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ellie-24 · 8 months

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Just A Fan

A/N: I recently saw all the 1977 Hawaii pictures again and oh they make me so soft every time. His health failed him, his personal life frustrated him, but he looked so happy and relaxed on this (last) vacation and really enjoyed himself.

Sooo I had to write a little something for dear Big Daddy Elvis. It's literally just horribly self-indulgent fluff. Enjoy!

This is also a veeeeery late response to the writing prompt: "Isn't that mine?"

Word count: 3.3 k

March 11th 1977, Polynesian Cultural Center, Hawaii

Cara noticed him right away. Of course, she's been looking for him. Word got around at campus that he would be here tonight and to say she was exited would be an understatement. Unfortunately she of course wasn't the only one who heard about it. She already dreaded the masses that would form around him, waiting to get a glimpse.

Others might say they wouldn't have recognised him right away when he entered the open-air pavilion. In fact, at first it seemed like nobody noticed him at all.

His jet black hair and sideburns more grown out and partly hidden beneath a white, frizzy bucket hat. The sparkly, heavy jumpsuits he usually wore replaced by a comfortable looking light track suit, emphasising the sight swell of his belly. Beautiful blue eyes hidden behind tinted glass. She hoped he'd take them off, even if just for a second so that she could see them. It's not like never seen his eyes, she'd stared at them longingly for hours and hours, never growing tired of them.

Whether she was staring at his face on one of the numerous records she owned, pausing his movies to fully take in a particularly cheeky expression that she loved so much or just sitting in front on the many, many posters on the walls of her dorm room, pretending he was looking right back at her.

He looked different. Different than he looked on stage, different than he looked on those posters, different than he looked 10 years ago. She was very well aware of that. The whole public was aware of it. Not only aware of it, but bothered by it, apparently.

The amount of mean spirited headlines she's read, plastered at the front of cheap tabloids at the gas station, at the supermarket, seemingly everywhere she went. Everywhere for the entire world to see. Surrounding, following, haunting her.

Cara never understood it. Her love for him never faltered, after obsessing over him throughout her whole childhood her fate was finally sealed when she saw him live for the first time in 1972. She was just 15 years old and she vividly remembered begging her parents for weeks, months to take her to the concert. Two more followed in 1974 and 1975 and each time she just fell in love with him more and more. Since moving to Hawaii for university she hasn't had the opportunity to see him again. But now he was here, closer than he'd ever been before and she felt like a giddy teenager again.

Cara pondered for a while, tugging at the hemline of her short sun dress, her eyes laser focused on him the entire time. The native dances presented on stage weren't the main attraction, at least not for her. There were of course whispers in the audience with most people risking a short glance towards the King of Rock'n'Roll sitting among them, but nobody really dared to approach him and instead appreciated the actual show. It was refreshing to see him as part of an audience enjoying other people's perfomances.

In a motion she didn't quite register herself she got up and started walking. She wouldn't talk to him. No, she really didn't want to bother him when he was on vacation, with his guard down. He seemed so content not having to perform at the moment and she didn't want him to feel like he had to just for her. It's just that she wanted to see him up-close. And if she had to pretend to go to the bathroom to walk past him, coming as close as possible even if it was only for a passing glance, she'd do that.

"Hey, isn't that mine?" She heard him say when he was within earshot. He looked at the brown-haired man sitting next to him, who she quickly recognised as Charlie Hodge. Elvis snatched a glass of what looked like orange juice from his hand and laughed as he brought it to his lips, leisurely sipping on it.

Cara halted against her will, freezing at the spot. Seeing him like this, so relaxed and carefree was a wonderful sight and she couldn't tear her eyes away from him.

He suddenly rose from his seat and she urged her body to move and not just stand there and stare at him like a complete lunatic. He had his head turned back towards his group as he walked nearly bumped into her, only catching himself last second.

"Oh sorry, honey, I didn't see ya there." He gave her a quick once over and promptly beamed at her, making a pleasant shiver run down her spine. "Ain't ya just a sweet little thing?"

Cara's eyes widened as she realised he just talked to her. He just talked to her. She wanted to say a million things but the words got stuck in her throat. This was it. Her chance to talk to Elvis Presley and she was about to mess it up.

It seemed like hours passed where she just stared up at him, not able to utter a damn word. Head spinning, she felt her knees going weak.

"Hey honey, ya alright?" His voice was now latched with concern and she continued staring up at him like a deer caught in the headlights.

Her mind raced, trying to think of something to say, preferably something smart. At least she managed to open her mouth now, but only a little squeal came out. It would've been better if she'd just kept her mouth shut entirely. The spinning got worse and her ears started ringing as the moment dragged on and on. His beautiful, more than familiar voice became a dull background noise and she couldn't make out what he said.

"Aww, you're a little nervous? Don't got no reason to, sweetheart, promise. I won't bite, okay?" He drawled with his signature charming half smile.

Cara has dreamed of embracing him her entire life. How many times she's pictured it, holding him, letting him hold her. Being so close to him, pressing her body against his, feeling his warmth. She's thought of this scenario at least a thousand times. Her arms around his neck as he kneeled over the edge of the stage, leaning down to give her a kiss.

Never in a million dreams it would've occured to her that the first time she'd hug Elvis Presley would be because her legs went limp and she had to physically hold onto him to prevent herself from falling as her vision blurred.

He momentarily grunted as she leaned against him for support. "Hey, hey, honey, careful. I gotchu, you're alright." His arms wrapped around her middle, holding her steady before moving her towards a cushioned seat. He sat down with her splayed sideways across his lap, her back resting against the armrest.

Once he had her settled on his sturdy thighs he extented one arm and gestured around as if shooing away somebody. "It's okay, Charlie, I got her." He rasped, sounding a bit winded.

His scent surrounded her as she was pressed against his soft, yet strong body. An immediate feeling of comfort and safety rushed through her and she subconsiously tried to get even closer to him.

His whole body vibrated when he cleared his throat and she gasped when he shifted again, adjusting his grip on her. Now her head rested against his shoulder, if she moved just a little bit lower she could probably feel his heart beating rapidly.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" His voice was calm next to her ear.

"Cara." She whispered, black spots still dancing before her eyes.

He nodded, his whole attention on her. "Cara, that's nice. I'm Elvis."

She blinked up at him. Had he really introduced himself right now? "Yes, I know that." She breathed, her eyebrows furrowed in disbelief and wonder and her eyes shining.

He chuckled softly and carefully brushed some strands of hair from her sweaty forehead. "Now, Cara, I want ya to take some deep breaths, okay?"

She did as she was told as best as she could and slowly her head felt a little less fuzzy. He's pulled down the zipper of his track suit somewhat, exposing his wide chest, golden chains resting over the thick, dark hair.

This had to be a dream.

"Honey, what are ya doin'?" He asked when he saw her fingers digging into her waist, his voice a bit alarmed. He removed his shades to give her a stern look.

Cara swallowed hard when she looked into his eyes and her voice trembled when she spoke up. "Pinching myself."

It took him a moment to register but then started laughing heartily, his belly shaking against her. "You're a cute little thing."

She's essentially passed out in Elvis Presley's arms. She wanted to die. Out of the corner of her eye she saw his whole entourage staring at her, assessing the situation. They must think she's completely crazy. "Oh god, this is so embarrassing."

"Nah, no reason to be embarrassed, little one." He murmured and threw a look over his shoulder, waving the curious onlookers off, telling them with a glare to mind their own business.

"I'm sorry." She attempted to get up, despite her ears still feeling like someone stuffed cotton in there, but he quickly tightened his hold on her before cupping her chin.

"Don't apologise, little. Ya just gonna stay here for just a minute."

She'd stay for the rest of her life if he'd let her. In theory. But she really didn't want to make this even more awkward and weakly shook her head. "Uh-"

"Those little legs and feet are still a bit weak." He interrupted her with his strong hand moving towards her thighs, rubbing and squeezing her softly, silencing her in an instant.

For a moment she just stared up at him, lost in the gentle and caring look in his eyes. She had to, she just had to do it, she thought as she reached up and gently cupped his cheek. The feeling of his soft skin against hers made her jump, still not quite believing that this was really happening.

His fingers moved to brush over her ankle, toying with the clasp of her platform sandals. "Gotta take these off, don't want you to fall the second I set you down again."

Cara just nodded and continued to stare up at him, her eyes moving rapidly as she tried to take in every little detail. The way his plush lips hung open the tiniest bit. The way his eyebrows were furrowed in concentration as he worked on her shoes.

When he tilted his head slightly and offered her a view of his neck she could see black strands of hair sticking out from beneath the hat. Just as she wanted to start playing with them he turned his head back and looked down, catching her studying him. From that angle she could see his small double chin.

"Not even close." She whispered to herself, barely audible.

"What's that, honey?" He asked and briefly leaned over her to put her shoes aside.

"Not even close." She repeated and blushed as she realised she had to explain her thoughts now. "I mean, uh, seeing your face on screen, or from a distance when you're on stage." She shrugged. "It doesn't even come close."

"What, the wrinkles so bad?" He joked, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.

Cara shook her head. "Doesn't come close to how beautiful you are."

He leaned in closer with his lips pursed and brushed through her hair as if inspecting her scalp. "Ya sure ya didn't hit your pretty head somewhere?"

"No, I didn't. I really mean it." She whispered with a frown, not liking his self-depracating comments.

He paused and looked down with a bashful smile after a few seconds. "Oh, thank you, sweetheart, that's, uh, a-awfully kind of you."

"Just honest." She shrugged and carefully ran her fingers over his cheek again, through the course, yet soft hair of his thick side burns and wiped away some of the sweat that had gathered there.

"Stop, honey, it'll go to my head." He gently chided her as she kept complimenting him.

"I hope so."

He averted his gaze and resumed to stroke her ankle, gently massaging it now. There was a bit of pink on his cheeks and Cara marveled at the fact that she was able to make him flustered.

"You know, when I was at one of your concerts two years ago a girl next to me passed out as well and I had to take care of her for like twenty minutes. I was so angry at her." She let out a small laugh at the chaotic memory.

"You've been to one of my concerts?"

"I've been to three." She nodded with a proud smile.

He raised one eyebrow. "Three? Lord, should have saved that money for college, little one."

"It was worth it..." She trailed off, not sure if she had the nerve to continue talking. "I always hoped to get a kiss, at least a scarf. Each time... But I never quite made it to the front."

"Aww, honey." He cooed ruefully as if he was personally responsible for her bad luck. As if it truly bothered him.

It was only a second later that she felt his pillowy lips against hers. Butterflies erupted in her stomach and she froze while he casually made her biggest dream come true. He didn't just peck her lips, instead he lingered, even added a bit more pressure until she closed her eyes with a sigh.

They were complete strangers, yet the connection between them was very palpable as he kissed her slow and gentle, his finger grazing along her jaw. His breath fanned over her cheek and tickled her slightly, causing her to squirm a bit in his arms, but his soothing touches on her body calmed her down somewhat. When he finally pulled away from her the dizzy feeling returned and she squeezed her eyes shut before opening them again, blinking a bit disoriented.

Elvis saw the colour draining from her face again for a second and let out a small laugh. "Stay with me, sweetheart." He softly patted her cheek.

"Uh-huh." She responded, waving away. "No, yeah, I'm good."

He looked back to Charlie on instinct, his head whipping around, before turning back to her. With a frown he slowly scratched his neck, looking regretful. "I don't have a scarf, little. Uh, I-I'll give you this. That okay for you?" He removed one of the golden rings he was wearing, pulling it from his ring finger and holding it out to her.

"Oh, no I can't take it." Her eyes widened and she raised her hands in protest.

"But now I want ya to have it." He slipped it onto her thumb, and gently held her clammy hand in his, completely engulfing her.

Cara stared at the glittery piece of jewelry on her hand, the metal still warm, wondering what she'd done to deserve this. "Oh, thank you." She choked out, tearing up a little.

He drew circles over her temple in a calming way. "You're welcome, sweetie."

"I'm a mess." She laughed nervously and closed her eyes, trying to stop the tears from flowing. "I'm talking to Elvis Presley and I'm a mess."

"Shush, little, you're not a mess. I don't wanna hear any of it."

"I'm sorry."

He shook his head and ran his thumb over her lips, making her breath hitch. "Now, what are ya being sorry for? Quit apologising, okay? I get to hold a pretty girl in my arms. Made it worth to come here in the first place." He chuckled in an attempt to cheer her up, to make her smile.

Now it was Cara's turn to blush furiously and his grin widened. "Finally got some colour in your face again. You're feeling a bit better, honey?"

That was a good question. Was she feeling better? She wanted to weep, laugh and yell at the same time, but he didn't need to know that. Instead she just put a hand to her burning forehead and smiled a little. "I think so." Her voice sounded a bit hoarse, the emotions still overwhelming her.

Elvis made no attempt to get up however, let alone loosen his grip on her and continued to gently massage her bare calf, apparently not yet ready to part with her. Luckily she felt the same. So they just enjoyed the feeling of being close to each other, a mutual understanding between them.

"Ya, ya wanna come and see my next show?" He suddenly asked out of the blue.

She nodded so quickly, she almost hurt her neck. "I'd love to. But-"

He brushed through her hair. "I'll make sure you're gonna sit in the first row. I'll arrange it. Then I'll give ya a scarf."

"You already gave me this." She pointed to her thumb.

"But you wanted a scarf, honey, it's that simple. And you'll get a scarf, you'll see." He insisted as he grasped her hand pressed a few kisses to her knuckle.

"Elvis." She paused and bit her lip. The amount of times she said, cried, screamed his name, one should think she's used to it. But using it to adress him directly felt incredibly strange.

He continued toying with her fingers. "What's on your mind, honey? You want another kiss?" He drawled with a small smirk, making her tummy flip.

What she wanted to say to him is that he was too kind. Way too giving. That he shouldn't be so worried about pleasing her, she was just a fan. That she enjoyed kissing and hugging more than anything else. But by the genuine and earnest look in his eyes she realised how much he needed it for himself. Doing everything in his power to make her happy, to satisfy her like they were old friends or possibly lovers, even though his girlfriend Ginger Alden only sat a few feet away from them.

She pressed her lips together, deciding not to voice her thoughts and just said the two words that came to mind, that she'd wanted to say to him all these years. "Thank you."

He furrowed his brows and licked his lips. "What for?"

She held his gaze and put a hand on his chest, feeling the thick patches of hair under her fingers. "For being you."

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down and he sniffed once, his nose scrunching up. That tender look on his face nearly made her melt as they just looked at each other, forgetting the world around them and all its problems. Then he nudged her with a lopsided smile. "Ya want that kiss now or what?"

A smile tugged at her lips as well and she managed a small nod, mentally preparing herself. She was sure that if she continued talking she would just start crying hysterically so she just grabbed onto the soft fabric of his track suit, slightly pulling him down.

He started to lean down, but before he could touch her lips again he opened his eyes with a playful twinkle. "Just don't pass out on me again, little one."

She could do that for him, she knew she'd do anything for him. Just like he did everything for her, driving her crazy and keeping her sane at the same time. And she knew she'd treasure that moment forever. She had a feeling he'd treasure it as well.

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Thank you to my lovely sister wives @be-my-ally @thatbanditqueen @vintageshanny @whositmcwhatsit @missmaywemeetagain @peskybedtime @from-memphis-with-love @shakerattlescroll

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis fanfiction #elvis x reader #big daddy elvis #writing prompt game #elvis x oc #elvis presley x reader #elvis fanfic #1977 elvis

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be-my-ally · 10 months

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A Tour of the Penthouse

ugh naming one-shots is the bane of my existence. I'm terrible at coming up with titles.

Hello! I am back! not that I ever left, but I've been on a bit of a writing break the past few weeks - not intentionally I might add, so I am mighty pleased to be *inspired* and writing again. Much more in the pipeline coming soon, but first, a fun little smutty 1973 vegas one night one-shot!

warnings: 18+, p in v, oral (v receiving), mirrors... that's it folks, short and basic but hopefully still hot! this doesn’t feel super elvis-y to me but i think that might be the self-doubt creeping in after it being so long since i last posted (i hope)!

For the prompt: “No. Don’t talk to her like that."

pairing: 1973 Elvis x female reader (note: photos below are from the stax studios sessions in memphis July 22nd about 2 weeks before the vegas dates this fic is set in, but if he was willing to wear velour in tennessee in july, I don't see why not in vegas in august).

wc: 4.4k

You’d had the fantasy, the idea of being plucked out of the audience, the concept of a tap on the shoulder; “Please, miss, come with us.” But you’d known that was purely fantastical. You’d not been handpicked to be here this evening, you’d handily bumped into the brother of your best friend’s husband - a tenuous link if ever there was one who’d happily offered you an evening’s entertainment after you’d embarrassingly admitted you’d come to Vegas alone in the vain hope of scoring an Elvis ticket. The embarrassment waned pretty fast though when he’d apologised for not being able to do better than a back of the balcony seat, but that, perhaps because you’d sounded so embarrassed or pathetic, he knew someone with a standing invite to “not an after-party, just, casual drinks after the show.” Even so, you’d not believed you’d get anywhere near Elvis himself. Yet, somehow here you were, drink in hand, being flirted with (inexplicably terribly) by one of his entourage as you pretended not to be solely focused on his friend and boss, talking mere feet away. He suddenly whirls around to you, talking loudly to the man in front of you,

“No. Don’t talk to her like that, man, c’mon.” Elvis shakes his head, “You gotta do it right if you’re gonna try.” The thin man, his name escaping you as entirely inconsequential now you’re being faced with Elvis himself, takes a step back as Elvis practically pushes him to the side, taking his place directly in front of you, hand brushing your arm in greeting. “ Just ignore him hon.” You nod, a little starstruck at being so close to him, having watched him from the balcony earlier that night it was almost a little jarring to go from such distance to so close. The top of his head and bridge of his nose had been more visible to you than anything else, the novelty of now being able to see up his nose one of the many thoughts rapidly running through your head. Oh God, how did I end up here? And, Lord, is that really Elvis talking to me? Competed to be at the forefront of your mind, although admittedly along with Is he really wearing velvet velour in Vegas?

“Oh, I’ll do my best! If you say so, Sir!” Sir? To be faced with him in all his physical glory - velour and all, was hindering your ability to form thought or words. He chuckles at you, seemingly finding your obviously flustered state endearing, while nudging the other man again,

“Now - before I had ta step-in and save ya, what was he promisin’ ya? A tour?” The other nods sheepishly, as you agree,

“Oh - uh, yes, um your, uh, friend - uhh, sorry, what was it again? Oh uh, Red here, was saying he could take me to have a look around the showroom, while it was empty-like. If uh, if I was interested.” You cringe internally as you feel yourself stumbling over your words. Elvis scoffs, rolling his eyes beneath tinted glasses.

“The showroom? That was the best you could do, huh boy?” He shakes his head in seeming exasperation, turning back to you to ask, “You ever wanted to see a dressing room… or uh, my suite?” Of course you have, who wouldn’t have done?

“Oh. Well, I uh, I can’t say I’ve considered it before.” You wince internally, trying to keep your outer expression neutral, was that seriously your best reply?

“No? Well honey, I’ll have to take you back and show you some time.” You can’t help the giggles escaping, nor the slight snort that preceded them - too utterly flustered to worry about playing it cool.

“C’mon EP, that’s not playin’ fair, you’re practically bribing the poor girl.” Red says it almost without thinking, and you can see the nerves play out on his face, hoping Elvis would react the way he’d intended.

“Bribing?” He scoffs, “With you as the competition,” sneering he turns back to you, “go on then, doll, who’d you pick? Me or this ol’ lug?” He puffs out his chest as if showing off.

“Well, uh, Mr. Uh. Mr West. You’re very nice and all, but -“ Red laughs in response,

“Don’t worry darlin’, I knew I was fighting a losin’ battle soon as he stepped over here.” He nods, “I’ll try my luck over there, you two enjoy your night.” He smiles, although you can tell he’s a little put out. Elvis looks pleased with himself, hip cocked and hand inserted into his bright gold belt, seemingly waiting for you to have something else to say.

“That - that’s not the outfit you were wearing earlier.” If you could smack yourself right now, you would; of course it wasn’t the same outfit, why would he stay in a stage costume all night, you wish you could take the words back but Elvis smiles, a little ruefully, pulling his hand from his belt to run it through his hair.

“Well honey,” He drawls out the endearment, elongating the syllable break, as if debating whether to tell you, or perhaps an attempt at making his voice sound even more appealing. “It’s, a bit embarrassin’ to admit, but… I’ve got a bit of a habit of splitting my pants…” He looks at you, solemnly shaking his head, “Just you know, with all the movin’ and shakin’ on stage, I seem to go through a lot of them. Made it through the show alright tonight, but apparently climbing down them stairs off the stage at the end was too much for ‘em.”

“Oh.” Your eyes widen as you take that in for a second, mind gone as you imagine the white crystallised suit of earlier, splitting down the seam and then all the way down his legs, imagining it falling off of him completely, him stood nude and glorious against the spotlight of the stage. You realise he was still talking, “Huh? Sorry - What’d you say?” Elvis rolls his eyes,

“I said, listen, how’s about you come and take a look? Are you any good with a needle?” You’re slow to the uptake when being faced with his southern drawl and seemingly random question and you panic for a second; he’s still looking at you, watching your expressions with unblinking eyes beneath his lavender shades, you can’t think of what to say in response, such an easy question, but what level of skill does he even need? You gape at him until he finally seems to take pity, shrugging a little,

“S’alright if you’re not, it’s just my fingers, I’ve never got the hang of it,” He lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “My ma tried, but I can never thread it quite right.” He mimes trying to thread a needle, comedically - tongue out, and one eye closed. You burst out laughing, mostly from sheer relief from being able to form thought again. “You must at least know how to hem?”

You nod, a little offended, “Of course! I made this dress!” He looks you up and down, and you feel yourself stand up a little straighter, an almost subconscious reaction to his looking, while smoothing the pockets down as surreptitiously as you can for his inspection.

“Made it fill out just right too.” You squirm on the spot in response, you can’t work out if you should be offended at being reduced to essentially free labour, or that you somehow find it totally acceptable just because he’s made your tummy flip with that one little sentence.

“Well, you know, just thought maybe, maybe I could just get you to take a look and let me know what you think I should do.”

“Oh uh, sure thing - Yes, absolutely, I could do that.” He grins at you, in reward for your compliance, before pressing a hand into the small of your back, directing you to the elevator.

It’s overwhelming, the feel of being with him in such a confined space, focussed on the door in front of you for the mere seconds between floors. It’s all you can do to keep yourself together, the smell of him, the feel of his hot palm still against your back making your thighs clench. Elvis seems to be in a world of his own, fingers gently rubbing your back, humming under his breath. You’re not quite sure why you’re both pretending you really were going to look at a torn jumpsuit. But when you start to follow that line of thought you can feel your heart-rate increasing and panic start to rise - it’s not that you don’t want to do whatever he has in mind, just that you’ve never done this causally before. All you can do is quickly attempt to distract yourself by curiously assessing the decor.

Somehow though, mere minutes later, small talk and short tour over, you find yourself sitting at his dressing table, jumpsuit in hand as you peer at the split straight along the seam of the crotch.

“Well, er, Elvis, here’s the thing - I think it might be beyond repair - or, at least it’s beyond what I can do with a travel kit.” He nods, solemnly, from over your shoulder, his sideburn hair tickling your cheek, and hands starting to span across your ribs.

“Hmm, guess I’ll have to send it to get mended then,” He tugs it out of your grip, balling it up and throwing it off to the side.

“Oh, well - yes, I’m sure someone will be able to - oh!” His hands creep further around your ribcage, until he’s just ever so slightly brushing his fingers further against your breasts. You shiver as his breath gets heavier on your, puff of laughter at your immediate physical reaction sending goosebumps across your exposed skin. He brushes your hair out of the way, gently tucking it behind the other ear, while his other hand remains spanning your ribs, thumb moving in delicate small circles. The small part of your brain not totally preoccupied solely with the sensation of him behind you wonders if you should be doing something yourself, turning around maybe, but before you can move you feel him lean back in to your neck, lips barely two inches from your skin.They brush against your ear and you squirm away, shuddering a little.

“Oh,” Elvis laughs, “That’s a no for that, huh, sweetheart. I’ll have to pull out my special moves for you then.” You nod, rapidly, starting to explain that he definitely should pull out any and all moves just nowhere near your ears, but as you’d swung your head up you’d made thunking contact with his nose.

“Shit! Son-of-a-mother -“ He swears loudly as he takes a sudden step backwards, knocked off balance, and you whirl around apologies tumbling out of your mouth,

“Oh god, oh, god I’m so sorry.” He’s pulling his glasses off of his face, a red mark spreading from the bridge of his nose up to between his eyebrows where your head had knocked them hard against his soft skin. “Oh god! Your face!” He blinks at you for a moment, rubbing at the redness, before his face breaks into a crooked grin.

“Can’t say I’ve bumped noses in a while.” He’s still rubbing the spot even while he’s joking and you can’t bring yourself to laugh with him, the embarrassment rolling down your spine, your cheeks turning red to match his.

“Oh god, maybe I should just go,” You stand from the chair, looking around for your purse, “I don’t know what I was thinking - this is clearly a sign, I’ll be out of your hair in a moment.” He rushes to stop you, hand grabbing your forearm,

“No, no, please, look - I’m fine now,” He gestures to his face, “bet it won’t even bruise.” You shake your head, “No, look, we just needta be face to face.” His hands grip your waist, eyes telling you to stay, and once he’s sure you’ll stay in place, he brings his hands up to cup your cheeks, “See, you can’t headbutt me from here, just needed to look at each-other.” You nod, gently, barely moving your head.

“Well, you might be right,” His thumb brushes over your lips, hand moving to clasp the back of your neck, drawing you closer. You stumble towards him until you’re pressed against his front, so close that you’re practically inside his jacket, resting against his shirt.

Your eyes fall closed as his lips meet yours, he’s hungry for it, capturing your mouth, tugging your lip between his teeth. You feel a little like you’re being devoured, melting against him, his other hand moving to your ribs again clutching you to him and holding you upright. You stumble backwards when he starts to walk forwards, still gripping your body and still pressing his lips against yours.

He pushes you back onto the bed, leaving you to scrabble backwards up towards the pillows, watching him strip his jacket off. He immediately goes for his shirt, rapidly unbuttoning it. He’s slimmer than you thought, all tan lean corded muscle, with just a little layer of fat over his stomach and you find your mouth watering as you take in the soft covering of his chest hair. He seems to assess the situation for a moment, before unbuckling his belt, taking his plush velvet trousers off, unveiling his lack of underwear, half-hard cock flopping out.

You try to swallow your moan, he looks you over, reassuring; “Don’t worry, I got the sound locked darlin’. S’not like the house, but it’s good enough. You can be as loud as you like.” You almost immediately put it to the test when he hikes your dress up to your waist, exposing your panties, yelp escaping. You stare up at the red canopy, breath hitching as you take in the mirrored ceiling - you can’t take your eyes off of it, watching Elvis’ naked back, the small scattering of moles as he moves. His hands curl around, deftly unzipping your dress even from underneath you, loosening it enough to pull it off. Your head rolls back, watching your nakedness be slowly unveiled. You’ve never been body shy but somehow being unable to look anywhere but at yourself makes you a little self-conscious, and you’re glad when Elvis moves himself back up to be covering you.

“What’d ya want honey?” He slides a hand down, pressing a long, masculine finger against the soft cotton of your panties. “You going all shy on me?” You shake your head,

“No, no - I don’t, I don’t know,” He pushes the fabric into you, gathering the wetness already pooling there, wet patch slowly spreading. “Take - take ‘em off, let me, need them off Elvis, please.” He grins, finding your slight desperation amusing,

“Hmm…but they look so pretty doll,” He circles your clit through the fabric, “You sure?” You nod,

“Uh-huh, please -“ He hooks his fingers into the waistband, pulling them down your legs, getting you fully nude. He chucks them onto the floor and you flush at the sound of the wet fabric hitting the floor. Elvis soon distracts you though, resting on his elbow alongside you, pointing out how you look in the mirror.

His hand drifts over your bare stomach, somehow gently but firmly brushing over your skin and up to your chest, large sweeping circles - your breath catching as his hand trails closer and closer to you breast, rings warmed by the heat of his hand rubbing against your skin. Every time you think he’s going to touch you, properly, he returns to circle your stomach and if you could form a thought you’d ask him to speed it up, but as it is his mouth is attaching to your collarbone, gently sucking down, little bruises forming. Finally, your back arches to meet him. He finally brushes his fingers over your nipple, tickling, you gasp as he lightly pinches one, an immediate jolt of heat to your core. His hands brush down your sides, leaving you panting, before he wriggles down, pulling your legs with him, so that you slide down the bed, situating himself between your thighs. He runs his hand through his hair, finger-combing the fluffy hair backward, eyebrow arching,

“You ok with this baby?” You nod, not quite able to believe Elvis Presley is offering to go down on you but there he is, gripping your thighs, placing his head between your legs. “C’mere then.” He kisses the soft skin there, a little line across to the crease of your thigh. His breath tickles and your thighs tense in response. He murmurs something you don’t quite catch before he moves to press a kiss right above your clit. His fingers move from your legs, one hand remaining where it was, the other coming to stroke your labia, spreading your inner folds, feeling where your slick is already sticking your skin together.

“Lawd, hon-ey, you always get this soppin’ wet?”

“Oh god, Elvis, I haven’t - no-one’s ever,” You can feel him chuckle, the vibration making you gasp, but he doesn’t respond, simply wets his lips and dives in. His hands hold you open for him, and he manhandles your legs to keep them open and apart, your burning core on display for him. He flicks between lapping at your inner and outer folds, his fingers coming up to replace his tongue, scissoring into you, so that he can lick up to your clit, sucking onto the sensitive bundle of nerves.He’s clearly skilled, and the wetness, the newness of it - the shock of it all only adds to your growing heat; and the way you feel yourself start to tremble as the sensation grows.

Your hands clutch at the sheets, trying to avoid gripping his head even as your hips thrust up in response to his tongue spearing into you. You can’t look away from the image of his head between your thighs, enjoying the way his back ripples and how when he pulls back the bridge of his nose and eyebrows become visible. Reminding you who it is between your thighs, as if you could forget from the feel of his famed lips. His tongue licks its way up and down your folds, before tongue-fucking into you. His fingers move back as soon as he moves his tongue away, constantly touching you in some way. Your hips jolt and he moves his mouth up to suck on your clit; everything coming to be too much. He licks you through it, your stomach clenching as the pressure grows out from your core, orgasm starting to fizz through your veins, ringing in your ears.

You shudder as it hits, Elvis leaning back a little, rubbing gently with his fingers, your hips rolling in pure pleasure, until he leans in again to kitten-lick your sticky, wet, skin. Your thighs suddenly slam together of their own accord, and you feel his cheek on your thigh before you hear his “oof” at the sudden impact.

“Oh god, not again.” You try to sit up to apologise but you’re still breathless, and with your core still tensing from your orgasm you struggle to even manage to get onto your elbows. “Oh-no.” Elvis pops his head up, so you can both see each other properly, growling at you. Your head rolls back at the sight of him, sweaty upper lip and a mix of unidentifiable shiny wetness on his chin.

“You are trouble.” He quirks a grin, as if to ensure you know he’s at least half-kidding, shaking his head at you, “‘m starting to think I needta tie you down if I don’t wanna be battered.” You gasp, back arching and he chuckles at your visceral reaction. “Not right now though, huh, gotta - wanna be in you.” You nod frantically, affirmative words spilling out of your mouth. He slides back down to rest his head between your legs, holding your thighs open with a tight grip.

“Now, you be nice to lil Elvie, you hear me?” He whispers right against your sensitive folds, breath tickling, talking directly to your vagina, as if it might behave of its own volition, “I don’t think you have hands… or legs… but just in case. No more hittin’ me. Got it? I ain’t afraid to make you behave.” You burst out laughing when he does a high-pitched voice in response to himself, “Yes, sir, Elvis, sir, I’ll behave.” making it seem as if your vagina had just agreed with him. He’s smiling when he pushes himself back up, pulling himself to flop down on the bed at the same height as you, before rolling over, pushing an elbow onto the other side. He tugs on his cock for a second, before lining himself up, sinking into your hot, soaking, heat.

He groans, pressing into you as you adjust to his length within you, feeling the sweat on his chest rub against your skin. He’s slow at first, building up to forcefully thrusting into you, famous hips moving at speed.

“God, you’re tight, don’t do this often do ya honey?” You shake your head, and then nod, trying to respond, “Not too tight though huh, doll, you’re just - just perfect. Perfect for me.” He punctuates each sentence with a hard thrust, your response catching in your throat - practically choking yourself. He drags you back against him, hands gripping your hips. Jolting your body back and forth as he slams into you, shifting you to fuck into you at just the right angle. You have no idea what noises were coming out of your mouth, only that you were certainly babbling something. He seemed incapable of silence himself, a stream of curses and praises continually falling out of his lips.

He pauses in his thrusts, preoccupying himself with stroking a finger the length of your vulva, feeling where your bodies are joined. Your eyes fall closed, lost in the sensation of him. He moves back again, sliding his hand up to brush his thumb across your already sensitive clit, your back arching in response. He grunts above you, his thumb keeping pace, and his cock thrusting in at the same speed. It doesn’t take long before the way he’s knocking perfectly into your already sensitive core sends you into orgasm again, clenching down on him and shuddering, your mouth agape and your eyes shuttering closed as the waves of pleasure crash over you.

He drags you back from it, hips stuttering at a rapid pace, lasting only a minute before you can feel him jumping inside you, his face screwed up tight, mouth opening as he rapidly pulls out, shooting his cum across your stomach. He groans in pleasure, and you tip your head up to meet him, kissing him as aggressively as you can manage in your post-orgasmic state. By the time he pulls away, rolling off to the side and flopping onto his back, both of your lips are bitten and red-raw. You make eye contact in the mirror, watching both of your chests heave as you try to form coherent thoughts again. He’s covered in sweat, fluffy hair starting to curl at the ends with the exertion of it all, and you stare at your own flushed state for a moment, wondering how on earth you’d ended up here.

“So, don’t needta tie you down then, honey, just gotta tire you out.” Elvis’ voice was gravelly, and you murmured an agreement,

“I don’t normally flail so much.” You admit, somewhat jokingly. He grins, rolling onto his side to rub your stomach, avoiding his cooling ejaculate,

“Oh so I’m just special huh?” You nod,

“You must know that.” He stares at you, and you try to convey with your eyes the depth of feeling by which you mean it, not wanting to scare him by saying it out loud. You think he gets it though, when the next moment he’s smiling a little bashfully before rolling off the bed and stretching beside it. You take the chance to assess him all over again, now that the heat and speed from before is over, taking your opportunity to drink him all in, from the tan line high on his thigh, to the slight swell of his tummy all the way up to his little nipples, and to the slight shadow forming on his chin. He seems to appreciate the attention for a minute, smirking at you, before he wanders off to the ensuite,

“You hanging around for a lil bit, sweetheart? D’you wanna come to the show again tomorrow?” You wonder if it was intentional that he’d ask this where he couldn’t see your expression, calling out from the bathroom as he starts to turn on the water. But, in what world, in what universe could anyone turn down such an offer.

“If you’re inviting me!” He hums back in response and you feel a giggle rise in you at the next thought that pops into your head, “‘sides, got a promise of a tour didn’t I - Red’ll be expecting me.” You hear the faucet suddenly turn off, although the shower stays running and the next thing you know he’s striding out from the ensuite at that, bouncing you on the bed from the force of his jump onto it, growling as he pins your squirming, laughing self down, his knees on either side of you. He’s struggling to maintain a straight face as he manages to capture both of your wrists in one hand, the other tickling your sides as best he can,

“You better not. You want a tour, I’ll give you a tour. You hear me, little girl?” His hands feel like he’s only playing but his face was deadly serious - you nod rapidly in agreement,

“Yes, yes, Elvis - yes, I was only kiddin’ I swear!” You manage to make out through your giggles and he growls again, ceasing the tickling and pressing a kiss to your cheek, still practically smothering you, leaving little teasing nibbles down your neck.

“Fuckin’ Red.” He mutters against your skin,

“I swear I was only messin’ with you.” He huffs, but nonetheless kisses your lips once more, before releasing your hands and clambering off. He holds out a hand,

“C’mon - the shower will be hot now. Get you all clean and tucked up in my bed, somewhere no-one else can try and steal you.” You grin as you allow yourself to be pulled up, happily going with him and excited to see what the next day’ll bring.

#elvis fanfic #elvis smut #elvis x reader #big daddy elvis #elvis x you #elvis presley x reader #writing prompt game #elvis presley fanfiction #be-my-ally

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whositmcwhatsit · 1 year

Text

Save Me

Written for the prompt: How are we going to solve this problem?

1976 Elvis in a leather coat for my beloved @vintageshanny This one got away from me, there's so much more to come!

@thatbanditqueen, @be-my-ally, @missmaywemeetagain, @ellie-24, @from-memphis-with-love, you are the best, funniest, kindest and most awesome people.

The air shimmered and glittered across the tarmac of the highway, promising oases, lights and civilisation, all of which would turn out to be mirages, as Cindy had discovered after walking five miles in the unrelenting searing wind wearing cowboy boots. The lukewarm can of coke she had been nursing the entire way was bone dry now and she had to admit that she was beginning to panic.

It made no sense, this highway was usually jam packed with people heading to and from LA for the weekend, but there had only been a smattering of traffic heading in either direction, and none of the hoity toity rich folks had apparently felt inclined to stop for a dusty, sweaty woman standing by the side of the road.

No one at home would even realise anything was amiss before Monday when she was supposed to be at work. They’d probably call home to find out why she was missing her shift, and her dad would think she was pulling a sick day and cover for her, not knowing… God, she was going to end up being eaten alive by buzzards. She squinted up at the sky, paranoid that she could see shadows circling overhead.

The cream car slid through the glimmering haze like it was heaven sent, its gold-plated grille and finishes adding to the surreal quality as it sped on, looking like it was going to rush past her in a fog of sand and exhaust fumes like all the others. It was heading in the wrong direction anyway, she told herself. Though there was no wrong direction away from death by overheating and scavengers.

The sound of tyres skidding in grit behind her made her turn and she saw the car had stopped a couple of hundred yards up the road. She paused, surprised, then broke into an anxious jog, almost sliding over in the roadside dust, her boot soles worn to slipperiness.

Coming to the driver’s window, she hesitated as, instead of the usual well to do middle aged couple or family, she came face to face with a car full of men. They were all wearing sunglasses and, frankly, unwelcoming expressions.

“Uh, thank you for stopping,” she mumbled, her tongue dry and oversized in her mouth. “I was starting to get worried.” The moustachioed man at the wheel just stared at her from behind dark brown lenses.

“Where you headed, honey?” asked a soft voice in the backseat. She frowned, shooting a last look at the blank faced driver before side-stepping to the window behind. She blinked rapidly, sure that what she saw was the result of dehydration, heatstroke and probably the remnants of the acid she had ingested at the beginning of road trip yesterday.

“Uh, well, I was heading back to LA,” she managed, nodding her head in the opposite direction, “but right now I’d settle for a ride to the nearest town with a phone.”

“You got car trouble?”

“In a way,” she shrugged, not wanting to go into her pathetic predicament with him, of all people. She didn’t miss the way that the other men in the car were looking at each other, sharing some sort of communication, and it made her question how desperate her situation really was. Maybe she could wait for the next car…

“You know, my guys here think that we should’ve driven right on by you. They said you could be dangerous like one of those Manson chicks. You know what a honeypot is, darlin’?” She could hear someone sniggering inside the car.

“I’m not anyone’s chick,” she retorted, rubbing sand out of her eye. “And definitely not that psycho’s. Look, thanks for stopping, but I’m fine.” She stomped off, heading back to where she had been standing.

Wrapping her hands around herself, she tried to force her heart to stop pounding. She would be fine, someone would come along, a nice family with a dog she could pet. It would all be fine.

She clenched her jaw as she heard a car door click shut and then heavy footsteps crunch towards her.

“Goddamn, it’s hot,” said Elvis Presley as he stopped at her side wearing a knee length leather coat fastened and belted in the California desert. He must’ve caught her look because he hiccupped a laugh and glanced down at himself. “Well, the car has air conditioning… A-a-and not all of us can look as good as you do in little shorts, honey.” She snorted in spite of herself, feeling her shoulders drop slightly.

“Look, I was only teasin’ before,” he said, adjusting his sunglasses and jutting his jaw pensively. “You’re a good girl, I know. I can tell that about you. I have a sense for these things.” She glanced over at the car and the two big, older guys who were leaning against it, arms crossed to show off their shoulder holsters. “And them- Well, they all do and think what I tell ‘em to, so…”

“I think I’ll be okay,” she murmured. “I’m probably better off waiting for a car going the other way anyway.”

“You’ll be waiting a while, sweetheart, Highway Patrol closed the road about twenty miles that way.”

Well, that explained that.

“Oh God,” she groaned, bending forward at the waist and just dropping like a rag doll until her hair poked into the top of her boots. “Why is this happening?! Wait, if the road’s closed, how come you’re here?”

Well, it’s closed for the public,” he answered, like this explained everything. At her questioning look, he pulled a wallet from the pocket of his coat and flashed her a shiny silver badge. “I ain’t the public.” Her eyebrows knitted tighter together and, after a moment, she reached out and pinched his arm.

“Ow!”

“Sorry, this is just really weird. I had to check.” He smiled, but it took him a minute and he was still rubbing his arm like she had stabbed him rather than given him a little pinch. “You are Elvis, right?”

“Last time I checked, but keep your voice down, honey, I’m travelling incognito.” He gave her a wink and she found herself smiling even though she didn’t know why. “Now, look, let’s get in the car before I melt like a goddamn snowman and we can figure out how to get you where you need to go on the way.”

“On the way to where?”

“My house in Palm Springs.”

As she was deliberating, another fancy car pulled up alongside the cream Cadillac station wagon and a smaller, lean man with a moustache hurried out of the driver’s seat to them.

“Hey, what’s going on, why are y’all by the side of the road?”

“Just rescuing, er- What’s your name, honey?”

“Cindy.”

“We were just rescuing Cindy here. This here’s my cousin, Billy. He might look like a marble-eyed sonovabitch, but-” The other man, Billy, gave Elvis’ arm a punch, but even Cindy could see that there was barely any force behind it, and certainly nowhere near what Elvis retaliated with. Both men burst into laughter, though Billy’s seemed pained.

“I can’t ride with you,” she tried one last time. “There isn’t any space for me, your car is full.”

“Huh, you’re right. How are we going to solve this problem? Hey, Sonny, Red!” The two big men looked over, straightening. “You guys ride in the Stutz with Ricky and David. Billy and Jo are coming with us.”

“Hey, E,” the dark haired one started in a disgruntled voice. Cindy didn’t miss the way that Elvis’s face snapped towards him and whatever expression he had put an end to the complaint.

“I’ve been defending myself from little girls for over twenty years, man, I’m sure I won’t have any problems here.” Lowering his voice, he finished so that only Cindy and probably Billy could hear, “Don’t exactly think I wanna defend myself anyhow.”

Travel arrangements made, Cindy followed Elvis’s broad back on her way back to the Cadillac. She questioned what she was doing, wondering what he was expecting from her in terms of gratitude. Then she shook her head. This was Elvis Presley, after all, he was probably dripping in beautiful models, he didn’t need to pick up damsels in distress by the side of the road to get lucky. He looked different to how she thought though, heavier for sure, that leather coat seemed uncomfortably tight, pale too, and his hair looked like it hadn’t been combed. Of course, she was in no position to judge since her skin had acquired a new layer of dirt and dust and her hair was ratty from sleeping in the van the night before.

The car was deliciously cool as promised, and she sighed as she climbed into the soft leather back seat. Elvis managed to summon up a cold bottle of Mountain Valley spring water and his mouth quirked at the corner as she moaned a little gulping it down.

Billy and a dark-haired woman, who was apparently his wife Jo, sat in the front seat, leaving them alone in the back. It was quiet at first. Cindy gripped the glass bottle in her hands, savouring the cool surface against her hot, sweaty skin. She shifted slightly on the seat, hoping that she wasn’t marking it with her grime. It figured that she would finally meet her first famous person looking her absolute worst.

“So, uh, what happened to your car?” Elvis asked, turning a little so that he was inclined towards her. Her eyes fell on the three- three- thick gold chains around his neck that rested in the dark hair on his chest, disappearing beneath the lapels of his leather coat and the light blue tracksuit jacket was wearing underneath. She blinked and looked back up at his face.

“Well, nothing. It’s still at home back in the city,” she replied. “I- uh. See, I was out in the desert with some friends… camping.” She nodded, yes, ‘camping’. “And there was a misunderstanding between me and one of my friends. She thought I was into her boyfriend and she got mad and- They left me behind.”

“But you weren’t?” he asked. She was looking into his eyes, partially hidden by the tinted lenses of his sunglasses, and asking herself why the hell she was laying out the events of her pathetic life to Elvis fucking Presley. She lifted her eyebrows questioningly. “You weren’t fooling around with your friend’s boyfriend?”

“No,” she demurred. “No, he’s an idiot.” Elvis grinned and nodded, which somehow made her smile right back without thinking about it.

“You’ve had yourself an awfully bad day, haven’t you, Cindy honey. I, myself, have not been having a great day either. Kinda lucky of us to cross paths out here in the middle of nowhere, don’t you think?”

“Why are you having a bad day?” she asked.

“Don’t matter now,” he replied, giving her hand a quick pat. “So, where d’you live in Los Angeles?”

It went on like that, him questioning her and Cindy answering before returning the question back to him. Sometimes he’d answer, but most of the time he would just ask another question. She felt like she was being interviewed for a job she hadn’t applied for.

As the car drew up to a low, white Spanish style house, she was beginning to wonder if she might want the job after all, whatever it was.

Billy opened the car door and Elvis climbed out with a grunt, reaching out a hand to her. It felt like climbing out of a carriage, only she was the regular Cinderella before the fairy godmother had shown up, all covered in dirt and ashes. His fingers curled around hers, his thumb rubbing the back of her hand, and he didn’t release it once she was by his side.

“So, here we are, little honeypot,” he said with an endearing smirk, “come on in.”

Stepping into the house was like walking into a meat locker after the heavy, dry heat of the afternoon. She wanted to pause and bask in it, but Elvis still had hold of her hand and he was not stopping. He gave her the tour, introducing her to the cook, while the other men arrived in the black car and there was a flurry of activity, cases and bags being deposited in the foyer and quickly whisked away.

The whole time, Elvis was walking around, talking about views and telling her a funny story about the time a photographer tried to climb the canyon to get pictures of him in the backyard and he and the guys scared the man so bad that he dropped his camera down a steep incline.

“Bought him another one, of course,” he shrugged with a small smile. “Still, taught him a lesson about being sneaky. Can’t stand sneaky sons of bitches, just come and ask me if you want a picture, don’t- don’t be all underhanded about it.” He stared off out the window at the rocky canyon beyond and she watched and waited, wondering if she was supposed to respond. Finally, he gave his head a little shake and flashed a grin at her, looking at her sideways. And that moment was over.

“So, I’ve been thinking, Cindy honey,” he began, leading her to an upright chair by the window and gesturing for her to sit down. “About you having a bad day and me… And it seems like there’s more to this than meets the eye, I think what we have here is a touch of divine intervention.”

Mouth open, she parsed his words, trying to understand what she was being told. She didn’t.

“Ain’t no way we should have met, you being a little girl pretty much as far from Beverly Hills as you can get and me not going nowhere else, but somehow we did meet. I saved you, and maybe… maybe you can s- you can help me… too.”

“Well, what do you need help with?” she asked. He grinned his famous lopsided smile, reminding her that she was sitting in front of a musical legend, one of the most famous men on the planet, just like he was a regular person.

“Well, for one thing, I don’t like being on my own much and- and my date for the weekend kinda flaked out.” He huffed an awkward, endearing laugh. “You think you might wanna hang around, honey?”

“Well, I have to be at work on Monday,” she said dubiously, feeling a pang at the way he was looking down at her, like she had power.

“I’ll get you to work on Monday,” he replied emphatically. “I can promise you that.”

“But I don’t even have any of my things,” she murmured, thinking out loud. “I left them all in the van and-”

“I’ll get you whatever you need.” He raised his eyebrows. “Anything else? C’mon, while we’re on a roll, throw something else at me, honey.” She laughed, giving his hand a squeeze that he returned.

“Can I use your phone?”

“You got a guy you need to call?” he asked flatly.

“Sorta,” she shrugged. “My father- he’s sick and I don’t like to make him worry about where I am.”

“My daddy’s been sick too,” he murmured, “but he’s getting better.”

There was such determination in his voice that she felt like she had to nod back like she was convinced.

He took her into his bedroom, which she knew must look out over the pool from the layout of the rest of the house, but the curtains were already pulled tightly closed and it felt, if possible, even colder in this room.

“You can make your call in here,” he said, squeezing her shoulder as she perched on the edge of the bed next to the phone. “No one’ll bother you. I’m just gonna make some arrangements, deal with some things. I’ll be back.”

She watched him leave, pulling the door closed behind him, and reflected on the weirdness of everything that had happened in the past few hours. She reached for the phone, but stopped.

As far as her dad knew, she was camping with some girls from work. It had been hard enough to reassure him that she would be okay doing this. If she called him now and said that not only had those girls ditched her in the middle of nowhere, but that she had been picked up by Elvis and whisked away to this house in Palms Springs… Well, he might have the stroke that was going to finish him off, the one they had been warding against for five years.

There was a tap at the door and it opened before she could respond, but it was not Elvis. Jo, the woman married to his cousin, was standing there looking at her like she was a naughty child who had refused to tidy her room.

“What size are you?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Size. I’m guessing a…” Her eyes flicked up and down with disinterest. “A six?”

“Four on the bottom half,” Cindy returned. “Why-“

“Shoes? What shoe size are you?”

Baffled and feeling a little bit harried, Cindy gave her the information she asked for, wondering if the woman was lending her some clean clothes or if maybe Elvis Presley of the famed pelvis, who reduced women to screaming, creaming morons with just a jiggle of his leg, had a special wardrobe for all his conquests.

“Okay, so you need to shower,” the older woman continued, directing her to a bathroom away from the bedroom. “Everything you need is just in here. Make sure you wash your hair, clean your nails, brush your teeth. Everything. He likes girls to be clean.”

What do you say to that? Cindy wondered, staring blankly as Jo repeated the instructions like it was normal, like this was an every day occurrence. To be fair, it probably was.

“Today is so weird,” Cindy murmured to herself as she stepped into the bathroom, holding the large, white terrycloth robe Jo had shoved at her. There were toiletries in a big basket, all brand new and unopened. Shampoos, conditioners, soaps and lotions. A toothbrush still in its packaging, razor, and hairbrush and combs. It was like visiting a hotel, an expensive one too, not just a roadside motel.

Turning on the shower, she spotted a little pink transistor radio on the vanity and she switched it on. She couldn’t shower in silence, she needed something to drown out her singing other than the noisy spray. Warbling along to whatever the DJ played, she did everything she had been told, scrubbing and rubbing and rinsing over and over until she finally felt like she had exfoliated the desert from her skin and her mind.

Wrapping the oversized robe around herself, she sashayed like it was a fur coat and she was walking past the velvet ropes at Studio 54, hoping to catch Jagger’s eye. She opened the bathroom door and stumbled back with a muffled shriek when she found a man about her age standing outside. He had shaggy dark hair and was wearing a Led Zeppelin t-shirt, which she appreciated.

“You done?” he asked, eyes sliding up her bare legs like a snail leaving a trail across a rock. “You brush your teeth? Clean your nails?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” she returned. “Yes, I brushed, I cleaned, I buffed myself to within an inch of my life! God!”

“All right,” he shot back. “I was just checking, because the Boss likes girls to be-”

“Clean, yes, I’ve got it.” She was starting to wonder whether it was Elvis or Howard Hughes who had picked her up.

The man directed her back to the living room, which was dim and shaded now with the curtains pulled across most of the windows against the late afternoon sun.

“Just wait here for a minute,” he said, closing the door behind him.

Cindy shifted from bare foot to bare foot, looking up at the low, sloping ceiling and the immaculately clean fireplace. Her eyes fell on the coffee table and the thick stack of bills placed neatly there.

She wandered over as if called, eyes bugging when she saw that the pile was topped with a hundred. If they were all hundreds, there had to be five thousand dollars there, easy. She thought about all the hospital bills that kept coming to the house, red overdue stamp looking like blood. Then she thought about her dad finding out that she had stolen money to pay them.

Sighing, she forced her feet away from the coffee table and stalked over to the couch, throwing herself down. Having a conscience could be a curse sometimes.

A little while later, the door opened and the man himself finally appeared. He was wearing a short sleeve light blue leisure suit and his hair looked washed and blow-dried. He didn’t look well, she decided, but she couldn’t decide why that thought had popped into her head.

“You look like you’re being eaten by a cloud,” he observed with a little smile, exhaling sharply as he dropped onto the couch beside her. He nudged his leg against her, but didn’t seem to notice, almost like he couldn’t keep still. “You get everything you need, honey? You speak to your father?”

“Yes, thank you,” she lied.

It was probably a good idea to make him think that people knew where she was, she decided. He leant back, stretching his arm like he had a twinge in his shoulder and then resting it along the back of the couch behind her. She had to work hard not to giggle. It was like being back in middle school.

“Why d’you wear sunglasses indoors?” she asked, wincing at her words as soon as she spoke them. “Sorry, that was rude-" He laughed softly and shook his head; his arm slid forward slightly against her shoulders.

“No, no, it’s fine, honey. I, er, have to wear ‘em because I got sensitive eyes. The light messes with ‘em sometimes, that’s all.”

“It’s not very bright in here,” she observed, glancing around at the lengthening shadows around the room.

“Yeah, well, I- I kinda need ‘em to see as well,” he admitted, ducking his head. “Can’t see as good as I used to.”

“Oh, well, that makes sense.” His smile widened and she felt his fingers wrap around the top of her arm.

Sitting so close to him felt like sitting with her side to the Sun, he gave off so much warmth and also a sense of power, like he was the centre of the whole galaxy. He was stroking her arm with his fingers, and she could feel the rough end of his rings scraping the folds in her sleeve and she shivered.

He smirked and, despite the fuller face and the beginnings of a double chin, she could see the man who had made her feel tickly in her tummy during the Saturday matinees her dad had taken her to. She was looking into his eyes through the pinkish tinted lenses of his glasses, their faces drawing closer, when there was a tap on the door.

“Goddamn it,” Elvis muttered under his breath, probably louder than he thought he was. “Come in!”

Billy appeared with several bags, seemingly oblivious or indifferent to Elvis’ obvious annoyance.

“Here ya are, got what you asked for,” he said, lifting the bags.

“Well, just leave it by the door,” Elvis snapped back. “And why the hell d’you leave this cash here? You just throwing my money away now, man?”

There was a weird note in the exchange that Cindy couldn’t quite figure out, but Billy gathered up the money without argument and left, dropping the bags by the door.

“Families, huh,” she observed as he huffed an exasperated sigh, his round stomach rapidly expanding and deflating. “Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em.”

“Yeah, so they tell me,” he returned, shooting the door one last look of annoyance, before turning back to her. “You know, I just wanted to say thank you, Cindy honey.”

“For what?” Grabbing a ride? Taking a shower?

“For staying. It’s real nice of you."

Her mouth twisted into a baffled smile as her brain puzzled over whether she had heard him right. He did know who he was, right? He rubbed her arm over the terrycloth sleeve and twisted towards her. Her eyes dropped to his lips and, though they looked a little dry, they were plump and inviting. Soft too as he pressed them against hers.

It was a chaste, sweet kiss, he didn’t even try slip her any tongue. Cindy never made it to a dance in her sophomore year, but she imagined this was what it would have felt like. She reached up to hang her fingers from his neck, surprised again by how warm his skin was. The hair at the nape of his neck was damp with sweat and his breath wavered as she ran her thumbs curiously through his long sideburns. They felt soft and coarse at the same time and she couldn’t explain how.

“Yeah, I think someone or something has put you in my way for a reason,” he murmured, eyes fixed on her lips as he pulled back. She could feel herself begin to broil under his gaze. He pecked her lips again, pressing his weight against her. “Let’s get you ready, honey.”

Elvis led her around by the hand like she was a cross between a little child and a delicate princess. They went back into the kitchen where he told the cook that he wanted fried chicken and mashed potatoes for dinner, reminding her that the gravy wasn’t thick enough last time. He turned to Cindy, asking what she would like to eat.

“Aren't I having the same as you?” she asked. Asking for two different meals seemed… rude, somehow.

“Oh, honey, you don’t have-” He ducked his head and smiled. “She’ll have the same, just a regular size, okay?”

The woman smiled at Elvis the way that most women smiled at him, indulgently and kind of wistful. It was a strange thing to experience and then to see.

“Okay, lil honeypot, let’s get you dressed and ready for dinner,” he said, throwing a smile over his shoulder as he led her back to the bedroom.

The bags that Billy had left in the living room had been transported here and Elvis gestured to them. She peered inside, finding a white dress, underwear, and even shoes. She hadn’t worn so much white since her mom passed and her dad had turned everything grey with a misplaced sock when she was ten. She hesitated, wondering if he wanted her to put on a show, to earn them, but after she had waited for several minutes, he lifted a hand to the adjoining bathroom and motioned for her to go.

Wavering on the white, naturally, platformed heels, she tottered back into the bedroom where Elvis was reclined against the pillows reading a book. He glanced up over the top and gave an exaggerated double take.

“Who’s this sweet lil angel who’s showed up in my bedroom?” he asked, dropping the book on the bed and clambering up.

He crossed the room to her a little unsteadily and suddenly threw his arms around her, burying his face in the crook of her neck. She could barely breathe with how close he was holding her, his arms pinning hers to her sides, his stomach tight against hers, constricting her air. Even his thighs were hard against hers. She didn’t know what to do, so she lifted her arm as much as she was able to stroke the small of his back.

“You look so pretty,” he murmured, when he finally drew back, running his thumb over her lips in concentration. “We’ll get Jo in here to do your make up and you’ll be perfect.”

“I can do my own make-up,” she insisted, not wanting to be a source of irritation for the other woman yet again.

“No, honey, Jo knows how to do it the way I like it,” he replied, biting on his lip before leaning forward and kissing her, lingering on her lips this time, almost as if he wanted to deepen the kiss but lost his nerve. “I want you to look like you’re all mine.”

He ducked his head down bashfully in the way that she was already getting accustomed to, but this time there seemed to be more of a purpose to it. She glanced down too when she felt him fumbling with her wrist and she watched as he fastened a thick, heavy gold ID bracelet around it. On the front, Elvis was spelled out in large diamonds.

“There,” he mumbled, sounding self-satisfied. “Now everyone will know you’re mine.”

She didn’t know how to respond to this, not in a way that didn’t hurt his feelings, and that was the last thing she wanted to do. No, she was already feeling an overwhelming need to protect him, this much older, richer, more powerful man.

Jo didn’t really speak to her as she did her make up. Cindy could barely open her eyes with the weight of the eyeliner and mascara they had been coated in. She barely recognised the woman she saw staring back at her in the mirror, especially not when she lifted her arm to peer at the bracelet. Such a weird day.

The table was full of men at dinner, with only Jo and Cindy adding some much-needed female companionship. Elvis and the other men laughed and chatted through the meal, arguing and guffawing over old stories; stories that always seemed to feature Elvis doing something insane, dangerous and/or reckless and somehow getting away with it. He grinned at her at every conclusion, looking pleased with himself and she tried her best to look impressed and amused.

Cindy understood what Elvis had meant when he instructed the cook to make her meal regular-sized. He and the rest of the men devoured prodigious amounts of food and it felt like dinner went on for hours waiting for them to finish.

As soon as she put down her knife and fork, Elvis reached over and clasped her hand with his, maintaining that hold even as he was eating and talking to everyone around her. It was like sitting with a spotlight on you, seen but unseen, valued but ignored.

After dinner, Elvis led her over to the piano. A couple of the guys, one of the large ones with all the guns, and a small one, picked up guitars and perched on a footstool and the sofa around him. He insisted, though there was barely enough room, that she sat next to him on the piano stool. She leant into his side, trying to maintain her balance.

“What d’you wanna hear us sing, Cindy honey?” he asked, like she would be fine with that, like she would casually accept Elvis Presley asking for requests.

“Lawdy Miss Clawdy?” she asked. It was one of two Elvis songs her father had played her religiously on a Saturday afternoon when they needed to jump around and use up some energy.

“Aw, that’s so damn old,” he remarked. “Can’t you think of nothing from this century?” He hiccupped a small laugh, which his guys echoed far louder, but she could sense that she had upset or offended him somehow. Probably by making him feel that only his old songs were the best, she guessed. She had hurt his feelings.

“You should sing what you want to sing,” she said quickly, rubbing his jiggling knee. “Anything you sing will blow me away.”

The smaller guy with the guitar suggested ‘Love is a Many Splendored Thing’, but before he had even finished his sentence, Elvis was pounding the keys of the piano in the very familiar introduction to ‘Lawdy Miss Clawdy’.

Everyone who had ever listened to an Elvis record always felt like he was singing directly to them. That was part of his magic and charm, but Cindy now knew that that feeling was nothing compared to knowing that he was singing directly to you. Her face was throbbing with heat as the blood rushed there. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, clasping them in her lap like she had to hold in her vital organs or she would die. He frowned over the piano as he sang, but every now and again, shot her a look from the side of his eye, his cheekbones round and prominent as he held back a smile.

As the last chords of the piano faded out, he cleared his throat, making fun of how much higher his voice used to be. Cindy clapped, ignoring the eyerolls and looks of derision that some of the men were throwing her. She had never been able to get to a concert. They usually sold out in hours and there was no way she could skip work to queue overnight and all day. So this was probably the closest she was ever going to get to seeing Elvis live, and she was making the most of it.

“Thank you, honey,” he mumbled, angling his face so that he could kiss her cheek. He grabbed her hand that was still clapping and brought it to his lips, giving her fingers a soft peck also.

Forgetting all the eyes, the uncomfortable shoes, the skimpy dress that made her shiver in the air conditioning, and the mask of make-up she was wearing, Cindy ducked forward and kissed him. She almost missed completely, catching only the corner of his mouth, but he rescued her for the second time that day, wrapping his arms around her, hot palms against her back and turning his head, sliding his tongue in to brush against hers. Maybe he was right, they could both save each other.

#elvis presley #70s elvis #big daddy elvis #elvis fanfic #1970s elvis #elvis x oc #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley fanfiction #writing prompt game

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zsbrainrot · 7 months

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I always draw Kazuki as the big spoon so I decided to switch it up!

Happy Buddy Daddies Friday!

@flufftober Day 13/Alt Prompt #6: Reverse the Roles.

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znerac · 11 months

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Hey (I never know how to start asking stuff)

Could I have a fic base on this cover version I think it make a great Pedro pascal fic (or one of his characters)(I think the cover sound more heartbreaking)

https://youtu.be/aQ-vU28uPb0

(King of Leon-dancing on my own)

Thank u

From abby

Got a good angst idea from this!! Hope it was what you were going for!

No pronouns except they/them were used for a reader-friendly Experience :)

Song cover

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Reader. Warning: heavy angst, abandoning, abandonment issues, crying, hurt/comfort, mutual pining. Summary: Pedro invites his best friend to a bar, who has had a thing for him for years. Pedro inevitably forgets about the readers existance as he talk to a girl on the other side of the club. Where the reader gets feels and breaks down. A/N: i LOVE me some good angst! Hopefully the little spark of romance at the end fits nicely :) I've been conjuring up this idea since the ping!

Dancing On My Own

You and Pedro have been friends for ages, early in your teen years you guys had met. Secretly, you had always had a bit of a crush on your guy-friend. But in fear of rejection, you had kept those feelings for over twenty years. And he never made a move on you so you assumed he didn't feel like you did.

You sat on the island stool as Pedro shrugged on a jacket, smiling over at you. "Excited? We haven't been out in a few weeks." he chimed, planting his palms on the island counter. You gave him a warm smile, nodding. "Oh, yeah. I've been looking forward to some Pedrito time" you hummed, hopping off the stool. He snickered at the name, brushing his hands on his jeans before heading to the door. "Think we'll need to get an uber tonight?" you ask, and he shook his head. "Nahh, I'm not plannin on getting that drunk. Just loose and dancy" he said with a grin. Those beautiful brown eyes staring into yours. You were glad to have such an opportunity to have him look at you so often.

Walking to his car, you called dibs on the aux. Knowing he would of handed it to you anyways, but you liked the spunk in your step. Hopping into the passenger seat, and snatching the aux. Giddily changing it to your favorite playlist and looking over at Pedro with a smile as he did with you. Sinking his foot on the pedal and getting out of the driveway.

"Jesus, you've been playing this song since we were teenagers" Pedro said, chuckling softly. "Oh please, says the man who puts on the same chilean song on repeat for hours" you teased, making him bat his hand at you playfully. "Its a good song!!" he defended, ultimately accepting the defeat and stopping at a red light. "Wanna grab a bite to eat before we hit the club?" he asks, and you nod. "I could definitely eat some five guys right now" you said with a knowing glare, Pedro let out a fake moan, "God you know me so welll.." he said with a smile, the thought of his favorite fast food restaurant filling his senses. "Alright. Five guys and then the club. On it" you say with a tap to the dash.

Dinner was great, you laughed as Pedro took his sweet time eating his burger and drinking that strawberry milkshake of his. While you were done and snacking on the complimentary peanuts. You didn't mind though, soaking up every second with your best friend. After all, his work is busy and you were missing having time with him.

Once you both were happy and full, Pedro drove the two of you to the bar he had in mind. One that was usually not so crowded, but tonight was apparently different, there was a good crowd.

You and pedro sat at the bar and ordered a couple drinks, sipping at them and chatting, like the good old days when you first turned 20. The memories planting a sweet smile on your face. Pedro furrowed his brows, "what are you smiling about?" he teases, nudging your shoulder. Snapping from your trance, you hummed "thinkin about when we first turned twenty and came to a bar like this" you said, sipping on the bitter drink you had. Pedro nodded "reminicing? Jesus your old" he joked, making you roll your eyes and sip on your drink.

There was a good hour where you two sat, chatted and drank. Occasionally speaking with the occasional stranger. Until a song that came on that made you both spring up to your feet. "Shit, Pedro, this is our song!!" you yipped, dragging him to the dance floor. He laughs, "Our song? You mean the song that-" you interrupted "-That was playing when i crashed into you during the valentines day dance! Yes! The day we met" you said with a playful wink, taking his hands and twirling the man in front of you. "Right, the night you ultimately ruined my life with your presence" he joked back, shaking his hips and pulling from your grip.

You laughed, "oh shut up! I made your life better you little ass" you yelled, the music and chatter making it hard to hear each other. Pedro chuckled, "sure you did" he retorts, then looks over as a pretty woman taps his shoulder. "Hey, can i dance with ya?" she asks, Pedro looking over at you to make sure you were alright with it. You gave him a simple nod, "I'll grab another drink, check in when your done dancing" you said, giving Pedro an honest smile before walking off the dance floor and getting to the bar. It was nice seeing Pedro get along with people, and he was good with checking in on you. So you weren't worried. Ordering another drink as you sat on a stool and chatted up the bar tender.

Well, Half an hour went on and Pedro hadn't come to say anything. But you brushed it off, ordering another drink. And then another when he didn't show an hour later. You bit your lip, anxious that he'd maybe gotton kidnapped or something. But with a simple turn of your stool you saw the opposite. Pedro was in the corner with the same chick, Talking her up with a grand smile, even gently touching her arm in an attempt to flirt. You held your breath, you weren't against him meeting some new girl or whatever. But it just itched at you that maybe he forgot about you.

You glanced at the bartender, asking for a few shots to loosen yourself up more. And when you glanced back at pedro, your stomach dropped seeing him all over her. Kissing and touching one another like they were the only ones in the room. Your gut made your voice crack as you asked for a few more shots. Downing them all at once. Sure, it was dumb to drink your feelings out. But it just hurt seeing him so interested in somebody like that. Especially after hiding your feelings for him for so long. You sat on your stool, fighting back the burning of tears threatening to fall. And you looked at the bartender, sliding your card over to pay for your drinks. Pedro wasn't going to come back, you knew that.

It felt like a sharp object impaled your stomach, taking your card back and getting to your feet, feeling your stomach twist as you saw pedro in the corner booth with that woman. You swallowed the lump in your throat and left the bar, unsure of where you were exactly going, but you couldn't be in there. Knowing that he forgot about you, knowing he wouldn't come back and likely take that chick to bed. You felt like throwing up. Holding your stomach as you walked down the sidewalk, tears streaming down your cheeks and falling to the cement.

The alcohol quickly rutted into your system, making you dizzy. You needed to sit somewhere, finding a bench and sitting as you held your stomach. You felt alone, sad, and heartbroken. A sob catching in your throat, erupting as tears fell out of your eyes. Eventually you saw a cop car pull up, and a male officer stepped out. Anxiety crept through your throat as you wiped your tears away and looked up at the officer now standing above you. "You alright there bud?" he asked, full well knowing you weren't. You shook your head. "I'm drunk, sad, and i just, i don't know what i want" you shuddered. The officer nodded, putting a hand out. "I'll give you a ride home. Its dangerous bein out this late." he said, and you deliberately took his hand, uncaring if this was unsafe. Stepping into a cops car. It was likely to turn out fine, but you still had to play the 'what if' game.

Sliding into the passenger seat, you sniffed as you buckled yourself in. The officer taking the drivers seat. "Alright, where do ya live? I'll take you home nice and safe" he said, looking over at you. For some reason the officers caring eyes made you break a small smile, telling him your address. Thanking the universe for an easy way home.

"Whats got you all upset?" he asked, eyes keen on the road, "boy problems?" he joked softly, trying to up the mood. You frowned and let out a small sob, to which he frowned at. "Sorry." he mumbled out. The rest of the ride silent, but comfortable. You sincerely thanked him before stumbling inside of your house, kicking your shoes off and heading upstairs. Falling into your bed and letting your tears take over. Sobbing as you felt broken, being forgotton was a fear of yours. And when it came to life, with your best friend.. You couldn't help but feel worse.

At some point you fell asleep, but woke up around three in the morning to hear your phone dinging and vibrating. Deliriously picking it up and answering the phone call. Humming to indicate you were there.

"Fuck, finally! Where did you go? I've been trying to call you for ages!"

You knew that voice. Pedro's concerned tone made you choke out a sob, remembering how he left you alone for hours. "I- are you okay? Whats wrong?" he asked, but you couldn't get yourself to answer, croaking out an 'im sorry' before hanging up.

Around half an hour went by before you heard your front door swing open. You didn't care to get up, laying helplessly in bed as your thoughts took over you. But moments later, Pedro stood in your doorframe, soft eyes looking over at you. "Oh honey-" he said softly, walking to your side and sitting on the bed, hand coming to rest on your leg. "What happened? Did some guy hurt ya? Whats wrong-"

"Pedro" you mumbled out, not even bothering to wipe your tears this time. "You left me for hours.. Didn't say anything to me" you said weakly, "then you were all over that chick.. Obviously you wanted nothing to do with me.. So i left" you whispered, catching a sob in your throat. Pedro looked down at you, his eyes saddening. "I'm sorry.. I- just got distracted-" he said, noticing how his excused meant nothing. "I.. Really am sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel forgotten. Please forgive me" he said, feeling his own gut drop and swirl around.

You whimpered, covering yourself more with the blanket you had covering yourself. "Pedro.. Have you ever.. Like, Liked me?" you asked, avoiding his gaze. When he said nothing, you let out a shaky sigh. "I-i've been in love with you for years.. Pedro.. But you never seemed interested so i didn't say anything" you started, "but you always made sure i was there, made sure you had time for me. Maybe thats why i stuck to you"

You bit your lip, looking over at his soft face. Pedro sighed, "look i.. I didn't know. I should of though about you." he says, "if I'm being completely honest i thought you were never interested in me, so i never tried to say something.. But your on my mind every single day. I promise." he admitted, laying down next to you and pulling you into his chest. "I love you, so much. And i.. Want to make it up to you. What i did was shitty. I don't know why i was so blind." he stated, running his fingers through your hair.

You sobbed quietly, "do you really mean it?" you croaked, looking up at him. Pedro nodded, hand caressing and resting on your cheek. "I love you. I have been in love with you for so long.. Hearing you say how you feel just makes me realize how dumb i was for not taking my chances with such an amazing and gorgeous person like you" he said with a soft smile.

You couldn't help but crack a smile, "i-i love you to" you said softly, then eyes shifting to his lips. He chuckled, "I'm not going to make another mistake like that. I'm gonna treat you right.." he said, brushing your bottom lip with his thumb. "Starting now.." he mumbles, leaning down and connecting your lips in a soft and loving kiss.

*****

A/N: okay i might of been half asleep writing this but i hope you enjoyed at least! I know i enjoyed writing this! Not proofread because im tired and want this out ××

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #zaddy pedro #big angst #angst prompt #pedro pascal x reader #x reader #tlou show #fanfic #fanfiction #angsty fanfic #oneshot #Angsty oneshot #Sad crap :(#Pedro needs to be nicer bruv #tumblr fic #idk how to tag this #daddy pedro #pascalispunk

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vintageshanny · 10 months

Text

Officer Presley and the Librarian - Part 7 - Pool Party of Two

Writing Prompt: Summer theme

Content: Smut, fluff (You might actually need to see a dentist after reading this due to the sweetness quotient. I guess this is just what my heart and brain needed to express right now). 18+

You glanced up over the edge of your book when you felt the water droplets hitting your leg. You had been lounging by the pool reading a book while Elvis cooled off in the water. Now he was standing over you with a little pouty look on his face. “I thought you were gonna come in with me, baby,” he said. “I am, I just finished my chapter. Let’s go in.” You set your book down and smiled up at him as the water from his hair and T-shirt dripped down onto your red one-piece swimsuit. “Hold on, I’m thirsty,” he said, reaching for his bottle of Pepsi on the little table next to your lounge chair. “That’s okay, take your time. I have a nice view right now,” you teased as you eyed his crotch that was at your eye level. You could see the entire outline of all he had to offer. “You know, those wet swim shorts cling to you real nice. I’ve heard a lot of men shrink in the cold water, but I see you don’t have that problem.” You giggled as Elvis’ face turned red and he turned to pull his chair closer to yours. “Mmm you look good from the back too,” you said, reaching out to give his perfect round butt a gentle pat. “Hush, woman,” he said with an embarrassed chuckle as he swatted your hand away and sat down next to you.

“You look pretty good yourself, y’know,” Elvis smirked as he eyed you up and down, leaning his head back against the chair. “I love seein’ ya look so happy.” It had been two weeks since you and Elvis had confessed your love for each other, and you’d been on an emotional high since then. You’d essentially been living at Graceland, leaving only to go to work at the library, and you could tell that if Elvis had his way, you wouldn’t be leaving for that either. He didn’t put up too much of a fight yet, but you knew it was coming. For now, though, you were just trying to enjoy the bliss of those first stages of love.

“Well, being with you makes me so happy, baby. Especially when you come out of the water shoving this in my face,” you leaned over and ran your fingertips gently over the outline of his cock, making him shiver. “There’s my handsy girl,” he said with a wink. “I see you’ve got one thing on your mind today. Do ya need daddy ta take care of ya?” he whispered. You glanced over your shoulder at where some of the guys were playing football in the grass, but no one seemed to be paying attention to the two of you. “Out here? Anyone could look over,” you said with a blush. “So you’re jus’ gonna touch Little Elvis, get ‘im all riled up, and that’s it? That don’t sound fair, do it?” he said, his hand reaching over to trace over your stomach and down your hip. “Do you want to go inside?” you asked, starting to feel very hot and bothered. “Nah, ya promised me that ya’d swim with me.” Elvis stood and grabbed your hand, pulling you up and toward the pool.

“What are we going to do in the pool?” you asked as you followed him down the steps into the water. “Whatever we want, baby. If no one wants to see it, they shouldn’t come over here when I’m spendin’ quality time with my sexy librarian.” At that he lunged at you and you squealed as he pressed you up against the side of the pool. Goosebumps were rising all over your body, and you weren’t sure if it was from the cool water or the feel of his open lips pressing against your neck. “Mmm,” you moaned a little too loudly. Charlie turned from where they were playing and called out, “What’s goin’ on over there? Everything okay?” Elvis turned from you just long enough to say, “Don’ worry ‘bout it. Jus’ mind your business.” Charlie shrugged and turned back to the game.

“Ya need to be a little quieter baby, if ya don’ want an audience,” Elvis teased as he resumed his open-mouthed kisses down your neck and toward your chest. “Will you do me a favor, Elvis?” you asked softly as his hands roamed over your curves, squeezing your breasts gently. “I’ll do all kinds of favors for ya, baby,” he murmured into your skin. “Will you take this T-shirt off?” You could feel Elvis stop in his tracks and tense up a little bit. You knew he felt a little self-conscious to have no shirt on where other people could see him, but you wanted him to feel like he could be completely at ease with you. “I-I-I don’ know, baby, I, um, it-it,” he stumbled trying to find an explanation that wouldn’t require him to admit how insecure he felt without it. He knew some of his friends had gained weight over the years too, and they felt no need to hide, but their bodies weren’t being constantly scrutinized.

“Please, daddy, for me,” you cooed in his ear as you traced over the area where his wet shirt clung to his nipples. “You know how I like to feel your skin pressed up against me. And that trail of hair…it drives me wild,” you whispered. Elvis blushed a little bit and relaxed his grip on you. “O-o-okay, baby, only for you. You helped him peel the wet shirt off, and he set it next to the pool. “Oh, that’s more like it,” you breathed out as you ran your fingers through his wet chest hair and down over his soft belly. Elvis’ mouth turned up in his trademark crooked grin and he stared at you with a funny look in his eyes. “What is it? Are you okay?” you asked, worried maybe you had pushed him too much. Elvis pressed his body close to yours and cradled the back of your head with his large hand. “I-I-I’m better than okay, baby. I jus’ never thought I’d find someone who could love and accept every part of me. B-B-but here you are.” “Each little piece of you makes up the beautiful man that you are. So I can’t help but love every part,” you said softly as you leaned your head down and kissed the smooth skin of his shoulder. As your lips moved up to meet his, you could feel Little Elvis responding in the best way.

“Is anyone watching us, baby?” Elvis asked as he pulled back from your lips. You looked over his shoulder and shook your head. “No, they moved further away.” “That’s good, they musta got the hint.” He smiled and moved his hand down your side until he was gripping your thigh, his thumb rubbing over the elastic band of your swimsuit. “These little strands of hair creepin’ out are jus’ drivin’ me crazy, honey, I need ta see more.” He pulled the elastic to the side exposing your entire pubic area. As he looked down into the water at you, Little Elvis started poking at you more insistently. “I need to see more of you too, daddy,” you whispered as you pulled at the waistband of his swim shorts. You reached your hand down inside of them and found what you were looking for. Elvis let out a soft groan as you started pumping him in your hand. At the same time, he used one of his knees to spread your legs open a little bit and stuck one long finger inside of you.

Your body let out a shudder as he added a second finger and rubbed his thumb against your clit. You tried to focus on pumping his cock, but your whole body seemed to be responding to his touch. “Oh, baby, seein’ ya like this, I’m almost ready ta finish. Let me get inside of ya, honey,” he said as he looked into your blissful face. You nodded, unable to think straight from the pleasure of his fingers. He pulled his shorts down in the front just enough to pull out his cock and tried to pull your swimsuit even further to the side. The fabric could not withstand this strong tug, and the entire crotch of your suit ripped open, leaving your bottom half fully exposed. “Oh goddamn that’s a beautiful sight,” Elvis groaned when he looked down at you. Your pussy was just throbbing with need for him, and he wasted no time in thrusting into you. It was fortunate the guys had moved their game further away, because the two of you were failing in your attempts to keep things quiet. Elvis finished with a grunt and leaned over you, holding onto the side of the pool.

“Did I take care of ya, baby?” he asked nervously. Usually he could feel you shaking and calling out his name, but the position was a little more awkward in the pool. You bit your lip, not sure what to say. You didn’t want to lie, but you also didn’t want him to feel bad about it. “I always feel good when we’re together, Elvis. I always feel taken care of,” you said, scratching one of his sideburns gently. He leaned into your touch, closed his eyes, and sighed a little bit. “But ya didn’t quite get there, did ya? I’m sorry, let me help ya finish,” he said, pulling out of you slowly and reaching his hand back down. “No, Elvis, it’s not you, I think I’m just too nervous that someone’s going to walk back over here. I couldn’t fully let go.” “I’ll make it up to ya inside then,” he insisted. “With your tongue?” you said with a wink. Elvis laughed at that. “Whatever my baby wants,” he said, sticking his tongue out and licking your cheek, making you squeal.

“Um, how am I supposed to get out of the pool with my suit wrecked?” you asked with a nervous laugh. “Hmm I guess I did really use some force tryin’ ta get at ya,” Elvis chuckled. “You should wear a bikini next time for…easier access.” You blushed at the thought of that but kept your insecurities to yourself. “You stay here, and I’ll get your towel,” Elvis announced. He climbed out of the pool while you tried to keep your hands over yourself in case anyone walked over. “Okay, baby, I got ya,” Elvis said, shielding you with a towel as you climbed the stairs. Right after he wrapped it around you, the guys started heading toward the pool. “Whew…just in time,” Elvis joked.

“Hey, we were just coming to join you. It’s getting too hot out here,” Charlie announced. “Sorry fellas, we’re done for now.” “Aw, c’mon, you can stay a little long-” Charlie was cut off by an elbow to the ribs. Joe motioned with his head to where a little scrap of red swimsuit fabric was floating in the pool. Your face turned scarlet when you realized everyone knew what had just happened. “Hey, where’s your shirt?” Charlie asked Elvis, changing the subject. You nervously glanced at Elvis, hoping he wasn’t embarrassed. His face flushed a little bit, but he just grabbed his sopping wet shirt and said, “Well boys, when the most beautiful girl in the world wants ta get busy in the pool, ya jus’ do what she asks.” He gave a little wink as you buried your head in his chest, too embarrassed to look anyone in the face. “C’mon, baby, let’s go and I’ll make it up to ya.” The guys looked a little confused as you and Elvis walked toward the house giggling like teenagers in love.

Thank you to my beautiful sister wives @whositmcwhatsit @thatbanditqueen @missmaywemeetagain @ellie-24 @be-my-ally @from-memphis-with-love. You all inspire me every day and I love you! ❤️

Thank you to everyone who has expressed continued interest in this series and in my writing! I appreciate you all so much! ❤️

Tag list: @eliseinmemphis @18lkpeters @doll-elvis @elvispresleygf @artlover8992 @richardslady121 @lookingforrainbows

#elvis #big daddy elvis #writing prompt game #elvis fan fic #officer presley and the librarian #officer presley #i love this man

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presleysweetheart · 7 months

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Prompt: "C'mon daddy, just a quick one"🥵🥵🥵

Please feel free to write a fanfic with this, girlies

@vintagepresley @p0lksaladannie @elvisslut @elvisabutler @h0unds-of-h3ll @all-hookedup-on-elvis @lookingforrainbows @whositmcwhatsit @devilsflowerr @from-memphis-with-love @peskybedtime @livelaughelvis @aliengoth3

#writing prompt #elvis presley #elvis fans #elvis the king #70s elvis #elvis ai #big daddy elvis #elvis fic

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nick-close · 1 year

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Still frustrated over the body swap phone call tbh

If my dm gave one of the only opportunities for an emotional moment from my character to somebody else to play and then EVERYBODY PRAISED THAT AS SOMETHING I NEVER DID. WHEN I WAS NEVER GIVEN ANY PROMPTS THAT EMOTIONAL. I WOULD BE SO PISSED.

#I love Jimmy his acting is incredible no hate to him #but the reaction is also #a generic sad reaction to the prompt of ‘call from your dead wife’#without the intricacies of what makes Glenn as a character #ALSO #GLENN WASNT GIVEN PROMPTS THIS HEAVY BEFORE #SO NO SHIT HE NEVER HAD EMOTIONAL MOMENTS THIS BIG #OUGGGG #dndads #dungeons and daddies #dndads odyssey #dndads s1

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eliseinmemphis · 1 year

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why are all the BDE titty suckin anons in your inbox??? I need one of em to mosey on over and send me something goddamn

sksjsk i screamed about it twice and now i get attacked like this 😭

i love it so much tho pls anons never stop (but do share the love with smitty)

#ask #prompted-wordsmith #big daddy

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ellie-24 · 6 months

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Just A Fan Part 2

Idk why this took so long! I have no excuse! Here's part two for those who are still interested.

You might want to catch up on Part 1, it's really been a while. Sorry again!

And, once again, just very self indulgent fluff ahead! Also, this is a response to the writing prompt "Elvis in a car"

Word count: 4.1 k

March 24th 1977, Amarillo Civic Center, TX

Cara let out a watery laugh, her cheeks already hurting from smiling so much and quickly wiped away the tear that rolled over her cheek, trying to regain her composure. Not even five minutes had passed since he got on stage and she already felt a nervous breakdown approaching, just being in the same room as him was enough for that to happen.

The zipper of the Arabian jumpsuit he wore was pulled dangerously low, offering her a wonderful view of his hairy chest and belly. She wasn't the only one having a hard time controlling her emotions though, the whole auditorium buzzed with excitement, shrill screeching filled the air and a woman behind her just straight up sobbed hysterically at the sight of him. Cara would lie if she said she didn't do the same thing when she saw him live for the first time though.

She quickly focused back on Elvis after taking a deep breath. With a heavy heart she noticed that he didn't look too well. Although the nearly blinding spotlights made it a bit hard to see his face - she wondered how he even navigated on stage with the bright light probably blurring his vision - she could tell there were heavy bags under his eyes. He also sounded rather tired when he sang, often slurring the words and carrying a piece of paper with him, explaining that he didn't know the words to every song.

His behaviour was very different from the easy-going and relaxed man she met in Hawaii. There was such a lightness and ease about him then, something she didn't see right now. The exhaustion was written all over his face and showed in his at times almost sluggish movements. Cara was convinced that the vacation would give him some well-deserved rest and some fresh energy, but apparently, she'd been wrong.

Still, he powered through it, eager to give a good performance despite the circumstances. Suddenly she felt very thankful for the over-enthusiastic fans around her. He seemed to appreciate the audience's positive reactions, his mood evidently improving with the heavy applause and cheering. His smiles got wider and more genuine as he started engaging more and more with the crowd.

Cara quickly scrambled to the front, her entire body tingling with nerves and excitement. He stood up straight again after handing out some scarves to a few crying women a few feet away from her. With anticipation written all over her face, she watched as he leisurely strolled in her general direction.

But would he remember her? It's only been about two weeks since their encounter in Hawaii and, after all, he's had it specifically arranged for her to come after promising her a scarf at one of his shows. But he was Elvis Presley, the number of people he must've already met, the number of fans, it's probably impossible to keep track of everyone.

And Cara wasn't entirely sure if she'd really stand out from that crowd. Or any crowd, for that matter. The prospect that he may have actually forgotten about her hurt, and her face fell for a moment. The uncomfortable feeling only increased when his eyes quickly flitted past her, not even acknowledging her. She forced herself to take a deep breath and told herself she wouldn't hold it against him if he didn't recognise her. Just being here was more than enough.

Elvis let out a small laugh at something Charlie said to him and accepted the cup of coke he was holding out for him with a sniff. After letting out a low whistle he took a sip and used the scarf that was wrapped around his neck to wipe away some of the sweat that had gathered on his forehead. A brunette woman next to Cara suddenly started yelling frantically, asking him to let her have the cup he still held in his hand.

He pretended to look confused for a second, raising one cocky eyebrow at her. "I'm not wearing one, honey." He then joked. More scarves and also occasional kisses were given out to lucky fans and she got more and more impatient. She called out his name a few times, hoping he'd notice her. Eventually, his eyes landed on her and he approached her with a wide grin.

"Hey there, sweetheart." He drawled as he leaned down and wrapped the scarf around her neck, using it to pull her closer to him. Cara gasped as she was suddenly pulled forward and stood on her tiptoes in an effort to make herself as tall as possible so he wouldn't have to crouch down as much. Watching him bend down the whole time made her own back hurt and she was a good twenty years younger than him. His lips felt just like she remembered them, soft and warm and she had a hard time resisting the urge to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him down, on top of her.

Elvis pulled away from her and turned around, walking away again. But then he suddenly whipped his head around with a playful smile. He cocked his eyebrow at her and jokingly narrowed his eyes at her before doing an exaggerated double take. His ring-clad finger pointed accusingly at her, looking like he was warning her. Warning her not to pass out. A wide grin spread on her face when she realised that he did remember her. He winked at her when he saw her euphoric expression and there was this mutual understanding between them once again.

His eyes found hers every now and then throughout the rest of the concert. Gauging her reaction whenever he hit a note especially well or joked around, cracking himself up or playfully bantered with members of the band. Giving her a mischievous glance before moving his hips or jiggling his leg in the way he knew made everyone lose their minds. It made her heart flutter every time.

He's just performed a few gospel numbers and now the opening notes to How Great Thou Art started playing when somebody lightly tapped her shoulder. "Miss?" A man's voice sounded next to her, making her whirl around.

She squinted at him, her eyes flashing with recognition, though she couldn't quite place him. She's definitely seen him before. He stepped a bit closer before speaking up again. "Miss, you're gonna want to come along now before the big rush."

She blinked and inclined her head, not sure if she heard him right, only half listening to him anyway, as Elvis was currently performing one of her favourites. It quite bothered her that he just started talking to her while he was singing. She also found it rather rude that he wouldn't introduce himself. "Huh?"

"Come on now." He insisted, his tone laced with an urgency she didn't quite understand.

"But-" She backed up a little and looked back up at the stage, confused and not wanting to let her idol out of her sight.

"Boss said so." He nodded towards the stage. In that moment it suddenly clicked that the man standing in front of her was Joe Esposito, she'd also seen him in Hawaii as part of Elvis' entourage. Her eyes went wide, not quite daring to think about the implications.

"What?" She asked again, the question not even necessarily directed towards him.

He sighed and once again motioned for her to get moving. "Damn girl, just come along, boss wants to see ya. He asked me to bring you to the car."

"Uh-"

Elvis wants to see her. He asked for her. How does one process this information exactly?

"But-" she weakly gestured towards the stage, wanting him to understand that she wanted to watch the show until the very end.

"It'll be easier if I bring you the car now."

"Elvis asked for me?" She asked, wanting some clarification from him again.

Joe let out an exasperated sigh and nodded, beginning to look rather annoyed.

The prospect of talking to Elvis in a few minutes prompted her to finally agree, though it also made her feel kind of lightheaded again. "Okay."

He nodded with a curt "Thanks" and turned around, indicating with a wave of his hand that she was supposed to follow him.

She started trotting behind Joe as he made his way through the crowd. At one point she was sure she heard him mutter something under his breath about not wanting to deal with Elvis' bad mood tonight, making her frown.

Joe eventually opened the back door for her, the chilly night air a stark contrast to the almost sweltering heat in the auditorium. She looked down at herself, inwardly cursing the outfit she chose. She wore the same sundress she'd worn when they first met in Hawaii. It served both a practical purpose, increasing the chance that he'd recognise her, but also a symbolic one.

That's at least what she told herself over and over when she realised March in Texas just wasn't the same as March in Hawaii. You wear something that's not weather-appropriate, you pay the price, simple as that. But the relatively simple concept of causality seemed way too complicated when her mind was utterly preoccupied with a single thing. A single man in fact.

She was grateful when Joe ushered her into the car, the plush cushion of the backseat feeling grounding against the back of her thighs. Everything seemed to happen in a blur as she was still wondering what the hell was happening right now. Elvis wants to see her.

It was eerily quiet in the car after all the screaming - her own and everyone else's - and her ears were ringing as she expectedly looked through the tinted glass towards the back door from which he'd emerge any second now. In an attempt to look a bit more presentable, she ran her fingers through her hair, trying to untangle some of the knots that got there from jumping up and down for nearly two hours.

A few more minutes passed, her heart nearly beating out of her ribcage as she waited, until the door opened and his unmistakable silhouette was rushed over to the car, the white, glittery jumpsuit standing out in the darkness of the back alley. Cara sucked in a breath when she heard his wonderful voice.

"What do we have here? The pretty little girl from the front row just sitting there, waiting for me. What a sweet surprise, I'm a lucky man." He whistled jokingly as if he really hadn't expected her to be there, even though he obviously sent someone out to get her.

He'd barely gotten fully inside the car and she already moved to clutch his arm in a tight grip, unable to stop herself. "Elvis! Oh my god, you were incredible, thank you for letting me be here. Oh my god, I don't even know-"

He chuckled and cupped her burning cheek with his big hand. "Shush, darlin' take a breath, it's okay. Thank you."

Cara nodded and did as he told her. "What am I doing here?" She then blurted out. Elvis wanted to see her. No, she still hasn't processed this information. And now he's here, just casually sitting next to her while she was a shaking mess.

He shook his head in a good-natured way and looked her up and down before gesturing towards her, ignoring her question. "Baby, whatchu even wearin'? I-I mean it looks real pretty, honey, but you'll catch your death in that."

Cara blinked and lowered her gaze, pulling her dress down in an attempt to hide the goosebumps on her legs. That still didn't help to conceal the very evident goosebumps on her arms though. "I didn't think this through, did I?" She muttered, still breathless. A small blush rose on her cheeks as she weakly hugged herself.

He let out a small laugh at her silliness and reached out to run his warm hand over her forearm, causing another shiver to go through her body. His eyes twinkled gleefully and she could see the dimples in his soft cheeks as he smiled. God, he looked so handsome. "And ya didn't even bring a jacket?"

"Forgot it at the hotel." She shrugged with a shy smile. Truth is she would've forgotten her head if it wasn't attached to her body due to her nerves going crazy all day, anticipation the only thing occupying her mind for the past few weeks.

He playfully clicked his tongue and raised his eyebrow at her before reaching next to him, pulling at a big piece of fabric. "Gonna break ya teeth will all that chattering and shaking." He muttered as he draped his coat over her shoulders. "Better, little one?"

It took her a few seconds to answer his question. The only thing on her mind was that the heavy coat smelled exactly like him. She only wished he would've worn it before, so his warmth would surround her as well. It was big enough that she could use it as a blanket and she wiggled around in her seat, pulling her legs up in an attempt to cover her whole body with the precious garment. As subtle as she could she nosed at the fabric, inhaling his scent that was both nerve-racking and comforting to her. With a small nod and a shaky exhale, she eventually turned towards him again. "Thank you."

"Can't have ya freezin' to death now can I?"

Cara bit her lip, not sure how to articulate what was going through her head. The post-concert adrenaline and euphoria still pumping through her veins made everything feel a bit disconnected and foggy. Not only did she get to see him today, but she was sitting in the back of a car with him. Because he wants to see her. And he had kissed her again. And he just gave her his coat. It was too much. "But... and don't get me wrong, but, uh, what am I doing here?"

"You're coming with me, honey." He offered like it was the most natural thing.

The simple statement gave her butterflies and she swallowed hard. "But why?" She whispered, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Because I wanna spend some time with you." He scooted closer to her and gently draped his arm over her shoulder, pulling her to his side. "Get to know you a little. You don't mind that, do ya, sweetheart?" The low murmur made her skin prickle, a very faint tremor still running through her entire body. She inhaled sharply at the contact and tried her best to hold his gaze. It was almost painfully tender.

No, she didn't mind at all.

"Are you sure? Because I'm not too sure if there's anything interesting about me." She shrugged with a small smile.

An endearing grin spread across his beautiful face and Cara felt an odd sense of pride. Making him smile had to be one of the best feelings in the world. Along with kissing him of course.

"Oh, honey, I'm sure that's not true." He drawled and played with a strand of her hair that fell over her shoulder. The gesture was so intimate, so familiar, it nearly made her cry again.

"I don't get it." She murmured, more to herself, just unable to believe that this was happening. To her, out of all the people.

"Ya certainly know how to leave a lasting impression, Cara." He continued teasingly, gently nudging her.

"Oh god, no, please don't." She almost whined as the memories of their first meeting replayed in her mind and tried to to crawl further into the coat to hide herself completely. To this day she felt utterly mortified by her reaction and cringed every time she thought about it.

Elvis pulled her even closer and cooed right into her ear. "Aw, baby, that's good, trust me. You're a charming little thing."

She still avoided his gaze, feeling utterly overwhelmed by his presence and proceeded to hide her face in her hands.

"No, no, don't gotta be so nervous, darlin'." He ran his finger over her wrists, gently prompting her to look at him.

She obliged and lowered her hands before turning her head, finding his eyes again. A single drop of sweat rolled down his forehead, over his cheek. Her fingers were itching to reach out and just wipe it away. "I'm trying. I just, just... love you so much."

A bashful smile formed on his lips and his cheeks turned slightly pink at her heartfelt confession. "That's awfully sweet of you. I love you too." He murmured and kissed her temple with a reverence that momentarily made her forget how to breathe.

The thing was, she genuinely believed him when he said this. His tone was so sincere and earnest, his eyes seemingly looked right into her soul. Never before has she encountered someone with such a big heart, so much capacity to love, such an ability to make anyone feel special. It made Joe's offhand remark from earlier sting even more. She leaned further into his touch and basked in the feeling of being at the centre of his attention right now.

His hotel room was dark, the curtains blocking out any light from the city below and rather cool with the AC whirring steadily. Cara looked around and found the room, or suite rather, to be empty, making her realise that she was now alone with him. Really alone with him. No other fans, not even his close friends who always seemed to be around. She had him all to herself now.

He sat down on the couch with a heavy sigh and ran a hand over his face, grimacing shortly before looking at her expectedly. Slowly, she let herself sink into the soft pillows and pulled off her shoes, relieving her aching ankle. She pulled up her legs and shifted her body to look at him.

"Are you okay?" Cara asked carefully.

He blinked and raised his eyebrows before giving her a smile that was probably meant to be reassuring. "Don't worry 'bout me, honey."

A small nod and silence followed. "... I think I'm gonna keep this one as well." She chuckled and gestured to the coat still hanging off her small frame.

"Looks prettier on ya anyway." He grinned, making her snort. "I-I'm real happy ya came... Been thinkin' about ya." He added slowly.

His words made her tummy flip. "Of course I came." Cara whispered with a puzzled smile. Why would he assume any different? "I've been looking forward to seeing you again so much."

He cleared his throat and brushed over her hair with a lazy lopsided grin. "What did ya think of the show? And be honest, little one."

Cara's eyes widened, taken aback for a second at the fact that he wanted her opinion. She didn't feel qualified enough to answer, she only knew that she loved every second of it. Just like she enjoyed every second of the other three concerts she's been to. With his face plastered all over her room and his voice lulling her to sleep almost every night she wasn't sure how objective she could be.

"I had the best time ever! The way you sang Hurt, it was so beautiful... and of course... the kiss." She blushed and fiddled around with the scarf he'd given her. Right now she doubted she'd ever take it off.

"Ya liked that didn't ya? Me too, baby. Best part of the show, I'll tell ya." He gave her a mischievous smile once again, making it feel as if they were sharing a secret. Something special, just between them.

She looked almost demure as she kept running her fingers over the silky scarf, feeling its smoothness on her skin. "It was all so perfect. Everything. As always."

His face softened and he slowly intertwined their fingers. "You're such a sweet thing for saying that." A surprised gasp escaped her when he brought her hand up to his lips to press a small kiss against the back of it. It took every bit of willpower not to start giggling uncontrollably and embarrass herself in front of him again. The way he'd just show affection like this, like they were lovers, made her feel all giddy inside.

"I mean it. I love watching you perform. I can't get enough of it." She insisted.

He looked away and hummed, his face neutral as he absentmindedly ran his fingers over her arms.

She frowned and dared to raise a hand to lightly scratch his coarse sideburns. "What is it?"

He momentarily leaned into her touch, nuzzling her palm and just soaking up her affections for a few seconds. Then he continued hesitantly. "I-I just, I-I feel like-" He stuttered, shaking his head with a huff.

"Like what?" She encouraged and reached out for his hand, cradling his bigger one in hers and squeezing it reassuringly.

Elvis sighed heavily, the lines on his forehead deepening. She squeezed his hand again. "Honey, I know what they're saying about my shows. About me. I-I don't wanna disappoint anyone. I really don't. Still got six shows on this damn tour." He shut his eyes tightly and started massaging his temples as if the mere thought already caused him a headache.

There was an almost unbearable sadness in his face and she knew immediately what he was talking about, of course she did. So, she did the one thing that came to mind every time she read those horrible things or heard someone make a rude comment about him in her presence.

With an eagerness that hopefully conveyed how much she meant it, she shook her head and tightly wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder smelling the sweat there, remnants from the concerts. She smiled and burrowed further into him, lightly caressing his still damp skin. His breathing quickened slightly when she soothingly trailed her fingers from the side of his neck over the thick patches of hair on his chest and the soft swell of his belly.

Her voice was muffled as she tried to make him understand how she felt about him. "No, don't. You're wonderful the way you are. I know it probably doesn't mean much coming from me, but, uh that's what I think. You are always out there, giving everything for your fans. I hate that you feel like this."

Warmth filled her when he slipped his hand beneath the coat and pulled her closer by her waist, his touch burning through the thin fabric of her dress. Being pressed up against his bulk felt like heaven.

"Baby-" He whispered, sounding rather needy all of the sudden. "-means a lot to me. Come here." His tone was soft and tender and matched his actions as he hooked a finger under her chin and let his lips hover over hers.

She felt his warm breath ghosting over her skin and decided to close the gap between them, kissing him with all the love she had for him. He grunted when she nibbled on his bottom lip and played with the hair at the back of his neck. The feeling of his hand squeezing her waist over and over again spurred her on and she hastily threw one leg over his sturdy thighs, straddling him.

"You're so special to me. You are." She emphasized as she broke the kiss and carefully rubbed her nose against his.

He cupped her jaw and brushed his soft lips against the side of her mouth and her cheek. "Nah baby, you're so special to me." His deep blue eyes bore into hers. "So pretty. Wanna love on ya some." He cooed, making her breath hitch.

"Honey, will you stay for the rest of the tour? I need you here with me. Need you real bad." He muttered against her neck.

An odd sense of calm washed over when he lowered his head and trailed little kisses along her jaw and neck. He locked his hands behind her back, holding her close to him while she pressed her face into his soft hair. His satisfied hum informed her that he must feel something similar.

It pleased her that she was able to take some of the pressure away from him, even if it was just for a moment. Their laboured breathing filled the otherwise quiet suite, a peaceful moment within the unpredictable and gruelling tour schedule he had to endure.

Cara nodded vigorously without even thinking about it, ready to do just about anything to make him happy, to keep him happy. Just the way he made her happy.

..................................................................................

A million kisses and hugs to the loveliest of people. @be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @thatbanditqueen @vintageshanny @missmaywemeetagain @lookingforrainbows @from-memphis-with-love @peskybedtime Thank you for helping me and believing in me. You're truly the most awesome emotional support besties an Elvis fan could wish for!!

@wildhorseinkansas

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis x oc #big daddy elvis #elvis x reader #writing prompt game #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley fanfiction

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be-my-ally · 11 months

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Sobering Up

Honestly this has some p… uhhh wrong things in - like being told you’re being ‘softened up’ or ‘hysterical’ but it's all in somewhat good fun? Idk reader gets turned on by it, lets not look at the reasons why that is too hard yeah?

This spiralled out of my control very quickly from a quick oh I’m gonna do a sweet little cuddly soft hungover fic to no. They are gonna argue.

written for the prompt "Why are you doing this?"

warnings: 18+, arguing, kissing, discussions about alcohol, smut, reader refers to elvis as daddy twice but not actually while uhhh doing anything sexual.

in my head - 1972/3 elvis x fem!reader - I'm picturing blue suit msg elvis; not in the blue suit but that whole look :)

wc: 3.7k of silly little smut

hopefully, those on their deathbeds, cough @whositmcwhatsit cough survive to read this. for the girlies always @thatbanditqueen @ellie-24 @vintageshanny @missmaywemeetagain @from-memphis-with-love apologies it is, as always, late.

He’s in bed when you stumble in, giggling still about something the girls said in the car. You’d said you were just going out to dinner, meeting some of the friends you missed while you were in Vegas with him. Elvis had pouted, and sulked, but your agreement to move in with him permanently had been enough to make him reluctantly agree. Still, he’d rolled around on the bed, huffing and whining that he wanted to come too, and it wasn’t fair to be leaving him all on his lonesome, even as he’d watched you carefully apply your eyeliner, dark eye shadow weighing down your lids. He’d brushed a finger down your cheek when you’d leant over him to reach for something on the bedside table, and told you you looked beautiful before flopping back, lamenting the fact he was not coming with you. Muttering to himself that it wasn’t right for you to be going out looking like that without him. But you’d threatened him thoroughly enough that he’d sworn up down and sideways he would stay home with the boys, even if he made it clear he was regretting his agreement when the time came.

It’s later than you’d expected now though. You’d all stayed late at the restaurant, putting your seemingly limitless wad of cash he’d handed to you on your way out to good use, before, drunk on the free-flowing cocktails and champagne it had been suggested you go out dancing. It had occurred to you to call, but honestly you figured there wasn’t much difference between one and three am if Elvis was, as you had expected him to be, knocked out asleep. You fall against his bedroom door as it swings open, throwing your bag and coat towards the chair in the corner. He flinches at the thump of them hitting the floor, feet away from where you were aiming.

“You’re drunk.” He says flatly in greeting. You glance over at him, giggles catching in your throat at his tone. He’s sat up in the bed, book open on his lap, embroidered EP on the chest of his pyjamas just peeking out, he looks sleepy, and if you weren’t quite so tipsy you would have felt guilty about keeping him up waiting for you. As it was the image of him sat in bed waiting for you was enough to make you giggle even more,

“No, El, no - I’ve only had,” You pause, getting the giggles all over again, “only had a couple.” He shakes his head, kicking the coverlet off of his knees and pulling back the sheets. You can’t catch your breath and you couldn’t tell anyone what it was you were finding so funny, just that you couldn’t stop laughing.

“Not sure what’s so funny little girl.” His tone is enough to send you over the edge again, just as you were starting to calm down. You trip over your feet when you try to come closer to him and you’re annoyed enough at your ankle twisting in your shoes that it cuts through your laughter,

“Fucking goddamn heels,” You try to kick them off, suddenly furious when the strap catches on your ankle and you have to bend over on wobbly legs to fiddle with it enough to unclasp and come off. “Fuck - ow!” You don’t notice Elvis getting out of the bed until he’s grasping your arm,

“ ‘Nough of that now - your momma would be washing your mouth out if she’d heard that.” You grimace a little - she would have, but still; it hurt! “C’mon now darlin’, let’s get you sobered up a little, get you to bed.” He’s got a firm grip on the top of your arm, and you can tell he’s not altogether pleased, but he’s got a hint of amusement in his tone still. He directs you into the adjoining bathroom, you try to pull back a little but all it results in is his fingers tightening their grip.

“No - wanna, daddy, wanna - thought we could….” Even drunk you’re shy, “…want you to touch me.” He looks at you coldly, and you flinch back, “We haven’t in, in ages.” If you’d been sober you never would have dared to bring it up. He huffs, puffing his chest up, as if about to argue you with you but then he seems to deflate, as if knowing he had no defence.

“Well if you weren’t out all hours of the night we could have.” He leans forward to turn the taps in the circular shower, water immediately pulsing out; his water pressure was something you had only dreamed of. You pull away, already feeling that it’s nowhere near the temperature you would prefer but he just tuts at you, stripping you of the skimpy little dress you’d gone out in. You go dazedly where he tugs you, he rolls your eyes at your little lace underwear,

“Who’d you put these on for?” He flicks the lace at your hip as he pulls them off of you, forcing you to lift your feet when he taps your leg.

“Yo-ou! Who else?” He hums back at you, and you squirm, too drunk to really defend yourself and a little confused at what was going on. You’re normally still a little shy to be fully naked around him, but today you’re just trying to keep your eyes open, hands rubbing your eyes rather than wrapped around your middle. A moment later he’s practically shoving you under the shower head and he holds you there until your flush starts to come down a little and you’re blinking at him a little more together. The spray wasn’t cold, he wasn’t a monster, but it wasn’t hot either.

“El, Elvis, ba-by, let me out- it’s cold, I’m fine now, I swear - I’m uh, uh, not even tipsy.” He frowns for a moment, as if considering, and you wrap an arm around yourself, he rolls his eyes. He hands you a washcloth, instructing you to wash your face, and you do as he says while doing the best you can to keep your hair from getting wet.

He pulls you out, pyjama arm rolled up to his elbow to stop it from getting damp and he grasps a monogrammed towel, roughly rubbing the soft cotton over your skin. He grasps each arm to dry it, manhandling you around as he brushes the towel over your body. You’ve sobered up enough not to say anything, catching on that his silence isn’t a good sign, although you’re definitely, despite your protestations, not of completely sound mind. He leaves you stood there, after draping a robe around you, to fetch your pyjamas, and in the time that he’s gone you’re rapidly sobering enough to be teary at the thought that he’s mad at you.

He comes back, tutting at your tears, dressing you in a skimpy little babydoll set and pulling you over to the bed, pushing you under the covers. You can’t take the silence any longer, now that you’re aware of it.

“Please - Elvis, daddy, I’m sorry,” He hushes you, louder than your words.

“I ain’t discussin’ it with you now darlin’,” He glances over at the clock on the nightstand, “It’s way past your bedtime.” You frown up at him, you might have been a little bit later than usual, but you weren’t a child; you weren’t out past your curfew or bedtime. Your eyebrows scrunch together and he tuts as he smooths out the crinkle in between with a finger, “Your face’ll stay that way.” You scowl for a brief second before smoothing out your expression. You change tacts - pleading at him with your eyes and pouting. He’s having none of it though, pulling the covers over you tight. You watch him pick up the robe and towel, throwing them into the bathroom and moving your shoes so they’re not a trip hazard in the night, before climbing into bed behind you. You hear him reach for his pill bottle, and you want to ask for one yourself but you can already feel your eyes closing, before he pulls you to him. You sniffle into the pillow as his arm tightens around your waist;

“I don’t wanna hear you’ve got a headache in the morning.” He murmurs against your cheek as he leans over to press a kiss to your temple. He says it as a statement and you nod in reply even as your eyes start to tear at the tone. His hands belie such harsh words though, gently scooping you into him. Quickly you succumb to the darkness creeping around the edges of your vision and you’re fast asleep before you could even protest your innocence.

———————

The world is spinning with each breath you take when you awaken in what you think is the morning, your heartbeat causing the edges of your vision to pulse. You feel dizzy enough that the idea of sitting up threatens vomit and you are, for once, more than a little glad that Elvis keeps his bedroom so dark and cold. You’re not alone in the bed, hangover waking you far earlier than you normally would be, Elvis still snuffling behind you. You’re in a bit of a daze as you try to wriggle out of his hold and swing your legs around, desperate for the bathroom. You go, blindly, with no concept of what time it might be not in your little oasis of dark.

When you get back he’s half-awake, palm open and pill in his hand, sat propped up a little atop his mountain of pillows. You take a second to appreciate his open face and sleep-mussed hair, regretting that you feel too awful to even really initiate a kiss. He opens his eyes when he feels you climbing back into bed, smiling as they fall shut again;

“Come on honey, here ya go, forgot to have it last night didn’t ya, wanna - need to go back to sleep for a few hours baby,” You shake your head,

“El- I don’t think, I’m still pretty blitzed, I - I’m really not sure,” You push his hand away a little, “I don’t even know what’s in it,” He huffs, eyes closed but palm still outstretched, slurring his words slightly,

“You don’t - you saying you don’t trust me hon-ey?” He frowns, “You should - should trust me, I - it’s all in, all in my PDR’s, in, in the supl’ment -I, baby, I wouldn’t risk ya.” His eyes blink blearily open before they slip closed again, shaking his hand out at you.

“Of course I trust you but, I -“ He blinks his eyes open again, tone hardening even despite the way all of his words are running together,

“Just take the damn pill. I ain’t gonna hurt you.” You look at him, before resigning yourself to it, taking and swallowing the pill, relieved that the quality of sleep might mean that when you wake up later you might be feeling better. You snuggle down into him and he wraps his arms back around you, a furnace amidst the cold bedding.

———————

He’s grumpy in the afternoon when you finally wake up, your mini argument the night before not helping his mood from where he was already furious. He storms about the room and bathroom, flinging clothes and stomping around, but clearly having not been up for long - still in his pyjamas, hair fluffy and a mess. You come around to him talking to himself,

“Fuckin’ woman, out all hours of the goddamn night with god-knows who, not listenin’ to me, not trustin’ me.” You’re immediately defensive, even as you try to deal with your dry mouth and throbbing headache.

“I do, I do trust you.” You manage to croak out. He spins around to stare at you,

“Oh, you trust me.” He laughs, and then pauses, “But you didn’t want me around last night! You just too busy wanting to show off for everyone?” You choke back tears - your head is still pounding and you hate how unsympathetic he’s being, like he’s punishing you for a night out with your friends, how he’s making you feel like you’ve done something wrong. You push yourself to be sitting fully upright, still blinking away sleep.

“Of course I’d want you there! I told you that! But, I just wanted one night, it’s tricky to go out - you know that.” You know he’ll need more reassurance later but for now you were hopeful that would be sufficient to quell his feelings for now - although as he scoffs in response you have to assume you were wrong. You quickly try to distract him again so you can concentrate on the part that was, no doubt, angering him the most. “But, I do trust you.”

He stops in his tracks, stalking back over to perch on the bed,

“You got-a funny way of showing it then little girl,”

“I just didn’t know if it was safe to mix!” He frowns, shaking his head,

“Of course it was - I was givin' it to ya wasn’t I?” You nod, but still despite the warning bells in your ear, you can’t seem to let it go.

“Well yeah - but I still didn’t know for sure it was safe.”

“Well it is. Unless you’ve got…got… psychosis.” He laughs, a little meanly, shrugging, “Although maybe you do huh, it would ‘plain a lot.” You shove the covers off of yourself, furious,

“You don’t hafta be so mean to me!” His eyes flash and the little thrill of fear it causes makes you stumble as you go to pull a dressing gown over your shoulders. He comes up behind you, his large hands resting on your shoulders, leaning over to brush his lips against your ear.

“I ain’t bein’ mean to you honey. If anything it’s the opposite - I’m just tryna to tell you it’s not, not, becoming for a pretty little girl to be out behavin’ like this. Comin’ home in a state.”

“I wasn’t out behaving like, like, anything!” You’re indignant on this point, voice raising.

“Shhh baby,” He strokes your hair, smoothing the back of it. “It’s ok now, c’mon calm down. There ain’t no need for the hysterics.” You cringe, as if that wasn’t your least favourite term to be called as a woman - you understood what it meant to call a woman hysterical, and the amount it annoys you is enough to make you see red, shrugging his hands off of you and spinning around to face him.

“Listen! If I wanna go out and have a few drinks I can, I’m a big girl and I don’t need you, or anyone else,” He frowns, “policing what I can or can’t do. I don’t know why you have such a problem with it!”

“I’ve just told ya why darlin’ - because it’s not right for a pretty little thing like yourself to be doing by yourself.” He smiles, like he’s finding your annoyance amusing now, making you screech back at him.

“I wasn’t by myself! You just mean without you!” The rest of his sentence suddenly registers in your mind, and you step back in slight incredulity, “So. If I wasn’t pretty I could get drunk whenever I wanted?”

He shakes his head, “You’re twistin’ my words, that wasn’t what I was -“ A thought suddenly occurs to you, and you interrupt him to ask,

“Anyway how’s it any different to your pills?” He splutters at you for a second, cheeks flushing red.

“Goddamn it you silly - stupid girl.” He’s stepped even closer to you and you have to look up to maintain eye contact. “They’re prescribed.” He’s glaring at you, eyes ablaze, cheeks sucked in as he chews on the inside and gritting his teeth. It emphasises his cheekbones even more and you feel the anger in your stomach start to turn to fluttering butterflies of arousal. No. Oh god, his hair is so fluffy. Focus. You’re annoyed. You remind yourself. Tilting your chin up in an effort to not to get distracted by the peek of his chest heaving under the open collar of his pyjama shirt.

“Why are you doing this E? Why are you being like this? You haven’t gotta treat me like this.” You go to push past him, he grunts as you shove his side.

“Don’t.” His voice has gotten lower, in anger or annoyance or arousal you can’t tell, but it’s deliciously gravelly. “Just listen to me for chrissake.” He grabs your arm, turning you and pulling to practically fling you back on the bed.

You wriggle around, not able to stop yourself from wanting him to catch you. He does, crawling onto the bed, caging you within his arms. You roll over, little shorts and shirt riding up, and he catches you with his hand swinging down on your exposed ass. You flinch as he smacks it a second, and then a third time - you yelp and he laughs, as you feel a handprint raising on your skin. He rolls you back as you mewl at him, forgetting your earlier resolution to be as stand-offish as possible instead holding his arm as tightly as possible. Allowing yourself to be tugged into him and tucking yourself under. He noses at your cheek, whispering into your ear,

“That’s it baby, just had to soften you up a little bit didn’t I,” You whine back at him, not wanting to agree but suddenly so turned on you couldn’t bring yourself to disagree. “That’s my good baby back now,” Elvis leans down, petting you gently, little sweeping strokes down your arm and stomach. “My little baby, huh,” He mouths at your neck and cheek and you can’t help but lean into him.

“Uh-huh,” He huffs a laugh across your skin at your loss of words and attitude,

“Gonna make it up to me? 'pologise for being so difficult earlier? For not trusting me.” It’s a question phrased like a statement and you frantically nod your agreement. He kisses down your throat and you struggle to put a hand out in an attempt to grasp at his chest,

“Let me - I’ll - I’m sorry, sorry for earlier.” He bats your hand off of him though, tilting your head with a hand on your neck, the other coming to wrap around your torso, finally kissing you properly. He grips you just right, thumb moving in little firm circles right over your pressure point.

You let yourself be devoured, hips pushed back down when they jump up in response to the actions of his tongue and lips. He pulls back, his pouty spit-slicked lips glowing in the lamplight of the bedroom. He moves his hand lower, brushing the little French knickers of your set up and to the side.

You feel your pulse jump as he barely rests his hand on your now exposed cunt, the anticipation almost too much to bear. “Let me show you all the tricks I’ve learnt as a gee-tar player honey.” You’re quick to agree, practically begging. His fingers slide over you and you can’t help but move your hips in time to his gentle roving circles. You continue to squirm when he leans back down to suck a bruise onto your collarbone, forcing a loud moan out of you. His fingers are long and slim and undoubtedly he knows exactly how to use them, teasing expertly over your clit to make your eyes fall closed.

He has, for once, only got his little pinky ring on and in some ways it feels strange to be feeling his hands without the cold metal of his rings. But there’s no doubt of whose hands they are as he coos into your ear. He uses his fingers to spread you apart, pushing the little shorts even further to the side, fingers sliding in the slick in between.

“Don’t - don’t tease me - s’not nice.” Your hips thrust closer to him as he laughs against the side of your face, breath huffing across your cheek. He lifts his hand away, hovering just over top of you.

“Thought you were ‘pologisin’ to me - thought that meant you’d let me do what I like?” His voice is lyrical in your ears, sing-songing as he teases you. He’s circling almost painstakingly gently, moving closer and closer, dancing over your skin,

“God - yes, you’re right - whatever you say - just god, Elvis. I need you.”

Finally, he dips one of his nimble fingers down into you, a second rapidly joining when you moan in pure pleasure. He presses them into you, other hand still grasping your neck while he continues to circle your clit with his thumb.

“Told you darling,” His fingers speed up, “see - now you’re seeing sense aren’t you.” Any argument has been truly fucked out of you. Your knees come up as he speeds up even more, your legs spreading further seemingly of their own accord. His hand comes down from your neck, trailing over your throat and you reach up to anchor yourself to it, clutching at his forearm - a lifeline amidst the sensations.

He crooks his fingers just right and you feel yourself start to quiver as your potential orgasm builds. You have to close your eyes entirely, although the way his face looks - focussed with absurd concentration - atop his flushed visible chest makes it harder to draw yourself away.

His other hand trails down, stopping to affectionately squeeze a nipple on the way, the slight pinch sending more arousal flooding into your stomach. He finishes you off with seemingly minimal effort and you can tell he’s growing a little smug with it. You shudder around his hand, core muscles crunching as you try to blindly, desperately, tug him down for another kiss. He gently continues to pet you through your orgasm, only pulling out and away when you start to gasp at the sheer lack of breath.

He lets you relax for a few moments, wiping his hand on your shorts and thigh. He draws you back in for another filthy kiss, open-mouthed and pressing his lips to any part of you they can reach.

“Lord, gosh - El that was…” You don’t have the words to articulate what you mean so you settle with, “Sorry, again, - about last night.” He sits up properly at those words and gestures down at himself, unbuttoning his shirt as he does.

“Come on then, show me how sorry you are baby.” He waves a hand at the bulge clearly evident in his silk bottoms, “Give him a kiss, s’ok honey, want you to - to say sorry properly for leaving us at home.”

#elvis fanfic #elvis smut #be-my-ally #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis x you #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #baby big daddy elvis #1972 supremacy #elvis presley smut #writing prompt game

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whositmcwhatsit · 1 year

Text

Something Else

AN: A little ficlet for a writing prompt: ‘Do you mind? I came here to get away from other people.'

Thanks for the fun:

@ellie-24, @missmaywemeetagain @vintageshanny, @be-my-ally, @thatbanditqueen, @from-memphis-with-love

The hospital corridor was dimly lit and peaceful, the only sounds were of muted conversation coming from the nurses' station further down. It was the closest thing to peace Donna had experienced in a while.

Through the window, most of the cradles were still, just the occasional booty or mitten twitching up as the babies dreamed of… Whatever newborn babies dreamed about. Being warm and cosy? Safety? They were actually nice dreams to have, thinking about it.

“Which one's yours?”

Donna started slightly at the voice, even though it was as low and soft as the lights overhead, and then smiled slightly at the baby closest to the window as it somehow yawned in its sleep.

“Not a one,” she replied. She lifted her arm, her sleeve falling back to reveal her cast, and tilted her head, showing off the dressing over her temple. “I’m not a patient on this floor.”

“Yeah, me neither,” he returned dryly, making her choke on a laugh. She turned to him and her eyebrows raised slightly.

“Oh, you’re… you.”

If she had any lingering doubts the way his lips twisted into a lopsided smirk and the curve of his apple cheekbones chased them away. He looked a little different, his hair was a mess for one and the pyjamas and robe didn’t hide that he was heavier, but there was probably only one person in Memphis that would wear oversized sunglasses at three in the morning in a hospital.

“Uh huh, and you are you,” he observed, still smiling. She almost grinned, it was like she couldn’t help it, but the muscles in her face were stiff from lack of use. “So, what you doing here at this time of night, honey? You’re not planning on stealing a baby are you, ‘cause they frown on that kind of thing.”

“Ha, no. I don’t sleep much and the old lady in the next bed keeps crying for her mama. I usually go to the day room, but there was this… woman in there and, as soon as I walked in, she said, ‘Do you mind? I came here to get away from other people.’” She shook her head. “Can you believe that?

“Is that why you’re here? To steal a baby? I’m betting if you just asked someone'd probably just give you one. There’s probably not much you can’t get just by asking.” He laughed, a cute hiccupping sound that almost made her feel… something, anything.

“Naw, I can’t sleep neither,” he said. “I thought going for a little walk might… do somethin’, I don’t know.” She nodded in understanding.

“I don’t know whether to envy them or feel sorry for them,” she sighed, nodding towards the babies through the window.

“Hell, I can’t think of nothing better than being a lil baby,” he mused, putting a large hand on the glass. “Got someone to look after you, love you, feed you. What more could you want?”

“I like being able to talk, you might have noticed that.” He smiled again, dipping his head slightly as if in a nod. She gave him a nudge with her arm, forgetting herself for a minute, but he didn’t seem offended. In fact, he reached up and put a hand on her shoulder like he was trying to regain his balance after her shove.

“How’d you do it, if you don’t mind me asking?” he asked, nodding towards her arm. She hesitated and he immediately started to say that she didn’t have to tell him.

“No, it’s fine. It was a car accident. Pretty dull actually. I keep thinking I need to come up with a better story, like a shark attack or getting stuck inside a building that was being demolished.”

“I don’t think a car accident is dull,” he replied, eyes fixed on hers in a way that made her start to panic, to feel the grief and the pain beginning to rise into her chest.

“Yeah, well…” She cast about for something to take away his attention and lift that concerned gaze from her before she suffocated. “What about you? Please don’t tell me you were in a car accident too, I’ll feel like a complete jerk.” He huffed a laugh, adjusting his hand on her shoulder, reminding her that it was still there. It was weird how natural it felt.

“No, nothing that dramatic,” he murmured, sniffing as he looked down at his slippers. “Just getting old, I guess, this ole boy is starting to fall apart.” It was her turn to snort, and it was definitely not as attractive and charming as when he did it.

“You’re not old!” she retorted derisively. He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes the way that his others had.

“Well, I see you ain’t been reading the papers, honey.”

“Nope, and it sounds like you shouldn’t either. They make up all kinds of crap to sell more copies.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t disagree with you there.”

“One time, one of my neighbours got in the paper because he said that aliens messed with his prize cow. Can you imagine? You discover a way to travel to distant galaxies, explore an infinite number of worlds, and the first thing you do is fly to Earth, find a cow and shave its hindquarters into odd shapes.” She shook her head as he laughed, loudly. A couple of nurses poked their heads around the corner inquiringly.

“You are somethin’ else,” he remarked, adjusting his glasses and wiping his fingers across his wide grin.

“Yeah, people say that,” she acknowledged. “It usually means shut up.”

“Not this time,” he replied. He lifted his hand from her shoulder, his fingertips lifting her chin slightly. “Darlin', I think you’re just about the best medicine I’ve had in this place.”

“You poor man.” She was prevented from saying more by the nurse that marched towards them, her lace up shoes squeaking on the floor.

“Patients shouldn’t be out of bed at this time of night,” she said sternly. “And I am fairly certain neither of you belong here. Oh… Oh my, you’re Elvis!” Her hands flew to her face, trying to smooth her hair and adjust her cap at the same time.

“Yes, ma’am,” he nodded. “I’m sorry, we were just going for a walk and I guess we got turned around somewhere.” He spun, peering up both ends of the corridor, looking very realistically lost. All that Hollywood training kicking in.

“That’s no problem, no problem at all,” the nurse purred. “You know, we have a break room just down the hall here. If you wanted somewhere that you could be more comfortable, we’d be happy-“

“Thank you, really, but that’s not necessary,” he demurred, voice getting lower. “We’ll just be getting on our way.” He put a hand on his new friend’s back, ushering her towards the stairwell and elevators.

“Oh my gosh, you’re Elvis Presley!” Donna exclaimed breathlessly like the nurse, pressing her fists to each side of her mouth. “You know, I think that nurse would’ve definitely given you a baby. She probably would’ve offered to let you make one with her.”

“Hush,” he tossed back with a slight frown. “That lady is someone’s grandma!”

Donna had to chew back her laughter, her teeth digging into her lips.

“Oh my stars, you have some crazy idea of ages! She was probably in her early forties at the most, poor woman! Wait, how old do you think I am?”

They shoved their way out of the swinging doors at the end of the hallway and emerged into the brighter lit foyer. Elvis blinked and squinted at the sudden immersion into light.

“Uh, I think it’s dangerous for a man to answer that kind of question about a woman, honey,” he replied, reaching behind his glasses to rub his eyes. Under the flickering fluorescents, she could see the dark shadows there even through the coloured lenses, as well as the flecks of grey in his sideburns. He looked pale too; pale and swollen like a sick man, not Elvis Presley. Those were two separate things.

“Okay, scaredy cat,” she continued, as he dropped his hands and narrowed his eyes at her. “I’m thirty-two, and apparently less than a decade away from old age according to you.”

“You’re messing with me,” he insisted, stepping closer and peering down his nose at her. He grabbed her jaw and tilted her face up to the light. She frowned as he studied her, finding her eyes drawn relentlessly to his open mouth, and his plump, edible lips. “Nuh uh, no way. I ain’t never seen no thirty-two year old woman look like that.”

“Ha! I bet you have never looked this close at a thirty-two-year-old woman before,” she pointed out. “Even if you did by accident you’d go and cleanse your eyes by staring at a beauty queen.”

His face registered the blow and she felt a little guilty, though she had no doubt that what she had said was true. Not everything that was true had to be spoken aloud though.

“Sorry, that was rude. If I was you I’d look at beauty queens all day long too. And models, just to change it up a bit. Maybe an actress every now and again.” He huffed a laugh and dropped his head like he had been caught out.

“In your head do I have time for anything else?” he asked. “You know, reading, working, sleeping?”

“Maybe a little,” she conceded. “We’ve already established you don’t sleep much.” He looked mournful at this, like he’d give anything and then some just to get a good night’s rest.

“Do you read much?” she asked, because seeing that kind of expression on his face made her feel adrift, like finding the floor sliding out from underneath her.

“Do I read! Honey- Wait, what is your name, since now you know mine?”

“I’ve always known yours,” she pointed out, but he waved that off as he tucked his thumbs in the belt of his navy and grey striped robe. “It’s Donna. I’m named after my aunt.”

“And I’m Elvis, named after my father.” He reached out and shook her hand; well, flopped it up and down by the fingers anyway.

“I did not know that,” she mused. “About you being named after your father.”

“Huh, we found something you didn’t know, huh, smarty?” he teased.

She was about to retort, but one of the tubes in the fluorescent light buzzed, flickered and died, drawing her out of the moment. She had the weird feeling that she was looking at the two of them from a distance, two lonely and bored people in a huge hospital full of sick and injured sleeping patients. It was surreal if you thought too long on it. Nowadays she didn’t like to think too long on anything.

“Hey, you hungry?” he asked suddenly. She shrugged.

“The cafeteria’s closed.”

“The cafeteria.” He faked gagging. “No, I’m talking real food, honey. C’mon up to my room and I’ll get you whatever you want.”

She hesitated suddenly very aware that, though she knew his face and the characters he played in movies, Donna did not know Elvis Presley at all. He could be a serial killer or a sex pest or even just a seducer of weird, insomniac women he found wandering the halls of the hospital in the middle of the night. He was no less a stranger than any other man.

It was as if her thoughts were playing in Technicolor across her face because his brows knitted and he hastened to assure her that he meant exactly what he said, no funny business, just food.

“I ain’t had but nobody to talk to ever since I ended up in this place,” he explained with almost childlike sincerity. “Most nights I just been bored out of my gourd staring at static on the television, watching the babies on the monitors, and wishing I was home. I just enjoyed talking to you, honey, that’s all. Honest.”

“I - I’m getting tired,” she demurred, reaching over to press the button for the elevator. “Thank you for the offer though. God knows I miss real food. I’d probably kill someone for a doughnut actually.” He grinned, but it faded as the elevator doors slid open.

“Okay, then. Well, goodnight.” She moved towards the elevator just as he stepped forward and they collided slightly, his round stomach pressing into her and his hands immediately gripping her biceps to stop her falling backwards.

As she glanced up, he leant down and pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth, just slightly brushing the very edge of her lips. She hoped she didn’t look as dumbfounded as she felt. She couldn’t think of anything to say as she stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for her floor.

“Hey, Chatty,” he said suddenly, shoving his hand between the closing doors so that they buffered back open. “What’s your favourite colour?” She could feel her brain clawing for words in a way it never had to before.

“Uh… Red?” He nodded an acknowledgement as the doors closed between them.

The next morning, she woke feeling as though the night before had been a strange, surreal dream. She would have thought it a drug induced hallucination if they hadn’t cut her off the good drugs a few days before.

In the early afternoon, one of the nurses came in with a cardboard box. She was smiling like she had a secret, an expression Donna always hated.

“You have a delivery,” she said, her voice loaded with meaning.

Donna’s eyes dropped to the box and she opened the lid to reveal an array of doughnuts, iced and sugary, still warm from the oven. She grinned, reaching for one. That was when she caught sight of a metallic glint. She fished the key out from beneath a pink iced doughnut with sprinkles on it.

The nurse was beaming as she directed her to the window where, seven floors below, a truck was setting down a shiny cherry red new car.

"You are something else," she muttered to herself. Part 2

@literally-just-elvis-fics

#elvis presley #big daddy elvis #70s elvis #elvis fanfic #writing prompt game #elvis presley fanfiction #1970s elvis

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zsbrainrot · 9 months

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I’m tired and stressed today so instead of doing the official Rei week prompt I just redrew some Kazurei Fluff I did forever ago. ❤️💙

#I’m so fucking tired #also I’m not a big fan of a lot of the Rei week prompts tbh :/#but I still wanna participate #so I may just draw whatever I feel like on days where I can’t think of stuff #kazurei #my art #buddy daddies #kazurei fanart #reikazu #buddy daddies fanart

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hostilecityshowdown · 1 year

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Shawn making chocolates to make up for a fight he started with Diesel, but it goes horribly wrong.

[ ao3 ]

It was pure coincidence that the next hotel boasted a small café-bakery as an offering of hospitality. Around thirty miles back, Shawn realised he had to do something to apologise to Diesel for the scene he caused. The trouble was deciding what to do.

Maybe it was their ongoing rise in popularity that convinced the boss to pre-book them one of the swankier hotels, something at least a full star above the typical motor lodge they could afford on their own dime. Maybe McMahon was just concerned about making a good impression on the new recruit, considering how swiftly Diesel had turned coat on WCW and jumped to the WWF only two months before. Or, perhaps, this was an attempt to dissuade Shawn, himself, from engaging in his usual illicit activities - whatever the reason, Diesel was down in the gym, taking full advantage of their accommodations. After their argument, the previous night had been rough, to say the least, with too much awkward shuffling around each other in the too-small room. Shawn was used to pushing the beds together, but Diesel didn't move the nightstand aside as he normally did. He showered, bedded down, and went to sleep, leaving Shawn standing in the ambient light of the hallway peeking under the door. Feeling like a lost puppy, he eventually crawled under his own bedspread and restless leg syndrome'd himself out of any real sleep until dawn. Diesel took off during one of the few hours his partner was unconscious, leaving a brochure opened to the gym's page on his bed to indicate where he'd gone.

Things were not good.

It was the first real fight they'd had, Shawn realised as he stared at the thick, day glow orange curtains, and he was doing a pretty bad job at making up, even though he resolved to do so en route to their current hotel. He bundled the comforter up against his chest and clutched it, sighing, racking his brain for a solution; he was determined not to let himself leave bed until a light bulb illuminated above his head. Metaphorically, at least, he thought to himself, already pacing from one end of the room to the next.

"So much for that," he grunted, tussling his hair furiously with both hands, leg bouncing every time he pivoted to pace another line. "It can't just be sincere, it's gotta look sincere. Believable, not like I got caught with my hand in the cookie jar and the thing I'm sorry for is getting caught. I gotta apologise for popping open the cookie jar in the first place."

Shawn's stomach growled. He stopped pacing, looking down at his abdomen as if it had spoken to him.

"... Cookies, huh?" That was… Perfect. That was-

“-why I need to use your kitchen, capisce?” Shawn was leaning both elbows on the counter, chin propped in one hand, chewing his gum furiously and bouncing one leg so hard he kept knocking his knee against the pastry display case. He’d spent extra time on his hair, pulled out some of his more understated jewellery, touched up his nails, even applied a little bit of makeup. Just enough to make his eyelashes more noticeable when he fluttered them pleadingly and to cover up the bruise on his temple beneath his bangs, something Shawn earned in his latest match before Diesel could interfere. It was one of the things they’d fought over, but he omitted that part of the story when he explained his dire situation to the barista working the hotel café. He was young, probably college age, with enough piercings and processed hair to make Shawn suspicious of how he scored a job in the hospitality industry but, hey, whatever, who was he to judge? He was a jacked, 6’1” dude trying to coerce this kid into letting him use his employer’s kitchen to bake cookies for a man he nearly kicked in the jaw because he was angry at himself, after all. To drive his point home, Shawn bat his eyelashes up at him and clasped his hands together pleadingly.

“I don’t know, man….” The barista’s name tag read ‘Silas.’ “I can’t let you back here.”

“And I understand that,” Shawn responded immediately, spreading his hands out, palms pointed down and fingers splayed. He nodded sympathetically. “This is really important, my livelihood- our friendship could depend on this. How ‘bout you give me the stuff and I’ll, uh, I’ll mix the batter, and you can… Cook it for me?”

After a few moments of silence that lasted an eternity for Shawn, Silas sighed, shoulder’s slumping. He shook his head and resumed cleaning the whipped cream canister tips. Poor kid, he was probably only holding this job down because he desperately needed the cash and would move onto the next shitty gig in the next shitty town as soon as he had the gas money. Shawn pulled out his wallet, licked a finger, and leafed through a few bills. “I can comp ya for it.”

“No, that’s, uh,” Silas mumbled, searching for the least offensive words. “Unprofessional. Can you wait here a sec?”

All too happy to tuck his wallet away, Shawn nodded vigorously and resumed his leaning on the countertop, practically dancing foot to foot. Silas’s eyes were dark and soft, warm, his sympathy genuine - he wasn’t just taking pity on Shawn, and he held up a single finger with chipped black nail polish before he disappeared into the kitchen behind him. When he returned, he was carrying a plastic mold and a few transparent bags. He laid them all on the counter and nudged them towards Shawn. “Here, you can use these. Bring back the molds and whatever you don’t use, please?”

“Uh, thanks?” Shawn replied, dumbfounded. He picked up the mold and turned it over in his hands, realising the shapes were… Little teddy bears holding hearts. The bags contained paper lollipop sticks, cellophane wrappers, and satin ribbons. “Hey, Silas, pal? What am I supposed to do with these?”

Silas winced before getting his face under control. A little too under control, unfortunately, his tone deadpan. “Chocolate lollipops.”

“...Chocolate lollipops.” Silas nodded. Shawn exhaled slowly and laid the mold down on the counter gently, as if fragile glass. “And how the hell am I supposed to do that?”

Looking taken aback, the teen shrugged a shoulder a first before catching himself. He held up his finger again, ducked back into the kitchen, and returned with a cookbook and notepad, the kind one would tear pages out of and clip to a turn style for a chef to snatch orders from. Placing the book on the countertop, he flipped to the index, trailing down the list until he found what he was looking for and tapped it, mumbling the page number to himself. After turning to it, he laid the notepad on the open page and leaned down so far over it Shawn thought he was going to put his head down and go to sleep. Shawn sort of wanted to do that, honestly, but instead he watched Silas copy the recipe down for him and accepted the paper when it was handed to him. Silas’s writing wasn’t sloppy, but it was sharp, with a flare that reminded Shawn of calligraphy and those moody goth albums Diesel liked. “I adjusted the recipe for you. If you follow these measurements, you won’t need another mold. Do you… Want some measuring spoons and stuff?”

–

Silas sent Shawn back to his room with a full box of stuff, including a hot plate, pot, silicone spatula, and all the ingredients. Initially, he’d tried to convince Shawn to buy the foodstuffs himself, but the fifty dollar bill Shawn somehow coerced him to accept changed his mind. Triumphant, Shawn fumbled with his key until he managed to open the door and tumble into the room, setting up his workspace on the window sill and nightstand in a near-frenzy. The analogue clock clattered to the floor, hotel notepad dropped behind the nightstand, the curtains haphazardly shoved aside. He’d left the do-not-disturb sign on the doorknob and hoped Diesel would heed the warning. Standing back with his hands on his hips, Shawn tapped his foot and assessed his battle station.

It looked perfect. He had already greased the mold and laid the sticks in their little slots, tossing the rest of the cooking spray and sticks on the bed. Beside the mold was powdered sugar, four cellophane wrappers, and four strips of ribbon. To the left were measuring cups, red, off-white, and dark melting chocolates, three metal pots, three piping bags, a pair of scissors, and a jug of water, all lined up on the windowsill. Against the wall left of the window, taking the place of the bedside clock was the plugged in hotplate, pot, three spatulas, and a chocolate thermometer. He couldn’t find any Fun-Tac, so he stuck the recipe to the wood paneling above the hotplate with his chewed gum. Shawn felt pretty damn proud of himself for laying everything out in a mildly coherent order. It took him a really long time, and he had to tie his hair back away from his neck. He almost broke a sweat there.

Pouring water into the pot and a bowl over it, then flipping the hotplate’s switch to ‘on,’ Shawn measured out somewhere around how much of the red melting chocolate was necessary and stood in front of the double boiler, staring. He shuffled from foot to foot. It was too quiet in the room, actually, and he crouched in front of the television set to fiddle with the dials, one hand carefully balancing the metal measuring cup. It was only when he heard the hotplate hissing that he remembered he was boiling water.

“Uh-oh-” Shawn bolted upright, lunging across the room to turn the heat off. It was a miracle he didn’t spill any of the chocolate discs. Without checking the temperature, he poured the chocolate in. It instantly melted into a dark red mess and he snatched up one of the spatulas, stirring furiously, but it kept clumping. “C’mon. What the hell?”

He tried to pick up the bowl but jerked his hand away, shaking his fingers furiously, the spatula dropped in the bowl. He didn’t have any oven mitts. “Ow. Damn, what was that for?” Shawn was almost whining as he carefully lifted the spatula, half the red chocolate stuck to it. It looked sort of… Melty, the silicone bending, looking soft. When he tried to give the muddy chocolate a stir, some of the spatula swirled into it. He was going to have to give Silas way more than a fifty to make up for this, he realised, jogging to the bathroom to grab a few hand towels. He emptied the whole affair into the trash bin and tried again, this time reading the recipe closely and actually measuring the temperature of the bowl before adding the chocolate. The thermometer was held with one hand, the other stirring with a more solid spatula- it took him a few tries to figure out which hand should do what, and more than once he nearly checked the spatula and stirred with the thermometer. Behind him, the television was playing an episode of Family Feud, volume too low to make anything out.

“This is harder than it looks. That punk actually knows how to make these?” The Heartbreak Kid was muttering to himself, consulting the recipe again as he removed his earrings and threw them on the bed. “Looks like… I cool it down a little bit and put it in the piping bag next. That’s doable.”

By the time he looked down again, the chocolate was already starting to harden at the edges. He gave it a quick stir before pouring it into one of the piping bags, remembering his mother doing something similar when she’d make butter cookies on Saturday nights. Something about the memory made him miss Marty. Shaking the thought off, he snipped the bottom of the piping bag a little too wide, shuffled to the mold, and tried to be meticulous about filling the hearts the bears held. He overfilled the first one, nailed the second and third, and didn’t have enough chocolate for the fourth. Damn. “Big deal, Diesel wouldn’t eat four of these, anyway.”

He tossed the empty bag in the garbage, set the bowl aside, and realised how exhausting this whole process was when he looked at the dirty spatula. Next up was the white chocolate, so he’d use the clean spatula for that, but reuse the dirty one for the regular chocolate. The brown should cancel out the red, right? The process went more smoothly this time around, Shawn even getting the ratios right when filling in the little bows around the bears’ necks. Somehow everything went wrong the second he thought he had everything under control; Shawn forgot to check the temperature before adding the last batch of chocolate, which he suspected he measured wrong due to misreading the numbers, and he had to snatch the bowl up and stir like his life depended on it. The chocolate smoothed out thankfully and the spatula didn’t melt, but it was way too much, and when he glanced at the mold he realised he hadn’t let the white chocolate cool enough before pouring it. Only the last bear’s bow wasn’t deformed, and the first bear’s heart had expanded during hardening and oozed into other portions of the mold.

The chocolate in his hands started to harden before it was all melted and he got it back on the heat, trying to get into the rhythm of stirring and temperature checking again, but he kept forgetting the number and he was probably stirring too much and this was way, way too much chocolate and he was going to get Silas fired and-

A knock on the door made Shawn jump right as he was taking the chocolate off the heat. Luckily, he was able to make it tumble out of his hand towards the window sill, and somehow the bowl landed upright with a loud clang.

“Shawn?” Diesel’s voice came from the other side of the door. Shit. Shit, shit- “I’m coming in.”

“Wait-” Diesel didn’t wait, unlocking the door even before he spoke, and froze when he saw Shawn’s makeshift kitchen. Initially, his expression was vacant. Even with his sunglasses, Shawn could tell he was trying to process this, and Shawn didn’t know what else to do but stand there clutching the red-and-brown chocolate covered spatula, staring at Diesel helplessly. He was vaguely aware that the chocolate might harden before he could get it into the mold but wasn’t sure what to do about that. Diesel blinked. Shawn cleared his throat, voice strained, a little higher than he would’ve liked. “I’m, uh, sorry.”

“For… What? Are you making d-”

“No! God, no,” Shawn barked out a forced laugh and ran a hand through his hair, rocking on his heels. He felt sweat run down his forehead and his face flush. His face couldn’t decide if it wanted to smile or grimace. “No. I’m making chocolate suckers.”

“...Okay?” Diesel inched into the room almost cautiously and closed the door behind him, moving like Shawn’s delicious confectionery concoctions were wild animals that would leap out of the mold and maul him. Maybe there was something to that, with how bad Shawn screwed them up. “And you’re sorry for making chocolate lollipops?”

“Yeah- no- hold on-” Suddenly remembering the chocolate again, Shawn almost dropped the spatula and whirled around, snatching up the bowl and furiously shoveling the swiftly hardening chocolate into the cavities, foregoing the piping bag altogether. More accurately, he dumped the contents of the bowl onto the mold, positive he didn’t measure correctly as he watched the chocolate cover the entire surface even after filling out the rest of the bears. Some of the chocolate had hardened, creating little lumps here and there. Defeated, Shawn heaved a frustrated sigh and tossed the bowl and spatula on the windowsill. “Fuck.”

“Shawn,” his partner’s voice came from right behind him, fingers grazing his arm. Diesel spoke so softly Shawn almost cried, stomping his foot before pivoting on it, hands fluttering up Diesel’s arms, over his chest and up, hands settling on his neck. He felt jittery. He was so tired. He could run a marathon and sleep for a week at the same time, and he wanted nothing more than to twist Diesel’s arm until his elbow dislocated, except maybe drag Diesel into bed- “Shawn.”

“Whuh?” Shawn blinked, hard. His nose felt runny, his throat tight, face hot. He sniffed, blinking back tears and inhaling sharply. His chest felt like an airplane cabin that forgot to depressurise. At some point Diesel had pushed his shades into his hair and was looking at him with concern, hands hovering just under Shawn’s elbows. He was trying not to cringe at how hard Shawn was rubbing his thumbs against the sides of his neck, but when Shawn jerked his hands away, Diesel quickly clapped them back against his skin with his own hands. The leather of his gloves was so soft. It made Shawn want to cry. “Yeah?”

“You’re okay. Tell me what’s going on?”

“I screwed it up,” Shawn laughed. It sounded wet. Gross. “I screwed up, okay? I’m sorry, I’m an impulsive asshole and I never should’ve kicked you or got in your face and you didn’t do anything wrong, I’m just an asshole, and I’m supposed to be making it up to you and apologising but I’m fucking stupid and can’t read and-”

“Whoa,” Diesel squeezed Shawn’s hands, fingers pressing into his knuckles. He slid his grip down Shawn’s arms slowly, hovering over the junction of his arm and torso only briefly before grasping him more firmly, hands coming to rest over Shawn’s waist. He squeezed again and Shawn shuffled closer involuntarily. He was learning he loved when Diesel held him more than almost anything else in the world, maybe even more than rhinestones and gold camera flashes and- “Pump the breaks, Heartbreak. Let me get this straight: You’re making chocolate lollipops to apologise to me?”

Feeling a pathetic wave of shame, Shawn nodded. He couldn’t look at Diesel’s face anymore, laser focused on his Adam's apple. Diesel didn’t acknowledge it if he noticed.

“Okay. Thanks. I forgive you.” What? Shawn frowned, trying to process that. No, that wasn’t right. What? Diesel kept talking though, not giving him any time to parse what he was saying out. “And you’re making these lollipops, but it’s not going well.”

“Silas wrote the whole recipe for me and he gave me all this crap and I really, really should’ve just- just bought my own, because he’s not supposed to, but his handwriting is so stupid and fancy and-”

“Who the hell is Silas?”

“The barista, Diese!” Shawn stomped a foot and pat Diesel’s neck firmly, glaring, suddenly indigent. He could feel a tension headache forming as his eyebrows furrowed and a scowl threatened to twist his face. “Downstairs, in the- the bakery- thing! I bribed him to give me his shit and he copied the recipe for me and I fucked it up and now what am I supposed to do, huh?”

“Okay,” Diesel mumbled, squeezing Shawn’s waist again. Shawn’s leg was jittering, a staccato much unlike his stomps when tuning up the band. He didn’t like that but didn’t have time to dwell on it, thoughts coming to an abrupt halt when Diesel wrapped his big arms around him and squeezed. Shawn’s arms wrapped around his neck, Diesel’s stubble scratching against his cheek. Diesel huffed, the sound muffled by Shawn’s shoulder. “Alright. Let the chocolate cool and we’ll pry the lollipops out, okay?”

‘Kay,” Shawn whispered, voice cracking. He leaned all his weight against Diesel and played with the ends of his hair. He hadn’t gelled it back, his bangs parted in the middle, and the back was wavy but flipping up and out. It was soft, maybe a little frizzy from excessive flat iron use. That was Shawn’s fault, though. They stayed like that for a while, Shawn gradually gaining awareness of the Family Feud audio still quietly playing in the background. He muttered without realising he was even doing it until it was too late to stop himself. “Cowboys.”

“What?” Baffled, Diesel drew back from their extended hug, mindfully shifting Shawn’s weight back onto his feet. Shawn pointed at the television behind Diesel’s back as the speakers dinged, the word ‘COWBOYS’ displaying on the board. Forty-seven people had responded to the survey with ‘cowboys’, Diesel noticed as he turned around. He hadn’t even realised the game show was on. “Cowboys.”

“Cowboys,” Shawn echoed, nodding sagely. “‘Name something that Texas is famous for.’ Cowboys.”

“...Cowboys,” Diesel said again. He snapped out of his trance and turned back to Shawn with a raised eyebrow, patting his shoulder. “Why don’t we pop those suckers out?”

“You wanna help?” A grin threatened to split Shawn’s face, his mood deftly swinging upwards. Energy coursed through him again and he didn’t notice how tired Diesel looked as he spun, picking up the filled mold and holding it out to Diesel. Some of the chocolate had dripped over the edge during hardening, creating a single slab of chocolate with four sticks embedded in it. Shawn beamed despite this. ”I made them myself. D’you have a knife? We can carve them out.”

“I’ll get a knife,” his bodyguard assured him, examining the chocolate. “Wait here.”

While Diesel meticulously carved the chocolate bears out, Shawn laid on the bed, kicking his legs and flipping through the SkyMall catalogue he’d stolen from the flight he took to meet Diesel the first time. He hadn’t gotten the chance to look at it before then, and he tossed it onto the opposite bed when Diesel held up the four misshapen, heart-clutching bears at Shawn, freed from their chocolatey prison. Shawn rolled off the bed and landed on his feet, knees bent, springing to Diesel’s side in a motion akin to a leap. “Mission success.”

“These look great, big daddy.” He whistled, plucking only the best bear from Diesel’s hand and spinning it around. “Wrap ‘em.”

Diesel snorted and handed Shawn a second lollipop, along with two of the wrappers. Diesel was significantly more graceful when fitting his wrappers over his pops, Shawn struggling to hold both of them at once and muscling through it. He followed Diesel’s lead and twisted the ends around the sticks, apprehensively looking at the ribbons Diesel held out to him but not making any move to take them. After a few seconds, his partner took back the bear he handed Shawn, trading it for a singular, pink satin ribbon. Shawn beamed, leaned over the lollipops to give Diesel’s cheek an almost comical smooch, and went to work. He ended up having to sit down and wedge the stick between his thighs to tie the ribbon on prettily enough. By the time it was ready to present to Diesel, the big man had already tied off his three ribbons, sticks clutched between the fingers of his left hand. Oh.

Uncertain, Shawn held the lollipop out, brought it back towards himself, then fully extended his arm towards Diesel. The bottom of the stick was pointing at him. “Sorry. For being such a jerk.”

“Eh, you’re my jerk.” Accepting the lollipop, Diesel laid all four of them on the windowsill and opened his arms instead. Shawn didn’t hesitate, barreling into Diesel so hard he nearly toppled his chair backwards. “Oof. Launch a torpedo at me next time, why dontcha?”

Shawn laughed and covered Diesel’s face in obnoxious kisses, ignoring his protests.

“Fired?” Silas repeated, taking the notice from the hotel owner. She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned at him sternly, body language saying ‘I knew hiring you was a bad idea’ despite her silence. He scratched the back of his head, shrugged, and figured this would give him more time to focus on his band, at least. “That’s fair. Do I get comped for my PTO?”

#[ colour commentary ]#big daddy cool diesel #the heartbreak kid #[ voyager ]#:3c #[ seven ]#[ slater ]#mango provided the prompt but this one is for u guys. enjoy some of the only non-horror content i've been able to write for these two #featuring a special guy that i won't tag because i want it to be a surprise for mango #123kid #[ mango madness ]#[ requests ]#long post

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vintageshanny · 11 months

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Play Something For Me - Part 3 - Impossible Dream Realized

Writing Prompt: “You’re staring.”

Content: Elvis in Vegas late summer 1973, fluff, smut, 18+

There will probably be at least a couple more parts to this, so if anyone wants to be tagged please let me know. Link to series page is at the bottom. 😘

Elvis raised his head from Ruby’s stomach and gave her a big smile. “I have a lot of things in store for you, sweet red Ruby,” he grinned. Ruby blushed and looked away. “Aww, honey, I think it’s so sweet that ya never outgrew that blushin’ thing,” he teased. Ruby smiled a little bit and admitted, “I actually think that’s something special just for you. No one else calls me red Ruby, at least.” Elvis’ face lit up a little bit. “Is that right? Well, my, um, music must have some powerful hold over ya then. Why don’t ya change into somethin’ more comfortable and we can discuss what else is just for me.” “I didn’t bring anything up here with me,” Ruby said nervously, smoothing her dress back down over her exposed areas. Elvis rolled off the bed and rummaged through a drawer, pulling out a pajama top that matched his own. “You can wear this, and I’ll have someone bring your stuff up here. I want ya stayin’ with me.”

Elvis sat on the edge of the bed while Ruby got up to change, pulling her dress off and standing before him in just her lacy bra. “You’re staring,” she whispered as she pulled the pajama shirt on, suddenly self-conscious about revealing herself to him. “I can’t look at what’s mine?” he asked in a low voice that sent a shiver down her spine. She was surprised by his immediate possessiveness of her, but in some strange way it also thrilled her to be wanted in this way. She hadn’t felt like this in so long…maybe ever. She didn’t remember her ex-husband ever looking at her with this kind of passion, not even as he unceremoniously rammed into her for the first time on their wedding night.

“You can do more than look,” Ruby said the words boldly, but she knew she was blushing again as she stepped toward him and gently traced over his chest with her fingertips. She pressed her hand against his heart and could feel it racing beneath her palm. She was surprised to feel his whole body trembling as he pulled her down onto his lap into his warm embrace. “Are you okay?” she whispered, running her fingers through his thick sideburns. “I-I-I’m okay, baby, I-I’m jus’ a little nervous, I guess,” he chuckled. “I’ve thought about this moment a lot, and I don’ wanna disappoint ya.” “I already told you that you never could,” Ruby murmured in his ear as she reached down and felt the hardness of his length that was poking the side of her leg. “Mmm,” Elvis groaned as she rubbed her hand over him. “Can I tell you a secret?” she whispered. Elvis nodded wordlessly with his eyes closed as she continued to caress him through his pajama pants. “Ever since you leaned over me on that stage and I saw the way your pants were straining to contain this, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how much I want to see you again. To see…all of you.”

Elvis opened his eyes wide with surprise as Ruby looked down in embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “That sounds stupid.” “No, baby, it’s not stupid at all. I’m just surprised that my sweet red Ruby has got such a dirty little mind,” he teased, making her flush and playfully swat at his shoulder. “I just hope I can live up to the memories that ya have.” “We can sit at the piano, I know how that turns you on,” Ruby said with a smile. To her delight, this joke was rewarded with one of Elvis’ loud hiccupping laughs. “No piano necessary, baby, this time you’re gonna be the one singin’.” “Is that so?” she whispered, leaning into him, pushing him back against the pillows. “Maybe we can sing together. A duet.”

Ruby slowly unbuttoned his silky pajama shirt and pushed it open to reveal his hairy chest and belly. There was a softness to him that made her lean in and leave a trail of kisses down his stomach. Elvis moaned a little bit and ran his fingers through her hair as she followed the soft furry trail all the way down to his waistband, her anticipation building for the prize just below it. Ruby tucked her fingers into the waistband of his pants, and he lifted his hips so she could slide them down. Again she noticed him trembling as she laid her eyes on his bare body. “Ohh,” she breathed out in amazement. “You moaning like that just from the sight of him, baby?” Elvis smirked, trying to cover up his nerves with bravado. “He looks even better than I remember,” Ruby exclaimed as she moved in close to get a better look, examining the way he wobbled a little bit with excitement, his swollen head poking up out of the foreskin, needing attention. She ran her fingernails lightly down his torso, through his treasure trail of fuzz all the way down to his patch of pubic hair, causing him to shiver a little bit and give her a shy smile. “Even bigger too,” she added as she wrapped her hand around him and recalled how he felt in her hand that first time. She could see Elvis trying to hide his delight at this compliment as she leaned in and kissed the tip of him, licking up the bit of fluid that was leaking out. “Oh, Ruby,” he moaned out, reaching for her. “I-I-I need to be inside ya. Been w-waitin’ so long. C’mere, baby,” he reached out and unbuttoned the shirt that she had just put on as she climbed on top of him, straddling his hips. As she carefully lowered herself onto his throbbing cock, moaning the whole way down, he caressed her breasts through her lacy bra. Once he was fully consumed by her, she started riding him, gently rocking her hips as she placed her hands on his warm chest. It was not a position she was that used to, but something about him filling her up, so deep inside of her, while she felt the intense pounding of his heart felt so right.

It was the first time Ruby had ever experienced two orgasms in one night, but the best feeling of all might have been the way Elvis called her name in a high-pitched moan as his hips stuttered up into her for the last time, an intense wave of pleasure washing over his entire body. She lay down on his thick warm chest as that other thick warm part of him softened inside of her, soaking in the rapture of such an intimate moment before Elvis carefully scooched out from under her and went to get a cloth to clean them both up. As he settled back into bed next to her, he stared into her face and stroked her cheek gently with the backs of his fingers. “W-w-was that okay for ya, honey? Did I take care of ya?” he asked gently. “Oh, Elvis, it was perfect,” Ruby whispered, feeling tears well up in her eyes. “It was a moment I’ve been dreaming of for so long, but I just tried to push it out of my mind because it seemed impossible.” “Me too, honey,” Elvis responded, looking at her with concern. “What’s wrong? Why are ya cryin’?” “I just, I feel so right with you. No one’s ever been so tender with me. I don’t want it to end,” she whispered. “Shh, s’okay baby, it’s only gonna get better from here. I’m gonna treat my sweet red Ruby right. I-I’m so glad we found our way back to each other.” Ruby buried her face in his chest, trying to believe him, trying to ignore the looming heartbreak that the end of the week would bring.

@thatbanditqueen @missmaywemeetagain @be-my-ally @ellie-24 @whositmcwhatsit @from-memphis-with-love @powerofelvis thank you all for the love and support ❤️

#elvis #Elvis smut #Elvis x oc #army elvis #big daddy Elvis #writing prompt game #play something for me #i love this man

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