sloppiest-of-jos

[sloppiest-of-jos]

Unorthodox Treatment

tags/warnings: doctor/patient dynamics, dubiously ethical, mild overstimulation, sobbing, fingering, oral sex (f! receiving)

Under the cut for the usual reasons

You'd only come in for a routine checkup.

Dr. Carpenter smiled that easy, slow grin, his voice molasses-thick with a Southern drawl as he asked you to sit back. "Now, sugar, jus' relax for me. Gonna take good care of you."

The paper crinkled under your bare thighs, heart racing beneath your hospital gown. His touch was professional—at first. But then his fingers lingered, trailing up your inner thigh, the room heavy with something unspoken. You should’ve said something. Should’ve stopped him, instead, your breath hitched as he gently pushed your knees apart. "You been holdin' tension, darlin'. Lemme help you out," he murmured.

And now—your legs were over his broad shoulders, his hands gripping your hips like he owned them. His mouth, hot and devastating, moved with deliberate care between your thighs, tongue tracing circles that made you gasp and arch. “Sweet thing,” he murmured against your skin, “Ya taste like sin.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, hips rocking with abandon. Whatever appointment you'd come for was long forgotten. All that mattered was John—his lips, his voice, his unrelenting devotion to your pleasure.

John's mouth never left you, his movements slow and deliberate, savoring every inch of you. His hands held you in place, fingers digging into your skin as he kissed and licked you like you were the only thing that mattered. "Such a good girl fer me," he whispered, his voice rough and full of admiration. "Look at ya, so sweet, so perfect."

You moaned in response, your body arching involuntarily, pushing yourself closer to him, desperate for more. His hands gripped your hips tighter, guiding you just the way he wanted, never letting you move too far away. "You’re gonna make me lose my mind, darlin'," he growled, his lips finding the sensitive spot just above your clit, sucking it gently. "So damn perfect, never been anyone like you."

Each word he spoke only heightened your need, your senses on fire. He was everywhere, his hands, his mouth, his praise filling you up, making you feel cherished and wanted in ways you hadn't even known you needed. "Such a good little thing, takin' me like this," he murmured between flicks of his tongue, his voice dripping with admiration. "You’re so damn beautiful, sugar, I can't get enough of you."

The pleasure was overwhelming, building in waves that crashed over you relentlessly. Your fingers dug into the edge of the exam table, your body trembling beneath John's touch as he continued to work his mouth over you with an intensity that had your breath coming in shaky bursts.

Tears welled up in your eyes, the sensation so intense it brought a tight ache to your chest. You felt vulnerable, exposed, but in the most beautiful, liberating way. Your body betrayed you, your hips moving involuntarily as you gasped for air.

"Oh God, John... please," you sobbed, your voice hitching, every word thick with desperation. "Feels... feels so good..."

John's pace didn’t falter. His hands held you steady, while he thrusted his tongue in your pussy, stuffing it before pulling back. "That's it, sugar," he muttered, the words low and husky, like they were meant only for you. "Cry for me. Let it all out. Y'deserve this. Deserve every bit of it."

The praise, the way he spoke to you with such reverence, made your chest tighten. Your body quivered, the sobs escaping in a jumbled mess of broken words, "So good, John... So good... can't... can't stop... please, don’t stop..."

John’s mouth moved faster. Before you could fully process what was happening, you felt the sudden pressure of John's fingers slipping inside you, filling you in the most unexpected and delicious way. Your breath caught in your throat as he moved slowly at first, testing, stretching you.

A gasp tore from your lips, the sensation overwhelming. You were already so close, the tight coil inside you ready to snap. With a soft grunt of approval, John moved faster, his fingers expertly working you, his cock was straining against his pants, but he ignored it and instead focused on you.

And then, without warning, the pressure broke—your body trembling violently as you squirted, the release shaking you to your core, John’s mouth never you, his breath hot against your trembling folds as his fingers kept working you with rhythmic precision.

He could feel the way your body reacted to him, how tight and sensitive you were, and it made his pulse race with pride. “That’s it, sugar,” he murmured, his voice low and comforting, laced with that unmistakable Southern drawl. “Let go fer me, darlin’. I got ya. Just feel it. You’re doin’ so good, so damn good.”

His words only added to the fire building inside you, coaxing your body to give in to the pleasure. He licked a long, slow stripe along your clit, his tongue teasing and savoring every inch of you. “Feel that, baby? You’re wetter than I ever imagined. Yer makin’ me lose my damn mind.” His fingers curled deeper inside you, brushing that sweet spot that had you gasping. “Such a good girl, takin’ me so well. Gonna make you come all over my face, ain't ya?”

Your body jerked in response, and the coil inside you tightened further. The pressure was almost unbearable, but John’s voice—so steady, so soothing—kept you grounded, making the pleasure feel like something you could surrender to completely. “Come on, sugar,” he urged. “Let it happen. Let go for me.”

You were a mess, body trembling, overstimulated, and utterly overwhelmed by everything John was doing to you. His fingers never stopped, curling inside you, finding every soft, sensitive spot with maddening precision. His mouth was relentless, his tongue flicking over you in a way that sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, and you couldn’t think straight.

You were drowning in sensations, each movement building on the last until you felt like you might explode.Your breath was shallow, your chest rising and falling erratically as you tried to form words, but it all came out as incoherent babbling. "John, I—oh God—can't... too much... please..." You couldn’t keep track of what was happening, lost in a haze of pleasure and need.

"That’s it, darlin',” John cooed, his voice low and soothing. "You’re doin’ so damn good. Just a little more, sugar. You can take it. You’re a strong girl, aren’t ya?"

You couldn’t answer him, too far gone to form anything resembling a coherent thought. Your hips bucked involuntarily, grinding against his mouth as the overstimulation started to set in, the intensity too much to handle but not enough to pull away. You were a mess, all soft gasps and whimpers, completely dumb in the face of everything he was doing to you,

By some point soon, you were already teetering on the edge, your entire body trembling under the force of it all, each touch from John pushing you further into the abyss. Your mind was a blur, unable to hold onto anything but the overwhelming pressure building deep inside you.

His fingers continued their relentless rhythm, curling inside you, coaxing that tight coil to snap. His tongue flicked over you in perfect time, driving you wild, and all you could do was gasp, moan, and beg for more. "C'mon, sugar," John encouraged, his voice low and steady, a promise. "Let go fa me. I can feel it, baby. I know y' close."

You barely registered the words, the only thing you knew was that you couldn’t hold on any longer. The pressure in your lower belly became unbearable, a storm waiting to explode. With a loud, desperate cry, your body bucked, muscles tightening, every nerve in your body sparking with intensity. "John!" you gasped, your body arching off the table as the wave of pleasure crashed over you.

You came hard, your release spilling out in waves down your pink folds, your body shaking violently in his grip. John’s mouth never stopped, continuing to savor you as you came down from the high, your breath ragged, heart pounding in your chest. “Such a good girl,” he murmured against your skin, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh as his hands held you while you trembled, making sure you felt every second of it.

Slowly, John pulled away, allowing his fingers to tenderly trace along your inner thighs before he carefully helped you sit up on the examination table, large hands steadying you as you still felt like your legs could barely hold you. You were still shaky, every nerve still buzzing with the aftereffects of your orgasm, but he was there—strong and sure, his voice soft but commanding.

“Alright now, darlin’, let’s get you up,” he murmured, his drawl comforting as he slid one arm around your waist, guiding you to your feet. The cool air of the clinic hit your skin, a sharp contrast to the heat still swirling inside you.

But you didn’t want to leave him. Not yet. You looked up at him, eyes hazy, and your breath still shallow, and the words spilled out before you could stop them. “I… I want to stay with you.”

John’s gaze softened, a slow, satisfied grin tugging at his lips. “You wanna stay with me, huh?” he asked, lifting you effortlessly into his arms, making you feel small and safe against his chest. “Well, darlin’, I sure wouldn’t mind that.”

Thankfully, his apartment was just upstairs. He carried you without hesitation, his muscles shifting beneath you as he moved up the narrow stairwell, the clinic empty for the night.

Once inside, he gently set you down on the bed, laying down beside you and keeping you close."Get comfortable, sugar," he whispered, his hand resting on your thigh, tracing slow circles. "You're gonna be just fine here with me."

You let out a small, tired hum and rubbing your cheek against his chest, "M'so tired..." you murmured lazily, John gave a small chuckle and pressed his lips to your forehead.

"Rest now, sugar, jus' rest..."

[sloppiest-of-jos]

Other Side of The Moon

Word Count: 5,4K

Synopsis: A midnight visit to Elvis's grave doesn't end how you expected it to—instead of being caught trespassing, you're thrown back in time. His time.

Warning(s): Time travel AU, trespassing on Graceland grounds, mention of Elvis's death, mentions of pills, arguing, somewhat strong language, angsty, smut; unprotected sex.

A/N: I wanted to write a little something for Elvis's 90th, but I wanted it to be something different than my usual stuff—so why not a lil' time traveling? It's not super birthday-ish, but oh well. I never dabbled in this genre although I love reading about it, but here y'all go! Don't be afraid to leave a comment! 🖤

You can find my masterlist here.

The air is cold, sharper than it had been earlier in the day. It had been a bitter January, but that hadn’t stopped you. Not tonight. January 8, 2025—the day the world still remembers Elvis Presley’s birthday. This one feels more special to you—if he would have still been alive, he would’ve been 90. It’s a miracle if people make it to that age nowadays and with Elvis’s genes, you don’t think he would’ve made it to that age. But it’s still special. For you, it’s more than a date on the calendar. You’d idolized him for years, pouring over every song, every snippet of footage, every book written by people that had been in his life. 

You’re most likely the biggest Elvis defender your friends and family have ever seen. You respect him and everything that belongs to him—including Graceland. So, you’re very aware of how wrong it is what you’re currently doing, sneaking nervous glances left and right as you wander outside the gates at 3 AM.

You’re surprised there’s no one else, seeing it’s officially his birthday. But then again, it’s 3 in the freaking morning.

The street is silent except for the occasional hum of passing cars. You’re trespassing; you know that much. You’re not this kind of person, but the pull to visit Elvis’s grave, undisturbed by crowds or tourists, is irresistible. This will be just a one-time thing. Go in and go out.

With one last look over your shoulder, you hoist yourself up and over the wall, landing on the other side with a muffled thud, your hands catching your fall which makes you shiver because the ground is covered in snow.

Graceland looms in front of you like a timeless sentinel, the mansion bathing in faint moonlight. Your heart skips a beat, pulling your coat tighter around yourself as you pad across the grounds. The Meditation Garden isn’t far, and you find yourself standing in front of Elvis’s grave within a minute or so.

“Happy birthday, Elvis,” you kneel, fingers tracing the engraved name, wiping some snow off the stone. A lump forms in your throat and you sit back on your knees after you put the small bouquet of roses by his grave, not caring about the cold. “I miss you. Everyone does…”

To some, you might look like an absolute fool, but you’re the only one here. Right now, you’re talking to Elvis because you’re positive he can hear you. And even if he doesn’t, it doesn’t stop you.

It never did before—maybe he even gets tired of you yappin’ at him every chance you get. Who knows.

Time stretches on as you sit there, lost in thought. You don’t hear the first rustle of the wind, nor the creak of something in the distance. But as the hour passes, the chill bites deeper into your skin and your fingers are starting to lose feeling. You rise reluctantly, ready to leave the way you came. 

But as you pass the house, a sudden sound makes you freeze in place.

The front door creaks open.

You stop, blinking in disbelief.

Graceland’s security measures aren’t exactly lax, and there is no reason anyone should be here at this hour. Yet the door stands ajar, faint light spilling into the dark.

Curiosity battles with reason in your mind, but it only takes a second before curiosity wins. You approach the door slowly, peering inside.

“Hello?” you call out softly, your voice trembling. No answer. The silence feels alive, pressing against you like unseen hands.

You step inside.

Suddenly, you can’t see anything but white light so bright you have to squeeze your eyes shut. There’s a ringing in your ears and the ground seems to disappear from underneath your feet.

You’re flying… floating… no, you’re falling.

And then, darkness engulfs you.

The darkness is thick, oppressive, and seems to stretch on forever. Then, a muffled sound—a voice, several voices—start to penetrate the void. Your head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, and your body feels heavy, almost disconnected from your mind.

Your eyelids flutter open to the sight of faces looming above you. Disoriented, you blink rapidly, trying to focus. The first thing you register is the couch beneath you, soft and worn. Then, you see him. Elvis Presley. His raven-black hair shines under the dim light, his piercing blue eyes wide with concern. Around him are several men, all dressed casually yet... different.

Men don't dress this way. Not anymore.

“She's waking up,” someone says, but the voice seems distant.

“Hey, honey,” Elvis's voice finally breaks through the haze, warm and tinged with his signature Southern drawl. “You all right there? You took quite the tumble.”

You sit up, your body moving on autopilot, the weight of your situation not fully sinking in. Your eyes dart around the room—plush furniture, vibrant decor, and the faint hum of an old television in the background. You know this room. You've seen it in documentaries and photos.

Graceland.

“I... where am I?” you manage to whisper, your throat dry and voice shaky.

“You're in my home,” Elvis answers gently, crouching to meet your eye level. His brow furrows, and his concern seems genuine. “You're in Graceland, darlin’. Memphis, Tennessee. And, uh... today's January 8th, 1967.”

The words hit you like a freight train. 1967. Your breath catches in your throat.

1967.

“This can't be real,” you mutter, your hands trembling as you clutch the couch cushions. “This... I was just in 2025. This doesn’t make any sense.”

“Whoa, slow down there,” one of the men, probably a member of Elvis’s entourage—the Memphis Mafia—says, holding up his hands as if to calm you. “What’s she talkin’ about, E?”

Elvis doesn’t answer him. Instead, he studies you, his gaze far more intense than before. There's something in his eyes, something knowing, as if he recognizes you—but that’s impossible.

“I think she’s just a little shook up,” he says finally, offering you a small, reassuring smile. His tone is soothing, but you catch the glimmer of something deeper behind his calm demeanor. “Let’s give her some space to breathe, fellas.”

The others shuffle away reluctantly, muttering amongst themselves. Elvis sits down beside you, his presence almost overwhelming.

“You feelin' any better?” he asks softly, tilting his head slightly.

You nod, though the answer is a lie. “I... I don’t know how I got here.”

He hesitates, his jaw tightening as if he's debating something. Then, his voice drops to a low murmur, barely audible.

“I don’t know how to explain this, but... I’ve seen you before.”

Your heart skips a beat. “What?”

“In my dreams,” he admits sheepishly, his eyes locked on yours. As he continues, you realise he's serious. “I’ve been dreamin’ about you for weeks now. I didn’t know who you were, or if you even existed, but... now you’re here. And I think we were meant to meet.”

The room seems to tilt again, reality fraying at the edges. You want to protest, to tell him this can’t be happening—but deep down, something about his words feels eerily right.

Elvis watches you carefully, his intense gaze searching your face for something—answers, maybe, though you have none to give. Your mind races as you try to process his words. He’s dreamt of you? Weeks? It doesn’t make sense, yet the sincerity in his voice is undeniable.

You exhale shakily, running a hand through your hair. “I… I don’t even know where to start,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “This is insane. I shouldn’t even be here.”

“I don’t think you’re here by accident,” Elvis says, his tone steady and deliberate. “Things like this don’t just… happen. There’s a reason, even if we don’t understand it yet.”

You glance at him, overwhelmed by the calm certainty in his voice. Despite the surreal situation, he has a grounding presence, like the eye of a hurricane.

“The dreams… what are they about?”

Elvis looks at you as he stands up from the floor he was kneeling on and sits down on the edge of the couch—his long, white couch you’d seen so many times on pictures and tours—next to you, looking at you.

“Sometimes they feel like nightmares,” he wrings his hands together, keeping his voice low although everyone had left the living area and scattered around the house. “I see you at.. at my grave. Can’t read the date on the damn thing, only see my name on it. And I hear you—I know y’er talkin’ to me but I can never figure out what it is y’er saying.”

A shiver runs down your spine and not because of the cold. Tonight wasn’t the first time you’d visited his grave. You’ve been there plenty of times before—what if every single time you were there, he saw you… only he wasn’t watching you from the afterlife but from his dreams.

Geez. This whole situation is so trippy.

“This is crazy,” you blurt out. A smile curls the edges of his lips and he lets out a low laugh, nodding his head. The two of you sit in silence for a bit, the noise of music and voices of the Memphis Mafia far away in the background.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble then, guilt creeping into your chest. “I didn’t mean to show up and ruin your birthday... but happy birthday, Elvis.”

Elvis blinks, and then a soft chuckle escapes him. “Honey, I think this is the most interestin’ birthday I’ve ever had. And believe me, I’ve had some wild ones.” His smile is warm, disarming. “So don’t you go worryin’ ‘bout that.”

The corners of your lips twitch despite yourself, and for the first time since waking up, the panic loosens its grip on your chest.

“Thank you,” you murmur, and he nods like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Now, let’s start from the beginning,” he says, leaning back against the couch. “You said you’re from 2025?”

You hesitate, unsure how much to tell him. Finally, you nod. “Yeah. I was visiting your grave and suddenly… I was here.”

For a second, you consider telling him you jumped the gate and then saw the front door being open, but you decide to leave that part out. He doesn’t need to think you’re some kind of professional trespasser.

His eyes widen slightly, the weight of your words sinking in. “That’s almost sixty years from now,” he mutters, running a hand over his jaw. “What’s it like? The future, I mean.”

You bite your lip. “It’s… different. So much has changed.”

“Tell me,” he says, his voice low and insistent. “All of it.”

You hesitate again, your heart pounding. How do you explain a world he’ll never see? The advances in technology, the cultural shifts, the rise of global issues? And then there’s the other stuff—the bad stuff. Things you’re not sure he’s ready to hear.

“I don’t know if you’d believe me,” you say softly.

Elvis leans forward, his blue eyes locking onto yours. “Try me.”

So, you do. Slowly at first, you describe the marvels of the future—smartphones, streaming services, the internet, electric cars. He listens with rapt attention, his expression shifting between awe and disbelief.

“You mean to tell me people carry phones around in their pockets?” he asks, incredulous.

“And they can use them to call anyone, anywhere in the world,” you add with a faint smile. “They can even see each other while they talk.”

He whistles low, shaking his head. “That’s somethin’ else.”

But as the conversation continues, his curiosity deepens. “What about me?” he asks suddenly, catching you off guard.

“What do you mean?”

“In 2025,” he clarifies, then seems to do a little math in his head. “I would’ve been.. 90, right? Am I… still around?”

Your stomach twists painfully. You knew this question was coming, but you’d been dreading it all the same.

“I… no,” you admit softly. “You passed away in 1977.”

Ten years from now.

His face falls, and for a moment, he looks years older. “How?”

You hesitate, the words sticking in your throat. How do you tell him the truth about his health, the drugs, the isolation?

From the research you’ve done about him in your own time, you’re pretty sure he takes medication now too. You can’t just tell him to quit them—you’re practically a stranger, and he doesn’t even listen to the people close to him.

You love this man, truly more than anything in the world, but you’re aware of how stubborn Elvis Presley could be… no, is.

“It was a heart attack,” you say finally, opting for the simplest version of the truth. “But… you’re still remembered. People love you, Elvis. Your music, your movies—you’re a legend.”

He leans back, silent for a long moment. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet, but feels like a warm blanket is being draped around your shoulders, yet his words tug at your heartstrings. “They really remember me, huh?”

Meeting his eyes, you smile and nod, putting your hand on his arm. It sends a surge of what feels like electricity down your spine and Elvis seems to feel the same as he straightens his shoulders, his eyes drawn to your hand. “Every single day,” you whisper, fighting off the lump that starts to form in your throat when he puts his hand atop yours, curling his fingers around it.

The soft squeeze he gives makes your heart leap pathetically against your ribcage.

For a while, the two of you sit in silence, the weight of the moment settling around you.

“You’re stayin’ here, right?” he asks softly. “At least until we figure out how to get you back. Don’t worry about a thing—I’ll take care of you.”

Your chest tightens at his kindness, and you manage a grateful smile. “Thank you. I don’t know how I’m going to repay you.”

“You don’t need to,” he says simply. “The universe doesn’t do anythin’ without reason.”

Weeks have passed since you first woke up in Graceland, and the surrealness of it all hasn’t quite faded. You’ve grown used to the rhythms of the household—the comings and goings of the Memphis Mafia, the endless music that seems to fill every corner of the mansion, and most of all, the magnetic presence of Elvis himself.

You don’t know how long you’re stuck in his time. You might wake up and be thrown back to your own timeline, or you might be stuck here forever… but you can’t seem to care about the latter. You feel like you’re right where you need to be.

And the thought of leaving, especially if it’s sudden… God, that just kills you.

Elvis everything the world remembers him to be and more. Charismatic, kind, larger-than-life, but also deeply human. Vulnerable in ways that surprise you. And it’s in those quiet moments, away from the spotlight, that you feel closest to him.

But it’s also in those quiet moments that you start to notice things. The long nights when he doesn’t sleep. The bottles of pills tucked away in drawers. The way he brushes it off when you ask if he’s tired or feeling okay.

It all comes to a head one evening. You find him in the den—in future times, known as the Jungle Room—lounging on the couch with a guitar in his lap. He’s strumming absentmindedly, humming a tune that hasn’t quite taken shape. A bottle of sleeping pills sits on the side table.

Something he usually doesn’t do, you have noticed. He keeps them away in his bathroom, or they’re stashed in the case of his personal doctor, Dr. Nick.

Maybe he forgot to put them away.

“Elvis,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, “can we talk?”

He looks up, a soft smile curving his lips. “’Course, darlin’. What’s on your mind?”

You hesitate, your heart pounding. “It’s about… those.” You gesture to the pills.

His smile falters, and he follows your gaze to the bottle. “What about ‘em?”

“I’ve noticed you take them a lot,” you say carefully, sitting on the edge of the coffee table. “And not just those. There’s others too, isn’t there?”

He stiffens, his easygoing demeanor evaporating. “Now, hold on. Where’s this comin’ from?”

“I’m worried about you,” you admit. “You don’t need those, Elvis. You’re healthy, and only 32—you don’t need pills to sleep, or whatever else you’re taking them for.”

He sets the guitar aside, his jaw tightening. “How would you know what I need?” he bites, a hint of venom on his tongue that makes your blood run cold. “I’ve got a lot ridin’ on me, a lot of people dependin’ on me. Sometimes, I need a little help, that’s all.”

Your chest tightens. “I understand,” you say softly. “More than you think. Because I know where this road leads.”

He narrows his eyes, his voice lowering dangerously. “I don’t need’a hear this, Y/N.”

“You struggle with this, Elvis,” you say, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. He might not want to hear it, but he needs to. “In the future, it gets worse. You start relying on pills for everything—sleeping, waking up, getting through the day. And it takes a toll on you. On your body, your mind, your—”

“Stop,” he interrupts, his voice rising. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“I do!” you insist, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. “It’s true you die of heart problems, Elvis, but the pills.. they play a part in all of it. The stress, the drugs—they kill you. And it’s not just you who suffers. It breaks the hearts of everyone who loves you. Your fans, your family…” Your voice cracks. “Me.”

He stares at you, stunned into silence. For a long moment, neither of you speaks, the air between you thick with tension.

Finally, he stands, pacing the room like a caged animal. “You don’t get it,” he says, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. “You think I want this? You think I like needin’ somethin’ just to keep goin’? I don’t have a choice. The movies, the people… it never stops. And if I don’t keep up, it all falls apart.”

“You do have a choice,” you say, getting up as well and stepping closer to him. “You’re Elvis Presley. People love you for who you are, not what you can give them. You don’t have to destroy yourself to keep everyone else happy.”

He turns to face you, his eyes blazing with a mixture of defiance and desperation. “And what about you?” he demands. “You’re askin’ me to believe all this—time travel, the future—but I’m just supposed to take your word for it? How do I know you’re not wrong? How do I know this ain’t just ‘nother one of my dreams? Hell, how do I know you ain’t some crazy lunatic fan that broke into my goddamn house?!”

You swallow hard, the weight of his words cutting deep and you can’t stop a stray tear from rolling down your cheek. “Because I’m here,” you say softly. “I’m here, Elvis. I’m not some crazy fan that broke into your house and fed you a lie that I’m from the future. I care about you more than I can put into words. That’s why I’m telling you this. I don’t want to see you hurt yourself. Not now, not ever.”

His shoulders sag, the fire in his eyes dimming as the weight of the argument settles over him. He looks away, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “You don’t know what it’s like,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible. “To have the whole world watchin’, expectin’ you to be somethin’ you’re not even sure you can be.”

“I don’t,” you admit. “But I know you’re stronger than you think. And I’ll be here, Elvis. As long as I’m stuck in this time, I’ll be here for you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

His gaze finally meets yours, and in his eyes, you see the cracks—the vulnerability he tries so hard to hide from the world. Slowly, he steps closer, his hand brushing against yours.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he admits, guilt about the words he has spoken out to you in his eyes.

But if there’s anything you learned—and read about—is that Elvis Presley doesn’t apologize.

At least, not with words.

You shake your head, tears slipping down your cheeks. “You don’t have to find out. I’m not going anywhere.”

He brings his hands up to cup your face and within seconds, his lips are pressing against yours.

His lips are warm and urgent against yours, the world narrowing to just the two of you in that moment. The intensity of the kiss sweeps away every doubt, every fear, until there’s nothing left but him—his touch, his scent, the taste of his mouth against yours.

“Elvis…” you murmur against his lips, but his name comes out more as a breathless plea than a protest.

“Shh,” he whispers, his forehead pressing against yours as he pulls back just enough to look into your eyes. “I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I saw you, darlin’. I don’t know how this happened, but I know I’m not lettin’ it slip away.”

His hands glide down to your waist, and you let him guide you to the plush rug beneath the dim glow of the table lamp. The guitar and forgotten pills sit on the table, but they no longer matter. In this moment, there’s only the two of you, and the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world that makes sense.

You’re aware that some of the guys are around, probably somewhere in the TV room downstairs or the pool room and with the den not even having a door, it’s dangerous.

But you can’t resist the man above you—especially not when he slides your shirt over your head and his soft lips are kissing across your collarbone and to the swell of your breasts, fingertips pulling down your bra straps.

The green carpet is soft against your skin and his lips are even softer as they reach your nipples once your bra is gone. Oh what the hell—the two of you are hidden by the large, gaudy couch.

You’re not going to stop him.

Fingers running through his hair, your hands find home on his shoulders and he shivers as your nails drag down his upper arms and up again, fingers tugging at the fabric of his shirt. He takes the hint quickly and pulls his shirt off, throwing it over the couch and obviously not caring who sees. 

He laughs as you gasp. “Stop worryin’ that pretty lil’ head.”

Your worries about being caught fade to the back of your mind, because Elvis gives you no other choice than to focus on him as he pulls your pants down, your panties sliding down along with them.

“Impatient much?” You huff teasingly as he sits back on his knees, fumbling with the undoing of his pants.

He smirks. “Been waitin’ too long,” his pants come off and so does his underwear and you’re not even ashamed of the gawking you’re doing, his cock hard and twitching once against his lower abdomen. “Been dreamin’ too long about this.”

“Me too,” you whisper, biting your lip as you reach out to him, wrapping your hand around his length. “Me too, Elvis.”

Elvis is usually all for foreplay.

Big fan of it, actually. He loves it.

But right now, he’s impatient. Other than cuddling and kissing, the two of you hadn’t gone all the way yet. Most of your time together had been spent talking, reading and more talking. Deep, important conversations—but also ones that didn’t make any sense, you easily falling into baby talk with him.

He found that he could be his complete self with you, at all times. And he feels guilty for accussing you to be a crazy fan, for getting mad at you for calling him out.

You only spoke the truth and the truth has a way of hurting sometimes.

He doesn’t mind the handjob but afraid he might cum too prematurely, he gently removes your hand and pushes you back down against the carpet again. He situates himself in between your legs and you gasp softly as you feel him rubbing his tip through your folds, spreading your slick around.

And when he rubs small circles against your clit with his equally sensitive cock head, the moan you let out is like music to his ears.

With a low groan, he moves his cock to your entrance and pushes inside of you—slowly, but all the way. Your hands slide over his shoulders, left one moving to the back of his neck and into his dark hair which has gotten a little messier than when you first walked into the room.

“Move, you tease,” you grin at him with an excited gleam in your eye, clenching your walls around him on purpose.

He moans lowly, a smirk tugging at his lips. He doesn’t hesitate, though. And when he pulls back only to thrust back into you, you tangle your fingers in his hair, your nails digging into his shoulder. 

“Real thing’s better,” he groans as he lowers down, his body covering yours, as he plants his forearms next to your head—deliciously caging you in. “That’s for damn sure.”

The den fills itself with the sound of skin meeting skin, his balls slapping against your ass with every thrust. If anyone were to enter the kitchen, they would surely hear you from here.

But you don’t have time to dwell on it. Elvis’s cock is buried inside of you, something you had only secretly fantasized about in your own time. The stories of his ex-lovers certainly aren’t wrong—he is a marvelous lover.

He hides his face in your neck, tongue caressing your skin now and then as he breathes heavily in your ear. You wrap your arms tighter around him, legs around his waist firmly. 

You run your nails up and down his back, raking your fingers through his hair before your hands are moving down to his ass, squeezing it and trying to push him in even deeper. You want to remember this forever—no, you need to remember this forever.

The way he feels, the way he sounds when he moans your name softly in your ear, the way he smells…

Everything.

You’re floating on a cloud and when your orgasm washes over you, you’re seeing stars as you arch your back and flutter your eyes shut. Elvis isn’t far behind you, hips stuttering before he holds still, his lips finding yours to share a deep, messy kiss as he lets himself go inside of you.

This must be Heaven.

Still laying on the carpet surrounding by pieces of clothing, he pulls you close, taking you in his arms. His chest rises and falls in a slow, steady rhythm, and you can feel the warmth of his breath against your hair as he nuzzles his nose in it.

“I’ll cut down,” he says softly, breaking the silence.

You blink up at him. “What?”

“The pills,” he clarifies, his voice heavy with sincerity. “You were right, honey. I don’t wanna go down that road, and I don’t want you worryin’ about me. I’ll start cuttin’ back. I promise.”

The tears return, unbidden, and you press a kiss to his chest. “Thank you,” you whisper. “That means everything to me.”

“Anything for you,” he replies, his voice laced with an unspoken tenderness that leaves you breathless. “Here,”

You watch as he takes his gold plated ID bracelet off his wrist and puts it around yours before you can protest.

“Never take it off, okay?” He whispers as you ghost your fingertip along his name that is encrusted onto the piece of jewelry with diamonds. “It will keeps us connected.”

You look at him and nod, silently promising to keep it with you forever. Wrapping your arms around him, he holds you tightly—as if you could disappear any moment. Afraid you would.

“I love you,” you whisper, needing to say it before it would be too late.

He puts a hand on the back of your head, kissing your temple. “I love you too, darlin’. In every damn timeline.”

The two of you drift off to sleep like that, tangled in each other’s arms in the softness of the carpet, a quiet peace settling over you.

When you wake, it’s not to the soft glow of the den or the warmth of Elvis’s embrace. Instead, cold bites at your skin, and your eyes snap open to a dark, gloomy sky.

You sit up with a start, snow crunching beneath your hands. Your breath billows in the frigid January air, and it takes a moment for your surroundings to register.

You’re outside, back behind the gates.

Graceland looms ahead of you, its stately columns and familiar facade blanketed in snow. But it’s different—cleaner, sharper, modernized in subtle ways.

You look down and your heart sinks as you see the clothes you’re wearing are the ones you wore before you were planted back in time—not the pretty dresses Elvis bought you, or fancy blouses and pants the girlfriends of the Memphis Mafia gave you.

It’s not 1967 anymore.

“No,” you whisper, your heart plummeting as reality crashes down around you. You scramble to your feet, your fingers trembling as you pull your phone from your pocket. The screen lights up. January 8, 2025.

You stare at the date, the truth settling like lead in your chest. You’re back.

“No, no, no,” you panic, turning toward the mansion as if he might still be there. As if you might have somehow carried him with you. But there’s no sign of him—no sign of the life you left behind in the past.

Your legs feel like lead as you get up and take a step closer to the gates, your heart pounding with every step. Was it real? Did it happen? Or had it all been some impossible, beautiful dream?

Tears fall over your cheeks rapidly, your ribcage twisting around your heart. You scream out his name in the stillness of the night, your hands slamming against the gates in frustration.

In your moment of despair, your eye catches the twinkle of diamonds as the street light shines down on you—and there it is.

The golden bracelet he’d given you, dangling from your wrist.

Your breath catches, your fingers trembling as you caress them over the diamonds. Your heart is pounding in your ears and as you hide your face in your hands, you catch a whiff of your hair that falls down your shoulders.

You pick up a few strands and your heart clenches even further in your chest—you smell like him.

It’s not a dream. All of this is real, but you have no idea how to get back to him.

Does he know you’re gone? Does he even remember you were there in the first place? Or did he think it was all a dream?

You don’t remember leaving anything personal behind for him.

You inhale sharply, the faint scent of him still clinging to your hair. Your hand drifts back to the bracelet, and your thumb brushes against the clasp. That’s when you notice it—a tiny engraving on the underside, one you hadn’t seen before.

Four words.

“We’ll meet again, E.”

Your heart stops.

He knew.

He knew you might disappear, might leave him behind. And still, he gave you this—a promise, a thread tying the two of you together across time and space.

“Elvis,” you whisper again, but this time, it’s not a cry of despair. It’s a vow.

You won’t give up.

“I’ll come back,” you look at the house up on the hill, determination filling your chest. “No matter what timeline.”

You don’t know how, or if it’s even possible, but you’ll find a way back to him. If he remembered you, if he believed in you enough to leave this message, then you owe it to him—and to yourself—to believe, too.

As the snow falls softly around you, you step away from the gates, your grip tightening on the bracelet. It’s not a dream. It’s not the end.

It’s just the beginning.

[sloppiest-of-jos]

1969 *✧･ﾟ:*

[sloppiest-of-jos]

TRIGGER WARNING: GRIEF

I know it's a hard topic, but I needed to share my thoughts. One of my first cousins gave birth... to a stillborn son. I just received the terrible news and my heart is shattered. Now, after talking to her and here in the solitude of my bedroom, I thought about Gladys Presley.

Sometimes you just don't understand people based on what they tell you they've have been through only, until something similar happens to you or to your loved ones. I just wanted to dedicate this moment to appreciate the strong women around this world, such as my cousin, such as Gladys Presley, who experienced this kind of traumatizing experience no mother should ever go through, without losing their faith in life and the kindness in their hearts.

Gladys was a strong woman, and a lovely, warm person too. She lost a son but, thanks God, another one brought unimaginable joy to her days. I understand her and the depth of a mother's love for her children better now because I am feeling incredibly shattered for my cousin losing her baby boy, I can get a better notion of what it may feel like... and it feels like hell. I understand Gladys always lived in fear of losing Elvis for a good damn reason. Sadly, sometimes we just don't get for real how strong some people are.

Linda Thompson shared a post a couple of days ago on her Instagram account where she wrote "... as Elvis and Khalil Gilbran believed, 'The deeper the sorrow carves into the heart, the more joy it can contain.'" That's why Gladys was so careful, sweet and tender to her baby boy Elvis. Not because of some bullshit some people say about 'obsession' or shit like that. She just had so much love inside her... love she needed to give. She loved Elvis for two, and Jesse Garon was never, ever forgotten. She talked about Jesse to Elvis, and Elvis grew up missing deeply a brother he never knew outside the womb. That's the depth of a mother's love. It reverberates through time. It's intoxicating, inspiring... and it never ceases, it never dies.

[sloppiest-of-jos]

Hey my Elvis girlies! I’m a nail artist and I REALLY wanna do a set of Elvis nails!! I definitely wanna do his white Chain suit from “that’s the way it is” on a nail but I need help coming up with some ideas! Here some of my work so you can see what I’m able to do! I sculpt a lot and LOVE bling!! Thanks guys, can’t wait to hear your ideas!

[sloppiest-of-jos]

Number 35, kissing bruises and scars with Walter Gulick, and I want it dirty, please!

A/N: Happy Birthday @sissylittlefeather!! 🥳

I hope you don't mind me outing you, but here is your request! 💕 I really hope you enjoy it.

Kiss it better

Pairing: Walter G x ring girl reader

Word count: 2.8K

TWs: Bruises and blood (from Walter fighting), size kink, smut.

You’ve never seen a fighter who’s taken so many hits without getting knocked out. It’s actually unbelievable. But there he is, bruised and bloody and somehow still conscious, and the referee is holding his arm up in the air in a declaration of victory. You walk out again with his score on a big card, holding it above your head and spinning around, grinning. You're not sure you like this job - parading around in your underwear celebrating men being punched in the face - but you need the money so you do it anyway. And try to keep smiling.

Walter grins through the pain. He's sore, and he knows he's in for a cracking headache later. But another win means more badly needed money. He takes a bow and then heads for the dressing room. On his way he looks around at the cheering crowd, holding a hand up and doing his best to carry on grinning. That’s when he spots you, with your lovely figure and little smile. This whole ring girl thing is new and it would be silly to say he doesn't like it. Who wouldn't like pretty girls wandering around in bikinis between rounds? It's a little distracting, but he'll take that. Since things didn't work out with his last girlfriend he's been trying to enjoy the single life, although he’d prefer to settle down sometime soon. He’s just been struggling to find the right girl. 

You watch one of the boxers walking away to his dressing room and find yourself with the strangest urge to follow him. Okay, so maybe it’s not that strange. After all, he is very good-looking. And you like his name - Kid Galahad - it makes him sound noble and chivalrous. You can’t remember his actual name right now, you weren’t really concentrating when they made the initial announcements, but that shouldn’t be a problem, you’re sure he’ll tell you. Your feet seem to move of their own accord, ducking into your dressing room first to pull on a robe. It’s probably not appropriate to talk to him dressed as you are, even though that would be a sure fire way of getting his attention. You can hear the other girls tittering about him and how handsome he is, so you get back out again quickly, trying to avoid them asking what you’re up to. Dashing across the corridor, you find yourself in a room filled with people and him at the centre. They’re taking his gloves off, unwrapping his hands, dabbing at the blood on his face with a wet cloth and someone is even taking off his shoes. You weren’t expecting quite so much hubbub, so you stand awkwardly in the corner hugging yourself, your initial bravery starting to wear off a little. What were you thinking, coming in here, exactly? 

Walter spits out his mouth guard and finally looks around him a little. His robe is thrown loosely over his shoulders, but he’s starting to feel the chill of sweat drying on his skin and so he starts to pull it on properly as he scans the room for something, or someone, interesting. Eventually his eyes land on you, tucked away in the corner of the room, looking awkward. He immediately recognises you from earlier, but you seem shy for someone who was just wandering around in basically her underwear a few minutes ago. Waiting to catch your eye, his fingers drum impatiently on the table. Eventually you look up and he smiles sweetly at you, and is gratified to see you smile back. It lights up your face and he’s suddenly desperate to speak to you. He gives you a little encouraging head tilt, and when you just keep looking, uncomprehending, his smile turns into a lopsided grin and he holds up his hand, extending a long finger and curling it towards him in a come hither motion. 

You blush when you look up and realise he’s been looking at you, but he’s smiling and you can’t help smiling back. After all, you did come in here to get his attention, didn’t you? And now you have it. It takes you a while to realise he’s trying to signal for you to go over, and even when he literally beckons you, you still put your hand on your chest in surprise and mouth “me?” as if the room were full of women and you could’ve mistaken his advances. His enthusiastic nodding finally gets your legs working, and you make your way through the thinning crowd of men over to where he’s standing.

He’s even cuter close up, big bruised lips and long eyelashes, and a brooding sort of expression, when he’s not smiling. Which he seems to do often. 

“Hi there, honey,” he drawls, softly. “I’m Walter.” 

Walter. That was his name. It comes back to you now and you smile, giving him your hand which to your surprise he raises to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the knuckles. The combination of the touch and the way he’s looking at you, coupled with the fact that he seems to be getting more handsome by the minute, has your voice trembling a little when you tell him your name in return. 

Your nervousness doesn’t last long, though. His easy manner has you enjoying talking to him almost immediately, conversation flowing between the two of you without you having to worry. He asks you about being a ring girl and you both giggle about your similar outfits. “Your robe is almost as nice as mine! Maybe you should moonlight as a ring girl in your free time.” And you ask what it’s like being a fighter and how he can cope with being hit so many times. “I ain’t got much brain to begin with, honey.” All the while, everyone else is slowly making their way out of the room, congratulating him with a word, a slap on the back, or both. Suddenly, you turn and realise that the room is empty, save for the two of you. He notices too and smiles. 

“Looks like I got ya to myself.”

He’s been picking up your hand and playing with your fingers periodically throughout the conversation, and now you’re alone he takes hold of it properly, resting his other hand on your hip and looking down into your face. 

“It looks like you do,” you reply, smiling up at him. 

He’s so easy to be with that you’re eager to kiss him, and it seems like he can tell, leaning down and gently pressing his lips to yours. His lips are soft and you want more, but he moves back quickly, wincing a little.

“Sorry, honey.” His tongue pokes out and gives his lower lip an exploratory lick. “Guess he musta split my lip.” 

Reaching up to stroke his cheek, you notice the area around his eye starting to swell. 

“I could kiss it better?” You suggest.

He smiles instantly, nodding as you press a delicate kiss to his lip. Continuing your way over his cheek and up to his temple, you hear him hum softly in appreciation as he bends down to make it easier for you to reach.  

“Mmm. You’re a good little nurse, ain’t ya?”

You wrap your arms around his neck and smile back at him. “I’m glad you think so. Where else are you sore?”

Walter’s smile turns a little wicked, feeling his dick stir at your words. “Think we better close the door if you wanna find that out.”

You both giggle, and you nod enthusiastically. Your shyness is completely gone now, and you’ve become very aware of how scantily clad you both are, feeling your nipples harden through your bikini top and the thin robe. When he comes back from closing the door you run your hands from his shoulders down his chest, letting them come to rest on the tie of his robe. 

“You mind?” You ask, and he shakes his head. 

“I don’t mind at all, honey.”

Untying it, you let it fall open, exposing his chest. You slowly push it off his shoulders, revealing numerous cuts and bruises just waiting for your healing touch. He watches you with interest as you trace the scars on his body with your fingers and then press your lips against the bruises and cuts you can reach. But he’s much taller than you, so you struggle to reach the bruise just above his collarbone, even with your heels on. 

“You’re too tall!”

He laughs and walks backwards a few steps until he reaches the armchair at the side of the room, and then he sits, spreading his legs wide. Now you’re effectively looking down on him, you notice his erection for the first time. It’s visible even through his baggy boxing shorts, and you nibble your lower lip thinking about just how big it seems. Moving closer, you step between his legs and return to your kisses, feather-light over the purple bruise on his shoulder. His hands find their way to your hips and hold them gently, enjoying the feeling of your silken robe against his skin. 

“Mmm honey, that feels good,” he tells you, as you kiss from the base of his neck to his ear. 

“You sore anywhere else?” You ask.

He smiles. “I don’t think so.”

“No… aches, anywhere?” Your hands move to his thighs, slowly making their way up them as you continue kissing his neck. 

His breath hitches as your hands get perilously close to where he really needs them right now. He hadn’t been sure that you’d be up for this with someone you’d just met, but your touch is so gentle and loving he’s really hoping it might extend to somewhere else. 

“Well, maybe one… little ache…” he mumbles.

He’s not expecting you to drop to your knees between his legs, and he gasps when you pull his half-hard length from his shorts. You make a little involuntary noise too, it really is big, bigger than anything you’ve ever seen before, the thing has weight to it and it makes you a little nervous. 

“Honey, ya don’t haveta…” he begins, awkwardly. “I know it’s… girls have said it’s too big…”

You look up to see him blushing, and then you look back down at his dick and wonder exactly how big it will be when it’s fully erect. You also wonder just what it would feel like inside you. Moving closer, you dip your head down and set to work kissing every inch of it. After all, he had said it was aching. He moans, head lolling back on his shoulders, overwhelmed by the physical sensations and the sight of you on your knees, worshipping his dick. You kiss his balls too, and by the time you’re done he’s even more flushed and his eyes are shining brightly as they look at you. He’s positively smoldering, and you can’t resist him. Shimmying your panties off, you get onto his lap and hold his dick against your pussy, rubbing yourself up and down his length. 

“Shit. Honey,” he mumbles in surprise.

His big, gentle hands grab you just a little more determinedly as his mouth falls open and his eyelids half-close. You feel so good against him right now. He could probably cum from just this. 

“I don’t think you’re too big,” you whisper, continuing to move, feeling yourself getting wetter and wetter. 

He whimpers softly and one of his hands moves to the back of your head, tangling in your hair. “Ya don’t?”

You shake your head, turning your head to kiss the inside of his forearm. Then, as if to illustrate, you pause your movements and get up onto your knees on either side of his hips, teasing your entrance with the head of his dick. 

“Oh God.”

It’s been a while since he’s done this. Towards the end of his relationship, his girlfriend had stopped wanting to make love because it was still so uncomfortable for her. And probably because she’d fallen out of love with him too. Anyone he’d seen since tended to look so worried when they saw the size of him that he just went down on them instead. All he’d had for a while now were handjobs, which were no better than his own hand and often worse. But here you were, with barely any foreplay, trying to sit on it.

You stop teasing and start to guide him inside you. The tightness makes him see stars and you keep having to remind yourself to breathe as you take him further. It hurts, but once the head is in it’s suddenly much easier and you slide down the rest of his length, settling yourself down and letting out a long breath. The way he’s stretching you feel so damn good you think you might lose your mind. From the sounds of it, it seems like he feels the same. 

“Shit. Fuck. Honey. Ohmygod.”

You put your hands on either side of his face, kissing his lips gently again. Forgetting his split lip, he returns the kiss enthusiastically, his tongue pushing into your mouth, moaning as you start to rock your hips. 

“Baby, I ain’t gonna last long…” he mumbles against your lips. “Let me…” he trails off as his fingers find your clit and start to rub there. 

The sounds of your moans mix in the air, mumbling each other’s names between hurried kisses. His fingers are working their magic, and you feel yourself getting close now too. Your orgasm comes quickly and intensely, washing over you as you bury your head in the crook of his neck. 

“Ohhh. Walter.”

He lets out a loud groan at the feeling of you squeezing him, and then his hands are under your ass and he’s fucking you on his dick, picking you up and throwing you back down as he chases his own high. The intensity of it seems to prolong your orgasm and you keep moaning until he cums too, snapping his hips up into you with a satisfied groan. 

Sighing, you rest your head on his shoulder as you listen to the sound of his breathing coming back to normal. You lick your lips slowly and taste something metallic. Opening your eyes in confusion, you see blood streaked across his lips, like badly applied lipstick, and realise what must’ve happened. 

“Oh, your poor lip,” you coo. 

He looks down at you and giggles. There’s blood all around your mouth. “Looks like ya really messed up your lipstick, honey.” Licking his thumb, he drags it over your lips to try and remove some of the blood, but he only makes it worse. 

You giggle too. “Think we might both need to get cleaned up before we leave…”

You ease yourself off him, standing up to pull your panties back up and properly do up your robe. He gets up too, looking around for something to clean you both up and make you respectable again. He eventually finds a cloth and some water and you help each other get rid of the blood. His gentle touch is enough to make you melt, in stark contrast to the feeling between your legs. You know you’re going to struggle to walk tomorrow. It’s a good job you have a day off. 

“I um… I should go and get changed,” you tell him. You’re not sure if he wants anything more than what you’d just shared, and you don’t want to push him. 

“Oh… uh… sure, me too…” he replies. 

You smile and give him a quick peck on the cheek. “This was fun.”

“Sure was,” he mumbles, watching as you start to walk towards the door and out of his life again. The way his stomach flips at the thought of not seeing you again makes him realise that he has to say something.

“Hey, uh… w-what are ya doin’ now? Tonight?”

You stop and turn back towards him. “Not much. Why?”

“Ya wanna… um… g-go for dinner?” He doesn’t know why he’s stumbling over the words, so nervous asking you to go for dinner when he’s just had his dick inside you. 

“I’d love to!” You reply, a grin breaking out on your face. So he is interested, then. “Just let me get ready and I’ll meet you back here?”

“Sure.”

You pause, wondering whether to say anything, and then you decide you may as well. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to see me again.”

His eyes almost pop out of his head. “Are ya kiddin’ me? Couldn’t let ya get away. Not a girl game enough ta…” he blushes. “Well, ya know.”

You giggle. “I like a challenge.” Your eyes flick around the room, again wondering if you should carry on, but you don’t seem to be able to stop your mouth running away with you. 

“Maybe next time I’ll see how much I can get in my mouth…”

aglist:

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed:

@arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas @pocketfulofpresley @dkayfixates @iloveelvisss @kxnnxy @presleyhearted @lvrdollep @nebulamorada @iloveelvis2 @18lkpeters @elvisbdoll

[sloppiest-of-jos]

1969 *✧･ﾟ:*

[sloppiest-of-jos]

Elvis teaching reader how to use vibrators one day then catching her using the, by herself one day..then using them on her til she can't take it anymore.

Dolly

A/N: oooh this was a fun one! Elvis is a little mean 😈

Pairing: 1970!Elvis x reader

Word count: 4.3K

TWs: Elvis is dominant, reader calls him daddy and sir(!), dollification (kinda), exhibitionism (if you squint), praise kink, orgasm control, pillow humping, mean!Elvis, teasing, forced orgasms, overstimulation, little bit of choking, general smut.

You sit on the sofa with your legs crossed demurely at the ankle, flicking through a magazine. Elvis has been out all morning, leaving you alone in the house to make your own entertainment. You’re not sure why he didn’t want you to go with him, and you find yourself worrying your lower lip with your teeth again, wondering if you did something wrong. The bang of the door opening and the chatter of conversation make you sit up, putting down the magazine and quickly smoothing down your little dress. 

“Where’s my little dolly?” Elvis’ voice booms out through the downstairs of his LA house. 

You spring to your feet, pushing them into your kitten heels and trotting towards the source of the noise, eager to see him. 

“Here, Daddy!” You exclaim as you reach him. 

One arm pulls you against him, his palm flat on your lower back as your face turns up towards his expectantly. You feel yourself enveloped in a cloud of cologne and cigar smoke as he leans down to kiss you. He lets you go to run his thumb over the bitten skin of your lower lip, eyes narrowing with concern. 

“Need ta take better care a these here lips, dolly.” His thumb presses just that little bit more firmly, making your lips part a little. “Want ‘em nice an’ soft, sweetheart. Not like my old calloused fingers, here.” 

He laughs then, eyes flicking around to the rest of the Mafia who’d come through the door with him. As if on cue, they all start laughing too. You’re not sure they could’ve all heard what he said, but they know which side their bread is buttered on. 

“Yes, Daddy,” you breathe. 

He hums, seemingly satisfied, and steps back, holding out a bag that he’d been hiding behind his back. 

“A gift for my pretty little doll.”

You beam with delight. He must've gone out without you to buy you a surprise. He knows how much you love surprises.

“Oooh, Daddy.” 

Your hands go to either side of your face in girlish excitement and his lips curl into a slightly smug smile at such an enthusiastic response.

“Go on, take it baby.”

Your hand closes around the handle and he lets it go with a satisfied hum. 

“Why don'tcha take it into your bedroom?” 

You feel him watching you as you trot off with it, your ass jiggling in the tight little dress he'd set out for you to wear that morning. He follows at a more sedate pace but when you pause to open the door he catches up, and you feel the flat of his hand against your ass cheek. You giggle. 

“You like my dress?” You tease, coquettishly, looking over your shoulder at him through your big false lashes. 

“I love yer dress, baby,” he coos in response, moving his hand to press his groin against your ass instead, showing you just how much he likes it. 

“Mmmm. Daddy!” Wiggling against him, one hand over your mouth, pretending to be scandalised. 

“C'mon,” he clicks his tongue, back to using his hands again. “Don'tcha wanna open yer gift?”

You nod quickly, affirming him with a “yes, Daddy,” before moving quickly into the room and sitting down on your plush, pink bed. You'd asked for a heart-shaped one, almost as an unreasonably bratty demand, but he'd got it for you anyway. 

His thigh presses up against yours as he sits down next to you, and you feel a familiar warmth start to spread between your legs. Peering into the bag, you dip your hand in to pull out a small pink box. You open it, rifling through the layers of pink tissue until you find another, smaller box. 

You frown. What could it be? Perfume? It's kind of long and thin… opening one end you shake it carefully into your palm. 

“Daddy? What is it?”

You pout as you try to comprehend the object in your hand. It's pink and plastic, shaped like a long thin ice cream cone. He gently takes it from you and thumbs a switch at the base that you hadn't noticed. It comes to life with a buzz, and he holds your hand palm up, pressing the end against your wrist. You jump.

“Ooh!”

That self-satisfied smirk reappears. 

“A treat for my dolly. Ya like that?”

The vibrations creep along your skin and the feeling between your legs intensifies. 

“Mmmm. What's it for?” You blink at him.

The smirk spreads further across his face. “Ya haveta guess, baby.”

Moving the pink toy from your wrist to your thigh, he studies your face as he drags it higher and higher. Suddenly, understanding spreads across it and your lips form a little o.

He chuckles, his other hand pushing your skirt all the way up, exposing your pink panties. Your eyes flick towards the semi-open door. 

“Daddy?”

You watch his tongue poke out to wet his lower lip. “Don't worry ‘bout that, baby.”

Hearing the Mafia as they laugh and joke in the living room, you squirm, eyes fixed on the doorway now. 

“What if they see?” 

“Then they'll have me ta answer to.”

He presses the vibrating stick against your panties, and you forget all about the open door. 

“Oh!”

A finger presses against your lips, and you flutter your eyes open, barely even realising you'd closed them in the first place. 

“Lil bit a quiet now, darlin’. Know I said I'd deal with anyone seein’ ya, but yer only encouragin’ them with those pretty little noises, ain'tcha? Could ya blame ‘em if they came in?”

You shake your head and stare back at him, your eyes wide. 

“N-no,” you whisper back. 

“Be a good girl an’ be quiet f’me then, hm?”

You tell him yes again and he starts the vibration up again, having flicked it off when you’d cried out. Your teeth start worrying your lower lip until you remember what he’d said about it being rough. You suck it into your mouth instead, tongue running over it repeatedly. The feeling between your legs is growing and with it the wetness of your thin little panties. 

Elvis clicks his tongue and switches the toy off again, making you wriggle about and let out a tiny moan. You look up into his blue eyes pleadingly, finding them dark with lust. 

“You enjoin’ yerself, little girl?”

You nod quickly. “Y-yessir.” 

His mouth curls into a self-satisfied smirk at the honorific. Your chest is heaving with your ragged breathing, you’re so turned on and desperate for him to touch you again. 

“Darlin’. Daddy is just fine.”

“Yes Daddy,” the words tumble out of your mouth quickly, giving away your desperation if it weren’t already painfully obvious. 

“Not that I don’t like it when ya call me sir…”

Your head spins. “Yes, Daddy… Sir… oh…”

He chuckles, thumb rubbing your cheek as his fingers rest underneath your chin. 

“Poor ‘lil thing. Reckon ya really like yer new gift, hm?”

You nod again, deciding to not to confuse yourself further by speaking. 

“Good girl,” he coos. “Let’s get these wet panties off, shall we?”

You shift your hips to help him as he pulls them down for you, instructing you to sit at the head of the bed with your legs spread. You watch as he closes the bedroom door, then stalks back towards you like a tiger stalking its prey. Your heart starts beating out of your chest and it takes all your concentration not to press your thighs together again. 

He sits down beside you on the bed, his hand on your face again as he starts to kiss you. You're melting into him, the way his tongue gently and patiently parts your lips and then dances with your own. The noise of the vibrating stick buzzing into life reaches your ears just before the feeling of the vibrations reach your pussy. You jolt and moan into his mouth, and you can feel him resisting a smile. Pulling away, his thumb brushes your saliva-coated lower lip and the smile appears. He looks like the cat that’s got the cream. 

“Ya can make all the noise ya want to now, dolly.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” rushes out of your mouth again, making his smile somehow even bigger. 

“Ya like this, honey?” He asks, pushing it against your clit firmly. You’re starting to sweat and you wonder if this is too much pleasure and maybe you might have to scream. 

“Y-yes. Oh God. Feels so good.”

“What about this?”

Without warning, he slips the long thin toy inside you and suddenly you’re vibrating from the inside out. Your hips buck and you moan, eyes fluttering closed. 

“So good,” you whisper. Your brain seems dangerously blank. 

He starts to fuck you with the vibrating toy and you can feel arousal spilling down your legs and onto the bed. If only Elvis’ dick did this when he fucked you. You think that his thick, vibrating dick would be even better than this feeling right now, before the feeling of his thumb pressing against your clit stops all further thoughts. 

“Oh! Daddy!” 

“Ya gonna cum fer me, dolly?”

You nod quickly, feeling the edges of your orgasm as he keeps up the pace with the toy and his thumb rolls your clit around. 

“Oh… Oh…” you moan, helplessly, your body jolting and writhing with pleasure. 

“That’s it. Cum f’Daddy.”

Your vision blurs as you feel the wave of orgasmic bliss crashing over you, the pleasure is so overwhelming you don’t know what to do. Wetness streams between your legs and you’re calling out Elvis’ name between desperate moans. You’re not sure sex has ever felt quite this good, although you know you definitely shouldn’t ever mention that to Elvis, feeling your body still and his hands move to gentle, tickling strokes of your thighs. 

“Mmmmm. Good girl,” he hums. 

Eventually your eyes flip open again and you gaze up at him in wonder. 

“You never told me what it was, Daddy.”

He laughs. “Ya still don't know? Innocent lil thing. That's a vibrator, baby. A sex toy.”

“Are there more?” You ask, breathily. “Sex toys I mean.”

Those tickling, teasing fingers are still running over your skin as he considers your question. 

“Yes dolly, lots more of ‘em. But this is all we need right now.” He moves his hand to your throat, thumb gently pressing against your windpipe. “An’ no usin’ it on yer own now, little girl.” 

The warning tone is one you're used to by now, and you reassure him quickly that you wouldn't possibly dream of using it without him. He seems satisfied by your promises, tucking his thumb away and letting his hand slide to the back of your neck. He kisses you gently and you lean into him. You've barely come down from your high and you're already thinking about when you'll be allowed to use the toy again. You hope it's soon. 

***

Elvis has been gone all day and he shows no sign of coming back. You flick through one of your magazines disinterestedly, then try reading one of his books. It's no good, though, you can't concentrate. He wasn't interested in pleasuring you last night, just teasing you until your pussy ached and then making you please him instead. Your pussy still aches now. It pulses with need, and you shuffle your legs back and forth, squeezing your thighs together as your dress rides up higher and higher.

Joe coughs.

“Uh… princess?” He has a habit of calling you princess when Elvis isn't there and you don't really like it. 

“Hmmm.”

“Your uh… your skirt…” he mumbles, and you watch the blush spread across his cheeks as he says it. 

“What about it, Joe?” 

You probably wouldn't be this bratty if Elvis were here, but he isn't. 

Another cough. “You might need ta… pull it down, honey. I don't think Elvis would like the view you're givin’ us right now…”

“Well Elvis isn't here!” You declare. Standing up, you pull your skirt down to where it belongs and huff loudly. “I'm going to bed!” 

You can hear Joe humming and muttering to himself as you leave and you have half a mind to go and find his wife and tell her that he's been looking up your skirt. But the ache between your legs is reaching a fever pitch and you have to find a way to relieve it, right now. You stride into your bedroom and close the door behind you, looking quickly around as if you expected to find Elvis hidden in some corner or other. Of course he is nowhere to be seen, but you sigh anyway. You miss him. You like him being there to tell you what to wear and what to do and, hell, probably what to think too. In his absence you always make silly decisions, and as you unzip your dress and let it fall to the ground at your feet, you feel another one coming on. Sloughing off your panties and unclasping your bra, you stand in the middle of your bedroom completely naked aside from your heels. Elvis loves you in heels, he tells you they make your sooties look pretty, so you even wear them indoors. You spin around on the spot for a moment, looking at your white peeptoes. They do make your feet look nice. Then the throbbing between your legs makes itself known again and you remember your earlier frustrations. You don't think it's fair that Elvis denied you last night and then disappeared all day today. He doesn't like you touching yourself on your own, he always tells you Daddy has to be there to make sure his pussy is being treated right. But you don't know where he is, and your pussy isn't being treated right at the moment, you're damn sure of it. 

Wandering over to the full-length mirror in the room, you take some time to give yourself a once over. You don't look bad naked, and the heels add a certain something. You turn to the side, kicking one foot up behind you and putting a hand on your hip. Pulling a pin-up style expression, you imagine Elvis behind you. Before you know it, the girl in the mirror has her hand between her thighs and is stroking herself there. She puts her other hand to her mouth in faux-surprise. Pleasure starts to pulse through your veins, excitement too, and the next thing you know you're thinking of the vibrator. Elvis did say it was a gift for you. An unhelpful part of your brain reminds you that Elvis also said you weren't to use it without him. You push the thought away, concentrating for a minute or two on the coquettish girl in the mirror, surprised at her own hand between her legs. Then you go in search of the box. 

You’re on the bed, vibrator in your pussy, humping one of your pink fluffy pillows when the door opens a crack and Elvis looks in. You don’t notice him at first, of course you don’t, he’s being deliberately quiet and you’ve got carried away, lost in pleasure. You don’t even notice him slipping into the room completely, silently closing the door behind him. Your mouth falls open as the delicious friction on your clit brings you close to orgasm. That’s when you hear it. 

“Dolly.”

At first you think you’ve imagined it. You want him here so badly that your brain has conjured up that soft southern drawl. As your eyes slowly open and your hips still, you finally register him standing in the middle of your room. 

“Daddy!” You squeak, throwing yourself backwards off the pillow and quickly trying to cover up with one of the many throws on your bed. Your hand reaches between your legs to switch the vibrator off in a way that you pray is subtle but you’re pretty sure is anything but. 

Elvis stares at you with ill-concealed annoyance. His jaw is ticking, clenching and relaxing over and over again in a way that you know spells trouble for you. He rakes a hand through his previously beautifully coiffed hair, leaving it spilling haphazardly over his forehead. You can’t help noticing how good he looks, the way his pants cling to his thighs, his rolled up shirt sleeves emphasising the muscles in his forearms. 

“Jus’ what d’ya think yer doin’ exactly, little girl?” He asks, through gritted teeth. 

“I-I was missing you, D-daddy…” you try. It’s not a lie, but it probably isn’t enough to save you. 

He purses his lips, titling his head to the side as he huffs air out of his nose. “What have I told ya ‘bout pleasurin’ yerself without me?”

You wriggle uncomfortably under the blanket. The toy is still inside you and you’d been so close when he interrupted you. It’s not as if you’ve stopped wanting to finish. If anything, the way he’s talking to you is just making you wetter, your stomach twisting and turning, body aching with want. 

“Not to,” you whisper. “‘M sorry, sir.” It’s a long shot, but maybe upping the ante will help. This might be a get-down-on-your-knees-and-beg-for-forgiveness sort of moment. If only doing that wouldn’t make it immediately obvious that not only had you been pleasuring yourself on your own, but you’d been using the toy that had been expressly forbidden too. 

“I’ll make yer sorry,” he hisses, closing the distance between him and the bed in two large strides. Okay, so maybe your kneeling and begging moment has passed you by. 

The speed with which he pulls the blanket off your body makes you squeal, and you try to wriggle away from him. Anything to stop him seeing what you’ve done, but of course he’s quick, much quicker than you and he grabs your ankles and pulls you across the bed by them. Another deeply exasperated and disappointed sigh falls from his lips and you know he’s spotted the toy. 

“What. Did. I. Tell. Ya. About. This?”

You’re on your back now and he’s pushed your legs up and apart, hands on the backs of your knees as he leans over you menacingly. 

“Sorry, sorry…” you mumble, eyes wide and afraid though you know the wetness leaking out of you is giving away your arousal. “...’m so sorry, sir.”

There’s a silence then, during which you can only assume Elvis is considering exactly what he’s going to do with you. You can almost see his brain working on his face, the way he frowns and then eventually his lips curl into a cruel smile. 

“Ya wanna cum, little girl?”

You nod slowly, unsure. It seems like a trap, but you’re not sure exactly how it could be. The smile is wolfish now, and you start to feel like his prey laid out underneath him as he flicks the switch on again and the delightful buzzing fills your pussy. 

“Well let’s see if that’s what ya want when I’m done with ya.”

Your brain latches on to the words briefly, and then stops trying to work out what they mean as he starts the same process as before, moving the toy in and out of you as he touches your clit. It’s mere moments before you’re cumming, the thrill of your orgasm rushing through your body from your core to your fingers and toes. The relief is so great you sigh with satisfaction, hands thrown above your head. You can hear him laugh a little, and you force your eyes open to try to figure out why. He’s already undone his pants by the time you look, and then his dick is in his hand. 

“Warmed up now, aint’cha?” He coos, replacing the vibrator with his dick in one quick movement. 

You yelp in surprise. You’re relaxed, but not relaxed enough to take him in one go so quickly and you feel your pussy stretch a little painfully. Elvis doesn’t care though, he barely gives you a second to adjust before he’s thrusting into you, making your body shake with each movement. The feeling is overwhelming, it’s pleasure and discomfort and a little sprinkle of oversensitivity to boot. You just lie there, being fucked, panting and moaning, barely able to string a thought together. Your ability to string a thought together leaves you completely when you feel the vibrations again, this time on your clit. You squeak. 

“Daddy!” 

“Mmmm. Want ya ta cum again, sweetheart,” he tells you, hair falling into his eyes, sweat on his brow. 

“O-Oh…” you manage, and then your brain is gone again. 

He keeps thrusting and holding the vibrator against your clit so firmly that all you can do is what he wants, and this time everything goes white and you feel like you’re floating in space, in your body and out of it at the same time. He moves the vibrator for enough time for you to catch your breath and then it’s back. And then he does something you didn’t know was possible - he turns it up. 

“Ahhh! No!” You squirm and struggle, trying to get away from him. The feeling is just too much. 

“Uh-uh, little dolly,” he chides. “Yer gonna lie here until ya cum again.”

“I-I can’t… I… oh God…”

“Ya wanted ta cum. ‘M jus’ lettin’ ya cum.”

You keep wriggling until his hand wraps around your throat. 

“Stay. Still.” 

You feel it tighten, blocking off your airway just enough to make the message clear. You stop moving your body but your head nods quickly and desperately. He presses the toy against your clit again.

“Relax and cum f’Daddy.”

His dick is still inside you as your walls flutter and then squeeze for the third time, your pussy hot and swollen. You don’t know how much more of this you can take. He’s not interested though, and he doesn’t give you another chance to try to escape after this one. Pulling out, he flips you onto your belly and lies on top of you, holding you down. Once he’s got you where he wants you, he shifts just enough to slip the vibrator between your legs and turn it up to full. 

“No… no… ‘s too much, please…” 

“One more, little girl.” His voice is gravelly, dark, dangerous. 

Your clit is so sensitive now you don’t know what to do with yourself. Not that there’s much you can do with yourself, with all of Elvis lying right on top of you, holding you against the terrible buzzing torture. You can feel his hardness against your bare ass, you know he’s getting off on this. You hear someone start to whine, and then after a minute or so you realise it’s you.

“Relax, baby.” Sudden gentleness, his lips next to your ear, the smell of him all around you. 

He kisses your neck and you’re screaming out the fourth orgasm, tears collecting in the corners of your eyes and then spilling down your cheeks, wetting the already much-abused pillow. 

“Oh, good girl.”

“No more, please Daddy… no more…” you whine, arms and legs thrashing as he rolls off you and pulls the toy away, switching it off and tossing it over the other side of the bed. 

“C’mere.”

He guides your face to his lap and your mouth to his stiff dick. Gently helping you move up and down on him, he tells you when he’s going to cum so you can prepare for it spurting down your throat. You only gag a little. The satisfied moan he makes fills you with pride, and you look up at his blissed-out face feeling warm and fuzzy now too. You lick your lips as you rest your head on his thigh, starting to feel tired. After a while he comes round from his orgasm and you feel him move you gently and stand up, tucking himself away again. 

“I’ll run ya a bath,” he announces, getting up and going into the en suite. 

Sitting up slowly, you realise your pussy feels about twice its usual size, puffy and hot between your legs. 

“‘M sorry, Daddy,” you tell him as soon as he’s back, eyes big and desperate for approval. 

The corners of his lips pull into a little smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. “So ya should be, sweetheart.” 

Your face falls and you look down, studying the carpet, worried he hasn’t forgiven you and he might start torturing your clit again. Then you feel a finger under your chin as he tilts your face back up towards his. 

“I forgive ya. Think ya took yer punishment.” He smirks then, eyes sparkling with mirth. “Not well, but ya took it. An’ now I gotta look after my lil dolly, haven’t I?”

You wiggle closer to him as he sits down next to you on the bed, your arms around his neck, pouting lips and big doe eyes. 

“My pussy’s sore,” you whisper. 

He laughs and slings his arm underneath your legs, picking you up so you’re sitting sideways on his lap.

“‘M not surprised, baby. Maybe next time ya won’t try ta take care a yerself without yer Daddy around, hm?”

You nod and he kisses you affectionately, first on the lips and then on the end of your nose, finally landing on a last gentle kiss to the forehead. 

“That’s my dolly. Let’s go and check on this bath, sweetheart.”

You cling to him as he stands, holding you in his arms and carrying you to the bathroom. You can feel his pulse throbbing in his neck as your face presses against it. 

“Love you, Daddy.”

He strokes your hair, then kisses you. “Love you too, darlin’. More ‘an anythin’. Now let's get ya nice an’ clean.”

***

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[sloppiest-of-jos]

So... I had this dream about Elvis.

It's a little blurry and my English isn't perfect, nos, but I can remember the important bits.

I (the reader, of you wanna write about it ;]) was working as Elvis's assistant and practically loved with him. There where some feelings between us and, eventually, we ended up in bed together. The things were getting heated up, he was rubbing himself through his pants and i was grinding against his thigh.. and just when things where going to get good...

I woke up.

Oh, sweet, sweet nonnie. Your fantastic dream sparked a whole thing for me. Please enjoy this fanfic that resulted from this ask:

Return to Sender

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, kissing, cussing, dry humping, thigh riding, p in v sex, unprotected sex, ejaculation

Word count: ~3.3k

Also decided to base it loosely on this gif:

You were so nervous in your interview that you actually knocked a cup of something off of his desk. As a result, you were pretty sure you did not get the job. But what you didn't know is that he found your stuttering and fidgeting endearing and when you bent over to clean up the cup you spilled, the view he got of your ass made his decision for him.

That's how you ended up as Elvis Presley's private secretary. It's 1959 and he gets so much fan mail these days that he can't manage it all himself. So, he hires you to help him out. He's pleased when you prove to be useful and supremely impressed when you show him that you can mimic his signature perfectly. Still, his interest in you is far from purely functional.

He's not sure how to go about making his first move, especially since you work for him and he'd hate to lose you. You're really quite effective, so he'll have to play this just right. He doesn't want to offend you and run you off for good.

Instead, he spends a lot of time watching you and smiling at you when you catch him looking. You can't figure out why he keeps looking at you. You're not dumb, not even naive really, but it still seems outside the realm of reality that he might be into you for more than your typing skills.

He tests the waters a little with some flirtation here and there, and you don't seem to turn him down, but you also don't seem to reciprocate. He confuses your nervousness with disinterest and tries to stay focused on the task at hand any time you're together. But as time passes, you get more and more comfortable with each other and eventually a kind of friendship forms between you. It's easy to bond as you laugh about some of the crazy things the girls write to him, but you really start to get close when he begins to talk to you. And not just about the letters. Without meaning to, he tells you about his loneliness, his fears, and how much he misses his mama. You're a good listener and he needs you more than he realizes.

Eventually, you get to the end of his time in the service and know he'll be headed back to the states soon. You're not exactly excited about seeing him go, but there's not much you can do to change it, so you take it in stride.

He's not so resigned, though.

If there's even the slightest chance that you might want him, he's not going to let the opportunity pass him by. The night before all of his big army-ending interviews, he asks you to come over. You assume he needs you to get through some letters or something before he leaves, but he has something else entirely different in mind.

“Hey, honey, thank you for coming over so late.” His voice is quiet, shy almost. The room is dimly lit and there's the faint smell of cigar smoke in the air. He sits in a large armchair, watching you as you stand in the middle of the room. You nod and tell him that you don't mind.

“You have some new letters that you need help with?” He shakes his head sheepishly, shifting uncomfortably in the chair.

“Not really. I just wanted to see ya before I leave.” You blink a few times, confused.

“I'll be there for the interviews tomorrow.” He nods. This is not a surprise, but he wants to talk to you without people around.

“Yeah, but…” He fumbles over the words, trying to say exactly what he feels. The hesitation is heavy in the air between you and it's almost as though the words get caught in his throat when he tries to speak.

“But what, Elvis?” You look down at him and he sighs deeply, drumming his fingers on his knee anxiously. Without warning, he stands up and walks to you, grazing his fingertips over your cheek gently. There's a moment of nothing but being between you and you see the conviction enter his eyes.

“Oh, fuck it.” And then his lips are on yours, soft and needy. At first, you're so shocked that you stand there with your eyes open and his mouth on yours. You can see his eyelashes where they settle on his cheeks and feel him breathing as his chest rises and falls so close to you. He pulls back and notices the look on your face. “No? Was that…?”

“Do it again.” A smile creeps across his face and he leans down and kisses you again. This time your eyes close and you melt into him. The taste of him on your lips is exquisite, something between mint and man, and it feels like you'll never get enough. He deepens the kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth, his hands drifting to your hips as he pulls you in close to him, your bodies flush against each other. You moan softly as his lips move down your jaw to your neck and his hands slips down to grab your ass through your dress.

“I've wanted this forever.” His voice rumbles against your throat. You feel his hardness where he presses it against you, the urgency in his hips becoming more obvious.

“Took you long enough.” A little giggle escapes your lips as his hands continue to roam your body, squeezing you where it pleases him. He takes your breasts in both hands and lets out a small whimper. The need for more of him burns inside of you, manifesting in the ache in your center. His cock is so hard it hurts as he rolls against you, tangling one hand in your hair to hold you still as he dips his tongue into your mouth again. You start to pull at his shirt as he walks you backwards through the house toward his bedroom, one arm wrapped around your waist to keep you as close to him as possible.

You fumble with buttons, fingers trembling in anticipation. All of a sudden, it seems like his shirt has a hundred buttons and you groan in frustration. He pulls back, chuckling and pulls it over his head, dropping it to the floor. In the hallway, he turns your back to him and puts your hands on the wall, dragging his down your back to your hips. The ache between your thighs is quickly becoming unbearable, your body burning up with the intensity of your need. His hands grip your hips as he ruts against you, his erection straining against the fabric of his pants. Then, you feel his lips on the back of your neck as he unzips your dress, pushing it forward off of you to let it pool at your feet. He turns you to face him, eagerly raking his eyes over you hungrily as his tongue darts out to wet his lips. He takes a moment to really appreciate your body in just your underwear and bra.

“What?” You ask playfully, noticing the spellbound look on his face. He shakes his head a little, basking in the scent of your perfume as it mixes with the heat of your body.

“You're even more beautiful than I could've imagined.” He runs his fingertips down the side of your stomach and grips your hip tightly. The last ounce of inhibition leaves you and you grab the back of his neck, pulling his lips back down to yours. Every ounce of him hums with insatiable desire as his soft mouth moves on yours passionately. He pushes your back to the wall and presses his body tightly against yours, his thigh on your center. Without thinking, you start to rub yourself on his thigh, your body begging for friction against your swollen clit. He groans and starts to roll his hips against you. “Goddamn, baby. Don't stop that.”

Your hands slide around to his back as you pick up speed, grinding your clothed pussy on his leg.

“Oh god, Elvis.” A deep moan floats up and out of you as your aching bud reacts to the delicious sensation of his pants.

“Fuck, baby. That's a good girl. Make yourself cum on me.” He grips your hips and helps you rut against him, chasing your orgasm. The wetness seeps through your panties, soaking the fabric under you, but he doesn't care. He wants you to cum, needs you to cum, his hips stuttering against you as you rub on him.

“I'm s-so close.” It's more of a whimper than a sentence, but he gets your meaning. His grasp on your hips is almost bruising as you grind on him faster and harder. The familiar bubbling heat gathers in your lower belly as the sweat drips between your breasts. He captures your lips in a desperate kiss and then mumbles against you.

“Come on, baby. You're right there. Let go.” And then, like your body knew to listen to him, you cum on command, shuddering and trembling as the orgasm rushes through you, sending bolts of pleasure to your extremities. He starts to slow the rolling of your hips as you go floppy against him. “Good girl. So pretty when you cum.”

“Think I might've ruined your pants.” You whisper and he chuckles.

“They'll wash. Can you walk?” You look at him, your eyes hazy with your post-orgasm daze.

“Huh?”

“I'm nowhere near finished with you.” He smirks.

“I'm not sure-” You don't even get the sentence out before he bends down, throwing you over his shoulder. A squeal escapes your lips as he carries you to the bedroom and drops you unceremoniously on the bed. He turns on a small light on the nightstand, casting a kind of orange glow around the room. You look at him standing there, the small patch of hair on his chest, his angelic face, and the small wet spot where his dick has leaked precum onto his pants and continues to stand at full attention. He looks at you spread out on the bed and decides at that moment that he'd give you anything you wanted, even his last name if you asked for it.

“I need you, baby.” He palms himself over his pants and you nod, reaching back to unhook your bra. You slip it down your arms and drop it on the floor, moving to push your panties down your legs. He grunts when your pussy becomes visible, moving his hand on his cock a little faster. When you spread your legs, he bites his bottom lip and moans.

“What are you waiting for?” You coo. His eyes are glued to your glistening pussy as he quickly unbuttons his pants and lets them drop. Your mouth waters a little as his cock bounces free, big and uncut and weeping precum. He climbs on top of you, arranging himself against your entrance and taking one of your legs onto his shoulder.

“You ready for me, honey?” He asks desperately, rubbing his tip through your wet folds. You nod and he groans, slowly pushing into you. The feeling of his dick stretching you out is overwhelmingly good. Finally, he groans, his whole cock buried deep inside you, balls pressed against your ass, as he resists the urge to pound you silly. Your hands clench around the silky sheets and you breathe, trying to adjust to the feeling of him. He looks at you with his eyebrows knit together in concern. “You okay?”

“God, yes.” He smiles down at you and pulls his hips back, sliding his now-wet cock out of you and then rolling them forward again, plunging himself into you. Your eyes roll back and you moan loudly as he starts to pick up a steady rhythm of slamming against you. He kisses your ankle gently and fucks into you over and over again. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as the scent of your sex hangs in the air. Your breasts bounce with every thrust and he grunts, his release gathering in his balls. The headboard starts to bang against the wall and the little light on the nightstand rocks with the force of your lovemaking.

“Fuck, baby. You feel so good. Such a tight little pussy.” His hair is sweaty on his forehead and you revel in the smell of him as he wraps your leg around his hip and leans down to kiss you, his cock sliding in and out of you. In doing so, he shifts the angle a little and begins to rub against your g-spot. Now, you whimper and moan with every movement of his hips, clawing at his back as he pounds you. You devolve into just a body, soaking in each sensation: skin pressed together, sticky and wet, his tongue in your mouth, insistent and deep, and his cock filling your pussy up again and again. He does the same, sinking into the waves of pleasure, your tight heat wrapped around his dick, squeezing him just right. Everything is sensual as you mix together and quickly lose track of whose sweat is whose.

“Elvisssss…” You whine, another climax crashing into you and burning you up from the inside out. He moans with the feeling of your pussy tightening around him.

“Fuck, baby, I'm gonna cum. Fuck. Gonna… oh fuck!” He pulls out of you at the very last possible second, shooting cum all over the inside of your thighs. His cock throbs and pulses and he collapses on top of you, sticky ropes pumping out of him onto your legs. When he finally finishes, he groans loudly and picks up his head, kissing your lips softly. You giggle and push his hair back off his forehead. He chuckles. “I made a mess.”

“Yes, you did. But I helped.” He laughs and kisses you again.

“Yeah, I'm gonna blame this one on you.” You giggle as he rolls off of you and fetches a washcloth from the bathroom to clean you up. When he's done, he crawls back into bed and pulls you onto his chest. “Stay with me?”

You look up into his eyes and it's obvious he doesn't want to be alone tonight. Honestly, you wouldn't leave him even if you could.

“Of course.” He smiles and nuzzles into your hair. You settle in to sleep with him wrapped around you.

***

When you wake up the next morning, he's already dressed in his full uniform. He moves around the room quietly, but he notices when you stir and smiles softly.

“Hey, baby.” You lift your head up and yawn, stretching.

“You're leaving?” He nods and then sits down on the bed to put his shoes on.

“Yeah, I have those interviews. You comin’?” Again, it's clear that he wants you there, so you nod back.

“Oh yeah. I just have to run home and get dressed, but I'll be there.”

“Good.” He leans in and kisses your forehead before standing up. You're still naked from your activities last night and he looks down at you hungrily. He pulls the covers down a little so that he can see your body. “Goddamnit. I hate to leave ya.”

You're not sure if he's talking about this morning or forever. You reach out and take his hand, kissing it gently and then placing it on your breast.

“Fuck.” He climbs into bed in his uniform and pulls you onto him, kissing you deeply and running his hands all over your body.

“Thought you had to go?” You ask between kisses. He groans and buries his face in your neck. The sweet scent of your sweat and sex lingers on your skin and he breathes it in, trying to commit everything about you to memory. He mumbles into your hair.

“Yeah, I do. Just wish I could keep you naked in my bed forever.” For a few more seconds, you just hold each other, trying not to think about the future. Then, he pulls away from you and gets out of bed. “I'll see you at the interviews.”

He turns and leaves before he can get back into the bed and stays there until he dies. You sigh and get up, gathering your things and getting dressed. Something is missing, though. You cannot find your panties anywhere. Sighing again, you check your watch. You don't have time to keep looking. At least he'll have something to remember you by.

******

At the interviews, you stand behind him sipping your coffee and watching. The press are snapping photos like crazy and the flash bulbs are almost giving you a headache. You wonder how he stands it. The room is filled with noise and people, but you can't take your eyes off of him. He looks better than he ever has before, but maybe that's because you've seen him naked and know how beautiful he is without clothes. Your eyes drift down a little and you think about what's hiding under his pants, rubbing your thighs together. And that's when you see them: your panties, just barely peeking out of his pocket.

Your mouth pops open, but you shut it quickly. That little shit. He stole your panties! And he has them with him!

You grab a pen and a scrap of paper and scribble out a note. Motivated by his boldness, you walk up behind him and then lean forward, slipping the note into his jacket. He looks up and realizes it's you, his heart stopping in his chest. Still, he plays it off for the press and keeps going.

However, the second he's able, he pulls out the note and reads it eagerly.

You thief. I see what you stole and I want them back! Call me before you leave.

He grins widely, kisses the note, and folds it up, adding it to the pocket where your panties are. His intention was only to keep them, but now his blood is pumping with the possibility of seeing you again. A thought hits him and he sits with it for a bit. By the time he gets home, he's determined to make it a reality. He picks up the phone and dials your number.

“Hello?”

“I'm not givin’ em back.” Your face breaks into a smile.

“You better!” He chuckles.

“Alright, you can have ‘em. BUT-” He pauses for effect and you just about die with anticipation. You hear him take a deep, steadying breath before he continues. “You have to come get them in Memphis.”

Your mouth drops in shock. You're not sure what you were expecting, but it wasn't that.

“In Memphis?”

“Yes. Come home with me.” His heart is in his throat as he waits for your response. He twists the phone cord around his finger and bites his lip. If only he could see your face. The suspense is killing him.

“Okay.” What else could you say?

“Okay?” He asks excitedly, standing up with the phone.

“Yes.” Your heart is racing, but there's nothing that important keeping you here. Not if he's asking you.

He does a silent fist pump and thanks God that you said yes.

“I'll come get you on my way to the airport. Pack to stay for a while. Like, forever.”

“Elvis…”

“Listen, baby. It took me a long time to find you. I'm not lettin’ you get away anytime soon. You gonna argue?” You think for a second about what you're agreeing to and then decide to take a leap of faith.

“Not at all.”

“Good. And baby?”

“Yeah?” He hesitates for a second, his nerves getting the better of him. Then, he just says it, unable to keep the words from tumbling out.

“I love you.” Your heart stops.

“I love you too, Elvis.”

******

The End

Taglist:

@ccab @atleastpleasetelephone @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @searchingforgravity @msamarican @angschrof @lustnhim @polksaladava @librababe99 @hooked-on-elvis @theelvisprincess @makethemorning @peaceloveelvis @mrspresley69 @pxpresley @kxnnxy @angelriley222

[sloppiest-of-jos]

Authors note: I had so much fun writing this that I finished quickly. Maybe I will take longer with the next episode, as the next two weeks are very intense for me 🥲 Enjoy!!

Word count: 3,5K

Warnings: angst, innocent, a bit aggresive E, fluff.

Dontcha’ think It’s time

Part 2 (Part 1 here)

Before you reached the stairs, you could listen already the clinking silverware, lively chatter, and Elvis’s booming laughter. The smell of bacon, toast, and coffee pulled you toward the dining room.

Inside, chairs scraped, voices overlapped, and the Memphis Mafia crowded around the table, plates piled high.

At the center, little Lisa Marie sat in her high chair, happily making a mess spilling cereals.

Lisa spotted you right away. Her face lit up with a big, messy grin.

“You sittin’ by me?” she asked fascinated, her voice slightly muffled by the cereal in her mouth.

“Good morning, Yisa. Of course!” you replied with a warm smile while sliding into the seat next to her.

Lisa giggled, she was excited to enjoy breakfast with you.

Elvis, seated at the head of the table, glanced up. He noticed the interaction, the way Lisa beamed at you, and that put a smile on his face.

Leaning forward slightly, his eyes softened as he said “Mornin’, sugar” his voice smooth and welcoming. “How’d ya sleep?”

You looked over at him, your nerves easing at his kind tone. “Good, thanks. The bed is really comfortable.”

“Well, that’s good to hear” he replied, leaning back in his chair, coffee in hand. “Graceland ain’t that bad, is it?”

“No, it’s really nice” you answered honestly, feeling a bit more at ease.

Elvis nodded, pleased.

Across the table, Joe piped up, breaking the short moment of calm. “Hey, E, the tailor has been waiting for you to confirm a date. Them jumpsuits of yours are about ready to give up.”

“Yeah” Red added, cutting into his pancakes with a grin. “Keep movin’ like you do on stage, and those seams ain’t got a prayer.”

The table roared with laughter as Elvis rolled his eyes, though his grin betrayed his amusement.

“You boys got jokes this mornin’, huh?” he answered back between laughs. “Tell the tailor to come by tomorrow. And careful now, you’re talkin’ to the man who makes sure y’all get breakfast every day.”

Red grinned back. “That’s true, E. But maybe if you laid off the damn bacon those seams wouldn’t be screamin’ for help.”

Elvis shot him a mock glare as the room erupted in laughter again. But before he could retort, Lisa’s little voice piped up, clear as a bell.

“Damn bacon” she let out, nodding as if she agreed with Red.

Everyone laughed at the joke except Elvis, who sighed playfully. He wasn't impressed because Lisa was at that age of repeating everything.

Setting his coffee cup down slowly, Elvis licked his lips, stretched his arms, and cracked his neck like a man about to deliver the final blow. Then, with a smirk so lethal it could knock a man flat, he pointed his fork straight at Red.

“Listen here, I ain’t eatin’ all this bacon for me, man. I’m carb-loadin’ for later… gotta keep my energy up for your mama.”

The guys detonated.

Jerry fell against Charlie, grabbing his chest like he’d been shot. Charlie was howling, pounding the table so hard the syrup bottle tipped over.

Elvis took another bite of bacon, chewed slowly, and winked.

Red threw his hands up. “Man, what the hell, E?! I ain’t even say nothin’ that bad!”

Elvis just shrugged, taking a long sip of coffee. “Well, maybe next time you’ll think twice before talkin’ about me and my jumpsuits. ’Cause trust me, man, ain’t nothin’ burstin’ at the seams but your mama’s breathin’ when I walk through the door.”

“I’m done. I’m done.” Red slammed his napkin on the table.

Elvis grinned, popping another piece of bacon in his mouth. “Yeah, well… your mama ain’t.”

You sat calmly, hands resting on the table, taking it all in. You were watching and listening, completely absorbed. You didn’t understand every jab being thrown, but still. The way he shot back, so quick, so clever… it was something to admire. You fixed your eyes on him, wide with quiet awe, captivated by the effortless way he turned every joke in his favor.

You had no idea what was happening. But one thing was clear: Uncle Elvis was winning.

Elvis looked at you and instantly felt the weight of all his sins.

Red looked between you and Elvis and smirked. “Yeah, E… now you can’t say anything, huh?”

He shot Red a warning glare. “Oh, you dirty son of a…”

After few seconds Elvis swallowed real slow, suddenly feeling about ten degrees hotter. He glanced around: Charlie nudged Jerry. Jerry looked up, saw your sweet little face, and immediately covered his mouth, trying to hold in his laughter. Joe was staring directly at Elvis, mouthing, “Don’t. You. Do. It.”

Elvis cleared his throat, straightened his back, and gave you his most innocent, charming smile.

“Well now, sugar” he started smoothly, looking you dead in the eye. “Let’s just say… your ol’ Uncle does a lotta charity work”

The table lost it.

Joe was laughing quietly, struggling to catch his breath and kicking his legs. Jerry was nearly in tears. Red's face was all red, and he was mumbling something about how the Lord was testing him.

Wiping the tears from his eyes, Jerry added, “E, you’re going straight to hell, man.”

The playful teasing helped you unwind, and soon enough, you were laughing along with the jokes, a sense of belonging settling in.

Noticing you loosening up, Red smirked and leaned toward you. “See? Give it a year, and you’ll be just as wild as the rest of us.”

“Yeah, but for now, take it easy, Red. She’s just a little girl.” Jerry swallowed a piece of toast, smirking.

Hearing Jerry’s words stirred something inside you. Since the atmosphere they created was making you feel comfortable, you decided to bring this up. Excitement began to shine in your eyes as you declared with a smile, “Well, not for long. Uncle Elvis is gonna make me a woman.”

The room fell into an instant, stunned silence. Forks hovered midair, coffee cups stopped halfway to lips, not a single breathing, and wide-eyed glances darted across the table.

Elvis paused mid-sip, his coffee cup still hovering close to his mouth. He froze, staring at the scene blankly. Slowly, he lowered his hand, the cup dangling from his fingers as he looked around to see how everyone was reacting.

Red made the mistake of looking at Elvis, saw the absolute panic on his face, and lost the battle. His chest jerked with a barely contained snort.

Charlie’s face turned toward the ceiling, eyes shut tight, fighting for composure, while Joe shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Elvis like he was waiting for him to say something.

But the real problem, the reason the laughter was strained, the reason no one could quite look Elvis in the eye, was that the idea wasn’t actually impossible.

By experience, they all knew better.

Before Elvis could even pronounce a word, you continued innocently, completely unaware of the tension. “He said he’d teach me about what men like and how to be more confident, so I figured…”

Lisa, completely oblivious, grinned up at you, swinging her legs.

“Darlin’, I told y-“

Elvis didn’t even get to finish before Jerry leaned in, his voice low but urgent. “You might wanna hit the brakes before this train goes completely off the rails.”

In return, Elvis shot him a glare. “You think I don’t know that?”

Turning back to you, he forced a strained smile. “Now, sugar, what I meant was-“

“But you said-“

“I know what I said” Elvis cut in quickly, his voice tightening up with irritation.

Charlie decided to pour gasoline on the fire. “She’s got a point, E. You’re always braggin’ about how you know what women want.”

Elvis’s patience snapped. “Charlie, I swear to God…”

But you weren’t done. “And it makes sense, right? You said you know what men want, and if anyone can make me a woman, it’s you, Uncle Elvis!”

That was the final straw. The room went nuts, their laughter transforming into a strange mix of hiccuping, snorting, and wheezing. It sounded like a bunch of chickens getting spooked and a pack of turkeys doing their gobble thing, creating a total circus.

Elvis, however, didn’t find it funny.

“Alright, that’s enough!” he shouted. He slammed his hand on the table, making everyone jump. His face was bright red, and his eyes blazed with frustration. Every time he tried to speak, someone cut him off. His patience was gone.

The room quieted suddenly, giggles dying out in an instant. Lisa's attention snapped to her father, her eyes wide and glued to his face.

You shrank in your seat, your face red with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean anything bad” you whispered, your voice breaking.

Elvis sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know you didn’t, sugar” he said, his voice softer but still firm. “But you can’t…you just can’t say things like that. Not like that. Not here.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you pushed your chair back. “I’m sorry” you said quickly, bolting from the room before anyone could stop you.

No one spoke. No one dared.

Elvis exhaled heavily, dragging a hand down his face. The men exchanged uneasy glances until Jerry finally broke the silence. “Well…that went south fast.”

Elvis shot him a warning look but remained silent.

Red smirked softly “E, this is just a taste of what’s comin’. Wait till Lisa’s her age. You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

Elvis glanced at Lisa, who had returned to her cereal as if nothing had happened.

“Lisa” he said tiredly, “finish your breakfast. And behave when you get older, ya hear me?”

Lisa looked up at him, confused but obedient. “Okay, Daddy” she replied, taking another bite.

As soon as breakfast was over, Elvis let out a quiet curse before standing abruptly and leaving the table.

He made his way upstairs, pausing outside your door to knock softly.

“Darlin’? You in there?”

No response. He hesitated, then turned the doorknob.

The room was empty.

Elvis’s stomach sank as he scanned the hallway, his worry mounting.

“Jerry!” he called with sharp voice. “Get everyone. She’s gone.”

You ran down the driveway of Graceland, your feet pounding on the hot pavement. As you neared the end, the city of Memphis sprawled out before you, alive with activity, a sea of unknown but filled with the promise of answers.

You didn’t stop. Not when the air burned your lungs, not when the weight of this morning’s turmoil pressed against your chest. You weaved through pedestrians.

Finally, the library stood before you.

You pushed open the doors, stepping into the cool, hushed space. “If no one’s gonna help me” you muttered under your breath, determination settling in your bones. “I’ll find out myself.”

Some time later, Elvis was behind the wheel of his Cadillac, the engine roaring as it crawled down the streets of Memphis. His knuckles were tight on the steering wheel. Jerry sat in the passenger seat, glancing anxiously between Elvis and the road ahead.

“E, you’ve been drivin’ in circles for an hour”

Elvis ignored him, his sharp blue eyes inspecting the sidewalks. “She couldn’t have gone far” he muttered.

Jerry sighed. “Look, maybe she just needed some air. She’s not gonna do anything crazy.”

“You didn’t see the way she looked when she left that table, Jerry. I snapped at her, and she ran off feelin’ like she’s got no one to talk to. Hell, I wouldn’t stick around after that, either.”

Jerry leaned back, crossing his arms. “She doesn’t know what she’s doin’. She just needs to cool off, and so do you.”

Elvis didn’t answer. He slowed the car as they passed the library, something catching his eye. He squinted at the front doors.

“There” he said suddenly, pulling over to the curb with a screech.

Jerry craned his neck. “You think she’s in there?”

Elvis didn’t reply. He threw the car into park, climbed out, and strode toward the library doors, his pace quick but steady. Jerry hesitated for a moment, then let out a sigh, shoved his hands into his pockets, and leaned against the car, eyes fixed on the library doors.

You were still flipping through books, growing more and more stressed. Your fingers trembled as you picked up another, then another, the words on the pages blurring together in your frustration.

“What’s all this about?”

The deep, familiar voice made you freeze. You looked up to see Elvis standing at the end of the aisle, his hands on his hips, his eyes fixed on you.

You sighed, guilt and relief flooding your face.

Elvis walked closer, crouching down so he was eye level with you. His gaze softened when he saw the pile of books around you, and the frustration written all over your face. “What are you doin’ in here, honey? You had us all worried.”

You glanced down at the book in your hands, fidgeting with the corner of the page. “I just…I thought maybe the library would help. My parents always said books have the answers, but none of these books explain anything about…”

“About what?” Elvis asked gently, his tone calm and patient now.

You hesitated, then blurted out, “About how to be a woman. I thought if no one was gonna help me, I’d figure it out myself. But these books don’t make sense!”

He glanced at the titles around you, understanding dawning on his face. “Sugar,” he said softly, “you don’t need no books for that.”

You looked up at him, your eyes glossy with tears. “Then how am I supposed to learn? I just…I want to understand what I’m supposed to do, what I’m supposed to be.”

Elvis let out a long breath, sitting down on the floor beside you, leaning his back against the bookshelf. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just stared down at the books scattered around you.

“Listen to me, darlin’” he said finally, his voice low and steady. “There ain’t no book out there that’s gonna tell you how to be a woman. That’s somethin’ you figure out on your own, little by little.”

“But I don’t even know where to start” you said, your voice small.

Elvis reached out, resting a gentle hand on your shoulder, making you look at him. “I’ll help ya, honey, as best as I can. But don’t go running off thinking you’re on your own.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks, and you sniffled, nodding. “I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

“I know you didn’t” he said, his voice soft. “And I didn’t mean to snap at you. That’s on me, sugar. M’sorry.”

You nodded again, the tension in your chest starting to ease. Elvis stood, brushing off his pants, and extended a hand to you.

“C’mon” he said with a small smile. “Let’s get you back home. You got the whole house worried about ya.”

The rest of the day, you felt a little more at ease.

For the first time in a long while, you felt supported. Like maybe… you weren’t so alone after all.

Even so, when night fell, sleep wouldn’t come.

You tossed and turned, kicking off the blanket, pulling it back on again, but nothing helped. Your mind wouldn’t settle.

Finally, with a sigh, you pushed back the covers and slipped out of bed. You hesitated at the doorway.

You still felt a little uncomfortable moving around on your own in a house that wasn’t yours. Everything felt too big, too unfamiliar, too grand. But waking someone up? That felt even worse.

So, you forced yourself forward.

Graceland was different at night. The house was silent, dimly lit, wrapped in shadows. The soft white carpet felt cool under your bare feet.

When you reached the kitchen, you traced your fingers along the cabinets, finding the fridge by touch alone. The soft glow illuminated the space as you pulled it open.

Carefully, you poured the milk and warmed it up the way your mother used to.

The moment the warmth hit your fingertips, you sighed, finally feeling something familiar. Something that felt safe.

You were ready to take that first, much-needed sip, and then you realized you weren’t alone.

Leaning against the counter, watching you, stood Elvis. His robe was hanging loosely, and his hair was messy, making him look different.

Finally, he spoke.

“Couldn’t sleep?” His voice was low, rough from the lateness of the hour.

You shook your head, “You either?” still gripping your glass.

Elvis let out a quiet huff, lifting the drink in his hand slightly. “I don’t do much of that these days.”

You hesitated, shifting slightly before finally stepping toward the counter, perching on one of the stools. You suddenly felt small in the space, small in his presence.

Elvis’s gaze flickered over you, noticing something, thinking, but keeping it to himself. He took a slow sip of his drink before exhaling through his nose.

“I told you I’d teach you a few tips, and I meant that” he murmured, his voice steady. “But I think you already learned the first lesson on your own.”

You frowned slightly. “What lesson?”

Elvis leaned forward, resting his forearms on the counter.

“You had initiative to do what your heart wanted” he said. “You made a decision for yourself, without anyone tellin’ you what to do.” A small smirk touched his lips. “And… you’re willin’ to change. That’s admirable, sugar.”

A warm feeling curled in your chest.

Elvis wasn’t the kind of man who gave compliments easily, not the ones that mattered.

But just as the moment started to feel too heavy, too serious.

He suddenly leaned back, stretching slightly.

“Ah, and also” he added, pointing at you, “you’re grounded for escapin’.”

You nearly choked on your milk. “What?!”

Elvis smirked, taking another sip of his drink. “Yeah. Sorry, young lady, but I gotta stick to it.”

“You don’t even ground people!”

“I do now” he said, chuckling. “First time for everything.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “This is so unfair.”

Elvis just shook his head, his laughter soft but real.

The moment softened, and for a second, it almost felt normal again.

Then, you studied him a little closer. His face wasn’t guarded like it usually was. He seemed… different.

“You look different at night,” you said out of nowhere, tilting your head.

Elvis raised a brow, smirking slightly. “That so?”

You nodded, taking a sip of your milk. “Yeah. You seem… I don’t know. Less like ‘Elvis Presley’ and more like… just you.”

Elvis exhaled a short laugh, shaking his head. “Darlin’, I don’t even know what ‘just me’ is anymore.”

You frowned, watching him carefully. “Well… I think you’re the best person I know.”

That made him stop.

His fingers tensed subtly around his glass. His lips parted slightly, as if he was about to speak, but then he hesitated. He had spent years battling to separate the man from the artist, struggling for people to see the difference between who he was and who they expected him to be. But you were too young to understand the weight of that fight, and he wasn’t about to launch into a speech. Instead, he swallowed the thought, keeping it to himself.

You didn’t know why, but you wanted him to believe you. So you continued.

“I…I think you’re kind, and funny, and you make everyone feel safe. And I don’t think people tell you that enough.”

Elvis stared at you, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek.

His blue eyes flickered in the dim light, studying your face. Then, before you could think, his hand lifted, fingers grazing along your cheek.

“Appreciate it, darlin’”he said, his smile warm and sincere.

The touch was light, barely there, but it sent a strange feeling through you.

It was warm. It was soft. It made something deep in your stomach flutter in a way you didn’t understand.

You looked up at him, your breath hitching slightly. He was so tall, and his hand seemed enormous compared to your face.

Elvis seemed to realize how you were reacting to what he had just done.

His hand lingered just a second too long, his thumb brushing the corner of your jaw, before he suddenly pulled away like if the surface was burning, clearing his throat.

Elvis shifted, suddenly looking tense, uncomfortable. He ran a hand through his hair, reaching for his drink like he needed something to do.

You swallowed, confused by the strange feeling left behind.

The athmosphere in the kitchen felt heavier now. Different.

Elvis downed the rest of his drink in one go and turned his back to you.

“Alright, honey” he said, voice tighter now, forced into something lighter. “Time for bed.”

You hesitated, still feeling the ghost of his touch on your skin.

But finally, you nodded.

“Okay.”

You slid off the stool, heading for the doorway.

Elvis didn’t turn around.

As you walked back to your room, you weren’t sure what had just happened.

You didn’t know why your heart was beating too fast.

You didn’t know why your skin still felt warm.

And you didn’t know why as soon as the door clicked shut behind you…

Elvis let out a long, sharp breath and muttered under his breath, “Shit.”

Tag: @iloveelvisss

[sloppiest-of-jos]

Sharing

A/N: This is my one year anniversary of writing fanfiction for Elvis! Thanks to everyone who has interacted with my posts, enjoyed reading my stories, helped me with ideas and proof-read my work. To celebrate, I've written this sequel to Dolly. It is absolutely unbridled filth, PWP, a smutfest etc.

Pairings: Dom!Elvis x Dolly!Reader

Joe x Dolly!Reader

Jerry x Dolly!Reader

Sonny x Dolly!Reader

Word count: 3.8K

TWs: Dolification, objectification, Elvis is dominant and reader is very submissive, dubcon, possessive kink, praise kink, voyeurism, exhibitionism, little bit of choking, gangbang/orgy, name-calling/demeaning language, reader is fucked stupid, kind of size kink, copious amounts of cum.

You’re sitting in your bedroom, carefully brushing your long blonde hair when you hear Joe start talking to Elvis. Your door is half-open and you can sometimes hear things the guys talk about in the living room, but this seems unusually clear. 

“That little girl of yours was sounding real fun the other night.”

Your ears prick up at his mention of you and you try to lean slightly closer to the door. 

Elvis laughs. “You been listenin’?”

“Hard not to, the noise she was makin’.” That’s Jerry. You wonder how many of the guys are out there. 

“What were you doin’ to her, EP?” Sounds like Sonny, although you can’t be sure. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Elvis chuckles. 

“You uh… you ever think of sharing her, boss?” Joe asks. 

There’s a long silence, where you almost fall off your chair from leaning so close to the open door. You cross your legs and rub your thighs together a little. It’s not like you’re interested in Joe, that’s disgusting. But something about the way they are all talking about you is getting you all hot and bothered. 

“What about Joan?”

You bite your lip. Elvis hadn’t said no. 

“What about her?”

“Well, she not good enough?”

“She doesn't have a body like that. And your girl just seems so… obedient.”

Elvis snorts. “‘Course she is. She’s well-trained.”

“So whaddaya think, boss?” It sounds like Sonny again. “Any chance of, y’know, letting us find out just how obedient she is?”

There’s another long pause, and you wonder what exactly Elvis is considering. 

“Maybe.”

You actually do lean too far this time, and when you overbalance you end up dropping your hairbrush on the floor trying to catch yourself. 

“Dolly?” Elvis’ smooth baritone calls out to you. 

“Yes, Daddy?”

“Come in here a minute.”

You take a deep, steadying breath and look at yourself in the mirror. You’re a little flushed already, just from listening to them talk about you, but your make-up is all done nicely and you had almost finished brushing your hair when he called. Smoothing it down, you stand up and check your dress is sitting where it should. Then you open the door and walk across the corridor and into the living room. As you stand in the doorway you look around, realising that you had successfully identified all of the voices, and their owners are now all looking back at you with ill-disguised lust. 

“Good girl. Come and sit on Daddy’s lap.” 

Elvis is looking particularly good today, his eyes are shining and so is his big, gold belt. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to just above his elbows, and his forearms flex as he grabs either armrest to adjust his sitting position in preparation for you following his instruction. 

You walk over slowly, realising as you start to step that you’ve forgotten to put your heels on, so you end up padding across the thickly shagged carpet in just your stockinged feet. Trying not to look at the other men as they look at you, you settle yourself onto Elvis’ lap and feel his hardness pressing against your lower back immediately. Excitement and trepidation bubble in your stomach. He really doesn’t seem like he’s going to say no to sharing you. 

“Now Dolly, the guys here have a proposition f’ya,” he tells you as his arms wrap around your waist and hold you to him tightly, his breath tickling your cheek. 

There’s an awkward silence in the room, and the men go from openly staring at you to looking nervously at their feet. 

“C’mon, guys.” Elvis’ voice is laced with irritation now, “if you want her ya have ta ask her.”

It turns out that Jerry is the brave one, though he looks up at you nervously, the mass of curls on his head bobbing as he swallows hard before finally opening his mouth. 

“We were, um… talking about you,” he begins, uncertainly. The other two nod and mumble their agreement, encouraging him to continue. “And um… you’re real pretty and you made some er… real pretty noises the other night.” Jerry is blushing now and you think it makes him look kinda cute. 

“And?” Elvis snaps, when the silence after Jerry’s last sentence stretches out for a few minutes. 

“And we want to know just how much of a dolly you really are, Dolly,” Joe announces. 

You frown. “Oh, Joe. I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” you tell him, tilting your head to one side and biting the side of your thumb. You even bat your fake eyelashes for the full effect. 

“H-he… um…” Jerry starts up again, looking for all the world like he wants the earth to open up and swallow him. “He wants to know if you’d like to have a little fun with us…” When your facial expression doesn’t change from the exaggerated look of confusion you’d given Joe earlier, Jerry continues. “Like… with our clothes off. Y’know. Would ya like to please us like you please Elvis?” Jerry lets out a big sigh at the end of the sentence, as if he’s just said the most difficult thing ever. 

“Oh!” You exclaim, putting a hand to either side of your face and making Elvis chuckle. “But Joe, what about your wife?” The question makes Elvis chuckle all the more. 

Joe clears his throat a little awkwardly. “Well. This would just be a one-time thing you know. We wouldn’t need to tell her. Just our little secret, isn’t that right, boss?”

Elvis holds both hands up. “Nothin’ ta do with me, she’s your wife.”

His hands go back to your waist and you lean your head back against his chest a little. Rewarding you with a kiss to the temple, he looks around the room at the three men. 

“Think we need some ground rules ‘fore we start.”

“I didn’t say yes!” You find yourself squeaking, sitting upright again in shock. 

Another, darker chuckle. “I wanted the guys to ask ya ta be polite. Not ‘cause I wanted yer opinion, Dolly.” Pressing his nose against your face, he kisses your cheek. “Yer jus’ my little doll, ‘member. No opinions of yer own.”

You nod, realisation slowly dawning that you’re in a room with four men who can do whatever they want with you. His lips trail down your neck until his teeth find your collarbone, nibbling it a little before moving off you entirely and looking back at the rest of the room. 

“Ground rules,” he reiterates. “She’s my little Dolly. So if I say stop, ya stop, okay?” The three men nod and mumble, “yes boss,” and “yes EP”. “Good,” he replies. “This pretty mouth,” he squeezes your cheeks to make you pout, “and this pretty pussy,” his hand moves to pull your legs apart and give the assembled group a good view of your panties, “are fair game. Her asshole’s mine. So don’t even think about it.”

Elvis waits for all three of them to affirm what he’s just said before continuing. You squirm in his lap under the weight of their gazes, all three trained right between your legs. 

“And one more fer you, darlin’,” he coos, turning your head to look at him. “No more thoughts from now on, sweetheart. Want ya ta be a perfect little doll for me and my friends.”

Looking into those bright blue eyes you nod slowly, but you’re not sure. Of course you trust Elvis, but there are a lot of big strong men in this room. Men who could easily overpower you and outnumber him too. Your lower lip wobbles a little. The hand that’s currently cupping your cheek holds it a little more firmly as he looks back at you, seeming to try and see right into the brain you’re supposed to be emptying of thoughts right now. 

“Daddy will take care a ya,” he murmurs, eyes flicking over your face, searching for clues. “I won’t let anyone hurt ya, sweetheart.”

The tenderness in his voice almost has you undone without any need for him to touch you. A whimper escapes your lips and your arms go around his neck as he kisses you lovingly. Your little audience all seem to sigh in unison. 

“Okay?” He asks, as he pulls back, running a thumb over your plush lips. 

“Yes, Daddy,” you reply, your earlier nervousness bubbling over into excitement again. 

“Good girl.”

You squeeze your thighs together at the praise and as you turn back towards the room you realise everyone saw you do it. You blush and bat your eyelids again, eliciting something that sounds a lot like a moan from Jerry. 

Elvis’ hand sweeps up your thigh, pushing the material of your skirt with it, showing your panties to the room properly this time. Joe is the first to obviously touch himself through his pants but it’s not long before the other two join him, especially when Elvis points out the damp patch you’ve made on your pretty pink panties. 

“She’s filthy, EP.”

Elvis chuckles, softly. “She jus’ likes doin’ as she’s told, don’tcha, Dolly?” 

“Yes, Daddy.”

He slips your panties off and throws them at Sonny, clearly seeing the hungry look on the brunette’s face. You smile at the way he almost jumps when they land in his lap, his attention being completely captured by your bare pussy. Quickly recovering a second or so later, he balls them up and stuffs them into his pocket. 

Elvis kisses your neck as he pulls your legs apart, putting you on display for the other men. The cool air of the room hits your open pussy and you moan a little, feeling his fingers digging into your thighs and desperately wanting him to touch you. 

“That’s a nice pussy, man,” Sonny declares, sounding a little drunk on just looking at it. 

“C-can we… uh… see her tits?” You’re surprised to hear such a vulgar word from Jerry, but the way he stumbles over the words makes him seem cute again. 

Elvis clicks his tongue and pushes you into a more upright position so he can pull the top of your dress down, exposing your pretty pink bra. Jerry groans. Elvis’ fingers slip underneath the straps and slide them over your shoulders, and then he’s pulling your bra down too. The cool air hits your nipples and they stand erect. You’ve never felt so looked at before, and part of you wants to run away, but the other part is bathing in the attention. 

“C-can she come o-over here with those tits?” 

Elvis laughs. “Ya like her tits, Jer?”

The mass of curls bobs up and down as the younger man nods his head. “God, they’re perfect.” His eyes are like saucers and they’re trained on your nipples. 

“Go on, Dolly. Go and see Jerry.”

He gently pushes you off his lap and onto your feet, and you make your way over to Jerry, who spreads his legs wide as he unbuckles his belt and pulls out his dick. You watch him stroke himself as he tells you, a little nervously, to kneel down in front of him. Still stroking, he fondles your breasts with his other hand, letting out a little hum of appreciation. 

“Push ‘em together, honey,” he instructs, and you do. “That’s right. Oh God,” he mumbles, still touching himself as he stares at them. “Can I just… E? Can I put my dick between them?”

“Sure,” Elvis replies, and you think you hear the sound of his belt clinking. 

Unclasping your bra and removing it, Jerry rearranges you and him so that his dick is between your breasts, then pushes them together again himself. He groans as he starts to move, sliding up and down as best he can. It's obvious he’s getting very excited, you can tell from his flushed face and the cuss words falling from his lips, but he’s not about to finish any time soon and the other men quickly become frustrated. 

“C’mon Jer, I need this pussy,” Sonny grumbles, from the other side of the room. 

“Yeah Jerry, you’re hogging her,” Joe joins in. 

Jerry sighs and stops what he’s doing. “Alright. Who’s next?”

“I said first,” Sonny replies. 

You turn to look at them and see Joe about to open his mouth to say something, no doubt in an attempt to contradict the other man, and then they’re both silenced by Elvis. 

“She’s my girl. She’s comin’ to me.”

You settle between Elvis’ legs as he guides your mouth over his dick, holding your hair and bobbing your head on him, gradually helping you take more and more until your nose is buried in his pubic hair and you’re gagging. He holds you there until your throat relaxes, and then starts to thrust. Your eyes water a little, but you can hear the appreciative sounds in the room and they spur you on. Gasping for air when he finally pulls you off again, you sit back on your heels and look up at him, worshipfully. 

“Good girl,” he affirms, then looks up. “Who wants her?”

Sonny manages to speak before Joe again, so Elvis instructs you to go to him, on your hands and knees this time. He’s taken your dress off properly, so you’re naked apart from your stockings, and he gives your ass a low whistle as it moves away from him. You eagerly take Sonny all the way in, he’s a little smaller than Elvis so you don’t choke so much when he starts to fuck your throat. 

“Oh God. She’s so pretty, EP. So pretty choking on my damn cock.”

Your eyes are watering again and you can tell Sonny likes it. There’s probably mascara running down your cheeks too. 

“Please tell me I can fuck her.”

There’s a low growl in the back of Elvis’ throat, something protective that makes you somehow even wetter. “Not yet. Give her to Joe.”

Crawling over to Joe, you’re relieved he’s even smaller again, and taking him is no trouble at all. You’re so engrossed in the blow job that you don’t notice the other guys getting closer, and then suddenly you find yourself on your back in the middle of the room, Elvis pushing inside your pussy and Sonny back in your mouth. Jerry kneels on one side of you, stroking himself as he looks down at your body, and Joe is still where he was, on the sofa. 

Elvis’ dick stretches you, making you moan around Sonny, but you’re so wet he slips in and out easily anyway. 

“She loves it,” Sonny declares. “Such a pretty little cockslut you’ve got here, E. Such a perfect little whore.”

You moan again around his dick and he slaps your tits. 

“Such a good little lovin’ doll,” Elvis coos, holding your thighs as he slams into you. 

They keep going in that arrangement for a while, but then after some more complaining from Sonny, shift so that he’s inside you now, and Jerry is in your mouth, his big fat balls slapping against your forehead. Sonny is as sadistic with your pussy as he was with your mouth, jackhammering into you in a way that isn’t exactly pleasurable. After that, Joe comes as a blessed relief. You don’t like him much, and you definitely don’t find him attractive, but he fucks you kind of gently and for a moment or two you don’t have a dick in your mouth and you find yourself moaning and arching your back. 

“Is she gonna cum? Joe, you’re makin’ her cum!” Sonny is clearly shocked at the turn of events, and to be honest so are you, but something about the slightly twisted up position he’s got you in is hitting the right spot and Sonny is right, Joe is making you cum. 

“Ohhhh. Ohhhhh.” You moan, eyelashes fluttering as your orgasm washes over you. 

“Let me go again. I wanna make her squirt. I bet I can make her squirt.”

“No, Sonny,” Elvis’ voice is deep and firm and brooks no argument. “It’s Jerry’s turn. Let him try.”

The angle Jerry was at when he tried to fuck your mouth earlier meant you couldn't fit much in, so you don’t realise quite how big it is until he starts to push inside your pussy. And then you really realise, when you look down and see the bulge it’s making in your stomach, the other guys whooping and cheering about it. Jerry is big enough to hit your g-spot easily, and he’s thick enough to make your head flop back and your eyes close, and you to just generally lose a good portion of your grip on reality. 

“She’s cock-drunk.”

“Look at her, Jerry. You’re fucking her stupid.”

“God, she’s perfect,” the hushed, reverential tone is Jerry, and you try to peel your eyes open again to look at him. “Taking me so fucking perfectly.”

You manage something between a moan and a whimper, and then you feel it. Your second orgasm, lurking just beneath the surface, ready to explode. Jerry obviously feels it too, his thumb starting to rub your clit as he picks up speed, fucking you so hard Elvis has to hold you in place by pushing down on your shoulders. You’re sure your guts are going to be completely rearranged by the end of this. 

“C’mon Dolly, cum for me. I can feel ya gripping me, honey. You can do it.”

Jerry’s praise tips you over the edge and suddenly you’re screaming and squirting and flailing about on the carpet. You can hear all the men groaning and then you feel yourself suddenly empty, Jerry is cussing and then he’s moaning as you feel something splattering over your chest. Unable to manage to open your eyes again, it seems like you're floating as you feel the next dick inside you, somehow recognising it as Elvis’. More wetness on your belly, and what sounds like Joe moaning out your name.

“I wanna cum on her face.”

You finally manage to open one eye to see Sonny kneeling over you. 

“Alright, man.”

“Eyes open, honey. Look at me.”

You do as you’re told, watching as Sonny beats himself off, groaning until cum starts shooting out of his dick, all over your face. You close your eyes again at the crucial moment, but when you reopen them you’re conscious of the wetness beading on your lashes, like raindrops.

“Fuck. You look so pretty with my cum on your eyelashes. Perfect little slut.”

You bat them a little, unable to help yourself trying to look cute even with the state you’re in now. Elvis thrusts inside you a few more times and then pulls out, stroking himself until he cums on your pussy. He groans as he paints you with his release, and you suddenly realise how much of a mess you are, the cum of four men all over you. You bite your lip. You really are a slut. You start to smile, thinking about it, thinking about just how much fun being told what to do was, how much you enjoy switching your brain off and doing what other people want you to. 

Elvis kisses your knee, gently. “Thanks, baby,” he whispers. Then he looks up at the other guys, expectantly. 

“Yeah, thanks Princess,” Joe joins in, tucking himself away and sitting back up on the sofa. “That felt really good.”

Jerry looks down at you with soft, loving eyes. “Thanks Dolly. You were perfect.”

Sonny coughs and looks a bit awkward, like someone suddenly realising how they’d been acting when they were horny and now feeling kind of embarrassed. 

“Thanks honey. Sorry about your um… face.”

You can’t help giggling a little, and you look over at Elvis who nods his approval. You can stop just being an obedient doll now. 

“It’s okay, Sonny. I had fun.”

Sonny rubs his face with his hand and nods, still looking awkward, before getting up and mumbling something about going for a drive. Jerry gets up from his kneeling position too, suggesting he and Joe go out and get some dinner for everyone. Joe looks very much like he’s about to say he’d rather just stay right where he is, but Jerry’s head tilting to the left and his eyes widening must finally give the clue that he’s trying to suggest they clear out and give you and Elvis some privacy. 

Then it's just the two of you, and he scoops you up in his arms and carries you into the bathroom, helping you into the shower and then getting in with you and cleaning you up. You stand there in shock as he dries you gently with a big fluffy towel, and then swathes you in pyjamas and a robe, waiting as you push your sooties into soft pink slippers. 

“Come to my room, Dolly.” 

You’re not often allowed in Elvis’ room, it’s his sanctuary, he likes to repair to it when things get too much for him. Even in the LA house it’s much more decadent than the other bedrooms, and it’s darker than yours, all purple and gold. It’s also freezing, and you shiver as soon as you step through the door. He holds you to him for a moment, humming softly as his body heat warms you, and then helps you into his big brass bed. Settling you into the comforters and pillows, he gets in next to you and shows you the controls for the electric blanket. 

“Thanks,” you murmur, looking up at him through your normal lashes. Those falsies had gone straight in the trash. 

He brushes your cheek with the backs of his fingers and kisses you softly. “Y’okay?”

You nod quickly. “I’m good.” Moving your legs a little, you squint. “Pussy’s a little sore.” 

“Mmm.” He kisses you again. “Ya were so good, Dolly. Such a good little girl for me.”

One of your hands rests gently on the back of his neck. “I um… I liked it.” You look down, biting your lip a little. “I shouldn’t, should I?”

His hand moves to your chin, tilting your face up so you have to look at him again. “I’m glad ya liked it,” he murmurs, conspiratorially. “Though I hope ya didn’t like any of the guys more ‘an ya like me…”

Your heart leaps in your chest. You’ve never known him to be this vulnerable. “I could never, Da- Elvis. I love you.”

“I love you too.” His hand envelopes your whole cheek as he pulls you in close for a proper kiss. “My precious, perfect little doll.”

***

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[sloppiest-of-jos]

In Came Sunnie

Summary: Based heavily on Girl of my best friend. Cassandra Barlowe, budding film star, gets her breakout role in Kissin’ Cousins. Playing the youngest of the Tatum girls, her character’s name is Sunnie. Elvis takes an IMMEDIATE liking to her, and upon introducing her to his intimate inner circle, she becomes extremely close to one Jerry Schilling. Can Elvis knock his own feelings for the sake of his best friend’s happiness?

Ranges from 1964 and onward.

Pairing: Elvis Presley x female OC- Cassandra (Sunnie) Barlowe

18+ so minors dni

Chapter 1: In Came Sunnie

Warnings/Triggers: mentions of sex, cussing, references to a slight foot fetish?? If you see anymore, lmk!!

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Cassandra Schilling. Elvis hated how it sounded. He couldn’t even bring himself to say it out loud, in fear of quite literally making himself gag. If he would’ve known that this would be the outcome, he would’ve never invited her to the Perugia Way house after filming wrapped.

He thought it would be like any other time he’d brought home a costar. They’d hang off him and reserve their attention for only him. But fuck if Cassandra was just the opposite. She’d almost immediately branched off from him to socialize from the second she’d entered the home. And by the end of it all, she was perched comfortably right beside Jerry. And damn it all if Elvis couldn’t bring himself to intervene. Jerry had been so lonely lately, and was finding it hard to find a girl who’d talk to him for the soul purpose of, well, talking to him. They’d always used him to get to Elvis. But Cassandra was different, she seemed genuinely interested in Jerry, and Elvis just didn’t find it right to take that smile from his friend’s face.

And now here Elvis was, holding himself together miraculously as he stared at the newly placed engagement ring on Cassandra’s finger. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear the guys hollering over Jerry and congratulating him for finally finding the balls to propose, but he just couldn’t break away from his deafening thoughts. Why the hell was he so stuck on this? He’d only wanted to sleep with Cassandra when he made the choice to bring her over that night, so why was he so physically ill over her being engaged to his best friend?

“EP! Ya good?”

Elvis looked up to find Charlie standing over him, a look of concern on his face.

“Yeah, man. Where’s ol’ Jerry boy at?”

*

She was gorgeous. Her smile was something out of this world. Elvis had the single thought that her character’s name matched her extremely well. She looked like sunshine.

It was strange— the stirring in his stomach. He’d only felt anything of the sort when he’d met Priscilla, but even then, it really wasn’t this prominent. Elvis had the most intense want— no need— to fuck Cassandra Barlowe silly.

And the rest of filming went in the same fashion. Elvis undressing her with his eyes, and to his knowledge, her not having a clue. She was just sweet, laidback and happy to do whatever entailed the most adventure.

“I think ‘m gon’ call ya Sunnie,” Elvis stared at her as they were supposed to be going over some lines together. She was splayed perfectly against the porch set of the Tatum’s cabin, giving him an amazing view of her legs— and not to mention her cute little sooties. Such perfect sooties, he thought to himself.

She gives him a small smile, “what? Like my character?”

Elvis nods. “Mhm. I think it suits ya, plus I give nicknames to a lot of my friends.”

“And I’m your friend?”

“Yes. Well, I- I- if ya wanna be,” He nervously scratches the back of his neck, a habit he’s had all his life.

Sunnie just smiles, and Elvis notices how her eyes sparkle when she does so. And then he remembers something. “Ah, shit.”

“Hm? What’s wrong?”

He looks away, suddenly finding the fake water well very interesting, “One o’ my pal’s name is Sonny. Can’t exactly be callin’ ya that, I don’t really wanna think ‘bout him when ‘m talkin’ to ya.”

Sunnie looks up at him again, quite obviously holding back a giggle. And Elvis feels the corner of his mouth quirking up at her expression.

“I don’t mind. Just so long as you specify that I’m the better Sunnie.”

Elvis finds himself grinning for what felt like the hundredth time in the span of ten minutes. He sticks his hand out for her to shake, “Deal.”

*

After congratulating Jerry and giving him one of his many cigarillos, Elvis finds himself trying to quietly slip away to his bedroom. He didn’t want to celebrate the impending union of the girl he planned on making his in a way and one of his best friends. He’d much rather just down his drug cocktail and will sleep to take him.

But he stops short. A voice, the voice he really didn’t want to hear tonight rings out softly behind him as he climbs the stairs in the kitchen.

“Elvis?”

There she was, all glorious sunshine and hairspray. His Sunnie. Damn her and her ability to make him soften the second he sees her sweet face. “Hi there, Sunnie. Whatcha doin’ in here?”

“You know, I could ask you the same thing. Did ya not like the party? I- I could ask Jerry to move the party somewhere else…”

Elvis shakes his head, his eyes crinkling as he gives her a soft smile, “No, ‘m jus’ fine. Jus’ gon’ head on up to bed. That alright?”

Sunnie returns the smile. And in the dim lighting of the stairwell, Elvis thinks he sees her eyes flash. But in a split second it’s gone and she exudes that golden shine she’s known for. “Of course. Thank you for letting us use Graceland for this. Good night,” and with that, she turns and leaves him where she found him.

He finishes his journey upstairs and collapses on his bed, and he’s still in this position an hour later when he decides maybe it’s time he give that little girl he met in Germany her very own diamond ring. The Colonel and Cilla’s parents had been enforcing the idea for months anyways, and maybe in doing so, he could finally get that sunshine smile out of his head.

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Very short first chapter because I really just want to know if anyone would even read this if I kept writing it. But I already love my sweet Sunnie girl, so if this at all caught your eye, PLEASE lmk!! Enjoy, much love😙.

Tags: @queenstarlight @jhoneybees @atleastpleasetelephone (lmk if you wanna be added)

[sloppiest-of-jos]

So, I don’t even know where to start, but I feel like I need to share this because I’m genuinely confused and would love to hear your thoughts or advice.

It all started on the 47th anniversary of Elvis’s death. I prayed for him, just once, because I wanted to do something special to show how much I care about him, it was a normal prayer, I asked the Lord to let him hear me, so I started to speak to him like he was here, saying I love him, asking how's his mama, telling him how missed and loved he is, all kinds of things like that. Right after, everything felt... different. At first, I felt peace before going to bed, like I was on a cloud but y'know I was like "girl ur tired go to sleep", then it started. Days after (5 days maybe) I couldn't even look at pictures of him or listen to his music without feeling this weird warmth inside me, it started at my toes and went up to my ears, and I had pressure on my chest, I was so hot I felt like I was high. Like, it wasn’t a comforting warmth—it was so intense it made me feel sick, like I was going to throw up. I have no idea why. And it was everytime I listened or looked at a pic of Elvis. And there's this thing like I started to feel emotions that felt like it wasn't mine, like sudden sadness, joy, melancholy.

Then, things started happening that I can’t explain. September 20th 2024 I remember it like it was yesterday lmao so much happened that day, I went out with my mom for school supplies, and we passed by this graffiti of Elvis. It was on a wall, with "tutti fruitti" written next to it. But the weird thing? That graffiti wasn’t there before, and when I went back to look for it later, it was completely gone.

There’s also been this weird thing with my AirPods the same day, anytime an Elvis song would start playing, they would disconnect and starts playing out loud—whether I was in the street, the mall, or on the bus—they just disconnected out of nowhere. Like, ONLY when it was Elvis's songs.

And then there was this other thing that really freaked me out. It was the evening of the same day, I was sitting in the living room, and the TV was on in the background. I wasn’t even paying attention, but the one time I turned my head to look, there was this aerial shot of the International Hotel in Las Vegas in some movie, Stallone played in it with y'know a lil boy. I have no idea if this means anything, but it happened right after everything else.

and since I prayed for him EVERYTIME I look at the time, it is 42 every time, like 1:42, 12:42 but for ALL the hours and every day, even today. at first I thought it was just me but I mean every day since last august? Nuh uh.

Every time I think of Elvis, there is this comforting warmth (not the same as before), I feel like I'm flying on a cloud, like I'm in my body, but not really y'know??

I spoke about this to a friend who knows about spirituality, energy and paranormal etc. and he told me that I must have a level of mediumship or that I am receptive to some kind of energy like, the energy of dead people, that I can feel them. But I need y'all thought cause I feel like I'm crazy but I mean IT'S GENUINELY PHYSICAL LIKE HOW ????

Tell me cause I'm so freaked out :(

[sloppiest-of-jos]

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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[sloppiest-of-jos]

If You Talk In Your Sleep

Chapter 1

A/N: I wouldn't be me if I only wrote one series at a time. So here is Elvis x reader in Vegas in 1969. It's going to get dramatic, so hang on tight, friends. Hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: 18+ minors absolutely DNI, smut, kissing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, also a tad bit of angst and mentions of domestic violence (not Elvis)

Word count: ~3.8k

The only thing that glitters more than Las Vegas in 1969 is you. Your dress, your shoes, the insane amount of jewelry you're wearing, even your purse shimmers under the lights. It's almost like you're trying to catch someone's attention. And truthfully, you are. Your husband is a cruel man and although he keeps you dripping in diamonds, you'd be lying if you said you weren't lonely. He's what they call a “Casino Boss”. You're not exactly sure what that means, but you know it's hard and violent. It must be pretty stressful too because he yells at you constantly. He's never hit you, but he has pushed you and grabbed your face and you do everything in your power to keep him happy. Despite his anger issues, he swears that he loves you more than life itself, so he always comes back to you with presents after he's particularly harsh. Still, you're tired of it. Tired of walking on eggshells. And as much as he says he loves you, it's more like he loves the idea of you. He never listens to you or treats you like anything beyond a pretty little trophy that he can smother in jewelry and ignore. It's not an ideal existence, but what can you do?

Most nights you dress to the nines and sit somewhere in a casino waiting for someone to see you. In the beginning, your husband made you come to work with him, but as time has passed, he wants you near him less and less. You're not sure if he's messing around or if he's just secure in the fact that you aren't going anywhere, but you spend most of your time alone. Men approach you all the time, but they've never been interesting enough to tempt you into anything dangerous.

Tonight, you sit here in a gold dress, your hair in big waves as it cascades down your shoulders. You swirl a straw in your drink and take a sip, bored. It feels like you might suffocate if you sit here for another second, so you stand up and walk away, headed for a back door to get some air. As you walk, the reality of your life overwhelms you, you feel the tears start to gather, and by the time you make it outside, they're running down your face. You wrap your arms around yourself and sob. It's cold in the desert at night and the emptiness is overwhelming.

Elvis sits at the blackjack table surrounded by pretty girls and all of his best friends. But even with all the company, he stares at his cards and soaks in the loneliness. His career has finally started to take off again and on stage he feels like he's found himself. But when he's not on stage, he feels trapped. Trapped by a marriage he didn't really want, forced into curated friendships with people that seem to like their paychecks more than they like him. He somehow feels completely unseen, despite the constant attention.

“Sir…?” The dealer asks him hesitantly. He shakes his head and slides his cards forward. Then he stands up and half of the men at the table stand up too.

“Where we goin’, boss?” Several of the girls stroke him and whine that he's leaving so soon. Their hands feel cold and all he sees is dollar signs in their eyes.

“Bathroom. Don't follow me.” He turns from the table and walks away. Several of the men try to and he dismisses them. He heads down a hallway, but doesn't turn into the restroom. Instead, he heads for a door to the outside. He doesn't even care if he'll be able to get back in as he pushes it open aggressively and steps out into the darkness.

You try to wipe your eyes and fade into the shadows, praying he won't see you. But of course he does.

“Oh, honey, I'm sorry. Is this spot taken?” He smirks playfully and then notices your face. His eyebrows come together in concern and he takes a step closer. “You okay?”

“Oh, I'm just peachy.” You shiver and wish you had a cigarette. He pulls a cigar out of his pocket and lights it, watching you closely.

“You don't look peachy. I mean, you look beautiful, but not happy.” He takes a drag from the cigar and you look into his face. You know who he is, but you're not in the mood to acknowledge his celebrity status. You need a human.

“Well, thank you. But no, I'm not happy.” As you say it, more tears slip down your cheeks. His heart breaks a little for you and he reaches into his breast pocket, pulling out a white handkerchief with “EP” embroidered on it in dark blue.

“Here, doll.” You take it and dab at your eyes and he notices how you shiver. He has a thought to take his jacket off, but he can't. “I'd give you my coat, honey, but I've got nothing on under it. Here. C’mere.”

He holds the cigar in his teeth and reaches for you, running his hands up and down your arms in an attempt to warm you up.

“That better?” You smile a little, but you're still freezing.

“Thanks.”

“I'm Elvis.” He smiles and holds his cigar in his fingers as he continues rubbing on your arms.

“You don't say.” You giggle and he chuckles. Then, emboldened by your drinks and the privacy of your location, you gesture to his cigar with your head. “Can I get some of that?”

His eyes widen in surprise, but he nods.

“Sure, honey.” He hands it to you and watches as you take a few drags and exhale slowly. After you do, you shiver again and he clicks his tongue. “You're still freezing.”

He flicks the cigar, there wasn't much left anyway, and unbuttons his jacket. When he holds it open for you, exposing his naked upper half underneath, you blink several times.

“Get in here. I'm warm, I promise.” You look at him in awe and wonder if he's noticed the ring on your hand. It's 7 carats, so it's hard to ignore. “I won't bite ya, honey.”

You look around and realize that no one would ever know. Then, you decide you don't care if they do and step towards him, sliding your arms around his waist. He wraps the jacket and himself around you.

“Ain't that better?” You nod against his chest. He really is warm and it feels so nice to have him around you like this. Add to that the way he smells and you're practically swooning. “You wanna tell me what's got you so upset?”

You take a deep breath and try to decide what you should say.

“I really don't.” He nods and looks down at you.

“I understand that, honey. Better than you know.” For a minute it looks like he's going to kiss you, but he doesn't. Instead, he sighs deeply. “I should go back inside.”

You nod and start to pull away from him, but he squeezes you tighter.

“Just a second. This is nice.” He doesn't say how badly he needs the affection, but you can sense that he needs something from you, so you snuggle into him again. “What's your name, doll?”

You tell him and he whispers it back to you. To your utter shock, he kisses your forehead before he backs away.

“Okay. It's probably time.”

You nod and pull away as he turns back to the door. But there's no handle and he stares at it in disbelief.

“How were you plannin' on getting back in?” He asks, still looking at the door. You miss his arms around you, but you shrug.

“No idea. Hadn't thought that far.” He chuckles and then takes your hand.

“We better head around to the front of the casino.” He guides you back to the entrance of the building and then stands there with you in front of the doors. After a few beats, you pull out his handkerchief and try to hand it back to him.

“Thank you. For everything.”

“You keep it, honey.” You stand there for another couple of seconds.

“Well, I guess I should go back inside–” As you say it, his crowd of followers busts through the door and there's a flurry of activity as they fuss over him and scold him for leaving them. You think to yourself that he seems like a child being admonished for running away. When your eyes meet his, they're full of bitterness and he shrugs.

“I'm fine, y'all. Let's just go.” He calls for his car and you turn to make your way into the hotel. “Wait, honey.”

He jogs over to you at the doors and takes your hands in his.

“Come with me.”

“Elvis, I can't.”

“Why not?” You hold up your left hand for him to see your ring.

“Yeah, I saw that. Something tells me you need to take it off for the night.” He looks at you, his blue eyes piercing your soul. For a second, you wonder how he knew, and then you don't care anymore, not one bit.

“That would be nice.”

“I thought so. Come on.” He slips the ring off your finger and into his pocket and then takes your elbow, leading you towards his car. A bunch of the other guys pile in with you, but they don't say anything about the fact that you've joined them. You ride along in silence with his arm around your shoulders, his hand intertwined with yours. It doesn't take long at all to get back to the International hotel. At the elevator, the guys try to come with you expecting a party like they've had almost every night, but he shakes his head. That's all it takes for them to stay behind. Once the doors close, he turns and leans against the wall of the elevator. You know he's married too, but you hate to bring it up. Instead, you smile awkwardly.

“C’mere, honey.” He holds his arms out to you like he did behind the casino and you go to him, wrapping your arms around his waist again. You stand like that, snuggled together, until the doors slide open and he guides you into his suite with his hand on the small of your back.

“You wanna drink?” He asks, walking to a bar at the side of the room. You've never cheated on Carl before. A drink would probably help.

“Sure.”

“What do you want?”

“Whatever you have.” You hear him put ice in a glass and then pour some things in it. He brings it to you and you immediately recognize it as a screwdriver. “Thanks.”

“You're welcome, honey.” He watches as you take a small sip. “Do I make you nervous?”

“No.” You shake your head. “The situation does. But you don't really.”

He smiles warmly and then settles himself next to you on the couch.

“Please talk to me. No one ever talks to me.” He looks over at you with a look somewhere between bitter and sad.

“You have so many people–”

“They talk at me and about me. No one ever talks to me. Not really. Not about anything real.” You take another big gulp of your drink and then turn to face him, kicking your shoes off and tucking your feet up under you.

“I don't wanna be married anymore. My husband is not… nice. And I miss being a person.” He looks into your eyes with more understanding than you expected.

“My wife is cold. She wasn't before we got married, but after? She's just… cold.” You lean forward and push your fingers into his hair.

“You seem like the kind of man that needs warmth.” He nods.

“I really am. So I guess what I'm sayin’ is I understand not wantin’ to be married.” He sits in silence for a bit, reveling in the feeling of your hand in his hair. Then, he looks at you again. “Does he hurt you?”

You pull your hand back and move away, but he gently grabs you and pulls you almost into his lap.

“Sometimes. Not bad. No bruises or anything.”

“Honey, he doesn't have to leave marks on you to hurt you.” He grits his teeth a little, obviously angry that anyone could ever hurt you. “What's he do?”

“He's the Casino Boss at the Flamingo.”

“Oh.” Elvis understands that means he's dangerous. But he doesn't let go of you or anything. Instead, he buries his head in your neck and leaves soft kisses there. He continues pressing his lips to your skin, moving down your chest.

“Elvis…”

“Yes, doll?” He asks between kisses on your breasts.

“This could only ever happen once.”

“I'm not known for my faithfulness to women.” He murmurs and you take that as him understanding what can and cannot happen. You pull away from him and stand up, his eyes wide as he watches you. Then, you push the straps of your dress off of your shoulders and let it fall into a shiny pool at your feet. This leaves you in just your panties, so you turn and walk towards what you assume is the bedroom. It doesn't take him long at all to stand up and follow you. At the doorway, you turn and wrap yourself around him. He leans down and kisses you deeply.

“Tonight is a vacation.” You whisper.

“Viva Las Vegas…” He whispers in return before grabbing the backs of your thighs and lifting you into his arms. You whimper as he carries you to the bed and lays you down on the satin sheets. His jacket and pants are off before you even know what's happening and then he's on top of you, pressing his lips to every inch of you that he can reach.

His mouth finds your nipple and he teases it with his tongue before pulling it into his mouth. He moves to the other one and gives it the same attention. You haven't been this turned on in years and your body responds as such, making a damp spot on your panties. He continues to kiss down your body and then rolls your underwear down your legs and off, leaving you completely exposed to him.

“Need to taste you, doll.” He moans softly, dropping hot kisses on your hips and thighs. You spread your legs for him and he groans at the sight of your glistening pussy. He settles his body into the space between your open thighs and teases your slit with his fingertip. “So wet for me, honey. Such a pretty pussy.”

Two fingers slide inside you and you gasp at the sensation. When he lowers his mouth to your clit and begins to lick you, you damn-near pass out. Carl hasn't gone down on you since before you were married. And even when he did, he wasn't this caring or skilled.

“Oh God, Elvis…” You moan, your hand grasping the front of his hair.

“That's it, baby. Let me give you what you need.” He growls against your sensitive flesh and you tremble with desire. You feel the edges of your orgasm as it starts to approach.

“I'm gonna cum…” You whimper and roll your hips against his face as he eats you. He groans and nods, looking up at you with his face buried in your pussy. His tongue moves so fast that you'd swear it was detached from his body. But it's not and the delicious sensation of him working you with his tongue has you so close you can almost taste it. “Fuck! Elvis!”

You scream as your climax washes over you, filling your body with electricity as you pulse around his fingers, curled just right to hit your g-spot. He licks you until he feels you relax and then pulls back, his lips and chin shiny with your arousal.

“You taste like heaven, doll.” He whispers as he presses his lips to your body again, rolling his hips against your thigh. His cock is rock hard where it presses into you and you moan softly when you feel it.

“I wanna make you feel good, baby.” You murmur to him as he makes it back to your mouth. He kisses you deeply as your hand trails down his chest and you take his member in your hand.

“Mmm, honey, just like that.” He moans softly as you pump him, sliding his foreskin back and forth.

“Please fuck me, Elvis. Please.” You moan and nibble on his earlobe. He groans and nods.

“That what you want, doll? You want this cock?”

“Yes, please.” He hovers over you, lining himself up with your entrance. You whimper as he slides his tip through your folds. Then, he slowly starts to push into you.

“Fuck, honey, you're so tight. Breathe for me.” You take a deep breath in an attempt to relax, but all you can think about is the fact that Carl will kill Elvis if he ever finds out about this. “You okay?”

He lifts his head up and looks down at you with his eyebrows pulled together in concern.

“I-I'm scared.” You whisper.

“Of me?” He pulls out and settles beside you.

“No. If my husband ever finds out… he'll kill you.” Elvis sighs deeply and runs his hand through his hair.

“So he won't find out. Do you not want this?” He gently runs his fingertips up and down your body as he speaks.

“I do. I really do. I'd just hate to read about you being found in a hole in the desert.” You turn your head to look at him and he smirks.

“Honey. I'm Elvis Presley. You think I'm afraid of your husband?” It dawns on you that he has no idea who he's dealing with and what it would mean for anyone to find out about you.

“Elvis, my husband is a dangerous man. And he works with a lot of dangerous men who live to beat people with baseball bats. I'm not sure you want to do this.” He moves his hand up to your cheek and looks you in the eye.

“Honey, listen to me. I'm not scared. I have a lot of bodyguards and I know how to protect myself. If you don't wanna do this, I understand, but if you do, you’re safe.” He pushes a strand of hair behind your ear and then kisses your cheek softly. There's a strange amount of intimacy between the two of you, considering you've known each other less than 6 hours. You look into his eyes and think to yourself that it's not you you're worried about. But his eyes are so reassuring that you decide you'll cross that bridge when you come to it. For now, you need him.

“I want this.” You whisper as you roll him onto his back and straddle his hips. Again, you drag the head of his cock against you and then sink down onto him. It takes a bit for you to slip all of him inside you, but it's worth it. When he fills you fully, you moan in unison, throwing your head back in pleasure. “Oh God, Elvis.”

As you begin to move on him, his hands go to your hips and he guides you, moaning. He rolls you deep and slow, rocking you back and forth like a ship on the ocean. The speed, depth, and angle of his movements have your eyes rolling back in your head.

“That's good, doll. Fuck, that's good.” He moves you on him with more speed and more pressure as he races towards his high. You feel another orgasm start to gather in your belly and lean forward onto his chest as he starts to fuck you from underneath. He punctuates each thrust with a soft moan. “Cum for me again, honey. I wanna feel you.”

It doesn't take much more for you to do exactly as he asks and tumble over the edge into another climax, your pussy squeezing him just right.

“Oh, fuck.” He fully intends to pull you off of him, as he always does with his one-night girls, but something keeps him right where he is and he cums deep inside you, his cock throbbing with his release. You relax into each other, panting and sweating and he wraps his arms around you. What is it about you that's making him like this? After several minutes in this position, you peel yourself off of him and start to get dressed. “You have to leave so quick, honey?”

You glance at the clock on the wall. It's almost three.

“My husband gets off around four. I have to be home when he gets there.” He tries not to sigh too deeply. For some reason, he had kind of hoped you'd stay and sleep with him.

“Where do you live?”

“The Flamingo. We have a suite.” He nods and watches as you put yourself back together again, walking to the living room to fetch your dress. You walk back into the bedroom fully dressed and look at him in the bed.

“Elvis, I told you. One night only. This can't be a thing.” He nods reluctantly and holds his hand out for you to walk closer and take it. You do, kissing his knuckles softly.

“I know, doll. But it was fun while it lasted.” You sit on the bed and he pulls you into his arms, not wanting to let go.

“How long are you here?” You ask quietly.

“As long as I want to be. But it doesn't matter. Does it?” He asks with a sliver of hope in his voice.

“No. It doesn't.” You stand up away from him and move towards the door. “Goodbye, Elvis.”

“Goodbye, honey.” He watches as you disappear through the bedroom door and then listens for the front door of the suite to close. He lays back, looking up at the ceiling for a while, missing you. On the street, you hail a cab and make it home just in time. You're in bed, almost asleep when you hear Carl open the front door. He doesn't disturb you, but instead gets undressed and slips under the covers. Every single part of you wishes he was Elvis and you squeeze your eyes shut to keep the tears from falling.

Back in his room, Elvis tries to go to sleep without thinking of you, but he's wildly unsuccessful. There's something about the way you seem to understand his loneliness that makes him wish he could see you again.

Still, you both lay in your respective beds trying to go to sleep. But the sun comes up on both of you still awake.

Elvis sighs deeply and drags himself out of bed, resigned to the fact that sleep is not happening. He walks to his jacket, picking it up off the floor and shaking it. Something falls out and hits the floor with a small thud.

“What the…?” He picks your ring up and holds it up to the light, a sly smile spreading across his face. Now he'll have to see you again.

******

Do we need more?

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

Taglist:

@ccab @atleastpleasetelephone @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @searchingforgravity @msamarican @angschrof @lustnhim @polksaladava @librababe99 @hooked-on-elvis @theelvisprincess @makethemorning @peaceloveelvis @mrspresley69 @pxpresley @kxnnxy

[sloppiest-of-jos]

If I Can Dream: The End

A/N: Well, friends, here it is! The end of this beautiful saga has come. I have loved this series so much. I hope you all have too! Let me know your thoughts in the comments! Need to catch up? Masterlist HERE.

Summary: It's 1975 and Jo Bellamy has been in love with Elvis for 20 years. She doesn't even care that they haven't met yet. All she needs is a chance and she's determined to get one.

But Elvis doesn't feel much like Elvis anymore. What happened to the man he used to be? He's pretty sure he's long gone.

Can a chance encounter with Jo change the ill-fated trajectory of his life?

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, smut, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), getting caught, p in v sex, hot tub sex, unprotected sex, creampie

Word count: ~4.4k

She's never been one to worry about the future, but the thought of losing him makes her stomach turn over. Still, right now he has his arms around her and she's perfectly content to stay there forever, looking out over the untouched snow with the moonlight sparkling like diamonds.

******

Elvis wakes up unusually early on Christmas morning and kisses Jo awake. She groans and tries to roll away from him to get more sleep– they were up until after 2am getting things ready for Lisa Marie and it's only 9 now.

“Tink… wake up honey… it's Christmas…”

“Mmm babe it'll still be Christmas in an hour…” She grumbles.

“Yeah, but I wanna give you this before Lisa comes.” She rolls over and he's sitting there with a little box wrapped in red paper with a gold bow. Her heart stops and panic sets in when she realizes she doesn't have a gift for him.

“Oh, Elvis, I didn't know we were doing gifts… I haven't… I didn't…”

“Hush. Just open this.” He sets the small box on her stomach, so she sits up, yawning. She undoes the bow and starts to unwrap it.

“You already gave me a necklace. I don't know what else–” she holds them up. “A set of keys?”

“Yes!” He's about to burst with excitement and she suppresses a giggle at how childlike he is when he's overcome with joy.

“Keys to what?”

“Well, this one–” He takes the key ring and pulls out one. “This one's for Graceland. Your own key, since this is your home now too. And this one… well, c’mere.”

He gets out of the bed and walks to the window and she begrudgingly follows him, shivering. She's always freezing, so he wraps his arms around her from behind as she looks out the window. There, in the driveway, is a shiny new Mercedes-Benz in candy apple red.

“I just took a guess on the color. If you don't like it, we can trade it for something–” She turns and kisses him with her arms tight around his neck.

“It's perfect. Why did you pick red?” He shrugs.

“You wear a lot of red and your toenails are red. It just made me think of you. But seriously, if you don't like it, we can get something else.”

“Red is my favorite color.” She raises an eyebrow quizzically. “You noticed my toenails?”

“Yes. Don't make it weird.” She giggles and kisses him softly again, mumbling against his lips.

“It really is perfect.” She starts to walk him backwards towards the bed until he sits on the edge and she crawls into his lap, straddling him. His hands roam over her sides and back and then up the front of her pajama shirt to cup her breasts.

“Honey, we only have–” He whispers between kisses– “about an hour before Lisa Marie gets here.”

“You're the one with your hands all over me.” She whimpers as he leans forward and presses his lips to her neck. Then he murmurs against her skin.

“Can't help it. You crawled in my lap.”

“Then I guess we better hurry.” She squeals as he picks her up and flips her over so that she's laying on the bed and he's standing next to it.

“Guess so.” But he's not quite hard yet, so he drops to his knees and pulls her pajama bottoms and panties off.

“Elvis, what are you–? Oh… oh!” She moans. He's got her legs open and his tongue pretty far in her pussy when there's a knock on the door. Neither of them notices.

“Rise and shine, lovebirds!” Jerry starts to open the door. “It's time for– oh God.”

“Ahhh!” Jo screams a little and Elvis looks up confused. He quickly stands up and throws the blanket over her whole body, face and all.

“Jerry. You knock, wait for a response, and then open the door. How old are you?” Jerry is still just standing there with his mouth open in shock. It's been a while since he's walked in on Elvis with a girl. His eyes drift down a bit to little Elvis standing at full attention and he looks away quickly, clearing his throat. Elvis realizes what happened and turns away. “Goddamnit. Now you're hard?!”

Jo is in a fit of laughter where she's laying underneath the blanket.

“Cool it, Giggles.” Elvis hollers at her playfully.

“I'll just… go…” Jerry turns and walks out, shutting the door behind himself. Elvis uncovers Jo and she cackles out loud.

“Oh my God!” She can barely breathe, she's laughing so hard. Elvis just stands there with his hands on his hips for a second before he gets tickled too and his laugh fills the room. She finally slows down enough to talk. “Think we scarred him for life?”

“Nah, Jerry's seen way worse. At least this time it wasn't my naked ass.” That sets Jo off again and she sits up with tears sliding down her cheeks as she giggles. Elvis sits down next to her on the bed and throws his arm around her, kissing her forehead. “Guess that kinda ruined the mood a little, huh?”

She tries to even her breathing and slips her hand between his legs where his cock is now soft.

“Yeah, I guess it did. I could try to get him back?”

“Nah, honey, we gotta get ready anyway. We will finish this tonight when it's just us again.”

“You promise?” He holds his hand up and nods.

“On my honor as a gentleman. I will make you cum tonight. Probably twice.” She laughs and pushes his shoulder.

“You're no gentleman, Mr. Presley.”

“And you're no lady. Now let's get that sweet little ass of yours in the shower before anything else happens.” She giggles and kisses the end of his nose.

“I love you, Elvis.”

“Nah, Tink. I love you more.” She pushes his hair back off of his forehead and there's a brief moment where they look into each other’s eyes and wonder how they got so lucky. Then, they peel themselves off the bed and get into the shower together.

Somehow, they manage to get ready with about three minutes to spare, so they're headed downstairs when the doorbell rings. At the bottom of the staircase, Jo sighs nervously. Elvis turns and takes her face in his hands.

“It'll be fine, Tink. She's gonna love you.”

“I hope you're right.” He kisses both of her cheeks and whispers.

“I'm Elvis Presley. I'm always right.” He winks and then turns to open the door. Jo smiles. It's nice to see his natural confidence back.

As soon as the door is open, Lisa Marie bounds in the room and launches herself into her daddy’s arms. He catches her easily and the two of them share a moment that is totally and completely theirs. Priscilla notices Jo standing there awkwardly and reaches her hand out.

“I'm Priscilla.” Jo nods and tries to smile affably.

“I'm Jo. Jo Bellamy. It's nice to meet you.”

“Mhmm. How long have you all been… whatever you are…?” Jo blinks, not sure how to answer. Priscilla's tone is friendly, but the question feels loaded.

“Long enough, Cil.” Elvis cuts in and saves Jo from having to explain that they've only been together a week. They exchange the rest of the necessary pleasantries without Priscilla asking anymore questions. Eventually, she leaves and it's just Elvis, Jo, and Lisa Marie, who turns to Jo and gives her a skeptical look. She doesn't trust any woman who takes her daddy’s attention. Elvis notices the interaction and interjects.

“Yisa, this is Jo. She's daddy’s new… friend.”

“She's your girlfriend, daddy, you can just say it.” Lisa is sassy for a 7-year-old, but Jo is not thrown off. She fakes a gasp.

“Am I your girlfriend?! No one told me!” She turns to Lisa. “He's a mess.”

Elvis watches the interaction anxiously. Most of his girlfriends haven't really interacted too much with Lisa, especially not at first. To his surprise, Lisa giggles.

“He is a mess. But he's your mess now!” Jo laughs and looks over at him.

“I'll accept that challenge.” Elvis smiles softly at Jo. Lisa Marie looks back and forth between them and grins. She hasn't seen her daddy happy in a long time and if this woman makes him this happy, she's ready to play nice.

“I'm hungry. What's for breakfast?” Lisa asks loudly. Elvis bites his lip. He was in such a good mood yesterday, he gave the staff the day off– with rather large bonus checks– but he's not sure how they'll eat.

“W-well, baby– I-I-I–” He stutters, trying to come up with something.

“I'll cook. Let's go see what we have to work with.” Jo holds her hand out to Lisa Marie, who takes it easily, and they head into the kitchen. Elvis follows them, intrigued. He remembers that while they were making candy, Jo told him about how she had spent weekends with her aunt when she was a kid. Her aunt had learned to cook from her mother, Jo's grandmother, before she passed away, and she didn't have any kids of her own, so she taught Jo everything she knew. He hopes this includes breakfast.

In the kitchen, Jo moves around looking for what she needs. She manages to find eggs, bacon, and stuff to make biscuits and she puts Lisa Marie to work helping her. Lisa makes a huge mess with the flour, but Elvis is impressed with how little it bothers Jo to clean up as she's cooking.

“I like my eggs fried hard, honey.” He hollers at Jo as she cracks eggs over a pan.

“Hard? Why?!” He laughs.

“That's just how I like ‘em.”

“Alright, you're allowed to be wrong about that. I still love you.” Lisa giggles as Jo makes a disgusted face.

“Tell me you don't eat runny eggs, Tink.”

“I definitely eat runny eggs, Elvis.” He groans in disgust and pretends to fall off his chair. Lisa is beside herself laughing at the two of them. She decides at that moment that Jo can stick around. “Lisa Marie, how do you want your eggs?”

“Hard like daddy’s.” She gets a bashful look on her face. “But can I try yours?”

“Oh no! No ma'am. I'm not letting Tink corrupt you.” Elvis grabs her and puts her on his lap. Lisa laughs and puts her little hands on his cheeks.

“Oh, silly daddy. Why do you call her Tink if her name is Jo?”

“Doesn't she look like Tinkerbell?” Lisa turns to look at Jo, who is taking the biscuits out of the oven. She nods and then looks back at Elvis.

“Does that make you Peter Pan?”

“I guess it does, Yisa.”

“Good. It means you'll never grow up.” He smiles and kisses her forehead. Jo walks over with their breakfast plates and they settle in the dining room to eat.

After breakfast, they make their way to the living room for Lisa to open the mountain of presents surrounding the tree. Elvis fetches a camera and Jo snaps a couple of photos as they sit in the living room like a family. Once all the presents are open, Lisa sits on the couch between them with a doll on her lap. She turns and looks at Jo.

“How old are you? You look old enough to be my mom. Most of daddy’s girlfriends don't.”

“Oh, Yisa–” But Jo interrupts him.

“I'm 36. I am definitely old enough to be your mom.” Lisa sits up and looks at her, shocked.

“You're older than my mom!” Jo nods.

“I am. Is that okay?” Lisa settles back between them.

“It's fine with me.” Elvis chuckles.

“Good, I'm glad we have your approval, babygirl.” They sit there for a little while longer. Eventually Lisa sighs.

“Now what are we gonna do?” Jo clicks her tongue.

“Snowball fight?” Lisa scoffs.

“Daddy won't–” He jumps off the couch.

“Let's go. Me against you two girls. Unless you're scared?” Lisa’s face breaks out in the widest smile and she hops off the couch too. The three of them get bundled for the snow and head outside. The rest of the afternoon is spent in the yard. The girls win the snowball fight when they tackle Elvis and bury him in snow. Eventually, the sun starts to set and they go back inside to warm up with cocoa that Jo makes on the stove with milk. They're sitting in the TV room watching A Charlie Brown Christmas when the doorbell rings and Lisa Marie groans.

“Your mom’s here, babygirl.”

“Can't I stay with you guys?” Jo can see the pain on Elvis's face as he shakes his head and starts up the stairs with Lisa and Jo not far behind. In the foyer, Priscilla gathers Lisa Marie and the presents she can carry. Lisa grabs Jo and hugs her tight.

“Bye Jo.” Priscilla purses her lips.

“I'll send the rest of it soon.” Elvis says sadly. Just before she leaves, Lisa Marie gestures for him to come close to her. He squats down and she wraps him in a hug.

“Don't lose this one, daddy. She's special.” She says it in his ear, but both Priscilla and Jo can hear her. He pulls back a little and kisses her cheek and then looks her in the eye.

“I won't, babygirl.”

“She’s your Tinkerbell. She's magic.” Elvis stands up and puts his arm around Jo.

“She is magic. Don't worry, Yisa. She's not going anywhere.” Priscilla watches the scene with her mouth open a little.

“Come on, Lisa. Let's go home.” She tries to hustle her out the door, but they hear her little voice just as the door closes.

“I am home.”

Elvis breaks down as soon as the latch clicks and Jo grabs him and holds him on her shoulder as he sobs.

“I miss her so much when she's gone. And her mother…” He chokes a little. “I need her with me all the time.”

“I know, babe. I know.” They stand there for a while, with Elvis crying on her shoulder. Finally, he stands up and wipes his face.

“I'm sorry; I just–”

“Elvis, you don't have to apologize. I understand.” He smiles weakly and holds her chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“I love you, Jo Bellamy.”

“I love you too, Elvis Presley.” He kisses her softly and notices she's shivering again, his eyebrows knitted together in concern.

“Are you cold, honey?”

“I'm freezing.” His weak smile turns to a grin.

“I know what we need.” He leads her through the house out to the carport.

“Elvis, where are we going?!”

“Just trust me.” She follows him across the yard to the brand new racquetball building.

“I'm not playing racquetball–” He turns and gives her a look.

“Will ya just hush and follow me?” She nods and follows him inside and up the stairs. He uncovers the surprise and exclaims. “Ta-da!”

“Woah…” Jo is almost speechless. He has a whirlpool spa full of already-hot water.

“Let's warm up. What do ya say, Tink?”

“Fuck yes.” He frowns.

“Language, honey, or I'll put something in that dirty mouth.”

“Oh, I'm counting on it.” She laughs. “I don't have a bathing suit, though.”

“Do you need one?” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“Sure don't.” She smiles and starts to undress. Elvis turns to go back down the stairs. “Wait, where are you going?”

“Figured you might like a drink. There's a bar downstairs. Wine?” She nods and then stops him.

“I thought you didn't drink? I don't really want to drink alone.” He clicks his tongue and strokes her cheek.

“It's Christmas, honey. I'll have a drink or two with you.”

Elvis fetches the drinks while Jo strips down and settles into the hot tub naked. When he returns, he hands her the glass of red wine and then starts to take his clothes off too.

“Mmm, honey you look so good like this. Almost hate to ruin the picture by getting in there with you.” She stands up out of the water and moves over to him, grabbing his face.

“Stop it. You do this all the time. I love the way you look.”

“I just don't feel good about it. And it hurts. I'd like to be healthy for you. I want to stick around.”

“Okay, well that's different. That we can work on. But no more of this talking bad about yourself nonsense. I love you just the way you are. You hear me?” He nods and she kisses his forehead.

“Yes ma'am. You'll help me get healthy again?”

“Of course I will.” He looks down sheepishly.

“Already cut down on my pills a lot. Been only takin’ what's necessary.” She smiles.

“I noticed. I'm proud of you, babe. Whatever you wanna do, I'm here. Look at me.” He moves his eyes back up to meet hers. “I'm in this with you for the long haul, no matter what that means, okay?”

“Okay.” He finishes undressing and slides into the water with her. She sips her wine as he lights a cigar and takes a sip of whiskey. They sit in silence for a bit, just enjoying the warm water and each other's company.

“I'm sorry I didn't get you a gift.” She whispers. He sets down his drink and the cigar and lifts her into his lap facing him.

“Tink, honey, you are a gift. You've given me my life back. That's enough.” He leans forward and presses his lips to her neck. “Besides, I can think of something else I want from you that doesn't require you to buy anything at all.”

She moans softly as he kisses down to her collarbone.

“Yeah, what is that?” His fingers find their way between her legs under the water and start to make circles on her sensitive bud. She leans her head back and moans.

“This little pussy. Little Elvis has been missing her all day.” He kisses up to her ear and nibbles on the lobe.

“Oh is that right?” She whimpers as he works her clit with his fingertips. He uses his other hand to grab hers and put it on his erection. “Mmm, I guess so.”

He groans, slipping two fingers inside her to pump them in and out with his thumb on her clit as she begins to stroke him. Something about being in the hot water makes the whole scene even more erotic.

“Love how you touch me, honey.” His breath starts to come a little faster as she moves her hand on him. He grits his teeth and leans his head back, his hands drifting to her hips. “Fuck.”

“You wanna feel this little pussy, babe?” All he can do is nod.

“Mmhmm…” She moves over him to tease her clit with the tip of his cock and then starts to sink down onto him. His mouth falls open in pleasure. “Fuck yes, honey…”

She braces herself with her hands on his shoulders and starts to bounce on him. He looks up at her with her lower lip pulled between her teeth. She's so beautiful like this, lost in the ecstasy of loving him. His heart swells and he reaches up to pull her forehead down against his. She moans as he guides her movements with one hand on her hip and the other on her neck.

“God, I love you Tink. I love you so goddamn much.” She smiles and feels the lump form in her throat as she rubs her forehead on his.

“This is everything I've ever wanted. You are everything I've ever wanted. I love you too, Elvis.” His hands move to her back and he lifts his hips a little to thrust into her from underneath. The subtle shift in angle makes the tip of his dick rub against the sensitive spot inside her and she moans loudly. He pulls one of her nipples into his mouth and runs his tongue around it as he slides in and out of her, the water rushing against her clit with his movements. “Oh, God, Elvis. It feels so… fuck.”

“Come on, Tink. Cum for me, honey.” The sweat drips down his forehead as he works to push her over the edge, his own release gathering in his balls. The water splashes over the edge of the tub as they fuck, but neither of them cares. They’re too caught up in the pleasure of being together. He moves his thumb back to her clit as he slams into her as fast as the water will allow. Finally, her orgasm snaps wide open inside her and she moans, her body shuddering around him as she cums hard on his dick.

“Yes, honey, that's it. Yes, Tink, fuck!” He gets louder with each word and holds her still as he empties himself deep inside her, his cock twitching with the release. After a few seconds, they both relax against each other, sweating and panting.

But Elvis isn't finished. He kisses her shoulder and neck and lifts her off of him, turning and setting her on the corner of the spa.

“Elvis, what're you doing?” Jo asks, exhausted. He looks up at her and smiles, pushing her thighs apart.

“I promised you two.”

“Oh!” She moans and damn-near falls off the side of the tub when he dives into her pussy tongue-first. “Oh. My. God.”

Her clit is so sensitive, the rest of her so puffy with use, that his mouth is making her wild. She tries to stay still as he licks her, but she writhes and grinds against his face. He holds her ass cheeks with both hands in an attempt to keep her from moving, but he kind of loves that she's so turned on she has to move. Her hands are in his hair, pulling as she pushes against his mouth and he grunts. If he was twenty years younger, he'd be hard again already. It's so hot to listen to the little sounds that drip from her mouth as she loses control. He feels her tighten around his tongue and knows she must be getting close, so he slips two fingers up inside her to pump in and out while he licks her clit.

“Elvis! Oh, oh, oh!!” She exclaims as she cums again, her release splashing out of her onto his hand as he fingerfucks and licks her through her orgasm. Her whole body trembles as the wave of ecstasy rushes over her, knocking out the hearing in her left ear. When she relaxes, he pulls away and she slides back into the hot tub. He catches her and turns with her sitting sideways in his lap, resting her head against his chest.

“You okay, honey?” She sits up and shakes her head.

“No. No I’m not.” His eyes fill with concern and he holds her face in his hands as a single tear slides down her cheek.

“What is it?” He moves her hair off her forehead and strokes the side of her face. “Honey…?”

“I lied to you.” He blinks, a gnawing fear setting in. She tries to breathe and continues. “I said I didn't care how long we were together. I said all I wanted was right now and that would be enough, but it isn't. I don't want to live without you, Elvis. Not ever. And I'm terrified that you're going to go on tour or back to Vegas and that'll be it and I can't… I can't…”

She's overcome with emotion, sobbing into his chest. He relaxes significantly and smiles, kissing the top of her head.

“Honey, listen.” He rearranges to hold her face in his hands again, wiping the tears away with his thumbs and looking her in the eye seriously. “I meant it when I told Lisa Marie I wasn't going to let you get away. When I go to Vegas or on tour, you'll come with me. It's as simple as that. You think I'd forget my magic girl? My Tink? I'm not living this adventure without you. You got it?”

She sniffles and nods and he leans in and kisses her softly.

“I know this has been your dream for 20 years, but it's not just yours anymore. It's ours. And I'll be damned if I let it end any time soon.”

“Our dream?”

“Ours, honey. You and me. Forever.”

“Forever…”

******

New Year's Eve 1975 - Pontiac, Michigan

Elvis is on stage, doing his normal routine with as much enthusiasm as he's ever done it before. He moves around, jokes with the audience, and kisses fans– with his mouth closed– as much as he ever has. People in the crowd will talk about this show as a comeback of sorts. A reporter will write “1970 Elvis has returned.” He looks better, he feels better, he is better. Just before he sings Can't Help Falling In Love and ends the concert, he stops the music and starts talking.

“I wanna introduce y’all to someone. Tink, honey, stand up.” The spotlight falls on her and she stands up, blushing and giggling. “Isn't she beautiful, folks? This is my fiancee, Jo Bellamy.”

Jo’s mouth pops open and she stands there in shock. Elvis continues.

“She looks like that because I haven't asked her yet. You wanna marry me, honey?” The crowd goes wild as Charlie hands him a ring box that he opens and holds out to her. She laughs and nods, waiting for them to settle before hollering up at him.

“Of course I do!” There’s more raucous applause from the audience, but Jo and Elvis might as well be in a room alone. Eventually, the cheers subside.

“See folks? Fiancee. C’mere, honey.” Jo is beside herself with joy as she makes her way to the stage. He bends down and slips the giant diamond on her finger before kissing her. He holds the mic to the side and whispers. “I love you, Tink.”

“I love you more, babe.” He winks and then stands up. Jo makes her way back to her seat and sits down. She's already pregnant with their boys, Elvis Jr. and Jessie Garon, but neither of them know it. The music starts up and Elvis says one last thing before he breaks into song.

“To live would be an awfully big adventure, right honey? That's exactly what we plan to do. Come on guys, let's sing the song…”

And they lived happily ever after.

******

The End

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

Taglist:

@ccab @atleastpleasetelephone @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @searchingforgravity @msamarican @angschrof @lustnhim @polksaladava @librababe99 @hooked-on-elvis @theelvisprincess @makethemorning @peaceloveelvis @mrspresley69 @pxpresley @kxnnxy

[sloppiest-of-jos]

YES. THAT IS WHY. HELLO.

ELVIS.

Parade Magazine, 1978

(photo is from 1955 at the Peabody in Memphis)