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lustnhim · 6 months ago

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‘birthday boy’ — elvis x reader fluff

note: fluff / warnings: none really, could come across as a little sad though. / summary: taking care of elvis the way he deserves on his birthday.

January 8th 1977.

Forty-two. 42. Fordy too. Over and over in his head like a broken record. Elvis knew it was creeping up on him, age usually did creep up on people- but it was never a surprise to him. Each passing year, each candle added on to the cake, the loneliness was inevitable. Elvis sat morose in an armchair, his eyes heavy with the weight of the years and the burdens they carried. As his friends and confidants milled about, their laughter and chatter filling the rooms of Graceland, Elvis felt alone. It was as if he was observing his own life through a frosted pane of glass, the world on the other side vibrant and alive, while he remained suspended in a grey haze of melancholy. The Memphis Mafia had planned a huge surprise party, decorating the house and baking the biggest cake he’d ever seen in his life– but that’s not what Elvis wanted. Elvis wanted someone to be there. To really be there.

Sitting in a haze of his own thoughts, cigar smoke pooling out of his mouth as people walked in and out of the room all coming up to him, wishing him a happy birthday, hanging around for a bit then heading back to the party that was supposed to be for him. Taking a deep inhale of his cigar Elvis let his head fall back, pushing the smoke up into the air before soft footsteps in front of him caused him to jerk forward. In front of him stood a girl, maybe in her twenties, he couldn’t quite tell, in a blue dress with a small wrapped gift in her hands. He hadn’t seen her around before, probably one of the boys' daughters or somethin. “Well hello there honey…You alright?” Elvis asked, and the girl stood there for a minute, as if awe-struck. Elvis watched as she stared at him for a minute before clearing her throat nervously. “I-I have something for you.” She said, her arms extending to present the box to him, wrapped in silver paper with a pink bow. Elvis looked at the box then back at her, uncrossing his legs and dishing the ashes of his cigar into the ashtray, letting it rest there. “Did ya now..? Well thank you very much, darlin.” Elvis said, taking the box from the girl's hands, noting how they were shaking. The girl stood there for a minute, and Elvis smiled at her, there was something about her…she felt…new. Elvis looked at the tag on the box, written in pen was, ‘Happy Birthday, Elvis. Love, me.’ Elvis couldn’t help but laugh a bit. “Love, me? I know that ain’t your name.” He said and the girl smiled, “I-It’s not…” She replied, taking her hands and holding them behind her back. “Well what is it?” Elvis asked and the girl shook her head, like her name was the biggest secret in this world. “Just open your present.” She said and Elvis cleared his throat, pulling the bow off gently and sitting it down on his knee. As Elvis tore away the shimmering silver paper, he revealed a small, carved wooden box. The craftsmanship was exquisite, the grain of the wood gleaming beneath his fingertips as he ran them over the smooth surface. Inside the box, nestled on a bed of pink velvet, was a delicate gold locket. It was a simple piece, but there was something about it that caught Elvis' eye - maybe it was the way it seemed to catch the light or perhaps the initials engraved upon its surface. The initials 'E' and 'P', intertwined in an elegant script. Elvis had just about everything embroidered– but this…it was different. “Let’s go downstairs. To the Jungle Room. Just me an’ you.” Elvis says he feels like he’s being too bold, but his intentions are nothing more than wholesome. He just wants to be with her alone.

Elvis picked up the locket, feeling the cool metal against his skin as he held it in his palm. He looked up at the girl, his eyes meeting hers, and in that moment, he saw a reflection of his younger self staring back at him. The same heart, the same unbridled passion and love for life that had once consumed him. "I have a note," the girl said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. She handed him a small piece of folded paper, the edges wear and tear from what he could only assume was it being held close to her heart. Opening the note Elvis smiled at her handwriting, it was very loopy, very girly. The note was short and sweet, three simple words.

‘I love you.’

Elvis read the words, his heart skipping a beat. He had heard those words, read them, said them a million times, but this. This felt different. In that moment, the grey haze of melancholy that had been weighing on him lifted slightly, replaced by a faint warmth that blossomed in his chest. He looked up at the girl, really looked at her, taking in the way her blue dress looked on her, the way her eyes shined with sincerity, the way her hair fell, how she stood, her presence. Almost angelic. He sits the locket back down into the box and sits it beside the pink bow on the table, the note still in his hand. “Here, come sit on my knee.” Elvis says, and the girl hesitates, looking around the room, not like she’s looking for someone, but like she’s pressed for time. “Okay…” She says simply, moving over and sitting on his knee, her body is tense and Elvis' body is too. Her legs are between his, she looks down at the ground, still shaking. “Why are ya so nervous, honey? It’s just me.” Elvis says gently, his hand reaching to touch hers and when it does she lets out a soft gasp. “That’s just it. It’s you…it’s really you.” She says with a soft smile on her face. Elvis is confused but he doesn’t press further. She’s obviously a fan, maybe that’s it. “I ain’t nothin’ special darlin’ not anymore.” Elvis says, his fingers intertwining with hers. Her hand feels so small, so delicate in his. “You’re so special. Even now.” She says and clicks her tongue, like she slipped up. “I wish you could see what's gonna happen..” She continues and Elvis clears his throat. “What do you mean, honey?” He asks, “I can’t say.” And that was it. Elvis wasn’t going to press any further, just like he didn’t before.

“Where did you get that locket?” Elvis asks, and the girl blushes deeply at Elvis's question, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her dress. She looks up at him from beneath long, dark lashes, her eyes wide and uncertain. "I... I had it made," she confesses softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "For you. For your birthday." Elvis raises an eyebrow, flattered. "All fa’ me?" He picks up the locket, turning it over in his large hands, examining the intricate engraving. "It’s beautiful honey. The best thing I've been given in a long time." The girl smiles shyly at his compliment, a pretty blush coloring her cheeks. "Thank you. I wanted to give you something... special. Before I have to go." She says quietly. "Well I hope you ain’t leavin’ anytime soon." Elvis says warmly, his thumb brushing over the initials etched into the gold. He looks at the girl, really looks at her, trying to discern the enigma wrapped in blue. "I’m enjoyin’ your company an awful lot.” The girl's breath catches, a soft gasp escaping her lips. She looks away, suddenly self-conscious. "I just wanted to show you... that you're still special to people. No matter what they say about you." Elvis feels a strange tightening in his chest, an unfamiliar but welcome warmth spreading through him. He squeezes the girl's hand gently, "You shouldn't be spendin’ your time with an old man.” he murmurs, clearing his throat, sitting the locket back. “You’re a pretty girl. I’m sure you could be pourin’ your love into someone better.” The girl's eyes widen at Elvis's words, a flash of something intense and almost painful crossing her face before she lowers her gaze. "No," she whispers fiercely, her small hand tightening around his, "No one could ever be better than you, Elvis. No one."

She takes a shuddering breath before continuing, her voice low and intense. "You don't understand. I've... I've waited so long for this moment. Dreamed about it. And now..." She shakes her head, curls tumbling around her face. "I can't let it go. I won't let it go.” The girl leans in closer, her face mere inches from Elvis's. He can feel her warm breath feathering against his skin, smell the sweet scent of her perfume. "I love you," she breathes, her eyes blazing into his with an almost desperate intensity. "I love you in a way you can't possibly imagine. And I'm not leaving until... until I've shown you how much." Elvis feels a shiver run down his spine at the raw, unbridled emotion in her voice. It's been so long since someone has looked at him like this, with such naked, all-consuming devotion. He's used to the girls, to the fans who love the idea of him, the legend. But this girl... she's different. She sees him. He raises a hand to cup her face, his calloused fingers gently stroking her soft cheek. "Now honey," he murmurs, but there's no real conviction in his voice. "You don’t mean that." Despite his words, Elvis finds himself leaning in closer, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. He's tired of the hollow celebrations, the plastic smiles and empty toasts. This girl... she's the first genuine thing that's happened to him in years. He doesn’t want this party, this extravagance, all these people here- he just wants it to be him and this girl. “I absolutely mean it.” She says, her voice not wavering. Elvis smiles, it’s almost bittersweet in a way he can’t quite understand.

“I want everyone else to leave. I just want it to be me an’ you.” Elvis says, beginning to move. The girl gets up and watches as he walks out of the Living Room and into the kitchen. Elvis pushes his way through the crowd of people till he finds Red West. “Listen man, I ain’t feelin’ too good…you mind sendin’ all these folks out?” He asks, eager to get back to that girl. Red looked at Elvis with concern etched on his weathered face. He had known Elvis for years, had seen him through countless ups and downs, and he could tell that something was different this time. "You sure you want to do that, Elvis?" Red asked, his voice low and cautious. "I mean, this is your birthday party. All these folks are here to celebrate with you." Elvis sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I know, I know. But I just... I need some time. Alone. With her." Elvis's gaze drifted back to the girl in the blue dress, who was now standing alone by the fireplace, her eyes still fixed on him. Red followed Elvis's gaze, a hint of understanding dawning on his face. "Ah, I see," he said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Alright then. I'll take care of it." Red clapped Elvis on the shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "But don't be a stranger, ya hear? It ain't every day a guy turns forty-two." Elvis just nodded, already starting to make his way back to the living room. The crowd hurried out within minutes as he approached the girl, the chatter and laughter fading into a distant hum. As he drew near, the girl looked up at him, her eyes shining with a mix of hope and trepidation. Elvis held out his hand to her, his usual bravado replaced with a newfound vulnerability. "Come on," he said softly, "I want to show you somethin'."The girl placed her small hand in his, and Elvis felt a warmth spread through him at her touch. He led her out of the living room, past the grand staircase, and down the long hallway towards the Jungle Room. As they entered the opulent space, with its lush greenery and decadent decor, Elvis pulled the girl close to him. The doors swung shut behind them with a soft click, and suddenly it was just the two of them, alone amidst the tangle of tropical plants and plush furnishings. Elvis turned to face the girl, his hands resting gently on her waist. "I ain't never been much for crowds," he confessed, his voice low and intimate in the quiet of the room. "But I gotta say, I'm real happy you came." The girl looked up at him, her eyes wide and wondering. "I've been waiting for this moment for so long," she whispered, her hands coming up to rest on his chest. "I didn't think... I mean, I never imagined..."Imagined what, angel?" Elvis murmured, his head lowering so that his forehead rested against hers. "Tell me." The girl took a shuddering breath, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "I imagined this. Us. Alone.” Elvis shakes his head, “You act like you weren’t gonna see me in my own home.” He teases, but the girl just nods.

Elvis gazed down at the girl, his heart swelling with a warmth he hadn't felt in years. Her presence, her words, her touch... it was all so real, so genuine. He could feel the love radiating off her in waves, washing over him like a soothing balm. Elvis knew he should be wary, should guard his heart like the precious treasure it was. But there was something about this girl, something that made him want to let go, to surrender to the feeling blossoming in his chest. As if reading his thoughts, the girl reached up and gently cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing over the weathered skin. "You're thinking too much," she murmured softly, a gentle admonishment. "Just for once, Elvis... don't think. Feel." Slowly, giving her every opportunity to pull away or object, Elvis leaned in closer. He could feel her warm breath mingling with his own, could see the way her pulse fluttered wildly at the base of her throat. He paused for a moment, letting anticipation build, before closing the remaining distance and pressing his lips to hers. The girl made a soft noise deep in her throat, her hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer. Elvis let himself get lost in the sensation, in the warmth and softness of her mouth under his. He kissed her slowly, tenderly, trying to pour every ounce of emotion and longing into the single embrace. When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing harder, their eyes glazed with a newfound hunger. The girl leaned her forehead against his, a soft smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I love you," she whispered, the words tickling his skin. "All of you. The man you are now." Elvis felt tears prick his eyes. What was going on? He felt so…loved. So safe. So adored. He didn’t need the fans, the money, the fame…this was all he wanted. “I love you too, Angel. An’ I want you ta’ stay.” He says, and the girl takes a finger and wipes the tears from under his eyes.

“I’ll stay.”

She says, placing a soft kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Happy Birthday Elvis.”

first off, happy heavenly birthday elvis presley. words cannot even begin to express how much better my life has been since i have begun listening to and loving elvis. i wanted to post this at exactly midnight but i also posted on my other platforms 😓 i also want to thank you all for 500+ followers, i cannot believe i have been blessed with this community- i love you all so very much.

taglist: @hooked-on-elvis @atleastpleasetelephone @lola-1013 @indiatuck @eptodaytommorowforever @suspiciousmindsxo @tupelomiss @myradiaz @i-r-i-n-a-a @elvispresley1956 @sisssygirl @your-nanas-house @callieselvisobsessed @eapep @auntbee22 @elvisiana @ladelinee @jhoneybees @elviswhore69 @sissylittlefeather @dontfeedthebigbadwolf @louisejoy86 @cherrycolaride @sloppyzengarden @daughterdelrey @iloveelvisss @theelvisprincess @fairybloodsucker

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lustnhim · 6 months ago

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mwah 🤤

Brat

Pairing: 75!Elvis x bratty!reader

Word count: 2.4K

TWs: Smut, reader calls Elvis daddy and sir, reader is bratty, Elvis is dominant, spanking, begging, praise kink, possessive kink, copious amounts of cum(!), licking of said cum, panty stealing!Elvis.

A/N: I was looking at the photo below and started imagining what it would be like to wake up the morning after the night before and put that jacket on... kind of like a fancy version of putting on your boyf's hoody.

Waking up, you roll over and see the sleeping form of Elvis Presley lying next to you. Last night comes back in flashes, the show, the kisses, the after party… you groan and rub your eyes. Looking over at him again, long lashes tickling his cheeks, furry sideburns that tickled your skin some time early this morning… one pyjama’d arm outside of the comforter. You peek under your side of the bedding to confirm your suspicions - you’re completely naked.

Wondering idly where your clothes are, you watch him, chest rising and falling as he continues his peaceful slumber. You stay like that for a while, and then your curiosity gets the better of you. Pulling back the covers, you slide your legs off the bed and let your feet dig into the thick carpet beside it. Checking quickly that you haven’t disturbed him, you stand up and wander round to his side of the room, looking for your clothes. All you find is his jacket from last night, the one he was wearing onstage. A flash of a memory pops up, you trying to free him from the million and one layers he’d been wearing, getting somehow tangled and him laughing, eyes crinkled, belly heaving. Picking up the jacket, you’re surprised by how heavy it is. You sling it around your shoulders and put your arms through the sleeves. Checking your reflection in the mirror, you can’t help but admire the way the shoulders sparkle as you move. They’re so pretty. You do up the single button in the middle and then check the status of sleeping beauty in the bed again. He still hasn’t moved a muscle. You turn the door handle slowly and then pull the door towards you, poking your face through the gap.

The scene before you is messy and brings back another ghost of a memory of the night before; a blur of bodies, laughter and singing. Some of the bodies are still there, one asleep in an armchair and a couple lying on the floor. There are bottles and glasses strewn everywhere, as well as odd shoes and random items of clothing left behind by their owners. You squeeze through the doorway and then carefully close the door behind you as silently as you can. Padding through the rest of the suite looking at the detritus of the night before, you finally find what you’re looking for. Or, some of it. There’s your dress, and your bra. Your panties are nowhere to be seen. Neither are your hose, but thinking about them reminds you of Elvis between your legs, tearing them off with his teeth. That explains that, then. Picking the clothes up, you finish your little tour of the suite at the coffee machine, setting up a pot and waiting for it to brew. The noise makes a couple of people stir in their sleep, but none of them wake up. You grab a packet of cookies that you find under the counter along with a freshly poured coffee and take your spoils with you back to the bedroom. Slowly, quietly opening the door…

“Where’ve ya been?”

His voice is hoarse and he doesn’t sound pleased. A supposition on your part that’s confirmed by the look on his face, frowning, an exasperated hand running from brow to chin. Looking like he couldn’t believe you’d leave the room without permission.

“Tryna find my clothes,” you explain, slipping into the room and closing the door behind you.

His eyes skate over you in his jacket, and only his jacket, and the look makes your nipples harden with excitement.

“Ya find ‘em?”

You nod, making your way towards him. “Most of ‘em anyway.” Cocking your head to the side, you squint at him a little. “You seen my panties?”

“Well I can tell yer not wearin’ ‘em now.” An eyebrow raised in challenge.

“I would be,” you counter, tossing your dress and bra onto an armchair near your side of the bed. “If I knew where they were. Thought you mighta seen ‘em.”

You take a sip of coffee and watch his reaction.

“You accusin’ me of somethin’, little girl?”

“If the shoe fits.” You throw the pack of cookies at him. “Want a cookie?”

His mouth curls into a smile and he laughs a little. “Yer somethin’ else, ya know that?”

“Want a sip of coffee to go with? Or I could get ya your own?”

You move closer, almost within grabbing distance.

“An’ go out there again with no panties on?”

“Well, if I knew where they were…” head to one side now, one hand on your hip.

He shakes his head slowly. “C’mere. Put that down.”

One step nearer and now you’re definitely close enough to touch, setting your cup down on the side and smiling at him. He pulls the covers back, revealing his hard-on straining against the material of his pyjama bottoms. You bite your lip.

“C’mon.”

You don’t need telling twice, taking his hand to help you back on the bed and into his lap. His hands slide up your thighs and you can see him admiring the view between your legs. Not wanting to waste any time, you reach into his pants and pull his dick out, stroking it lovingly. His breathing gets heavier and he glances up at your face.

“Ya look good in my jacket.”

You smile, wickedly. “Want me to ride you in it?”

He nods eagerly, then moans as you shuffle forward a little, rubbing him against your pussy.

“Fuck, baby.”

Moaning a little too, you keep sliding his dick against you, covering it with your arousal.

“You like that?” You tease, knowing fine well he does.

“Mmm. Put it in, baby. Need ta feel ya.”

Your brain short-circuits to last night, his head between your legs, your fingers in his hair. He’d said it was too late, or he was too tired, or too drunk, or too old. But he’d made you cum again and again with his hands and his mouth.

You get onto your knees before sinking slowly down onto his length for the first time, gasping at the way he stretches you out. His eyes are squeezed shut as a breath puffs out through his full, pink lips.

“Shit.”

Roughened fingertips dig into your hips as you sit there, getting used to him. His eyes open slowly and he stares at you. You stare back.

“Your dick feels good.”

Elvis isn’t used to women being quite so vulgar, and his eyes go wide at the words.

“H-honey,” he stammers a little as you start to roll your hips. “No need fer that kinda language, i-is there?”

Nibbling your lower lip you try to hide your smile. “But Daddy, it feels good.”

You see the blush rising over his face at your words and the smile sneaks through against your will.

“S-stop it.”

“Stop what?” You’re wide-eyed, putting on the expression of an innocent girl who doesn’t know what she’s doing. “Stop moving, Daddy? That what you want?” Your hips still.

“That filthy language, little girl,” he chastises, trying to win back the upper hand. “Don’t wanna hear that coming outta that pretty lil mouth a yours.”

You remain still, tilting your head to the side, questioningly. “I only called ya Daddy.”

“Well I didn’t ask ya ta, did I?”

His fingers dig into your flesh again, and this time it hurts a little. You wonder what kind of game you’re playing now, but you can’t stop.

“You don’t like it?”

His jaw clenches and his eyes darken. “Move.”

“No.”

His tongue runs along his lower lip slowly, and then makes it way over his upper lip too. As if he’s contemplating what exactly to do with a girl who disobeys him.

“I’ll move ya then.”

His hands are big and strong, and they move you up and down on him with ease. You press your lips together firmly and try your best to look like you’re not enjoying yourself. He looks at you with interest, you can see him analysing your every move, each little look, how heavily you breathe. You feel like he knows you’re pretending, but you have to keep it up. Can’t let him think he’s won.

“Ya look so pretty,” he observes. “Gettin’ fucked on my dick.”

Your eyes go wide, almost involuntarily. You’re outraged, you can’t help it.

“You just told me off fer bein’ vulgar!”

He smirks, and you know he enjoyed getting that rise out of you.

“That’s my prerogative, honey,” he explains, a finger moving to flick the jacket button open, exposing your naked torso. “Like ma girls ta be polite.”

“Even when they’re gettin’ fucked on your dick?”

He slaps you hard on the side of the thigh. You squeal.

“What did I jus’ tell ya?”

“But yer not being fair!” You whine, your composure completely gone.

He smirks, saying nothing in response, which makes you even more mad. How can he be allowed to say whatever he wants, and you’re not allowed to cuss? Or talk about his dick? Or even call him Daddy? You find yourself making a bratty whining noise, huffing out the air in your cheeks and frowning moodily. It just makes him smirk all the more, still moving you up and down on him.

“Ya want me ta be yer Daddy, ya haveta do as yer told.”

You whine again and he slaps your ass this time.

“C’mon, little girl. Don’t make me spank ya til yer sore.”

The look on your face is still defiant and he recognises it immediately and shakes his head, clicking his tongue too. He lets go of your hips and you sit down on him with a bump. One arm wraps around you, pulling you tightly against him and making the jacket ride up a little.

“Yer gonna do as yer told, baby,” he purrs into your ear, as his other hand moves back just enough to deliver a hard slap to your ass cheek.

You try not to react, but with your body pressed against him like this he can feel everything. Your breathing changes, you make involuntary little noises as he keeps spanking you, your pussy grips him like a vice. You grit your teeth as he keeps going, hard slow slaps and then three or four fast ones in a row. Eventually you can’t keep it together any longer and you groan into his neck.

“Please stop… please.”

You hear his low chuckle in your ear. “Ya gonna be a good girl f’me?”

“Yes. I promise.”

His lips drag up your neck, giving you goosebumps.

“No more cussin’?”

“N-no more cussin’.”

You feel his lips curling into a smile against your skin and you want to be annoyed that you’ve lost, but there’s something about him putting you in your place when you’re being a brat that’s making you embarrassingly wet right now.

“No callin’ me Daddy ‘less I tell ya ta?”

“No… I promise… I’m sorry,” you breathe.

“Oh. Good girl,” he coos back.

You feel yourself melt. This back and forth between you is electric, you’ve never felt a spark like it. You want to be good for him. More than that, you want to be naughty and for him to make you be good for him. He lets you go and you start to move up and down on him, bouncing on his dick, your hands on his shoulders for balance. The look on his face is one of pure satisfaction; knowing he’s successfully broken a bratty little girl and made her his.

“Ya gonna make Daddy cum?”

You nod quickly. You do want to make him cum.

“Yes,” you whisper.

He grunts with pleasure, and you feel his hips buck into you erratically now. You moan too, it feels so good and you don’t care that you can’t cum like this. All you want is to please him. Without warning, he picks you up and plonks you back down on his legs, telling you to finish him with your hand. You do, and it’s seconds before you and the jacket are covered in him. The noise he makes when he finishes is so sexy you immediately want to find out what to do to make him hard again.

He looks up at you through hooded eyes. “Made a mess a my jacket, honey.”

You nod.

“Why don’tcha lick it clean?”

There’s still a hotness between your legs and that desperate urge to please him, so you do as he says, licking your sleeve and lapel and then running your finger over your belly, collecting the semen there and sucking it off again. When you’re done with yourself you get off him, lying to one side and licking his belly clean too. His hand goes to your face.

“That’s enough, pretty girl.”

He slides down beside you in the bed and kisses you deeply. Pushing the jacket off your shoulders he pulls you in close, tangling your legs together. When you eventually both draw breath, his forehead presses against yours and you look into his beautiful blue eyes.

“Thank you,” comes out of your mouth before you can think about it.

He grins. “Ya were good fer me in the end.”

“Good enough to… call ya somethin’?” You venture.

“Maybe,” he teases. “Still wanna know what happened ta yer panties?”

You’d forgotten all about the panties, but you are interested so you nod, watching him reach into one of his pockets and pull out a black lacey pair that you recognise. He waves them in front of your face and grins.

“You kept them!” You can’t help squealing.

He smirks. “Sure did. Somethin’ ta remember ya by.”

“Am I leavin’?” You ask, trying not to let your voice wobble.

“Not unless ya want ta.”

You shake your head. “No sir. I wanna stay here and please you.”

He drops the panties onto the bed and grabs your face with his hand. You can hear the satisfaction in his tone. “I think sir is a very good place ta start with that, baby. You please me enough an’ imma let ya call me daddy.”

“Yessir.” You tingle all over with excitement.

He moans at the honorific and starts to kiss you again. This promises to be a very fun day indeed…

***

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#elvis presley #elvis fanfiction

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