she does a remarkable job.'' Perhaps Elvis said it sharper than he meant to, but Bob Gary licked his pencil stub and got to writing, paper didn’t convey tone unless the writer mentioned it. “A-a-and see, me and my Rosalee,” the young father went on, “we’re the same, two peas in a pod. I’m the same when she ain’t around, get all mopey and the like. I do man, I do. Got my own lil wooby here, uhuh. What? Oh ha! Sure sure, call it that. Emotional crutch, whatever man I-I-I -all I know is I-I need her, man. What? You ain’t ever wanted to hang out with your kid? They’re a heap of fun man, don’t talk over ya neither.”

“Can we see her face, Elvis?” Asked one hopeful with his camera at the ready.

Elvis thoughtfully prodded Rosalee’s pink cheek but the little girl was always shy of crowds, worse yet when they were masculine ones and despite Elvis’ little pokes his baby only burrowed deeper, as if aware of his query and answering it with a wriggle that buried her face beneath his jacket’s lapel.

“Aww man, I think she’s too shy for that.” Elvis decided, carefully tucking her further in, her chubby little legs, two dangling feet and the back of her reddish head the only visible parts of her. “Now I don’t want y’all thinkin’ this is her usual personality, -all the travellin’s been rough on her.”

“I bet it’s hard on all the kids.”

“I-i-it’s challenging, sure.” Elvis nodded, running a soothing hand up her sweaty back, “But we’re headed home. Gonna be right as rain, soon as we get to Memphis, I just know it. Ya know these last two, they were born in Germany! Ain’t ever been home yet, they’re restless for it.”

That seemed a bit improbable for a bunch of city slickers who considered home to be a vague notion of rented flats and let rooms and so one asked:

“__Mr. Presley, you’ve quite the large family now, uh, how old is your daughter? Hard to keep up.“

“She’s not yet one.”

“—And your wife’s already expecting again, correct?“

“Yessir she is.” Elvis nodded soberly and he felt little Rosalee begin to forget her bashfulness and twist herself a little so she could play with the rings on his left hand.

“Does the growth of your family surprise you? It certainly surprised the rest of the nation. Do you have any regrets?“

Elvis thought about the adoring bundle in his arms who gave him all the terrifyingly unconditional trust he always wanted to be saddled with and stuttered out a reply after clearing his throat, “Well uh, no sir, not really. My wife she -she was on me like a duck on a junebug, sir, right away like. And uh, I saw it as my peace keepin’ duty to keep her peaceful, ya see? Heh. So, so anyways, we’ve got all these kids now and I find them mighty precious. They’re the most special things I’ve ever had. I-I- didn’t-what we had gentleman, when we married -it weren’t no great romance, see, it were rather like the reasons our parents married. Course I love her now but we’re intentional and this is what we wanted. She’s made what coulda been some of the darkest years of my life, well she -she’s made them the best. Awww yeah you too Schnucki, yesss, of course hers too.” he trailed off with a coo as Rosalee raised her face to watch him, learning by his tone that he was talking about mama.

“—What do you expect for your little family, what with you gone to work on the movie contracts Colonel Parker has lined up for you?“

“Oh well, they’re comin’ with me, ain’t no question of that. Whole family I-I-I gotta have ‘em. They’re not a favorite pillowcase you can leave behind. Colonel Parker says the trailer ain’t big enough but he forgets they’re lil still, we all fit in a single bed. Sleep that way most nights, they’re all yittle still. And I need ‘em. They’ll be with me.”

“What’s Miss Rosalee think about seeing palm trees, huh?” the same hopeful as before, this time with his damn camera lowered, took the liberty of grabbing at one of her little feet, intending to wag it playfully but Miss Rosalee let out a wounded cry of disbelief and climbed up her father’s chest with the alacrity of a hunted koala.

Elvis tried to moderate his voice when he cautioned the young journalist, “She don’t wanna be touched, man, please don’t.” but nothing could temper the cool blue flame of his eyes at the guy’s presumption. “Hey, hey hers ok, yes hers is.” he whispered to his baby and slowly brought her down into his lap, a curled little dough ball in a soft pink onesie. “Here Schnucki, curl in baby, have at it.”

He opened his jacket wide and exposed a soft sweater beneath his blazer, dark red and with a deep neckline, he’d bought it for the cowl neck he liked for shielding from the wintry gusts and hiding his chicken neck from photographers. Rosalee likes the way it warms her up and tickles her nose, she burrows her face into his chest so fast it’s comical and the guys laughed as did Elvis gently, all while he closed his blazer back around her little body and gathered up her one vulnerable outlier in his large hands - her little footsies.

“I dunno what y’all are laughin’ at.” Elvis pretended ignorance, crooked grin about ready to split his face, “There ain’t nothin’ here, man, nothin’!” he protested as the guys wheezed in amusement over the tiny, frizzy shock of chestnut hair sticking out the top of his buttoned coat. “Now’re you fools gonna ask me about formula brands or hollywood, hmm?”

The next thirty minutes passed uneventfully, for Rosalee at least. It was warm and damp in daddy’s jacket, against his chest and she could feel the thoughtful rumble of his answers buzzing her right cheek. When he was done she felt a little whoosh of flight as he stood up but she was safe, his arm kept her anchored to him and the buttons cocooning her near his chest held up. She had been oblivious to the nervous way her daddy sweated when he dodged answering about who he’d vote for in the coming election but she had felt when he had tensed at a question about her parents’ taped phone call. She raised a clammy hand out the top of his jacket and patted his jaw till he had laughed. The press laughed too. He never answered that question after all. Rosalee smiled a proud baby smile against his sweater.

All Miss Rosalee knew was daddy laughed and then he calmed and his chest rumbled some more then there was a whoosh and the jostling of him shaking hands and soon he was walking, she could feel the bounce of his gait. “We fooled them, didn’t we Schnucki.” she heard him whisper down into the jacket.

The soft click of the door. Mama was near.

And soon, Rosalee felt a chilly little gust as the inferno was opened and the faint lights of the bedroom suite crept in as daddy unbuttoned his jacket and gently laid her down next to mama on the bed before stripping out of his clothes. Mama lay on her side in the bed and deftly slipped the lacy strap of her nighty off her shoulder, gently cupping Rosalee’s head to her breast, hoping for cooperation.

Without preamble or hesitation the little girl latched on for her midnight snack.

Elvis was slipping in beside them, tucked in with Rosalee between himself and Elaine, when his pretty wife chuckled in disbelief.

“What is it baby?” he asked, whopped from all the diplomacy and melting like butter on pancakes at the mere proximity to his little tribe.

“You smart little lady,” Elaine murmursd to Rosalee in admiration, “you know your daddy isn’t leaving anymore and now you want to eat, huh?”

Elvis grinned with half his pretty face smashed into the pillow, trying in vain to stay awake to watch one of his favorite activities under the sun -his wife feeding his babies from her own body. His eyes began to droop anyway and he found himself jolting periodically, having drifted off.

The third time he awoke like this he felt Laney’s cool fingers gently tugging his eyelids down, smudging the mascara but soothing him, “Night, night mopey, you can go now, she’s gone, too.”

Hope y’all enjoyed! Your “bugging” and “screaming” is music to my ears, fuel to my fire and keeps me writing, please never hold back -this is a safe space for feral little Elvis loving rodents…like you and me.

If you’d like to be tagged in this particular series please drop a note below. Xoxo 💋

@prompted-wordsmith

@powerofelvis

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@thatbanditqueen

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@presleysgirl6

@that-hotdog

195 notes · View notes

buckyysdoll · 9 months

Text

— 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

• 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

279 notes · View notes

dreamingofep · 9 months

Text

At Ease

(Elvis/Austin!Elvis × reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Request: kinda🤭

Prompt: Today is the day Elvis comes home from the army and you’re waiting for him with open arms. He wants to show you how much he missed you. [Fem!Reader]

TW: Cussing, teasing/ tension, SMUTTT, oral sex, fingering, the usual really dirty stuff.

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)

Word Count: 5K

A/N: Hello everyone!

I love some army Elvis and he looks way too damn good to not write about him! Like who gave him the fucking right I hate it. This idea came with the help of @loving-elvis when we noticed how beautiful he looked in this interview and what fun could be had on that desk🤭 I purposefully put that bottom left picture on here for good reasons 🫣 Thank you @cryingabtab for the title name🩷

Again this man has me weak, I’ll never get over him so I hope you enjoy this little one shot and let me know what you think!

I also mentioned earlier that I'm also posting my fics on Ao3 so you can read my stuff there too if you want! The link is on my masterlist. Thank you again❤️

Sorry for any spelling mistakes or goofs.

March 7th, 1960

Excited nerves rattled your body as you waited for the white gates to open to Graceland. These last two years have felt like a lifetime since the last time you saw Elvis. He left your life in such an abrupt fashion and you couldn’t believe they shipped him off to Germany so quickly.

You had only been seeing each other for a few months before he was shipped off so it wasn’t a serious relationship by any means. You both did have a really nice connection though. One that was so easy you didn’t need to think about being a certain way with him or do anything that you didn’t feel was right. He just had this presence that calmed you, but also left you on edge with a tingly sensation running down your spine.

He was just as heartbroken about the news of the draft as you were. His career was taking off and he was doing what he loved. Couldn’t help but feel he was cheated of the opportunity to do more, but he’s coming back home today and you know he’s going to make a big impact with whatever he does next.

On his last day here in Memphis, you clung to his shoulders, not wanting him to go so soon. You had hope that things could go further with him but the draft might spoil those chances.

“When I come back, if you don’t already have a man takin’ care of ya, will you be here waiting for me?” His voice cracking with emotion.

You gazed into his beautiful blue eyes, trying to memorize how they look into yours.

“Yes honey, I’ll be here,” you whisper.

He cracks that crooked smile you love so much and kisses you passionately, flames building inside you. His hands squeeze your hips, pulling you in closer to his warm body. You feel your heart gallop in your chest, your body wanting him like never before. But it’s all too late, and the wonder of what could have been will haunt your dreams for the next two years. He pulls away and looks at you breathlessly.

“If you want, will you be good for me? Stay untouched and everything,” he asks innocently with a glint of mischief in his eyes.

You nod your head, squeezing his hand assuredly.

Within these last two years, no guy has caught your eye, not the way Elvis Presley does. Your friends would set you up on dates with some guys but they always fell short compared to Elvis.

His daddy let you know a few days before that Elvis was coming home and he wanted you there if you weren’t busy. You were thrilled Elvis told him about you, giving you a glint of hope that he still has feelings for you. You knew you were playing a dangerous game though. Elvis could have found a new love in Germany and forgot all about you or he might want you again.

The white gates slowly open and the black Cadillac makes its way up the winding driveway. Everyone that gathered on the steps of Graceland buzzed with excitement to get a glimpse of Elvis after all this time.

The back door opens and out comes that tall, blue-eyed boy you’ve missed so much. He was wearing all black, his tan chest peeking out from his dress shirt that was unbuttoned to the middle of his chest. A gold medallion hung from his neck and he flashed that million-dollar smile you had seen so many times in newspapers and magazines. His hair perfectly styled and drooping down onto his forehead when he moved. You couldn’t imagine a better looking man.

He gets rushed with hugs and kisses from his family members and you can’t help but feel the excitement grow inside you to get a hug from him next. His eyes dart up to meet yours standing there on the stoop of the entryway and he looks at you in awe. He politely parts from everyone and makes a beeline to you standing there. He looks you up and down, his eyes lingering places on your body longer than he normally would and it makes you blush. Elvis bites his lower lip as he smiles and shakes his head at you, “well goddamn. Aren’t you the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he gushes. He wraps his arms around your torso and picks you up, giving you a big hug. You can’t help but squeal as he squeezes the air out of you. You giggle as you breathe again and instinctively wrap your arms around his neck. He places a soft kiss on your cheek and sets you back on the ground, taking another look at you.

“Is it possible you got more handsome?” You ask coyly. He grins down at you, not letting go of your waist. There’s an intense heat radiating through him, his eyes boring holes into your entire body.

“No honey I’m still just me. You on the other hand… my God you look so gorgeous. I really missed you,” he smiles.

You can’t help but reach for his face, caressing it with your thumb, and look into those mesmerizing eyes.

“I missed you too Elvis,” you say shyly.

He reaches for your hand and intertwines his fingers in yours. He looks back to the crowd forming and pulls you into the house, closing the door hoping no one will notice his absence.

“Where are we going?” you say in a hushed whisper as he’s pulling you swiftly to the back of the house.

“Away from everyone. I just want a second with ya before I get bombarded with people,” he says as he opens the back door and rushes into the back office outside. He closes the door and the stillness of the office brings a chill to you. Not only that, but the way Elvis feels around you is something you hadn’t experienced before. He feels so comforting and at the same time, dangerous? You can’t really put a finger on what it is but something has changed about him. And it’s not necessarily a bad thing either, it’s just overwhelming and makes you want to sink to your knees. The confidence that he carried now shined through him like never before. When he left, he was still trying to figure himself out, the fame blinded him and he was still a little shy kid from Tupelo. But now, the confidence he carries is so… attractive. You don’t want to get away from him.

Elvis’ hands find your waist once more and pulls you in to hug you, leaning down his face into the crook of your neck. A chill forms all over his body as his skin touches yours.

More… your body screams.

Your brain races a million miles per second and you try to calm yourself down.

He sighs softly and looks back at you, almost unsure of what to say.

“I’m so glad you’re here. I wouldn’t want anyone else waiting for me,” he coos, tucking your hair behind your ear, showing your face to him.

“I wouldn’t have missed it, honey. It’s been too long,” you say, your hand snaking up to his soft hair.

A new tension forms in the room and your heart pounds because of it. There’s a dangerous glint in his eye the more he looks at you. A look of want? Need? No, lust. Raging, burning, lust when he stares at you. He parts his lips and subtly licks them, his eyes looking like they’re intoxicated.

“Baby?” He murmurs.

“Hmm,” you say dreamily.

“I need to kiss you,” he says as his breathing starts to hitch.

Your hands grab onto the front of his shirt and pull him in closer.

“Well what are you waiting for,” you whisper, pulling him into you and reaching up to kiss him.

His soft lush lips press into yours and you could swear this is what heaven feels like. He breathes in deeply as he goes for another kiss, heat coming off of him in abundance. Your hand wanders over his chest, feeling the soft little hairs that lay there. His lips continue to devour yours, putting his hand on the back of your neck, making a soft airy moan slip from your lips as he deepens the kiss.

Elvis likes this response from you, letting a moan of his own come out and he pushes his hips into your body. Your heart dances wildly, relishing in this new sensation he’s giving you, feeling his member grow hard with need. You gasp when you feel his bulge and your core begins to throb.

You look up at him breathless, needing more of him but not too sure what to do next.

“Oh honey,” he mutters, his hands grappling at your dress, scrunching up the pretty tulle fabric.

“Elvis… I-I-I want you… you feel good,” you stutter out.

A cute coy smile appears across his face.

“You feel even better baby.” He says cutely.

He walks you back toward the desk, lifting you up and sitting you down on the cold surface. He steps in between your legs, causing you to spread them apart more than you normally would.

“Baby uh,” he stammers.

“What honey?”

“Have you been good? Staying a good little girl for me?” He asks. Heat rushes to your core as you realize what he’s asking of you.

“Mhmm, yes honey. Been on my best behavior,” you assure.

A little smirk forms on his face and he grabs a hand full of your dress up, moving it above your knee and stopping there.

“Can I see? Can I feel how good you’ve been?” He says low, his voice dripping with temptation.

Wetness pools in your panties and there’s nothing more enticing than having Elvis touch you. You want it so bad it feels like you can’t breathe properly without his skin on yours.

“Yes, you can touch me,” you squeak out.

He lifts your dress up higher, exposing your white cotton panties that now had a wet stain on them. He sees the stain and his eyebrows shoot up and he hums to himself in contentment.

He loops his fingers into the waistband of your panties and you lift up your hips to help him get them off of you.

You’re left exposed there on the table not sure what the state of your pussy might be looking like but based on the way it feels, it has to look a mess. He crouched down to get a better look at you, spreading open your folds with two of his fingers and seeing the wetness spilling out of you.

“Fuck,” he murmurs. “Someone’s been a very bad girl,” he tsks.

Your whole body feels on edge and a bit embarrassed, but you know Elvis wouldn’t make you feel bad about this sort of thing.

“I’ve only been bad since you drove through those gates,” you stammer. “Just the sight of you has me dying…”

“Oh I see honey… can I feel how bad… how bad this pussy needs attention”

Your heart thumps wildly and you are so magnetized to him and his gaze. You never want him to stop looking at you like this.

“Yes, please touch me,” you whimper.

He leans into kiss you, his tongue entering your mouth and tangling against yours. You pull him in again by his collar and moan. He slowly pulls away, his eyes looking at you ravenously.

Elvis places his index finger on your lips, rubbing it along your bottom lip.

“Open your mouth and lick,” he instructs.

Your breathing hitches and you nod your head, opening your lips apart and letting him push his finger in your mouth. You lick his long finger, swirling it like a lollipop, getting most of it wet with your saliva. You grab onto his wrist and continue the motions as he watches you intensely. A deep guttural growl comes out of him as you look up at him with pleading eyes, watching him come undone with this one small act.

He slowly pulls his finger out, traveling down to your wet heat. His finger gets in between your slick, wet, folds and he cusses when he feels how soaked you are. He rubs it back and forth a few times, giving you a new shocking feeling and increasing the throbbing sensation that has formed there. His fingertip finds your entrance and he carefully plunges it into your core. You gasp, never having been penetrated before and unaccustomed to anything being inside you. His finger feels so long inside you and your walls hug it taught. Your mind races with the thought of what his dick could feel like inside you. If his fingers were long… surely he had something to hide in his pants.

Elvis moans when he gets knuckle deep inside you, grabbing onto your thigh and squeezing it with his other hand.

“Fuck honey, this pussy feels perfect. I want to be inside you so bad,” he moans, his finger curling up and pushing up against this spot inside you that could make you scream.

“Mmm, oh god yes,” you moan, bucking your hips into his hand. He gives a pleased chuckle as he watches you grind more, figuring out what feels best.

Suddenly, a group of voices start to get closer to the office and their footsteps become louder. You freeze, your heart sinking to your stomach as you don’t know what to do.

“Shit,” he mutters to himself.

He carefully pulls his finger out and licks all the slick that’s gathered on his finger. He moans when it hits his tongue and his eyes roll back slightly.

“Mmm, taste so sweet honey. We’re gonna have to wait though, the reporters are coming, I need you to hide,” He says controlled.

“What? Right now? Crap, where should I go?” You say in a bit of a panic.

He pulls your dress down as the voices become louder, “get underneath the desk baby. Don’t make a sound,” he says as he leads you to the back of the desk and covers the back of your head so it doesn’t get hit. You crouch down and get in the corner of the desk, bending your knees up to your chest and try to control your breathing.

The door bursts open and a bunch of men’s voices fill the small office. You hear camera bulbs flash and everyone trying to get Elvis' attention.

“Elvis right here!”

“Elvis how’s it feel to be home?!”

“Elvis turn to the left please!”

You hear his father’s voice telling them to calm down and ask questions one at a time.

Elvis is quiet as they snap a few pictures and then he goes to sit down behind the desk. You see his legs move the chair aside and sits down, spreading his legs open and pulling his slacks up.

You stare at how he’s sitting like he’s just teasing you in your helpless state. He leans forward on the desk, waiting for the reporters to get organized before they ask their first question. There’s little light coming through but your eyes get drawn to his crotch. There you see the outline of his hard member, pressing against his leg. You have to place your hand over your mouth from the gasp you wanted to make. He was so much longer than you could have ever anticipated and that growing need of having him inside you grew immensely.

The throbbing grew inside you and you squeeze your legs together, needing some relief. You pray that this interview isn’t an hour long or something because you’re going to be in agony by then. Elvis starts answering questions very nonchalantly, his smooth deep voice bringing a zing to your core. His southern inflection on certain words makes your heart leap out of your chest. How can he be so sexy just doing the bare minimum?

His foot rubs against your leg, rubbing it up and down as he sits back and swivels his chair side to side answering the questions.

Your hand snakes up his pant leg and you squeeze his calf. His leg tenses when he first feels you but then relaxes. Your fingers rub slow soft circles on his toned leg and he starts to move it. You’re not sure if he’s moving it out of nervousness or out of distraction but you can’t keep your hands off of him.

The next question has you at attention and you stop rubbing his leg.

“Elvis, did you find anyone special over there?”

He chuckles amused by the question, “No no I didn’t. I did meet this one girl… but it was no big love affair or anything. They just took some pictures when I was getting on the plane that’s all.”

You let out a sigh of relief, thankful he wasn’t madly in love with someone else overseas. But right now it honestly didn’t really matter, he wanted you and was wanting to make love to you and your body craves him. He scoots the chair in some more, leaning on the desk waiting for more questions. Your hand travels further up and finds his still hard length. The heat radiates off of him and it makes your mouth water. You rub it gently, up and down, feeling his body stiffen when you put more pressure. He clears his throat as he answers the next question and pushes the chair in even further under the table, giving you better access.

His hips subtly rut into your hand and your need for him grows when he does this. You never thought you could make him feel like this but you have him all in your hand and based on how he’s moving, he’s loving it.

You feel your wetness seep out of you and run down your leg. You were turned on like never before and needed him to pour all of his attention on you.

More…. Your body continues to scream.

Your hands move up further until you find the button of his pants and slowly slide down the zipper.

He puts one of his hands on his thigh and scrunches the material of his slacks in a frustrated manner.

You make sure not to move too quickly to not give any attention to what’s happening behind the desk. Your hand reaches into his pants and pulls out his hard length. You press your lips together to hold make the moan you want to make as you stare at his cock.

He was much longer than you thought and part of you is nervous to have all of that inside you, but on the other hand, you are so unbelievably horny for him, wanting him to stuff you to the hilt with it. You feel the tip of him leaking with a clear fluid. Your thumb swirls it, spreading it along his head and his hips jolt forward, making it seem like he was just adjusting in his seat.

Your hand starts to slowly jerk him, feeling the heat of him in your palm like a hot rod. You feel so dirty for doing this but love that it’s with Elvis and it seems he’s enjoying it. Another really bad idea comes into your mind. One that you’ve only ever heard of from other girlfriends and right now, it seems like a really good idea. You want him in your mouth.

Your heart continues to gallop, almost sure that everyone can hear it in this room. You decide to go for it, and pull back his foreskin and swirl your tongue on it. The clear fluid tastes salty but your mouth waters for more. You wrap your lips around him and put more of him in your mouth. You hear him take a deep breath in as he answers the last question and try to maintain his calm stature.

Your wetness continues to pool more and the throbbing becomes almost insatiable. You try to not make any noise with your mouth but it is difficult. You have to take it slow and based on Elvis’ hip motions, he’s liking it.

The reporters thank Elvis for his time and people start to file out. A few of them hang back trying to get another question in but his daddy escorts them out and informs them the interview is done.

“Daddy, please let me be alone in here. Don’t let anyone in. I need a moment to myself,” He says calmly as your mouth takes more of him. You hear his audible gasp and clear his throat again.

“Sure son, no problem,” He assures.

The click of the door closes and Elvis stays still, making sure no one is going to come in. He moves his hips away from you and you release his length from your mouth. He stands up and swiftly goes to the door, turning the top bolt. You hear his footsteps come around the desk and he pushes the chair away from it. He reaches his hand underneath the desk and finds your arm and pulls you out from underneath.

He has fire in his eyes and looks so unbelievably intense. Taking the back of his forearm, he wipes the desk off clean. Papers fluttered into the ground and paperweights made a loud thud when they hit the carpet.

He picks you up underneath your arms and sits you down firmly on the desk. Your eyes wander down to his open slacks and see his length in a better light. You softly moan when you see it, veins protruding from his shaft and the head of it peeking from his foreskin, red and glistening with your spit.

He places his hand on your chin, making you look up into his eyes.

“Jesus Christ woman, look what you’ve done to me,” his head shoots down to look at his length. He doesn’t let your head move and you just have to wait for what he wants to do next.

“That stuff you were doing was very bad… I liked it a bit too much,” he says devilishly.

“Oh yeah? I wasn’t sure but… I’m glad you did. I really liked it too,” you say timidly.

His hands squeeze your thighs, spreading your legs open and pulling up your dress to rest his cock on your folds. You gasp at the sensation and he moans deeply. He takes his cock in his hand to rub the tip of it on your sensitive bundle of nerves. You gasp and claw at his arm, cussing underneath your breath.

“God you’re so wet honey,” he groans as his length gathers more of your arousal on him. He watches you intently, seeing how your eyes cannot be taken away from his length. He chuckles inwardly and continues to tease you.

“You see something you like?” He asks deviously.

Your breathing quickens as you continue to watch him rub his length through your folds.

“Y-y-yes Elvis I umm… oh God,” you pant, letting these euphoric feelings wash over your body.

“What baby, what is it? Tell me what you’re thinkin’,” he tantalizes.

You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling your cheeks turn scarlet with what you’re about to say. “I just… umm… I didn’t expect you to be so… so big,” you mutter, looking back up into his eyes.

A soft smirk forms on his face, “it’s gonna feel even better inside you,” he coos. “Are you ready for me? You want me to take care of you?”

Your head feels like you’re on a cloud and drunk on him at the same time.

“Yes please,” you mewl.

He pulls your dress up off your body and pushes you back on the desk to have you lie down. The cold surface hits your back and sends chills through you as Elvis looms over you. His hands squeeze your breasts and another bolt of lightning travels through your body to your core.

He lines himself up and pushes the tip in, making you cry out. He grunts when he tries to put more inside of you.

“Fuck honey you’re so tight. You need some help taking me.” He says pulling out of you and placing two fingers on your clit and rubbing there. You let out another needy moan as he works you. He coats his two fingers in your wetness and carefully pushed them inside you.

“Ohmygod,” you cry out and your head pops up off of the desk to watch him finger you. He curls them and feels out your fluttering walls.

“Yes baby that’s it, keep nice and relaxed for me,” He beckons. His fingers reach places you haven’t even known about, making the slick between your legs grow even more. You begin to rut into his hand, letting your instincts take over and get the most pleasure out of it.

He groans when he watches you, almost looking envious of his fingers with how good they’re making you feel.

He quickly pulls them out of you and you moan with feeling so empty.

He lines himself up again against your weeping hole and looks at you, he sees your pleading eyes wild and lust-filled.

He pushes himself in and groans heavily, your wet heat wrapping tightly around him. You cry out for him, feeling the searing pain and pleasure filling your body. He keeps a slow pace, pushing in more of his length with each thrust. You watch as he pulls out his cock and see your wetness cover it, then get buried back inside you. It’s all too much, the sensations that he brings to you are like nothing you’ve ever experienced or thought you could experience.

Elvis hisses as he moves faster, “goddamn honey, feeling so good. Squeezing my cock so tight already,” he slurs. He grabs onto your hips and starts to drive into you like this. You moan louder, feeling the pain sear through you.

“Elvis please,” you cry. He rubs one of his thumbs on your clit and moves it in fast circles.

“You’re doing so good honey. Almost there,” he says as he pushes the rest of his length inside you making both of you groan.

“Oh god Elvis yes,” you moan. Pleasure slowly starts to seep through your veins and tightens the coil in your belly. He moves his hips faster, hitting all the right places and making you feel so good.

His face looks gorgeous like this, so concentrated on you but so lustful. He makes the most delicious noises when he takes you, grunting and panting for air as he stuffs you completely. His eyes are glued to his length going in and out of you and how each snap of his hips makes you moan even louder.

The pain subsides and all you can feel is mind-blowing satisfaction. You sit up on your forearms to look at him fuck you, your coil tightening by the second. His hips pound into you harder, rubbing your clit with the perfect amount of pressure, bringing you closer to orgasm.

His eyes drink you in and suddenly stop when he looks at your belly. He cusses and places his hands on your lower belly, putting a new pressure there making you feel so full. Every snap of his hips drives you wild and you’re so close to screaming his name.

“Look baby, look how deep I am inside ya,” he grunts breathlessly. He lifts his hand and you can see the poking of his head pushing up on your lower abdomen. You moan deeply, unable to take much more. The squelching coming from between your legs makes Elvis take you faster, wanting to take you to the edge.

“Fuck Elvis, that’s so good,” you gasp, placing your own hand on your belly to feel him inside you.

He growls, too far gone with lust raging through him, “Oh honey, takin’ me so good. You’re gonna make me cum,” he groans.

He leans down to suck on your breast, licking and biting at your nipples. Your walls flutter and you know you’re going to cum. He sees the panic and pounds into you harder, almost knocking the wind out of you.

“Come on baby, let yourself go,” he pleads.

You throw your head back and scream for him as your walls squeeze around his girth. Your entire body radiates with pleasure and you can’t catch your breath with how he’s taking you.

He moans your name too, barely able to contain himself while he’s inside you.

“Goddamn baby, I need to cum…” he grunts through his teeth, his hips becoming sporadic and his strides uneven.

He abruptly pulls out of you and jerks his cock in his hand. You watch as white-hot spurts come shooting out of him and into your belly. You watch in awe as he comes undone in front of you, probably one of the single most hottest things you had ever seen in your life. The way his eyebrows furrow together and opens his mouth before letting out the most satisfying-sounding moan you’ve ever heard.

Elvis pants over you, wiping the sweat from his brow and leaning onto the desk with one hand. You look up at him in a daze, unable to comprehend what has happened within this last hour. Your body feels weak yet floating on a cloud. You have no idea sex could be that good let alone it being your first time. Those famous hips put in the work and left you breathless. You look down at the pool of his arousal sitting on your belly, and back up to him.

“Was that okay for you honey? Did I do a good job?” He asks innocently. You nod your head yes quickly, almost laughing that he even had to ask you that.

“Oh yeah honey, you were… God I have no idea what to say, It was so damn good,” you gush.

A smile forms on his face as he looks at your body again, “Good baby, I loved it too. I couldn’t get enough,” he teases, wiping your belly off with a tissue.

“Well umm… I’m free for the rest of the day…. If you decided you wanted some more of me,” you tease.

He lets out a little chuckle and his eyes light up, “I might just have to take you up on that,” he coos.

•

Tagging 🖤: @powerofelvis @plasticfantasticlOver @burninlovebutler @neptuneismysister @velvetelvis @ccab @presleyenterprise @elvispresleyxoxo

@prompted-wordsmith @sillybookmarks @dkayfixates @rosepresley @ellie-24 @rktismylife-blog @myradiaz @lookingforrainbows @elvispresleygf @tacozebra051 @thatbanditqueen

@18Ikpeters @flwrs4aust @emma181873 @austinswhitewolf @eliseinmemphis @everythingelvispresley @chasingwildflowers @idontwanttoputanything @ohjustpeachy @elvisalltheway101 @austinsmutler @kingdomforapony @generoustreemystic @kendralavon7

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absorbedbutler · 2 years

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ur austin imagines got me blushin teehee 🤭

but i'm in love w/ the idea of really romantic sex with him like i bet he's so soft dom.. like him grabbing ur hand to hold while he's fucking you real slow and deep and so desperate and moan-y and getting so lovey dovey right before he cums ok bye I'm foaming at the mouth

u are so sweet idk if it’s bc it’s late but it’s making me fucking emotional… 🙅🏻‍♀️🙅🏻‍♀️ anyway here you go UR BRAIN IS SO WRINKLY AND BIG I LOVE THIS

12:37. your head turned back from the clock on the night stand back to austin, him on top of you, staring at both of you connecting when you looked down after the eye contact became too much for you.

he knew how much you needed this and he could tell that you were getting tired of the draining and demanding scenes you had once before loved.

“hey, hey.” his low tired voice said as he softly tapped your check to catch your attention again. you looked up at him and melted into him at the way he was holding you.

his hand slipped down to intertwine with yours before he brought both of them up to kiss your wrist.

his heart stopped everytime he looked at you, your hair messily across the pillows, soft plump lips opened with drawn out whines being pulled from them every time he pushed back into you.

“can you wrap your legs around me? cmon. oh- 𝘀𝗵𝗶𝘁” his head went back as you followed his request, you pulling his chest closer to you as you dug your nails into his shoulder, feeling like he was in your stomach.

your articulate hands ghosting over his features, staring at him in awe and bringing him back to reality.

after he had been away for filming for months, you both had gotten back into things way too rough right away, not giving eachother time to get used to things again.

besides the rushed quickies in hotel rooms and before he slipped out of bed, absence had indeed made the heart grow fonder, you needed him to the point of tears.

you wanted him to be impossibly close to you, getting frustrated when the closest you could get was letting him be inside you.

he could tell by the way you hooked him closer to you and the way you always reached down to hold his hand that you didn’t need him to play out any scene with you, you just wanted him.

everything felt fuzzy to you as all of your senses were filled by him, genuinely all you could think about was him and the ways you could make him feel good.

clenching around him, he almost fell into you it was so good. slamming both your hands down into the mattress he lowly hummed into you as he kissed you slowly.

his grown out beard and mustache dragged on your chin but it just made you want him more.

“never wanna stop, just wanna stay here” you pushed out as you carded through his blonde hair.

he was needing rutting into you, his tamed patch of hair bumping into your clit making you see stars.

you could tell he was close by the way he was mumbling anything that came to his head into your ear.

“made me all scatterbrained, honey. cant even think when i’m inside you like this.” his voice was higher than usual and laced with need.

your hips were meeting his thrusts without you realizing, him encouraging it with his guided pushes to the back of your thigh.

“inside me please, just wanna feel close to you” you phrased your question as a statement, looking back up to him.

he nodded his head mindlessly as he worked his final thrusts into you, spilling into the condom.

feeling the warmth pushed you over the edge, crying out as he soothed you, working through his own release.

quickly pulling out, you whined as he shushed you. he quickly threw out the condom as you slowly came back.

he pushed back inside of you, bringing a smile to your face as you didn’t feel as cold and empty anymore.

he rolled both of you over, still inside you, pulled the covers over yourselves and tucked his chin on the top of your head, bringing you into him.

you drifted off to sleep last night full of good thoughts (and austin.)

#austin butler smut #elvis smut #austin butler #elvis 2022 #austin elvis x reader #austin butler x reader #sebastian kydd #the carrie diaries #austin elvis imagine #austin butler imagine

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elvisabutler · 8 months

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fandom: elvis 2022 | elvis presley rating: m pairing: elvis presley ( big daddy flavor ) x female reader word count: 2100 you didn't see any other word count. warnings: cockwarming! p in v sex ( unprotected ). public play. mildly excessive baby talk. use of buntyn and nungen and princess as nicknames. mild embarrassment kink? author’s note: welcome to day 11 of ally’s wet hot smut summer, public play with big daddy elvis presley x reader. sorry this took a minute, i've been incredibly exhausted lately and so it's made finishing things a bit of an adventure. quick notes for this fic, this is a sort of au, in that i placed it in a mythical place where elvis doesn't die in 77 and is free of his vegas residency in the 70s. so maybe call it a nebulous 78 to 80? reader is implied to have been with him for years and you can read it as having an age difference but it's in my head as not having one. basically this is secretly a reader version of quiet on the set's future and i'm not sorry for it. beyond that if y'all have left me a comment on any of my fics or anything i'm going to get back to them. when i tell you i've been exhausted it's been a lot. without further ado, i hope y'all like this. also pick if you want austin elvis or real elvis the end.

There's something funny about how Elvis would prefer the two of you to be private. There is something truly and genuinely hilarious to you about the fact that he preferred the two of you to be private. His argument has always been that the happiest he ever is in his life is during those private moments with the people he loves. You always argue that he can't show you off like you know he wants to if you're being private and yet he'll flash that little twinkle in his eye and ignore your protests. So much of his life isn't private but the love he has for you— the love between the two of you is supposed to be private. An oasis for him to relax in as much as he does in Hawai‘i.

Despite all of this you know so very well how much he cares for you and how much he loves you. And if you were being entirely honest, the privacy makes the times he does want to show you off all the more special. Indeed it makes the times he does feel like delightful surprises.

Maybe that's why you had agreed to come play poker with him and the boys. It's been a long time since you've enjoyed that sort of thing and you've missed it. Truthfully it's been a while since Elvis has even been in Vegas, memories of how he almost was stuck in a revolving door of engagements here cluttering his mind and giving him a nightmare or two. So having him enjoying time with friends and you seems like a perfect recipe for a night. Of course, you should know better by now, know how Elvis always has something up his sleeve. A playful little trick he can play with that glint in his eye.

"Where's my chair, Mr. Presley?" You ask, not bothering with his nickname or his first name. There always was something fun about how he acted a bit like an admonished schoolboy when you called him Mr. Presley. "Can't very well play poker if I don't have a chair."

Elvis looks at you and gives you that sly smile you know so very well by now as he pats his lap, thigh jiggling just a tad as he does. There's that glint in his eyes that spells trouble of the best and worst kind. "Ya got a chair right here, Princess. Nice 'n plush too."

You'd think after all these years and after seeing his body through so many changes that you wouldn't be affected by the jiggle of his thigh and the open v of his legs. Yet, you're a woman who knows what she wants and you're the woman he put a ring on all those years ago. Most of the things he does get you more hot under the collar than they have any right to. This is one of those things. You feel your pussy clench around nothing and despite yourself you rub your thighs together even as you're standing.

"Are we playing as a team, then? Us against the boys?" The questions roll off your lips with an ease and familiarity only you manage when it comes to him. "Otherwise I think you'd be able to cheat."

As you speak, you've started to walk closer to him and finally find yourself at arm's length. Elvis wastes no time in grabbing your arm and pulling you flush against his lap, his thighs cushioning your behind and his cock stirring ever so slightly under his stomach. A gasp leaves your lips unexpectedly.

His arm wraps around your waist, making sure you don't move too much while he talks. "My wife accusin' me of cheatin' at cards. I could take ya thinkin' I'd step out on ya but I would never cheat at poker."

The soft rumble of a laugh courses through your body and has you following suit as you shift in his lap. "I let you step out and you let me as a present. But I know you're a sore loser who can't focus when I'm here."

You turn your head just slightly, watching as Elvis's eyes practically dance with mirth. He's mercurial as all get out when he wants to be but he can take some good-natured teasing when it comes from you. It's why you've worked well all these years.

"Now honey, my yittle nungen, I know you're still smartin' from that game ya lost against me 'bout a week ago but that ain't no reason to be tellin' lies about my sportsmanship."

A defense is on the tip of your tongue when you feel Elvis's warm hand against your thigh, slipping under your dress that you decided to wear today. That warmth does away with the words in such a quick fashion that you find yourself biting your lip to keep from sighing. "Elvis."

You say his name in a feather soft whisper as his friends start to trickle into the room. You've been in a situation like this before, when you were younger and somehow just as randy as you were now but Elvis hadn't done something like this in ages. He hadn't even thought to tease you like this in ages.

As if he isn't paying attention, he merely hums at your whisper of his name and uses his arm to maneuver your crotch against his cock, the flowing fabric of your dress hiding his actions from prying eyes. You don't know when or how he managed to free his cock from the confines of his pants and yet he has. That hand that innocently is burning against your thigh has crept up to your panties and with the ease of someone who knows your body like the back of their hand, he moves them just enough to the side to slide inside of you.

"Goddamn. Didn't expect ya to be so wet. Was hopin' but— Lord almighty, ya gonna stain my pants if ya move." Ironically you choose just that moment to move, attempting to get off of him for a moment before his grip on your waist stops you. "Nungen, you be a good girl for yer Buntyn and stay put. Can't have 'em seein' Lil Elvis, now can we?"

You feel the heat of mild embarrassment and excitement flush through your body as a shiver racks it. A shake of your head is the only answer you can manage for a moment. "You want me to sit like this for the whole game, baby?"

Elvis nuzzles his lips against your neck, his eyes taking in his friends pulling out their seats and sitting down, none the wiser to what was happening in his lap. They wave at you and you, ever the courteous host wave back and even smile, saying hello as Elvis mumbles words into your neck. He doesn't need to greet everyone, not while he's buried inside of you, his cock leaking precum like he's ready to fuck you on the table instead of just letting you sit on his cock. Besides, they know better than to disturb him when the two of you are wrapped up in one another.

The chair isn't close enough to the table and you move to drag it a little closer, or drag both you and Elvis a little closer only to have what feels like the world's loudest squelch come from between your thighs. No one looks at the pair of you as if they heard it but to Elvis and you it might as well have been a shout. You let out a shaky breath as you shift to try and make yourself comfortable. Elvis's legs open up just a bit more to make sure you're where you need to be, even as he thrusts just a tad. "Gotta stay still. Gonna, if ya move— I might just take ya on this table, damn the game."

You can't help but swallow at the idea, your mouth filling with saliva at the mere idea of being flipped thrown onto the table, pussy exposed to people you and him call friends. It's primal and practically voyeuristic and the sort of thing both you and Elvis aren't incredibly fond of with your relationship and yet. Yet it fills you with such arousal you feel it actually dampening his pants as the game starts.

Elvis isn't the worst of poker players but in combination with you, he's nigh unstoppable. Of course, maybe that's because everyone else's eyes are on you, wondering why you haven't moved to the empty chair next to Elvis. Jerry— who's there on a surprise visit is closest to the two of you and raises an eyebrow as he looks at his cards and then at you. You clench around Elvis's cock in a bit of worry.

"Is it a little warm in here?" A simple question to everyone but from the way he's staring both of you down it's not meant to be one. Both you and Elvis open your mouth before you kiss Elvis to stop whatever one liner is about to leave his lips.

"With how cold he keeps it in here? The only reason I don't need a jacket is because of his body heat," you practically titter out a laugh, the fear of being caught heightening your arousal even further. You feel your clit throbbing as everyone laughs at your joke.

Jerry rolls his eyes and shakes his head looking down at your lap. Still, the game is going nicely, with Elvis winning more hands than not and you trying to grab at a free hand to get some form of relief. After what feels like an eternity Elvis finally has his hand move between your legs, his calloused fingers brushing up against your aching little clit.

"Haven't teased ya like this in years, have I, Princess?" Elvis murmurs against your ear, feeling your vagina clench around him. "Haven't shown everyone how good ya are for me for a long time, have I? Haven't made 'em realize why I couldn't forget 'bout ya."

Your answer is a hum caused by you biting your lip to keep the cry that threatens to escape your lips at the pressure of his fingers against you. It's not enough for Elvis though, he knows you can control yourself better than he ever can. "Darlin' use ya words."

"It's been too long," you choke out the words, one of your hands moving to grip his meaty thigh and the other to grip at the table. You can feel your walls fluttering around Elvis, feel your body tensing up as it chasing something you know he won't give you in public. The face you make when he pulls an orgasm from you is one that's strictly between the two of you. Yet you're so wound up that you fear you'll be leaning over the table for support as soon as he says the word. In an attempt to alleviate something, anything you try and bounce only to have him nip at your ear.

"Ask me nicely, Nungen. Ask me nicely. Give 'em their game and their show. Remind 'em I caught ya jus' the same as ya caught me." His voice is more of a grunt as he slides a set of chips into the pot wordlessly. "Show 'em what I get in bed every night. What 'm wakin' up to every night 'less ya let me stray. Show 'em what I see after I've eaten my dessert.

Despite the way you're biting your lips so hard they're practically bleeding a noise that sounds like a scream forces its way out of your lungs and mouth as you clench around Elvis. You feel a gush that you only identify with times you've been played with so much by Elvis that you make a mess of every sheet you have. His pants are ruined but they'd be anyway from how you feel a warm rush of his cum follow yours. Through the grace of God himself you don't fall onto the table, instead stabilizing yourself using Elvis's thigh and somehow his lap in general. Your breath takes a few minutes to even out, even as everyone watches you and Elvis panting as if you've run a marathon. There's a knowing look that crosses everyone's face but everyone is too scared to speak until finally you smile and smooth out your dress as if you plan on standing up.

"This is why you're losing boys, you can't pay attention the game."

You make no effort to get off of Elvis's lap.

taglist: @ab4eva , @blurredcolour, @butlersxbirdy, @precious-little-scoundrel, @eliseinmemphis, @prompted-wordsmith, @missmaywemeetagain, @lookingforrainbows, @araxw, @thatbanditqueen, @ellie-24, @austinbutlersgirl67, @heartbrake-hotel, @ccab, @18lkpeters, @slutforsomegoodlettuce, @dkayfixates, @kendralavon7 @chasingwildflowers, @notstefaniepresley, @wanderingelvis, @kxnnxy, @powerofelvis, @stylespresleyhearted @be-my-ally, @mooodyblue, @pixiedustcosmos, @jessicarcates, @amydarcimarie, @flwrs4aust @myradiaz, @adaydreamaway08, @arabellalightning505, @doll-elvis guarantee i'm missing someone. i tried the end. also i clearly added this originally. also you want to be added just ask me. i keep forgetting people or losing people in these and just it's a mess.

#elvis presley #ally writes #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley x you #elvis presley x y/n #big daddy elvis #ally's wet hot smut summer #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley smut #austin elvis smut #austin elvis x reader

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aconflagrationofmyown · 1 year

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but then… Gigi

chapter one (a Big Daddy Elvis fanfic)

Summary: this is a fix-it universe to catch all the feelings I have for this man in the late 70’s. It’s gonna be my least impressive, least dramatic, very plotless, indulgently meandering and self soothing fic that fixes all things through *love* -it’s gonna be so fluffy we might as well cure cancer and invent time travel while we are at it. That being so, and after all the joy that has come from y’all’s interactive prompts and suggestions with Sarge, I welcome any suggestions or prompts y’all might have as this universe expands. I hope you enjoy and this can provide a sweet little escape 🌷💋

Warnings: 18+ this universe is and will be mature due to sexual themes and drug mentions. In this chapter there are discussions about attractiveness, hinted unwanted advances in the past, some mild possible objectification, talking of weight gain and sugar babies, female masturbation with non orthodox self pleasure tools (and cherry coke didn’t come out for another two years shhh)

Special thanks to: my sugar babies @stylespresleyhearted whose pure hearted love for this concept is responsible for its very existence in the first place and her co-conspirator @eliseinmemphis . And as always, to my discord wives who forever back up all my endeavors and fuel my fire @ab4eva @elvisabutler @butlersxbirdy

Circa: early summer 1977, Memphis Tennessee

Word count: an astoundingly moderate 5k

There is a set and type of girls most likely to catch the eye of the most internationally famed rock star on the planet, and it isn’t self pity or self deprecation that makes Gigi acknowledge that she doesn’t quite fit that type. She considers it good fortune enough to run in circles that boast a number of the brazen, flirty and seemingly fearless young sort who can traipse up to Elvis Presley’s sleek Stutz window and, bending themselves over an unnecessary but effectively exposing amount, extract from him a cheeky invitation to a Graceland party.

Elvis is fond of this type, their vivacity and their audacity, even their ceaseless giggles and yes, the availability they clothe themselves with. They remind him of those girls who’d nearly break down his motel door in the early years. The ones that used to scare him shitless even as he fell prey to their perfume and painted lips, their milky soft hands sporting red hot talons that often as not hooked him down to hell with them.

As of late, he finds himself accepting any damn company he can get, after months of pushing company away. It’s a cycle and when he’s fresh outta reclusion he finds he’s probably a little liberal with the invites but it doesn’t matter. He’s still relieved and gratified that he is wanted and loved enough by his fellow Memphians that they’ll accost him on the street, lean into his window, all bubblegum and boobs, and ask for autographs and if he’s interested in some company.

He may be slowing down here lately, as his body and mind and the newspapers remind him constantly, but pretty young things are still one of life’s sweet pleasures, and even if he can’t give as much as he used to, at this rate he’s glad for anyone who’ll drag him out of the slump. Even if he’s more of a museum sort of attraction for them than the living wonder they once claimed he was. Maybe it’s this morbid understanding of these little floozie’s motivations that has him grinning along and offering a free invite for game night, all the while glancing past them to where she stands at a distance behind the giggling gaggle. Her limbs are strong but soft, her face beguiling yet oh so innocent and her posture is leant forward in unscripted eagerness to maybe catch a glimpse of him past her gaggle of friends. She has her hands clasped nervously in front of her -unconsciously highlighting the way the wind whips her thin sundress between her thighs and outlines her perfectly- and it’s adorable the way her sensible keds are scuffing the sidewalk rhythmically until she feel his gaze on her.

The minute Gigi senses his authoritative assessment of her over those tinted shades, her pretty little brain makes her snap to attention, aimless for a minute before falling back on ingrained rules of conduct. She has no seductive artifice, no hip cock or calculated smirk. Gone is the sneaker scuffing and the lip chewing and instead her back snaps straight up like a debutant, feet planted, hands unclasping, shoulders back and tits forward. Elvis thinks her mother, if she’s got one, would be very proud of her social graces. Personally, he is very admiring of those pert nipples straining the cloth, and proud of the eager tremble rustling her in the summer breeze just by a flick of his eyes over her fresh baked womanhood. But maybe it’s the red hot blush under the afternoon sun and the hesitant but almost giddy little wave she gives him that cements the fond flutter he feels in chest into a raging affection.

Falling in affection for a stranger is stupid, dumb and terribly risky. And not at all likely to be requited in the way he craves so badly these days. He knows this, it’s happened before. It’s best to stick to the gals who’ll fawn over his car window and maybe dance together for him later on. But golly, wouldn’t it be nice to pat a cheek that fresh and watch it turn rosier under an ole man’s admiration?

He pulls his cigar out to smile at her, because she deserves a full lipped, white teeth gleaming smile -his ole moneymaker. It still has its intended effect, it makes Gigi beam and her waving little hand clench in excitement. She even does a little bunny hop in place and the way the glorious young shape of her bounces under the demure sundress is all kinds of tonic to a tired fella’s heart.

It’s a lot to take, the way this certified legend ducks and peers past her gaggle of friends at his window to give her not only his attention but that most delightful of grins. The one that is deceptively bashful over being so admired. Gigi would be a pants on fire liar if she didn’t admit that she’s watched enough footage and poured over enough magazine spreads of the man through the eras to nearly swoon under the real life shimmer of it.

And she knows, vaguely, that she’s acting air headed in the way she trembles and bounces but that’s all she’s got, these natural responses, never was good at faking much of anything she feels, and certainly not when she was decidedly embarrassed. Which she was now -what with the way his smile is boyishly fond, his demeanor fatherly and his eyes lewdly assessing. There’s not a bit of the masculine spectrum he isn’t embodying at this moment and her body betrays her by submissively tremoring under his gaze alone. What would a touch be like?

Such slack mouthed, nipple tingling, body electrifying thoughts get interrupted when the myth himself points a bejeweled finger at her -one that is slender and lean and elegant in contrast to the bulk burdening the rest of him- and asks in a meltingly soft voice:

“You any good at charades, sweet cheeks?”

Even if she were terrible at the game, even if she didn’t know how to play it at all, the hopeful raise of his eyebrows would make her lie, hand on the Bible to this Hollywood trained actor, that she was the best charade player the world has ever seen. Her reply in the affirmative is overly confident due to sheer nerves and eagerness, and she vigorously bobs her head to add unneeded emphasis. It makes her beauty queen friends giggle and laugh good naturedly and to his relief she joins in, a hand flying up in humiliation to shut that glossy, pink mouth.

It’s so clumsy and natural a reaction that Elvis’ pointed finger twitches from a desire to tickle her, to watch her writhe from something besides embarrassment. He mourns that she’s standing so far from the window. At least the distance has given him a good view of her from the top of her shiny widdle head to the sole of her itty bitty footsies.

Plans are made at the window, Lamar is to send a car and apparently the lot of them will all be at Dinah’s house for pickup and Gigi tries to get a little closer to overhear these details but the crowd of girlfriends is a few bodies deep and there’s fans gathering, too. So she learns the logistics later, when everyone has finished homework and shifts and are primping in Dinah’s upstairs bedroom, hairspray and nail polish fumes thick in the air, and voices nearly hysterical in pitch from excitement.

-It worked! It worked! It worked! We are going to party at Graceland! Elvis Presley invited us to spend the evening!-

There’s a lot of different reasons for excitement, some of the girls are just curious to see the icon’s home, some are talking of how envious their older sisters (even some mothers) will be over them meeting their crush, others are hoping the scene is as debauched as the rumors would have the world believe, an opportunity to taste drugs and that rock n roll lifestyle for a brief shining evening. Marie asks if they think he’ll make them do naughty, dirty, sexy things for him and that brings up fresh tittering and salacious hearsay regarding his appetites and tastes. Someone deflates that mood by saying that he might just be a dirty old man now, it’s not quite the same as going to his house a few years ago. At forty years old he’s ancient to them. What with his declining health and being a recluse and -what if he lures girls and then murders them? Oh god, the urban legends come out, he’s a vampire, he’s a serial killer, he’s this and he’s that and-

Gigi thinks he’s awfully generous. That’s what she thinks. Inviting strangers into his home. And not just pretty young things. She personally knows folks who he’s helped, the downtrodden and the dehoused and the disadvantaged. She’s grown up in churches and schools and municipalities he’s funded. He practically provided for her and all of Memphis like an omniscient father figure these past three decades. And now there’s this kindhearted invite which most seem to consider akin to a ticket to a Carnival.

As she lets the girls fluff her hair and spritz her in perfume, adding an extra coat of mascara to her lashes -stultifying her if she’s being honest- she gives a brief thought to whether, just maybe, this will be a decadent night after all.

Elvis is still Elvis. It can’t be all hearsay. And for someone like her, who’s been a good student and a decent worker and hasn’t gone chasing every wicked, back alley experience available in Memphis, she frets a little that maybe inside that iconic mansion tonight she’ll lose something that’s been preserved so far.

Innocence? Maybe. But she thinks her greatest concern is that maybe he’ll prove to be something less warm and darling and extraordinary than that brief exchange on the sidewalk and years of idolizing have convinced her that he is. All this talk of him that floats around her makes her feel faintly ill, the morbid curiosity and the vulgar interest. No wonder he secludes himself.

The car arrives, decadent and alluring like its owner, and driving it is one of the many trusted minions of the king. There might not be seatbelts for every girl here but that doesn’t seem to matter, Gigi happily offers up her lap to Tammy and teases her that Tammy is her safety belt and Gigi is her booster seat. It’s a jolly ride, banter being made with the front seat fella who’s name she has to ask for about five times before Tammy takes pity and informs her he’s “George Klein”. Gigi gets a schooling in the back seat about his radio show and once again Gigi is reminded why Tammy is ‘Miss Memphis’ and she’s not. The babble of voices calms down long enough for Mr. Klein to lay down some ground rules before the car pulls through the gates.

The rules are shockingly normal: stay downstairs, make yourselves at home and but don’t behave like asses, don’t shy away from approaching your host, the last thing he likes is awkwardness or standoffish coolness in his own home. Gigi is rather certain that with her nerves and hero adoration she can manage not being stuck up or acting above it all, but she’s not at all sure she’s gonna manage to not be as awkward as a newborn duckling.

Graceland through the gates is not an unfamiliar sight to most of them, but Graceland up close, caressed in the inky dark of night from inside by golden fingertips of light, is magical. As is the atmosphere inside the place, though that may be more a case of her knowing where she was, rather than anything particularly incredible occurring in the opulent space. Despite the change of clothes to a slinky little number and the fluffed blowout that her more cultured friends gave her in consideration of the evening, Gigi can’t help but feel underdressed for a night in this gaudy Antebellum Establishment. Extra mascara and expensive perfume feels inadequate to match the gold and crimson and white furnishings. If Belle Watling had a home, Gigi reckons it would look rather like this.

That old worry returns that tonight might devolve into being the most debauched of her young life, that maybe she’s stepped into a hospitable bordello, so exotic and seductive are the furnishings alone. But to her surprise, seated on crimson curved couches, and already heatedly invested in a game of charades, is a friendly looking group of men and their wives. They have to be wives, the Mafia’s wives -they look so respectable, so relaxed lounging in Elvis’ Presley’s home. There’s differing ages here, middle and younger and all in between, and a man she’s rather certain is Elvis’ own father. It’s respectable, to her immense relief and confusion.

“Ah, here comes the fresh young blood!” One of the group says and it’s a bit chaotic then, half the group invested in keeping up the game and the other set rather eager to abandon their losing streak to offer welcomes and refreshment.

She lets the bodies swirl around her, a strange feeling of being a little left out taking over her without a single rudeness on the part of anyone present justifying the feeling. It irks her that she's so skittish, it just seems that everyone somehow falls in with another or ten and the established groups begin games or snacking or talking without her and she stands alone in the human eddy watching it all happen so effortlessly.

What’s entirely unexpected a half hour or more into this friendly pandemonium is a playful tap on her shoulder and turning round to find their host himself, clad in a comfy tracksuit, unzipped sufficiently low to display a devout amount of crosses shimmering on sweat slick skin and wearing shades even indoors. He’s asking if she’d like a drink.

“Oh -Elvis!” is a stupid thing to say in reply to his felicitations but it’s all Gigi can manage in such close proximity to his warm smile, his unzipped jacket and his heady scent. He looks her over, taking in the way her friends have erased the fresh faced ingenue on the sidewalk and made her into a sex doll and it takes supreme self discipline to not reach out and wipe some of it off. His scrutiny is making her nervous but she does at last manage to scramble out, “Yes, thank you, Mr. Presley, that would be lovely -it’s lovely of you to have us and your home is so unbelievably lovely, and I can’t believe we’re here, I’ve admired you for so long and -I, I’m only 20 and can’t drink.”

The word vomit robs her of breath and Gigi sucks it back in with a painful wince -she just declined a drink and proclaimed herself a complete goody two shoes, a perfect square, to the King himself. Her face flames hot and the heavy coating of lashes flutters from eye watering embarrassment.

Elvis just tilts his head to the side and gives her sweet face the appreciative study of a blush connoisseur, his grin growing impossibly wider and a little wolfish,

“Well, darlin, I’m a lil over 21 but I don’t drink ‘neither.”

“Really?” Ggi ventures in utter surprise, and that must’ve been redeeming on her part as his smile shifts from wolfish to fond before giving a tight nod,

“I was offerin’ lemonade, or sweet tea, but I think-“ and here he steps back, surveying her head to toe in the gauzy halter dress her friends snazzed her up in, “I think, yeah, yeah, ‘think you’re a cherry coke kinda girl.”

“I’m whatever you say, sir!” Gigi salutes him like a idiot because she’s had never had a cherry coke in her life or been assessed by a powerful man and she is quickly forgetting to be shy when so bewildered by his heavy lidded assessment-

“Yeah,” he nods, satisfied after another survey of the god crafted entirety of her, “Cherry coke for you, I think, lil Miss.”

He doesn’t fetch it, someone else in this crowded place does and it comes with the ordered white straw and she sips the carbonated beverage with a bashful smile, trying to think of something sensible to say in thanks when being looked at like that by the man who having fulfilled his host duties slowly moves away to recline in a decadent crimson armchair.

“Go on now, you’re here to have some fun, sweet cheeks.” he waves her down to the floor where many others are sprawled writing dares and acts, and she settles where he directs her, right by his leg until it’s her turn.

Once she moves to the mantle and acts out her turn, once it’s successfully guessed, she’s a little at a loss as to where to go. It feels presumptive somehow to sit by him again. So she sits by Dee instead, and feels a fool five seconds later, knowing it’s just nerves and shyness keeping her from a chance at sitting by such an extraordinary hero for what’s probably the best night of her life.

Ever.

Gigi wouldn’t get this chance again and yet she decided to act like an awkward idiot for fear of acting like a -what? Cling on? Groupie? It was just his leg, his beefy, muscled, thick leg beside her, and the heat of his body and the little noises of amusement coming from him. But it made her feel like she was burning up inside, it felt intimate, it felt like she should be between those legs and surrounded by his bulk. Like between his thighs would be the cleft in the rock to hide from this vast world that she’d been looking for all her life.

He was just domestic and kind, and she had to make it weird. Tammy’s unimpressed eye roll at her doesn't help matters. Soon the left side of Gigi’s face begins to burn and out of desperation she finally turns to face Elvis and finds him staring straight at her, her abandoned, half-drunk cola being jostled in his hand like a carrot for a horse. His eyebrow beckons, she blushes harder, he keeps shaking the damn thing and ducking his head with that coaxing grin. She rises and crouches through the partiers and moves back to her place at his feet.

“Here ya go.” he says mildly as she settles, nothing mentioned of the command and obedience just enacted.

He just gives Gigi her coke back, his rings clanking on the glass and fingers brushing hers during the handover. She chokes on her next sip when he pats the top of her head. Fatherly, if her father had ever been one for pats and noticing her existence. Unfettered, Elvis’ hand slides down the glossy brushed out length of her hair, to pat her back as she gasps out her shock, somehow making things worse but oh so lovely. She dares to lean back into that caressing hand, finds herself leaning against his leg by proxy, finding herself lulled and squirmy all at once.

Charades at Elvis Presley’s house are very much the same as at anyone else’s, and strangely Gigi finds that simultaneously the most bizarre and adorable thing imaginable. There is, however, a good deal more betting and hollering than would be permissible in most households, and she finds herself enacting dubious scenes with a shockingly plentiful array of cousins and fellow guests, but altogether it’s wholesome and lively and joyous. It seems a bit rigged when Tammy, fresh off winning Miss Memphis, has to enact the white dress subway scene of Marylin Monroe -made snort worthy humorous when an ancient creature, who Gigi has on good cousinly authority is Elvis’ grandmother, provides the wind to blow up Tammy’s flimsy excuse of a dress to her upper thighs. Flashing panties as is the iconic scene.

In a weak moment Gigi tilts her head to see Elvis’ reaction to her friend's beauty, and she doesn't miss the way he guffaws around his cigar at the sight of those award winning stems. Though she doubts it’s his first sight of them, they’ve been plastered all over TV and newspapers ever since Tammy won the damn thing a few months ago. Best body and face in the state. Gigi’s primped up face and heavy coated lashes and gauzy dress suddenly feel like an attempt to mimic something she wasn’t cut out for. Self consciously she tugs at the hem of the short skirt.

Tammy flashes Elvis a wink and shimmies in a mouth watering tease before sitting opposite the two of them, legs crossed and hardly a bit left to the imagination.

Elvis keeps grinning. Tammy licks her lips. Gigi finishes her coke and vaguely recalls the fact that the man is supposedly dating one of Tammy’s rivals from the pageant, or a sister of or a- Gigi doesn’t recall really, and she can be sure that between the way he’s stroking her own sun streaked locks and eye sexing Tammy opposite, the man sure doesn't act taken.

Watching Billy Smith try to act out a cheetah giving birth takes her mind off such self pitying introspection, and before she knows it, the gaudy foyer clock is ringing out 1:00 am.

Homework and college has been running Gigi a little ragged and eventually her little head begins to droop against his leg and the way the empty coke bottle starts to slip from her weak grip catches his attention. He slowly raises his hand from where it was resting ever so lightly on her shoulder and caresses her neck. To his immense relief Gigi leans into his patting eager as a housecat, and it makes him glad. Just as much as it makes him worry.

Only twenty years old and so easily lulled.

“You got a curfew, lil one?” he asks her with concern and that startles Gigi, his warm breath hot against her ear and the grunt of him folding himself over his sizable belly to get down near her face.

“No sir. Not really.” She admits, overly respectful in her sleepy state, “My parents aren’t really into stuff like that. They are pretty liberal that way. And I live with Tammy.”

She gives him an assuring smile even as she stifles a yawn, and two things flash across his mind. This means he (or God forbid, any man) could have her over here at his whim without excuses being made. And secondly, Elvis really must look out for her so that she doesn’t fall into the company of any such other men.

There’s no precedent for a Graceland party to wind down before dawn, but he considerately asks her if she’s got classes tomorrow. The honest way Gigi nods her droopy head and moans “yeah” has his heart clenching and his fingers flex, he wants to put her to bed. His bed, he thinks, though that’s a rather dastardly thought. Really though, he’d like to wrap himself around her and hold her and tell her he’d care very much whether or not she came home late from a stranger's house. That he’d be worried sick about so sweet and darling a little treasure if she were his. He’s got a sneaking suspicion that he’ll care no matter what, his or no.

Instead, he interrupts the game to have Lamar drive her home. Tammy and a few others, noticeably the ones who look like all night partiers, stay longer.

Gigi gets another pat on the head and a commendation to do well on her grades and that’s that.

Gigi last sees him standing in his foyer, jeweled chains gleaming in the nest of his chest hair and a boyish smile on his face, Dinah coming up behind to wave her farewell. Tammy is back there, too, probably going to get up to all sorts of fun while she gets sent home like a child. Wistfully, even as she walks down his drive to her ride, Gigi wishes she had hugged him goodbye. Gushed with more than just words in thanks for the invite, maybe even buried her face there in his chest, just once in that safe haven, sweat and jewels against her cheek. He had seemed to care.

But she wasn’t not that type though, was she? Brazenness was something that always felt awkward to her and landed her splat into uncomfy situations where college boys peered into the women’s locker room and jacked off to the sight of her legs as she tried to change into her track shorts.

The frenzy she often felt in her body to be touched would immediately die in situations such as having her hand clumsily moved up and down a penis in the dark of a movie theater. Or groped over her dress by the drunk jocks she tried to experiment with. Gigi could feel her own potential simmering hot and fervent inside, ready to be appreciated and let out like a fizz from a corked bottle. It was cruel that a fatherly sorta hero was the one to make her finally feel like she would take riding that man’s shoe over the most romantic gesture from one of her many age-appropriate admirers.

If she were Tammy, she wouldn’t have inspired the literal king of rock n roll to send her to bed. If she were Tammy she’d have made a move and said “damn that mythical absentee girlfriend” and would now be flat on her back getting obscenely used by that gorgeous hunk of a man.

Instead, deposited safely home by Lamar and tucked back in her shared flat, Gigi stares at her made up face with adamant animosity. It’s a fine face, she’s been told that plenty and she’s been told she’s smart, but it’s not really inviting the attention she suddenly wants so badly. Maybe she should have worn falsies to add to the effect. Maybe her features and coloring are too light. Tammy’s bleach blonde hair does not occur to her as being a strike against this logic. Instead Gigi thinks of pouring over photos of raven haired Pricilla as a girl and marveling at the thick mask Elvis crafted for her, wonders why she can’t be that kind of girl. She’s not petite, or glamorous or particularly coquettish, but she’d ride that man till he needed IV fluids if he’d just let her.

But he chose Tammy.

Dunking her face into the sink, Gigi scrubs away the artificial bloom until she’s left pink and freckled and so decidedly innocent looking it makes her wanna claw her cheeks to shreds.

“Lil one.”

The way he’d cooed it had turned her insides to jelly and ignited thoughts of her own sizable frame being made small while smothered beneath his sturdy breadth but now it turns her angry, and in the shower she lathers herself and wishes maybe her parents had given a shit about her catching a man instead of being “all she could be” because now at twenty she’s eyeing up the bulbous shape of her Lemon Up shampoo bottle and wondering if she’s big girl enough to take it. He was so big, so bulky and sturdy and muscly with padding to boot, and she’s just so sure his cock has got to match the thighs. A bulky, chubby thing, too, probably. The sort only girls like Tammy can manage.

She wants to be that sorta girl.

Gigi grabs at the bottle. She wrenches the shower handle to off, her wet body bolting for her bed, a jar of Vaseline in her other hand and savage lust in her heart. Halfway to the bed she realizes the shampoo bottle is almost empty and she wants to cry at that. She does stomp her chilled feet like a child and whines. What she needs is weight, her subconscious provides, everything about him was heavy and wonderfully big and she needs more than a hollow bottle to mimic him. She runs back to the shower and grabs at the conditioner, same ginormous shape and this time it’s fully loaded and heavy in her hand and she races back to bed, happy to dive under the covers with her dripping hair and goosefleshed skin.

Tammy has toys to achieve this, Gigi knows from sightings of them being washed in their communal bathroom sink. Pink and veiny and some that even buzz and it was all very funny and silly to come across them when she needed to wash her hands, but right now Gigi wants nothing to do with them, the stupidly large and bulky shaped conditioner bottle not even phasing her. Because it’s hers and not Tammy’s -Tammy who is probably getting railed but Elvis Presley right now. His cockhead probably isn’t shaped like the bottom of a lemon, but it’s gotta be round and this bottle will have to do.

It doesn't do. She lathers on the Vaseline to add to the sticky want she already has pooling, she rubs herself to a frenzy and as her hand cramps she tries putting the oiled up bottle up her channel and finds it’s really just impossible. It’s burns and won’t give and she berates herself and begs a man called “daddy” that she can barely admit to herself is Elvis to “give it to her” and curses Tammy for having a big vagina. She tries and tries with ever increasing anguish and frustration as the clock ticks towards three am and valuable sleeping hours are wasted as she tries to slip more than the crown of the lemon bottle into her untried cunt.

“Give it to me please, please daddy I can

take it.” Gigi insists to the shampoo bottle and her wrist manfully attempts to shove it in after slipping it along her folds for ages.

But it won’t go and she screams more and begs more and cries more and ends up seizing her stuffed valentine's bear -gifted to her by the football team's running back- and rubs herself raw in its button nose. It’s not the first time, but for once her sticky satisfaction doesn’t come to the thought of tiny white shorts ocean wet and clinging to him, or svelte white jumpsuits and chiseled jawline grinning promise. She digs her fingers into the stuffy’s fur and thinks of a hairy chest glistening with sweat and chains jingling with noisy exhales and the smell of him. Oh god the manly smell of him! - and the quiet authority that had her sitting at his feet and having her head petted and being sent home like a child. He acted like he cared for her and could find some use for her and she wets the poor bear’s muzzle at the thought of him telling her that her purpose is to keep him happy.

Worn out and trembling from her orgasm she rolls off the poor stuffed animal and buries her face in her pillow and dreams of warmth.

Outside Gigi’s door, arrested in her trip to the bathroom by shrieks of “daddy” and curses of her own name, Tammy shakes her head in disbelief and grins to herself through her whole nightly routine.

“Why were you cussing me out last night?” Tammy asks her placidly next morning, “Are you jealous of your daddy’s attention being split?”

Gigi groans at Tammy’s mischievous smile and realizes her mistake with a blush, “You didn’t- last night you came back? He didn’t keep you?”

“No, he didn’t.” Tammy agrees through her wheezing laughs and Gigi tries to aim a kick at her shins in mortification. “He was quite the gentleman in fact,” she expounds, “Except for the fact he spent the rest of our time asking me questions about you. I told him he’d lost all his raisin’ talking to a lady about another lady. Made a girl feel like a damn directory.”

“Oh, oh I’m sorry.” Gigi tries to suppress her thrill enough to sympathize with a no doubt annoying event. “You must’ve felt left out.”

Tammy pauses in thought for a bit. “He’s very….sweet.” Is Tammy’s verdict and to Gigi’s incredulity she sounds a little disappointed. “I mean, didn’t you think he was just sorta, ya know, nice?” Tammy presses.

Gigi thinks of the way his hand felt stroking her hair, the care about her curfew, the lack of alcohol, the endearments, the sturdy meat of his thigh against her shoulder. All the things that had made her rub herself puffy with a shampoo bottle that is still hidden under her covers. Yes, he seemed very sweet, and she was desperately in love with a man she’d never see again, who seemed a bit bashful about being “discount bargain Elvis” when all she could think of was how nurturing and mischievous he was.

He just seemed -shy. Bizarrely enough. And she could sympathize with that. Laying here on Tammy’s bed watching the dust motes dance in the afternoon sun when she should be studying, she thinks she’s solved Elvis Presley.

He’s shy.

“I thought he was precious.” Gigi agrees with Tammy, though her tone holds a reverence that makes the beauty queen of Memphis’ head spin in a near 180 to observe her now flaming cheeks. It seems the man has that effect on Gigi, present or not.

“Well, well.” Pretty, sultry, darling Tammy hasn’t a malicious bone in her body but she takes delight in making Gigi squirm, “You sound enchanted!”

“He was sweet!” Gigi protests, using her words against her.

“Yeah, he was.” she agrees, her perfectly tweezed brows drawing together for a moment before an epiphany dawns on her, “But I think it’s a means to an end.”

“What do you mean by that?” She balks, fervent in her conviction that it wasn’t an act. In fact, Gigi was certain he was more himself in his own home last night than ever on a stage.

“It’s making sense now.” she starts to pace the room, “He’s an outrageous flirt, you saw him, flirting with everyone he wasn’t related to that night, but he was so sweet to you- hmm, I think he wants to baby you.”

“Baby me?” Gigi repeat, staring up at the ceiling and feeling that flutter in her belly, just from the idea of him having *any* design on little ole her. “What’s- what even is that?” She asks her, a little hopeful, content to get her education from Tammy on this just as she has on all the more mechanical and dynamical aspects of sex and men.

“It means turning you into his baby.” she laughs, like it’s the most obvious thing, “Would probably put a little chain round your neck saying ‘belongs to Elvis Presley’ or something, and in turn spoil you rotten. At least, that’s how it’s worked for the others. It’s what he’s trying with Ginger but she’s got an independent streak.”

Ginger. The others. Of course there had been others. And yet he was so lonely again, already so lonely she was sure of it. Lonely in his own home, what was worse than that? “I wouldn’t mind being his baby.” Gigi mutters, bashful at the fact that what was essentially a future of house arrest, a portly sugar daddy and head pats makes her shiver delightfully.

“You sure about that?” Tammy suddenly seems overly earnest for a conversation in her room on a Thursday evening about a hypothetical scenario where Elvis Presley takes an interest in Gigi.

“Yes.” She gives it the full, weighty two seconds of thought it deserves. “And if all I get out of it is polishing his guns and feeding him yogurt then I’d honestly be happier than studying political science.” She makes a face as she registers the homework currently crinkling somewhere under her lower back.

“So you get that the sex probably isn’t exactly legendary anymore, right? Like -you saw him.” only Tammy, beautiful, southern pageant winner that she is, with the manner to accompany the looks, could say such a thing without Gigi socking her.

She’s looking out for her, just as she looked out for her with the sub par debate President that Gigi went to prom with and found insufferable after two weeks. She thinks Gigi needs to just keep trying the field (like her, Gigi presumes) until she finds the magical unicorn that will blow her mind in bed and satisfy her curious brain.

At this point in life, she’d settle for a man who chooses her drinks for her and cares enough about her well being to get her home by his own, invented curfew. Maybe she wants a father, what with hers being liberal to the point of carelessness, but she’d settle for a daddy, happily. “Tammy,” she says very slowly, trying to distill all these emotions down into something convincing -because strangely she feels a dire need to convince Tammy of her devotion even in this hypothetical scenario- “Tammy, if he gave a crap about me and paid my student loans, I’m pretty sure I could get off by just watching him smile at the way I make a fool of myself. And if that wasn’t enough, then I’d rub myself raw on his hairy belly. -you get me?”

Tammy looms above her, upside down in her view with her blown out bleached hair, heavy coaled eyes and shimmery mouth, studying Gigi for a minute before bursting out laughing. “You really meant that bit about his belly, didn’t you?”

“Yup.” Gigi mutters, throat thick and heart pounding -somewhere else pounds, too- at the very thought of being that intimate with him, that nasty sticky sweet with him. “Why are we talking about this anyway?” She whines, having worked herself up enough she’s damp and actually a little heartbroken knowing that if anything, Tammy is the one he’d go for.

“I got a call from George Klein this morning.” she spins away and busies herself in the closet, rummaging for shoes, Gigi thinks.

“Oh?” She asks, trying to keep the waiver out of her voice as she sits up and watches Tammy as she digs.

“Yeah, we got invited back.” she says, and turns on her award winning haunches to raise a significant eyebrow at Gigi, “All of us. And then, it was specified, you too.” she watches Gigi’s panicked, hopeful blush coat her face and chest.

“What exactly did he say, Tammy?” she demands, forcing herself not to gnaw on her fingernails, having to remember these nails might be in Graceland by the end of the week.

“He said that ‘E.P. wants to make sure the old gang knew they were welcome again, and the invite is only contingent on “Miss cherry coke” coming’.” she sits fully back on her butt now just to fully appreciate the way Gigi hyperventilates. “Cherry coke, huh?” she teases, “Did you ask for that just to be as euphemistic as possible or do you actually favor the drink?”

“He chose it.” Gigi whimpers, scuffing her keds together because it’s either that or her thighs.

“Oh god.” Tammy sounds like some guys do when their team makes a dirty, dirty interception that ends in a touchdown, “What did I say? Baby you, he wants to baby you! Oh my god, like he’s sweet but that’s -that’s nasty honey, just know that’s a nasty little thing to do.” she insists before turning back to her closet and digging through the dozens of pairs again.

Gigi flops back on her back and tries to think of the deep seated meaning behind cherries, and fails to do more than buzz in hopeless nervous anticipation at going back to that warm and kind and slightly bizarre haven that is Elvis Presley and his home.

Hope y’all enjoyed and if you wanna be tagged let me know. I live off your screams and your pestering, y’all are each precious to me!

Xoxo 🌷 Marina

@prompted-wordsmith

@parodsal000

@ab4eva

@stylespresleyhearted

@presleyenterprise

@kendralavon7

@coolgirl462

@colahola

@lillypink

@stephthestallion

@vintageshanny

@landmermaid12

@ashtag2887

@notstefaniepresley

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@steph-speaks

@eliseinmemphis

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@marriedtopresley

@powerofelvis

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@elvisabutler

@butlersxbirdy

@heartbrake-hotel

@fav-fanficssss

@austinbutlersbaby

@freudianslumber

@joons

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cilliansmesoftly · 1 year

Text

the cowboy hat rule

summary: you and austin are at a bar and you put on another guy’s cowboy hat.

warning: smut, sexual harassment, angst, friends to lovers, alcohol mention, cowboy!au austin, fem!reader

“austin, c’mon! we came here to have fun!” you whined to your best friend, hand tugging at the denim jacket he was wearing. you’d been trying to get him to come to the dance floor with you since you arrived, but he wouldn’t budge.

“go on, doll. i might come in a little bit.” he laughed as he watched you pout. you huffed a breath before turning to the crowd and making your way to the dancing line. austin watched as you jumped right in, dancing with all the other people who grew up on the same line dances. he watched as your hair was tossed over your shoulder when you turned, facing away from him. his eyes traveled a bit lower, much to his disdain, and marveled at your hips and your ass. those jeans you wore never failed to make his heart flutter and make blood rush his cheeks.

to get his mind off of you for a moment, he turned away from the railing and walked towards the bar to get another beer. he adjusted his cowboy hat sitting atop his head as the bartender passed him the glass bottle. he lifted it up to his lips, taking a sip, and turned to check on you. and what he saw nearly made his blood boil.

there you were, dancing with the group of people, but a man was behind you. his hands were splayed around your waist, dragging to back to him. you were laughing, so cutely innocent at his intentions.

austin sighed, closing his eyes to relax himself and to remind himself that you weren’t his. you had the freedom of flirting with shitty dudes at bars. just as he was calming down, he opened his eyes to see the man placing his cowboy hat on your head, smiling smugly. you were smiling, adjusting the hat. you had no clue, and the thought just aggravated austin more. this guy really believed he was gonna take you home.

“oh, hell no.” austin muttered to himself, swigging the last of his beer and laying down some money on the counter before walking to the dance floor.

“austin!” you cheered, arms outstretched for him. he smiled tightly at you, moving his cold gaze to the man still touching you. without even looking at you, austin grabbed the hat off your head and l pushed it into the guy’s chest, making him take a few steps back.

“what the fuck, man?” he slurred, obviously drunk.

“don’t even fuckin’ think about touching her.” austin seethed, turning to face you. your eyebrows were furrowed in confusion, but you allowed austin to guide you away from the man.

“she wanted it, man! you saw her wearin’ my damn hat.” the guy called out to you both, austin stopped in his tracks taking a deep breath. “you can’t tell me she didn’t know the rule. a pretty little thing like that, she was asking for it.”

that pushed austin over the edge, turning around with his fists clenched. he face the guy, squaring his shoulders before punching him, a gnarly crack was heard and you gasped as the guy fell to the ground.

“austin!” you grabbed his arm, dragging him away from everyone. “what the fuck?”

his eyes never strayed from the man, his jaw clenched and eyes dark. he was huffing, chest heaving until you brought your hand to his cheek and his eyes softened as he turned his gaze to you.

“c’mon. we’re going home.” his voice was thick, accent barely peaking through. despite his hard exterior, his hand softly clutched yours to guide you out of the bar and into his old, beat up truck. he opened the door for you and closed it before walking to the drivers side and resting his hands on the steering wheel.

“are we gonna talk about that?” he ignored you, turning the key in the ignition and leaving the old bar in a cloud of dust. you sat silently, staring at your hands sitting in your lap. the radio was on playing an old george strait hit which did wonders to ease the tense silence between you two.

before you knew it, you had arrived at austin’s house. it was always tradition for the two of you to have a weekend together. your busy work schedules never allowed the time to hang out during the week.

austin threw the truck in park and took the key out of the ignition. you turned your head towards him, silently begging for an explanation. he nodded to himself before taking a deep breath and looking out of the window to avoid your piercing gaze.

“you know the hat rule?” he asked. his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white.

“no.” you stated softly. despite living in the south all your life, you never really got into the whole ‘cowboy aesthetic’ you didn’t know many staple songs, you didn’t know all the line dances, and apparently there was a rule about a man’s cowboy hat.

“wear the hat, ride the cowboy? it’s basically… it’s basically a way for a guy to claim you without having to ask.” his nostrils flared at the thought of you with him. he couldn’t help but imagine his hands all over you, in places his hands should be. “i know you’re upset about me losing my temper, but you think i could just sit there and let him do that?”

“austin.. i didn’t know. you think i would’ve let him if i knew?” you scoffed, how could he be mad at you if you were clueless to their whole cowboy gang rules? “why are you so upset about it anyways?”

“y/n—”

“am i not allowed to be with other guys?” you were getting angry now. austin had always drove the men away that you even found the slightest of interest in, but you never understood why. he had his other girlfriends, though they’d never last long. after the breakups, he’d come running into your arms. he’d take solace in your presence and you’d comfort him in any way he needed. you’ve had feelings for him for all your life, but you never thought he felt the same. being his best friend was enough for you, but you were starting to hate that he never wanted you with any other guy except him. “you always drive away any man that breathes near me.”

“cause i like you!” he yelled, making you flinch. he sighed, grabbing your hand from your lap and turning to face you. “you have no idea how long i’ve been in love with you, y/n. i wake up thinkin’ bout you, i go to sleep thinkin’ about you. it’s- it’s a fucking sickness. every time i even think about someone else having you, i just— i get furious. i understand if you don’t feel the same way, but please, please don’t abandon me. i’ve gone my whole life with these feelings, i think i can manage.”

you were shocked, your eyes looked over everything about him. his freckles, his eyes, his plump lips, his nose, everything. everything that you’d ever wanted to hear from him just spilled from his lips. you didn’t know what to say or what to do. your hands were moving before you could stop them and grabbed the hat off the top of his head before placing it on yours, cheeks tinting pink at your boldness. you didn’t need to say anything because austin had already pushed forward to capture your lips with his. his sighed into it, this was everything he’d ever wanted and more. it was better than he imagined. he could taste your chapstick and he could smell the perfume you put on, slightly putting him in a trance.

austin’s hands found your waist, dragging you over to sit on his lap. you giggled as you accidentally hit the horn, throwing a leg over his. the tip of his hat was hitting his forehead and austin tipped it back on your head. his tongue traced against your bottom lip, a whimper from him that was muffled against you as his tongue massaged yours. his touch felt electric against you and you could feel his cock hardening through his jeans.

“let’s go inside, yeah?” you mumbled against his lips, breaths heaving and hearts pounding. he nodded, pulling the handle on the door. you expected him to put you down, but he just carried you to the porch, unlocking the door with one hand and the other supporting your bottom. he guided you to the kitchen where he set you down on the counter. your legs stayed wrapped around his waist as he brought his kisses down to your neck, licking, sucking, and biting the soft skin and most definitely leaving marks for you to admire the next morning.

you felt austin’s hands drift their way to the jeans you were wearing, unbuttoning them slowly and taking the zipper down. he pulled them down your legs, his fingertips, barely grazing you, left goosebumps on your skin and you hurriedly kicked them off your ankles and onto the kitchen floor. he leaned back to admire you for a second, cropped white tank top riding up with all the wiggling you were doing and letting him catch a glimpse of your stomach. he eyed your delicate panties, a bow at the hem that was driving him crazy and the wet spot over your core that had him nearly falling to his knees.

“so gorgeous, honey.” you blushed at his words, hands shielding your face from his eyes. “no, none of that.” he grabbed your hands and kissed your palms. you leaned up, capturing his lips again and you moaned when you felt his bulge grind against your clothed clit. the noises coming from you sent austin into a frenzy, leaning away from you again to undo his belt and his jeans, pushing them down his legs. he toyed with the hem of your panties, admiring the innocent bow once again, then tugged them down your legs at an agonizingly slow speed. you wanted him all over you, wanted to feel him, kiss him, love him. you wanted it all, and you wanted it now.

“god, austin. fuck me.” you heaved, back arching off the countertop in pleasure. austin laughed breathlessly, shaking his head.

“i’ve waited my whole life for this, i’m gonna soak it all in, angel.” your heart swelled at his words, you knew he was right. but you just had to argue.

“why take it slow? gonna have me for the rest of your life.” his head dropped against your chest, a groan coming out against the material of your tanktop.

“you’re gonna kill me.” he shook his head against you, kissing your clothed chest. he moved down, kissing the bare skin of your stomach just above your naval. you were squirming when he finally set his sights on your core and he laid his arm over your hips to keep you still. “such a pretty pussy, honey. all this for me?” his finger gathered the wetness at your entrance, pushing it into you and you bit your lip to contain the curses begging to spill out.

“all for you.” you said breathily, leaning up on your elbows to watch him begin to thrust his fingers in and out of you, curling the two digits to stretch you out.

“so tight.” he muttered before latching his lips onto your clit and sucking at the bud, your arms collapsed underneath you and you laid back on the cold counter. your legs wrapped around his head, ankles crossing behind his neck. the cowboy hat on your head tipped in front of your eyes as it hit the counter and you moved to take it off, but austin hummed around your clit, the vibration making you clench around his fingers. “leave it on.”

you moaned again, legs clenching around his head even tighter. your orgasm was approaching much faster than you intended, with his tongue doing wonders on your clit, his fingers moving in and out of you at a perfect pace, it was hard to hold back. he could tell you were close by your sounds, your movements, your core clenching his fingers harder and harder with every thrust. just as you were tipping over the edge, austin pulled his fingers out, leaving you a gasping mess. you whined, but it was short-lived as austin moved up to take the hat off your head and kiss you deeply, his hand wrapping around the back of your neck to push you into him.

he couldn’t get enough of you, he felt crazy. he felt like a crazy, starved man. he knew once he got his fix, his hands, his mouth, his mind would never leave you.

“take me to the bedroom.” you whispered against his lips and he pulled you up, lips still attached, and carried you bridal style to the master suite. you giggled as he plopped you down on the soft duvet, your hair splayed behind you. austin smiled down at you making you blush and turn away.

“don’t get all shy on me now, princess.” he laughed, hand rubbing up and down in your bare leg. he stood straight and took off his jacket, leaving him in just a plain white t-shirt. you could see the muscles of his toned stomach through the material and you had to clench your legs at the sight. you leaned up, now sitting on your knees with him standing in front of you, and played with the hem of his shirt. “take it off if you want to, honey.” you bit your lip at the sweet name falling from his lips, raising the hem of his shirt higher and higher until it was thrown to the ground. you marveled at the sight of him. his chest, with hairs littered about, had freckles all over from days spent in the sun. his stomach was lean with abs that made your mouth water. but your favorite sight was his happy trail, hairs going from the bottom of his belly button down to what you wanted most.

“can i take these off, too?” you looked up at him through your lashes, toying with the elastic band of his underwear. he nodded, breathing heavily through his nose. you tugged the band down his legs and he kicked them off. his cock was a sight, the tip was leaking precum from the arousal you caused him and so, so pretty. the tamed hair around his pelvic bones made you ever wetter. your hand wrapped itself around the shaft and you brought the tip to your lips, kissing away the bead of his arousal. austin sighed loudly, leaning his head back. you went further down on him, but you couldn’t fit it all. you slowly jerked off what you couldn’t fit and bobbed your head around what you could. austin was a whimpering mess, hands finding comfort in your hair and, most likely, tangling it.

“god, i’m already close.” your eyes were watering as you took him deeper. a few minutes later, you felt him twitch inside your mouth and you picked up your pace. you looked up to see austin shaking his head before he gently pulled out of your mouth. “wanna finish inside of you.”

“jesus christ.” you moaned, laying back down on the bed. austin kneeled between your legs, jerking himself off for a second before finding your entrance. he looked into your eyes for consent and you nodded. he pushed in gently, eyes shutting tightly and jaw clenching.

“feels like you were fuckin’ made for me, angel.” he said through gritted teeth. once he bottomed out, you both let out a breath of pleasure. austin’s slow hands wrapped around the thickness of your thighs before bringing them around his hips, hinting that he wanted you to wrap your legs around him. you did as hinted, locking your ankles at his lower back as he pulled out ever so slowly and started thrusting a slow pace to get you used to him.

“faster.” you whispered, your hand reaching the back of his neck to pull him into a kiss. he sped up, his cock hitting any and all angles inside you. you were a moaning mess against his lips, your heavy breaths mixing with his. your foreheads were pressed together and the eye contact between the two of you was searing and almost too much to bear. you lifted your hips to meet his quick thrusts, making austin whimper and tuck his face into your neck. “fuckin’ me so good, honey. you feel so good.” you praised, which apparently austin liked because his hips snapped roughly into yours, hitting that sweet spot inside of you. you moaned loudly and the sound reverberated off the walls and came back to your ears.

“want you to ride me.” austin groaned in your ear and you nodded against the side of his head, pressing a kiss to his cheek sweetly. he turned you both over, keeping his length inside of you. as you sat down against his thighs, he hit even deeper. your feet were planted on the bed on either side of his thighs and you started to bounce on his cock, moving your hair to the side to get it out of your face. austin leaned up, chest pressed against yours, and brought his lips to yours. his hands grabbed your hips and rocked you even harder against him. you pushed his head back, kissing his neck and leaving lingering tattoo kisses against the smooth skin.

your orgasm was already building, the coil in your stomach becoming tighter and tighter with every perfect thrust. your legs were getting tired and austin could tell, so he leaned up fully, laying you down and fucking into you harder. he felt you clench around him, driving him crazy.

“perfect cunt clenching me so tight. you close, angel?” he asked gruffly into your ear. you moaned in response, your nails scratching down his back and leaving bright red marks. “me, too. hold it for a second, baby.”

“c-can’t.” you stuttered, your legs shaking and eyes tearing up at the overstimulation. “i w-want you to cum inside of me.” you whispered to him. austin moaned again, biting the skin on your neck. his thrusts fell out of pace and his cock twitched inside of you. with just a few more thrusts, your eyes clouded over, your body shook, and your climax reached its peak. you locked your legs tighter around austin, holding him close to you so he couldn’t pull out. whispering sweet praises into his ear, he groaned and you felt his warm seed spilling into you and he fucked it into you further. he collapsed against your chest, hearts beating in sync and so full of love.

“i love you, y/n.” he kissed the bare skin of your chest, his cheeks blushing a rose color.

“i love you more, aus.” he leaned up to kiss you before he slowly pulled out. you whined, but austin pressed his lips to yours to muffle the noise.

“i know, honey. i’ll be right back. gotta clean you up.” he whispered, kissing the tip of your nose before disappearing into his bathroom. you could already imagine the ache your body would feel tomorrow, but right now? all that mattered was that your boy was finally yours. he belonged to you and you to him. it was perfect.

the waiting, the pining, the yearning, it was all worth it to you, because now you finally had him and you knew neither of you would let the other leave your arms ever again. and all of this… just because of a dumb cowboy rule.

#austin!elvis x reader #austin x reader #austin butler smut #austin butler imagine #austin butler #austin!elvis smut #austin elvis x reader #spotify #elvis 2022 #austin butler snl

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sissylittlefeather · 8 months

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I finished it! This is part of my main Elvis x fem!reader series. It goes between Baby, What's Your Name and Always, Honey. I'm sorry I'm writing these all out of order, but this is just the way they've come out of me. As always, feel free to imagine Elvis or Austin!Elvis. Let me know if you like it!

I really look forward to interacting with people who read my stuff, so feel free to drop me a note 😁

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, smut, kissing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, etc etc etc

Goodnight, Sweetheart

There's a quiet but urgent knock on your dorm room door. You turn and look at Margie.

"Were you expecting someone?" She shakes her head.

"Nope." You shrug. Oh well, maybe it's someone with the wrong room number. As you walk to the door, the knocking gets more urgent and you start to get a little nervous.

You pull open the door and Elvis steps into the room, closing the door quickly behind him.

"Elvis, what are you doing here?! How did you get in here?!" This is a girls' dorm on campus at an all-girls college.

"Hey, I'm Elvis Presley. I make magic happen, baby." He holds your face in his hands and kisses you deeply. Margie clears her throat, slides her shoes on, and collects her purse.

"I suddenly remembered that I need to be somewhere." She slips out of the room, shooting you a wink on her way out. Since you hooked up with Elvis after his show two weeks ago, she hasn't let you talk about anything else.

"She seems like a good roommate." Elvis laughs in a way that seems to fill the room up with joy. He walks over to your bed and flops himself down in a half sitting, half laying position.

"So, darlin', what have you been up to since I saw ya last?" Your heart flutters at the sight of him on your bedspread. He seems to have grown into his manhood in the time since you were together. Or maybe you're just acutely aware of it because you're the one who made him a man. Either way, the real answer to his question is that you've been missing him desperately. Even though you only had the one night together, it was quite a night, and you've thought about it every day since. Still, you never expected to see him again.

"Oh, just this and that. Going to class and such." You walk over and sit down on the other side of your bed. He reaches out and moves your hair behind your ear.

"My little studious sweetheart."

Your heart skips several beats. Did he just call you his sweetheart? But he probably calls everyone his sweetheart. You start to wonder how many girls he's been with since his first time with you. Two weeks likely feels like a lifetime in his fast-paced world.

"What about you? Played a lot of shows?"

"That's an understatement. Sometimes we do 3 or 4 a day."

"Oh wow. You must be exhausted." He smiles and picks up your hand, kissing the back of it gently. Your stomach flip-flops with the feeling of his lips on you. Still, you pull your eyebrows together in a frown.

"Elvis, why are you here?"

"Can't a guy come see a pretty girl when he has a moment of free time?" He puts on his stage smile and winks at you.

"Elvis. Really. I never expected to see you again."

His face falls and he looks down at your hand in his. He seems to be contemplating whether he should give you a real answer. He turns your hand over and presses his lips to the center of your palm.

"I missed you." He mumbles into your hand. A warm smile spreads across your face.

"You did?"

"I really did. I've thought about you every day for the past two weeks. All those nights in hotel rooms alone after shows... I just wished I knew how to get a hold of you." So he wasn't with a bunch of girls. Another thought pops into your head.

"How did you find me?" He does a sheepish grin.

"I-I I called the school and told them I wanted to send you flowers. And I really did want to! But then I decided to just come over here instead." You laugh and lean against him on the bed.

"Flowers are nice, but this is better."

His eyes darken and he puts his hand in your hair, holding the back of your head.

"I agree." He leans in and kisses you passionately, parting your lips just enough to slide his tongue into your mouth. You grab the front of his jacket and pull him toward you, leaning fully into his kiss. He lays you down on the bed next to him, leaning over you to keep kissing you, his hand moving up and down your hip and stomach. He pulls back from the kiss and looks you in the eyes, seemingly asking for permission to touch you more. You put your hand on his and slide it up to your chest. That's all the permission he needs. Now his hand is under your sweater and bra, his thumb grazing your nipple. You sit up and pull the sweater over your head and off. He removes your bra a lot easier this time. You push his jacket off of his shoulders and go to work unbuttoning his black lace shirt. This whole time, you're kissing anytime you can, your lips meeting in a blend of tenderness and passion. He starts kissing down your face, then your neck, then your body until he gets to your breasts. He playfully teases your nipples with his tongue. He's a lot bolder in his exploration of your body this time around and you revel in the pleasure of his mouth and hands on you. Eventually, he unzips your skirt and slides it down your thighs, going immediately back up to do the same with your panties. He stops and laughs a little when he gets to them, though.

"What?"

"I'm just thinking about you throwing these on the stage. You know you started something. It happens all the time now."

"Oh, it does?" Your voice catches a little and he notices. He looks at you thoughtfully.

"Yours are the only ones I've ever kept, though." Warmth spreads through you at the thought of him only wanting to hold onto yours. He goes back to pulling your panties down, slowly sliding them down your legs and over your feet. He holds your foot in his hand and softly kisses your ankle. Then, he makes his way up your leg, dropping his lips periodically to plant soft kisses on your calf and thigh. He kisses the inside of your other thigh and then looks up at you smiling, like he's had an idea. You're not sure where he's going with all this kissing, but you love the feeling of his lips on your skin, so you don't argue. Finally, he lowers his head and kisses you right on your center.

"Oh!" You let out a small gasp. No one has ever put their mouth there before and the sensation was delicious. When he hears the sound you make, he smiles and does it again, this time lingering a little longer on you. You arch your back and a small moan escapes your lips. He's thoroughly enjoying the effect this is having, so when he does it a third time he adds his tongue to the mix, moving it like you instructed him to move his thumb last time.

"Elvis, fuck!" You cry out, overwhelmed by the feeling of his mouth on you. You've never experienced pleasure like this before and you know you won't last long if he keeps this up. He pulls back from you for a second and you try to catch your breath. He tilts his head to the side, watching your chest heaving as you gasp for air. Then, he takes two fingers and slides them into you as he dips his head down and licks you hard again. He continues pushing his fingers into you as he makes circles with his tongue.

"OH GOD!" You grab the top of his hair and grind into him uncontrollably as your climax slams into you, pushing electric bolts of ecstasy out to your fingertips and back again to the place where his tongue is still moving. His fingers become inexplicably wetter and your legs shake.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God!" You continue to cry out. Finally he pulls back, laughing.

"Nah, it's still just Elvis." You explode into a cascade of giggles both at what he just said and the way he just made you feel.

"Where did you learn that?" You ask, still breathing heavily.

"Well, I'd heard of it before, but I just really wanted to kiss you there and you liked it so much I didn't stop."

"Never stop." You laugh and he laughs with you again.

"Was it too much? Did I knock you out?"

"Oh no." You look at him playfully, "Get up here and finish what you started."

You move to take his pants off, but your hands are trembling. He stands up and lets them fall to the floor, climbing back on top of you excitedly. He puts one hand on either side of your head and leans in to kiss you deeply, rolling his hips forward and pushing his erection against your leg. You whimper a little at the feeling of him being so close to where you want him. Finally, he reaches down and lines himself up with you. You're about to go crazy with need while he takes his time. You can tell by the smirk on his face that he's having fun driving you wild.

"What do you want, baby?"

You moan into his mouth and manage to whisper, "you... I want you..."

He kisses you one last time before he pushes into you as deep as he can. This time you moan together, your foreheads pressed against each other, and he picks up a steady rhythm. Your sweat mixes with his as your bodies move in tandem. He slides in and out of you, pushing deeper and deeper, his hips slamming against yours. His length is exactly right to hit the most sensitive places inside of you. After a few minutes in this position, he rolls over onto his back and smiles at you, ready for you to get on top, since it's what you did last time.

"Uh-uh. Sit up." You gesture for him to scoot back. He moves to sit with his back against the wall at the head of your bed, excitement in his eyes. You put your hands on his shoulders and a knee on either side of his hips, lowering yourself onto him. He moans as he slides into you slowly and deeply. The difference in position is subtle, but it's enough for him to notice.

"Mmmm" he closes his eyes, leans his head back, and bites his lower lip. You lean in and kiss him on the cheek while you move up and down on him. He smiles, but keeps his eyes closed. You stop bouncing and start grinding your hips into him, rolling back and forth, pushing him deeper and deeper.

"Oh fuck, baby." His eyes pop open and he watches you move, bringing his hands up to cup your breasts and then run down your rib cage to your hips.

"Honey, I'm close," he whispers into your hair. Without further warning, he flips you over again and pounds into you, kissing your neck and shoulders as he does. You wrap your legs around him, feeling the heat of his skin on yours. Finally, he cries out, cussing loudly and shuddering into you.

He kisses you on the lips and jaw and neck and then lays his head on your chest. You lay there together, breathing heavily, you running your fingers through his hair. After a while, you realize his breathing is measured and steady. He's fallen asleep on your chest. You smile to yourself. He really must've been tired. Hopefully, Margie found somewhere else to stay tonight because it doesn't look like he's going anywhere any time soon. You gently roll him off of you onto his back and sneak away to the bathroom. When you come back, you slide your panties back on and slip into bed with him, snuggling into his shoulder. Just as you're about to drift off to sleep, you feel his lips on your forehead.

"Goodnight, sweetheart..."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Taglist: @itlover8000 @deniseinmn @elvisalltheway101

Want to be added to the Taglist? Let me know!

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jaqueline19997 · 1 month

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✨In the light you're sickeningly beautiful✨~

🌹❤️

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missmaywemeetagain · 1 year

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Pink Scarf - Part 20 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: SEXXXXXXXX. Dom/sub stuff. Angst (as always). Fluff (finally)? Medication/drug use/overdose mentions. Dub con mentions(sort of?). Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 15.2k (CUZ Y'ALL DESERVE IT)

A/N: 🎶And now, the end is near/And so I face the final curtain🎶

Babies, we are at the end. I don't know what to say other than thank you all so very much, thank you for you patience, and I'm gonna miss the hell out of Reader and Elvis and their stupid, mutual pining asses. (I'm not crying, you are!) 😭 Oh, and I highly recommend listening to Without Love (I Have Nothing) (1969) before reading the middle section here. I've included the first takes to the final master version because the first takes are stripped down & give more of the intimate feel I was getting at, but the final master is excellent, so I wanted to give you listening options! It'll really give you an idea of what the moment feels and sounds like! (I'm such a nerd, I know. Also, only Elvis could nail a song like this in a few takes, lord have mercy.)

I will write a short Epilogue sometime soon, so stay tuned! Also, I am very seriously thinking about publishing a physical book of Pink Scarf (and a Kindle version, too) BUT ONLY IF people are wanting and willing to buy it! It would likely include new bonus chapters/material. Please let me know in the comments, asks, or DMs if this is something you want! Like I said, I don't wanna do it if no one wants it, so let me know!

I sincerely hope y'all will stick around for my next projects as I try to get my writing career off the ground. Y'all are the OG's and the best fans a girl could ask for! 💗

If you so desire, you should now have the ability to tip my blog or different chapters in the story! Some of you have been asking about this, and of course, no one is obligated to do so! If you do choose to tip, thank you so much! I've never had anyone want to pay for my work before, so this is a big step towards my romance novelist dreams. 💜

Finally, I am so FREAKIN' GRATEFUL for every single one of you babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, YOU ARE EXTRAORDINARY! I didn't in a million years expect this kind of support and response for Pink Scarf, and your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every single reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to our friends from Elvis Twitter, Elvis Discord, and Elvis Instagram--I see and appreciate you coming over to join us! 👀💋

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone. There seem to be some issues with tagging that I can't seem to fix, so please know I'm not leaving you out intentionally! Also, if you comment on a previous part that you want to be tagged, I might not always see it, so feel free to message me if I miss you!

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat!

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my AO3 account, as well as my NEW Wattpad account. so if you are so inclined, you can check it out/support me over there with kudos and votes and whatnot!)

Stop her, stop her, stop her…

The words echo in his head, but Elvis is frozen to the spot, watching your back as you walk out the door and possibly out of his life, feeling so raw he fears his heart might liquify and pour out of his mouth. The way you look so angry, more angry than he’s ever seen you, and so disappointed in him—it breaks his goddamn heart. Your vitriol paralyzes him, drying up the words that he can’t seem to tell you.

But he’s done it all for you, every stupid decision he made, he did in the name of love—and of keeping you safe and keeping you sane (you fuckin’ liar, you know that ain’t true, he lambasts himself).

“You screwed with our lives because you could. You and your fucking egomaniacal, insane, manipulative bullshit…” Your words cut like daggers into his skin. He wants those words to be utterly untrue, outright lies, but he knows—he knows—that you are not entirely off base.

And perhaps that’s been the problem all along: he doesn’t truly believe he deserves you. For all the reasons you spit at him and for the fact that he has ruined you in more ways than one.

But the one crucial thing you are dead wrong about is that he didn’t care, that he’d just fucked you and wanted to pretend it never happened. He may be many of the things you said—egotistical, manipulative, stupid for lying to you—but he loves you, more than he has ever been able to express.

If anything, he’s cared too much.

But you are convinced of the opposite and, stupidly, he didn’t tell you any different.

This is the thing that finally gets him moving. His heart thrums in his chest as he races out the door, desperate to catch up to you. He looks around frantically for you, barely processing the confused and pitied looks of the men around him and flies out the main door of the penthouse suite.

“Y/n!” he shouts, hoping he can salvage this because he needs you more than he needs air to breathe.

I love you, I love you, I love you! screams in his mind but not out of his mouth, for reasons he can’t entirely explain. He arrives in the hallway just in time to see the elevator doors close behind you.

He’s too late.

“Fuck!!” he screams, and without thinking turns and plunges his fist into the wall. Plaster and paint flake around the new divot and burning pain radiates up his arm.

He nearly collapses from the way his heart tears in two, the gravity of the situation hitting him all at once. He’s barely slept in days, what with taking care of you in the hospital, being wracked with worry, and then having to come back and give high quality performances as if life was normal. His heart is beating too fast and his limbs feel weak.

Suddenly, everything feels much too heavy.

His legs threaten to give way and he leans against the wall, furious at you for making him feel these things. But he is more furious at himself.

You didn’t even say you were sorry, you stupid fucker, a little voice berates him.

I have nothing to be sorry for, the stubborn part of him, the one driven by his ego, replies.

The inner voice laughs sardonically. You have everything to be sorry for.

“EP!” he hears Jerry’s alarmed voice from far away. But he’s beyond caring.

I’ve lost her, is all he can think as his vision blurs and narrows, After all this, I’ve still lost her.

Jerry rushes to his side, but the despair and fury within Elvis drives him back into the penthouse, causing destruction along the way. He barely registers tearing the rest of his room apart, only knowing that he needs some outlet, some release of these horrible feelings trapped inside of him. To purge himself of the fact that even with all he tried to do to prevent it, his worst fears had still come to pass. Distantly, he’s aware of the breaking glass and the ripping of fabric and the roaring sound coming from his mouth, but everything is unfocused and red in his mind.

Elvis does this until finally his body gives out and he collapses on the bed. As he comes back into himself, his heart is beating so hard and so fast that he’s actually a little afraid he will give himself a heart attack. Trying to steady his breathing, he looks up, and seeing himself in the mirror above the bed, he hardly recognizes the man lying there.

Self-pity descends rapidly. There’s no way she’ll ever love me after this. How could she?

Early in his life, he’d thought June had been his last hope of ever having a woman love him for who he truly is, stripped of fame, warts and all, but he’s long since realized that you are that woman. You are his last chance at having that kind of true love in his life. And now those dreams are dying right in front of him because of his own stupidity.

I’ll always be alone.

And with that thought, he closes his eyes and wishes he were anyone else but Elvis Presley.

The commotion outside his bedroom door has Elvis lifting his chin expectantly yet not hopefully. He’s spent the last three hours faking his way through his midnight show trying to push the horrified and angry look on your face out of his mind. Trying to forget that he let you walk out his door.

Needless to say, it wasn’t his best show, though bellowing out his feelings through the music was cathartic in its own way.

He’s not sure why he had frozen like he did. It certainly wasn’t like him to cow-tow in the midst of a fight, but he had promised himself in the hospital that he’d be gentler with you. Perhaps it was the shock of seeing you so completely furious. Maybe it was that you’d finally remembered what happened after so many years, unearthing his deepest, darkest secrets and mirroring them back to him in the worst of ways. Or maybe it was that so many of your words rang with truth, even though you’d misunderstood the core reasons behind his actions.

Either way, he feels like his heart was ripped out of his chest. Part of him yearns to do more self-destructive things, but instead he sits still on the edge of his giant bed, the one you should be in right now, trying to understand just how completely he managed to screw this up.

“Fuck you, Elvis Presley. It would’ve changed everything.”

Your words ring through his head again and again, like a broken record. What did you mean by that exactly? Because the crushed look on your face when you said it made it seem like you had feelings for him back then that if realized would’ve changed your relationship, and that sends a wave of heartache through him so strong that he feels like he might vomit.

“Jerry, I swear to God, if you don’t let me in there, you’ll be sleeping on the couch for the foreseeable future!” He hears Sandy’s voice through the door and closes his eyes, trying to prepare himself for what he thinks is coming.

The door bursts open and he opens his eyes to see Sandy storm in, Jerry looking incredibly apologetic and a bit mortified that he was unable (or unwilling) to stop his wife.

Elvis waves Jerry off. He knows he can’t stop the onslaught. Jerry raises his eyebrows in an, “Are you sure?” way, and Elvis sends him out with a look.

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot, Presley,” Sandy seethes, pointing at him once the door is closed behind her.

“Nice to see you, too, Sandra,” he responds wearily.

“Oh, don’t you ‘Sandra’ me,” she spits, then looks him over carefully, as if really seeing him. She surveys the disaster of the room, which he had completely torn to shreds after you left, then looks back at him. “You look like shit,” she adds matter-of-factly, almost as if she’s glad of it.

He can’t help shooting her a withering glare, but Sandy’s blood is up and does not falter under his gaze like most would.

“How is she?” he finally asks, dreading the answer.

“Well, let’s see…in the last three days her husband beat her up, her life imploded, and she just found out that her lover has been hiding some pretty crucial shit from her for over a decade. She sobbed for two hours straight and has been near catatonic since, so she’s just peachy, Elvis,” Sandy says sarcastically.

“Watch your tone, Sandra,” he warns, feeling his temper threaten.

“No, I don’t think I will, Elvis. Not when y/n is absolutely miserable and you are sitting up here doing nothing about it,” Sandy shoots back.

“This ain’t none of your business,” he says, vexed, standing and pointing a ring-clad finger at her. He likes Sandy, but he sure as hell doesn’t like her calling him out like this, not when he’s already been beating himself up about it.

Sandy laughs wickedly, “You made it my business the moment you let her tell me and started using me as cover for your lies.”

He can’t argue with that. Deflated, he runs his hand over his face. He is utterly miserable.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Sandy says, and this time, her voice is quieter, gentler. “How could you keep something like that a secret for this long?”

He doesn’t want to say and certainly doesn’t want to appear vulnerable, but the ache in him is so bad, he can’t hide it. And he knows for a fact Sandy won’t let this go. Finally, he relents.

“I-I-I was trying to protect her, to protect our friendship… I w-was terrified I’d hurt her, that I’d…taken her against her will, and I-I-I could barely live with myself. I couldn’t burden her with the enormity of what we’d done” he says.

“And what about pushing her and Jack together, all the interfering? How exactly does that line up, E?” Sandy asks pointedly.

Elvis clears his throat and looks down. That is not something he is proud of. He wants to say he didn’t mean for it to go that way, but it would be a lie.

“It wasn’t like that, not at first. By the time I realized how I really felt about her, Jack had already swooped in and asked her out. I had nothin’ to do with it,” he says defensively.

Sandy crosses her arms, not accepting that and waits for him to continue.

“Well, then…then I-I realized she’d be better off with a man who could give her the stability and the family she wanted. I couldn’t be there for her, not the way she deserved. My career was just takin’ off and I—well, hell, it didn’t even matter until that day at Graceland, and I was ready to throw it all out the window when I’d thought she felt the same way about me that I felt for her, but-but then she…the overdose, she didn’t even remember…How was I supposed to explain that to her, Sandra? How? How was I gonna look her in the eyes and tell her she came on to me and we made love on the floor and that it completely changed everything? Who was gonna believe that? You know as well as I that it would’ve ruined her!” he says, his heart pounding, voice quavering, and his blood up.

Sandy looks at him carefully. “You were afraid she didn’t feel the same way. And that she doesn’t now,” she states, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

His head snaps up to look at her, eyes wide and caught like a deer in headlights.

“I had to protect her. And I had to set her up so she’d always be taken care of. And if she was with Jack, I could do that for her, for them. They could be happy. I wanted them to be happy, I-I swear. I thought they’d be happy!” he yells, back off the rails, pacing the room like a caged tiger.“I-I-I could…w-w-well, if she wasn’t with me, at least with him I would always know she was okay, and I could see her and it wouldn’t be some random-ass man that I didn’t know or trust takin’ her away from me forever!”

Sandy stays quiet, her gaze intense and knowing, and just waits for him to continue.

“I-I-I needed her to still be in my life, Sandra. I didn’t know Jack would fall so deep into the hole that he’d throw everything away. I didn’t think he would ever, ever hurt her!”

The words of his confession ring out and then die. Silence sits heavy for a moment.

“Wow. I have to say, that’s some masterful denial there,” Sandy finally says harshly. “Did you really think it was gonna be good for their marriage to take him away for months at a time? To feed him women and drugs and then be like, ‘Ooops! I didn’t know! It’s not my fault!’? Really?” she adds cuttingly, but steadily.

She’s right and he knows it. And she’s pushing him to admit the one thing he’s not sure he can.

He wants to get angry. He wants to scream and throw her out for her audacity. Instead, he just feels a rock in the pit of his stomach, realizing the truth of what she’s getting at:

That he’d knowingly sabotaged your marriage and then, when it was really bad, he’d taken advantage of the situation.

“You need to own up to what you did and apologize, and then you need to tell her what you’re so afraid of, Elvis. I can’t emphasize enough how much she needs to know that you love her,” Sandy continues with conviction.

His mouth pops open and then closes again, wordlessly, at hearing his feelings shared out loud so easily when he’s been harboring them alone for so many years. “You didn’t see how angry she was with me, how betrayed she looked…There’s no way she feels how I do, not after this,” he shakes his head.

Sandy rolls her eyes and mutters something unintelligible under her breath. “Listen, I have a pretty good idea how pissed and betrayed she’s feeling. And I’m not gonna speak for her, but…” she worries her lip a little, “you two of you really need to talk about how you truly feel about each other. Without all the other shit in the way.”

Something in the way she says it gives him hope.

“You need to fix this, Elvis.”

“I-I-I don’t think I can,” he states, defeated.

“Oh, please. We both know you can do anything when you want it bad enough,” she smiles slyly.

Once again, she’s right. “Why are you helping me?” he asks.

“Because I love her, too, and she deserves to be happy. She deserves the best,” she says knowingly, “That and this mess has everyone on pins and needles. We all just wanna fucking relax.”

Maybe she’s right. Maybe he can salvage this. Just not right now. He is too exhausted and things feel too raw.

"Just...wait a little bit," Sandy adds carefully, as if reading his mind. “I think you both need a little breather.”

He nods.

“But don’t wait too long,” she says on her way out the door, her voice warning him of his worst fear: if he waits too long, he will lose her.

The door clicks shut behind her and silence falls once again. He glances at the bottles on the bedside table. As exhausted as he is, he’s still keyed up too much to sleep.

He doesn’t want to rely on the sleeping pills, in fact, he hadn’t needed them at all when you were in his bed, but his body craves them and he doesn’t have the wherewithal to resist at the moment. So, he pops a few down and waits for the drowsy effect to take hold of him.

When he closes his eyes, all he can see is you.

You are itching to play, yearning to feel the white and black ivories under your fingertips. It feels like it might be the only thing keeping you sane these past few days—this need to pour your entire heart into something beyond yourself.

Unfortunately for you, the only pianos you know of are in Elvis’ suite, on his stage, and in the rehearsal room. Two of those aren’t even options at this point. It’s bad enough that anywhere you go in the hotel, all you see is his visage, all you hear is his music feeding through the speakers. An ever-constant reminder of how stupid you are to have ever thought you’d be more to him than just a friend.

You can’t seem to escape him.

You are able, with little effort, to convince Sandy to talk Jerry into letting you into the rehearsal space. Both of them keep looking at you with kind yet sad eyes, as they’ve been witness to all your special humiliations these past few weeks. You suppose it’s good that you are not alone with this, but sometimes all you want is to scream bloody murder and get as far away as possible from Vegas, from Jack, from Elvis.

But you can’t go home, not right now. You learned that Elvis sent Jack back to Memphis to “get himself together” and that Red is his babysitter. But that means you can’t go back to Tennessee, not yet. You can’t face him with all this still up in the air.

So, you are stuck in the limbo that is Las Vegas. You have nothing of your own, no money, no way to get home even if you wanted to. You are exactly where you feared you would be: Alone and heartbroken and stuck.

You hadn’t counted on also being beat to hell, both physically and emotionally.

Which is why you are so desperate to get to a piano. It’s the only way you can get these awful feelings out of your system. You just need to lose yourself in music, in creating it.

But when Jerry lets you in to the large rehearsal space, you are not alone. Someone is already at the piano, their back to you, playing a mournful gospel-style ballad. Someone is already leaning into the keys and singing.

I awakened this morning, I was filled with despair All my dreams turned to ashes and gone, oh yeah

You frantically backpedal and look at Jerry in a panic, but he shakes his head only somewhat apologetically and will barely look you in the eyes as he closes the door, shutting you in with the very person you are trying to escape.

Damn him and Sandy both.

As I looked at my life it was barren and bare Without love I've had nothing at all

You lean your forehead against the door and close your eyes, not wanting to turn around and face him. Instead, you breathe shaking breaths and press your palms into the cool door in order

to not to let the intense waves of anger and sadness that are crashing over you drown you.

You’re not even sure that he knows you are here, his voice ricocheting and echoing throughout the large space. He sounds so consumed by the music that your presence may have gone unnoticed. You aren’t sure if you want him to know you are here or not, but either way, you are swept up into the music with him, your soul clamoring for any part of him despite your mind’s warnings.

Without love I've had nothing Without love I've had nothing at all I have conquered the world All but one thing did I have Without love I've had nothing at all

You don’t want to hear him, not at all (liar), but his melodic voice is hypnotizing, drawing you in with its rich baritone and crying tenor notes and possessed vibrato. And whatever headspace he is currently in has his voice sounding absolutely hauntingly beautiful. It makes you shiver. You are forced to listen, to hear the meaning behind the words.

Once I had a sweetheart who loved only me There was nothing, oh that she would not give, oh no

It's unfair, just how good his voice is at making you listen to it, more than just his words alone, making you hear his soul through the sound. You suppose that is his true talent: being able to pour emotion into a song in such a way that it transcends the music itself. With your eyes shut, it threads through your mind, simultaneously lulling you and making you want to weep. You know you are getting a window into his heart by listening, and it is telling you what you want to hear the most but are terrified to accept.

But I was blind to her goodness and I could not see That a heart without love cannot live

Oh god, oh god, oh god, your inner voice cries because you are suddenly and all at once bombarded with memories. His voice strips you bare, cutting through all the anger and fear and heartache, finally let yourself realize what your subconscious has been trying to tell you for a long time.

Echoes from both the near and distant past trigger inside your mind, your head aching with the residuals of the concussion. First, it’s your own voice, calling back to that moment on the lawn so many years ago, telling Elvis about how you knew Jack was the one: He’s there when I need him. He makes me feel special, like the only girl in the world. I know he’ll always take care of me. He is mine and I am his. Sometimes I almost feel like we were made for each other, ya’ know, like we were meant to be…

Without love I've had nothing Without love I've had nothing at all

Then, Elvis’ words flood your mind, flashing from one moment to the next:

“I just want you to be happy, baby. I wanna make you happy.”

“I take care of what’s mine.”

“You were made for me.”

“You belong here with me.”

“It’s meant to be…”

Your heart slams against your ribcage, making it hard to breathe. It’s like he’s been telling you all along, yet you’ve been too blinded by fear and guilt and the sheer impossibility of it all to truly see.

I have conquered the world All but one thing did I have Without love I've had nothing

At all

The final phrase is nearly a wail in the most beautiful of ways, the last run falling away and leaving a hollow silence in the room.

The memories come quickly now, a barrage of feelings and images: A boy backstage nervous as hell and his smile as you made him laugh. His eyes searching yours oh-so-closely in a diner booth as you tried to get over Ted. His melancholy the night you got engaged. Dancing, no, clinging onto you at the wedding before his world changed completely, and then again that mournful Christmas he’d returned, when you swore that Elvis wanted you more than anything in the world.

It’s the same way he looked when you climbed into his lap and rode him that fateful, forgotten day at Graceland.

His words from the other day, the ones that felt so possessive and manipulative take on different meaning as the puzzle pieces finally click into place, one by one:

“You are all I’ve been able to concentrate on, ya know that? You’re all I fuckin’ think about. I want you. I want you to be with me. Be with me.”

“Baby, you have me, you’ll always have me. You’re mine, and I’m yours, and I’ll take care of you, no matter what happens.”

“Let me take care of you. Let me be your everything.”

“I thought I told you, honey—I always get what I want, and I think I’ve made it quite fuckin’ clear who I want.”

“I need you.”

You are nearly brought to your knees with overwhelm, breathing too fast as you cling to the wall, anything, to ground you.

Then, like a freight train, it finally hits you, finally clicks, the thing he’s still hiding from you.

You suddenly remember the blanket of Elvis’ warmth surrounding you as you turned cold, bleeding out in his arms. The way his crystalline blues were terrified and beautiful and pleading. He rocked you in his arms, begging you not to leave him.

“No, no, no! Oh, God, don’t—please don’t go…”

Your heart stops. And you finally remember.

“…I-I love you, y/n, please, I love you.”

He’s loved you all along.

All of his cagey behavior, his deceit, the manipulations, it wasn’t to mess with you. It wasn’t because he didn’t care. It was because he loves you.

Tears stream freely down your cheeks as you turn around to face him. And as always, he’s right there, right where you need him.

“I…I…” is all you can manage to eek out.

He grabs your tear-stained cheeks in his big hands, his azure eyes deep and soulful, looking at you imploringly, and he whispers, “I love you. I’m in love with you. I love you more than anything in this life. I think I loved you the moment you steamrolled me in the hallway at school.”

Shock courses through you at hearing the words come out of his mouth, right here, in the present. You let out a choked, tearful laugh. It cuts through the anger you still feel and banishes your heartache, letting a swell of warmth overtake you. Despite all your feelings for him, you hadn’t even let yourself truly hope that he could feel the same way about you that you do about him. And to learn he’d felt this way for so long without your knowing…it feels inconceivable.

“I-I-I…and I’m so sorry, y/n.”

Elvis Presley doesn’t apologize. He buys obscenely lavish gifts. He skirts around the subject and gets really nice with those puppy dog eyes, but he doesn’t apologize, so this in itself floors you.

“I-I-I shoulda told you…but I thought…,” he steels himself against the emotions that are so obviously plaguing him before continuing, “that I’d taken advantage of you when you weren’t yourself, that I’d hurt you. I couldn’t live with myself, y/n. The guilt was eatin’ me alive and goddamn if I was gonna subject you to that pain. And I figured God wanted me to take on that burden for you, that there had to be a reason you didn’t remember. You wouldn’t have to face your betrayal of Jack or your regret for bein’ with me. I thought I was protectin’ you, protectin’ us.” He stops there, voice trembling, eyes open and honest, and you know then that while it had been wrong of him to hide this from you, he had truly believed that he was doing what was best for you. As mad as you are, part of you hurts for him because he’d gone through it all alone.

“I knew I couldn’t give you what you deserved, so I went meddlin’ in your life in the selfish need t’keep ya close to me, t’have some part of you as mine,” he rambles, racing through the words, utterly focused on getting out what he needs to say.

“I just needed you in my life. And I-I-I need you now. I needja more than anythin’,” he keeps going, his voice still shaking and the pads of his thumbs caressing your cheeks before trailing down your neck and your arms. You can feel them shaking, too, a sweaty heat emanating from them as he grabs your hands in his. His eyes are stormy and grey and deep with emotion, pulling you in, forcing you to accept his words.

He takes a deep, steadying breath before continuing. “It w-was wrong of me to-to sabotage what you had with Jack. And then to swoop in when you were vulnerable—it’s unforgivable. And if ya can’t forgive me…well, I-I’m gonna hafta understand. But I-I-I hope you do, that you can. I know I ain’t always a good man, y/n. I try to be, but bein’ with me—well, you already know it ain’t easy, the way my life is…” he trails off.

Part of you wants to interrupt him, to shout your love for him to the heavens, but frankly, his words have you speechless. And you know by his demeanor that he needs to get this out.

Tears pool in his eyes as he struggles to go on. ��I know it’s been hard on you, all this. And if you can forgive me, if you wanna be with me, I promise I’ll do better t’make this work for ya. You make me a better man, y/n. You keep me on the ground, and God knows I need that more than anythin’,” he chuckles a little at that before his face drops into something much more serious.

“Come back to me, y/n. Please, come back to me. I love you,” he whispers, eyes imploring you. He is so used to demanding, but this he begs of you.

You are outwardly quiet, though your blood rushes in your ears. You want more than anything to concede to him with these revelations, to fall haplessly into his arms, and any other woman might. Honestly, you would have, just a few days ago, but Elvis cannot erase the harm he caused you with these welcome words or soulful singing or puppy dog eyes. You cannot escape the feelings of betrayal that have permeated through you these past few days.

“Elvis, I…I want to trust you again. I really do,” you finally get out, “because…because I love you, too. I think I have for a long, long time.”

Saying the words aloud lifts a weight from your shoulders, making you feel almost lightheaded. You were so scared to say them, to reveal this hidden part of you, and the way his face lights up in such a hopeful way, it almost makes you start crying again. He squeezes your hands so hard that it hurts. But you have more to say and can’t let this distract you.

“But my mind it—it made me forget. I don’t know exactly why or how. I think I was so afraid that I could never have you, that there was no way you’d ever in a million years have those kinds of feelings for me…I think I had to protect myself,” you explain.

An inner strength you didn’t know you had until this very moment allows you to keep going. You take a deep breath. “Elvis, I want to forgive you, and I want to be with you, I do. But I am exhausted. I am weary. And I am still angry at you, and at Jack, and at myself. I need a little time to figure out what my world is now, without the oppressiveness of Vegas pushing in on me.”

You look up at him, hoping he understands, hoping he is willing to give you what you so desperately need.

He blinks as if coming out of a trance, surprise and confusion and dismay playing out on his features so quickly. You know he expected something different from you, and as much as you want to give it to him immediately, you know you cannot.

“I need to leave Vegas, E. I need space. I want to forgive you, but I need to heal,” you say firmly, looking into his eyes, holding back the sob that wants to break through. You can only hope that he sees and hears the truth in you. “I can’t start a life with you like this, bruised and broken.”

He shakes his head, small at first and then in outright protest. “No, no, baby, please, I need you here. I love you,” he says with a mixture of frustration and pleading and hurt, grabbing your cheeks again.

Tears pool and fall freely now, but you stay resolute, grabbing his wrists. “No, right now you need to be Elvis Presley and finish this engagement strong. You need to show the world that you are back and to spread that joy of music and performing as only you can.”

“None of that matters, baby. No, I need to be with you. I’ll cancel the rest of the performances,” he says, leaning his forehead against yours, fighting you every step of the way.

“The hell you will, Elvis Aron Presley. That’s not what I want, not for me or for you,” you say fervently, pulling away to look at him, bringing your hands to his face this time. “You need this. Seeing you up there…you are more alive now than you’ve been in years. I know how much you love this and your fans—”

“I love you more,” he interrupts, and it both makes your heart soar and breaks it at the same time. You close your eyes briefly to center yourself before looking back at him.

“And I love you. But I need space, and you have to finish this. Once it’s done, once I’ve had time to heal and forgive, then you come back to me, you hear?” you say, unable to keep the emotion from your voice but keeping it resolute all the same.

You watch him struggle. You can see how young he looks all of a sudden and you know he’s afraid you’re abandoning him. You’re afraid, too, but if the two of you have made it this long, you can stand it a while longer. Ultimately, you know if you fall back into him now, you’ll always hold resentment and that will poison you both over time, and you can’t have that.

Elvis closes his eyes and nods once. “Okay,” he whispers, so quietly you can barely hear it. A lone tear streaks down his cheek.

“Okay,” you whisper back.

He kisses you then, so softly, so gently, that you can’t help but lean into it. The chaste kiss is mournful and longing and hopeful all at once. It’s a kiss that is laced with the possibility that it could be the last one. You desperately hope that isn’t true, but only time will tell.

When you both pull away, you can feel the tether between you, the one that has always been there, tighten.

“Will you go to Hillcrest?” he asks, raising his eyes to yours hopefully, but it is more an offer than a question. The house in Beverly Hills is his home away from home.

You consider this and realize, other than going home to your parents (who you don’t quite feel ready to face yet, either), it’s your only option. It’s also a concession that will keep you connected to him, and you are comfortable giving him that. With its gorgeous views and serene setting, it will be a perfect solace.

“Yes,” you respond, and he seems sated by that. “Thank you,” you add quietly, then before you can second guess yourself, you tear yourself gently from his grasp and walk out the door.

Graciously and swiftly, he has Jerry take care of all the arrangements. Sandy is set to join you, and once you are both packed and ready, Jerry takes you to the airport and sees you both off.

Before he leaves, Jerry stops you. “He wanted me to give you this,” he says quietly, then opens your hand and places something soft in it.

Surprised, you look down, and see the familiar pink silk scarf folded there. You haven’t seen it since Jack ripped it from your neck that horrible night. Your fingers close around it. The message is clear: The ball is in your court.

“Send it when you’re ready for him,” Jerry adds with a knowing look.

You nod. You put the scarf in your purse.

Elvis Presley loves me, you think as you sit on the plane, but that feels trite, knowing other women have been able to say the same at some point or another.

Elvis has loved me since we were teenagers. He’s in love with me and has been all this time.

Now that is something that sends a thrill right through you.

You reach into your purse and run the silk between your fingers.

When it’s time, I’ll know.

Four Weeks Later

The hot California morning sun beats down on the umbrella that shades you. You had been reading and wanted to get some fresh air, the cold of the air conditioning giving you a bit of a chill in your white sundress but you cannot help but close your eyes drowsily as the heat swallows you like a blanket.

The last month was restorative, to say the least. It had been such a relief to get out of the stifling cacophony of Vegas, and it had allowed your brain to rest and recover from your concussion. Your bruises healed, and Sandy was there to both listen and have a good time when you needed it. You talked and thought through all your memories, working to understand both your reasons and Elvis’ for the way things had gone for your entire relationship.

You hadn’t heard from Elvis, as he was taking your need for space seriously, but Elvis’ lawyer had visited a few times, drawing up divorce papers that surprisingly took you a few days to sign. Not because you didn’t want to, of course, but because you had to fully process all that had happened and what it all meant to you. Sandy sat through your crying and guilt and shame like a champ, supporting you wholeheartedly once you finally picked up the pen and signed away your destructive marriage.

Once the lawyer had called back a week later saying that Jack had signed the papers, you felt like a new woman. Like you could finally start anew. Part of you had expected more of a fight out of Jack, but you did not dwell on the reasons he might have signed so willingly.

Sandy had headed home to Memphis to join Jerry once the Vegas engagement and resulting celebrations were over. You sent the pink scarf with her, with instructions to give it to Elvis only once you called her to do so, once you were finally ready. She’d smirked and rolled her eyes but was happy to do it all the same.

“Whatever I can do to finally get you two idiots on the same page,” she’d said lovingly.

You’d called her last night.

You can’t help but feel nervous. Even though a month was certainly not the longest you two had gone without speaking, this time it felt poignant and heavy in another way entirely. Your thoughts ran away from you at times: What if he’s changed his mind? What if he met someone else in Vegas?

It was possible and even probable that he’d been with other women since you left. You know how he is, and a man like him is not liable to change overnight. But you’ve spent most of your relationship with other people, and he still loved you after all this time, so even if he had been with someone else, you doubted it meant anything at all.

Of course, it still sends a red heat of jealously through you all the same. You push the thought as far away as you can, swinging your legs off the lounge chair, puttering back inside.

The cool air hits you like a wall of ice, and you close the sliding glass door quickly, goosebumps raising on your skin.

“Y/n.”

The familiar drawling baritone freezes you in your tracks. As your eyes adjust to the darkness inside the house, his tall frame becomes apparent across the living room and goosebumps rise over your skin for an entirely different reason than the cool air.

He looks incredible, magnificent even, wearing a silky white button up, the buttons undone at the top to reveal his tan chest, a pair of perfectly tailored black pants flattering him in all the right ways. But most significantly, the pink and black scarf is draped around his neck.

“Elvis,” you whisper, your heart fluttering in your chest.

That tether that you’ve learned has always been subconsciously tying you two together yanks you towards him. Your book drops to the floor and your bare feet run for him before your brain can catch up to you.

He meets you halfway and you throw yourself into his open, waiting arms. Your lips crash together with fervor, thirsty for each other after such a long drought. Soft, sweet, pillowy lips drink you in as your heart races and he pulls you in tighter. His familiar scent and warmth engulf you in such a comforting way that it brings tears to your eyes.

When your kiss finally slows and you both come up for air, you whisper, “You came.”

“Of course, I came.” As if there was ever any doubt.

Elvis pulls you to the couch, cradling you in his lap as he showers you with gentle but intense kisses. The heat between you builds but unlike in Vegas, it is more patient—openly full of love and admiration.

“I missed you,” he says into your mouth, his statuesquely perfect nose nuzzling into yours.

“I missed you, too,” you admit with a smile.

“Good,” he smiles, that lip of his curling up almost shyly.

His lips find your cheek, then placing soft kisses over your nose and eyelids and your forehead, as if committing your bone structure to memory with his mouth. It is unhurried because, for once, you have all the time and privacy in the world. You sigh underneath the reverence of his kisses as they trail down your jaw.

“Baby,” you say, stopping him, “as much as I want to continue this, I have things I need to say before that happens.”

He gives you one last kiss before bringing his attention to you. His gorgeous azure eyes fix in on you in such a way that you feel overwhelmed. It’s amazing to you how, even after all these years, he still has the ability to completely render you speechless with his magnetism and beauty.

“Yes?” he says, steeling himself for what may or may not be coming.

You tear your gaze from him enough to refocus. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I need you to know that I forgive you, for all of it. I forgive you, and more than anything, I love you. I want to be with you, though I know we need to figure out what that looks like. I mean, if that’s what you still want, of course,” you fumble, looking away, not wanting to make assumptions.

“Oh, it’s very much what I want, lil’ mama,” he purrs happily and seductively, using his pointer finger under your chin to turn your head, bringing his lips once more to yours. Fire blooms in your chest and radiates down into your belly as his tongue dips into your mouth. “I love you. I want you to be with me. Always have, baby.”

“I signed the divorce papers, and so did Jack,” you blurt out, needing to make sure he knows and understands.

Elvis chuckles, the low rumbling vibrating under your hand on his chest. “I know, Satnin,” he drawls, his bedroom eyes sharp underneath the haze of lust you see in them.

“Of course, you do,” you laugh, shaking your head, taking the moment to run your fingers through his coiffed dark hair.

He looks at you deeply, firmly but gently grabbing your chin in his hand. “Let me be your everything,” he whispers. It is somehow both a question and a command.

Your stomach drops, but not out of fear this time. No, it is a tingling anticipation that wafts over you and makes your breath catch. You run your finger over his lips, pulling down on that full bottom one.

“Yes,” you nod. You unfurl from his arms and stand, reaching for his hand.

Elvis looks up at you through those long, dark lashes with something between wonder and eagerness. You pull him off the couch wordlessly, his fingers intertwining with yours as you lead him through the house to the master bedroom.

When you finally arrive, you look up at him almost bashfully. “I was wondering if we could try something new?” you ask. You’d been thinking about this for weeks now, all the different ways you want him, but this one thing had stuck in your mind after all you’d been through.

His eyes sparkle almost gleefully with curiosity and lust. “What’re you thinkin’, baby?” he purrs.

You take a deep breath before speaking. You’re not sure if he’ll go for it, but you figure it won’t hurt to ask. “I want to be in charge,” you finally say, matter-of-factly.

His dazed look at your request quickly turns to interest as his brow furrows with consideration. He doesn’t mull long, however, much to your pleasure, before uttering, “Hmm, why not, baby? Let’s try it.” He smiles coyly before bringing you in for a long kiss.

Your heart begins to thump in your chest. You’ve never done this, and you bite your lip, knowing that you have to change your attitude for him to take you seriously. You draw on the strength you’ve gained over these past weeks and take a deep breath to steady yourself.

“On your knees,” you command.

Elvis looks at you with amused surprise at the order. “What?”

“Did I stutter?”

His left eyebrow shoots up so far you think it may try to escape his pretty face and his brilliant blues go wide.

“No, ma’am,” he says, his voice getting breathy and quiet. His eyes don’t leave yours as he slowly sinks, his knees finally touching the floor.

A thrill shoots through you seeing him like this, humbled before you. This man who commands and dominates every room he walks into, brought to his knees for you. You doubt anyone in his adult life has truly had him like this. You relish in the way it makes your heart race in your ribcage.

“Say it again,” you whisper. He seems to know what you mean.

“I love you,” he replies quietly, his eyes open and shining up at you. There is an innocent and boyish quality to them.

With everything that has happened, you have a renewed sense of purpose and confidence which makes you bold.

You lean down and grab his chin in your hand firmly, feeling the light scratch of dark stubble under your fingers.

“Show me,” you command.

He nods furiously in compliance, that look of innocence tempered by sparks of lust in the depths of his oceanic blues. He is more than willing and up for the challenge, and the look sends a shiver of anticipation through you so strong that you can already feel warmth gathering low in your belly. It’s been over a month now since you had him last and each day felt like torture.

Elvis runs his hands up the backs of your calves, caressing your bare legs and resting on the backs of your thighs, his eagerness and yearning evident in his speed. He wants you, too, and he is oh so used to getting what he wants that it gives you pleasure to stop him.

“Uh uh,” you tsk, grabbing his chin again, “you’re gonna take it nice and slow, baby boy, and then maybe, if you’re really good, then you’ll get what you want.” It comes out like a purr, dangerous but alluring, surprising even you. But the look on his face is worth it, the way he nearly crumbles when you call him baby boy, the way his pouty mouth falls open slightly, the way he squirms on his knees, itching to take you but following your lead instead.

“Now, are you gonna be a good boy and do what I tell you?” you coo with an edge of warning. You’ve never in your life have done anything like this before, and you hadn’t planned this, but the control, the power just comes naturally, his responses fueling you forward.

He nods again, unconsciously wetting his plump lips with the tip of his tongue.

“Use your words,” you order.

“Uh-um, y-yeah, yes, I-I-I promise…mama,” he stutters out, picking up your cues and nodding, eyes are wide and becoming more yielding as he begins to submit to you.

Something about the way he does it has that warmth surging in your belly yet again.

“Good,” you say, running your nails up and through his raven locks, scraping his scalp and making his eyes roll back at your touch. You pull back quickly, leaving him a little breathless.

“No hands. Use your mouth,” you order with a smirk.

You watch his Adam’s apple bob with a gulp. “Yes, ma’am,” he replies, faster this time. He’s adapting quickly to your game, and the way he bows down to your feet, kissing the bare skin so softly as he makes his way slowly up your ankle to your calf has a thrill shivering through you. His pillowy lips and the tip of his tongue brush and lick their way up your legs, as he alternates one to the other. The sensation, especially after being deprived of his touch for so long, has you sighing softly, and his eyes roll up to yours, framed deliciously by those impossibly long and dark lashes. The blue of them has darkened with lust, but they remain compliant and eager to please.

That alone has the coil in your belly rapidly tightening, and you feel wetness begin to seep into your panties the closer his mouth comes to the place you want him the most.

Your breathing speeds up with this teasing when he meanders under your dress, peppering kisses along your panty line until his hot breath ghosts over the thin cotton of your panties. It puffs over your clit, and you pull your dress up with one hand to watch. His hands fly up to your ass of their own accord, squeezing and clutching at your panties to bring them down.

Using your other hand, you fist it tightly in his hair, yanking his head back and forcing him to look at you. “What did I say about hands, baby boy? I thought you were gonna be good for mama,” you tsk, shaking your head.

It’s a test. You relish in watching him quell the dominant urges he’s having by biting back a smirk of insolence, his lip sandwiched between his teeth so hard he could break the skin. The fire in his eyes almost dares you until he sees the serious look in your own and you tighten your grip in his hair. He winces a little and you watch him consider his options. You don’t let up during this battle of wills, unyielding and unbreaking of the eye contact that might usually level you.

No, after the last six weeks, this time you are going to get what you want.

Finally, he gets it, letting his arms drop to his sides. His face smooths, that innocence returning, and he submits completely to you.

“Good boy,” you breathe, releasing the grip on his hair and running your thumb over his lush bottom lip. His mouth opens and you push your thumb in, scraping at his teeth, then pushing into the soft warmth of his pink tongue. A low moan escapes him as his eyelashes flutter, and you allow him to suck it in, rolling his tongue over your thumb. A pleasured hum escapes your lips at the sensual sensation, and you feel it tingle straight down into your pussy.

“Try again,” you say, looking down at him, pulling out your thumb. You pull up your dress once more.

“Yes, ma’am,” he whispers eagerly, and you see the wheels turning for a moment before he continues. This time, he sits on his hands before he kisses directly over your sensitive nub, wetting the fabric with his tongue before kissing upwards. Then, he snaps the elastic between his teeth and slowly but surely pulls your panties down your legs. Your slick is already evident in the fabric, leaving little trails down your thighs. Gravity takes hold once they reach your knees, and they drop to the floor.

“There’s my clever boy,” you praise him, stepping out of your underwear, running your thumb over his high cheekbone. This causes that signature crooked, boyish smile to spread across his features, reminding you just how incredibly beautiful he is.

And he’s all yours.

As he lathes his tongue back up your thighs, cleaning the slick from them on the way back up to your core, your body shudders with delight and you feel him smiling against your skin. Looking down you see it is not a smirk, but genuine pleasure at making you feel good, and that sends warmth through your chest in addition to the heat rapidly building in your core.

You cannot help the moan of pleasure that escapes you when he finally reaches the apex between your legs and flattens his tongue over your folds. He drags it slowly, deliberately, ending with little flicks on your clit. Heat rolls over you, setting every nerve aflame, and this time when you grab his hair, it is to pull him encouragingly closer into your wet curls.

“Yes, good boy, just like that,” you sigh breathlessly as he begins to shower your pussy with attention, going slowly as you requested. He is soft and persistent, swathing gently through your folds, parting your labia with his tongue before rolling back to your clit. Oh, lord, he is so very versed in this, you remember quickly, as he suckles and presses soft kisses to that most sensitive place.

Your eyes fall shut as you grip his head and shoulder for balance. You cannot help the keening and panting that begins to emanate through you as the coil in your pelvis tightens. Even after only a short amount of time together, he somehow knows exactly how to play you for the most pleasure.

In a daze, your eyes open and you look down at him, his dark hair messy from your hands. That’s when you notice it: he is not touching you with his hands, as promised, but you see how he’s somehow undone his trousers without your knowing. You watch silently for a moment as one of his ring clad hands fondles and tugs at his cock, and it sends a thrill of arousal through you to catch a glimpse of him pleasuring himself like this when he doesn’t know you’re watching. Battling the swell of ecstasy that rockets through you, you curiously watch how his hand slides up and down over his length, pulling at the foreskin that mostly envelops his red tip, how his long thumb glides effortlessly over it, swirling the slick of precum around and over and down. It’s a well-practiced motion and it almost seems unconscious considering the way he is utterly focused on your pussy.

You gasp with pleasure as he massages your clit deftly with his tongue, and coupled with watching him jack off, you feel a desperation for more friction, more of him, building until you realize that it is you who is in control of this moment, not him. With a swell of need you push him back abruptly, his eyes bewildered, and lips shining with your arousal, hand still on his cock, wondering what he did wrong.

“Oh, what a naughty little boy you are. I didn’t say you could touch yourself. I didn’t say you could get yourself off, did I?” you say in a chastising tone.

And, oh god, the bashful look he gives you, dropping his cock, and how his cheeks redden at being caught as he looks down, those lashes fanning out, has you biting back a smile and more heat swelling under your dress.

“No, ma’am,” he says mournfully, shaking his head slightly. And then he’s blinking up at you with those deep blues, waiting for what you are going to do next, what his “punishment” might be, you realize.

“I guess I’m gonna need to teach you a lesson then,” you sigh with exasperation. But his disobeying you only serves to make you more aroused. You put your foot on his chest and push him down and backwards with a low growl. It’s like something primal has come over you, not only your need to dominate him, but also this flaming heat consuming your body and needing his mouth on you more definitively.

“Get on your back,” you demand.

Elvis scrambles backwards quickly and you are grateful for his flexibility as he easily untangles his legs from underneath him and falls back onto the thick shag carpeting. You step over him, sliding your dress up and over your head as you do so, leaving you in only your bra. When you look down, you see his blissed-out eyes wandering over your body with something akin to awe.

You lower yourself down to your knees, straddling his chest, which is already heaving from his arousal. He’s wearing the pink silk scarf, the one from your first night together, and it feels fitting, you think, as you lord over him and unravel it from around his neck. He watches you so intently in any other circumstance you might falter under his gaze, but while blown with lust, you can see by that bashful look in his eyes that he is committed to following your lead here.

“Hands above your head, baby boy,” you coo, running your hands up the underside of his arms, guiding them over his head. “Since you can’t seem to keep from doing naughty things with them, I’ll have to make you stop,” you admonish.

You sit fully on his chest then, feeling as the wetness of your cunt stains the front of his lovely silky shirt, and then you lean over, fully aware that it puts your breasts temptingly over his face. You hear him whimper, knowing he can’t touch you, and you smile as you use the black and pink scarf to tie his wrists together above his head.

You intertwine your fingers with his as you slowly pull back over his body, scooting your hips back as you go until your face is hovering just above his. He’s panting now, little puffs of breath coming from his lips as you ghost your own over his face. Tipping his chin up to try and capture a kiss, you pull back a bit.

“Nuh uh, baby boy. You have work to do first,” you shake your head, kissing the tip of his nose. Then you tempt him by flicking the tip of your tongue over the beautifully perfect cupid’s bow of his upper lip, and he fully whines and squirms under you.

You laugh at that, the fact that you are able to put him in this position, to make him want you enough to be vulnerable and needy like this. Then you become more serious, looking him in the eyes.

“Now use that wicked little mouth of yours to make me come,” you say in a low, sultry, daring tone. “And no touching unless I say so!”

“Y-y-yes, ma’am,” Elvis moans as you maneuver your body up and over his head, bracketing it in with your thighs. Your need for him is quite evident as you lower your already-soaking pussy onto his face and as his pouty mouth kisses your most sensitive areas, you know you are so wound already from this little game of yours that you fear you might come undone too soon.

You’ve never done this before and while part of you is a little worried about the mechanics and fears smothering him, that primal, instinctual part of you starts rocking your hips over his mouth.

“Oh!” you gasp quietly, unable and unwilling to contain the soft moans that his lips and tongue begin drawing out of you as you begin to ride his mouth. When he fully groans against you, the vibrations send a shockwave through your core, nearly snapping that coil inside you already. You steady yourself, finding a comfortable rhythm, and experimentally run your hands up your torso, using them to grope your breasts. You feel him moan again and look down to see him carefully watching you, his eyes blown black.

Sensing how it’s driving him wild, you lift your hips a little to give him air and reach down under the lace of your bra, using the pads of your fingers to lightly drag against the sensitive areola, taunting him and pinching your nipples to attention with a moan of your own.

“Fuckkkk,” he breathes out, the air tickling your labia.

“Language!” you hush him and plant back down on his face. His arms fight to come down and grab you, but between being tied and the way your weight is, he cannot, and groans against you again instead. He works you tirelessly now as you writhe over him and you feel that telltale tightening begin in earnest. You are nearly desperate as his tongue lathes against your folds again and again, dipping in and out of your hole, circling your clit and back again. He eats you expertly, willingly, and you ache for him.

“Good boy, there’s my good baby,” you pant quietly as your heart flutters and your breathing starts to hitch.

But when his tongue slips daringly lower, perhaps accidentally, perhaps not, you careen forward with a shocked gasp as it grazes your other hole.

“Elvis!” you gulp, clasping his hands with your own to steady yourself, stilling your hips. You aren’t quite sure how you feel about that slip yet, only knowing that it’s a place that has been forbidden before now. Your heart pounds so hard you hear the blood in your ears, your body on high alert.

“Hmmm?” is his only response before he tests you again, gently, letting his tongue circle that illicit spot lightly.

“Elvissss…” The moan escapes you before you can stop it because the unfamiliar feeling of his tongue there has your already aroused body teeming with the new sensation and you know you shouldn’t like it, you’re not supposed to like it…

“Yes? You like that mama?” he replies surprisingly bashful, submissively, compared to the sensual dominance that you are used to from him.

“I-I-I’m not sure, baby boy,” you finally stammer out honestly.

You feel him nod underneath you, as if understanding, and he goes back to suckle your clit, making you jump a little and roll your hips. And when his tongue travels back through your swollen folds and he goes a little farther to include that little secret spot, you can’t help but cry out in pleasure this time.

He smiles against you, and you respond by rolling harder on his face, effectively shutting him up. The carnality that flows through you banishes your prudishness and you let him kiss and eat you fully now, from hole to clit, letting the sensations consume you completely.

You fuck his face wildly. You don’t try to stop the keening noises crying from your lips, you just grip his hands for dear life as the coil inside you constricts, your body flooded with fire, desperate for the blast of release his talented mouth promises you. Frantic now, chasing that high, your body tenses over him and he groans loudly into your cunt, his tongue deep inside you, as your thighs squeeze his head.

The peak hits you incredibly hard and you cry out as you shatter above him. White stars flash behind your eyes followed by inky blackness. You can barely breathe for the way it hits you. He continues to lick and suck you through your orgasm, coaxing you, moaning into you in order to continue your pleasure for as long as possible. He devours every drop of your arousal. Shaking and shuddering and oversensitive, you finally scoot your hips back, allowing him to come up for air with his own gasp.

“Did I do good, mama?” he puffs, looking pleased, his face covered in your slick.

“You did perfect, baby boy,” you breathe out, kissing his cheeks, then his swollen lips, tasting your tangy sweetness there. Your body shivers with aftershocks as you come back into yourself, your mind concocting all the ways you want him tonight, all the ways in which you can show him your love and vice versa.

You look down at him, enjoying the sight of pussy-drunk lust on his boyish features, the vulnerability of his hands restrained above his head, the way his bedroom blues dreamily follow your gaze and your lead.

Your need for him feels insatiable. You want to wreck him, ruin him, in the best way possible. Biting your lip you roll your hips into his waist, feeling the cold of his belt sear into your bare core and Elvis’ eyes roll back a little as you drag your nails down over the part of his chest that is exposed above his shirt.

“You gonna continue to be good for mama, baby boy?” you lean down to coo in his ear, scootching your hips back just enough to feel the tip of his rock-hard length through his pants, and you can feel the shudder that ripples through him.

He nods furiously. “Y-yes, mama, oh yes, I’ll be good.”

“I’m so glad, baby,” you whisper, “Mama’s got somethin’ special in store for you.”

Elvis whimpers at that, and you can tell it is taking every ounce of self-control he has to keep from taking you right there and then, but he stays good and still and relatively quiet for you. You kiss down the shell of his ear, nibbling on the perfect lobe, and then you focus your attention on the divot just behind it where his jaw meets his skull. Lapping there for a minute, you take your time as he hums and tenses beneath you, turning his head the opposite direction to give you the access you want. You make your way agonizingly slowly down his neck, using your lips and teeth and tongue in all the ways you’ve learned he likes. By the time you reach his collarbone, he is practically writhing under you.

His breath is beginning to heave and become labored when you start down his tanned chest, the course hair there tickling your lips as you go. One by one, you pop the remaining buttons open, and with each, a pretty little huff escapes his pouting lips. Oh, how beautiful he looks with his cheeks all flushed and his hair mussed, those eyes alternating between peering down at you and looking up to the heavens.

Once again you move your hips back, this time hovering just above the erection raging in his pants. It’s enough that he can feel your heat, but you give him no friction whatsoever, and this is what finally has him bucking his hips up desperately, but you are prepared, dodging well out of the way before he finds any sort of relief.

“Now, now, that’s not how good boys behave,” you tsk at him, earning a huff in response. You use your nails to scratch down his now-exposed treasure trail, your lips following close behind and he fully whines by the time you reach the belt line.

“Please, please, mama,” he mewls at you, raising his head to look at you with begging eyes.

“All in good time,” you muse quietly, shooting him a soft smile.

You take your time with his heavy belt and zipper, causing him to spring forth, his cock hard and veiny, precum already oozing a sticky string between his tip and his abdomen, but you leave him there, untouched. Moving lower, you slowly, deftly, remove one shoe, then the other, doing the same with his socks. Then you pull his pants down his long legs, letting your fingers ghost over his sensitive skin. It’s torture, based on the way he squirms and sighs, and you find yourself full of emotions.

A small part of you relishes in making him squirm after finding out what he’d kept from you all these years, for all the time you may have lost with him because of his self-righteous ego. But a much larger part of you wants this with him, for him, because you know he’s likely not given himself to anyone like this. Not the great Elvis Presley, the man who strives for excellence and control in all things. You cannot imagine him letting just any woman bring him to his knees, tying him up, letting her have her way with him. At least you hope not.

But perhaps that is your own ego talking.

But a sense of unease, jealously perhaps, wafts over you, diminishing your confidence slightly.

“Baby boy?” you hum pensively at him, running your finger softly up the sole of his foot, causing him to jump and giggle a little.

“Yes, mama?” he responds softly, tilting his chin down to look at you.

You frown, worrying your lip a little, wanting to approach this skillfully as not to ruin the mood, but you have to know. Now that the thought is there, you must know.

“Have you ever let anyone else do this? Touch and tease you like this?” you ask, trying to keep your voice sultry and light, running your fingers up the underside of his arm, dragging across the pink silk that binds his wrists.

His brow furrows for a moment as he tries to interpret what’s going on underneath the bravado you’re showing, trying to glean your true meaning, and then his face softens and smooths with realization, his eyes wide and open for you. “Not like this, mama. Just for you. Only you,” he says genuinely, and you know it’s true, that he’s not just giving you lip service within the game you are playing.

“Good,” you nod, more moved by this than you want to show right now, your heart swelling with this new knowledge. You kiss him gently and softly on the lips.

“Do you trust me?” you add more mischievously, your confidence returning.

“Completely,” he nods back.

“Then it’s time to get on the bed, baby boy,” you purr.

He brings his arms down in front of his abdomen, the scarf still taut at his wrists and his shirt open and flowing behind him, and you help him to standing. His eyes sparkle a little with what you think is anticipation. Once to the bed, he snakes his long, beautiful body backwards until he is lying up against the dark pillows.

Your mouth waters at the sight of him lying there, vulnerable and all yours. Getting between his legs, you start at his feet, massaging the ropey muscles with your hands, and alternately kissing your way over the arches, his ankles, and up his calves, up every perfect part of him. You pay attention closely to these spots you’ve never really explored before, listening and watching him carefully. When his breath catches, or he hisses in through his teeth, you know it’s extra sensitive, and of course, when his mouth falls open and his eyes roll back you know you’ve hit the jackpot.

You take your sweet time working up his muscled legs, bringing up and opening his knees to give you more access to what you are finding is the highly sensitive flesh of his inner thighs. Warmth rolls through you when you nip there, very close to his balls and he nearly jumps off the bed.

“Stay still and be good, baby boy,” you purr at him with a sly smile against his leg, and he whines in protest but stills himself. You think it’s high time you give him some well garnered attention to his large, heavy testicles. His musky scent fills your nostrils, setting your biological need for him on fire. You wiggle a little on your knees with anticipation but since you aren’t sure exactly what he likes or what his boundaries are yet, you want to make sure he has an out.

“Baby,” you say seriously, looking into his eyes, “if you really want me to stop, like really, I need you to tell me, okay? Say…” You stop, looking around for inspiration, something he would never say in the heat of the moment, and then your eyes land. Perfect.

“Say ‘pink scarf’ if you really want me to stop baby, okay?” you urge.

Elvis nods, looking excited and also a little concerned at the prospect of what you might do to him to require him to use such a phrase. “Pink scarf, got it,” he breathes.

With that, you feel better, and return your attentions down in between his legs. His cock is hard and buoyant against his pelvis, precum glistening the angry red tip that is peeking out from his lighter foreskin, but that is not what you’re going to focus on, not yet.

Using your thumbs, you apply gentle pressure to the insides of his thighs, massaging slow circles up, up, up, closer to his most sensitive areas. Lying on your stomach between his open legs, you test the waters by running your nails softly over the darkened, wrinkly skin of his ball sac.

He hisses in at that, his lower half tensing as you gently continue, using your thumb, pointer, and middle fingers to explore the area. In his arousal, his balls are pulled up tight to him, but it doesn’t detract from the fact they are still rather large compared to what you’re used to. His breathing becomes more labored as you roll his testes between your fingers, cupping them, then pulling gently.

His hips roll and wiggle. You love the effect you are having on him, the way he responds so readily under your touch, and you wonder if this is what it’s like for him when he plays with you. It sends heat of a different kind rolling through your body each time he jolts or gasps.

Which is exactly what he does when you nuzzle his sac with your nose before flattening your tongue against the seam and licking a long stripe from back to front. His hips rise off the mattress and running your hands over the crease of where his legs meet his torso, you push those famous narrow hips back down to the bed.

“Oh mama, oh mama,” he whispers quietly, almost like a begging prayer, as you continue lathing your tongue back and forth and up and down over his balls. He begins to writhe in earnest, despite your hands holding him, his legs pulling up and boxing you in.

“Be still,” you command, lifting your head, pushing his bent legs back open.

He obeys instantly, looking down at you with wild, shining eyes, nodding almost unconsciously in reply, as if preparing himself for whatever you deem to do next.

You use your hands again, one to push his legs up, tilting him towards you, the other rolling him like dice, before lifting his sac enough to lick the underside completely. Taking inspiration from his playbook, you then flick down over his taint, applying pressure with your tongue, his musky scent consuming you.

He moans long and loud at that, unable to contain himself as you shower this newly found spot with all your attention. As you lick and press and roll, he mewls and begins to shudder. Your heart beats faster against your ribcage at his reactions, how he pants above you, and you wonder what will happen if you press your thumb to that softer spot right above his puckered hole.

So you do. You press that spot over and over and watch him tremble and writhe until he looks damn well possessed.

“Please, oh please, oh GOD!” he cries out and eventually his entire body tenses, hips lifting as though he were coming inside you, and he shudders wildly before falling hard back onto the bed. Heart pounding, you lift your head to see a milky white leak from his tip. It’s not cum in the sense you are used to, but some sort of release nevertheless.

You’re not one hundred percent sure what just happened, but you are pleased you made him feel so good. You watch him lying there, gasping from pleasure, his hands clenching and releasing against their bonds, trying to recover from whatever that was. His face is flushed red, making the blue of his arousal-darkened eyes look almost preternatural, and tears leak, dampening his dark lashes. He looks positively bewildered.

“Good job, baby boy,” you praise him, kissing the inside of his knee.

“Wh-wh-what w-was that, mama?” he gasps, asking.

“That ever happen before?” you respond, curious, instead of answering him.

He shakes his head, his hair flopping as it lolls from side to side.

“Hmm…well, did it feel good, baby?” you ask because you aren’t entirely sure what happened, but you don’t let him know that. You don’t let him know about your own fresh arousal that’s leaking down the sides of your thighs or how your heart is fluttering in your throat at the sight of him such a mess before you. Not yet.

He nods furiously, eyes unfocused.

You smile at the blissed-out look on his face. You crawl up him to give his open lips a little kiss. “Mama’s not done with you yet, baby boy,” you whisper against his lips before pulling back.

His dreamy eyes go wide, but you don’t dwell, instead making haste to kiss down his chest once more, stopping to tongue and scrape his nipples with your teeth, making him jump underneath you once again. You kiss down the flat planes of his belly, detouring to give a little attention to his bound hands, sucking a digit or two into your mouth on the way down.

He fully shivers at that, moaning, sending a thrill of your own down to your toes. His belly is already heaving again with anticipation as you arrive at your next destination. His length bounces as his stomach moves, the milky white having leaked onto his belly, but whatever release he’d had did not affect the hardness of his cock, much to your pleasure.

Your goal here is to worship and tease, rather than the ways you’d had him in your mouth before. The way he’d fucked down into your throat both gently and harshly prior to this was not going to be his experience this time. No, this time is all about giving him a night he’s unlikely to ever forget. It is about claiming him as your own while showering him with love and attention on your terms. You’ve never had that before, not truly, and oh how sweet you are finding it already…

First, all you do is hover over his cock, so closely that he can feel your hot breath against him as you run your open mouth up and down his shaft. He squirms his hips from left to right, his hands fisting, and you can sense how it is taking everything in him not to buck up into you.

“Mamaaaa…need y-you,” he begs.

This makes you smirk coyly.

“Hush, baby,” you admonish him with a furrowed brow, stilling his hips again with your hands. “Be a patient good boy and you’ll get what you need.” Eventually…you think smugly.

He can only manage a whimper in response.

Finally, you place soft, barely there kisses up his shaft, feeling his rapid pulse through the throbbing veins. His foreskin awaits and you kiss gently around it, and it must be very sensitive because he’s fully gasping now, quiet “uh, uh, uhs” escaping his lips. Using only your tongue, you dip it into and under the foreskin, swirling it around the head.

“Oh, oh, no, t-too much, too much, mama!” he half moans-half cries, nearly levitating off the bed, but you don’t stop, instead sucking the tip of him into your mouth and soothing the head with your tongue.

You look up at the man you are in love with, in all his messy ecstasy, as tears stream down the sides of his pretty face, but he does not say the words, only sighing at this little bit of relief you give him. So, you continue, after this moment of reprieve, sending your tongue up and down his shaft, then kissing and tonguing his sensitive tip as though it were a dripping ice cream cone on a hot summer day.

“Please, please, please,” Elvis pants out of that wonderous and full mouth of his. By the time you use your hand to fondle his balls again, he is so fully enraptured, staring up into the mirrors above you, that you’re not sure he’s even on the same plane as you anymore.

God, it has you nearly coming undone yourself to see him like this, bringing him closer and closer to the edge without letting him fall over. You find yourself pressing your thighs together, desperate for your own friction.

His gorgeous eyes flutter down to you as you once again tongue his tip. “B-bein’ good, m-mama, please, needju,” he whimpers, his words slurring together.

“Bein’ so good, baby boy,” you praise him, then you take him fully into your mouth, pumping once, twice, and then you feel his entire body tense and shake.

“F-f-fuuuuckkk,” he groans gutturally, his hips bucking into your throat, coming completely undone nearly instantly. His eyes roll back into his head, beads of sweat mixing with the tears down his face, and the prominent vein in his neck pulses in time with his salty, thick release. It coats your tongue, and you swallow him down readily before gently lathing your tongue over the tip of his sex. He squirms under you, rocked and hypersensitive as you pop off him.

“Thank you, mama,” he whispers, looking so relieved and sex drunk that you are beside yourself now. Every nerve ending inside you is on fire. Before he can soften, you climb onto his lap, lining him up with your entrance and sliding him through your soaking folds and into your heat.

Elvis’ eyes widen in shock and he wiggles his hips down into the mattress as if trying to escape. little “ah ah ah!” puffs come from his lips, like he’s handling a hot potato.

“M-mama, ah, ah! I-I-I can’t,” he shakes his head before slamming it back onto the bed.

“Oh, you can, baby boy, you can, I promise,” you say breathlessly, relishing the feel of him filling you, even though he’s beginning to soften slightly. You roll your hips in his lap. “You’re gonna keep being such a good boy and make me come, right, baby?” you encourage demurely, hooking enough into his ego and his need to please you to keep him going.

All you know is that you need him, need to keep him inside you, to have him fill you up, even if you have to wait.

The noise that comes from him is somewhere between a groan and a growl, his eyes screwing shut for a moment as he tries to compose himself enough to continue. You still, placing your hands on his chest, and wait for his response.

“How about this? You’ve been so good for mama. I’m gonna take this scarf off you and you use those hands to show me some love while we wait,” you say.

That has him opening those glassy, pretty eyes of his and nodding.

“Mama’s gonna keep makin’ you feel real good, don’t you worry now, baby,” you tut at him, untying the knots at his wrists. The silk yields easily. You lean forward on top of his chest and throw it around his neck.

Elvis rolls his wrists a few times then wraps his arms around your back, holding you fast to him while he continues to breathe heavily. The feeling of being draped on him and held in his long arms sends an almost wholesome warmth through your body. Oh, how you missed being close to him like this. It’s almost as if you didn’t know it until this very second, that string that has been pulling you two together for so long finally loosening as you fall unencumbered into each other’s arms.

After a long moment, he calms and his hands start roaming slowly over your back. You can feel the cool of his rings against your fiery skin and it sends shivers through you. You feel starved for him, hence your desperate need to have him inside you and to show him with every fiber of your being that you will be all he ever needs from here on out.

You hum softly, pleased, when his hands find your ass, your hips, and you swivel them. He is soft inside you for the moment, at least, and you feel the sharp intake of breath at your movements, his hands gripping you to keep you still.

Still sensitive, you think.

His hands flutter up and down your sides then, softly enough to make you want more. You can hear his heart pounding in his chest, the rhythm beginning to match yours the longer you stay intertwined. This is what you’ve been missing, needing, all along. Him vulnerable and sated under you. Knowing that you are the only one he truly wants. Knowing that it’s been that way for almost as long as you’ve known him.

“Say it again,” you whisper into his neck, kissing his pulse points.

It only takes him a moment to understand what you are asking.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“Mmmm,” you hum, kissing your way up his strong, angular jaw to his lips. “Again.”

“I love you.” It rumbles in his chest so you can feel it vibrate into yours.

Each time he says it, it dances through you, lighting up all the dark spaces that were so afraid and convinced he would never feel the same.

You kiss his lips, softly at first, then deepening as your own love pours out of you and into him.

His hands are everywhere now, one tangling in your hair, the other snapping the clasp of your bra undone. Your mouths separate just long enough for you to rip off the lace and fling it to the side. The feel of his bare chest against yours makes you feel like you are melting into him. Your mouths are unhurried but intense, tongues exploring, devouring each other whole.

“I love you,” you say into his mouth, voice hushed and reverent.

He pauses for a moment, pulling back just enough for you to get lost in the oceanic depths of his eyes as they gaze at you adoringly, as if memorizing your features. “I’m yours,” he says. Then he pulls you back down to him, his mouth consuming you once more.

You’re not sure how long you lay there, kissing, touching, exploring each other as if it were the first time, but it is long enough that you feel him begin to stiffen inside of you once more, just as you knew he would. Slowly, you begin to rock on top of him, your hands and lips tracing his Apollo-like features. Your fingers rake through his raven hair, damp with sweat from the exertion.

Elvis’ hands cup your face, your neck, tangling through your hair, caressing your breasts. He touches you reverently, though as your passions increase, his hands light streams of fire over your skin wherever they deem to touch. A heated coil tightens again in your belly, more gradually this time, but deep all the same.

The room is quiet, save for the heavy breathing that has synced between the two of you, a hushed feeling that matches the intensity of your lovemaking. His deep gaze threatens to consume you from below as you ride him, and every cell in your body is being called to his.

He fills you in ways no one ever has and as no one ever could. Perhaps he was made just for you, you think, with how perfectly you align. You realize that this is the first time you’ve had him with all your memories intact. Every moment the two of you have had since the beginning now swells between you, a now shared history that makes this moment all the more poignant.

You are lost in the depths of him just as much as he is lost in you. You can see it now, so obviously, and you wonder how you spend so very long without him. Beyond his talent, beyond his gorgeousness, lies that both human yet ethereal man, and he is wonderful and he is flawed, and he is finally yours.

He expertly touches your sensitive bud, sending you careening towards the edge of an abyss that once frightened you. Because of course this was never just about sex, though your brain tried to trick you, making you forget that your love for him started so very long ago. But what terrified you six weeks ago now feels ripe with possibility. What made you feel trapped has now been set free. And as that coil snaps and you fracture above him, it allows your true self to emerge for the first time in a very long time.

“I love you, Elvis,” you breathe, locking eyes with him as you fall, knowing he will be there to catch you.

Your moan of pleasure, his name a whispered prayer on your lips, coupled with the sight of you has him following right behind you, all his years of fear and guilt splintering into pieces along with the most intense orgasm he has ever had.

“I love you, y/n,” he returns in equal measure.

You collapse into his arms, unaware of the tears on your face until you feel them wetting the pink scarf that somehow remains around his neck. Elvis holds you to him, his fingers twirling the ends of your hair, not just with possessiveness and control, but with unfettered love. There is aways to go between the two of you in your relationship, now that you remember everything that has happened, but you have no doubt that the two of you will figure it all out, together this time.

For the first time in forever, you feel truly at peace.

Finally, you are exactly where you need to be.

With the man you love eternally, who loves you just as much.

Here, with Elvis.

Please let me know in the comments/DMs/asks if you are interesting in buying a physical and/or ebook of Pink Scarf (with bonus chapters/material)! 💗🧣💗

Taglist:

@atombombbibunny @yesimwriting @uselessbutinteresting @mirandastuckinthe80s @dark-as-love

@domaniquessidehoe @im-lame-irl @allybrooke05 @hangmanswhore

@jazmin2211 @kvcssghbjbcd @coldonexx @dudinhahoff @whatstruthgottodowithit @tiredbuthappy @amiets2 @saintmagx

@kvcssghbjbcd @butlersluvbot @babydollie43 @vainbimbo @meladollsims @wstelandbaby @dre6ming @normatural @ash-omalley @xcallmetaniax @galvz-42 @thejezebel @fullmetal-falcon @robinismywife @dre6ming @seaweedbrain00 @amiets2 @mslizziesblog @heisatroubleinapinksuit @calusussss @dont-feel-so-good-peter @rainydayz101 @pizzaisrelationshipgoals

@liaaacantwrite @kittenlittle24 @kaitaesupremacy @butler-trouble @eliseinmemphis @russian-soft-bitch @tattywood

@sassanoe @re3kin @thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle @carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23 @ab4eva

@fic-over-cannon @lacyluver @littlebitofgreen @paigevis @godlypresley @bugg06 @xhannahbananax03

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whxre-bxby · 1 year

Text

Masterlist ʕ•͡-•ʔ

┻━┻ ︵ヽ(°□°ヽ) ᶠᴸᴵᴾ ᵀᴴᴵˢ ᵀᴬᴮᴸᴱ.

(╯°□°)╯︵ ┻━┻ ᶠᴸᴵᴾ ᵀᴴᴬᵀ ᵀᴬᴮᴸᴱ.

┻━┻ ︵＼(0)／︵ ┻━┻ ᶠᴸᴵᴾ ᴬᴸᴸ ᵀᴴᴱ ᵀᴬᴮᴸᴱˢ

A/N: I write heavy smut :) and often a few violent scenes. The reader is always female here.

Fluff: marked with ♡

Smut: marked with ✩

Angst: marked with ◍

Call Of Duty

Simon "Ghost" Riley:

"Longing For You" Simon Riley x inexperienced f. reader♡✩◍

Marvel :

Multiple Characters:

Hired Stripper #1

Hired Stripper #2 ✩

Hired Stripper #3 ♡✩

Team's Slave ✩

Michael Morbius:

Morbius x reader ✩ ◍

Loki Laufeyson:

Loki x reader Pregnacy ♡

Loki x reader #1 ♡

Loki x reader #2 ✩ ◍

Peter Parker:

Peter x reader ♡✩

WWE :

Roman Reigns:

Daughter's Hot Friend ♡

Daughter's Hot Friend #2 ♡✩ ◍

Stranger Things:

Enzo:

Enzo (Dmitri Antonov) x reader ♡✩

Avatar/ATWOW (movie):

Miles Quaritch:

Miles Quaritch (Avatar) x (human f.) reader ♡✩◍

"I'll Hunt You Down" ✩◍

"I'll Take Care Of It" ♡

Forced Miles Quaritch Smut♡✩◍

Teaching Na'vi (short one-shot)

"Heartfelt Confessions"♡✩◍

"Forbidden But Desired"♡✩◍

Mansk:

Mansk's Characterisation

"Late Night Feels" ♡✩

"Special Appointment"♡✩

"Greeting Death With A Smile"◍

"Colourful Pills" ♡✩

(More futher down)

Lyle Wainfleet:

"Hopelessly Devoted To You"♡✩◍

Hate-fucking with Lyle ✩◍

(More further down)

Prager:

Hate-fucking with Prager♡✩◍

(More further down)

Brown:

"Maybe Blue Isn't So Bad" ♡✩◍

(More further down)

Multiple Characters: (RECOM'S)

"We'll Teach You Some Manners" (Quaritch, Mansk)◍

"We'll Teach You Some Manners" ◍

"We'll Teach You Some Manners"✩◍

"We'll Teach You Some Manners" ♡✩◍

Period Oneshots (Quaritch, Mansk, Lyle)♡

Meeting and Pregnancy headcanons (Quaritch, Mansk, Lyle)♡✩

1. "Colonel's Orders" (Quaritch, Mansk, Lyle)✩◍

2. "Colonel's Orders - Version 2.0" (Prager, Ja)♡✩

1. "This Is What You Came For"✩◍

2. "This is What You Came For" 2✩◍

"Devil's Bait"◍

"Cursed By Blue" (Mansk, Lyle, Quaritch)✩

"Cursed By Blue 2.0" (Prager, Ja)♡✩

"Cursed By Blue" 3.0 (Lopez, Brown)♡✩

"Sleep Won't Do It" (Quaritch, Lyle)♡✩◍

Vengeance Turns To Desire (Quaritch, Lyle, Mansk, Lopez, Ja, Prager)♡✩◍

Hatefucking (Brown and Ja)♡✩◍

Pecking Order♡✩◍

✨️1K Special Requests✨️:

Hate-Fucking with Mansk♡✩◍

"Can you take it?" (Lyle Wainfleet) ♡✩

"A Different Kind Of Warmth" (Mansk)♡✩◍

"Do It Our Way" (Recom Redemption) ◍

"Comfort Of Your Body"(Mansk) ♡✩◍

"Eywa's Will" (Lyle Wainfleet) ◍♡

Face-Sitting with Prager♡✩

"Insane Like Me" (Fike)◍♡

NSFW Drabbles/Headcanons

Artwork:

Shirtless Mansk

Miles Quaritch Smut Comic

Mansk Art for fanfiction "Special Appointment"

Lyle Wainfleet Fluff

Mansk Art (for fanfic „Greeting Death With A Smile“)

Mansk Headshot (smoking) Art

Late Night Talks (Neteyam) Art

NSFW Mansk Art

Recom's Funeral

ATWOW Memes:

Meme batch 1

Meme batch 2

Other :

Volodymyr Zelensky x reader ✩

(Austin Butler) Elvis Presley x reader ♡✩

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precious-little-scoundrel · 6 months

Text

Welcome to Germany, Mrs. Presley

A Sarge & lil Mama fic

Summary: After the birth of your firstborn twins and his subsequent deployment, you and Elvis reunite for the first time at a German Airport. Sweeping romantic scores and idyllic kisses in the rain may have to wait for hungry babies and overly full breasts…the latter problem your husband may or may not have a chivalrous desire to aid you with

Warnings; yes, this is the lactation “kink” you were promised, I tried to not make it icky, I swear I did, but beware if that’s not your thing 💋

Also note: I will be changing lil mama in this series eventually to an original character instead of reader insert. This one has remained an insert as I started it that way, although the reader is referred to by the name “Elaine” at the very end 🥂

“Welcome to Germany, Mrs. Presley!” the kind hearted stewardess pulled you away from your panicked survey through the window of the crowd on the tarmac. Prompted by the stewardess’ concerned smile you turned yourself to the task at hand -bundling up the babies in their carriers to prepare them for the torrent of snow outside.

October born Memphian babies as they are, they’ve barely seen the outside of Graceland as the season turned cold, and impromptu as this flight has been, you were still prepared with blankets and woolen caps and fuzzy socks on their tiny feet. With all these precautions in place only their noses were susceptible to freezing off in the blizzard and that really couldn’t be helped without suffocating them and- oh god, you were a nervous wreck.

Elvis had been arranging for you to join him in Germany since he married you, right after going into the army, it had always been the plan. But his first plan -to make a family with you, out of you- had worked a little too well, and you had been stuck at home with a complicated pregnancy of twins contracted on the wedding night, a terrible bout of mastitis following that, while he got shipped off across the globe. Evocative letters and the few stilted phone calls were all that had kept you going, a keen awareness that both of these could be intercepted having cooled the initial honeymoon ardour of your arranged union. A kind friend had alerted you to these available seats on this commercial airline and, tired of waiting for arrangement to come together for private jets, you’d torn apart your room to pack and roped Dodger into being a traveling companion and pack mule, and the four of you made it to the terminal with ten minutes to spare. Vernon had called ahead to tell his son that his young wife was hauling herself and her twins over the ocean posthaste, and you hoped to god that Elvis' previous insistence on you waiting to take a private jet had been out of concern for your comfort, not desire to prolong separation.

When you’d said as much aloud to his grandmother she’d scowled at you and made a significant face at the twins, as if to remind you that he’d been the one hell bent on having you, not the other way around.

You scan the waiting crowd outside in hopes of seeing him, noticing multiple fan signs held aloft in greeting for you and his babies, and wondered how rumors could spread that fast. And there was always the shock you felt that some people would freeze their toes off just to catch a glimpse of the gal Elvis the Pelvis had wedded and bedded.

You grab a baby carrier in each hand, your “yittle” hands and arms having grown strong and defined in the past months just from hauling your progeny around, and Dodger determinedly manages the luggage. You bump between the airplane seats, shuffling sideways and maneuvering yourself and your precious load, smiling when making eye contact with one gawking passenger after another, even having to make small talk when the disembarking line stalls only a couple yards away from the exit door. There’s a bottle neck happening up there, just out of view, no more passengers managing to get out the door and passed a charmingly stuttering young husband who’s giving the plane Captain the same working over he gave his commanding officer - the one that procured him a furlough to come pick his wife up from the airport with zero notice.

“Elvis!” you holler, ignoring the fascinated way people’s necks swivel to watch two individuals they've only read both filthy and devine things about in the newspapers interacting in real time.

“Mamas! that really you?” a very darling and familiar voice carries over a couple dozen heads in the tubular space and it makes you want to giggle over how desperate he sounds. Like he’s rescuing you from the lion’s den instead of a commercial airline.

Elvis has a massive trust and appreciation for the common man, the set he came from, except when it comes to their treatment of you. Public feeling towards you has been exacerbated negatively by the newspapers stirring up filth and he’s nearly gone nuts with worry in the ten hours it took the plane to arrive in Germany.

“Yessir, it’s me alright.” you yell after a giggle and the rest of the crowd joins in good naturedly.

“W-w-well, well come o-on o-o-out then!” he booms in exasperation.

“Can’t.” you holler, “you’re clogging the drain, daddy.”

“Oh well, I’ll be-“ and then there’s a sudden shuffling and the Captain starts waving people on again.

You make eye contact with a withered little lady who is right up ahead of you, her ancient smile lines craggy and you feel a little validated as she alone beams at you from where she is still pressed against the side of her equally weathered fella. You’ve found it’s this ancient generation, the one before the commercialized, sterilized, American household set, who didn’t really bat an eye upon reading a tapped phone transcript of Elvis assuring you that he’s “gonna stuff your yittle cunt to the brim as soon as you’re back with me again, gonna pump you full, darlin. Yer gonna be gushin out with every rut but I ain’t gonna stop, ain’t gonna stop till we’re half dead the both of us, and you got a gallon of baby gravy leakin outta ya. I swear it lil mama, I’ll get you full again, just hang in there, hang in there, oh goddamn, I hear ya whinin, those tiny fingers of yourn ain’t doin near enough, are they….”

‘Soon as you were back with him. That was the promise, and here he was now, he couldn’t even wait for you to disembark before trying to get to you. And the weathered dame smiles at you, and you wonder if she’s thinking of the times she rolled in the hay with her man, sat on him under a blistering sun when he was working his tractor, maybe made a dozen children in a room shared with two other couples. Back when no one gasped at the notion that married couples must entwine and rut and spew in order to make those “three little curly heads in a row” that everyone still sought after.

She looks happy for you, she looks passed you back at Dodger and you know grandma is proud that someone’s out there not being a hypocrite and just acknowledging, revelling even, in the fact that marriage is a very primal thing.

Elvis, feels close to vomiting as he smiles and waves and even signs a few crinkled napkins as people file past him onto the jetbridge, standing ramrod straight in his uniform beside the rest of the plane crew who politely act as if he’s a member, not an embarrassingly frantic husband. A famous, frantic husband. A husband who keeps spinning his service cover round and round by the bill in desperate need to see his little woman come into view.

He’d left you to fend for yourself at Graceland, still hemorrhaging and fighting a life threatening infection in those pretty tits of yours that he had been so sure would feed his children as dutifully as the rest of you had proven to be. But they’d rebelled, they’d swelled up, they’d grown hard knots and made you sob in pain and still you went down to the Memphis train station and clutched his hand smilingly until the locomotive's gaining speed had torn him from your grip. He’d never been more proud of a human in all his life. And then he’d been worried sick ever after.

Not even married a year and he had inadvertently broken his promise that you’d always have him, always be a family, never be apart if you’d just be his wife. You’re healthy now, you’d assured him over the phone. Been feeding the children like a prize milk cow, even feel well enough to go down to the Graceland gates and stand and chat with the fans, have even stuck your dainty hand down south and played with the previously torn little petals of your cunt. You assure him all is back to normal.

You can be a dirty, dirty liar, though, you don’t know it but Elvis does, he has seen the way you convince yourself you are grand so others don’t worry, when you’re not well at all. Your welfare and wellbeing is hai to ascertain, he’s your husband and he’ll be the judge of that, thank you very much. If he could just see you over all these ‘tarnal heads —

—god what a vision. His wife. Twelve hours on a plane and all it cost you was a droop to your eyelids that vanishes the moment you catch sight of him. That old spark in your eyes lights up and your face burns red as a smile splits your cheeks apart and he loves you so badly, loves knowing this ravenous joy hasn’t caressed your face since last time you saw him, he alone provokes that look.

You are easily managing two carriers between the rows of seats and your hat is fetchingly tilted, your hair is curled and your coat is the one he ordered from the magazine and he’s gonna have fun peeling those nylons off your legs and — there’s still an ocean of people between you two but despite your moderate height, you two manage to keep the grinning eye contact as the distance jostles and ebbs closes and he plucks you forward by a outstretched hand, making you trip over your heels for the first time in this whole ordeal and he squats with you to let you set the carriers on the ground and before you can rise back up to your height, he’s kissing you ravenously in front of all the onlookers. My god he is comforting, his hands cup your cheeks with fevered concern and his warm tongue plunges familiarly and without prelude, his powerful embrace engulfs you, crushing you into himself like he’s gonna tuck you inside his heart. He’s your sanctuary and you slump into him, nearly knocking his hat off in your desperation to rake through his growing locks.

“Ma darling” he pants against your cheek and you both rise up from your semi squat.

Below on the tarmac, through the glass of the jetway, a dozen flashbulbs pop to capture this moment, the crowd of fans is screaming and the crew beside him titters. It’s what you signed up for, life and love in the fishbowl of fame, and he gives you an apologetic grin before you smooch it off him, and move to the side so grandma Dodger can pat his face. He gives you his arm and you both swing up a child apiece with ease, shuffling along the jetway to the immense relief of the remaining passengers. He can’t choose where to look, your face or down at the infant swinging at his side, peering over to look at Miss Ella as you carry her. He finally looks straight as the terminal comes into view, a literal light at the end of a tunnel, and he gnaws his lip and slows his stride and squeezes your hand rhythmically.

“I’m sorry it’s so public.” you murmur, knowing a private jet would have spared him all this. “I just couldn’t bare it any more.”

And even if he had been of a mind to begrudge you your rash action, hearing you unabashedly admit you missed him that much soothes everyone little worry he has harbored that now you’ve got these babies you wanted, you may have gone off the idea of a husband. Particularly one as testy and hungry as he can be. He is starving for you and it only grows as he registers in relief that you’re eyeing him up appraisingly, taking in the adjustments that “rigorous army life” has made on his physique and face.

He looks older, he knows that, but not in the way of it being the sad, sulking, pudgy fella of before, he’s chiseled and broad and virulent now and he sees you lick your lips in between smiles. You married a sad boy, you’re returning to a capable man. You knock your forehead against the patch at his shoulder like an interested cat and he snickers happily just as you both walk into the gauntlet of the terminal.

“C'mon Dodger, stick close.” he commands her and keeps craning his neck to make sure she’s not separated by the crowd despite her gripes that she’s quite capable.

“Don’t mind me,” she says, “it’s your wife you should be frettin’ bout, get ‘er a room to relieve them yams of hers, they’re near burstin and she’ll catch another bout of the clogged ducts if she keeps being so damn prudish bout nursin in public-“

“W-what the hell is all this bout y-you, you -?” Elvis comes to a full halt in the middle of the busy thoroughfare and looks frantically from her to you. You want to curse her for her tactlessness in scaring him after all the fretting he’s subjected himself to, but in all honesty, you have not nursed in eight hours and the agony you forgot for a brief moment upon seeing him again comes to the fore at the mere mention of your engorged state. You can feel yourself leaking and each shuffle rubs the fabric pads against your nipples and makes you want to whimper.

“I need a room to feed the babies before we get in a car.” you whisper the plain truth in his ear while standing atiptoe as more flashbulbs go off, capturing his look of recognition and the scarlet flush that burns his face at your confession. The tell tale vein in his neck thumps to life and you aren’t sure if it’s panic or desire sending his adrenaline through the roof. Neither will the captions under the photos in tomorrow morning’s paper.

The thought of his wife’s breasts full and heavy and warm with his hands still so cold from the winter chill makes him want to hold them and bury his chilled nose between them and -he needs to get you a room. Hates himself for being so hungry for you when your eyes are watering upon closer inspection and his children must be close to starving. Oh god, how often do infants eat? Will they be stunted for having to wait? He’ll spank the hell outta you if this little plane ride costs Jesse or Ella a single inch of height or a roll of fat.

You can see all this chaos flit underneath his crimson blush until Dodger grunts in so suggestive a way that it rouses him and suddenly he’s a man on a mission, the same man who got a furlough in record time and arranged your status on the board of the March of Dimes.

Mr- umm, that’s Private now- Presley snaps his fingers and tells a man he needs a room, the man gets him a whole lounge, Elvis gets you all guided through a throng to it, and Elvis thanks the man with such charming profusion the fella downright forgets the brusque order preceding it.

He spins around a few times in the lounge as if he can’t figure out what to fix first and you laugh and make your way to the couch, setting your carrier down and starting to undo your heavy mink.

“Right, right.” he mutters as the obvious hits him, your presence working that old steady calm on him. He feels like he takes his first true breath of German air then and sets to work.

Always, he doesn’t know how you manage it for him, but a soft smile, a head tilt and eyebrow arched in gentle direction and suddenly he’s got his feet back under him, even here as he arranges his children by the sofa -dear god he has kids, those are his kids-

and helps you with your coat. You sit yourself down and he stands ready for the next softly spoken order.

“Could you help me unbuckle them, darling?” your sweet guidance spurs him and he’s squatting, face to face with his baby he hasn’t seen since it was fresh popped into the world.

“Hey lil mister.” he whispers, half astounded to see something so little and fragile with his eyes staring back from beneath a mountain of blankets. He has to will his hands not to shake and has to try about five times to get the buckle undone, he’s being so timid about the clasp and maybe pushing too hard on his baby son’s belly. He swivels around to you after he loses track of time watching his child stare back, but baby boy starts to scowl and of course, of course there’s a point to this, so he swivels back to you and finds you undoing the buttons of your silk blouse and you’re so damn lovely as the inches of creamy skin begins to swell into view and he longs to touch and then there’s a wet patch and those pretty little nipples peek into view and a dribble of white from them startles him, and he makes a noise he hasn’t ever heard himself make.

“Whoops!” you laugh pained, leaking and swiping the flood from the one released breast before popping the wet finger in your mouth.

You reach for the baby and he pulls his gaze from your leaking breast to hand him over, and you smile shyly in thanks, and he wonders if it embarrasses you for him to watch but he can’t help it, you look so perfectly in your element as you tuck Jesse in the crook of your elbow as your other hand guides your nipple into his shiny little mouth. He latches on eager and you moan in pain and relief. Elvis hears his own breath come out in a ragged exhale as if he were sharing your feeling.

“This place sells soft drinks, yeah?” Dodger’s voice shakes him like a rocket going off as he remembers his grandma is here too, he nearly falls back on his ass in his haste to turn towards her.

“Yes’m, reckon they do.” he agrees, “different currency though, and you’ll get mobbed by the press outside.”

“Well, hand me some of them Nazi bills or whatever they use over here.”

“Dodger-“

“Hush boy, I’m in need of a coke and you’re in need of a minute alone with your family, I can handle it.” she makes a motion with her hand and he stands up and digs in his pocket and places enough currency in her palm to buy her a coke and a few mink coats, too.

She rolls her wise eyes and he suddenly hugs her hard, missing her and the home she represents. She strokes his back for a good minute before patting him and disentangling, going straight to the door and exiting without giving the sea of cameras even a sliver of a view of your makeshift oasis.

Poor little Ella has begun to fuss in her carriage and he spins around and drops to his knees to tend her, joints cracking hard against the frigid airport tile.

“No, no, no you’re ok my girl, you’re gonna be ok, oh no, oh shh it’s ok, it’s ok.” his worry for his daughter makes him forget his unease and he collects her out of her own mound of fluffy blankets and hold her to him, rocks her back and forth on his knees, face looking torn between adoration and terror that she won’t be pacified. It’s just a small cry and some baby faced puckering whimpers but you’ve never seen him look more devastated that she won’t respond. “How long’s it been since ya fed her?” he asks, voice raised and tone a little harsh.

“Just a couple hours,” you soothe, running a pacifying foot up the top of his thigh since your hands are occupied, he understands the gesture for what it is and his posture softens and he starts patting Ella more confidently. “I brought formula, Elvis, it’s just me that needed…”

“Course, course.” he swallows and hates how unsure he is, how stilted he’s making everything by this strange brand of insecurity, “I’m sorry for bein’ all -for doubtin your capabilities.” he makes amends and you can’t help but feel terrible for the lost look on his face. “I don’t got any nowhere to speak from, do I? -leavin my wife and children behind after all I promised.”

“You didn’t leave.” you reiterate the point you’ve hammered on him over the phone a dozen times, putting Jesse on your shoulder to burp him as he was so lackadaisical in his nursing he nearly fell asleep, “You were commanded away, and no one here blamed you for that except yourself, and I forbid it.”

“It weren’t right-“ he’s got Ella calmed down now he’s looking down at her with all of the remorse of a man who orchestrated a family for himself and then left them high and dry the minute they came to fruition.

“-really Elvis, I forbid it, that kinda talk,” you whisper and he looks up at you with those big eyes and a curious set to his mouth, like he wants to protest your command but it’s also everything he needs and more, “I forbid it ruining here and now, what we’ve got now -which is us, together, just as you promised. This!” you gesture between his kneeling form and yourself, each with a child you so lovingly made, “This is what your promised me, or nearly, if you could just, just not dwell on it any longer. Be here with me, please?”

He grabs your hand from Jesse’s little back and kisses your knuckles fervently, all that gentlemanly sweetness he showed you on your wedding night when he told you that it would hurt, but he’d give you babies and love and joy and forever in return. You’d sat atop him and done the deed yourself, impaling your virgin body on every hefty inch of him, and in return he had given you those babies you’d always wanted. And love, he gave you that, security, direction and a devotion you weren’t quite sure you had a large enough heart to match, but my god you wanted to try.

“Yes, yes Darlin I - oh god you’re…you’re d-d-dripping all over the place.” the mood shifts towards comic as he watches your neglected breast splutter out sweet milk into your silk shirt and you offer him Jesse in exchange for Ella.

Jesse’s head lolls back alarmingly once his daddy’s got him, his blue eyes half lidded in a mommy’s milk coma. Elvis giggles at it. “Son of mine, you’re plastered.” he takes an elegant finger and traces the tiny nose down to the little button chin, “Guess I should tuck him back in.” he sighs regretfully, hating having him out of his arms for even a minute, but also knowing he needs to get you back to the house in order to have any real and extended privacy.

You hiss as Ella latches on vigorously, and he looks up from his work on Jesse’s carrier in concern.

“All’s good.” you put on a brave smile, the one you gave him as the contractions started to hit, the one you gave him when you sank down on him fully for the first time and tried to be brave about the feeling of a cucumber in your keyhole. He may have not had that much quality time with his family as a whole so far, but he’s been studying you for years. He spots bullshit.

“You’re dirty little liar.” he tsks but he can’t help his smile, you look so bashful and then haughty about it.

“I just, I hope she’s hungrier than him.” you explain, and somehow you have a great deal of elegance about you, he thinks, sitting in your pressed skirt and heels and hat and curls with your shirt open and leaking ripe tits gushing at every mewling sound the infants let out. Its fascinating to him just how, well -full- they look, how it’s like a leaky faucet or a break in the hose or…precum, dribbling and oozing without coaxing and it’s making your whole breast shiny from the mess of it and -he can’t help it, he licks his lips, and you don’t miss it, even as he blushes scarlet at the desire that flashed across his brain.

You don’t out him, the jive of your relationship still feeling somehow precarious, like there’s a old shyness in the air. You pat at Ella’s bottom encouragingly, trying to keep her eager as her daddy still kneels and watches. She’s already starting to slow. And your breasts ache, they ache terribly still despite the munchkin’s having their dinner. You wonder about this shyness, you wonder about the way he’s shifting on the floor, the way his licked lips shimmer and the way you have a sneaking suspicion that the force of both your yearnings is so strong you’re playing safe until it can explode in some contained environment.

At some point he stopped just watching and took to leaning over your lap, the better to watch and stroke little Ella’s cheek as she sucks down what you give her. “A goddamn miracle, she is.” he whispers in awe and you nod in agreement, “We made this.” he states as if in shock, “We made these!” he boyishly exclaims, swiveling back to look at a conked out little Jesse before he turns back to you.

“We did indeed.” you grin warmly and he bites his lip, hands running up and down your thighs atop your skirt.

The familiarity of his old touchiness soothes you, and you lean over to kiss him gently, Ella already having let the nipple slip from her lips, sated with a measly meal after all that formula. You dribble on the cuff of his sleeve during the kiss and his eyes lock on the white stain seeping into the wool. You watch as he impulsively brings the sleeve to his mouth and sucks the moisture. His eyes blow wide, and you suck in a breath.

“I d-dunno what I-I-“ he protests his rash action.

“No, no, Elvis, would you -do you…” you lick your own lips and look down at Ella as she snoozes in a tremptohan dream, your engorged breast neglected.

You gently set her beside you on the couch while he clutches at your legs, waiting breathless to see if your mind is as compatibly wicked as his own.

“I need you, Elvis, I really do, please.” you whisper it so pained that he’s drawn closer as if it were a sirens sing -his woman needs him. “It’s not wrong, is it?”

All you’ve ever learned about any of this has been from him and the good book, and neither said nothin about forbidding anything done between couples in love. His tongue darts out and he shakes his head vehemently, even as his face burns scarlet across his cheekbones.

It’s like a slow movie kiss, the way you both gravitate towards each other, he rising up higher on his knees and leaning over your lap and you inclining yourself towards him.

You lift up a heavy breast and he’s so close to it his hot breath makes your wet nipple burn and tighten impossibly more, he pauses, open mouth puckered right before, eyes flicking up to yours with a wild need for assurance.

You put your other hand to the back of his head, knocking off his army hat and lacing your fingers through his shorn locks, gripping and guiding him that last inch, and then he’s there, his searing mouth engulfing you just as you remember from when you were a milkless maid.

“Please, please.” you gasp out, pushing his head closer and you see the broad line of his sturdy back ripple beneath his army greens in a shudder before he gives you what you need, mouth tightening, tongue dipping, cheeks hollowing. He sucks.

You moan in agonized relief, tugging his hair unconsciously and he moans back as the shockingly sweet deluge of you coats his tongue and slides down his throat. His heavy lidded eyes fly open at the taste, so sweet and refreshing and he finds that it’s not just the heady eroticism of it, or even the soothing closeness you’re both finally managing here and now that makes him float -it’s the truly comforting state of being clasped to your breast like this and being looked down upon so adoringly by the mother of his children. His arms wind round your waist and he locks his hands together at the small of you back. You’re a wonder of creations, an unfairly beautiful creature with a near unbearably impressive use. Rather like your tits, he thinks, and that makes him snicker around you little bud and you “oh ha!“ prettily in surprise at the vibration before settling and stroking his face.

“That’s it, that’s perfect, daddy, please a little more.” you whisper as he guzzles down his children’s sustainance.

He wouldn’t think of stopping, redoubles his efforts just to show you how invested he is, that this is no favor he is doing you. The painful throb between his legs, pressing as it is against your shin, ought to be proof enough to you he finds this nothing less than agreeable. His frostburned nose is warming up, nestled against burning hot flesh as it is, and he takes a chilled hand away from your waist to reach out and grasp your other breast. You gasp in shock and pain as out dribbles more milk, running in rivulets over and between his knuckles, down to his wrist.

“Oh my lord, there’s so much.” he groans in appreciation, greedily switching his spigot of choice and latching onto the other tit eagerly and your head falls back from the overwhelming feel of being taken care of.

“So good to me.” you marvel, dragging your hands through his hair, anchoring him still to you and he hums, his eyes growing heavy and milk settling warm and calming in his gut. “Always so good to me.”

You’re not suprised to feel the hot splash of what must be a tear on your breast, his sniffles just a little audible above the lewd noises of his suction and moans. This is you two, this is back to how it ought to be. You can feel him as he settles back into place with you, his whole body relaxing and leaning in. You flex your foot and it makes your leg brush against where he’s pressed to you and he bucks against your shin helplessly, a hand back on your waist and the other hefting your breast to his mouth. He ruts against your leg, months of absence and abstinence turning him into something no better than a dog in heat as he leans across your lap.

He pulls away with a gasp as if he’s been submerged this whole time. His face is glossy and his lips puffy and the collar of his shirt is wet from some of the milk he couldn’t catch. He looks wrecked and dazed and you thumb at the messy corner of his mouth. He reaches out and squeezes the breast he just deflated and laughs at the way it sags.

“Don’t.” you whine, a little shy but he just giggles harder and keeps jiggling it until you have to laugh, too.

“You all better now?” he asks soft, and your face is swimming in front of him, his hand staggers upwards on its way to clasp your cheek.

“Heavens, are you milk drunk?” you laugh, his whole expression hilariously childlike.

“Feel a lil funny.” he nods, slumping back on his knees but keeping his hands on your knees.

“That is becasue all the blood is down there.” your shiny black shoe toe nudges the tent in his pants and he grins bashfully.

“Well, hang on now!” he speaks up after a moment, frowning at one of your breasts and you look down to find a bead of milk gathering to drip again, “I just drained you!” he protests with wounded pride to your offending breast, “I just drained ya, and you're already drippin, what’s the big idea?”

“Elvis baby,” you laugh merrily, “It makes up to replace what comes out. Nursing encourages more production.”

“Sure but -but this is excessive!” he’s being louder than usual, inhibitions gone out the window the minute he’s sucked titties like a starving newborn while wearing his country’s uniform. “Hell, they ain’t gonna win this time.” he shakes his head and leans in again, “Gonna keep you comfy now you’re here wi’me.” he swears competitively before latching on again to the fuller breast and swallowing down the fresh brewed batch.

You can feel the relief mounting in your chest as that final little bit gets drained, soon there won’t be any more for him to suck out, so while you can, you take the opportunity afforded to you, one you never thought you’d have. You place your hand against his throat to feel it work as he swallows you down, a motion he is familiar with, one he does around your throat every time you swallow his release. It makes him growl in want and he laps around your bud as he ruts and stares deep into your bright eyes. The fan of his eyelashes flutter against your breast and you push back his hair, thumbing at his eyebrows, he goes a tad crosseyed as his pupils blow out and suddenly the desire for a nap is mighty powerful in him. He giggles, nipple falling from his lips, and you giggle too, through your blush, and cradle his head.

A hard knock on the door snaps both this pretty moment and the line of drool from his lips to your nipple. He rolls and scoots out of your lap and back on his ass like a soldier out of his foxhole and you hear Dodger’s voice saying something about the car being ready through the muffle of the partition.

“Right, right, ok.” Elvis hollers, vigorously wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand as he watches you do up your soaked shirt with nimble fingers.

“You’re really drunk, I think. You sure you’re alright?” you murmur, watching as he blinks and shakes his head as if he’s got water in an ear.

“Maybe.” he hiccups and then looks horrified by it, “Lordy, really don’t know what’s wrong with me, I-I-ill be fine i j-just a lil…what’s in that stuff anyway?” he nods at your now (sadly, deplorably, regretfully, criminally) covered breasts.

“Nutrients and sugar, I guess.” you chuckle, choosing to strap Ella in yourself, since he seems a little woozy.

“More like moonshine.” he gripes and then gasps in shock and you see what he does about the same time, a massive wet patch on the crotch of his khakis that he pokes at as if he isn’t sure when he’d spilled a drink in his lap.

“You didn’t!” you exclaim in gleeful shock and he gives you a warning look but you’re too far gone in smug satisfaction at making him blow a load just from tiddy sucking that you keep grinning down at him manically.

“I-i-I didn’t!” he insists, flustered and bewildered, “I don’t remember doin it! Wasn’t even touching m’slef.”

“You looked pretty happy there for a minute.” you tease merciless.

“Hell mama, how am I gonna stand up without makin it run ery’where? Gonna be goddamn humiliatin goin out there with wet pants.”

“Your jacket covers that area.” you soothe, ascertaining that the patch is high enough up.

“Not when I stand up it won’t, whole load is gonna run down ma leg an’drip on the floor. That’s three loooong months worth of cream right there, lil mama.”

Dodger knocks again and he looks up at you half panicked, “I’m coming in, all this press doin my head in.” she hollers in warning.

“Yes of course, come on in!” you encourage her while reaching down into the carrier and snagging the burp cloth, “Here, sop it up!” you hiss at him, extending the cotton cloth and he looks at it incredulous for a brief moment before the door opens and he spins away to shove his hand and the fabric down his pants and collect the mess so it doesn’t streak his pant leg upon standing up.

He has to give ya credit, it sorta works. He pulls the sodden rag out of his waistband and turns around to see his grandmother helping collect the luggage and you smoothing out the wrinkles in your skirt. He thinks he sees a shiny patch of fluid on the shin of your nylons. He shivers again.

Dodger makes no comment on your wet blouse, she expected as much and the mink you don again covers it just fine. Elvis she observes with a critical eye and a shake of her head, he’s a hopeless case really. He looks a mess, not in any particularly blatant way, just the dazed light in his eyes and the plump of his lips and the wet around his collar, the glow to his cheeks. He looks like he just enjoyed himself somehow, though the HOW remains a bit nebulous. One can only hope the papers put it down to familial affection.

There are reporters from every paper outside, American and German and British, and then the fans to boot. It’s all rather rude just to plunge ahead through the well wishes and welcomes so you and he walk arm and arm through it all, a baby carrier strategically carried in front of him, and dish out pithy replies to an abundance of questions.

-“You look lovely, Mrs Presley! So glad to see you recovered!”

-“Oh my god I can’t believe it’s them!”

-“Did she really fly commercial?”

-“How do you feel about her going spring unaccompanied, Elvis?”

“She weren’t unaccompanied,” he shakes his head, “she was with my Grandma.”

-“Can we see the babies?”

“Sure ya can!” he tugs the blanket down past Ella’s chin but as the bulbs go off and her eyes crinkle sadly he quickly snaps back the hood of the carrier, “Aww, she ain’t a fan of your lights, man.” he apologizes, a huge smile on his face as the crowd coos and he almost forgets in his pride to not raise the carrier up and expose his accident.

“You look a little, uh, wet, Elvis.” an oft encountered American journalist has the audacity to reach out and touch the soaked collar of his shirt, a shit eating grin on his face.

Elvis tenses and his stride beside you gains speed but the slimey columnist keeps pace, “So much meltin snow out there, man,” uour husband tries to grin for the cameras, “I’m from Memphis, I dunno how to handle that stuff, gets on ma trousers and collar and er’ryrhing.”

“Sure, sure.” the reporter nods, “Bet you’re glad to have your wife on this side of the pond but there’s gonna be a lotta disappointed Frauleins.”

“They won’t be disappointed for long once they get to know ‘er.” Elvis states with jovial certainty. You can’t help but beam.

“You can’t blame them for being sore,” the guy won’t be put off or dislodged from your side as you exit the airport out onto the frigid sidewalk, “not every dame was born to be a cum guzzler.” the guy acts as if he’s agreeing with something Elvis said while throwing this tabloid trash back up into your face.

You positively refuse to flinch at the reference to the bugged phone call but Elvis stalls to a complete halt right beside your shiny ride, looking over at the man with deathly hate in his eyes, “The hell did you just say?” he inquires, terribly quiet.

“I was just quoting you, man.” The guy throws his hands up defensively and you duck and scoot around Elvis to help Dodger load the car, watching your husband coil up for an attack out your periphery.

“You’re quotin a newspaper that coughed up a couple million in damages for illegally tapin’ a private call!” he explodes and if anyone was unaware of what spurs him to grab the fellow by the shirt front and pin him to the hood, they are now informed. “If you ever, and I do mean ever,” he goes on, fist crushing the guy's diaphragm and voice shaking in terrible, hushed rage, “say or repeat or even so much as think of my wife like that again I’ll ruin ya. I don’t mean your job, I don’t mean your life, I mean I’ll ruin ya so bad you’ll wake up everyday wishin your mama washed you out with a douche when she had the chance. You hearin me? Yeah, yeah, what’s that? You’re sorry? That’s reaaalll nice of ya, you should be sorry. Alright, alright, I’ll take your apology but yer gonna apologize to my lil wife, too, you hear me? Go’on now, you scummy sunnuvabitch, you don’t even deserve to look at er.”

You lean against the inside of the car door, straight backed in your heels, family all packed inside the cab and await the windless reporter to get his voice back enough to stammer out a “apologies, Mrs. Presley, I didn’t mean to be inappropriate, I didn’t mean to-“

“We all know what you meant to do, you ungentlemanly bastard,” your husband shakes him by his collar and you glance uneasily at the gathering crowd but they seem mostly sympathetic, “You’re tryin to shame an admirable woman for her God given talent of pleasin her husband -and for likin it while she’s at it. Well you ain’t gettin away with it, not this time.”

When he lets go of the man, the guy nearly catapults into the crowd from the force of the shove. He meets no helpers among them and ends up face first on the cement.

Elvis saunters back and holds the car door open wider and motions you into the cab, you take your seat. He clears his throat before turning back around and dipping his hat to the throng, “Night yall, god bless.” before scooting in beside you and the ride takes off to your new home, your new life here in Germany.

Dodger’s eyes are smiling around her coke as she sits between the babies, watching proudly as Elvis settles next to you and heaves out a long breath.

“Always some bastard tryin to ruin a nice day.” he murmurs but it fades into a happy little sigh as you reach out and take his hand, your head leaning on his shoulder, finally snug beside him again. You smile, knowing he’ll raise your son right, kindly, respectfully.

Elvis’ pant leg beneath your fist is wet and you sneakily pat him there beneath his coat flaps. He nuzzles your hair with his nose and you feel his hot breath tickling your ear as out comes a deep whisper, “Don’t fret o’er that, Elaine, there’s more where that came from.”

If you’d like to be tagged in this particular series please drop a note below. I’ll admit I’m disorganized and have trouble keeping all the requests sorted when they’re scattered, what I do check regularly are the requests in the notes for chapters -and I do manage to get those added. So, if you’ve put in a request and I’ve failed ya, or if you’re new and would like to be added, please pop a note below. Xoxo 💋

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