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wanderingelvis · 7 months

Note

Hey I don’t know if your doing requests rn but I had this idea. Maybe like an innocent reader x Elvis and she broke a glass and cut herself on accident and she keeps apologizing because her dad would get mad at her for that and he has to convince her it’s not her fault. Maybe ending in smut? Whatever you wanna do I just thought it was a cool idea

Thank you for the request! I really hope you like it! 🧚

🧚 Masterlist 🧚

Word Count: 2,649

Pairing: Late 60s!Elvis x Innocent F!Reader

Warnings: PTSD, mentions of ab*se (verbal and physical)

You were a little ball of sunshine in Elvis' life. A sensitive little ball of sunshine at that. You quite often reminded Elvis of a little puppy dog, just eager and desperate for his love and attention, always looking at him with those big, round eyes of yours, filled with admiration and adoration for the big old man.

Your love for Elvis didn't come from nowhere though, he equally showered you with affection and love from the moment he first interacted with you. He became enamoured with your playful and soft giggles and your incessant babbling that he found utterly adorable.

Elvis picked up early on that you had some underlying issues. He would notice you flinch at a loud noise or a raised voice, the way you'd instantly stop talking if someone began to speak over you, the way you'd trip over your words when any sort of confrontation would occur. He knew that there must have been something in your past that had created those behaviours and he was right.

You opened up to him about your past and your upbringing early on in your relationship with Elvis after Elvis had asked you about your childhood. You'd told Elvis tentatively, all about the tense and aggressive environment that you grew up in, and even when you'd trip over you words or start to feel anxious when recalling the events, Elvis hushed you, telling you to take your time, everything was okay and that you were his special girl now.

Since then, you'd really gone from strength to strength, you were this little diamond on Elvis' arm, charming everyone just like Elvis did, and together, you really were the new 'it' couple.

You were so eager to please everyone but most importantly Elvis, that you would wear yourself out, trying so hard to impress him that you'd often end up becoming drowsy at 8pm, nodding off in Elvis' strong hold as he would laugh and chat with the Mafia.

Elvis didn't mind one bit, he thought there was no cuter sight than you drifting off whilst clinging to him as if he were your security blanket or nighttime teddy bear. Once Elvis was sure that you'd be fully asleep, he'd always excuse himself from whatever was going on to carry you to your shared room and put you into bed, knowing that the worst thing for you would be to fall asleep only to be woken up by someone getting drunk and starting to holler and wake you up and mess up your routine.

You truly were Elvis' little baby, he treated you like a princess and you truly were head over heels in love with the big, old, rockstar.

The two of you being the social butterflies you were meant that you loved a crowded house, hosting parties for any event, Christmas, Halloween, 4th of July - heck, even if it was a Friday, that would be enough to warrant an extravagant party.

And that's exactly what had happened, a lavish party in December had taken place in Graceland where the Mafia, their wives, a few fans and fellow musicians had all attended in what could only have been described as an 'early Christmas' in Graceland, with endless drinks, cigars, and laughter.

It was about 3am and everyone had left apart from a few members of the Mafia, Lamar, Sonny, Charlie and Joe, all in the Jungle room relaxing with you nestled into Elvis' side, completely wiped and a little tipsy from the expensive champagne that Elvis had let you drink.

"Why dontchu be a doll n'go n'get us some drinks eh, Y/N? Might wanna make a start on the mess while yer at it?" Charlie laughed, nodding at you.

You blinked a couple of times and rubbed your eyes, the excitement of the party taking its toll on your little body before you nodded, pushing your body up from where it rested by Elvis.

"That how you talk to a little girl huh, Charlie? No wonder you're goddamn single," Elvis retorted sharply, with an ever so bitter chuckle at the end of his pointed comment, clearly agitated at some other fella telling you what to do.

See, Elvis knew that you craved praise and even more so, you were absolutely desperate to avoid any sort of conflict or trouble, so you'd always do anything that anyone asked of you. Naturally, this could lead to people taking advantage of your sweet state but that's where Elvis was perfect for you. His authoritative and dominant presence meant that people would seldom cross him just to get you to do some task they were too lazy to do.

Elvis reached over with his cold, ring clad fingers wrapping around your tender wrist, holding you in place. "Uh-uh." Elvis tsked, making you stop in your tracks. "Don't you move baby, Charlie's a big boy, he can get himself a drink if he needs one."

"Oh, no, Elvis it's okay! Really, I don't mind, it's okay!" You said earnestly.

"I know you don't mind darlin', but you're readin' your fun little magazine, no need for you to be bothered hm? Charlie can do it himself just fine." Elvis said, just about managing to shoot Charlie another stern look.

"S'okay! I was gon' get myself a drink anyways! A hot lemon and tea, I think I hurt my throat from how much I was talkin'!" You sleepily giggled, the angelic sound quelling Elvis' frustrations, you were just so heavenly. Elvis equally knew that you'd just be sitting and feeling anxious if he kept you by his side so he released his tender grip on you, tapping his cheek with his finger, indicating he wanted a kiss from you.

You complied docilely, bending down to press a kiss on Elvis cheek, a soft giggle leaving your lips afterwards as you skipped off to the kitchen, leaving Charlie to the wrath of Elvis.

You carefully prepared the tea and got Charlie's favourite drink sorted too - an Old Fashioned, biting down on your lip as you tried to get the measurements just right!

It wasn't until you were carrying the tray of tea and cocktails that everything fell apart - quite literally.

The damned carpet corner wasn't properly pinned down, making you trip over your own feet just like Bambi, sending the tray, along with its contents flying and tumbling down onto the pristine carpet, the glass and china shattering everywhere.

You gasped and immediately your heart dropped and sheer panic set in. Your clumsiness, whilst adored by Elvis, had not been your fathers favourite trait of yours, with violent punishments incurring whenever you'd make a little mistake and those punishments had had a lasting impact on you. Obviously, this caused your body to go into automatic panic and defence as you knelt down, trying to clear up the glass and china shards before anyone that heard the accident came running through.

As tears began to pool in your eyes, making your vision cloudy and your breathing became erratic with panic and fear of being punished, you didn't even register the shards of glass cutting through the skin on your knees and the palms of your hands.

You began to create more mess than tidy it as droplets of blood now began to drip onto the carpet as you frantically tried to wipe away your tears, smudging the pretty black eye makeup Elvis had so lovingly put on you for the party.

That's when you began to hear footsteps and you dared not look up when you heard Elvis' familiar deep Southern voice.

"Baby?" Elvis said lowly, concern lacing his voice that you mistook for disappointment.

"M'sorry, m'sorry, p-please don't be mad, p-please, I didn't m-mean it," You stuttered with a shaky, cracked voice, stopping every couple of words to sniffle as you cowered into yourself like a frightened little puppy, scared of anything that might approach it.

As Elvis' concern grew rapidly, his demeanour softened, knowing that you were now in an extra fragile and sensitive state and you needed to be treated delicately.

So that's how the big man ended up slowly walked over to you, rolling up the sleeves on his silk shirt and crouching down so that he could be on your level - even if he was still towering over you.

"Ssh baby, s'okay, I'm not mad with you princess." Elvis hushed, reaching out to gently to push away the hair that had fallen in front of your pretty face, making sure to be as tender as he could be as to not startle you as he knew you were frightened of any sudden contact.

You flinched ever so slightly as Elvis touched you, sniffling as you tried to steady your panic, your wet lashes fluttering up to meet Elvis' concerned gaze.

"Do ya think you can tell me what happened little one?" Elvis asked as his eyes scanned the scene, realising how badly you'd hurt yourself.

Your eyes widened as you began to recall what happened. "I-I-, um, I, tried to get the, get the drinks and I got um, um, tripped over, by the carpet, I didn't mean it, I didn't m-mean it, I p-promise!" You said shakily, panic beginning to set in again which Elvis picked up on immediately.

"Uh uh baby, you're gettin' yerself all worked up aren't ya?" Elvis soothed, and you nodded, your chest still erratically rising and falling as you hiccupped through tears. You nodded feverishly, your shaky hand wiping away snot and tears.

"M'sorry! It was just an accident, I promise, I'll c-clean it all up, I p-promise." You whimpered.

"I know it was an accident baby, we all have accidents don't we hm?" Elvis cooed, trying to soothe you and calm you down. "Accidents happen, it's okay honey, I ain't mad, I ain't mad at all." Elvis tried to reassure as you trembled opposite him, your hands still in a bloodied mess along with your knees.

Elvis knew that your sudden panicky and frightened little state was the result of your father, beating you and verbally abusing you at any possible chance he had, particularly when an incident like this would happen. He knew that you'd revert back to the child-like state that you'd first experienced the abuse in, but he knew it was now his job and responsibility to look after you and take care of you and make you feel better and feel loved.

"I d-didn't mean it, p-promise." You mewled softly, growing calmer but still tender and frightened.

Elvis nodded understandingly, holding eye contact with you, wanting to make it absolutely clear to you that you weren't in any trouble and nothing was bad was going to happen to you whilst you were in his care.

"I know you didn't sweet girl. You were just doin' yer best weren't you honey? You did nothin' wrong, you were busy bein' a good girl and gettin' Charlie a drink for him." Elvis praised, knowing you needed it. "What happened to yer hands n'knees little one?" Elvis asked, pointing to your injuries.

You hadn't even acknowledged that you were hurt or bleeding, your mind far too occupied with fear. Your eyes widened cutely as you blinked a few times, realising how bad your hands really were as you held them up in front of you. Elvis watched you, his attempt to get your mind to stop panicking was working.

"I, um, I hurt them," You said quietly, your voice trailing off as you studied your hands. "They hurt." You whimpered slightly, the realisation of what had happened setting in, as well as the pain.

"They look sore don't they honey?" Elvis observed and you nodded, successfully distracted from the internalised fear that had consumed you. "I think we need to get you cleaned up little one, make you feel all good n'better? What do you think princess?" Elvis asked calmly.

Again, you nodded, your habit of becoming ever-so-slightly more non-verbal kicking in when you were upset and scared and overstimulated. "Okay..." You replied, with the small word being all you could muster.

"Okay." Elvis repeated in confirmation with a reassuring nod. "Now, I'm gon' help you up little 'un, then I'm gon' get the fellas outta here, they've had enough partyin' for one night, then we're gon' get you cleaned up and into our nice big, warm, bed, how does that sound Y/N?" Elvis said to you gently.

You swallowed a lump in your throat as your damp eyelashes fluttered and you scanned the mess around you on the floor. "B-But I need to clean up my mess." You stuttered.

"Oh little one, no, no this will all get cleaned by the staff who are comin' to sort out the mess from the party 'kay? Your only job is to let me clean you up and feel better, okay little girl?" Elvis said with a raised eyebrow as you sniffled and reached out for him, desperately craving physically affection from him. "Careful pretty girl, I don't wanna hurt yer pretty little hands now, do I? M'gon pick you up from your elbows, okay?" Elvis told you, standing back up before leaning down and slowly hauling you up from under your arms, making sure as to not cause you any more harm.

Once you were up, Elvis quickly dashed to the Jungle room to get rid of the remaining guys, explaining the situation to them before they all told Elvis that they hoped you were okay. They all thought of you as a little gem of a girl and they all had a soft spot for you. They were also protective of you, perhaps not as much as Elvis was, but they all knew you were a sweet girl and they all sincerely hoped you'd feel better as quickly as possible.

Elvis then carried you up the stairs and straight to your bathroom, setting you on the bathroom counter where your legs dangled and your cheeks were sticky with dried tears and smudged eyeliner.

Elvis spent the next couple of hours cleaning you, carefully getting rid of any glass that was stuck in your skin and applying cream and ointment onto your wounds, pressing a comforting kiss to your forehead every time you winced from the anti-septic.

"Hurts." You cried as you recoiled every time Elvis applied anti-septic onto your body somewhere.

"I know it does baby, I know it does, but you're bein' such a brave girl f'me, aren't you? That's right, bein' so brave f'me, m'so proud of you." Elvis cooed. "But this is going to make you better so you gotta keep bein' a brave girl for me, just a little bit more medicine and then we'll go to bed little one." Elvis assured.

Sweet nothings and words of comfort and praise kept coming from Elvis as he continued to clean you up, change you out of your sweet little pink party dress, put your pyjamas on for you and get you all cuddled up into bed.

Exhaustion consumed you, overwhelming you and making your whole body feel heavy as you sank into the big, plush bed that you and Elvis shared.

You glanced up at Elvis who settled in next to you, your big eyes gazing up at him. "Promise I didn't mean it, promise I'm sorry." You mumbled feebly.

Elvis sighed, looking down at you as he cupped your face with his large hand that had so delicately looked after you all evening. "I know baby, you ain't got nothin' t'be sorry about princess. There ain't no need to be worried little one, yer with me now baby, I ain't ever gon' be mad atchu, okay? Now, you need to rest, you're overwhelmed baby, but m'gon be right here when you wake up and m'gon make you pancakes for bein' such a good girl f'me tonight." Elvis smiled, watching as a sleepy smile crept onto your face.

"Love you." You lazily hummed before you closed your eyes.

Elvis didn't sleep until he knew you were sleeping soundly, his little sunshine.

822 notes · View notes

h0unds-of-h3ll · 18 days

Text

Shades of cool

Instances where your best friends dad tried to seduce you.

Big daddy Elvis Presley x reader! Sexual situations.

Word count: 5k.

Warnings: As you read it’s your best friends dad seducing you. Major age gap. Naive reader. Kissing. Manipulation, gaslighting. Swearing. Obsession. He’s a cocaine user. Talk of male masturbation. Female masturabtion. Objectification. Sexy Polaroids. Sacrilegious. Detailed description of perversion at the end. Perverted E. All parties are legal!

A/n: “I wanted to try something a little different than I normally do. I wanted to write something a little darker. I also wanted to write something and this is what came out. Let me know if you like this version of my writing!”

Before the instances

It started, well, it was always in motion ever since he saw a little you with Lisa back in the late 60s. Nothing more than a lil ole schoolgirl. His friends talked about you like they did when he was with Priscilla all those years ago. It struck the same vein-alighted that same hunger. His micro aggressions towards you though, where he grew overtly affectionate and fond over you. Was the summer in 1985. He was older, much older, thirty-two years to be exact and you didn’t know why but his age never affected how you thought of him. If anything it drew you to him. He was older, more mature than the guys you’ve hung around. He was the father figure you needed whether you wanted to admit it or not. By God, Elvis was smart and he knew he’d never have a greater opportunity than now helping your own self, mature into a fine young (co-dependent) woman. You just had graduated high school the previous may with Lisa who was still a little younger than you. Since school let out you practically lived at Graceland. Much to her and her daddy’s satisfaction.

Graduation night

The first incident happened after graduation night. You were over at Graceland (shocker.) It was dinner, congratulations and gifts mostly from Elvis but others in his circle came and gave you a pat on your back as well. You were just excited to be done with it and to have done it with Lisa by your side. After the grand dinner everyone departed in their respective areas. You and Elvis however went outside in the darkness of night and sat by the kidney sized pool. Lisa wanted to take a nap so she could stay up later and so it resulted in just the two of you staring at the blue light that illuminated the chlorinated water. Elvis nursed a little Roi-Tan cigar. His infamous orange sunglasses still pressed against his chubby face. He puffed those cheeks with every draw of his cigarette. He uses it as a crutch. In his youth it was biting nails or the wiggling of a leg, now it’s just the burning inhale of tabcco. The two of you stared at the stars. He pointed some out lazily. Explaining their relationship to the other stars along with the spirituality behind them. He told you to pick any star your little heart desires and he’d buy it for you. You giggled at his playful jest but when you looked over to his face you saw no hint of humor. He was dead serious. So, you pointed to the biggest and brightest one there was. That one, you said. He chuckled darkly to himself. You’re gonna make me go bankrupt, pretty baby! Then he huffed on his cigar more with a hint of a grin, and your cheeks burned. The cigar embers burned his thick golden fingers. His other hand laid flat on his blue track suit covered thigh. He took his index and drew stars by his knee. You spread your denim daisy duke legs out and relaxed into the chair. Lifting your hips up, your shirt raises up your pretty hips. He stared without abandon. God cursed him. Elvis was nothing but a devoted Christian and God cursed him. How did God curse him? God cursed him by being infatuated with a teenage girl. Even worse, his daughter's best friend. No, it wasn’t God’s curse. It was the Devil's temptation. He can’t wrap his head around you being nothing but an angel. He often told you how your soul was the prettiest thing to him. Your soul is older than your body. He wished that you had grown up with him, met his mama and daddy. Gotten married and settled down with him. When he told you that you weren’t sure how to feel, should you feel grateful that in an alternative universe that you could’ve been Lisa’s mother instead of friend or that it might still happen in this reality if given the chance. You knew of his exs, Lisa told you about them. You knew of his player status of objectifying women and not taking no for an answer. Whatever he wanted he got it. He stopped officially being with women in ‘77 after his engagement had broken off. He doesn’t talk about it much. Sure, he still has girls hang off his wide arm on occasion but it’s nothing serious. It was like he was saving himself for something. Something to grow older. He takes a long draw, tilting his head up and the smoke billows out like a cloud into the sky. His soft jaw and lips puckering when he does. He stares at the side of your face through his shades. Admiring from afar. He leans over to the ashtray on the table beside him and stuffs the cigar in the marbel where his initials are. You watch as his tracksuit starts to rise and the soft pudgy skin of his back starts to emerge. You treasured all the times you got to see his skin. He never showed it off like he did when he was younger. The only time you were blessed was when he wore normal shirts or felt a little scandalous by unzipping the jacket to his sternum, making sure to not show his round belly. You nibbled on your lip and cut your eyes to the North Star, making sure that he didn’t see your wandering eyes. It's silent as he huffs to turn around. He looks at your face again. Nothing but a little ole baby in a woman’s body. That- that very dangerous thought is what spurs him on.

“Are you a virgin?”

You choke, eyes wide, mouth dry. You can’t look at him and your body is stiff and straight. Begging the North Star for guidance.

“W-what?”

He chuckles. The wrinkles on his face deepening as he smiles.

“Ya heard me lil darlin’.”

You nod and blink slowly, trying to find a way to divert the conversation.

“Why do you ask?”

His wide shoulders shrug and he pushes the bridge of his sunglasses down, you see the bloodshot veins in his eyes.

“Sometimes when I see you around my friends’ boys you don’t care ‘bout ‘em, like yisa does,”

He pauses. His hand on his thigh moves to his face and he scratches his chin and rests his face in his palm. His elbow on the armrest of the lawn chair.

“Ya couldn’t be more bored in ‘em.”

His fat tongue swipes over his plump lip. His eyes flick across your face, baiting you for a reaction.

“But when your ’round me you act like you’ve never been ‘round ‘nother man in your entire yittle life.”

Movie night

Elvis rented out a theater in Memphis near Graceland to watch The Way of All Flesh his favorite movie. Often he would do this. It didn’t matter how many times he saw it or forced you and Lisa to, he’d visit it again. Lisa complained about not watching something different like the goonies or the breakfast club, and you were just happy to be there. He didn’t care about Lisa’s cries of protest and change. He liked his 1927 black and white movie, he wouldn’t hear anything else about it but praise. He sat between you and Lisa in the back below the projector as it ran. He had his arm around Lisa’s shoulders, hugging her to his own. She yawned watching the banker find his life flipped upside down. As for you? He had his fat palm on the inside of your bare thigh. The warmth blistered your skin. The rings were heavy on your soft skin. His orange sunglasses were tucked into his white tracksuit zipper. You didn’t watch the movie as his hand danced along the inside of your thigh. You watched his broad face. Your lips pouted as you wondered what his game was. What was he trying to do? He wasn’t trying to do anything which resulted in you over analyzing the situation which ultimately is what he wanted. He wanted to get inside your little head. Wanted you to think of him. Obsess over him. You trail your eyes over the dips and curves of his plump aged face. His blue eyes catch your own and the gaze is held between you for a few minutes. He doesn’t speak a word and all you do is breathe. His hand doesn’t move and the unspoken power is acknowledged, along with his shit eating grin.

The kiss

You hadn’t visited in two weeks. You called Lisa and told her work had gotten in the way of your visits and she understood. She tried to emphasize that to Elvis but he didn’t care. You were being a ghost and he couldn’t handle it anymore. He’s been so gracious to you, so loving and you decide to abandon his family? He was going to lose his mind. He became short with everyone, the mafia, the maids, even being short with Lisa. He was a grumpy old man. While you were at work your parents had paged you at least a hundred times over. You were confused, exhausted, and frustrated. All you wanted was to lay down and get some sleep. You went to the bathroom and read the slow news.

“Urgent...”

“Elvis…blowing..up..phone..”

“Hurry..home…”

You sighed. When you did get home, you asked about whats wrong with Elvis and your parents told you that he’d rather talk to you in person. You nodded and packed an over night bag, ate dinner with your parents and bid them goodbye before getting in the cherry red Audi Coupe GT Elvis had gotten you and drove to Graceland.

It was dark and hot in the summer heat when you arrived at the gates. You didn’t have to mutter your name to the guard since you’ve visited so often. You pull up in front of the white stairs and your stomach drops. Anxiety flashes over you. What if he’s mad? What if he prohibits you from ever seeing Lisa again? Ever seeing him again? You breathe cautiously. Turning the car off and grabbing the duffel bag you packed and walking to the door. Before you raised your closed fist to knock the door swings open. You hear Lisa watching tv in the living room. It’s Growing Pains. He’s wearing a black tracksuit and his sunglasses are a baby blue like his eyes when they’re not bloodshot. He holds the door open with one of his hands and just stands in front of you like a wall. He’s staring at you. Eyes glossy. One of his nostrils dusted white. You open your mouth to apologize but before you could utter a word he takes the sides of your face in his hands and places his lips onto yours. He cranes his head down and tilts your face up. His gut pushing against your stomach. Your eyes are wide and you drop both your keys and the bag outside Graceland’s door. His lips are so much softer than you anticipated. His rings catch on your hair, but the slight pull burns into your stomach and makes your heart beat faster. He doesn’t press his tongue into your mouth, the pressure of his lips is enough to drive you into a frenzy. You can’t. When he finally does move away, it’s slow and staggered. His eyes are closed and his breathing is unsteady. He’s winded from kissing. He sweeps his thumbs over the bones on both side of your cheeks. Watching the burning sun in your eyes. You open and close your mouth like a fish. He just smiles lopsidedly, his smile lines and crows feet deepening. He presses a chaste kiss onto your lips.

“Don’t tell yisa.”

His lips brushes against yours as he speaks before pulling himself away completely. He crouches with a moan to your feet and picks up your keys and bag and walks up the foyer. You stand there puzzled, and sexually frustrated.

The picture

It was a blistering hot day in June. Elvis hosted a barbecue for his family and friends. For no particular reason other than to reminisce about the old days of his career. He’s been out of the performing business since ‘77 and now just produces his own recording company, giving kids like him a shot at making music. He wore a red tracksuit, with golden sunglasses. (One of those special occasions where he had the zipper down his sternum.) He didn’t go outside much that day since it was so hot, so he stayed inside Graceland with some of the older musicians and family who didn’t care to be outside either. He stayed by the window that looked the pool though. Watching you sunbathe and Lisa talk to some boys while swimming. Little kids ran throughout his property with water guns and balloons. Some of his colleagues tried to talk to him, he’d just mumble mhm. Never leaving the sight of you in a swimsuit top and a little denim skirt with bare feet. A boy came over to you, trying to talk and you didn’t care. Mumbling mhms. Priscilla visited and tried to talk to him about Lisa and doing things as a family and he didn’t care.

At 5, nearly sundown everyone gathered outside with three picnic tables pushed together as dinner was served. Crickets crowed and frogs croaked. He didn’t get a say who sat by him on the arrangement, he’d rather have you and Lisa sitting next to him than just Priscilla. They prayed before eating and he prayed that God would stop this little crush he had on you. He looked up from his bowed head and saw your breasts pushed together in that stringy bra and bowed his head to pray harder.

“Amen.”

The dinner was good and prestigious. He made jokes and smirked small, laughing mostly at Charlie’s jokes. Priscilla’s little hand was on top of his thigh and he couldn’t care, he watched you eat a hot dog like no other. His burger was a bit charred which was fine, but he only took a couple bites before retiring it. He watched you and Lisa whisper and giggle over some boys Lisa stared at. Droplets. Nothing more than a couple drops of ketchup fell on your bare chest and he felt himself throb. The tracksuit tightening around his burly thighs. He sips on his canned Pepsi. You don’t notice the smeared ketchup on your breasts as you move to look around and talk. Priscilla looked to her side as she talked with some older married woman about life. Priscilla’s hand cupped the side of his cock and he jumped. Letting go of his can of Pepsi.

“Jesus!”

He cut his eyes over to Priscilla and she took her hand off of his thigh and he groaned. He crouched down onto the grass below the table. Looking for the can. He pauses like a kid finding cookies. Finding snatch. His heart hammers and he adjusts his growing bulge. He pushes his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose to the bulbous tip to fully look at the situation. His mouth nearly dripping with drool.

“No pannies.”

His thick drawl comes out as he whispers the revelation to himself. You spread your legs out wider and his breath stops. Hairless. Glistening. Untouched. He nearly sticks his wide tongue out to lap a fat stripe down and up your wet cunt. He wonders who did this to little miss darlin’? How’d her little pussy get so wet on his bench? How’d just looking at it gets him higher than any Miami coke. Then his heart strikes out. He sees Lisa’s head pop out on the other side of the bench a concerned look written across his face.

“D’you need help getting up, daddy? I know how bad your back is!”

He chokes and snatches up the can. He pushes up his sunglasses and sitting upright and the small of his back begins to ache. He looks at you and you smile dumbly.

“‘M fine.”

Priscilla looks at him then back at the soda can he threw on the table with a scoff. He sighs asking God for a blessing.

“Picture time, y’all!”

He stands in the back with more of the taller men and ladies were. He morphed into the back, not caring to be seen. Priscilla stood up front as well as Lisa. You stood in front of Elvis and he took your hips in his meaty hands. You jumped before realizing who it was. He whispered a husky. Jus’ me, pretty baby. He rested his chin on the top of your messy hair. He pressed his front up to your back and you raised on your tiptoes and he nearly came. The pressure of your firm ass pressing against the tucked head of his dick was enough for his eyes to roll back in his head. He needed to get one of his sleeping pills after. The rush of coke and the adrenaline of sex is too much to bear. He’s sweating bullets. You smile wide at the announce of cheese. Slapping his squeezing hands on the sides of your hips.

“Say cheese, big daddy.”

He smirks a little and swivels his hips so his hard on is pressed right up against the cheeks of your ass. For the first time in months he smiles to the point where his wrinkles are creased and he looks young, taking pictures in front of Graceland.

“Cheese.”

Fast food

It was a lazy Sunday after church. Elvis didn’t want to wait until he got to Graceland to eat so he took Lisa and you out to eat at McDonalds. He was starting to get a headache from only doing a milligram of coke before church. He asked before getting to the intercom what each of you wanted before Lisa and you decided to share an order and get a couple of large Coke’s. The only time he wore anything other than a tracksuit was to church and his recording company’s meetings. It was a simple black suit with no tie and a few of the buttons at the top unbuttoned. He was sweating profusely with the skin tight fabric. He thought he’d be able to fit in the old suit. It hadn’t been since a couple weeks since he last put it on. He was going to have to get on those weight loss pills again. He sighed and order a couple McDLT’s with no onions, no mayonnaise, mustard, or ketchup and a large Pepsi. He was content with not having to deal with being asked for autographs or pictures anymore. Occasionally there’d be the oddball who’d recognize him and asked for a memento and he’d graciously give it to them. He doesn’t miss the constant paranoia of who knows him and who watches. He listens to the conversation between the two of you talking about musicians and media. Lisa talks about Madonna and you talk about how Cher is still relevant. He pays and pulls up to the next window. It’s another twenty minute wait. He looks up through the rearview mirror through his black shades, watching you gush over Cass Elliott. Admiring the way you talk with your hands and the sheer white sundress you’re wearing. How Lisa matches your enthusiasm. The young clerk finally hands the food over and he leaves in the passenger seat as he drives to a nearby parking lot that oversees the traffic. He often liked sitting and watching the people and making up stories for them. Where they’ve been and where they’re going. He pulls to a stop and the chattering stops. He looks back and sees two sets of grabby hands luring him to give food away. He smirks softly and grabs the tray of large drinks and hands it to you. The banter continues as Lisa shoves your shoulder and you dump the drinks onto his lap. He freezes.

“F-fuck!”

Posture straight, hands up, shaking. It’s deathly quiet, not a word spoken. You’ve only seen Elvis angry a handful of times. Him pissed was a different situation entirely. Both you and Lisa utter apologies without abandon. He starts picking off the huge ice cubes and as he does you lean over the arm rest and start wiping off the Coke and ice off his fat thighs into the floorboards. His paunchy stomach tightening as you brush over his flaccid (hardening) cock. He watches your bare tits hang loose in your sundress. The perky nipples coming through. He thanked God for the no bras movement and watched you lazily hang onto his thigh. You smile like a bimbo when you’re done and rifle through the bag for napkins and press them down onto his soaked lap. After you felt like you did all you could do you leaned back and kissed his aged cheek. He apologized for getting angry and swearing. He went through the paper bag and handed out food. While unwrapping his first burger, his face scrunches and he throws the burger on the passenger window. He whips the car into the reverse and spurs out of the parking lot. As you look to the window you see onions, mayonnaise, mustard, and ketchup splattered on the window.

Pool Side View

He sat in one of the lawn chairs in a his DEA tracksuit, white bucket hat, and golden sunglasses. He was coked out and barely functioning. July was one of his busiest months and he couldn’t keep up with it all. He’s trying to read one of his spiritual books while smoking one of his cigars. He kept a prying eye on you and Lisa swimming in the pool. You had left for a couple days, to get some clothes which he resented. He simply would’ve bought you more. You had your own room at Graceland for fuck’s sake. He made you quit your job after the instance where you ghosted him. He never wanted you to leave. The swimming suit was big on you. He had bought you a swimsuit that was two pieces and a little big on you since he didn’t know your exact size. You guessed he did it on purpose. Lisa proposed for you to wear one of hers but she was a little skinner than you so you politely declined. Lisa and you were performing ungraceful water aerobics. Going underwater and kicking your feet up in the air and kicking them. Both of you kept chirping at Elvis to watch you perform. However one of the times you went under and came back up, your top had untied. You didn’t realize it until Lisa told you with a giggle. You were mortified, your mouth dropped open as you grabbed the floating article of clothing. You looked at Elvis and his sunglasses were perched lower as his strung out eyes watched you like a hawk. He couldn’t figure out if the coke was bad and he was having a hallucination or if what he did see was real. Did he see dirty little pillows with pretty nipples or did he dream that? He doesn’t know and he doesn’t question it. The stream of smoke by his head and he puffs. Taking his book back into his palm as Lisa ties your top back on. He pushes his palm over the base of his dick trying to push the blood elsewhere. I like that trick, do it again. He smiles to himself at the cynical joke. If only it wasn’t just a joke.

Polaroids

More than once Lisa reassured you that her dad wasn’t a creep, he was just overly sentimental and affectionate. It was just southern hospitality she reiterated over and over. It was late at night and Lisa and you were in your nightgowns in the living room, wrestling and laughing loudly. Watching Saturday night wrestling and reenacting some of the positions. Some nights you both would sleep in the living room to scare the maids when they first come out to work. The tv was the only light on, other than Elvis’s lamp light that he used to read one of his spirituality books. He was in his satin emblem pajamas. He wore reading glasses with the chain necklace around them. Every now and again Lisa and you would ask him to watch and you’d accidentally flash him. He’d blush and his stomach would start to stir. The thing that made him get his Polaroid camera was when you straddled a pillow between your little thighs and started to hump it. Intentionally or not, he didn’t care. He went into his room, grabbed his wallet where he kept the film in and the camera itself and went back into the living room. You were laid diagonal on the couch, your nightgown off and just in little cotton white with pink bows on them bra and panty. Your head was hanging off the couch and your legs were kicked up on the headboard. He got on his knees in front of your face and you smiled. The click and motor of the camera blinded you momentarily before he asked you to model which you replied attentively to. He asked you to pose in various positions. Running his fingers and palms over your body to smooth out the rigidness of your body. You watched Lisa stare into the tv, ignoring the photoshoot happening behind her. You wondered if this was appropriate and you remembered what she said about southern hospitality. He made you sit on his lap where you can feel the pressure of his bulge up against your clothed pussy. He lightly cupped the front of your throat and pushed your head back into his shoulder and your back pressed up against his chest. You feel his glasses pinch at your back. His rings biting into your neck. He raises the camera in front of your faces and it clicks. His lips brush over the shell of your ear as his voice drops to an octave lower. The tone where he used to sing.

“Wancha ta hump me like you did the piller little miss.”

You look at the back of Lisa’s blonde head. Your body is scorching hot. Your clit throbbing as his dick bobs with every buck of your hips. You move quicker, more desperate. Click. The Polaroid falls to his feet. You feel his stomach bounce with every gyrate. Click. If he could he’d hump back up into your wet little snatch. But his poor achy old back isn’t used to his 20yr old libido. The 50yr old man’s body isn’t adept to pleasing a pretty young 18yr old, but in this moment. The moment where your panties are soaked and catching on the outside of his pajamas pants, he thinks it doesn’t matter. Lisa shouts if you saw that move and you choke out a yes. Whether it was to Elvis’ fat fingers constricting your airways or the fact the friction is going to make you cum. Click. Your body starts to shake and pulse and he pulls you back to his chest. His thick stomach pushing into your back as he holds his palm over your mouth.

“Don’t say a word.”

He places the camera on the seat beside this thigh, running that hand flat over your stomach and to the hem of your panties. He plays with it. Running the fabric in his palm. Closing his fist and letting his gold rings run over it. He sticks his hand flat and into your panties. His palm flat on your mound, his middle and ring fingers play with your throbbing clit. The sight is ungodly. His big hand between your legs causing your panties to stretch out on your thighs. He whispers pretty words into your ear as he huffs. Your body spasms and shakes. Your cunt tightening over nothing as you cum. He pats your clit a couple times before removing his hand and wiping it on the your stomach by your belly button. He turns your head to the side and presses his lips to the side of your head. He pulls you off of his lap, picking up his camera and the fallen Polaroids up. He walks up into his room to finish what he started.

A couple days later you and Lisa decided to go to the mall to find some WWE shirts for an upcoming show. You told Elvis about the event and how you needed some money as he ate a peanut butter, banana and bacon sandwich. He nodded as he read the news, only half listening. Telling you to make sure that you have a driver and couple of the mafia guys to escort you and that his wallet was in his room. You giddily kissed his cheek and he smiled softly. You bounded up the stairs and into his room, finding his wallet where it normally was on his dresser. You opened it and as you pulled out a wad of one hundreds you gasped. The Polaroid of you on his lap fell out as well as pictures of him, Lisa and you at the aquarium. You grabbed at least a grand and shoved the Polaroids back in where you found it. Going to Lisa’s room and announcing that their allowance came early. Southern hospitality, you reminded yourself.

The letter

It was Sunday afternoon once again. Sometimes Elvis would get in this religious frenzy that church couldn’t even soothe. You and Lisa sat in front of his feet as he sat on the couch preaching. He had gotten to this one verse that he couldn’t seem to remember which was strange because he could remember a book start to finish as soon as he was done reading it. You watched as his bare bloodshot eyes wandered everywhere, searching for his words. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s disappointed in himself. He’s not as good of a Christian as he wants to be. He reaches down and holds your hand, staring into your eyes with such a softness that not even a cult member could obtain.

“Would you be a doll and get my Bible from my nightstand by my bed?”

You nodded eagerly and with an of course. He kissed the back of your hand as you stood up and walked to the stairs. He resumed his preaching to a different sermon to Lisa while you found his Bible. You walked into his room as you have a thousand times before and looked in his nightstand. Religious books and notes, medications. His coke. Nothing about the Holy book. You looked at the bottom drawer and you found it. Saying to yourself a little aha. However when you picked it up you found an envelope addressed to you. Your eyebrows were furrowed as you placed the book on his bed and picked up the letter. You had a moral confliction within yourself whether to open it or not. You finally decided to when you realized that he must’ve wanted you to read it eventually, right? You tore open the top of the envelope and took out the orange paper that he used for his notes and began to read.

“Dear little miss darlin’

“I don’t even know where to begin. I can’t even hardly see with how much I’ve sniffed. My hands are shaky and I’m nervous honey. For the first time in twenty years I’m nervous. I’m nervous about our encounters and if little yisa would find out. God, please don’t let her find out. I love you both too much for that to happen. I’m perverted and vile. I’m too far gone to be saved, I realize this now. I’ve prayed to God countless nights on my knees for him to fix it. To make me see you as nothing as my daughter’s friend, but pretty baby. Every time I look at you, or think about you, those sinful feelings start bubbling from my stomach and I can’t help them. I ain’t a strong man. I wish I could be so I can stop torturing myself with the thought of you. The thought of burying myself inside you and never leaving. Every woman I’ve been with, every woman I’ve fucked. I thought of you. I can’t get there anymore without thinking about you. I need help yittle one. I need your help. I need you to drain me so I can be whole again. I need you, I need you, I need you. God help me.”

“To be carnally minded is death; But to be spiritually minded is life and peace.”

His voice jolts you. He stands at the foot of the bed. He looks like a kicked dog. He’s ashamed.

“Romans 8:6, that is the verse I couldn’t remember.”

He shakes his head. Chuckling lightly, he runs a hand through his messy dark hair. You stare at him. Glancing back and forth at the letter and him.

“When did you write this?”

“After the Polaroid instance.”

You nod, speechless. Tormented. You want to be with him. You love him, but you know it’d never work. It’d have to be a secret for eternity. A secret that’s going to tear both of you from the inside out.

“So what are we?”

You ask shakily, dreading the answer. His face is grim and his eyes are glassy.

“Star-crossed lovers.”

#xreader #fanfic #smut #elvis presley #elvis presley x reader #elvis #elvis presley smut #elvis presley x reader smut #dark smut #dark Elvis #elvis x reader #elvis smut #70s elvis #80s #80s Elvis #dark themes #big age gap #big daddy elvis

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queenofcoquette · 2 months

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any book recommendations?

tysm for the question!

my fav books that i can think of rn are:

the virgin suicides (all time fav)- i love everything about it, it's perfect in my eyes. i love the entire plot and i've re-read it since i first read it in october.

elvis and me (close second favorite)- this book is sad when u think about what priscilla went through. i really enjoyed reading it and finished it in a week. i enjoyed hearing things from her perspective as well as hearing about life at graceland.

picnic at hanging rock. sort of similar to the virgin suicides but sent in 1900. girls go missing on a picnic, 2 are never found and the story follows the demise of their school.

once upon a time in hollywood. hollywood in the late 60s. pretty entertaining and the dialogue felt very real.

the bell jar. not much happens but it was an easy read.

the catcher in the rye. one of my favorites- i used to relate ig to the concept of holden trying to hold onto his childhood innocence and the sadness that comes with getting older.

little women. a classic! i love the sisters dynamic sm.

the great gatsby. very sad and a lot of symbolism if you like analyzing books. themes of old money/new money, corruption, how the american dream isn't real, etc.

the entire neaopolitan novels series by elena ferrante (it starts with my brilliant friend) THIS SERIES BROKE ME. it was SO good. the books are incredibly long but i never got tired of reading them. reading anything was hard when i finished because nothing could compare.

the picture of dorian gray. this book was pretty good and i liked the themes of beauty & morality. there's a really boring chapter tho where it kinda just lists everything he owns and that part is kinda tedious.

girl, interrupted. so sad but very good. i like the insights on psychology by the author and enjoyed the plot a lot.

also like content warning but the older books on the list do feature racism and anti-semiticism (the great gatsby, the picture of dorian gray, the bell jar) and in once upon a time in hollywood some characters do say things that are both racist and anti-semitic

#queenofcoquette

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isuckatwritingsobenice · 8 months

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Lovesick Alastor headcannons? also can it be slight yandere coded, with a AFAB reader? would also like this to be in the 60’s AU, if that’s okay!!

A/n: 60’s? Alastor? Yandere? The killer is literally having all the cards in his favor rn 😨😨 !! But don’t worry bby I like this thought, AND HE’S LOVESICK??? 10/10 delulu thought bc we all know Alastor wouldn’t be like this ( but yk, I feed into my delusions, so today he’s gonna be a lovesick mf thank you 😝 ) Also, HUMAN ALASTOR BECAUSE THE GIRLIES THAT LOVE HIM JUST AS MUCH AS I DO MUST BE FED !!!!!

𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺: yandere themes! Unhealthy obsession! NSFW ahead! Reader is headcannoned as AFAB but can be read otherwise! Mentions of race & segregation! Mentions of drinking & smoking!

ੈ✩‧₊˚𝙉𝘼𝙑𝙄𝙂𝘼𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉 *ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𝙈𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *

Songs you can play while listening: We’ll meet Again By Vera Lyn. Lovefool by the Cardigans. Try a Little Tenderness By Otis Redding ( or Frank Sinatra however you see fit ). Come Fly with me by Frank Sinatra. These Arms of Mine by Otis Redding. Are you lonesome tonight by Elvis Presley. Strangers in the night by Frank Sinatra. Cant help falling in love by Elvis Presley.

⋆˚✿˖° 𝑳𝑶𝑽𝑬𝑭𝑶𝑶𝑳 ⋆˚✿˖°

Lovesick Alastor would include….

A large sum of gifts

dancing to elvis

Have a ton of bouquets your not sure what to do

Having to go out of the city to a smaller town so you two can have some sort of privacy

alastor gets into more ‘white’ bars than people expect and only because of his status, it deeply bothers him

Dancing to frank sinatra >>>

he takes you dancing a lot, like a WHOLE LOT

drive ins a are a must, and it’s always so romantic, even if it’s simple you know? he usually parks away from other people to make it more private

make out sessions in his car at said drive in

he really likes getting milk shakes with you

attends elvis shows with you and you both just stand really close to the divider so when it eventually breaks you two are already so close together

having to sneak around at night so you two don’t get caught with one another

adoring his mother and her cooking

ALASTOR WITH A FANCY CAR >>>>>

alastor kills anyone he sees interact with you while you’re at work, or just anyone he doesn’t like near you in general

kills your neighbor because he saw alastor leaving your house ( you will never know )

Alastor likes helping you pick dresses and do your hair, he also learnt a lot from his mother in this aspect

sewing together >>>

you two often sit by the river together sometimes even late at night

he loves when you run to him scared about the killer in the area, he thinks it’s ironic and funny

would do anything and everything for you

helps fix your house, he’s very handy

secretly envies the younger children with fathers that actually talk to them

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin charlie #hazbin angel dust #hazbin vaggie #hazbin demon #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel rosie #alastor #human alastor x reader #human alastor #human au

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from-memphis-with-love · 25 days

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Hi. May I request a late 60s Elvis (charro era) in which he leaves the beard a little longer and female reader is horny because of it. He catches her staring intently until she jumps at him. Smut detailed, not rough but passionate and sensual. Thanks.

Stubble Trouble

(I won these unreleased photos of Elvis on the set of Charro! at an auction recently. I felt they were appropriately delicious for this one-shot)

Summary: Elvis comes home from filming Charro!, looking sexier than ever with a beard. You wish he never had to leave for work again. Warnings: Smut, smut, smut. But a little domestic fluff too?

You watch the horizon from the porch, the sun setting in a spectacle of orange and pink. The hush of twilight settles over the estate. Humidity clings to your skin, the balmy late summer air heavy with the scent of magnolias.

"Elvis car!" Olivia's voice pierces the calm, her small finger pointing down the winding driveway.

"That's right, baby girl. Daddy's home," you confirm, heart swelling with anticipation and a touch of melancholy. He's home, but for how long?

Will bounces on his toes beside you. "And he's got a beard!"

And indeed, it is your husband’s Cadillac, glossy and grand, pulling up a day early. You smile from ear to ear. Then, a shadow of concern—he's not alone. The Memphis Mafia spill out of the van behind him, their laughter and boisterous greetings disrupting the evening quietude.

You squint at the figure emerging last from the car. It's him, Elvis, with an unfamiliar scruff darkening his jawline. Your breath catches at the sight—your husband, yet somehow brand new.

Elvis’ eyes find you across the front yard, and the heat in his gaze makes your breath catch. But before he can reach you, a rocket shoots into his legs. "Dad! You're home!"

Your husband scoops up your eight-year-old son, giving him the hug of the century. "Hey there, buddy! Did you grow a foot while I was gone?" As your two boys roughhouse, your daughter Olivia, toddles over on wobbly legs. Elvis kneels down, peppering her chubby cheeks with kisses.

"Daddy, fuzzy!" Olivia's small hand reaches for Elvis's scruff. He chuckles, letting her chubby fingers explore his rough face. Her tiny brows furrow, her eyes well up. Her dimpled chin quivers. A baby sniffle pierces the air.

"Shhh." Elvis soothes, gently wiping away the beginnings of a tear with his thumb. He picks her up in his muscular arms, whispering into her ear. The cries recede; a whimsical giggle replaces them. "I missed you rascals something fierce. Were you good for Mama?"

"They were angels," you assure, joining the family huddle. "Welcome home, honey."

Dusting off his pants, Elvis rises to his feet, Olivia secured in one arm and Will clinging to the other. He approaches you, a certain swagger in his step that you've missed and his eyes flashing with something you know all too well—mischief. He sets the kids down and pulls you close, his kiss a sweet homecoming all its own. "Glad to be back, mama." His murmured endearment, the rasp of his beard on your skin, they feel so good that it makes your head spin.

"Welcome home, daddy," you reply, your voice steadier than your racing pulse. The feel of him, changed yet the same, stirs a dormant longing within you.

Your fingers itch to touch the unexpected growth shadowing his jaw. The beard transforms him, adds a rugged edge to the familiar contours of his face that you hadn't realized you'd long for until now. "This is new."

"Thought I'd try something different," Elvis replies, his smile a slow burn just for you. It lights a spark deep within, a yearning you've kept banked during those long nights alone.

"Huh. Looks good on you." You keep your voice light, but inside, desire smolders, fanned to life by this simple change.

"Thought you might like it." His voice drops, a secret shared amidst the din. "Come on in, we've got stories to tell," he says, motioning to the rowdy crew behind him.

You nod, masking disappointment. You'd hoped for privacy, for that passionate reunion you've been craving. But now, with the house about to burst with company, you steel yourself for another night of playing hostess rather than lover.

"Let's get settled first," you suggest, ushering the children ahead of you into the house.

The evening unravels in a blur of activity—dinner preparations, catching up, pick up football. Admittedly, it’s nice to have a house full of laughter, but you wonder when you might have a moment alone with your husband. Amidst it all, you steal glances at Elvis, the way his beard adds a new edge to his expressions, wondering how it might feel against your skin.

“Outta sodas,” you say, hiding a smile. You eye Elvis from across the room. He catches your gaze, the understanding immediately flashing in his eyes.

“I’ll help ya fetch ‘em,” he offers, rising from the couch where he’s been holding court. He follows you into the hallway. The two of you disappear into the cooler back room, away from prying eyes and eager ears.

Kneeling by the crate of chilled sodas, you feel the cool condensation against your fingertips. When you turn around, he’s right there, taking a step closer than necessary. His breath smells of mint and coffee; his eyes are full of promise.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he says. His hand brushes against your cheek, tender yet insistent. “Miss me?”

In answer, you turn and pull his mouth down to yours, kissing him with nearly six weeks worth of pent-up hunger. Your husband makes a surprised, pleased sound against your lips before taking control of the kiss, backing you up against the humming fridge.

"God, I missed you," he pants when you break apart. "Missed this. Feels like forever since I've had you all to myself."

“Since you’ve had me all to yourself?” you chide. “Elvis, you know I love the guys but did they really have to—”

But his hands quiet your thought. They’re everywhere, sliding under your shirt, dipping into the waistband of your jeans. You arch into his touch, desire spiraling through you. "We can't," you protest weakly. "Everyone's right out there..."

"Let ‘em wait." Elvis nips at your neck, soothing the sting with his tongue. "I've been dying to get my hands on you all day." The scratch of his whiskers is a delicious abrasion. It heightens every sensation as he trails hot, open-mouthed kisses along your throat. A shiver wracks your body as the coarse hair rubs over your hammering pulse point.

The contrast of his soft lips and wiry facial hair is dizzying, addicting. You tilt your head back with a breathy moan, giving him more access even as your hands ball in his shirt. Torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away before you lose all control.

Elvis chuckles darkly against your neck, the vibrations rumbling deliciously through you. He knows exactly what he's doing to you, how much you're loving the sensual brush of his beard on your skin. He drags his fuzzy jaw up to your ear, rasping delightfully against the sensitive flesh behind it.

"Been dreaming about this," he murmurs, his breath hot on your ear as his hands creep beneath your shirt. "About having you trembling for me, my beard on your soft skin as I love on every inch of you..."

You whimper, knees going weak at the erotic promise in his words, the tantalizing burn of his whiskers, the heat of his hard body pressing you into the cool metal of the fridge. It's almost too much, and yet you crave more, already addicted to this new sensation.

"Elvis, please..." you manage, not even sure what you're begging for, only knowing you need him to never, ever stop.

Just as you are about to throw caution to the wind and let your husband take you right there, a knock sounds at the door.

"Hey, boss!" a voice calls. "Where'd you disappear to, man? Joe wants to run through the press junket schedule."

Elvis groans, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. "To be continued," he promises darkly, adjusting himself with a wince.

Stepping back, you reluctantly adjust your clothing. "Raincheck," is all you say, and it's a promise as much as it is a plea. He presses a swift kiss to your lips before opening the door and putting his 'star' smile back on.

You stand frozen for a moment. You shake yourself off. You tell yourself there's always later, there's always tomorrow. You gather the sodas and head back into the main room.

The night drags on. Laughter echoes through the house, amplified by the clink of glasses, the strums of guitars. The party’s in full swing and being a good hostess occupies most of your evening.

You sneak glances at Elvis, at how his beard lends him a new ruggedness that makes your heart hammer in your chest. You long to run your fingers through it, trace the lines of his face. He sometimes looks back, his gaze lingering on you before being pulled away by someone else. His eyes tell you: soon.

Your youngest, Olivia, chatters animatedly about butterflies, and Will bounces around with an energy only an eight-year-old can muster. You enjoy watching them mingle with your friends—however, they also serve as persistent reminders that privacy is out of reach.

Around eleven o’ clock, the house begins to quiet down. People trickle out, leaving behind echoes of laughter and empty plates. The house seems bigger, emptier, a stark contrast to the fullness it held just moments ago. Later, after baths and bedtime stories, you and Elvis collapsed onto the couch together, Elvis pulling your feet into his lap. "I thought I’d never get a minute alone with you," he sighs, kneading your arches.

You let your head fall back, relishing his touch. "I love that you're so busy, but I hate having to share you."

"I'm all yours now, sweetheart." Elvis presses a kiss to your ankle, his beard tickling delightfully. He gives you a heated look from under his lashes. "For the rest of the night, I'm all yours."

Anticipation zings through your veins, and you reach for your husband, already breathless. As he gathers you close, kissing you deeply, you can’t help but think that sometimes, the only thing better than a homecoming... is what comes after.

You sit up, scooting closer to run your fingers over Elvis' fuzzy jaw. "You sure it's you under there? This beard makes you look mighty different," you tease, eyes twinkling. "Like a whole new man."

Elvis turns his head to nip playfully at your fingers, a mischievous glint in his eye. "That so? Should I be worried about this 'new man' stealing my girl?"

You laugh, shaking your head. "Never. You know you're the only man for me, beard or no beard."

"Damn right," Elvis growls playfully, his hands settling on your hips as you shift to straddle his lap. "This 'new man' better know his place."

Draping your arms around his neck, you lean in close, your lips brushing his as you speak. "Oh, I don't know. He's pretty sexy. Rugged. Dangerous. Looks like a cowboy..." You let your voice drop to a husky whisper. "I might just be tempted..."

Elvis' fingers flex on your hips, pulling you flush against him. "Is that right?" He dips his head to nuzzle into your neck, his beard rasping deliciously on your sensitive skin. "Well, I bet this 'new man' don't know how to touch you like I do."

You gasp as he finds a particularly sensitive spot, your back arching. "Mmm, I think you might be right," you manage breathlessly. "Better prove it to me, just to be sure."

"Gladly." Elvis captures your mouth in a searing kiss, one hand sliding up to tangle in your hair as he sits you on his lap. "Let me show you just how well this old dog knows your body, mama."

You surrender to his touch with a moan, the world falling away until nothing exists but you, Elvis, and the delicious abrasion of his beard on your skin as he sets about thoroughly, blissfully reminding you that he's the only man who could ever make you feel this good.

Your mouths meet in a searing kiss, weeks of pent-up longing pouring out in a slick slide of lips and tongues. You rock against him, reveling in the growing hardness pressing against your center.

His hands roam your back, dipping under your shirt to stroke the smooth skin beneath. You mewl into his mouth, desire turning molten in your veins.

Just as you are considering the logistics of riding him right there on the couch, a creak on the stairs has you jumping apart like scalded cats. You hold their breath, waiting to see if one of the kids had woken up.

After a moment of tense silence, Elvis blows out a shaky laugh. "Probably not the best idea to get carried away down here, huh?"

On trembling legs, you climb off his lap, reaching down to adjust the prominent bulge in his jeans. "Probably not," you agree, giving him a heated look. "Bedroom?"

“Just gimme five minutes, I have to take off my makeup first.”

You feel Elvis’ presence behind you before you see him, the heat of his gaze pressing against your skin like a physical touch.

You meet his eyes in the mirror, see him leaning shirtless against the doorframe, thumbs hooked in the waistband of his silk pajama pants. That luscious beard frames the wicked slash of his smile. He looks so good it's almost sinful. "See something you like?" His voice is a husky rumble.

"You could say that." You bite your lip, watching his eyes darken. "I really, really like this new look on you."

He prowls closer, crowding you against the vanity. "Yeah? Is that so?"

You turn in his arms, running your hands appreciatively over the firm planes of his chest. "It makes you look dangerous. Sexy."

Elvis dips his head to nuzzle your throat, the coarse brush of his whiskers making you shiver. "Sexy, huh? How sexy?"

"So sexy it should be illegal." You drag your mouth to his, kissing him with rising urgency. "Take me to bed," you demand against his lips. "Now."

Elvis wastes no time complying, lifting you easily into his arms and carrying you to the bed. He tumbles you onto the sheets, covering your body with his, both of you already breathing hard.

He undresses you slowly, almost reverently, rough fingertips and soft lips and scratchy beard worshipping every inch of skin he unveils. When he finally settles between your thighs, the first intimate rasp of his whiskers makes you cry out, fisting your hands in his hair.

"God, the way you taste," Elvis rasps against your slick folds, his voice rough with desire. "I'll never get enough."

He seals his lips around your most sensitive bundle of nerves and sucks gently, making you cry out and fist your hands in his hair. He groans in response, the vibrations shooting sparks of electricity through your core.

"Please," you whimper, hips rocking shamelessly against his face. "Don't stop..."

Elvis answers with a deep, approving hum, the tip of his tongue flicking over you in maddening little licks. "Never," he murmurs, beard and hot breath on your inner thighs a delicious contrast to his soft, demanding mouth on you. "Want to make you fall apart, over and over. Worship you with my mouth until you forget everything but my name..."

His words, low and fervent and filthy, push you to the brink as much as his dedicated ministrations. You sob out a broken plea as he wraps his lips around you again and sucks hard, pushing two thick fingers into your dripping channel at the same time.

"That's it, baby," he coaxes gutturally, crooking his fingers just right and rubbing ruthless circles around your swollen, aching bud. "Let me feel you, let me taste you falling apart..."

With a keening cry you shatter, back bowing and fingers clutching desperately at the sheets as your release crashes over you in pulsing waves. Elvis works you through it with lips and tongue and fingers, drawing out your pleasure until you collapse against the sheets, boneless and trembling. His beard is gleaming with your slick.

As you slowly come down from your high, you feel Elvis pressing tender kisses to your inner thighs, his whiskers a thrilling friction on your sensitive skin. You tug gently on his hair, urging him up your body until you can capture his mouth in a deep, languorous kiss. You taste yourself on his tongue and it makes you shudder, your spent body already sparking with renewed desire.

"I wanna make you feel good too," you murmur against his lips, nipping playfully at the full bottom one. "I want to show you how much I missed you, how much I need you..."

Elvis' groan is low and needy as you push gently at his shoulders, encouraging him onto his back. You take your time mapping his chest with lips and fingers, re-memorizing every ridge and plane. He's lost in pleasure, muscles jumping under your touch, his breathing ragged as you chart a slow, meandering path down his long torso.

When you reach the waistband of his pajamas, you pause, looking up at him from under your lashes as you hook your fingers under the elastic. Elvis meets your gaze, his own heated and dark with want, his lips parted as he pants softly. Slowly, teasingly, you peel the fabric down, your heart racing in anticipation as his hardness is revealed inch by tortuous inch.

"God, look at you," you breathe, taking in the proud jut of his cock straining towards his belly. A thrill chases down your spine knowing that you did that to him, that he wants you just as desperately as you want him. "Look at this husband of mine... so hard for me already."

"Always," Elvis rasps, his voice strained and his hands fisting in the sheets as you ghost your fingers up his length. "Feels like I'm going to burst out of my skin with how bad I need you..."

You hum in satisfaction, running your thumb over the slick head and making him shudder. Slowly, you lower your lips, never breaking eye contact as you breathe hotly over where he's aching for you. "Let me take care of you," you whisper, a promise and a plea all in one. "Let me show you how much I love you."

Then you take him into your mouth, and the broken moan that spills from his lips is the most beautiful sound you've ever heard.

You work him with spit and fingers and lips and tongue and just the barest hint of teeth, relishing every helpless sound you wring from him. You can feel how close he is, his thighs trembling, his grip on your hair bordering on painful. With a wicked hum, your relax your your throat and take him as deep as you can.

Elvis lets loose a stream of garbled curses, his hips jerking erratically. "Fuck, sweetheart, I'm gonna—"

But you just doubl your efforts, holding his gaze as you hollow your cheeks and suck hard. With a guttural cry, Elvis spills himself down your throat, his chest heaving as you gentle him through his sweet release.

"Christ," he pants as you release him and crawl up to drape yourself over his chest. "That was... You are..." He gives up and just hauls your mouth to his, kissing you breathless.

As you trade slow, deep kisses, you feel Elvis stirring against your thigh once more. A thrill chases down your spine at the evidence of his desire, your own body responding in kind. Wrapping your hand around his length, you stroke him gently, savoring the velvety heat of him and the way he pulses in your grip. "Already?" you tease. "Someone's eager."

Elvis nips your bottom lip. "Six weeks," he reminds you, rocking into your grip with a grunt. "You're lucky I lasted five minutes."

Giggling, you straddle his his hips, rubbing yourself along his length until you are both panting. "I think you ought to get to practicing then," you purr. "We've got weeks to make up for."

Elvis groans into your mouth, his hips rocking instinctively into you. "Need you," he pants against your lips, voice rough with want. "Need to be inside you..."

You nod desperately, just as aching to have him filling you up after so long apart. Rising up on your knees, you position him at your entrance, your breath catching as you slowly sink down onto his rigid length. His beard rasps against your neck, sending shivers up your spine.

Your body resists the intrusion at first, unaccustomed to the stretch after weeks without him. Elvis gentles you through it with soft kisses and soothing caresses, whispering words of love and praise as you take him inch by careful inch. The slight discomfort quickly melts into exquisite pleasure as he breaches you fully, your inner walls fluttering around him as you adjust to the thick, heavy feel of him inside you.

"God, baby," Elvis rasps, his big hands gripping your hips almost tight enough to bruise. His eyes are squeezed shut and his brow furrowed in concentration, as if he's fighting for control. "You feel so good. So tight. Like you were made just for me..."

You let out a shuddering sigh as you settle fully into his lap, relishing the sensation of being one with him again. "I was," you breathe, rolling your hips experimentally and making you both gasp. "Only for you. Always."

Slowly, you start to move, rising up until he nearly slips out of you before sliding back down to the hilt. Elvis meets your every downward stroke with an upward roll of his pelvis, burying himself impossibly deep. You set a slow, burning rhythm, sweat beading on your skin as you rock together, drawing out every delicious drag of him inside you.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders and your thighs tremble with exertion, but you barely register the strain. All you can focus on is your husband—his panting breaths and reverent gaze, the thick slide of his cock stretching you again and again, the heat of his body surrounding you and grounding you. In this moment, joined so intimately after what felt like an eternity apart, everything else fades away.

"Missed this," you grit out, your hands roaming restlessly over his back, his neck, scratching the dark hair on his jaw. "Missed you. I love you so damn much."

You rock together, slow and dirty, skin slick with sweat. Clutching at his shoulders, his back, urging him deeper, harder. The wiry scrape of his chest hair and beard against your sensitive nipples makes you writhe on top of him, the added stimulation almost too much to bear.

"Touch yourself," he rasps in your ear, changing the angle of his hips so he is grinding against your clit with every stroke. "Make yourself come on my cock, sweetheart."

You obey with a whimper, fingers flying to your center. Elvis eases you onto your back, gripping your thighs as he gently eases back into you, eyes black with lust as he watches you touch yourself. A private show for his eyes only.

The sight of him above you—miles of tanned skin, thick forearms corded with muscle, narrow hips rolling into you—combined with the magic you are working between your legs undoes you in record time. With a desperate whimper, you convulse around him, fingernails scoring his chest as you fall apart.

"I love you so much," Elvis sighs, fucking you through it. "One more, baby, give me one more."

He lowers himself even closer to you now, spreading your knees wide against his thighs and hugging you close to his chest. Enveloping you and never letting you go. You cling onto him with a sob, the new position letting him fill you impossibly deep. Elvis’ hands cup your backside, helping to fuck you a slow, tantalizing rhythm.

“My wife, my wife,” he moans and his beard rasps the tender skin of your neck and he bites and sucks, stoking the heat building low in your belly.

"Elvis," you keen, fingernails digging into his shoulders. He holds you closer, whispering unintelligibly into your ear. "Oh god..."

He reaches between your bodies to rub tight circles around your bud, and the sensation combined with the delicious drag of him inside you sends you flying. You come with a silent scream, back arching, stars exploding behind your eyelids.

Elvis follows you a heartbeat later, burying his face in your neck with a muffled shout. You rock together through the aftershocks, until you collapse bonelessly underneath his sweat-slicked chest.

Tumbling back against the pillows, you are a tangle of sated, trembling limbs. Elvis’ big hands soothe up and down your belly, his lips pressing soft kisses to your sweat-damp temple.

"Why do I ever leave?," he murmurs roughly. "I hate being away from you and the kids. Felt like I left a piece of myself behind." He pauses. "This is my favorite part of coming home. Having you in my arms again."

Emotion clogs your throat. "I wish it could always be like this." You look up at him, tracing his bearded jaw tenderly. "That you didn't have to leave so often."

"About that..." Elvis' arms tighten around you. "I've been thinking a lot lately. Y'know, about the stuff that really matters to me. And that's you and the kids. I'm gonna talk to Parker, see about cutting back on some of these long stretches away."

Your heart soars even as you search his face cautiously. "You mean it? You'd do that?"

"For you, mama? Anything." He seals his promise with a slow, sweet kiss. "I'm here now. and I aim to be here a lot more."

Tears prick your eyes, joy and relief overwhelming. "I'd love that," you whisper, lacing your fingers with his. "The kids would too."

“Yeah, me too,” he sighs. “Feels like I lose a little piece of me every time I’m gone.”

You nuzzle into his neck, relishing the prickle of his beard on your well-loved skin. "Looks like you found a new piece while you were gone," you tease. "I must say, I'm a fan."

"You really like it?" Elvis sweeps a hand over his scruffy jaw, grinning. "Maybe I'll keep it. Hey, if it gets you this hot for me, I may never shave again."

You just laugh, pulling him down for a long, slow kiss. You’d had a feeling that this stint away had made him rethink his priorities, and that maybe you’d be seeing a lot more of him— beard and all—in the coming months.

And as you snuggle down into your husband's embrace, his contented rumble vibrating through you, you decide there was nowhere on earth you’d rather be than right here, wrapped up in his arms. Beard burn and all.

Taglist: @whositmcwhatsit @ellie-24 @arrolyn1114 @missmaywemeetagain @be-my-ally @vintageshanny @prompted-wordsmith @precious-little-scoundrel @peskybedtime @lookingforrainbows @austinbutlersgirl67@lala1267 @thatbanditqueen @dontcrydaddy @lovingdilfs @elvispresleygf @plasticfantasticl0ver @ab4eva @presleysweetheart @chasingwildflowers @elvispresleywife @uh-all-shook-up @xxquinnxx @edgeofrealitys-blog@velvetprvsley @woundmetender @avengen @richardslady121 @presleyhearted @kendralavon7 @18lkpeters@lookingforrainbows @elvisalltheway101 @sissylittlefeather @eliseinmemphis@tacozebra051 @thetaoofzoe @peskybedtime @shakerattlescroll @crash-and-cure @ccab @i-r-i-n-a-a @devilsflowerr@dirtyelvisfant4sy @elvislittleone @foreverdolly @getyourpresleyfix@gayforelvis @headfullofpresley @h0unds-of-h3ll @hipshakingkingcreole @p0lksaladannie @doll-elvis @tacozebra051 @richardslady121 @jaqueline19997 @myradiaz@livelaughelvis @deke-rivers-1957 @atleastpleasetelephone

#elvis smut #charro #elvis presley #elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis fans #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley fic #elvis fic #elvis x oc #elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader

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crepesuzette2023 · 3 months

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Your top 5 favorite Mclennon quotes?

Hi Anon, thank you for asking! The following aren't quotes I'd construct into any kind of 'proof' (whether I'm into this or not is another set of footnotes, which I'll spare you), but quotes that illustrate that John and Paul's relationship was fascinating and intense, and puzzling to themselves and others (incl. yours truly). 1.) “Meeting Paul was just like two people meeting. Not falling in love or anything. Just us. It went on. It worked.” — John Lennon - The Beatles by Hunter Davies

2.) “Lennon had attitude, and, taking his lead from Lennon, McCartney could be similar. At times, they reminded me of those well-to-do Chicago lads Leopold and Loeb, who killed someone because they felt superior to him. Lennon and McCartney were ‘superior human beings’.” — Bob Wooler in Mark Lewisohn’s Tune In

3.) “John and Paul paired off - only to find themselves stuck together for life. For John, Paul was the boy who came to stay; for Paul, John was the song he couldn’t make better” — Rob Sheffield, Dreaming The Beatles

4.) TELL ME WHO HE IS. Early song by Paul McCartney, included in The Lyrics (2021). Written in the late 50’s/early 60’s, according to the caption. (photo of journal page)

Tell me who he is Tell me that you’re mine not his He says he loves you more than I do Tell me who he is

Tell him where to go Tell him that I love you so He couldn’t love you more than I do Tell me who he is

5.) John Lennon's word association list from 1976 New York: great Elvis: fat Ringo: friend Yoko: love Howard Cosell: hum George: lost Bootlegs: good Elton: nice Paul: extraordinary Bowie: thin MBE: shit John: great

BONUS TRACK: “I had signs that the group was gonna break up, because… I mean, I think really what it was, really all that happened was that John fell in love. With Yoko. And so, with such a powerful alliance like that, it was difficult for him to still be seeing me. It was as if I was another girlfriend, almost. Our relationship was a strong relationship. And if he was to start a new relationship, he had to put this other one away."— Paul McCartney (1985), link to interview here

PLAY IT BACKWARDS: "LONDON (AP) — John Lennon wrote vitriolic comments about fellow-Beatle Paul McCartney in a picture biography of the famed pop group, providing new evidence of the tensions between them, the Observer newspaper said Sunday. [...]

"Lennon marked almost every one of the 76 pages with corrections and comments, including one that the Observer took as an indication the group already was experimenting with drugs in the 1960s. [...]

"In an entry noting McCartney’s marriage to Linda Eastman, Lennon crossed out “wedding” and wrote “funeral”, the Observer said. [...]

"But in a final tender moment, the Observer said, Lennon wrote under a photo of himself with McCartney: “The minutes are crumbling away.” (full article.)

#mclennon #John Lennon #Paul McCartney #asks

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hooked-on-elvis · 6 days

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If you could watch Elvis performing only one song many times in different concerts, which song would that be?

Let's try to choose songs that he played over a long period of time, which would be songs from the 50s that Elvis kept in his setlist in the late 60s and throughout the 70s.

Mine is "Trying to Get You" (at least if that wish were given to me at the present moment).

Elvis recorded this song at Sun Records on July 11, 1955 and over the years he soulfully sang the tune. After the 7-year break from live performances during the Hollywood era, Elvis would revive the song onstage, starting from the '68 Comeback Special. "Trying to Get You" was also a part of his 70s concerts setlists, being one of the songs featured in Elvis's last TV Special "Elvis In Concert" as part of the live shows recorded for it on June 1977.

youtube

From the live album "Elvis In Concert" recorded during concerts in Omaha, Nebraska (June 19, 1977) and Rapid City, South Dakota (June 21), as part of Elvis' last TV special with the same title as the album, both posthumously released in October 3, 1977.

Elvis performing this song always leaves me, like... breathless. I would love to be in the audience each time he performed it live. ✨

#elvis presley #elvis music #trying to get you #sun records #1955 #elvis in concert #1977 #elvis fandom #elvis fans #elvis the king #Spotify #Youtube

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sissylittlefeather · 8 months

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Introducing...

A Very Quiet Life

A/N: this is an AU in which Elvis is your next door neighbor in the suburbs in the mid-late '60s. I have three parts completed and more in the works, so hang on for some chapters!

I hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: The reader is a widow. That's about it. It's pretty fluffy, but don't worry. The smut is coming 😈

Song inspo:

Gif inspo (this is how I picture him in this one)

The little house is perfect for your family of 3. You stand and look at it from where you've just gotten out of your car. The white siding and blue shutters are exactly what you wanted. You'll have to get a lawnmower, though, because the yard is already a little wild.

"Mama, can we get out and see?" Your 7-year-old daughter, Jane, calls from her place on the backseat. Your 5-year-old son, Michael, is knocking on the window. The sound of the kids pulls you out of your daydream about how many wonderful memories you'll make there together. You turn around and let them both out of the car. They run up to the front door and you decide to unload the car later. The movers have already gotten all the furniture and big boxes into the house. When you open the front door, you have a soft pang in your heart as you think of how your husband had carried you across the threshold at your old apartment. Now that he's gone, you'll have to carry yourself. You walk in and go to the kitchen to start unpacking. You're excited to make this into a home. This little house is your pride and joy. Between your husband's army death benefits and your part time job typing in an office, you were finally able to save up for the house. Now it's yours and you can't wait to live here and have a real future. Since your husband died, you feel like you've been in a holding pattern. However, it's been almost 4 years, and you're ready to live again.

As you unpack glasses into the cabinet, something catches your eye out the window over the sink. The window looks into your neighbor's front yard. It's beautifully manicured and you can see why. There's a man out there cutting the grass. A very attractive man, you think to yourself. His dark hair is wet with sweat and his white t-shirt sticks to his broad chest, revealing a manly and strong physique. When he pushes the mower, his muscles flex and the veins in his forearm are visible. His skin is tanned from working outside, probably on the lawn. You don't even notice you're biting your lower lip until he looks up in the direction of your window. You gasp and drop the glass you were holding in the sink.

Can he see you?

Thankfully, the glass doesn't break and you're able to pick it up quickly and go back to what you were doing. When you take a chance and look back out the window, you see that he's shaking his head and smiling, looking down at the mower. His smile almost takes your breath away. You wonder if he's smiling because he saw you or because of something else. Deciding it must be something else, you turn and go back to unpacking boxes in the kitchen. Your neighbor is a lucky woman.

******

You smooth Michael's hair and brush some crumbs off of his front. Then, you straighten Jane's hair ribbon.

"Now, remember to smile. We want our neighbors to like us." You coo to the children just before you knock on the front door of your neighbor's house. You've been in your new home for three days, so it seems like the right time to get to know the people around you. On your right is Mrs. Pottsboro, an older lady with several cats. She was very kind and appreciative of the cookies you brought. She also volunteered to watch the children if you need her to, which is an offer you won't forget. Directly across the street are the Walters, a family of five with kids around the same ages as yours. You enjoyed a nice conversation with them while the kids munched on cookies and ran around the yard. Now, you are at the house to your left. As you knock, you briefly remember the man you saw mowing the lawn. You've seen him a couple of times since then, getting the paper and watering the grass. You really need to meet his wife and put a stop to the things you've been thinking about him.

The door opens and it feels like a ton of bricks has landed in your stomach. It's him. After a few seconds of standing there smiling like an idiot, him trying to suppress a smirk, you clear your throat and speak.

"Hi! I'm y/f/n y/l/n and this is Jane and Michael." You touch the kids on their heads as you say their names. "We just moved in next door, so we wanted to stop by and say hello and give you these." You hold out a plate of chocolate chip cookies.

"Thank you. Why don't you all come on in?" His voice is warm and the southern accent makes it sound honey-smooth. You start to sweat a little, standing on the porch. He takes the plate of cookies and gestures for you all to come in. When you pass him, you catch a wave of his scent and it's warm and masculine, like his body seems to be. A part of you longs to smell it closer, but then reality slams into you like a freight train when his wife rounds the corner.

"Oh, hello!" She's petite and blonde, with her hair twisted into a tight bun.

"Beth, our new neighbors are here. They brought us cookies." He smiles warmly at you and holds the cookies up for her to see.

"That's so sweet! Unfortunately, we don't eat sugar." She grabs the plate and tries to hand it back to you. He intercepts it.

"She doesn't eat sugar. I do." She makes a tight-lipped smile, her eyes overly bright.

"Right. Well, thank you." She walks out of the room, leaving you and your kids with him. He bends down to be face-level with your kids.

"You guys want to help me eat these?" They both smile and nod their heads, taking a cookie from the plate that he holds out to them. He seems to be enlivened by their presence, asking them questions about the new house and their new school. They respond to him easily, comfortable with him instantly.

"Does your daddy like the new house?" He asks innocently, looking up at you.

"Oh--" you try to cut in, but Jane beats you to it.

"--our daddy is gone. He died a while back. It's just us now." His face changes to a look of deep sympathy.

"I'm so sorry to hear that, Jane." He looks up at you but keeps talking like he's talking to her. "If you or your mama ever need a man to do anything around the house, you just let me know. I'm right next door." Michael jumps in.

"Mister, I'm the man of the house now. I can take care of mama and Jane."

"Of course!" He smiles. "I bet you do a great job, too. If you ever need a bigger man, you come get me, okay?" He does a little fake punch on Michael's chin. Michael nods in agreement.

"Yes sir, Mr...?"

"Presley. Elvis Presley. Pleased to meet you." He shakes Michael's hand and kisses Jane's lightly. You have to shake yourself a bit to remember that you should leave.

"Alright, kiddos, we've bothered Mr. Presley long enough. Let's go back home." You try to usher the kids toward the door. As you walk out, he turns to you.

"It's really no problem at all, ma'am. I like kids. And I'm serious, if you need anything, let me know." He winks and you almost melt into a puddle on his front porch.

"Thank you, Mr. Presley."

"Elvis, please."

"Thank you, Elvis." It feels strange to call him by his first name, but since he insists, you oblige. He closes the door behind you and you take the hands of both kids and walk back to your own house.

******

You're doing dishes a few days later, looking out at your crazy yard compared to your neighbors' perfect one. For a second, you consider asking Mr. Presley to come mow it for you. But you don't want to inconvenience him. He was so kind to you and the children when you were there. His wife wasn't much to smile at, being almost cold in her refusal to talk to them. To be honest, you've thought of inviting him over several times. You've even considered breaking something just to have him come fix it, but you also know how bizarre and wrong that would be. You finish the dishes, get the kids ready for school and head to your job at the office.

******

After work, you drive up to the house, excited for the hour of free time you have before you have to pick up the kids. To your surprise, most of the yard is mowed. You're trying to figure out how that happened when you spot him. It's Elvis. He's out there mowing your yard without even being asked. As you walk up to the door, he turns and waves to you. You mouth "thank you" and walk inside the front door. You need to do something to show him that you're thankful for what he's doing. In the kitchen, you whip up some sweet tea and pour two glasses. By the time you get them on a tray and to the front porch, he's finished mowing the lawn. He's sweating again, T-shirt tight on his shoulders.

"Would you like some tea?" You ask shyly.

"I would, ma'am, thank you." He walks up on the porch and takes the glass from the tray.

"You don't have to call me ma'am. You can call me y/n."

"Oh, well, thank you y/n." He smiles and you feel yourself tense up. He's standing close enough to you that you catch the earthy smell of his sweat mixed with deodorant or aftershave or something manly. It's intoxicating. He's intoxicating. He takes a deep swig of his tea and then looks at you.

"Do you mind if I use your bathroom?" It seems like a strange request, since his house is so close, but you don't seem to be capable of telling him no. You lead him into the house to the small guest bath. When he comes out, he walks over to where you're standing in the kitchen, trying not to be too obvious about waiting for him.

"You didn't have to do that." You gesture to the yard.

"I know. But I wanted to. I was serious about you letting me know if you need any help." He smiles warmly.

"Kids still at school?" He looks around the house, seeming almost disappointed that they aren't there.

"Yes. I'll pick them up soon. I just come home a bit early to have an hour of quiet before I go get them." He nods and you suddenly realize that you're alone with him in your house. Your mind goes wild with daydreams of him laying you down on the couch and having his way with you.

"Well, thank you for the tea. I should be getting back." You nod and head for the door.

Before you can get there though, you feel a hand on your wrist. You look up into his face for half a second before he presses his lips against yours. You should pull away. You should stop him. But you don't. Instead you go limp and let him wrap his arms around your waist. The kiss is a sweet one, with no tongue or anything. He just holds you there with his mouth pushed into yours. When he finally pulls back, you feel like a rag doll in his arms. You desperately want him to keep kissing you, but he doesn't. Instead, he unravels his arms from around you and heads for the door. He mumbles a quick apology and disappears before you can say anything else.

You haven't felt this alive in years.

******

Chapter 2 coming soon!

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Taglist: @itlover8000 @deniseinmn @elvisalltheway101

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