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elvisabutler · 2 years

Note

Austin!Elvis x reader - Elvis convinces the reader’s mom to let her stay at Graceland for the whole summer. You can do whatever you want from there.

queen of graceland

summary: your parents don't like elvis one bit. you do like elvis quite a bit. somehow you get your parents to allow you to stay with your boyfriend all summer. the two of you have a plan to make your stay permanent. fandom: austin butler | elvis ( 2022 ) | elvis presley rating: m pairing: austin!elvis ( 50's ) x female reader word count: 5007 ( do i have an explanation? no, no i don't. but welcome to why my requests take a hot minute i guess? ) warnings: p in v sex ( unprotected ). oral ( f receiving ). breeding kink. mutual weirdly wholesome entrapment. everyone is of age. going against parents' wishes. controlling parents. pregnancy. gladys' death is mentioned at the very end. mentions of elvis's close relationship with his mother. author’s note: first off anon! thank you for this request and saints preserve me i am truly sorry it took so long to get to it and it turned into- well this. so i got this before i did kinktober and blah blah we all know life is hectic around the holidays but once i realized this clearly is happening with an of age reader and all that jazz i had to pick an elvis and while i believe it can be agreed that this prompt lends itself well to a sort of dark ( or innocent tbh ) 70s elvis thing- my brain settled on this interesting 50s elvis mutual entrapment breeding kink thing that was originally a little darker but still has those morally grey tinges. i hope you enjoy anon, i did actually really like this prompt from the moment i got it. special thanks to @blurredcolour for being my 50s elvis woman always and my partners in breeding mrs. presley crime, y'all know who you are. and if you all so desire you can imagine elvis in this. but i did try and stay closer to the movie than i have lately on some of my specifically austin elvis requests as of late.

Your mama hates Elvis, it's a fact you've known since the moment she laid eyes on him when you brought him home. First it was that he wasn't good enough for her daughter, too poor, too stupid and too destined to be in the poor parts of Memphis until he dies. Then it was that he was too vulgar and too free wheeling and he was just gonna hurt you, besides what would he see in the girl he left behind at home. All the things she whispers in your ears aren't true because you know as well as anyone the Elvis is practically obsessed with you to the point of madness. It flatters you and delights you enough to make you want to keep him until the end of both your lives. It makes you want to claim him and keep him as your own, to be at home while he travels the states or to accompany him, whatever he wants and whatever brings you the most pleasure in your life.

These wants are how you found yourself practically begging your mother for permission to spend the summer at Graceland after Elvis has already plead his case. You're nineteen and an adult but you still live under your mama and your daddy's roof so their rules are law. And their main rule is one date every two weeks with you and your boyfriend. The concept of you spending an entire set of months with him is not one they're willing to easily agree to but you promise that no funny business is going to go on and besides, his own mama would rather die than have him do anything untoward to you. Nevermind that she's been pressuring him to put a ring on your finger since she realized that you were fine with how close they were, found it endearing and hoped, God willing that your own son and you would have the same sort of relationship. Granted, you were aware that it was unhealthy and all but- Elvis wasn't ever going to unwind himself from his mama so you dealt with it, you could deal with it and charm her to where she needed to be charmed.

Elvis doesn't waste a minute as soon as he sees you walking up the steps of Graceland, carrying two bags full of clothes you planned on wearing while you were there. He takes them from you despite your valiant protests and sets them down by the door the moment he shuts the front door.

"Can't believe you got her to agree to it." Elvis grins, practically bouncing on his heels. He looks like a kid in a candy store, like you've given him the best present you could have for his birthday, his Christmas, his everything. "Getcha all to myself all summer."

You move closer to him moving your hands to his hips and pulling him in for a kiss that's supposed to be chaste but- you've missed him too much to try, instead allowing your tongue to meet his and your teeth to pull at his lip earning a low moan from him as you pull away. "If you do your job right, it'll be longer than the summer, Elvis. I'll be here every summer. Every winter." You move one of his hands to your stomach. "I'll be here every second you want me and them to be."

His eyes widen just a hair before he rubs at your stomach, picturing you full of him, your stomach swelling with a baby or two he's put there. Picturing you going home to your parents only to be sent back because his child or children are growing inside you. The only thing that keeps him from pulling you inside and fucking you against the nearest surface is the knowledge that his mother and Mary and Grandma Dodger are in the kitchen but he moves closer to you anyway, pulling you inside as he nips at your ear. "That you askin' for a baby, Satnin? Askin' for me to fill ya up before ya go back to your parents? Make them see ya belong wit' me?"

You feel your arousal pool in your undergarments as you clench around air, wishing he was having sex with you already. Wishing you could feel his cock filling you up in just the way you needed. A noise of pure desire- a mix of a coo and a whine- leaves your mouth as you push him against the wall by the door. "That's me beggin' for one, El." Your own accent thickens, brought on only by the desire coursing through you at proving that you belong by Elvis's side.

Elvis looks like he's about to say something, or like he's about to lift you up against the wall- everyone be damned before he hears his mother shouting his name and he growls against your neck, allowing himself to at the very least shove his knee in between your thighs. Gladys comes around the corner, grinning and looking pleased as punch to see you even as you take just a second to grind on her sons' thigh as you smile over his shoulder at her.

"Y/N!" She shouts, starting to walk to toward the pair of you, causing Elvis to move his thigh from between your legs and turn to face his mama. "Bewbie, you were supposed to tell me when she got here!"

Elvis has the decency to look chargined for a moment, burrowing his face into your shoulder like a little boy and mumbling. "Mama- she just got here and I missed her."

"And you think I haven't?" She frowns, lightly slapping his arm and pulling you away from him. If she notices anything about his lower half she doesn't say anything, instead focusing on pulling you in for a hug. "A whole summer with us, oh- I was thinkin' I was gonna have to talk to your mama myself to convince her." She pauses and looks at Elvis. "You'd have thought she thinks my bewbie's gonna ruin you."

Elvis looks over at you as his mother just squeezes you in her hug. His teeth are biting into his lower lip as he tries not to laugh, knowing fully well that had she not interrupted you that he would have been well on his way to ruining you by the front door. Your smile back at him is full of promise and can barely be called a smile, edging more to a smirk than anything else. The idea is for him to ruin you this summer, you are both entirely aware that your parents will never let you be with Elvis as long as they live unless something drastic changes. Unless they're forced to allow him to be with you and while you like to think there's a better option, from the way you and Elvis keep looking at each other you both have come to the same conclusion, there isn't. He's never going to be good enough in your parents' eyes for their baby even if he makes all the money in the world or if he settles down and stops making that rock and roll music. No, he's always going to be that boy they don't like, that boy who'll only ever bring ruin to their baby girl. Even if that's the furthest from what he is, from what he wants to be.

In a perfect world, he likes to think he'd have you after seeing you dressed up all in white, looking a vision from the bible, all virginal and ready for him to explore in ways no one ever had or ever would after him. You'd be underneath him, writhing and panting in the way you do when you both get a little hot and heavy in his Cadalliac but he'd have you bare and so open to him. So open to be able to receive his cum, so open and ready to give him children so that he could see you swollen with him. So that he could see a little blond boy or girl suckling at your chest with you all sweaty after having brought them into the world.

in a perfect world, he likes to think the two of you would have a gaggle of kids after you got married and that he'd take them on the road with him. Get himself a bus like BB where he can just have you and his kids as a little moving sanctuary or maybe just have them at home with you taking care of them. He knows you might wanna work outside the home but he also knows that can wait, he could provide for you both and for anyone else for now. In this world though, in the world you both live in he has to find a way to even have you for longer than a summer and drastic situations call for drastic measures. The pair of you are so busy looking at each other that neither one of you are really paying attention to Gladys when she pulls away and says something to the both of you only to shake her head at how little you're both paying attention.

"Ignoring me because you can't take your eyes off each other-" She sighs a little, clutching her chest at the image. "I'll leave you two be, Elvis go take her things up to her room, show her what we set up for her."

You raise an eyebrow as she leaves and within a minute you're up against Elvis, grabbing both of your bags for him to take from you. "My room." You pause and giggle softly. "You mean the room that's just going to have my clothes in it?"

Elvis has to shut his eyes for a moment as he shakes his head, exhaling softly. "Darlin'- if you're lucky your clothes are gonna be there. I plan on havin' ya everywhere in my damn house."

A gasp leaves your mouth as he takes the bags and starts to walk up the stairs. "Everywhere in the house, El- what about everyone else."

He's silent as you head up the stairs and doesn't bother to answer your question until you're both safely in your room. The bed is simple enough, large enough for you and Elvis to be on it together easily and the room is surprisingly simple in decoration. Gladys' influence, you figure. The bags hit the floor with a thump as suddenly you find yourself being walked back to the bed. The back of your knees hit the bed frame and you let out a huff of surprise before flopping on the bed. Elvis doesn't miss a beat as he crawls on top of you, his eyes heady with desire.

"Satnin, darlin' they ain't here all the time." He starts before kissing at your neck, his hands moving to undo the buttons of your blouse with surprising ease. "And if you want to leave here with my baby in you, we gotta make sure there's enough of me in there. Gotta make sure you're full of me. Gotta make sure it stays and catches, like they all say it does."

A shiver goes through you at his words, your hands moving to undo his belt and pants, some sort of primal need overcoming your desire to say anything else. He's right and you know this. You know that there's no guarantee you'd get pregnant on the first try, that practice makes perfect and it wouldn't hurt to have him fill you up with his- release as much as he can. Yet, hearing the words come out of Elvis's mouth, hearing how he's going to fill you up has your body on edge, has it craving what he's offering. You faintly hear a chuckle as you struggle with the button to his pants and feel his warm hands- always so large- over your own, assisting you before you triumphantly achieve your goal. Your hand slips into his underwear, finding its way to his cock easily, feeling his foreskin and how dry it is before you pull his cock out. Elvis grabs your hand and spits into it, knowing that sometimes you forget to spit, forget that while his precum helps, the beginning part, this part depends on a little extra liquid.

"Don't hold back, darlin'." He mutters, seeing your lower lip caught between your teeth. "Gonna make you mine, wanna hear how you love it. How you would have sounded if we could do this proper with a wedding an' everythin'."

If you're embarrassed at the whimper, it doesn't show, the arousal starting to seep out of you becoming unbearable as your chest heaves just a tad. Elvis watches your breasts still in your bra bounce that little bit as your chest heaves and tries to focus on anything but your hand wrapping around his cock as you move your hand up and down for a moment before starting to pull back his foreskin. He hisses the second your thumb brushes against his tip. His precum makes it glide easily but- it's too much, he wants to be in you, doesn't want to waste a single drop down your throat or your hand or anywhere. Somehow his hand makes it down to your skirt, pushing it down with an ease he'll explain away later as just dumb luck. He knows fully well it's come from the few times he's had someone on the tours but he loves you- has loved you from the moment you agreed to date him but he was lonely. Somehow your underwear comes with the skirt and you find yourself shivering at the cold air against your pussy. Elvis looks down, his fingers sliding between your folds, marveling at just how wet you are for him. A growl leaves him unbidden as he moves to shoo your hand away from his cock and lines himself up with your exposed pussy, allowing himself to put just the tip in, feeling you stretch around him. He knows he should wait, knows that you've stretched yourself as much as you can playing with yourself over the phone while he pumps his cock in empty hotel rooms, but it's nothing compared to his cock inside of you.

His eyes dart across your face, asking for permission to push in farther and you nod just barely, your eyes shutting as you feel the burn of his cock in you. It's a uncomfortable but you manage, breathing through your nose as he takes his time. You figure this has to be torture for him, after all you had felt how hard he was, saw how red the head of his cock looked but he's still being gentle. He's still putting your needs so far above his own. This is what your mama doesn't see- the man who treats you like a goddess when he's fucking you for the first time. You roll your hips up, earning a groan from him as he increases his speed, taking your actions to mean he can. Whimpers and small tiny moans escape your lips, providing a small symphony of noise around you both as Elvis's lips smack against yours and against your skin and as your skin meets over and over again as his hips rut against you. Your brain floats the more you feel him, the more you feel a coil deep inside of you tightening, feel yourself inching closer to the edge. Your hands move to his back, pulling him closer into you before you hear him curse, and feel his hips rut a few times in quick succession before feeling a warmth inside you. Your own orgasm follows soon after, the moan that escapes your lips being swallowed by Elvis's kiss so as to not arouse suspicion of what you've done up here. Elvis stays on top of you, keeping his cock inside you even as he catches his breath and his hips still pump ever so slowly into you. Your ears faintly register a faint squelching noise as he does and you find that you can't look Elvis in the eyes, the noise somehow reminding you that this is an inherently filthy act. A moment passes of still hearing the noise before your vagina inadvertently clenches around him, earning a low growl and a biting kiss from Elvis.

It was like you were trying to suck him into you, trying to make sure no part of his cum or him would be free of you. You don't intend for it to be that way and yet it's how it goes, allowing you to hold him close as you both continue to catch your breath. The amount of time that passes isn't something either one of you pay attention to before Elvis starts to pull out, earning a whine from both of you as he does.

"Got me in a vice grip, Satnin. Gotta let me go, mama was cooking with everyone- gotta make sure we keep up our strength." He murmurs, kissing your cheeks, your lips and down your neck to your chest. "Gonna have fun tonight- play with those breasts of yours. Show ya how our baby is gonna eat from ya."

A low keen escapes your lips as you push him off of you, knowing that the way he's talking is going to have you pulling him back on top of you, ruining any hope you have of getting to stay the rest of the summer. Gladys may want you here but she doesn't know what her son and you have planned, how right she is about him ruining you. How with any luck, you'll be leaving with a baby in your belly that will round out your form and have your parents forcing him to marry you. A simple entrapment scheme- but one you and Elvis are privy to while either set of parents aren't.

It takes a moment before you and Elvis are put together and you hear Gladys calling for both of you as you're both smoothing out each other's hair, making sure it's just mussed and not completely giving away how fucked out you are. That it's not giving away how you feel his cum leaking out of you enough that you want to push it back in but know that it can wait. This time it doesn't need to take. Besides, if it did- why you think you'd be leaving with an already there bump, and that won't quite do. Elvis kisses you one more time, gently before grabbing your hand. "Come on darlin', gonna show ya how it's gonna be when you're here forever."

True to his word, Elvis does manage to fuck you in just about every place in the house, except for the few rooms that are off limits. Sure, the Colonel comes and has to have meetings and Elvis has to leave one week to record some music but otherwise, he's by your side unable to keep his hands off of you. Unable to keep himself from being in you the moment he can, there's even a moment while you're out on the porch with you in his lap and your skirt billowing around the two of you as he fucks you while watching the sunset. Your period doesn't come the last month you're there, and Elvis finds that any time he touches your breasts you hiss, swatting his hands away. He doesn't dare put into words what he's thinking, what you're both thinking until the hot sticky August day you have to leave. You're waiting for your father to come pick you up, sitting in the living room and Elvis finds his hand moving to your stomach, rubbing it, trying to feel out a bump he's praying he'll get to see soon.

"Ya think it took this time, darlin'? Think they're growing in there?" He murmurs giving you a soft kiss as he does. "It's out last shot, don't think ya parents are gonna let ya come back if they aren't."

One of your hands moves to cup Elvis's cheek while you place the other on top of his hand that's on your stomach. "I'm not gonna think about it that way, don't wanna talk 'bout it and then something happens. Have a little faith, El. You know I want this as much as you."

He nods exhaling shakily. "I-I know, just don't wanna think of a world where I don't get to keep ya. Where they keep ya away for good this time, ya- ya know I gotta do one of those tours soon and I wanna be able to take ya to see some places, baby."

Your lips quirk into a smile. "And you will. Faith, baby. Faith." A honk interrupts whatever you're planning on saying next and Elvis pulls away slowly, his hand reaching out to pull you up from the couch as he kisses you goodbye. "Make 'em send you back as soon as ya know, lil one. Please."

The only answer you give him is a nod as you rush out the door, carrying your bags and cooing a loud hello to your daddy.

Elvis- Elvis doesn't see you for another two months. Not intentionally on your part, mind you, but more due to the fact that your mother sees the signs and hopes and prays she's wrong. Prays that her fears won't be confirmed, that after she let herself be charmed by you and that stupid young man that he's ruined you. You've always stayed the same size, always been able to not need your skirts or your shirts changed since your waist and your chest settled into what they are. Yet, here you are, slowly filling out, your breasts pushing at the buttons of your blouses and your stomach starting to bloat. She thinks it's just your period only to realize it's not when you don't come to her as you would normally like clockwork. You're eating everything she puts in front of you and she swears on more than one occasion she hears you retching in the bathroom in the early evening hours.

It all comes to a head one afternoon with you on the couch, your hands settling on your stomach, highlighting a bump that's starting to form, that's beginning to be more pronounced by the day- that has her seeing red in her mind's eye. Her question is brusque and to the point.

"When was your last period?" She pauses. "Don't lie to me, Y/N."

In another time and place, one where you aren't secure in the knowledge that you're carrying Elvis's baby, you'd look away when you answer, too mortified to admit that Elvis got you pregnant because you wanted him to. In this time and this place, you press a little harder into your stomach, trying to protect your baby from your mother, lest she do something awful. "Three months ago. Maybe almost four, I lost count, mama."

All hell breaks loose after that, with your mama screaming and telling your father and calls to Graceland where you can hear Gladys calling Elvis's name sounding more angry than you've ever heard her. Throughout it all- despite it all, you're in your room smiling, talking to your stomach telling the baby that's growing in there that they're gonna meet their daddy finally. A week after you find yourself being driven to graceland in a coat to keep yourself warm in the cool weather while also hiding what's underneath from the fans gathered outside the gates. Your daddy leaves as soon as he sets your luggage down next to you, muttering about how he always knew that boy would ruin you and now he's gonna be stuck with him as a son in law.

The door opens to reveal Elvis looking like he's going to curse someone out before he realizes it's you. No words are exchanged as you open up your coat carefully and grab Elvis's hand to press against your bump. You're wearing a tighter blouse than normal to highlight it, and Elvis starts to breathe a little heavier taking note of just how much you've started to change in the months since he's seen you. He pulls you inside, grabbing the bags with a speed you marvel at before he pulls your coat off and takes a proper look at you.

You breathe slowly and Elvis swears he sees one of the buttons on your blouse look as if it's going to pop off before you smile ever so sweetly at him. "Mama hasn't let me get new clothes and- I wanted you to see what you've done to me." You lean forward, your lips brushing against his ear. "How you've ruined your sweet girl. Would have waited a little longer but I wanted you to see me grow."

His only answer in reply is lifting you up with a surprising bit of strength onto the dining room table, laying you out on it with your legs dangling at the edge, his head moving under your skirt. You can barely hear what he's saying as he kisses up your thighs but what you catch has you shivering in delight. "Made you better. Gave you my baby. Made it so your mama had to let you go. Get to stay with me. Be my girl, be my queen of Graceland."

You try and push him away, your brain reminding you that there's people in the house and you can hear cooking happening in the kitchen but your attempts are forgotten at the first brush of his tongue against your slit and the brush of his nose against your clit. He licks at you like a starving man, his tongue fucking your pussy like a pale imitation of his cock as his fingers play with your clit, rubbing and touching and even pinching in the way he's learned you enjoy. You bite your lip, whimpering even as you do, trying to keep quiet so that no one realizes just what Elvis is doing to you even as you barrel quick enough to your orgasm that it shocks you with the sheer force and speed it comes at you.

Gladys voice rings out as your chest is heaving and Elvis finds his way out from under your skirt, his face glistening as the door to the kitchen swings open. His mama sees you on the table and looks to her son, her eyes narrowing just a hair before she shakes her head. "Bewbie, you're- we gotta get you two married before you do anything else." Her face flushes just a little. "Off the table, Y/N. Let me see you and my little grandbaby you got growing here."

Her hands move to your stomach, feeling around like she's looking for something before her lips curl into a sad little smile. There's a moment where she looks like she's going to lean in to tell you what she's thinking before she stops herself and just pulls you into a hug. "I'm- We're gonna take good care of you here. Gonna make sure you and this baby have all the strength you need. I told Bewbie to marry you but- didn't think you'd both be so silly to do this to make it happen. It's alright- what's done is done and now we have this to celebrate."

And so life goes until everything comes crashing down with the papers and the Steve Allen show and Russwood- it all culminates in you seven or eight months pregnant, wishing you could drink as heavily as Gladys is when you hear your husband is getting shipped off to Germany. You promise to take care of his mama and promise to call him the minute you go into labor so that he doesn't miss seeing his baby born while in training. Yet, you find that you fail the first one so miserably when you come across Gladys on the stairs, slumped over, forcing you to call Vernon to help you with her. Not even the movement of the baby within you is able to rouse Elvis from his tears until the Colonel says something to him. You're hidden away from the cameras at Elvis's request. People know he's married, know that you are due to give birth any day now but beyond what everyone's already seen, he doesn't want anyone to see you, not right this moment, not when everything feels so raw and he's got to protect his only girl left- his queen of Graceland.

It's the day before he goes back to finish training when you feel the pain- when you feel your back and stomach twist and you moan in the bed, clutching at your stomach like that will help. This would be so much easier if Gladys was there, she could coach you through this. Elvis forces his way into the room, too scared to be away from the only Satnin he has left, too scared he'll lose you too if he lets you out of his sight. When you push out your first and it still feels like there's another in there- you realize just what Gladys had held back this whole time, too superstitious to even whisper to you that she figured you were too big for just one baby.

You name them Elizabeth and Loretta and Elvis promises to find a way to have you all brought to Germany with him. It takes a year but when you finally do see him again- when you finally both see each other again? You make a vow to stick to each other like glue if only because you're both so tired of being separated when there's no reason to be, no matter what the Colonel would like to argue.

And if perhaps your number of children shows that level of togetherness? Well. You can't very well be a queen without plenty of heirs, now can you?

tag list: @eliseinmemphis, @ab4eva, @blurredcolour, @aconflagrationofmyown and @butlersxbirdy, @lindszeppelin, @powerofelvis @floralcyanide seriously i never know who to tag in this and breeding kink is so iffy i apologize y'all and hey once again if you all want to be on my tag list ( in general, tbh ) just give me a heads up or a holler.

869 notes · View notes

surferblues · 2 years

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hi livy! congrats on 500💘 so honored to be mutuals i literally adore your writing! may i humbly request prompt ❛ i’m not wearing any underwear. thought you’d like to know. ❜ with Austin? so excited to read 🫶🏼

careless whispers ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

pairings austin butler x fem!reader

warnings 18+ only, minors dni, smut, choking, degrading kink, oral (m), and obviously sexual themes (duhhh) SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG THIS WAS AT THE BOTTOM OF MY DRAFTS 😭🫣

you and austin weren't anything to each other, well, at least not romantically. to put it lightly, you were friends who messed around.

friends who messed around in secret, because, god forbid anyone knew about this dirty friends with benefits situation you and austin agreed to.

it was always the same little game. you and austin would be out with all your friends and he'd suddenly slip his rough hands under the table to rub your thigh.

causing you to slap his hand away, even though your crimson red cheeks undeniably gave you away.

but that's what he liked about the whole situation - he loved how you got flustered and soft with every single touch.

He had you completely wrapped around his finger.

the room was fairly dark, the only source of light being the luminescent neon colors from screens and led lights - but aside from that, no one at this party would see what Austin was up to.

he knew not to be too bold, anyone in here would kill for a chance to expose something so scandalous - "costars who fuck on the low!"

pfft, what a flashy headline.

the only people aware of this sudden dynamic between you and Austin were your castmates and closest friends, aside from that - your's and Austin's publicists have been working their asses off.

Austin had been slyly making his way across the room, letting out small thanks and smiles as a-listers praised his acting in elvis. although his current destination had been far more important.

you were in the corner of the room, a small smile on your pink lips and a teasing glimmer in your soft eyes. your finger tips twirling with your locks of hair as you let out fake laughter.

you were oblivious to Austin's watchful eye, you were too busy giggling at the brunette beauty who was horribly attempting to flirt.

Austin watched every movement you've made since that wannabe a-lister walked over to you. jealousy was running through his veins as that guy leaned towards you, whispering in your ear - he was too close to you.

maybe this was how you ended up in this current situation. your knees on the cold tile floor, your tongue toying with austin's thumb as he looked down at you.

"your mouth is better for so many other things than talking." Austin's tone was as rough as his grip that his cold hand had as he gripped your cheeks, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“What’re you gonna do about it?” You challenged, inviting him to take what he needed.

"you're just begging to be punished, aren't you ?" He cooed as you looked up at him through your long lashes, nodding.

Austin reached down and pulled at his pants to release his hardness, and brought a hand to the back of your head, ever so roughly pushing you towards it.

"c'mon, slut, don't be shy." he husked, gripping a handful of your hair and pulling it nearly out of your scalp as he positioned your lips to be on his hard dick.

Your tongue came out, to lick and tease his tip, your eyes never leaving his. A smirk of satisfaction spread on your lips as his head threw back and incoherent curses slipped from his lips.

Austin hissed at the contact, He grabbed himself at the base, rubbing the head of his cock in a circle on your lips before lifting his hips to enter.

“you shouldn't get so jealous." you remarked, moving your wet tongue against his member. He then eased his cock into your mouth. You couldn't't help but to let out a cry of pleasure as his hard laid heavy on your tongue . Meanwhile, he groans at the feeling of your warm wet walls surrounding his cock. He could never get enough of how you felt around him.

your hands flew to his hips for support, while his back hit the hard wall behind him for support.

Austin let out breathless chuckles in disbelief, his tongue poking at the side of his cheek as he watched you with a focused sense.

"you shouldn't have been talking to him." he said sternly in between thrust in your mouth, and breathy whimpers. you were about to pull away from his dick, to let out a snarky response. but he pulled your head towards him before you could even try.

you let out a small grunt, his dick hitting the back of your throat. you continued your work on Austin's member, hallowing your cheeks around him as your tongue danced against his now-wet, velvety skin, moaning against him.

Soft grunts were erupting from Austin as he bucked his hips to meet your head bobs, your warm cheeks and spit nearly throwing him off of the edge. Tears began to slip from your eyes as his dick went deeper and deeper with every thrust .

He quickly pulled out of your mouth, not wanting to cum just yet, roughly grasping your chin before leaning down to collide his lips with yours. you gripped his blond lock, your tongues rolling against one another roughly.

your knees began to raise up from the ground, following his lips. you pulled away, breathless whimpers slipped from both of your lips.

"I'm not wearing any underwear.. just thought you'd like to know." you suggestively whispered against his lips, both of you chest to chest. he threw his head back, a playful smile on his lips as he processed your words.

"you're going to be the death of me." he murmured, pushing you against the wall with a reckless force. he was quick and messy, this time.

he nearly ripped your dress as he bunched it up your hips, the look in his eyes seemingly so urgent. “Do you think you deserve this?” his tone demeaning as he finally met your eyes, his finger tips barely grazing your wet clit.

you opened your lips to speak, but as soon as your lips parted Austin pushed his lips roughly against yours while his duo of ring covered pushed into you, thrusting and curling upward as he leaned up to kiss you. your tongues collided as you kissed.

you let out a groan of annoyance, tired of the teasing. "please, stop teasing austin." you begged, reaching for his fingers but he pulled them away with a sly smirk.

"oh, baby im gonna fill you up so good." he cooed, gripping your hips so hard that you were sure you were going to have bruises.

he lined his dick with your needy hole, slowly and slowly pushing his dick along your wet slit. once he finally got to your empty hole, he slammed his hips into yours with ease.

the filthy action drove you crazy, and you whined, your hand wrapping around one of his biceps as you let him settle.

It didn't hurt, but God did you feel full. he pulled out once again, following back with another thrust. he lifted up one of your legs to his waist so he could reach that sweet spot of yours.

With your legs hooked around his waist, you pushed your pelvis up to meet each thrust, the breaths coming more and more shallow as he unconsciously began to move faster and harder within you.

you placed your hand over your mouth to silence your moans, because god forbid anyone heard what was going on behind closed doors.

you squealed as austin let out a loud groan, the two of you reaching your highs together. his hips stuttered while he kept thrusting inside of you, spurring you on as you came. your cunt squeezed him with a vice grip as if it wanted to cage him in.

his head dipping in the crevice of your shoulder as his lips parted and eyes shut. you could hear the sound of your juices mixing with each lazy thrust.

"if i see him with you again, ill beat his ass." austin murmured against your skin, letting out a croaky chuckle.

but his laughter couldn't disguise his seriousness , because you knew he would.

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aconflagrationofmyown · 1 year

Text

Prima Nocta (or the right of the first night) Part 1

Warnings: so so so so many for thematic material. This is dark. Quite dark. This is freshly divorced and verrrrrry bitter and disillusioned Elvis helping himself to the bride of the newest Memphis Mafia initiate. Hugely unreliable narrator, belittling and objectifying of women, dub con because of that, sanctimonious chauvinism, reference to his marriage going very south. no actual sex yet but definitely 18+.

Notes: this got so long from just lead up that I figured it was worth publishing on its own and seeing if there’s interest for a part 2. Sorry for going bonkers on this one, sometimes you just gotta tap into the villain side of yourself. Also, this was inspired by many talks with my previous mutuals about THAT picture of Elvis holding a gun to George Klein’s head at his own wedding…I’m using it for solely for vibes, sorry George

Series: Sky High Lovin -reading Honeymoon might make this even better but not necessary

Dedicated to: Sweet Christi with the wayward mind and all my thanks to Ally and Jane and Elise for spitballing this into existence.

There was a time, not so long ago, when Elvis enjoyed life affirming events like weddings, believe it or not. He enjoyed facilitating days to celebrate love and loyalty and vows before God, promising everlasting devotion. That is, until he learned that “till death do us part” meant about as much to most as a “bless you” did when someone sneezed.

It makes surveying the pink and white festooned hotel ballroom something of an eyesore for him as he lounges back, dressed in black velvet, a sore thumb of ominous derision amidst the pastels, viewing the merry reception through moody, tinted lenses. The familiarly charming table accents of champagne and flowers and paper mache hearts twist his own into something a little furious and decidedly bitter.

A man’s wife betraying him and leaving him and stripping him of his pride and his joy and all his best intentions for her and your child will do that to a man.

Couldn’t even make it a whole decade before she found fault and spread her legs for another and turned his child against the father that loved her.

Sorry for being away so much baby, I was just singin’ myself hoarse to buy you that fuckin ring and car and hair and face and keep you in the style you’d married me for.

Cause it was obvious as all hell that honoring and obeying hadn’t been first and foremost in her mind when she promised forever. Forever to riches and fame, maybe, but not forever to him. She has those now, and he hasn’t got the family he’d prayed an Old Testament God for.

Rather like the pretty lady currently allowing her rodent of a groom to feed her their wedding cake, fake giggles and batting lashes adding to the nauseating act of pretending she can stand being in his company for longer than a couple hours.

Forever, my ass.

Elvis watches her through his shades and with each passing minute the anger burns brighter and his justification steadily builds for the liberty he’s about to commit.

The groom is here for Elvis’ paycheck, the lovely bride is planning to suck that idiot's cock till death doth them part (or a good four years) for the status of being a Memphis Mafia wife, and even the guests now stuffing their faces with pasta and alcohol are here for what Elvis’ money buys.

Loyalty is dead and what’s left is the goddamn food chain, like they’re the animals school tells them they’ve evolved past. In the recent months since his divorce, Elvis has felt a near Devine calling to bring this wicked devolution of morals and motivations to light, to humiliate these homosapiens until some level of shame is regained by mankind. If this is a pack of animals that surrounds him, he is King of the Jungle, and it is a careless and heartless king who lets his subjects run amuck.

He has no appetite for pasta, the hours of frivolity pass him by and he remains aloof, crouching in wait in his chair, running off righteous indignation and primal sufferance. Good things come to those who wait.

That’s what the bride is thinking, Elvis suspects, as the reception winds down and her luxurious honeymoon full of sunbathing and spas, good food and rich wine and the obligatory playing hooky to get out of sex draws nearer. Just a little more time letting fuckin’ Ronnie feed her cake and paw at her, then she’ll be on her way, securely locked into her future of privilege. He’s got nothing against Connie, uh, Sandra, -oh hell what was her name? he consults the gold embossed invitation at his elbow,- He’s got nothing against the newly minted Mrs. Kemp, nothing in particular, except that she’s a woman. And Elvis has a bone to pick and a point to prove with the whole, whorish lot of them.

Elvis opens the limo door for the bride himself, gallantly ushering in the happy couple before joining them as arranged, the whole merry band of his boys piling in after.

The new Mrs. Kemp, unlike some of his boys wives, had had the good grace not to whine about the lack of privacy and alone time to be found in and around Graceland’s inner circle. As a result Elvis allowed her to choose the more expensive flowers and gold embossed invites and french vintages, even if he knew why knew she’d been disgustingly eager for any chance of her intended husband being distracted from her. Elvis is certain, thanks to first hand accounts from fuckin’ Ronnie himslef, that the groom has sampled the bride already. It’s the way of things in this decadent decade, and she’s no fresh outta the nest baby chick. The fact Ronnie could give no further details about his encounters with his betrothed beyond the mechanics of thrusting above her till he blew his load, made Elvis despair of humanity and suspect Mrs. Kemp had a serpentine pragmatism about this entire arrangement.

Oh my buddy my pal, he thinks to himself as the limo flies through the never dark streets of Las Vegas towards the airstrip, I gave my wife everything and that wasn’t enough, how can you compete? God gave Eve the whole of Eden ‘cept for one measly apple tree -and what did the mother of all mankind do? She took, she ate, she damned them all with her disloyalty.

Ronnie is a damn fool, and while Elvis’ warnings were not needed during the engagement and this marriage has progressed to a limo ride and honeymoon, Elvis is not to be thwarted in his determination to save Ronnie the slow disillusionment, the slow death of any pretense of love in his wife’s eyes, the crumbling of all faith in anything such as Elvis has endured. Better to rip the bandage off now, five years is a long crucifixion.

As the limo parks on the tarmac and the gleaming hulk of the private jet looms over them in the night sky, no doubt Ronnie harbors some pathetic hope Elvis has forgotten his promise.

Elvis proceeds his guests up the jet bridge, cane thumping and carefully harnessed excitement radiating through him as he enters the opulent space, watching with benign magnanimity as the newlyweds board his jet, the boys providing a rollicking group to ferry the new couple to their honeymoon destination.

This was Elvis’ treat, he had insisted the jet drop them off before he heads back to wherever it is he’s supposed to be tomorrow. He’s not lost his appetite for spoiling folks. Only this time, he is gonna get repaid in currency a little more tangible than ephemeral, transient, fleeting loyalty. And Ronnie, kiss-ass, weak-spined fuckin’ Ronnie wasn’t man enough to hold out more than a few minutes when Elvis told him his new bride was the price for being inducted into the inner circle, the intitiation to prove his loyalty to The King.

Predictably, after some pathetic and scandalized objections, some monetary threats by Elvis and some judgmental snickers by the guys, fuckin’ Ronnie had caved and betrayed his loyalty to his own wife before he’d even walked down the aisle to marry her.

“B-b-but d-did the rest of t-the g-guys h-h-have to do this?” Ronnie had protested while they were shootin some pool, leaving the gals the other rooms to wedding plan, “Is it a-a-always this w-way?”

It hasn’t always been, no. Because Elvis hadn’t always been so astute. He had allowed his taste for pleasure and innocence and childish notions of fidelity to cloud his perception of women and the men they married. Elvis once was blind, now he saw, and now there was a currency of wedding nights established in the jungle.

“No one’s forcin’ ya to stay in this group.” Elvis had pointed out while lining up his pool cue with the ball, “you’re mighty welcome to go right on out that door, never receive another check from me or a glimpse of Vegas again, you’ll lose that girl, too, cause she sure as hell won’t be stickin around when all your bells and whistles fall off and it’s just you she’s left with. She don’t want ya Ronnie, she wants what I give ya, which makes me her provider, don’t it?” he reasoned before making his shot, the clatter of the balls deafening against the green felt as the older members of the mafia held their breaths in sick fascination with this new form of hazing. “And now, if I’m her provider,” Elvis had straightened up his posture to watch Sonny mark the score on the board, “that makes me a husband of sorts, an authority, a protector. A sugar daddy. Don’t it? You gonna tell me I should throw you guys a damn weddin’ and honeymoon, buy ya the house you live in and the cars you drive, the clothes she wears and the food you eat cause you hang around me an’ promise to protect me if the time comes? Bodyguard my ass, I could turn anyone to chopsticks before you even woke up long enough to realize a threat. Face it Ronnie, there’s a totem pole in this here life, and no one blames ya for bein’ a few notches down than most in the scale of things, but it don’t give ya much leverage bein’ down there. I give you that leverage. And I’d like to compensate myself for my generosity with a lil marital privilege. Jus’ once, just first night rights.” he took a swing of his coke and watched Ronnie closely, licking the sugar off his lips with deliberate swipes of his tongue, “Or would ya prefer I just wait and fuck her in six monthes when she comes knockin’ on my door sayin’ she just got lost in this big ole place?”

Fuckin’ Ronnie was a coward and a cad and he essentially agreed that he’d rather Elvis fuck his wife on the wedding night and be done with it than always be watching his back, suspecting her of carrying on an affair. Ronnie was a little bitch, Elvis surmised. Gone was any protest that he couldn’t do that to her, that she was a good gal, that Elvis wouldn’t do that to a friend.

Kings had no friends. And tonight Ronnie was oh so close to being officially inducted into the Memphis Mafia, he’d do nothing to jeopardize that . Elvis figured he’d wait until the plane took off to sample the goods, make her husband squirm guiltily over it while his new bride puzzled over why he was so tense.

Out of consideration for her downer of a groom, Elvis handed her a drink, playing the gracious host and taking her mind off her husband's stiff bearing and sweaty pallor.

“Don’t mind him, honey,” Elvis whispered hot and wet in her ear as he handed the drink off, “Ronnie boy here’s just scared of flyin’. You’re not scared are ya, honey?”

Honey….he couldn’t recall her name, Mrs. Kemp’s name, his fatigue and apathy too strong. He stood straight and dug in his pocket for a pick-me-up as he watched her smile and blush under his attentions,

“No sir, Mr. Presley, I’m not scared.” she smiled, “One could think we’re sat in a living room, it's so spacious here.” she added a compliment.

“I’d like to show ya the rest.” he says sitting down next to her, his arm heavy and warm around her shoulders and his gaze intent on her, knowing the effect this has on an ignored woman.

He recalls using that same line on his young bride during their honeymoon, eager to show his own new wife everything he had to offer. Beauty and luxury and care and a damn good fuck in front of the mirror back there. And it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t enough.

He can feel Ronnie tense further against the back of his hand where he clasps the bride’s shoulder, knowing that the “rest” of the plane beyond this lounge is a conference table, a toilet and a bedroom. Ronnie has had the privileges of being part of the TCB and now he’s about to pay his admission fee, and Elvis smirks at the thought that the man will never ride aboard this jet again without thinking of getting cuckolded by his boss.

The Bride is trying to make sense of Elvis' sudden shift of mood along with her husband’s. Both of them seeming to have swapped bearings, changing from the reception as if the jet’s air pressure had doused Ronnie’s merriment and finally revitalized Mr. Presley from the rather sullen attendee he had been. Elvis can feel her hesitancy to agree in her body language and the way she keeps looking over to Ronnie, as if to figure out his nervous ignoring of her and the way Elvis makes up for it in touches and attention. Beneath them the jet rumbles and takes flight, her little gasp at the heart swooping feeling of take-off a taste of what’s to come, of what he’ll pull from her body, willing or not . He’d rather lure her, try that first, the other can always be resorted to.

There’s an unspoken agreement to wait on this lil tour till the jet reaches cruising altitude, and Elvis spends the wait rubbing her arm and watching her try to make conversation with her groom who finds discussing the latest baseball stats with Red far more interesting than recalling the beauteous memories of the last few hours with his now introspective and mildly panicked bride. It’s funny to hold a woman whose mind is racing, Elvis can almost feel the frantic thoughts and conflicting emotions battering her frame from the inside out like a caged bird against its bars.

Elvis allows the minutes to trickle by and work for him, the soothing sweep of his hand slowly melting her rigidity, the continued abandonment of her husband's attention going from hurtful to frustrating, the innocuous chatter of the fellas talking and laughing around them, the cool air of the jet’s cooling system kicking on, and his warm and broad chest already pressed against her, now beckoning like a little haven for her to cower inside until the confusion passes. He clocks all these developments as the minutes go by, fully aware the boys are making small talk with their minds as preoccupied as Ronnie’s about when Elvis will make his move, their anticipation mounting while her guard drops, finally accepting his closeness without question. The jet rumbles and her drink kicks in and with the wedding fever abated it leaves her drowsy, unmoored.

Elvis waits for the perfect moment to pounce and is rewarded for his patience. The cool blast of the AC has made her begin to curl towards him and he’s met her halfway and it’s not till her head almost nods weakly to lay on his shoulder that her sensibilities prick her and she jerks it back up, another little gasp. It makes his repeated,

“Lemme show ya round, honey, got all sorts of remarkable stuff up here”

sound like a gallant cover for her lapse of decorum. Predictably, she shakes herself upright and gives him a polite nod of thanks, their first mutual, unspoken communication acknowledging something the rest of the room isn’t privy to. Her loyalty is slipping and all it took was a few minutes of heating her up with his embrace, a few whispered teases and buying her a whole damn lifestyle. To her credit she looks to Ronnie as she rises, asking him to come along in a coaxing voice Elvis knows is her trying to get her new husband to even look at her.

Elvis watches her try and fail at this from the curtained doorway leading to the back of the jet, thinking it makes a striking picture. A bride still dressed in white, bending over to try to catch her husband's eyes as he watches TV in his rumpled tux, the entire plane’s worth of masculine attention directed on her, except for the man who swore to worship her. Perhaps the disillusion will go both ways tonight, maybe women aren’t all merley bitches in heat, maybe some start out intending to be faithful and good and content.

Elvis has yet to meet a woman faithful and good and content once he puts his mark on them, they spend the rest of their lives day dreaming and closing their eyes when their husbands are in them and clogging his phone lines, kidding themselves that they’re special. He’s saving her the sin of coming to his room in a couple of months or years and saying she got lost while dropping her silk nightwear down her frame, an old and familiar expression of invitation on her face. She might not know that’s in her future otherwise, but he does. And he’s gonna save her the wait. When she wants something she’ll come to him now, not her husband, and he will have the discipline to make the right choices for her.

Elvis holds the curtain aside and beckons her with his fingers, and she would be angrier that he has the nerve to summon her away from her husband if she weren’t so humiliated at being ignored by the man. Frustration at their man makes women very susceptible to comfort, Elvis knows this intimately, and in their strong desire to be understood and soothed, they’ll spread their legs for the first person who tells them they deserve that attention.

She ducks under his arm, into the shade of the conference room with an attitude written on her face. Elvis drops the curtain behind them, the prey corralled. Nothin so easy as a woman scorned, nothin’ quite so hungry and quite so fierce. He hopes she’ll take out some of that miffed little ‘tude out on his back with those fancy nails his money bought her. It makes him smirk in anticipation and he can tell she finds that unsettling, her huffy bearing faltering once she notices him just watching her move round the glossy table top, suddenly aware of their seclusion and the fact she left her groom behind for a tour of the jet. She’s beginning to doubt her choice, doubt her loyalties.

Honeymoon off to a damn good start, she thinks sourly.

It’s innocuous, standing at opposite ends of a conference table with a man who is your husband's closest friend and at whose house you’ve eaten multiple dinners. There’s nothing wrong with it, but she feels her skin prickle none the less like she’s in danger, like those eyes observing her through shaded lenses are not fully human, not fully beneficent. She curses Ronnie for humiliating her, for his weird mood these past weeks making her feel isolated, for her past making her paranoid of this assessing male gaze.

She’d met a panther in the woods on an Appalachian bike ride once. They’d stared each other down as he had crouched and observed, his eyes fathomless and intent, the muscles of its body undulating in readiness beneath sleek black fur. Her mouth had dried out exactly the same as it does now when her shy smiles aren’t met with anything besides those assessing eyes and that crooked smirk that holds no fondness for her, no pride in his jet, no amusement at her awe of his wealth. A smirk of pure and smug knowingness.

Then he calls to her and the warmth of his voice melts her fear. “Check out this icebox, honey”

Her face lights up like a kids in the yellow glow of the refrigerator light as she bends over to look inside, white stain skirt hugging her perfectly and he gathers that all that athleticism has done her good, she could probably ride a man for hours without tiring, judging by the firm curve of that ass.

“See anyhtin ya’d like?” he asks her casually, laying a light hand between her shoulder blades as she reads rows and rows of labeled refreshments.

“Oh, uh, no, no, the drink was enough for now. Thank you Mr. Presley.”

He used to correct folks when they called him that, and used to punt the honorary title to his father. But nowadays he finds “Mr. Presley” might be closer to “your majesty” than mere “Elvis” -in which case he’s stopped putting little floozies at ease by asking them to call him by the name his mama gave him. That’s a name used by a wife back when he was happy and respected and alive.

“C’mere, I wanna show ya this television back here.” he beckons again, removing the heat of his hand from her back and she breathes easier with him taking the lead, she’s able to watch his imposing figure unobserved as he leads her past the conference table and into a small hallway with a large, showbiz style mirror.

Elvis swaggers right on by the marvelous monstrosity with its low counter and doused bare bulbs, but she can’t help herself. A flicker of childish glee taking over as she flips the switch on the wall and makes the bulbs buzz to life, brilliant as a spotlight in the inky gloom, illuminating them from the knees to the ceiling in a gaudy reflection. The sudden blast of light makes him pause on his trek to the bedroom and he joins her in looking at their reflection.

“Hell, honey,” he drawls amused as he takes in her fresh little wedding set and his decadent black suit, “we look like cake toppers.”

She laughs at that, a sweet unaffected thing that is music to his ears, and no doubt a screech to Ronnie’s. Elvis finds his grin growing at that thought and she mistakes it for joy. She laughs again, aborted little chuckles tapering out.

“There’s a tv back here, too?” she asks, embarrassingly at ease with entering a bedroom in the company of Elvis Presley.

Interestingly she doesn’t even glance at the bed when he ushers her in, she’s peering at the walls and the built in furniture for a peek of a screen.

“Mhmm, keep lookin, it’s hidden.” Elvis follows her and shuts the door behind him, a quiet click she doesn’t hear as she’s got her back to him, busily creaking open dresser doors and clapping in commendation upon finding the tastefully camouflaged TV set.

“How wonderful!” She praises and his heart does something funny and nostalgic over unpretentious enjoyment of what he has to give her.

One day it’ll be old hat to her and she’ll be like all the other wives, naggin’ and bitchin’ over keeping up with each other, forgetting about what it was they ever wanted, consumed with one upping each other and dominating the pecking order, spending Elvis’ money not for pleasure but for bragging rights. For now he watches this young woman bounce in her heels over a hidden TV set and makes a pact with himself to be nice, to gentle her into this ruination.

Then he recalls she married Fuckin Ronnie, and that twists his gut in reminder she’s a practical gold digger like all the rest. And he doesn’t mind that about her, he just hates the dishonesty of pretending she’s in it for more, and her ignoring him for a tv irks him as disingenuine.

“Wanna kick back and watch somethin, doll?” he asks her and sees the exact minute his words make her back and shoulders stiffen beneath white silk.

“Uh, on this one?” she’s scared to ask, scared to sound like she’s accusing him of suggesting it, scared to suggest it and give him ideas.

“They got the damn game on the other.” he answers her smoothly, coming up behind her and reaching round her to power it up.

“Elvis.” she dares to sound reprimanding when all he’s done is stand behind her and punch a button, she’s the one who walked into a bedroom with a man who isn’t her husband.

“Gonna be a long flight, three more hours I reckon.” he is patient with her.

“Y-yes.” she hesitantly agrees, watching the screen flicker to life, “And I wanna spend it with Ronnie, exc-“

Liar! He doesn’t let her turn around, he puts his hands on her shoulders and keeps her facing the TV, keeps her away from the closed door she’s not yet noticed, he nuzzles his nose into the crook of her neck telling himself, gently, gently, tempt her, tempt her. “Doesn’t seem like Ronnie is eager to spend it with ya.” he mourns low and sympathetic in her ear and she gasps at his brutal honesty, at the fact he’d have no tact to pretend he didn’t notice.

“Elvis, t-this isn’t right.” she parrots her mother or her favorite tv show or some rote set of rules she doesn’t really embrace.

“What ain’t right, honey?” he rumbles, keeping his hands on her, moving them from her shoulders down her arms, then swooping them up again and fingering at the sides of her neck, delighting in the shiver her body yields up to him.

If he hadn’t been so aloof before, she figures she might not feel so electrified by his sudden, all consuming touch. But it’s not just that, he’s kept his distance from her since she started dating Ronnie and in her star struck insecurity she’d made no move to become friendly with him.

Now this, this intentional hovering and the petting that tastes like something she’s only ever heard about. It’s Elvis, Elvis petting her in her wedding dress on the way to her honeymoon destination and that’s simultaneously about as predictable and uncredible as can be. Elvis, who’s been the ephemeral host for countless of lovely parties, Elvis who’s been the presiding specter over all their schedules since she became part of the group, Elvis who has been the magical name on the credit card used for everything she ever wanted. Elvis Presley, the man who achieved all there was in life by 21, and has been bored by it ever since. What did she expect him to be, a fatherly figure?

“Did you like your weddin’ honey?” he asks her after her raging thoughts consume the time she should have spent answering and protesting him.

The hands descending to her hips and squeezing there hint a warning prompt even as his gentle tone reminds her of all he has done for her, his inexhaustible benevolence -which it seems something has finally exhausted. She begins to panic, no need to see those panther eyes when the heat is radiating off of him, sexual intent potent from his aura alone, no need to feel a crude gesture or have it spoken out in clunky declarations of desire. Ingrained self doubt takes hold of her for one brief moment before the scratch of his sideburn rubs against her cheeks and the hot press of his lips against her neck tells her it is not vanity making her project on him, Elvis Presley really is trying to seduce her mere hours after her vows, a few yards away from her new husband and his friends.

“Mr. Presley!” she resolutely stiffens in his embrace and tries to turn and leave his hold of her and he lets her so far as she’s spun round and facing him, her stern tone wobbling out when she’s met with the hypnosis of his expectant stare, “Y-yes it was lovely, thank you.” she stammers out, fear and primal instinct kicking in and guiding her to cower and simper her way out of this, her boldness having bounced off him like shotgun shells off cement. Nothing but damaging to her. “T-thank you for all you did.” she tries again, her tone unsure as his face remains unreadable, his eyes burning and unblinking behind his shades, lit with white hot something in the glow of the tv screen. “You’re very generous.” she admits, tacking on every obeisance she can think of while resolutely ignoring the feel of being held to his chest, near eye level with the gap of his shirt and the chains glittering on his skin. “I need to rejoin my husband, sir.” she begs, begs that she doesn’t want this, denies she’s ever hoped for this.

Idly he wonders if she’s being honest, then he watches her swallow thickly as she catches a whiff of his scent.

Suddenly he crushes her to him, her mouth smashed to the metallic, skin warmed nest of his chains, pinning her there with a hand to the back of her head as his other reaches for the hem of her skirt and drags it up and over her ass, palming it even as she shrieks in shock, “Tell me, Mrs. Kemp,” he growls in her ear, “did you go after Ronnie cause he was near me, or did ya come for the money and stay in the hopes I’d pay attention to your little self? Was you countin’ on me gettin lonely some night an’ sendin’ your husband on an errand so I could get my fill of his wife? Is that what keeps ya from gaggin when he’s on top of ya? Is that the hope?”

Elvis’ fingers find the band of her lacy panties -honeymoon lingerie his money bought her- and he snakes his hand in, down the warm curve of her ass and along her crack, dipping between clenched thighs to rake through predictably sopping wet folds. She gave the whole resistance act a good try, but her womanly body responds to dominance, and Elvis is dominance incarnate. It’s in her weak nature to drip for him, plain and simple, and so he swipes and dips and drags his fingers through her as she fights against his chest, pounding her fists impotently against the velvet of his coat.

“Shhh, shhh honey, I know, it ain’t your fault.” he is magnanimous, gracious as King Solomon. “This, honey, this is what hope tastes like.” he brings his glistening fingers to her snarling mouth and shoves them in against her tongue, savoring the way her choke distracts her from the obvious defense of biting him, “Taste that? That’s how hope tastes, and there ain’t anyhtin’ more harmful than hope. Makes a purgatory of your life. Doesn’t let ya be satisfied with what ya got, won’t let ya get dissatisfied enough to wanna change anythin. You just hope and hope and your life goes by, while you’re hopin.”

She whimpers around his fingers, wilted white silk in his arms, dress bunched up obscenely in the screen-lit room. He strokes her cheek with his spit wet hand, the ring faces of rubies and diamonds and priceless gems caressing her tears away, lulling the creature back to her basic instincts, hypocrisy and futility purged away beneath Elvis’ healing hands. “I ain’t gonna let you go on hopin for years and years,” he enchants her with whispers, rocking her now as she whimpers in catatonic fascination, “I’m gonna gift ya with knowledge.”

Everything she’s given up while fighting to get herself on a jet like this, married to a man of means, with a house and a steady future and a predictable timeline stretching out before her -security at last! -all of it crowds her mind, the devil and the angel on her shoulders whisper in a traitorous debate. Of course life isn’t how she wanted at eighteen when she expected to marry for love, yet of course her mature self is pleased with this match. Those can both exist, and she planned for them to exist in a tidy world where Elvis Presley wasn’t an option, because he’s not. He’s not offering himself, doesn't even have enough dreams of his own to bother with lying about it to buy them both a minute of reprieve from the disillusioned hellscape that is life in one’s thirties when you comforted your starry eyed twenties by telling yourself it gets better. Then to no one’s surprise -it didn’t. The one last insupportable piece of this maturing puzzle that would cement her growing up forever is tasting this then going back to Ronnie. It’s out of the question and she doesn’t give a shit what he’s going through right now, or what Ronnie thinks about her angering his boss, what she needs is the peace of mind that comes with not knowing.

“You can take your knowledge and shove it.” she snaps out of the pliant heatstroke his embrace caused her and shoves him away, only succeeding at making room between them because he’s so surprised by her sudden surfacing out of the trance.

One final thrash of the prey and he watches with amusement as she stumbles in haste across the flickering room, yanking open the closed door and steadfastly booking it to the front of the jet. Headed to the shelter of a man who promised to protect and defend her and cherish her and swore it all while counting his bonus for selling her out.

Elvis watches her till she and her crumpled white dress fly past the brightly mirrored hallway and disappear from his vantage point through the doorway. He picks at his nose and thinks about what he might like to take on this little experiment, and having procured a few items of use saunters after her at a leisurely pace. He sets them on the conference room and table and watches as she pulls back the curtain and steps into the lounge, her whole being vibrating in a way that is not subtle or discreet about what just occurred between them.

It’s warmer in the lounge, just pulling the curtain back wafts warmth into the ice box chilled areas of the plane that Elvis frequents, it makes her tremble with relief. She’s back in public, back where he won’t try anything. Ronnie, to her angry bewilderment, is still glued to watching the TV like he didn’t even register her absence. But his mere existence will still work for what she needs. She needs to belong to someone and sit beside that person for three hours while his boss cools off.

She is not prepared for the way everyone in the lounge spins round to look at her once registering her presence, looking with absolute surprise as if her reemergence was the surprise, not the lengthy plane tour to the back bedroom. It makes her seethe inside, they thought she’d go through with it, damn animals that they are, all “what happens on the road stays on the road” and carefree chauvinism inherited from their boss. She has to remind herself why she wanted this life in the first place, has to recall the perks and the wages and lavish reception.

Red and Joe now flank Ronnie and her seat beside him is taken up by those two manspreading oaf’s. Desperate, she decides to play at being cute and makes to sit on her husband’s lap, spinning round to find Elvis watching hehe from the curtained doorway as she tries to lower herself down to perch.

“Babe, I can’t see the damn screen with you like that.” Ronnie has the churlishness to complain and she wants to scream at his denseness, the way pushes at her lower back to tip her out of his lap.

To save herself the humiliation of face planting on the plane floor she chooses to stand of her own accord and catch herself from the shove. She sees Elvis’ lush mouth frown behind the cigar he’s lighting up.

“Don’t be an ass to her Ronnie, she’s your wife.” he reprimands and she gets a funny feeling of appreciation for being defended in all this. Her loyalty teeters towards the man she has to remind herself she needs to escape from. “Or have ya forgotten, ya unchivalrous bastard?”

That’s a little harsh but the memory of Ronnie not giving a damn about the fact she was almost assaulted -that’s harsh word for that too, her traitorous mind supplies- reminds her that she isn’t happy with him at all. But in fact, come to think of it, she isn’t pleased with any one them, and there’s no where to go on this damned plane. It starts to make her skin crawl, the realization that she’s surrounded by men who would either not believe or else not care if Elvis went through with the forceful attentions he was showing her back there. Who would believe her if she said he forced her?

“Ronnie I’m tired and my seat’s been taken!” she argues with him, “I just wanna sit down. Lay down, even!” she begs, thinking of how best to clear the couch of anyone but him so that no one takes liberties and sits down beside her.

“Then go lay down in back where there’s a fuckin’ bed? Why’d you come out?” he snaps.

“Cause-“ because Elvis Presley tried to take liberties, that’s why, but she feels strangled watching how all the men await her answer with a little too much investment, the way Elvis is still watching her behind tinted shades and a haze of cigar smoke.

“You get all bitchy when you’re tired, go lay down and take a nap, honey. I’m watching the game.” Ronnie suggests her worst fear and it infuriates her how he’s changed just since he slipped a ring on her finger.

“Ronnie please-“ She whimpers and would give anything to know why Joe is leering up at her with a sly grin. There’s no time to think on it as Elvis’ ringed fingers close around her elbow and tug her back towards the curtain.

“C’mon honey, ya heard your husband, let’s get ya situated.” he coos and her fingers turn to ice from the shock of it all.

“I don’t wanna!” she protests, “Ronnie!” she tries one more time while being backed away from her husband by his boss.

“Oh for fucks sake just do what he wants!” Ronnie begs with something akin to frustration but the red hot blush sweating up his neck suggests he’s humiliated to be caught saying it.

“Beg your pardon?” she hisses in disbelief, feeling Elvis’ hand clamp on her arm just a little more, maybe to keep her from marching up to Ronnie and smacking him.

“Just, just give him what he wants. Just tonight.” Ronnie spills the beans far sooner than needed and Elvis wants to roll his eyes at how fast they went from taking her for a nap to admitting to something far more sinister.

The bride’s head swivels from viewing her husband to Elvis and back to her husband and the room full of men who’s thrumming interest in her makes her wanna bolt straight out of the plane now she knows why. It’s sickening yet so strongly in character for them she doesn’t waste many moments in disbelief, it all makes sense in a horribly predictable way. Every one of these fella’s grinning at her discomfort are pathetic in her eyes, as pathetic as men who’d prefer to watch naughty movies than better themselves as lovers. Somehow in the mess of it all, Elvis alone stands out as something a little less deplorable. Even if it’s just his brash and demented honesty she admires.

“Y’all planned this?” she asks dully, scanning each lip licking face, ending with her husband’s sullen one, “This was all planned out? You offered me up? You goddamn, two faced bastard-“

Elvis loops his arm around her waist to prevent her from launching at Ronnie and clawing him to shreds. His chest is searing her through the silk on her back and his hands grab at her more than they need to in order to restrain her. It makes her pulse pound and fury swirls inside her, battling with the cold dread of weakness and helplessness.

“Ronnie made a little deal with me.” Elvis is drawling in her ear in so soothing a way it almost counteracts the nauseating confirmation, “And now, we can watch you runnin’ round this plane for hours to get away from me like a Junebug in a bottle but that ain’t gonna change how this night ends. How bout ya just be sensible, hmm? Just cause he’s a lyin’, no good sunnuvabitch don’t mean you gotta turn bad yourself, ya know? He gave ya instructions, ya can still be a good lil wifey and honor and obey him, can’t ya?”

“Why?” she persists, but feebly this time, not knowing if she’s asking her husband who keeps his face averted towards the screen or the man whose hands are mapping out her body in full view of his friends. “Why y’all gotta do this?”

“I told ya honey,” Elvis murmurs, rucking the hem of her skirt up passed her knees, “hope’s a dangerous thing. I don’t allow it in my house. An’ you’re part of my house now, ain’t ya?” he pets at the damp plushness of her inner thighs as the men stare and she struggles to find a way to empower herself while caught in such a feeble position. Hurting Ronnie, twisting the knife a little more like he’s done her is all she can think of at the time. “Don’t you belong to me, sweetie?” Elvis is prodding once more and his cheek is clammy and hot against hers, the cigar smoke pungent around them.

“Yes sir.” she agrees while sneering at Ronnie’s reddened face.

“That’s more like it.” Elvis’ voice gentles to something a little less frightening than before but all the more terrifying for how sure and smug it sounds. His hands grab at her breasts and she can’t help the whimper she lets out from the presumption, no doubt it’ll only get worse. “Since you’re so eager to stick close to ole Ronnie and include e’rbody in our private business, I reckon it’s only fair we conduct this lil interview on the conference table, hmm?”

When she cranes her neck to look behind him and past the curtain, she can see the shiny table top littered with items it didn’t hold when she made her hasty exit passed it; scarves and a strange sort of plastic wand, that stupid police flashlight and a box of cigars are clumped at its foot in an ominous hodgepodge.

Admitting to being frightened by it would strip away her last bit of autonomy in this and so in a bid to act unbothered she slips out of Elvis’ hold and walks on her own two feet into the room, turning her back to Ronnie before shifting herself to sit on the cold, hard surface of the table.

“Is this what you had in mind, Mr. Presley?” she asks him meekly and makes sure to let her legs fall apart just so. She thinks she’s going to have some control in all this, the silly little thing, thinking he’s a man with regular tastes and base preoccupations, easily distracted from the purpose of this like any other. And the purpose is not pleasure -though he intends to draw it from her till she is broken from it- but purity of intention and nature. A lie dressed in white no more, but a wanton woman giving in to her true nature. Only he has the power to bring this out in every one he meets, and to purge it all the same.

Elvis Presley eyes her, as do all the men in the lounge just past him, until with an approving little hum and smile that is almost pleased, he steps towards her, yanking the curtain closed behind him and leaving them (somewhat) alone together in the dimly lit room, full of anticipation.

And maybe dread.

#elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #sky high lovin #Prima Nocta #elvis fanfic #elvis imagine #elvis x reader #elvis au #70s elvis #elvis the king #elvis film #elvis aaron presley #austin elvis #elvis x you #Elvis #elvis movie #elvis photos

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austinsmutler · 2 years

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Just Pretend | Austin!Elvis x Reader | One-Shot

Summary: Elvis calls you up while he's on tour to tell you how much he misses you.

Pairing: Austin!Elvis x Reader, Elvis x Reader

What you’ll like: Oh, this is just tooth-achingly fluffy. I've met pomeranians less fluffy than this one. For added points listen to Just Pretend while you read.

Warnings: None, Elvis just really misses you and you miss him so it's a lil sad but it's also cute.

Word Count: 776

A/N: Written because I had a crappy day at work and I needed it.

Masterlist | Requests are currently open (Please tell me everything you want! Confess your sins! Have a good time with it!)

“Baby?”

Elvis’ hand shook just holding the phone. Just waiting for an answer.

“Elvis?” Your voice crackled through the receiver, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“It’s good to hear your voice.”

“I missed you too.” On the other side of the state, your fingers played with the telephone wire. “How’s the tour?”

“We're in Mississippi, heading to Alabama next week. They love me here.”

“You don’t sound happy about it.”

“I am! I just…” He took a breath loud enough for you to hear on the other end of the country. “Haven’t heard your voice in so long, angel.”

His voice had you leaning up against the wall and smiling sadly to yourself. Every day the papers came out with a new theory on who Elvis could be dating- or worse, saying he was having flings left and right with fans all across the country. The way he sounded, though, made it feel like he’d been feeling all the same things you had. You missed him so much it felt like a piece of you was missing. Like someone’d taken the red out of every bouquet of roses, no matter how many he sent from five states away.

“I just wanna come flyin’ back to you.” He said after a while. “I love the music. I love performing. But I…”

I love you more. It was the phrase he could never quite bring himself to say. You bit your lip, knowing it wasn’t true. Nothing could compare to the love he felt when he was up on stage, or the adrenaline rush that came after. But you were lucky enough to come close, and sometimes that was enough. Hearing his voice made it enough.

“Just pretend I’m right there.” You whispered into the receiver, closing your eyes and picturing the last time you’d seen Elvis. He’d hugged you so tight, made a million promises to be home soon. “Or that you never left. We’re back in Memphis, walking down Beale street together. Window shopping for things we can’t afford.”

“You’d look so pretty in any of those dresses, baby.”

“And you’d cut a mean figure in any of those suits.” You bit your lip. How can pretending to be together hurt more than being apart? It hurt more than remembering the countless days spent just like that, wandering Beale street and taking in all the brightness and beauty of Memphis.

“Can I take your hand?” He breathed into the phone. “I’ve missed doing that.”

You couldn’t be seen in public together. Colonel’s orders. If you did go out together, it had to be as part of a group, with multiple women. Fans and a few male bandmates. Someone else would hold your hand to throw reporters off the scent, or pull you close to make it look real in the photographs- and it killed both of you every time, so eventually you’d stopped going out. Now you had to be snuck into Graceland through the side-door just to hold him.

“Yes.” Tears were in your eyes now, and part of you was glad he wasn’t there to see them. Another part wanted nothing more than for him to be there, wiping them away with soft touches. “I love it when you take my hand.”

A long moment of silence let you savour the feel of his fingers lacing with yours. Just pretend.

“It’s so sunny out.” He chuckled, but you heard the vulnerability in it. He’s as close to tears as I am. “S’nice.”

You looked out of the window in your bedroom. It was dark out, but you were picturing Beale Street on a July day, packed with people.

“It’s hot, though.” A smile crept to your lips and he knew what you were thinking before you said it. “Club Handy?”

“Club Handy, baby.”

“Club handy always has the best music.”

“You been goin’ without me?”

“Never.” It hurt too much. As much as you missed BB King, as much as you loved the music from Little Richard, Sister Rosetta, and Big Mama Thornton, it was impossible to see the club without Elvis-coloured glasses, and it hurt. He was everywhere, from the moves on the dancefloor to the sounds of the stage, but he was nowhere at the same time. Too far away to touch. “I miss it sometimes. But the music doesn’t sound the same when you’re not with me.”

The other end of the line was quiet, and for a moment you worried something was wrong. Maybe Elvis had left the phone, or run out of quarters, if it was a pay phone; maybe he’d just decided it wasn’t worth him feeling like this anymore just to be with you. Phone calls never felt like enough.

Then his voice came through, clear and soft and melodic.

“Just pretend, I'm holding you

And whispering things soft and low

And think of me, how it's gonna be

Just pretend I didn't go

I will hold you and love you again

But until then, we'll just pretend.”

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burninlovebutler · 2 years

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my bf/friends: don’t come here with that elvis shit

me comin’ with that elvis shit:

#elvis #austin butler #elvis presley #he’s so sick of me #elvis shit #austin butler elvis #more like bf/friends/family/distant relatives #elvis movie #elvis baz luhrmann #elvis aaron presley #elvis 2022 #acquaintances/ancestors/god himself #baz luhrmann elvis #elvis film #elvis the king #tcb⚡️#austin elvis #elvis the pelvis

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ophelia-writes-stuff · 2 years

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♥ talk like an angel . oneshot ♥

. pairing : yandere!doctor!elvis x patient!fem!reader

. summary / request : after barely managing to escape with your life after a car crash, you're rushed to the hospital by medical professionals. elvis is assigned as your primary doctor, and you find yourself enjoying his company. he's sweet, caring, and also incredibly funny. though slightly off-put by some seemingly random gifts and love letters you get from an anonymous person, you manage to enjoy your time there. and yet, as time goes on, you grow increasingly unnerved as the letters and gifts get more personal, and to your horror, later come to the discovery that maybe elvis isn't quite as sweet as he portrays himself to be. (request from @itlover8000)

. notes / warning : depictions of a car crash, portrayals and mentions of death, survivor's guilt, dark/yandere themes that include stalking, manipulation, threatening, forced affection, allusions to kidnapping, swearing, physical abuse, intimidation, drugging, more may be added.

. word count : 6.7k

(♥) . . . request something . masterlist . taglist . navigation

It was a late summer afternoon, and the sun had only just set. You and your friends had been saved from the sweltering heat of Memphis, though it was still quite warm inside your car. Luckily, the cool wind blowing through the window saved all of you from the stickiness of the heat.

You and your friend Laura let out peals of laughter at Cindy's joke. You couldn't quite remember what it was about-- but nights like these typically went in that fashion. No one quite remembered what had happened a mere five minutes ago, much too focused on the present.

Cindy, too, joined in the laughter, eyes scrunching up in delight as soft giggles left her cherry-red lips. She was much too focused on her own laughter to notice a deer attempting to cross the road.

Eyes slowly returning to the street, Cindy let out an audible gasp as she rapidly slammed down on the brakes, all while mindlessly turning the car away from the poor animal.

You all but shrieked as the car promptly lost balance and swerved off of the street. It all went so quickly-- one moment you were on the road, giggling like idiots along with your friends, and in seconds, your world was turned upside down-- literally.

For many moments, you just hung in some uncomfortable position, wavering between consciousness and unconsciousness. Eventually, though, you did move, slowly-- perhaps too slowly-- unbuckling your seatbelt. You let out a displeased groan as your head promptly made harsh contact with the car's ceiling.

You stayed in that position for a while, too, the heat blazing from some unknown source slowly drawing you into a deep sleep. You didn't want to move-- felt as if it would take much too much energy and effort

And then, after regaining your barrings and realizing the situation at hand-- because, after all, your life was at stake-- you frantically unbuckled Laura's seatbelt, and then Cindy's. Their heads, too, hit the car ceiling, hard.

"Laura? Cindy? We need to get out of here..." Your voice hardly exceeded a whisper, much too weak to make any more sound. A series of coughs followed your statement, and you closed your now burning eyes-- as if it would help the situation.

You roughly shook their bodies in a futile attempt to wake them up, but found that they didn't move in the slightest.

"Laura!? Cindy!? Please! Please, I can't--" Realizing the weight of the situation, your eyes started to water. You wouldn't be able to drag them out of the car with you, and it was already on fire. If they didn't drag themselves out, they'd surely die.

Frantically, you clawed at Laura's ashy skin. Sobs racked your body. They needed to wake up.

Your breathing was ragged as you attempted to then wake up Cindy, but the heat of the blazing fire was hurting your skin, causing you to give up on the idea.

"C'mon guys-- I can't bring you guys out-- we-- we need to go..." Another series of coughs followed your pleas, and, eyes widening, you realized why they weren't responding.

It felt as though your body moved on its own as you dragged yourself out of the car, despite your desperate wanting to get back in as soon as possible to let your friends out-- despite knowing that, if you did, you'd be just as dead as them.

In moments after barely exiting the car and dragging yourself just off the road, you all-so-suddenly collapsed, your body no longer able to support your own weight. It made sense, too; you were sure that almost every bone in your body was broken. And you were just so, so tired.

Because all you felt was the heat radiating off the car, and your now burnt skin, and your aching bones.

The heat radiating off the car, your burnt skin, your aching bones...

You soon fell unconscious.

You woke up in an unfamiliar place.

A hospital, you'd soon come to realize, buzzing with doctors and employees from just outside your room.

"She's awake!" You heard a voice yell, followed by the presumable entering of another person.

"Leave me to her. I'll call you if I need any assistance," a male voice spoke. You couldn't yet see him, your eyes having not fully opened to accommodate any new light.

"Ms. L/n, I'm going to have to ask you to open your eyes, if you would be so kind," the deep voice then gently coaxed. Nodding slowly, you allowed your eyelids to open, and you blinked harshly at the bright lights shining above you.

"I can turn down the lights if you'd like?"

Nodding slowly, your lips curved into the faintest of smiles as the man did as he said he would.

Once your eyes had successfully adjusted to the softer lighting, you took notice of the man standing before you-- most likely a doctor, by the way he was dressed. Coifed, sleek black hair hung atop his angular head, and a small smile was planted on his lips. He looked no older than his mid-twenties.

"It's glad to see you in the land of the living, Ms. L/n. We weren't quite sure you'd make it," the man lightly joked, a twinkle in his eyes. "I'm your medical professional, Dr. Presley, but I'd prefer you call me Elvis. You were involved in a car crash 'bout a week ago, if you recall-- we got a call from someone who found your body near the site of the crash."

His voice then grew solemn, sympathy lacing his next few words. "Unfortunately, you were the only survivor. The other two didn't make it. 'm very sorry."

Although your recollection of the incident had been only but a hazy memory when you woke up, it all came crashing back at you at the mention of your friends. Your eyes quickly watered up with tears as you stared at the sheets of your bed shamefully.

"Laura and Cindy..." you mumbled, the memory slowly but surely coming back to you. Your hands then gripped the sheets tightly, as though they were an anchor.

Once your mind had fully registered the memory, your eyes widened. Your hands gripped the sheets tighter. Your voice barely exceeded a whisper as you spoke, "I did it, didn't I?" Desperation and guilt laced your voice as you said those words ever so quietly. "I killed 'em. I left them there to die--"

Elvis was quick to notice your almost incoherent mumbling, and all the more so to put an end to it. "You didn't kill them, Ms. L/n."

Your eyes wandered to his own. You shook your head in disbelief. He couldn't be right. You saw them-- they were in there. They couldn't move. If only you'd just been less selfish and saved just one of them! "No, you're wrong. I was there-- I saw them. I could've saved them-- I could have--"

Elvis knelt down and clasped your hand in his own. "Ya' couldn't have done anything. We ran procedures on their bodies. Even if you'd managed to drag 'em out of that car, they would've already been dead. They suffered too much trauma to have been saved by any doctor. You yourself only narrowly escaped with your life. You're incredibly lucky you're still alive. Be proud of that, that's what I say."

It was odd, to think that someone you'd just met could cool your nerves in so few sentences-- and even though you still felt guilty, Elvis certainly made you feel much better about yourself. Though you supposed it must have been part of the job-- he was a doctor, after all. Still, it was sweet-- he seemed to care about someone he barely knew.

"Thank you," is all you said in response, allowing your appreciative smile to speak for you. You were still quite exhausted. Elvis returned your smile warmly, before standing back up and walking further from your bed.

"Your family's been waitin' outside of here for a while. Ya' fine if I let 'em in?" To this, you slowly nodded, and Elvis swiftly exited the room. A silence permeated through the air for lingering moments, before the door swung open.

In came your worried mother and father. Your mother quickly rushed over to your bed, though she hugged you gently. You let out a small chuckle-- the best you could do without hurting your ribcage-- before she pulled away and smiled brightly in your direction.

Your father, stoic as ever, merely smiled at you, though you could tell from the new creases near his eyebrows and forehead that he may have been even more worried than your mother.

And then in came your boyfriend, who maintained a polite distance from you, though you could tell that, if your parents weren't there, he'd be much closer.

"Oh, Y/n! Me and your Pa have been so worried!" Your mother exclaimed, grabbing onto your father's shoulder for support. "We've been here night and day, I tell ya', darlin'-- every procedure, we've been there! We've just been so worried. We're so glad you're safe..."

The confession didn't help with the ever-growing guilt in your heart, and yet, in spite of your own feelings, you smiled warmly at your parents.

"Oh, and of course, this young fella's been here whenever he could be." Your mother pointed to your boyfriend, and you felt your heart swell in your chest at the comment.

"But we're just so glad you're safe... we were so worried..."

The rest of the interaction with your parents went on something like that until they eventually let you have some alone time with your boyfriend.

"Hey, honey. How's a' going?" Caring as ever, he sat at the foot of your bed and placed one hand on your leg carefully, rubbing comforting circles with his thumb through the sheets.

"Well-- everything just kind of... hurts." You let out a faint chuckle as your boyfriend stared at you sympathetically.

"Okay, I guess, I just," your voice dropped to a whisper as you continued, "I guess I just feel guilty. For, you know." You didn't want to utter their names-- felt as though doing so would make everything more real. The grief was still heavy on your shoulders.

Laura and Cindy were your two closest friends, and now they were gone, and you were left to fight the grief on your own. You felt angry at them, in a strange way, but you could never really be angry with them. You felt like you lost a part of yourself upon hearing of their deaths, and it hurt you. Even if you couldn't have saved them, you still felt such a pang of intense guilt that ate away at your flesh.

Because all you could wonder was, what if I had saved them? What if I had convinced them not to go to that restaurant?

What if...?

What if?

You hadn't even noticed you were crying until you felt strong yet gentle hands engulf your fragile figure in a soft hug, and you let out a soft sob into your boyfriend's shoulder as you leaned into it. "It's okay, honey. It's not your fault. I just wish I had been there too..."

Your family and your boyfriend, after much convincing on your part (as they needed to get back to their own lives and take care of themselves), did eventually leave, though not without promising to visit almost every day. Knowing you wouldn't be able to convince them otherwise, you nodded in defeat and offered each one of them a supportive smile as they left. You were sure your parents needed the sleep, anyway.

Life in the hospital was odd, but it was nice-- nicer than one would expect. Your doctor-- Elvis-- was kind and thoughtful, more-so than he needed to be, you liked to think. He'd often sit in your room during his lunch break and eat and chat with you, which you always appreciated greatly.

The both of you bonded over practically everything, and you found yourself growing quite fond of the man. Had circumstances not drawn the two of you together so late in your life, you would have openly admitted that, had you met him before, you would have most certainly been the closest of friends with him.

"I actually wanted to be a musician when I was younger."

After some gentle prodding into Elvis's passions, he finally told you about them.

"Oh yeah?" You titled your head, invested in his next response. "Why'd you become a doctor, then?"

To this, Elvis shrugged and sank into the seat beside you. "I tried my hand in the music industry, but I jus' don't think it was for me. My music wasn't half bad, but people didn't like the way I moved."

"The way you moved?"

"The way I danced-- I liked to wiggle my hips a little. The audience wasn't much of a fan. Figured I oughta get a safer job with better pay." He shrugged. "Here I am."

"So, what-- you just gave up on your dream?"

All but surprised by your comment, Elvis stared at you, eyes swimming with confusion. "Well, I gave it my best shot, it just didn't work out."

A mischievous expression twinkled in your eyes. "One try and then it's over? That sounds like giving up to me. How about this-- you sing me a song, and I'll tell ya' if I think it's good or not.

An awkward silence settled as Elvis made his decision. And then, slowly, he nodded, and closed his eyes, as if to think of something. You stared at him in wonder as he sang.

"And yes, I know how lonely life can be," his voice weak on the first few words, but quickly grew in strength.

"When shadows follow me, the night won't set me free," his voice sounded like honey, sweet and smooth as he sang every word.

"But I don't let the evening get me down, now that you're around me."

Upon his eyes reopening, you clapped, impressed thoroughly by his musical ability. "That was wonderful!" You praised earnestly. It surprised you that Elvis gave up on a dream like that-- with such a talented voice, it seemed like a waste.

Elvis merely stared back at you, a dazed expression on his face, before slowly smiling and accepting the praise. His voice was quiet as he muttered a quick thanks, before exiting and saying something about getting back to work.

It was early in the morning when you woke up and found a gift at the side of your bed, accompanied by a card with a stamp shaped like a heart. Curiously, you first read the card and found written into it:

I remembered you mentioning that you loved stuffed animals and the color blue, so I thought I'd get you this. Although it cannot express well enough just how much you have filled my heart as of late, I hope it can somehow relay the message.

With love, Yours Truly.

You then opened the gift to find a blue stuffed bear inside. Your heart warmed at the thought of your boyfriend leaving you such things-- let alone remembering such small details about you! Abashedly, you had to admit, you yourself weren't quite as good at retaining that kind of info, so it made you feel all the more special.

Later, when your boyfriend visited you that day, you thanked him for the gift, to which he confusedly explained to you that he did not, in fact, buy you a gift. You delicately changed the subject after that and managed to convince yourself that he must have simply forgotten.

And yet, you couldn't help but wonder how could he have simply forgotten something like that?

Regardless, you were thankful for the present and found your gaze lingering on it quite often.

It wasn't even a week that had passed by the time you got a second one.

You opened the envelope of the card to find-- not a card, but a letter, and in it, inscribed a heartfelt and meaningful poem. You couldn't help the smile that grew as you read it, and found yourself blushing at many of the comments written in it.

You then opened the present to find an opulent necklace, littered with the finest of diamonds. Now, this drew your attention. Of course, you knew your boyfriend's job had quite decent pay, but this must have been worth at least a few months of wages. And so, you had to wonder: how could he have gotten all that money?

You thanked him and asked him about it, and once again, he was as confused as ever, leaving you to predict that perhaps it was not he who had given you the presents. But then you had to wonder: if not him, then who?

Deciding to ask Elvis since he must have had some insight into the subject (after all, you doubted anyone was sneaking in and leaving you a present), during your shared lunch together, you inquired about the gifts. At the mention of them and your expressed lack of knowledge on exactly who was giving them to you and your initial belief of it being your boyfriend, Elvis grew quiet for a long, hard moment, before replying, "I really don't know."

Slowly nodding, confusion evident on your face, you allowed the topic to fizzle out into a different conversation with Elvis.

As weeks passed in the hospital you didn't receive any more gifts, though you had started getting into therapy for walking and using your limbs after so long, which you picked up relatively easily. Still, the nurses who specialized in the field ensured you were careful, not wanting to provoke your injuries whatsoever, which you supposed made sense.

After about a month or so passed, the nurses finally decided that you were ready to return to your home so that you could resume your daily life, to which you were more than glad. Other than bi-weekly checkups, you'd finally be free of the hospital that you'd been stuck in for ever so long.

"I'm gonna miss ya'," Elvis said, offering you a gentle hug. You rolled your eyes fondly as you accepted it, knowing full well he was being overdramatic.

"I'm still going to see you every week, Elvis. Twice."

Still, the goodbye left you feeling somewhat bitter, knowing you wouldn't be able to see Elvis daily from now on.

Life at home felt normal, in a sense. Of course, you weren't out and about quite as much as you'd been before the crash (and although you hated to think about it, it would make sense since your friends were gone), but it was nice to be able to live your life without the confines of a hospital.

Letting out a content sigh, you opened the door to your porch, keen on spending some time outside and getting some well-needed fresh air. That was, until you found a gift in front of the door.

Your brows laced together as you stared at the gift, and the letter on top of it, which so clearly resembled the ones you'd gotten at the hospital. You'd be a fool not to conclude that they were both from the same person.

Cautiously, you looked around you to see if anyone was watching-- because as paranoid as you may be, you were still getting love letters from an anonymous source who now apparently knew the location of your house-- before taking the present and card and slipping into your home, locking the door behind you.

Firstly opening the letter, you found another quite beautifully written love letter (this much, you had to admit), though what concerned you was what was written on the bottom.

To my dearest Y/n,

I know you love candies, I've seen you at that small bakery just down the street from your house, so I truly hope you enjoy this gift. I got it just for you.

You know, I find it quite odd how you wander around those stores and buy so little baked goods, but I suppose that's my purpose, and I in no way oppose that duty. I simply hope that someday we'll be able to go together, just so that I can make sure I buy your favorites.

With love, Yours Truly.

At the mention of the bakery you frequented, your stomach twisted with unease; you'd only gone there less than a day ago.

Once you opened the present, your heart only sank deeper into your stomach. Inside was a box of heart-shaped chocolates from said bakery-- a warm gesture, had you known who it was from at the very least.

But that was just it. You didn't. Whoever was sending you these knew both where you lived and where you went, which only unnerved you all the more.

A loud knock at your door quickly startled you out of your thoughts, and you quickly hid the chocolates and wrappers upon hearing your parents beckon for you. You'd forgotten that they said they were coming over.

The rest of the evening went by relatively calmly, your mind buzzing with worried thoughts and your parents cooling your nerves. Dinner was all but one of the best ones that you had, though you couldn't deny the sinking feeling in your stomach that grew upon saying goodbye to your parents.

Of course, you knew they'd drop everything and anything in the blink of an eye to stay with you had you asked, but you couldn't find it in your heart to ask them to do so-- they'd already given up so much for you.

And so, once they left, you quickly closed your door and locked it, and ensured all the windows to your home were locked, too. You didn't need any other things to keep you awake at night.

And yet, in spite of your trust in the blinds that covered your widows and the locks that sealed your doors, you simply felt exposed. And, sure, it was dramatic, but you simply couldn't shake off the feeling of being watched as your head hit the pillow and as you were slowly lulled into a deep sleep.

Despite your recent unease, life carried on as it always did. You had checkups with Elvis twice every week, your boyfriend would be over at your house constantly, making you dinner and such, and your parents would insist on visiting you nearly every day.

And yet, the ongoing buzz of the passing days was not enough to quell your buzzing mind and your thoughts of more pressing and recent matters.

The death of your friends was still something you felt the burden of, and regardless of the irrationality of the whole ordeal, you felt as though it was somehow your fault that they weren't still alive, living and breathing.

You also couldn't take your mind off the gifts you'd been getting, and the letters that were growing increasingly personal. They'd mention places that you'd been to mere days before and mentioned things about your past that not many were heavily informed on.

There were some nights when you'd go out and would find things like dresses and purses which you had all but glanced at the stores, and after about ten seconds of deciding whether or not you desired them to be your own, deemed them too expensive, but then later found them at your doorstep. Those types of gifts unnerved you incredibly, especially since they'd sometimes appear on your doorstep before you even came home.

There were also times that, after hanging out with your boyfriend or someone you'd met recently, the letters would lightly suggest that you stopped spending time with them, and would often go into detail as to why. And, although you didn't often listen to them, you certainly considered it.

You'd also considered calling the police about the issue several times, but what would you say? Hey, someone's been leaving me an excessive amount of presents in the past weeks. I don't know who they're from, so could you please track them down and tell them to stop? The question simply seemed preposterous.

And so, with a heavy heart, you kept it all to yourself-- only went so far as to suggest that your boyfriend stay the night with you so that you'd feel safer. Of course, you'd never tell him the real reason, only spun harmless white lies that you didn't quite need, anyway, as he was always willing to drop anything for you.

It was about an hour before noon when you went to get your presumably last checkup, and you were overjoyed. you'd finally be able to completely return to your normal life-- almost. Of course, you couldn't forget what you lost in that crash, but you were glad at the prospect of no longer having to visit the hospital, a place that constantly reminded you of your losses.

Walking into your designated room, Elvis turned around and smiled in your direction, and gestured for you to come closer. You obliged, and Elvis walked towards you and began running the normal procedures.

"You sure seem happy today," he remarked, to which you smiled wider.

"Yeah, I'd say so."

"It isn't because you're glad of gettin' rid of me, is it?"

As the question, a small giggle erupted from your lips as you shook your head.

More witty banter ensued as Elvis did your checkup, and you appreciated it-- his seemingly natural ability to make you forget your circumstances and to simply focus on the moment.

Once you were just about finished with your checkup, Elvis shot you a grin and a thumbs up that seemed to indicate for your departure, but none was such the case. Just as you waved goodbye and spun on your heel in an effort to leave, Elvis spoke, his voice quieter than usual.

“Hey, Y/n, I was actually been meaning to ask you something before ya’ left.”

Turning around at the statement you were all but taken aback at Elvis’s seemingly nervous demeanor. He’d never been anything short of confident since you’d met him, so you were curious as to what he was going to say.

“Shoot.”

Elvis cleared his throat before he spoke. “What do you think about… getting dinner sometime? With me?” He paused, cleared his throat. “A date.”

The question rendered you speechless for quite some time. Ever since you’d met Elvis, you’d assumed that he was married– if not already settled down with some children. After all, why wouldn’t he be? He was charming, kind, and you had to admit that he was easy on the eyes.

“Oh, um, Elvis, that’d be wonderful, but…” You shifted awkwardly in your place. You never liked delivering bad news. “I’m– I’m sorry, but I have a boyfriend.”

At the rejection, Elvis’s eyes flashed with an emotion that you couldn’t recognize and he opened his mouth as if to speak before it quickly snapped closed. Solemnly, he nodded and gestured to the exit.

You didn’t like saying goodbye to someone with such bitterness, but you knew no amount of solace or apologies would mend the situation. Truth be told, you had never expected Elvis to develop romantic feelings for you, and you felt utterly despicable for rejecting him after everything he'd done for you, but you knew it had to be done. You had a boyfriend, whom you adored, and you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Unfortunately, you later found that that wasn’t your decision to make.

A single letter was left on your doorstep the following morning.

There was no gift in sight, which both calmed your nerves while simultaneously sending them into an erratic frenzy.

You'd grown used to seeing the letters attached to some paper-wrapped box, but never had you seen one, alone on your doorstep.

You'd never noticed how dark the red of the heart-shaped stamp was, not until today. Or maybe it just wasn't that color until today. You didn't know, but you did have to admit that it did resemble the color of blood.

You shook your head at the thought of the ominous detail, successfully scattering your thoughts. You were merely overreacting.

And yet, your heart pounded fiercer than ever as you brought the letter over to your table. You were much too preoccupied with examining it to remember to lock your front door.

Slowly, fearfully, you opened the letter, sliding it out and taking a deep breath before reading it. Your breath caught in your throat as you did so.

Y/n,

I am truly very disappointed that you denied my proposal! I love you, as I am sure you must know by now, and it breaks my heart to see you choose him over me.

I realize now that I must take control of the situation. I had initially expected for things to go smoothly, but I suppose nothing goes quite as planned.

I'll see you soon.

With Love, Yours Truly.

You felt sick to your stomach. The letter slipped out of your hand, and you let it. Slowly walking backward, you recounted your interactions with Elvis.

But how could it have been him? He seemed so nice, and he seemed so respectful, too. And yet, looking back on it, it all made sense. From how he got your address to the fact that the gifts temporarily stopped when you brought the subject up to him--

You bumped into something warm.

You froze for a moment before you tried to quickly move away from it. Your attempt was futile, however, as the figure, much faster than you, wrapped one arm around your torso and the other rested firmly on top of your mouth, successfully pulling you impossibly closer to him.

You tried to let out some kind of scream-- a sound-- anything to alert someone that you were in danger-- but your voice was muffled by the figure's hand.

"Now, darlin', do you really think anyone's gonn' hear you?" Elvis's voice was deep as he whispered those words into your ear, the warmth from his breath sending a shiver down your spine. It sounded almost as though he was scolding you.

Your attempts to scream came to a halt and you felt a satisfied hum rumble from Elvis's chest. "Good girl."

To say that you were shaking would have been an understatement. You were trembling, your breathing ragged as your hands quivered. You were unable to do so much as to lean away from the man who held you ever so firmly in his grasp.

There was silence, for a long moment-- a silence that you did not dare to break.

"Y'know, Y/n, things could have gone by so much easier if you'd just gone out with me," Elvis then said, one of his hands idly toying with your clothing and brushing over your skin. You didn't even bother trying to pull away-- you knew you wouldn't be strong enough. "But now-- look what ya've done! You messed this entire thing up. This entire thing."

His hand traveled lower along your body, slowly, almost imperceptibly.

"I liked this dynamic-- doctor and patient? Would've liked to have kept that up."

Both of Elvis's arms then detached from your body, and he walked in front of your figure. He cupped your cheek and rubbed what would have been soothing circles along your skin, had the current circumstance been different.

"Oh baby, why'd you have to go choosin' that son of a bitch of a boyfriend of yours over me? Don't you know how much I've invested in ya'?" Elvis let out a scoff. "Probably more than he's made in a lifetime."

You didn't respond-- felt as if he didn't specifically want you to. Elvis paused, his anger slowly fizzling into an almost pleased sort of emotion.

"But it's fine. I took care of him, so you won't have to worry about him getting in our way. You hear that? He won't bother you no more."

At his statement, your eyes grew wide, having an idea of his implications. At your reaction, Elvis seemed to grin even wider-- as if your fear offered him even more pleasure.

"You look so pretty like that..." He then muttered mindlessly, his eyes slowly wandering to your lips. He brought his hand over to them and brushed his thumb over them. He smiled slyly, his eyes resembling that of a serpent.

And then, slowly, tenderly, he kissed you, and you let him-- kissed him back, even. It wasn't like you had much of a choice, so you gave in-- drank his invigoratingly sweet poison. You allowed Elvis's hands and tongue to roam your body as he did so before he deepened the kiss-- turned it into something hungry and desperate.

At that point, you tried to push him away, tried to stop this from becoming all too much all too soon, tried to gain some distance from him-- but his grip on your body suddenly grew firm to the point where you were sure you were going to get bruises by the way his fingers dug into your skin, and he bit down on your lip, hard, as if to scold you.

And then, after what felt like an eternity, he finally pulled away, but lingered inches away from your face. Unease crept up your spine as he stared at you, passionately, intensely, before saying, "Grab your things."

You didn't know what to say before Elvis pointed to your bedroom. You then simply nodded and ran upstairs. To both your surprise and delight, Elvis didn't follow. And so, heart palpitating in your chest, you walked up to your bedroom and closed the door as silently as you could before locking it.

You had to get out.

You quickly searched your bedroom for a phone of some kind-- anything to contact the police or the outside world and to alert them that you needed help-- but found that it was nowhere to be seen.

Your stomach sank. I need to get out of here.

Loud, heavy footsteps hit your ears as you searched for some different way out. They were slow, but calculated, and took their time between each step.

It was then that you realized: he was baiting you.

Still, you wouldn't let your moment go to waste. Your eyes flitted to your bedroom window.

Bingo.

You rushed over to it and unlocked it, before trying to pry it open. And yet, despite your efforts, it wouldn't budge. You pushed and pushed and yet it remained firm in place, strong as ever.

Oh god, you couldn't breathe. Why on Earth wouldn't it move-- the one time you needed it to open? You weren't oblivious to the footsteps coming closer as you tried to do anything to make the goddamn window open. You didn't care if you needed to break some bones on the way out-- you just needed to get the fuck out of here.

"Y/n?" Elvis's voice beckoned for you as he approached, like a predator teasing its prey. "You almost done in there?"

You didn't speak-- you couldn't speak. You were so close-- so close-- to being able to leave, to calling the cops, anything. And yet, it seemed as if the universe found it entertaining to taunt you with the impossible.

The footsteps were suddenly put to a halt, and Elvis knocked on the door. "You still in there?" His voice was calm, peaceful, in a way. It lacked any sense of urgency or worry.

It was then that you realized: you weren't getting out. You didn't know how, but you did know that, somehow, Elvis planned this-- after all, why would he be so calm in this situation?

Elvis tried to open the door, but the lock stopped him from doing so (one thing that actually worked in your household). You could hear him let out a small, quiet chuckle before he spoke, amusement prominent in his voice.

"Y/n, the window's locked."

At that simple statement, you froze. Your hands shook as you ceased all movements and just stood there in shock. How did he know? How could he see you?

Elvis knocked on the door once more which-- you had to admit, you almost found funny, because why would he offer you the courtesy of opening the door to your own bedroom and not the door to your own goddamn house?-- before saying, "Baby, would ya' mind lettin' me in?"

Maybe, if you could move, for fear you would have, but you couldn't. You only stared at the door in terror, unease settling uncomfortably in your stomach. You wanted oh-so desperately to move, to speak, anything, but you were paralyzed, trapped inside your own body and your own mind.

"Oh Y/n, c'mon now. I know you can open this door, and there's no way outta' that room." Your body finally released you from its firm grip of paralysis at that statement, and you were able to move once more.

And then, finally, you opened your mouth to speak. "Elvis...? Why are you here?"

Your voice was shaky, but the words managed to get through eventually. The fear was evident in your voice as you spoke. You stared at the door, afraid of what his answer might be.

"Baby, all I want is to take care of ya'. Isn't that all you've wanted? Someone to take care of you and to make you feel safe?" His tone was sincere, and you found yourself almost falling for his deception. And yet, you were no fool-- you were now aware of the duplicitous man he was.

Elvis let out a small, light-hearted laugh before continuing. "Now, why don't you open the door and let me in? There's nowhere else you can go." The ending sounded more like a threat than a reassurance. Still, you didn't open the door-- only hoped that by some miracle the moment would end.

This, as it turns out, was a large mistake.

Elvis's tone turned from soft to infuriated in a matter of seconds as he banged loudly on the door. "Y/n, you better open this goddamn door right now." You let out a small, panicked sound at the harshness of his voice as you curled up in a ball and closed your eyes, as if that could somehow make you feel safer or make him leave.

You didn't listen to what he said next, only heard the loudness of his words that banged against your skull. And then, the loud slamming of a door opening. You let out a pained cry as you felt rough hands pull your hair in their direction.

"You just can't make this goddamn easy, can you?!" A loud voice screamed into your ear. "I've given you do goddamn many chances, but you just think you're so high and above them! Is that it?!"

Elvis tugged harshly on your hair at your lack of response. "Answer me, goddamnit!" But you couldn't-- could only let out a muffled whimper as he did so. He then paused, chest heaving for breath, and let go of you, slowly.

Elvis sat down beside you and placed one hand on your cheek, lovingly, sweetly, as if the moments just minutes prior hadn't occurred. "You look so pretty when you cry..." He muttered, guiding your face to look in his direction. "But you have to do what I say when I tell you. You got that, baby? Whatever I say, every time-- or I'm gonna have to go out and hurt some people, and neither of us wants that, do we?"

Head slowly shaking side to side, you agreed. Elvis smiled. "Good girl. Now, I didn't want to have to do this, but seeing as you've misbehaved so much, I'm afraid have to." Staring at Elvis fearfully, he offered you a sympathetic glance. "Don't worry, it won't hurt for long."

It was then that you felt a stinging pain in your neck. Unsure as you what exactly was happening, you attempted to pull away, but Elvis's grip grew tighter as he held you in place. Despite knowing that your efforts would be in vain, you thrashed against him, but he only held you closer, fingers digging deeper into your skin as you did so.

And then, slowly, you felt a certain exhaustion run through you as you eventually leaned right into Elvis's arms and were lulled into a deep sleep.

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oh-austin · 2 years

Text

decking the halls (austin butler)

summary: in which it’s christmas time and you try to decorate the house without austin’s help

ask: Hey luv! I was wondering if you could help me out here? I really need a first Christmas with my fiance or new husband or something along those lines I saw that pic of Austin with the Christmas tree and I just really need a Christmas FIC

authors note / warnings: no warnings! I give you husband/to-be-dad!austin being a domestic mess!!! promise you that if you’ve requested something it should be coming, check my WIP here! sorry this has taken so long, I’m trying to do my uni and requests AND gm at the moment, while having two jobs- so basically I am asking death to come for me xo love you guys, thanks for being patient

────── ∘◦❀◦∘

Ever since Austin found out you were pregnant four months ago, he had become hellbent on you not lifting, touching or even breathing in the same direction as anything that could cause you stress.

Life was playing out very well, you and Austin were recently married and now you had a little baby on the way. You couldn’t ask for much more.

Except maybe for Austin to chill out a little bit.

It wasn’t your first Christmas together, but it was the first Christmas you had ever seen Austin like this. He insisted on cooking Christmas dinner, buying all the decorations, organising when to see family- he didn’t let you worry about a thing.

All though it was nice to be able to relax and not worry about figuring out Christmas plans, you were worried that Austin’s head would explode if he did anymore planning.

“Mamas, I’m home!” Austin called out. Last week, the two of you picked out a tree at the Christmas tree farm. Today, Austin went to pick it up.

You pushed yourself up from the couch and walked over towards the entrance of the house. You did not remember the tree being so huge, and here Austin was carrying it on his back into your home.

“Oh my god,” Your eyes widened. It was a sight, Austin with a Christmas tree held over his back, whilst he wore a long black coat you got him for his birthday. “Are you okay?” You rushed over to try and help him carry it in.

“Ah, ah ah- no” Austin turned away from you, almost knocking your head off in the process, “I got it,”

“Careful! You’ll take someone’s eye out,” You laughed, trying to steady the tree. “And it will probably be mine,”

“Cant have that, can we?” Austin tried to lean forwards, his lips were puckered. You gave him a kiss before directing him into the living room. Mutters of ‘watch the light’, and ‘careful of the wall’ left your lips more than you would’ve cared to admit.

“Okay,” Austin tried his best to gently put the tree down on the hardwood floors, “I gotta run, I have that meeting with James,”

“We get it, you’re famous,” You rolled your eyes, putting your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. “Enough already,” You let your lips ghost over his for a second before kissing him. Austin slipped his tongue in your mouth and placed a hand on your cheek, before pulling away.

“Well, now I don’t wanna go,” He whispered.

“Go make me some more money,” You whispered with a smirk, “After all-“ You turned away from him and sat back down on your spot on the couch- “That’s the entire reason that I’m with you,” You nodded at him.

“Oh really?” Austin walked over, leaning over your smaller frame.

“Yeah,” You whispered, your stomach filling with butterflies. He still managed to make you feel as if it were the first time you had ever locked eyes with him.

“Alright well I better get going,” He smirked, “Wouldn’t want you to divorce me or anything,” He quickly kissed you, before placing a longer one on your lips.

“Definitely,” You smiled, giving him one last peck before he left the house.

“I love you both!” He called before he shut the door.

“We love you,” You smiled, watching him leave.

The house was quiet and you were able to return back to your peaceful home without the hustle and bustle of Austin running around. You looked at the tree as it laid on the ground, the living room now smelling of pine and christmas time.

You knew there was a box of ornaments sitting in the hallway, Austin had gotten them out the cupboard earlier today so he could decorate the tree once he was home. It wasn’t your fault, you couldn’t help yourself- they were just staring at you!

So suddenly, you were pulling white ornaments from a box and pieces of golden ribbon off a roll you used last year, ready to decorate the tree for your husband.

You had a record playing in the background, and as you hummed to yourself, you didn’t notice time slip away. The tree was almost finished, the topper sat in the bottom of the box- you would wait for Austin to come home so you could put it on together.

You busied yourself, making dinner, half-watching the TV show you had put on. You heard Austin throw his keys onto the entry-way table, you hadn't noticed him pull up.

"Smells amazing in here," Austin snaked his hands around your waist from behind, resting his hands on your bump- which seemed to be their new place of residency since your bump began to show. "I was gonna make dinner, baby" He kissed your cheek, then leant into your body and took in your warmth.

"No you weren't," You turned your head towards his so your foreheads were touching, "I wouldn't have let you," You whispered.

"What've you been up to?" He closed his eyes, swaying slightly with you in his arms. "Missed you lots," He seemed tired, this was the first time you had seen Austin relaxed in a while.

"Why don't you go into the living room and see," You smiled, turning around so you were now facing him. Austin held your gaze in contest. You watched as the cogs turned in his head.

"You didn't," He squinted his eyes at you. You pulled him in close so he could feel your hot breath on his face.

"Oh," You bit your lip, Austin was suddenly reminded of the night he got you pregnant, "But I did," You nodded with a smile.

Austin swallowed the lump in his throat before walking into the living room. It looked spectacular. The tree was adorned in twinkling golden lights and a few presents were already placed underneath the tree.

"Oh my god," He breathed out, "It looks-"

"Amazing? Gorgeous?" You hugged him from behind, craning your neck to rest your chin on his shoulder, "Phenomenal?"

"Like you ignored everything I've asked you not to do," He turned his head with a smirk. Austin brought you into his arms, holding you in the warm hue of your lounge. "But," He placed a kiss on top of your head, "It does look great, thank you mamas,"

"Of course," You looked up at him, giving him a soft kiss.

"Feel better now that you've done something?" He asked.

You scoffed in response, "I doubt you'll let me do it again, so yes, I'm gonna take it in while I can".

"I didn't even want you doing it now!" He laughed, "You're lucky that I love you so much," He held your gaze, looking down at you. You looked as if you were glowing under the new lights in the room.

"Yeah," You whispered, "Yeah I am,"

#austin butler imagine #austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler drabble #elvis 2022 #austin butler fluff #austin butler one shot #celeste writes fics #austin butler elvis #austin elvis #elvis movie

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emmymaehereeeeee · 2 years

Text

Don't Ruin the Couch

request: Elvis and the reader are getting freaky on the couch and Elvis tries to pull out, but the reader says, “Don’t ruin the couch.” so, with a smirk, Elvis says “I guess I’ll just have to cum inside you then" -🍁

warnings: smut 18 +, MDNI, degrading, slight choking (hand on throat), fingering, begging, oral (m receiving), Elvis just being rough in general, slight dumbification?

summary: After teasing Elvis at one of his shows, he gets back at you in the dressing room, oh but don't ruin the couch... it's expensive.

word count: 2,514

“You looked real pretty out there tonight, y’know? I will have to start buying you some more y/f/c things.” He had dipped his head into the crook of your neck, you could feel the heat radiating from his skin as he whispered into your ear. Elvis ran one hand up your side, soon resting it on your right hip. “Looked real nice, getting me all worked up on that stage.” His hand trailed lower now residing on the curve of your ass. “That does not bother you though, does it? Bet you like seeing me all worked up for you.” He moved his other hand to replicate his actions, “You always look so good.”

“Are you going to compliment me all night long or are we going to do something?” You quipped. Elvis flashed you a look you bit down on your lip and looked away from him, “Well?”

Elvis pushed you up against the door of the dressing room, “You are acting real feisty tonight, what’s gotten into you?” His eyes ran up and down your body, you would not let him win this one. He lifted his hand to tilt your chin up in his direction, forcing you to look at him.

“What’s it to you?” You mumbled. He gripped your chin tighter, rubbing a thumb over your bottom lip, you opened your mouth and took it in. Swirling your tongue around his tongue, you watched as his eyes darkened.

“I just hate to ruin such a beautiful dress,” Elvis mumbled, he pulled his thumb out of your mouth and pulled your dress off, you could hear the fabric ripping as he tugged the zipper down rather harshly. Pulling you away from the door he pushed you onto the couch, “Take them off now.” He growled, you pulled your panties off and tossed them in his direction. “Oh you are just asking for it tonight, aren’t you, doll?”

Offering nothing but a coy smile on your lips for a response Elvis’s hands pulled his suit off of him, biting down on your lip as you watched him. Basking in the light of the fluorescent vanity lights, the way it cast him in an almost angelic light. A warm hand with ring-clad fingers wrapped around your throat, snapping you back to attention. Elvis ran his free hand across the scape of your body, the chill from his rings running across your breasts elicited a small moan from your lips. “Elvis.” His name fell from your lips with such ease, slipping off of your tongue like sweet nectar.

For a moment he held eye contact with you, no words were said, only silence lingered between the two of you. The moment was almost sweet, until he opened his mouth, “Moaning my name like that, must need me real bad.” His hand trailed down to your awaiting heat, he dragged his pointer finger through your folds and smirked as you squirmed. “Look at you, making such a mess on my couch.” He scolded you gently.

“Elvis, please enough with the teasing.” You begged, your head leaning back against the armrest of the couch. Elvis ignored your nonsensical begging and pushed two fingers into your cunt, “F-Fuck.” You mumbled out, he had honestly caught you off guard.

“Such a nasty word.” He mumbled out whilst curling his fingers deep inside of you, “So needy tonight.”

You rocked your hips against his fingers, “Elvis-” You mumbled out, he pushed deeper, “ELVIS!” You screamed out. With your eyes screwed shut and your mouth agape, you writhed against the plush couch. “Please I need your cock, Elvis!”

Elvis pulled his fingers out of your dripping cunt and shoved them into your open mouth, you wrapped your lips around his two digits and sucked. A deep groan left his lips at the obscene sight, “You taste yourself? I bet you taste really good.” He pulled his fingers out of your mouth, a small pop sounded from your lips. He rubbed your cheek softly, “Look so pretty like this, all spread out for me.” He ran his free hand back down to your clit, he spread his hand over the lower part of your stomach with his thumb teasing your clit. You pushed your hips upwards, and he moved his hand which had been previously wrapped around your throat down to your hips. “Needy little thing.” He mumbled out, pushing your hips down into the cushions.

“Baby please, please I need to feel you inside of me.” You rain your nails down his back, his eyes shifted down to your lips. “Please?” The words slipped out of your mouth, an innocent plea.

“Move.” You quickly listened and moved off of the couch, your legs felt like Jell-O as you awaited his next command. He positioned himself on his back, you watched intently as tossed the few pillows to the side and placed two behind his head. “Do not just stand there looking dumb, c’mere.” You made your way over to him, lifting your leg to straddle his waist. “Uh-Uh, other way.” You furrowed your eyebrows at him, “I want you to fuck yourself on my cock, you see that mirror?” He gestured to the mirror, “I want you to watch yourself, I want you to see how good MY cock makes you feel, you understand?” Nodding your head you shifted to straddle him, this time with your face away from him. He held your hips and gently guided you down onto his cock, “Fucking Christ.” Turning back to look at him you saw that his eyes were closed and his head was lolled back against the pillows. His eyes snapped open and he saw what you were doing, “Uh-Uh, look at the mirror, do not fucking pout- you better put that bottom lip back right now.” He gripped your hips tightly and slowly started to rock you back and forth, “Doing so good, taking my cock so fucking well.” The words left his mouth with a throaty groan, sounding as though it came from deep in his chest.

You locked eyes with your reflection, your hand trailed down your body and you allowed your fingertips to tease your nipples. “Elvis” You moaned out, with one hand you continued to tease your clit. Pressing ever so slightly on the small bud of nerves, your hips jolted forward. “Mm, fuck.” Elvis’s hands snaked around and soon were pressing your fingers down on your clit, forcing you to rub small circles around it. All the while you watched yourself ride his cock, you watched as he reached over and circled your clit with his fingers. Pushing your hips forward in a desperate attempt to feel more of his calloused fingers. With your head lolled back in pure bliss, Elvis’s name being moaned out into the air, you felt the all too familiar coil in your stomach soon tighten. “Fuck, Elvis please!” You cried out, the coil finally snapped inside of you. Gripping onto his thighs you rode out your orgasm, Elvis moved his hands to the tops of your shoulders pinning you down. “Elvis ELVIS!” He pushed his hips up into you, you felt yourself clench around him.

“Did you see yourself? See how fucking good you made yourself feel?” He helped you off of his cock, you settled with your legs tucked under you facing him. His legs were still spread open, his eyes seemingly glossed over in a sex-induced haze, you nodded your head up and down in response. “Made a mess on my cock, good girls clean up their messes.” You looked at him with those big doe eyes, “Oh don’t look at me like that, you look pathetic. Clean it up, I am not telling you again.” You leaned over his cock with an open mouth, realizing quickly that you would have to adjust yourself. Untucking your legs and adjusting your legs so that you would be more comfortable, you lowered your head down and wrapped your lips around his cock. You lowered your head, allowing all most of him into your mouth, the feeling of his tip hitting the back of your throat made you gag at first but you soon learned to relax your throat. Slowly pulling him out of your mouth you stopped when you got to the tip, taking a moment to swirl your tongue around it. Running your thumb over the slit, you felt your skin tingle at the sound of his gasp. “Damn it you tease.” He grabbed your hair and forced you to take every inch of him. “When I tell you to do something you better fucking listen.” He thrusted up into your mouth, tears pricked at the sides of your eyes. You wrapped your lips around him and bobbed your head up and down, taking just about every inch you could fit into your mouth. “Fuck Fuck” You looked up at him through your lashes, “Doing such a good job, baby.” He groaned out, “Y/N, holy shit.” He laced his fingers through your hair and pulled your mouth away. “Go clear off the vanity, now.” He growled out, you swung your legs over the couch and moved to the vanity. You carefully placed the array of miscellaneous objects to the side, suddenly you felt a pair of all too familiar hands resting on your hips. “I said clear the vanity off, not organize. With a wide arm, he cleared off the remaining objects, which landed with a small clatter as they met the floor. He bent you over the vanity counter, your ribs hurting slightly at the newfound pressure. He lined himself up and slammed himself into you at a merciless pace. You leaned your head downwards in an attempt to rest your head on the counter. Elvis laced his fingers through your hair and pulled you back up, “Watch yourself.” He demanded, you nodded your head in response. Elvis’s hand snaked around to your front cupping your right breast, “Look so fucking hot like this.”

“P-Please!” You babbled out incoherently, Elvis smiled and sped up his pace.

“You fucking need it, taking it so well.” The power behind his thrusts was going to cause bruises in the morning, but neither of you about that. Elvis’s eyes were locked on your breasts, he watched with intent. He watched as they moved with each thrust he took, “Jesus.” Elvis thrusted into your tight cunt, the way your pussy felt wrapped around his cock, the way it clenched around him, all of it seemed to push him even further. All of it seemed to make him want to go harder and faster. His movements became more animalistic, his demeanor less dominant and needier, he needed to cum, this was not about the sex anymore. No, this was about his release. His eyes moved from your breasts to your face, which was now contorted with a mixture of pleasure and pain. His legs felt tired, “Couch, now.” He pulled you away from the vanity and all but slung you onto the couch. Pushing himself back into you he now gripped either side of the plush fabric.

“Elvis, oh fuck- ha me!” You babbled out, you had not one fucking clue what you were saying the only thing you knew was that you were in a pure state of ecstasy.

“Do not ruin the couch, it’s ‘spensive.” You mumbled out, you arched your back as he thrusted deeply.

Elvis let out a chuckle, “Guess I’ll have to cum inside you then.” Elvis thrusted into you one last time before bottoming out in you, “Jesus fucking Christ, shit!” He groaned out, his hot cum painting your inner walls.

“Oh my God, Oh my God” You muttered, you rested your hand over your eyes, Elvis reached up to move it away. “Felt good, E.”

Elvis smirked knowingly, he slowly pulled out of you. He stood himself up and grabbed a water bottle and a rag and handed it to you. “I’ve got some business to take care of, you clean yourself up. I expect that water bottle to be empty by the time I come back, you understand? I brought you a change of clothes, they are sitting in the dresser drawer.”

“Thank you, Elvis.” You mumbled softly, you watched as he grabbed his robe and pulled it on, then tied it around his waist. He walked over to you and grabbed the bottle from you, “Drink it.” He unscrewed the cap and handed it back to you, you brought the bottle to your lips and drank the cool liquid. You silently thanked yourself for tossing a few bottles in the ice box before this whole rendezvous. He slipped out of the room and you slowly started to clean yourself. You tossed the rag into the trash and made your way over to the dresser. Pulling on the clean clothes, you glanced back at the mirror that hung over the back of the door. You admired your figure. Snapping out of your thoughts you began to pick up the room.

“Look at you, just a proper little housewife.” He smirked, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, “Hows about you take a pause on your chores and come let me hold you for a bit?” You happily set the brush down and rushed to sit in his lap, your legs dangling over the side. “Pretty as a picture, ain’t you doll?” You nodded your head, a small yawn escaped your lips. “Did I tire you out?” He asked a soft smile playing on his lips. Nodding your head softly, you rubbed your eyes.

“I'm sleepy” You mumbled softly, Elvis shifted below you and laid on his back bringing you down to his chest. You rested your head on his chest and he played with your hair, occasionally moving a hand down to trace small patterns and shapes onto your back.

Pressing small kisses to your hair he would occasionally mumble, “You look so peaceful, so cute.” He would cradle your face and rub his thumb across your cheek, you would press a small kiss to the pad of his thumb. “Always such a sweetheart, go on to sleep, pretty girl.” When you opened your mouth to protest he would simply close it for you, “Yes you are tired, yes I am going to stay right here, no I will not roll us off the couch. Now close your eyes and rest, you have had a long night.”

“How did you know I was goin-”

“Y/N, sleep.” You closed your eyes and snuggled into his chest, the smell of his cologne filled your senses. Elvis hummed softly as he ran his hand through your hair, you let yourself fall deeper into the spell of sleep.

Minutes soon turned into hours and Elvis found himself waking up with you gripping at his robe and a God-awful crick in his neck, deciding not to disturb you, seeing as though you were in such a peaceful state, he gently adjusted himself and drifted back off to sleep.

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eliseinmemphis · 2 years

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austin on hot ones this thursday!!! i wanna see that twink hurt

#austin butler #austin butler elvis #austin elvis #ohhh he looks so pretty with tears in his eyes #the gigantic glass of oat milk is sending me

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youaintnothinbuta · 6 months

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“I’m telling you, honey, you ain’t gon’ like it.” — Elvis Presley x reader

Summary: you push yourself too far out of your comfort zone and get upset at Elvis for it, but he’s very patient with you <3

Pairing: Elvis Presley or Austin!Elvis x reader

Word count: 865

Warnings: fluff!! Minor argument but very a patient Elvis <3

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“I’m telling you, honey, you ain’t gon’ like it.” Elvis stated through a small chuckle of disbelief as he shook his head.

“Oh, Elvis, of course I will.” you replied, smiling, though inwardly determined to prove yourself on the big rides. You wanted to impress him. Amusement parks were enjoyable, sure, but you were tired of being the one too scared for the fast and tall rides.

“You won’t.” He argued through his laugh, like he could see right through you.

Not earning a reply from you, he kept going, “I truly don’t mind going with the fellas, baby, you don’t need to do it for me.”

Unfazed, you pressed on, “I’m not doing it for you, Elvis, I’m doing it for me.” Grabbing his wrist, you pulled him towards the queue for the biggest rollercoaster, the Cyclone. Cliff, Billy, and your brother Bobby exchanged concerned glances, but joined the line with you.

“It’s not too late to back out,” Bobby teased, leaning over your shoulder, his voice a mixture of jest and genuine concern for you. Elvis held your hand as you stepped into your place in the cart, preparing yourself to face your fear. Once everyone was settled, the operator turned the ride on and slowly you started moving, going up a steep incline. It’s not so bad. As the rollercoaster climbed to its peak, your heart pounded in your chest, and as it plummeted down, screams erupted from your lips. But these weren’t screams of exhilaration; they were screams of terror. With each twist and turn, you felt sick to your stomach, regretting every moment that led you to this point. Elvis’ arm around you provided little comfort as you endured the ordeal.

Finally, the ride screeched to a halt, and you stumbled out, feeling shaky and nauseous. Moving out of the exit of the ride, that feeling of nausea was quickly replaced with one of anger.

“I can’t believe you let me do that! You knew I’d hate it!” You lightly punched his chest, upset. He fought back a laugh, feeling bad, he knew that thing had scared you to death.

Instead of arguing back, Elvis guided you away from the bustling crowds to the quiet solitude of the car park, letting you groan and whine as you needed to. The distant sounds of laughter and excitement echoed through the air. The soft glow of twinkling lights overhead cast a gentle illumination. With a sigh, you leaned against a nearby railing, the cool metal soothing against your skin as you closed your eyes, attempting to calm yourself. Elvis stood beside you, letting you have a moment to breathe, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back as you sniffled.

After a moment of silence, he turned to you, his expression softened with concern. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice gentle. With a shaky breath, you shook your head, unable to find the words.

Without hesitation, Elvis pulled you into a warm embrace, his arms wrapping around you protectively as you buried your face against his chest. You allowed yourself to lean on him, to find solace in his comforting presence. With a soft sigh, you pulled away from Elvis’s embrace, meeting his gaze with a mixture of gratitude and apology.

Your eyes glossy with unshed tears, you mumbled, “I’m sorry. It just gave me such a fright. I don’t ever want to do that again.”

Elvis’s expression softened even further, his eyes filled with compassion and understanding. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he replied, his voice gentle. “I shouldn’t have let you. I know. Next time, listen to me though. I’m only here to care for you.”

You nodded, thankful.

“Do you want to go back to the others, or are you done for the night?” he asked, his voice gentle, his eyes searching yours for any sign of what you needed.

After a moment’s hesitation, you met Elvis’ gaze, your decision clear in your mind. “I think I’m done for the night, I wanna go home,” you admitted softly.

Elvis nodded understandingly, his hand reaching out to gently squeeze yours. “That’s okay, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice filled with warmth and reassurance. “Let’s go for a drive and head home, just the two of us.”

He opened the passenger side door, you promptly plunked your bottom down. With a soft sigh, Elvis turned the key in the ignition, and the car roared to life, the engine rumbling beneath you as he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the open road.

After what felt like an eternity, Elvis pulled up in front of his house, the soft glow of porch lights welcoming you home. With a grateful smile, he turned off the engine and turned to you.

“Here we are,” he said softly, his voice filled with warmth. “Tired, baby?”

You nodded, as you stepped out of the car and followed Elvis up the path to the front door. As he unlocked the door and let you inside, a sense of relief washed over you, grateful for the familiar comfort of his home. You stepped inside, the warmth of the house enveloping you, you could have just fallen asleep right there.

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bruniiiswrld · 2 years

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my favourite looks/scenes from elvis (2022) (part 4 of ????)

believe it or not, the folder i saved this under is called "vulgar-animalistic" because of the montage .. definitely one of my favourites throughout the movie. + i like it when he does his shaking on the ground too .. i find that weirdly attractive

#elvis 2022 #elvis film #elvis movie #austin butler #elvis biopic #elvisaaronpresley #elvis gifs #elvis presley #austin butler gifs #austin elvis #austin butler elvis #baz luhrmann elvis #elvis x reader #elvis the pelvis

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elvisabutler · 1 year

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mess dress

fandom: elvis 2022 | elvis presley rating: m pairing: elvis presley ( army era ) x female plus size reader word count: 2323 warnings: thigh riding. uniform kink. mild innocence kink. public play-ish. implications for future p in v sex. author’s note: welcome to day 7 of ally’s wet hot smut summer, uniform kink with elvis presley x reader. so fun fact i've had this 95 percent finished since friday. i have also been without internet because construction knocked out my internet for the weekend. however this is done now. so this erred accidentally into a sort of public play kink thing as well. hopefully y'all enjoy it regardless. this is sort of a sequel to called ya, didn't i? but you don't have to read it for this to make sense, necessarily. i do really want to hear how y'all feel about my fics and i know i don't always reply to comments but reading them delights me so much. as always imagine who you'd like i'm not picky.

You're no stranger to Army functions, little soirees that you shouldn't be invited to but you are because your Daddy's always loved showing you off even as there were whispers about how it wasn't proper that his daughter's waist didn't taper just so. But being at one when you're involved with Elvis Presley- well, that's another thing entirely. It's one thing to be on your Daddy's arm and another to be on your boyfriend's arm knowing how that arm feels wrapped around your waist as you do things very good army brats shouldn't do.

The thing is, you want to think Elvis is willing to stay with you, you want to think he's a good man even if all the papers and the press think he's cavorting around with every girl in Europe. And he's been proving it with every innocent date and every not so innocent moment where you cry out for release as his fingers play you better than any guitar. Elvis wants to be with you and even as things are winding down in Europe, he's whispering jokes and plans about asking your Daddy if it's alright for him to whisk you away to Memphis.

"Told 'im I'd take real good care of ya. No funny business, either. Not 'less I got a ring on your finger."

After hearing that, you almost swooned like you were a Victorian maiden, the rush from hearing those simple words— that simple potential promise had your mind whirring and your heart thumping a quicker beat than it ever had in your life. Never mind that you and him already had indulged in some funny business, it was all the kind that could be hidden. Not the kind that had you filling out dresses and telling your Daddy he's got a grandbaby on the way.

Hearing that put your mind at ease and allowed you to dream a little of a future with Elvis. It allowed for a picture to be painted of you at Graceland or in Hollywood, maybe with a child or two— and a world where you might still be told you don't look proper for a woman but there's gotta be something about you that's got Mr. Presley all shook up and stuck on you. Saying yes to Elvis about going to the function was easy after that even if you had to tell him that he didn't have to get you a dress despite his arguments for doing just that.

"I-I jus' wanna show 'em how pretty my girl is. Tell 'em what they missed out on. Show Charlie I can get me a ree-spec-tuh-bull girl." He had teased, hands against your hips as he kissed your neck in front of your mirror.

Your hands should have swatted at his arms and you should have told him to keep his hands on your waist but instead you moved your hands to lay on top of his and smiled. "You will, Elvis. I'll pick something pretty and we'll have pretty pictures to look at. You'll probably even have one to take home."

A look flitted across Elvis's face that you couldn't quite put a name to and you couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at it before he shook his head. "Yeah, I can have a picture. Just— I mean it, baby, I'm gonna show ya off. Tell 'em I like ya wit' or without all this dressin' up."

It's practically comical the way you and Elvis look at each other the moment you open the door to see him standing there in his full dress uniform. You've seen him in uniform before and had told him rightfully that seeing him in it did something to you between your legs but seeing him like this? All ironed pants and dressed without a hint of a flaw had your mouth watering as your eyes traced over every inch of him, settling embarrassingly on the subtle bulge between his legs. You've felt it before but to see it look like it's starting to rise to the occasion just from looking at you right now in those slacks has your breath escaping from your lungs in a quiet whine.

Not that your boyfriend was any better, taking in the way your dress outlined your chest and your hips and practically shimmered in the light. You matched his dress uniform almost to a tee with a little feminine flair. Your mother is the one who comes upon the two of you staring at one another and tuts quietly, shooing you out the door with a shawl and a yell about how Elvis needs to bring you home before a certain time. You don't dare speak until Elvis enters the other side of his car and sets a hand on your clothed thigh.

"Honey— ya tryin' to kill me? 'Cause it's workin'. Didn't know ya—" He starts before you silence him with a kiss and a shy smile.

"I had it specially made. Thought tonight deserved something special, since you said you'd show me off, remember?" You bite your lip, knowing full well you're probably ruining your lipstick. What you're saying is the truth but a part of you, a small part that's listened to a friend or two who thinks Elvis is so sweet on you that he might want to marry you thinks this was the perfect outfit to prove you're the sort of girl who can be Mrs. Presley. All sophistication and charm that a good boy— a good man like him needs.

"I- I do. Now I'm thinkin' everyone's gonna be tryin' to steal ya from me if I show ya off. Lord, darlin'. Make a man wanna—" His breath comes out in a rush, a puff of air that moves a surprisingly errant curl from his head as you giggle.

"Maybe later? Before you take me home?" The words are questions but from the way you look at Elvis you know that he catches your meaning. That you want him to do something to you as much as he wants to do something to you. Truthfully just looking at the buttons of his uniform and every single detail on it has you clenching your legs together— forgetting that Elvis's hand is right there until he groans as he starts the car.

"Gonna be the death o'me," he mutters only to hear you laugh again and say three simple words in French.

"La petit mort."

You both know it's a little improper to have you sitting on Elvis's lap, but the night's been winding down ever so slowly and Elvis— can get away with things other men can't. Sure, this might get back to your Daddy but it's not as if he doesn't already have an inkling that Elvis is head over heels in love with you. You haven't ended up with a baby in your belly yet and that's— well, that's as good as he can hope for when it comes to the pair of you, he figures. He'll allow it as long as he can think his daughter is as pure as can be. Besides, Charlie is very good at covering for you and Elvis when things look a little more salacious than they should. Right now as Elvis's leg keeps bouncing between your thigh, you figure you'll get use out of those skills yet tonight.

The conversation is one you're not fully paying attention to, having heard half these things a million times over as you've grown up but when you feel the brush of warm air against your ear your eyes widen just a hair.

"Fallin' asleep on me, darlin'? Gonna leave me to talk to everyone by myself?" His whisper is low and inviting in a way that has you shivering just slightly as his arm grips your waist a little tighter. "That woke ya up?"

You don't trust your voice just yet especially when you feel Elvis's leg jiggling between your thighs, his knee brushing against your clit with almost every movement. Your only answer is a small hum as you smile at other people.

Elvis flashes a charming grin as he shifts both of you, allowing the bottom of your dress to cover his leg entirely and exposing your underwear covered vagina to his knee. He bounces experimentally and watches as your eyes widen and you let out a soft whimper that you quickly cover with a cough, your chest bouncing from the effort. Your thighs try and tighten around his leg in an effort to stop the bouncing only for his hand to grip your hip, reveling in the way it feels underneath his grip.

"Elvis," you hiss, turning to look at him after one particularly intense bounce as your nipples hardening in your bra and has you starting to soak through your undergarments. "What are you doing?"

"Ya been eyein' me up like a piece of meat all night, baby. Know that place 'tween ya legs has been achin' somethin' fierce 'cause of it. Didn't think ya wanted to wait. Jus' in case I gotta rush ya home." He explains like it makes all the sense in the world and you find it's hard to argue with him over it even as you know how bad this looks.

"But we're in public. Just because I wanna rip your uniform off doesn't mean we need to—" you start only to have him brush against that spot earning a bitten back whine and a grind down from you. "Elvis— oh."

It shouldn't be pleasurable, your fear of being caught and the potential shame should stop you from doing this but the only thing it's stopping you from doing is ripping off Elvis's uniform that you've seen on a million men before but none of them have been him. Maybe it's the way you had seen the bulge between his legs pressing against his pressed slacks or maybe it's because he was all dressed up to take you somewhere. To show you off. Whatever the reason was, you don't stop Elvis from moving his leg, from bouncing it just so in a way that has your vision starting to blur and has your nails digging into his other thigh in order to keep quiet.

"Gonna make a mess of us, ain't ya? Gonna stain my uniform, darlin'? Make it so I gotta tell everyone I had a lil sweat on my knee?" He mutters his filthy words against your ear and you nod as slow as you can as your eyes dart around the room and around your talking companions. Had any of them noticed what was going on?

"They ain't payin' attention. Ya a good girl, 'member? God, darlin' wanna see ya come apart in front of 'em. Do that for me, will ya? Do that and I'll ask ya daddy to marry ya tomorrow. I gotta or 'm gonna ruin ya 'fore I can."

You have to take a breath or five to be able to speak as his knee picks up speed. "You'll wear your uniform when you do? So I can see it again?"

The grin on his face is downright evil as he nuzzles your neck and places a kiss or two against it. "'Course. Jus' for you. Jus' to see ya get all hot 'n bothered 'bout it again. You gonna make a mess f'me, mama? Gonna show how I got the best girl 'round wit' ya plump yittle thighs and those big breasts a yourn? And that stomach that's softer than anythin' army issued?"

Any other time and you might feel a might bit embarrassed about the way you nod quickly. Truthfully you can feel a bit of shame when you catch the eye of one of the other women. Her eyes are a little widened and you— that should be your cue to stop but you're so close that you can't help but cast your eyes downward as Elvis follows where your eyes went.

"She's just wishin' it was her. Wishin' her date would do this to her. Don't— Don't be shy. I gotcha, darlin'. Let go f'me?"

Somehow the way he phases what is technically an order or a request as a question sends a jolt through your body and has you holding back noises that threaten to leave your mouth as you feel yourself coming. Feel that tension inside your lower belly finally release. You feel your body twitch ever so slightly as the pleasure rolls through your body as Elvis's arm tightens around you to keep you from slumping forward. Your chest heaves in the confines of your bra and your dress and Elvis's lips curl into a bit of a smirk against the back of your neck as you try and catch your breath without being too obvious. Against your backside you can feel Elvis's cock nudging you and with a bit of a smile you shift just so in order to hear him grunt.

"Are you two okay?" You both hear someone ask— maybe it's Charlie or maybe it's someone else, you're both not too sure but it prompts you to stand up, adjusting your skirt as you do and eyeing the sizable damp patch you've left on Elvis's leg in his uniform. His eyes look down before they widen and he pulls you back down to sit on it.

"We're— we're fine." A short answer said by both of you as the two of you exchange a look and you grab Elvis's hat to plop it on your head. The look Elvis gives you is filled with more love than you thought he was capable of even though you can see his still blown pupils and see the arousal lingering in those ocean blue eyes.

After a moment of staring you turn back to everyone and smile, "so what were we talking about? You've got both of us at attention."

taglist: @ab4eva , @blurredcolour, @butlersxbirdy, @precious-little-scoundrel, @eliseinmemphis, @prompted-wordsmith, @missmaywemeetagain, @lookingforrainbows, @araxw, @thatbanditqueen, @ellie-24, @austinbutlersgirl67, @heartbrake-hotel, @ccab, @18lkpeters, @slutforsomegoodlettuce, @dkayfixates, @kendralavon7, @chasingwildflowers, @notstefaniepresley, @wanderingelvis, @kxnnxy, @powerofelvis, @stylespresleyhearted, @be-my-ally, @mooodyblue, @pixiedustcosmos, @jessicarcates, @amydarcimarie, @flwrs4aust, @myradiaz, @adaydreamaway08, @elirobin, @goldieharry. i'm tired i don't know if i tagged everyone sorry if i forgot you..

#elvis presley #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley x plus sized reader #elvis presley x you #elvis presley x y/n #army elvis #austin butler elvis #austin elvis #austin elvis x reader #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley smut #elvis presley fic #ally writes #ally's wet hot smut summer

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