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headfullofpresley · 1 year

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𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬, 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

This is part three of Good Rockin' Tonight, find part two here.

Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader

Word count: 8,2K

Summary: Elvis can't do the friendship thing anymore- he misses you and wants you back, but when you reject him, he makes a decision that he regrets for years. But haven't the both of you learned that the heart wants what it wants?

Warnings: angst, exes to lovers, some time jumps, strong language, alcohol consumption, smut; semi public, vag penetration, unprotected sex.

A/N: the urge to let this series have an angsty ending is big... 😈

masterlist

The universe worked in strange ways.

Ever since you and Elvis broke up, you had grown closer together. He genuinely considered you his best friend, but this isn’t what he wanted at all. He didn’t want to be your friend after everything you had gone through together – he wanted to be your man.

He wanted to be yours and only yours.

He seemed to be a little more open about his manager to you – he’d hang on the phone to cuss him out to you every time something happened – and although he was still stuck doing horrible movies that lacked the art he wanted to create, he didn’t let his manager or anyone else hold him back from doing what he wanted to do.

He’d often go to Sunset Records, most of the time in the dead of the night, and have Lori open up a studio for him so he could cut some records. Real records, not the movie soundtracks he was unfortunately forced to sing.

You’d accept his invitations of coming down to the studio sometimes as well, because you loved seeing him in his element and being around him – after three years, it didn’t hurt as much anymore – but he understood that it wasn’t always possible for you to be there because you had a life on your own.

He didn’t want to be the reason for you to get fired… again.

You had left your small fashion adventure for what it was and got a job at Pop Weekly, a magazine that catered to music and film only. It didn’t pay as well as Seventeen, but enough for you to live comfortably and move into a bigger apartment where you lived alone because Red and Lori had taken the next step in their relationship and got a place together. They were barely living in it though, since they’d usually be where ever Elvis was.

Elvis couldn’t help but wish you were there too, he wanted you by his side every single day, but he knew you were happy. You were living the life you had always wanted and he loved seeing your face light up every time you spoke of your job.

You were the reason he never declined an interview from Pop Weekly.

Still, the fact that you and him were not actually together as a couple tugged at his heartstrings uncomfortably every time he saw your face or heard your voice.

“This better be good, Presley!” you yelled through the studio as you were let in by Lori. The clock currently read 2 in the morning and since you were still working on an article because you couldn’t sleep, you accepted his invitation for you to come down to the studio. You didn’t want to at first, but he persuaded you, telling you you needed a break from writing before you’d start going cross eyed. You knew he was right. “Or I’ll kick your ass,”

Lori grinned at you, because both of you knew Elvis wasn’t able to hear you from the lobby. As Lori locked the door and turned back to you, noticing the outfit you were sporting, she raised her eyebrows. You looked down at the baby blue colored pajamas you were wearing – a nightie Elvis had gotten you a few years ago, but you decided to wear the matching shorts with it this time to at least cover yourself up a little bit.

“What? It’s in the middle of the night,” you shrugged, swiftly turning around to walk into the studio where Elvis was before she was able to detect the sweet scent of your perfume and sheer shine of gloss on your lips.

Lori shook her head a little with a laugh as she followed you into the studio, making her way over to Red who was sitting in a shivel chair by the panels. The ginger haired man pressed a button, announcing your arrival to Elvis who immediately looked up and made his way to the space you were in with a smile so bright it made his eyes look a little smaller than they actually were.

“There she is, the little workaholic,” he had you in his arms before you could even give him a proper respond other than a laugh, your arms automatically winding around his waist to greet him back with an embrace.

“Says you,” you chuckled as you looked at him when he let go of you, poking his chest. “The man who’s cutting records at 2 in the morning,”

“I’m a goddamn vampire, you know that,” a smirk tugged at his lips and you rolled your eyes, letting him take your hand to guide you to the two seater that was placed against the wall. “Haven’t seen you in this in ages,”

You looked down at the way his fingertips played with the fabric of your nightie that sprawled out around you. As his warm hand came in contact with your bare thigh, you kicked off the flats from your feet and pulled your legs up the couch, giving him the opportunity to place his hand on your knee.

And he took it. Ofcourse he did.

“They’re waiting for you, El,” you told him with a small grin on your face, nodding to the people that were present in the studio, waiting for Elvis to get back behind the mic. “They’re human and humans need sleep, remember?”

He laughed softly at your words, biting his lip as he looked at the musicians in the recording booth. He kind of regretted having you come over, because now that he was seeing you in that nightie and your face bare of make-up, there was no way he could focus on his music anymore.

“I’m gonna send them home,” he said, getting up from the couch. You frowned as you grabbed his arm to stop him, looking up at him. “I wanna spend time with you, honey. It’s been a while since we been alone,”

Your heart did a somersault in your chest. You hadn’t been truly alone with him since the two of you separated because you were always surrounded by his entourage whenever you met and you were never bothered by that. But now that he was looking at you like that with that suggestive little smile, being alone with him was all you wanted.

You had no idea what he was up to, but as he shot you a wink while walking into the recording booth to tell the musicians they could go home, you were pretty sure an innocent conversation to catch up wasn’t anywhere on his mind.

Your suspicion was right. He didn’t send everyone home and asked you to stay back to talk about how your day’s been, and you were far from interested in small talk.

How could you even think about anything when he had you straddling his lap on the couch, his hands running up and down your sides underneath your nightie as his lips were marking your neck.

Maybe this was a bad idea and you had no idea what was going to happen between the two of you after this, but right now you couldn’t get yourself to care. After all these years, he was still able to make you throw all caution to the wind and listen to your body instead to your brain.

Your body had a complete mind of its own, your arms automatically raising for him to take your nightie off and leaving you in just your shorts on top of him. Sitting back against the couch, he looked at you as his hands ran up your stomach to gently cup your breasts in his large palms, his thumbs ghosting over your perked nipples.

God, he missed this. He missed you. He slept with other women after you and him split, but nobody could ever compare to you. The way your body responded so well to him, the way he knew all of your weak spots, what you did and didn’t like… you and him worked well together. Fit perfectly together like a puzzle.

He honestly believed you were made just for him.

“Kiss me,” you told him, running your hands up his arms and to his shoulders to squeeze them lightly. His eyes met yours as he smiled softly, moving his hands from your chest to your back to press you against him. His lips collided with yours harshly, and you were quick to respond to his kiss as he slipped his tongue in between your lips while his hands moved lower to cup your ass and press you even firmer against him than you already were.

Your hands disappeared in his hair, easily messing up the raven locks due to the lack of product in it. The faint taste of cigars and coffee on his tongue had you deepening the kiss, grinding yourself onto him a little faster to create some friction between the two of you – everything about your actions and about him brought back memories to the times when you were together.

Because despite the two of you breaking up and you being happy with the life you were currently living, you still missed him. He had always been good to you, had always treated you well and you had fond memories with the man. That was something nobody could never take away from you, or him.

Foreplay was usually something you and Elvis took your sweet time with, but it had been three years since you had been intimate together. You were too impatient and too turned on, and so was he. You were the only one who was completely naked when he pulled down your pajama shorts and panties but neither of you bothered to remove all of his clothing, only tugging his pants and underwear down to his thighs to let his cock spring free against his lower abdomen.

With his hands gripping onto your hips, he watched as you grabbed ahold of his erection and pumped him in your fist for a little bit before aligning him at your entrance. The sight of his cock disappearing inside of you mixed with the feeling of your warmth squeezing him in tight had him gasping and throwing his head back against the couch. Placing your hands on his shoulders, you kept still for a little bit to get used to the feeling of having him inside of you – you felt so incredibly full and so incredibly aroused that it was hard for you to relax, your muscles contrasting around his length fiercely.

“Shit, baby, slow down,” he choked out, raising his head to look at you. Slipping his arms around your waist, he brought you closer against him and kissed you, causing you to moan in his mouth at the movement. “I ain’t gonna last long if you keep squeezin’ me like that- relax..” he mumbled against your lips and you nodded, laughing softly as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

He rubbed your back soothingly and you slowly started to thrust yourself onto him. It was slow and sensual and it had the both of you moaning in the kiss you shared, your fingers tangling in his hair again. As his hands moved back to your hips to guide your movements, you picked up your pace a little and he eventually had to pull back from the kiss to inhale a sharp breath of air, biting his lip as he watched you lean back a little to arch your back, your hands wandering down his arms to grasp onto them for comfort.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he mumbled, not caring if you heard it or not, as he watched your breasts bounce with the steady rhythm you found. The moans that were rolling off your tongue sounded like music to his ears, like little angels being present and singing just to him. It nearly had him hypnotized.

When he decided to move one hand down in between your thighs and rub your clit with his fingertips, your eyes found his as your nails dug into the fabric of the long sleeved button up he was wearing. “E-Elvis,” you gasped softly, removing your hand from his arm that was currently straining muscles with how fast he was working on your little sensitive nub. “Oh my God, y-yes, don’t stop,” you groaned, your eyes rolling back as you placed both your hands behind you on his knees while fucking yourself onto him even faster.

Your thighs were burning, but you couldn’t get yourself to care – you were so close to that little moment of euphoria that it was impossible for you to slow down or to stop and he sure was hell wasn’t complaining either. The sight of pure pleasure written all over your features was something he had seen so many times that he was positive he was never going to forget it and even right now, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you.

You looked so beautiful with your hair framing your face perfectly as you looked at him with those needy eyes – God, it was driving him absolutely insane.

So insane that he spoke without thinking.

“Fuck, I love you so much,”

He knew you heard it. He could see it in your eyes. But you barely had time to respond to it as you were taken to ecstasy by your orgasm that hit you like a tidal wave. He didn’t know if he completely fucked up by saying those words or not, but as he reached his own climax, he figured it’d be best not to overthink it.

Not right now.

You moved your arms back to his shoulders as he removed his hand from out between your thighs, gently grabbing your hips as his stuttered upwards a little, releasing himself inside of you with a deep drawn out moan.

You getting up and having him slip out of you to gather your clothes from the floor wasn’t the afterglow he had in mind. Perhaps it wasn’t your intention, but your body language felt off.

Distant.

You were pushing him away.

“I missed that,” he openly admitted. Hell, he already told you he loved you in the heat of the moment, and you had always wanted him to be more open about his feelings – and that was exactly what he was doing right now.

“I bet you got girls lining up at your front door,” you grinned his way, the comment obviously meant to be playful to make the situation you found yourself in feel less awkward.

And perhaps he would’ve laughed at it any other time, but for some reason his chest was tightening with emotions.

“I miss you,”

You looked at him, sitting down on the couch as you were completely dressed. You had to awkwardly press your thighs together to keep his bodily fluids inside of you and while you had been craving a shower a few seconds ago, you couldn’t be bothered to think about that now.

The way he was looking at you so seriously, his hand reaching out to yours after he made himself decent made panic settle in the pit of your stomach.

“Elvis-“

“I miss us, Y/N,” he interrupted you, his fingers lacing together with yours. “I know we weren’t perfect, but who is? I miss.. I miss everything about you. Your laugh, your lame jokes, your perfume on my pillow… your hands..” he looked down at your entertwined hands, giving a soft squeeze as he tried to swallow the lump in his throat, a small smile raising the corners of his mouth. “I miss everything,”

You blinked a few times as you looked down, not wanting him to see the tears that were threatening to spill. Damn you for being so emotional after sex.

Damn you for missing your ex the same way he missed you. And damn you for making this so difficult on yourself.

“I want you back, honey,” he whispered, moving closer to you on the couch to slip his arm around your waist and pull you closer against his side.

“Elvis, I love you,” you told him as you braved yourself to look him in the eye, hoping it wasn’t too obvious that you were close to crying. “But we don’t work together- maybe on paper, yes. But what’s gonna happen if we get back together? Everything will be good and fun in the beginning, but we’ll fall right back into the same cycle. It won’t work- we don’t work together,”

“When are you going to stop pushing me away, Y/N? It’s been three years. It doesn’t have to be like before, we can change. I can change,”

You slowly shook your head, gently pulling your hand out of his. “You can’t ask that of me and I can’t ask that of you- I know you, Elvis. You don’t want to change and I’d never expect you to,”

He watched as you got up from the couch, running your hands through your hair to tug it behind your ears. He couldn’t stop his knee from bouncing frantically, nervously. He couldn’t have you walk away from him anymore, but he also couldn’t keep you in his life.

Not like this.

He wanted more. He needed more.

“Then what.. what are we gonna do? Because I can’t do this anymore,” he told you, nibbling on his lower lip as he kept his eyes on you.

Those words made you nervous.

You couldn’t imagine your life without Elvis in it anymore despite not forming a couple together. You valued the friendship you two had, you weren’t ready to lose it, but you knew deep down inside that you had to let him go.

You wanted and expected different things from each other. Ofcourse, you loved him- more than you had ever loved anyone else, but you were not made to sit at home and wait for him all day. You weren’t made to be away from the person you loved for long periods of time.

So yes, you loved Elvis dearly, but you also loved and respected yourself.

“What do you mean?”

You needed to hear him say it, despite knowing exactly where he was heading with this and knowing that the words would tear you apart.

“I can’t keep being your friend,” the lump in his throat was getting so heavy that he felt as if he was suffocating, but like you had done three years ago, he was putting his own feelings first. He was choosing himself, protecting himself. “Not like this,”

He couldn’t keep lying to himself anymore, nor to you.

“So, the only reason you were my friend was because you thought we’d get back together?”

Yes.

The thought had definitely been on his mind.

“N-no… I don’t know. Jesus, Y/N,” he ran his hands down his face before he got up from the couch and took a step closer to you, though he still made sure there was enough distance between you. “I still love you and every time I see you, my heart fucking breaks because we’re not together. I can’t go on like this any longer- so what are we gonna do?”

You kept quiet, looking at him with tears in your eyes and sorrow in your heart.

“What do you want, Y/N? Because this… t-this ain’t workin’ no more,”

He was all over the place, the animated movements of his hands emphasizing every word he spoke. He was giving you an ultimatum, one that you couldn’t possibly give an answer to with how emotional you were right now.

You needed time to think.

But you could see he wanted an answer and he wanted it now; he was fed up. He couldn’t get you out of his head and staying friends with you and pretending everything was fine wasn’t fair to either of you.

He had to move on, you knew that, but even thinking about never seeing him again made a rush of panic roll through your entire being.

“I don’t know, Elvis- I don’t know what to say,” you said in a hushed tone as you looked down at your hands, twirling one of your rings around on your finger nervously. “All I know is.. that I-I.. I still need you in my life,”

“As friends,” he took it upon himself to finish your sentence, shaking his head a little as he looked at the panels Red had sat at earlier. The tension in the empty studio was thick, uncomfortable.

There was a certain sadness that lingered around you and him.

“I can’t be your friend- it’s too damn hard,”

“El-“

“No, I’m serious, Y/N. I can’t see you anymore- I don’t wanna hear your voice, I don’t wanna talk to you, I don’t even wanna look at you and I sure as hell don’t wanna be your friend,”

Now he was the one being distant, now he was the one pushing you away, and hearing him say these words felt as if someone was ripping your heart right out of your chest.

Your feelings were hurt and your ego was bruised, so much so that you didn’t hear the small crack of his voice. You didn’t hear the hurt in his voice, but as you looked at him and the two of you just stared silently at each other for what felt like forever, you could see it in his eyes.

You could see it in the way his features had hardened, how he eventually tore his gaze away from yours.

“If.. If that’s what you want..”

There was nothing more you wanted than to stop him from making this decision, but what else were you supposed to say?

You knew you couldn’t give him what he wanted.

And you weren’t the type of person who’d get down on their knees and beg and you knew him well enough to know that you wouldn’t be able to stop him from doing something he had his mind set on.

“It’s what I want,” he said, though there could not be one single hint of confidence detected in his voice.

This isn’t what he wanted- far from it. But it needed to be done.

Just as you had done, he needed to put himself first for once, even though it broke him inside.

He regretted the whole thing the second he left the studio, leaving his heart behind in the palm of your hands with hope that you’d eventually glue the pieces back together and bring it back to him.

Your life hadn’t been the same since 1965. Still as passionate as ever about your career, you worked more often than you were at home and when you were home, you’d either be writing or sleeping.

The spacious apartment with a skyline view you had upgraded to was truly breathtaking, but it didn’t feel like a home.

There were no pictures of you and friends on top of the fireplace mantel – other than a picture of you and Lori had taken in the early 60s, it was completely empty – and if a stranger would walk inside of your place, they’d think nobody even lived here at all.

By the time 1969 rolled around, you were miserable.

Other than some awkward run-ins because Lori and Red were still happily together and because the state of California really wasn’t as big as one might think, you had not spoken to Elvis in four years. You couldn’t escape the man though; after his comeback special that was aired last year, Elvis the performer was back and he was more popular than ever, both among his loyal fans that had been there since the beginning and a new crowd.

You couldn’t escape him.

But the thing is, you didn’t want to anymore.

You missed Elvis- every time you were confronted with his face by having to write an article on him or seeing pictures of him plastered around the office, it felt like someone punched a hole through your chest.

You figured this was your karma. He must’ve felt like this on that sweltering summer afternoon in ’62 when you stormed out of Graceland like an absolute maniac.

When you told him you didn’t want to be with him anymore because you didn’t belong in his world- you truly believed you were the biggest idiot on the planet.

Because now you were living in your own world, in a world without the man you loved by your side, and it felt eerily empty.

Meaningless.

What was a promotion even worth when you’d have no one to celebrate it with?

What was having a place to live in worth when you had nobody to come home to?

Red and Lori were stuck in that awkward middle position mutual friends usually lingered in when two of their friends broke up. Whenever Elvis and his guys were in California, Red and Lori would make sure you and Elvis wouldn’t run into each other. They didn’t know how you or Elvis would react and to keep the peace, they did not want to find out.

But Lori was your best friend- she could see you weren’t doing too well. Even though you’d avoid the topic that was Elvis, it was obvious that you missed him and regretted past mistakes.

And Red had been friends with Elvis since they were a couple of young’uns- no matter how good of an actor he was, Red saw right through the other man. He was trying to move on, focus on work and looking for love in other places, but Elvis had never stopped missing nor loving you and Red doubted he ever would.

Done seeing their two closest friends being miserable, the couple took it upon themselves to push you and Elvis back in each others’ direction.

If they wouldn’t, the two of you would simply never see each other again because even though neither of you would ever admit it out loud, you were mutually as stubborn. Not to mention the size of those damned ego’s- Elvis did not want to get rejected again, and the words he spoke last to you still kept you up at night, just as it did him.

“I can’t believe you actually talked me into this,”

The International hotel stood intimidatingly tall in front of you as you got out of Lori’s car, the dry Vegas air surrounding you uncomfortably.

You were supposed to be back in LA, lying to Lori over the phone as you’d tell her you were enjoying your vacation days but she practically kidnapped you to Sin City. The sunkissed blonde that dragged your suitcase out of the trunk of her car knew you well enough to know that you weren’t going to use those vacation days at all and would exhaust yourself with your work.

She was right, because those had been your plans exactly.

But Lori could be very persuasive and convinced you to come to Las Vegas with her. She played her cards well, tugging at your heartstrings when she nearly cried as she told you how much she missed spending time with you and that she was afraid of losing her best friend.

“Oh, relax, Y/N. It’ll be great- you need some time away from LA. One of these days your fingers will fall off with how much you’re writing and typing,” she chuckled, locking up her car as you took your luggage from her. “Besides, it’s been a while since we spend time together. Yay, girls on holiday!”

You raised an eyebrow at her, hoping your voice didn’t come out as nervous as you were actually feeling.

“Girls on holiday in the hotel where my ex is having a month long engagement- yay!”

She rolled her eyes, your sarcasm more clear to her than your nerves, as she hooked her arm through yours to pull you toward the entrance of the hotel. She didn’t comment on it and you could see she was pretending to not have heard you- all smiles and excitement as she pulled you to the check in desk where Red was already waiting for you with a key to your room.

She had tried to lure you to Las Vegas with an excuse first, but your best friend was a terrible liar. Ofcourse you weren’t oblivious to what Elvis was doing in his career so you knew he’d be here, but the truth was; Lori didn’t need to come up with any excuses to get you to come to Nevada.

You had no idea if Elvis even wanted to see you or would even give you the time of the day – you’d like to think he was not going to completely ignore you, he was too kind to do such a thing – but you couldn’t wait to see him.

Despite feeling like your heart was going to drop out of your ass the closer it got to eight o’clock when Elvis would have another show, Red and Lori didn’t need to do much convincing to get you to come with them to the show.

You weren’t leaving Vegas until you spoke to Elvis- or at least, saw him.

By no means was Red West a big name in Hollywood, but he was an actor and a decent one at that.

Maybe not good enough to land a big role among the big stars, but good enough to fool Elvis.

He did not tell his friend that he and Lori got you to come here, or that your room was down the hall from Elvis’ suite, or that you were currently sitting in a booth with Vernon, Lori and some other Memphis Mafia girlfriends slash wives.

He knew once Elvis would know you were here, he’d lose his mind- Red wouldn’t be surprised if the raven haired singer would fire him on the spot, so he wasn’t going to take any risks.

Red was too quick to celebrate his little victory, because even though he had fooled Elvis with his acting, Elvis Presley’s eyes worked just fine.

And those eyes were looking right at you as the owner of them stumbled over the lyrics of the Jailhouse Rock and Don’t Be Cruel medley.

Elvis didn’t know what to do for a second, but he knew how to stay professional- joking with the audience, changing up the lyrics to something silly, laughing at people that were sitting at the very front.

He had everyone eating out of the palm of his hand.

To the audience, it’d look like he was just in a good mood. Excited. A showman.

But you and the others knew the man behind the showman- everyone could see he was steadily growing more nervous, hands shaky, leg bouncing more frantically than usual. As Elvis looked over his shoulder to find Red, the latter quickly disappeared backstage, making his way into the crowd to help Sonny keep an eye on things- and to be removed from the stage as far as he could.

You didn’t want to be the reason for Elvis messing up his set, but you couldn’t look away from him nor could you find the strength within yourself to get up and leave. With the spotlights on him, you could barely make out if the two piece suit he was wearing was black or midnight blue, but either way, he looked absolutely gorgeous.

His hair was longer and his face looked a little older, but as he smiled, you were thrown right back to past.

That mischievous, yet innocent smile.

It had your heart beating fast and your fingertips shaking as you sipped on the third martini of the night a waitress just put in front of you.

You did your best to smile at him every time he looked into your direction, even though you had no idea if he even saw you at all.

You didn’t have much time to ponder on the thought, because as Elvis put away his guitar and spoke into the mic while walking back and forth on the stage, he took your entire table by surprise.

“There’s a little lady present here tonight that I haven’t seen in… ages,” he laughed softly, the sound of it sounding melancholic. “And to be completely honest with everyone here- I never thought I’d see her again, never thought I wanted to,” he mumbled the last sentence in the mic so quick, thickening his accent on purpose, that it was difficult for some people in the audience to understand him clearly.

But you heard every single one of the words that rolled off his tongue, and they had you shifting in your seat, Lori grabbing one of your hands when she noticed you didn’t know where to put them.

“Anyways.. eh.. yeah, me and this person have a lot of history together, so I’d like to dedicate this song to her- this is Memories,”

Lori squeezed your hand so firmly it looked like the song was dedicated to her. You almost laughed at it, but as the melodies of the piano filled with your ears, the lump in your throat prevented you from making any sounds at all.

You sat there with tears in your eyes, lyric after lyric hitting you right in the gut as he was currently singing just to you. He barely interacted with the audience like he usually did during the song, now his eyes were searching for yours through the blinding lights the entire time.

You had no idea what this meant- you had no idea where Elvis’ head was at right now, but you were relieved that he hadn’t told someone to get you out of the audience and far away from him.

You were relieved to know Elvis Presley didn’t hate you like you sometimes worried he did.

Elvis had never performed this fast in his life.

Elvis loved being on stage, putting on a great show for the people that paid money to come see him- he loved his fans, always wanted to make time for them, but now he couldn’t get far away from all of it fast enough.

The lights had barely gone low and the curtain wasn’t even dropped entirely, but he was already gone.

Unfortunately for him, he did not have the privilege to wander about on his own and he couldn’t get very far because he was surrounded by his male companions as soon as he had hopped off the stage.

“Elvis, I’m so sorry. I should’ve told you and-“

Looking at Red, Elvis pulled away from Joe’s side and grabbed his shoulder. “Get me to her- c’mon, man,”

Red widened his eyes a little, not hesitating to nod his head and lead Elvis to through the long backstage hallways and eventually through the kitchen, up to the top floor of the hotel where he had told you and Lori to go.

You were back in your room, pacing a hole in the carpet in front of the floor to ceiling windows. The view of sparkling city lights was gorgeous, but you couldn’t be bothered to look at it.

Not after Red made the phone call from the kitchen when Elvis was signing autographs for the cooks, informing Lori that they were on their way upstairs.

“This is stupid,” you told your best friend who sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes following your every move. “This is a stupid idea. Just because he dedicated a song to me doesn’t mean he wants to see me. In case you forgot, Lori, he told me himself that he didn’t want to see me or talk to me anymore,”

Lori sighed. “That was four years ago, Y/N,” she deadpanned, looking at you. “If he didn’t want to see you, he wouldn’t come up right now. You two have a lot of history, you’ve been through a lot- you can’t keep avoiding each other,”

You knew she was right, but you were too stressed out – and too stubborn – to admit it. So instead, you kept pacing and making up doom scenario’s in your mind, until a loud knock on the door almost gave you a heart attack.

Lori was quick to jump up, striding over to the door to open it for Red and Elvis. You expected all three of them to come back into the room, you had hoped that would be the case, but after some muffled mumbling, Elvis walked in alone.

Turning around, your eyes met his for the first time in four years. Your heart was beating so rapidly, you wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear the sounds of it.

Elvis wasn’t doing much better- he felt as if he was thrown in a dream. He just stood there, nailed to the ground, as he stared at you. Because for at least twenty or thirty seconds that’s all he could do, until something inside of his brain clicked and he snapped out of it- he didn’t hesitate to take two big strides over to you and wrap his arms around you, engulfing your smaller frame in the heat of his embrace.

“God, it’s been a long time, baby,”

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, the sound of his voice so close to your ear made heat rise from your toes to the top of your head. It felt like his voice had gotten even a little deeper than before, you had no idea if this was true or not, but the melody of it vibrated right through your bones.

You hummed in agreement, clearing your throat a little as he pulled back from the embrace- both of you not wanting to completely let go as his hands were still holding onto your shoulders and your fingers were grasping onto his jacket at his waist.

“You look real good, honey. Real good,” a smile softened his features, his teary eyes just as visible as yours, but you both kept up the facade to not break the dam completely.

“You.. you look amazing, Elvis. You truly do,” you complimented him back, meaning every word of what you said. He looked gorgeous up there on that stage, but now that he was in front of your nose, he was almost ethereal.

Both you and Elvis agreed to the idea of getting a couple of drinks in your system before there would be any conversation of the past. Neither of you had insinuated the dreaded topic, but he could feel it lingering on the horizon just as much as you did.

There was only so much small talk two people could engage in, even with such a history as yours.

“Almost as good as yours,” he chuckled as he looked at the cocktail in his hand, sitting at the round dining table that stood near the window.

Margarita’s. You hadn’t had one in a long time- not because you were working all the time, but because they reminded you of him and your first fight.

“Watch it, Presley,” you teased with a grin as you brought the sugar coated rim of your glass to your lips, taking a small sip.

“I said, almost!” he exclaimed with a deep laugh, putting his glass down. He rubbed his hands together, his eyes focused on the jewelry adorning his slender fingers.

Your laughter gradually died down and a silence fell over the both of you, the sound of you putting your glass down on the marble table nearly deafening. Your mind was racing, the tension making goosebumps lick at your skin. You had so much to say, yet you didn’t know how to properly form a sentence that would make sense.

Elvis took it upon himself to break the silence, raising his head to look at you.

“You know, I haven’t ever stopped thinking ‘bout you,” as you looked back at him and saw a small smile gracing his features, you felt your heart quickening in your chest. “That night at the studio.. the things I said, leavin’ you like that- it’s the biggest regret I got in life,”

He quickly picked up his glass, gulping down a few large sips of his drink. He ignored the taste of liquor tickling at his throat, licking some sugar off his lower lip.

“It’s in the past,” you replied, mentally slapping yourself because the words sounded plain stupid in your head. “I’ve left you once too, remember?”

He chuckled softly at the small grin that tugged at your lips. He appreciated you making light of the situation, and the fact that you didn’t hold a grudge against him for it. If you did, you wouldn’t be here right now- right?

Nodding his head a little, he softly – nervously – tapped one of his rings against the glass that was still in his hand. “What about us?”

He took you slightly by surprise when asking that.

It wasn’t like you came to Vegas just to get back together with your ex- sure, the thought had definitely been on your mind (multiple times), but you had no idea where his head was at and you knew that if the two of you were going to give this another go again, it wasn’t going to be easy.

It was going to be a lot of hard work, but if he was willing to put in the work, so were you.

“Are we still in the past?” he questioned again and you inhaled a sharp breath of air, straightening your shoulders a little against the back of your seat.

“I’d like for us not to be,” you blurted out.

You decided to just be honest and put it out there. You had no idea what the future held in store for you and Elvis, but you were more than willing to find out.

You had never loved anyone like you loved him and you doubted you ever will.

“I missed you,” you quickly added, the few drinks you had during the show and the one you were nursing now giving you enough courage to look him straight in the eye. “We’re polar opposites from each other and that made us messy sometimes. We hurt each other and we say shit we don’t mean, and I’m sure we’ll always be that way but that’s what makes us.. us. I love you, El- I don’t think I ever stopped,”

He almost made you want to take your words back when he just stared at you, for longer than you felt was necessary. You were almost starting to think he was going to completely reject you and tell you sharing a drink after so many years didn’t mean anything, but before you could fall into the claws of the demons in your head Elvis put his glass down and leaned forward to grab your hands.

You looked down as he laced your fingers together, ignoring the small painful squeeze he gave your hands which made his rings press uncomfortably against your knuckles.

“I love you too, Y/N- I always did and I always will,” he told you, softly tugging on your hands which made you get up from your seat. As he softly pulled you toward him, you didn’t fight him on it and sat down onto his lap. He let go of your hands to snake his arms around your waist, smiling at you as you shifted your body a little to look at him and rest your arm around his shoulders. “I don’t care what the future holds for us, all I know is that I want it with you,”

You blinked away some tears, smiling as you nodded. He brought one hand up to your face to cup your cheek, his thumb wiping away a single tear that managed to escape. He gently brought your face closer to his to peck your lips but before he could kiss you properly, you pressed your forehead against his.

“I don’t think my future is in LA anymore,”

He frowned at this, surprised by your words. It made him pull back a little so he could look you in the eye, his hand moving down your shoulder and arm, his hand easily slipping into yours again.

“What are you talkin’ about, baby? Your whole life is in LA- your work-“

“That’s the thing,” you sighed, the thought of your work being your entire life was depressing. The words flew off your tongue before you had properly thought them through, but when the word vomit came out, it felt as if a weight was lifted off your shoulders. “My work.. is my life, and I don’t want to live that anymore. I love how far I managed to come in my career and I love writing, I truly do, but.. it’s just.. not worth it without you there. Or anyone, for that matter- Lori is with you and the guys most of the time which I don’t blame her for, definitely not, but it.. it gets lonely,” your hand had found its way into his hair, running your fingers through it absentmindedly. “In the years we’ve been apart, I realised that no person is meant to live their lives all by themselves and nothing is worth it without love. Besides, I can write in Memphis too, right? Or Vegas? You’re in Vegas a lot these days, aren’t you? Yeah. Yeah! I can get a job here- I bet there’s a lot to write about. I’m pretty sure I saw Nancy Sinatra’s name plastered around the city so that’s definitely a possi-“

He let you ramble on for a little bit, until he realised you weren’t going to zip it on your own accord. Catching you off guard mid sentence, he pressed his lips against yours- it was forceful at first, until he felt you relaxing against his frame.

Parting your lips, you allowed him to take dominance as he let his tongue dance along with yours. Letting go of your hand and wrapping both arms around your waist once more, he embraced you firmly against his chest as he deepened the kiss.

Elvis was a good kisser. He had been in 1956, the years in between and his ways definitely hadn’t changed now. If anything, they had improved.

You weren’t naive to think he had not kissed – or slept – with anyone else in the time you weren’t together, but you did not have time to worry about the matter or let jealousy creep in, because as soon as he gently sucked on your lower lip while pulling back, a soft moan rolled off your tongue.

He looked at you with a grin on his face, stopping you from kissing him again. This was the first time you felt as if you were the younger one in the relationship.

Although the age difference between you wasn’t major, there had been moments where you had felt it. Where you felt as if you were the one making the wise decisions and so forth.

But right now, with the way he had kissed you and his eyes were taking in every detail of your face while his hand was resting on the side of your thigh, you felt his more dominant side coming out to play.

And it wasn't even entirely sexual, it was just the feeling of his aura.

You couldn’t say you entirely disliked it.

“You can write anywhere you like, my girl,” he told you with a sweet smile on his face, his hand coming up to gently tug a lock of hair behind your ear. “As long as you do it with your heart- I don’t want you to be stuck in a place where you’re not happy. I want you to be happy,”

You sighed deeply, almost dreamily and it made him chuckle softly. Gently grabbing his face, you pressed a kiss on his lips and then swung your arms around him, hugging him.

“You make me happy, Elvis. I want to be where you are,”

He smiled to himself. Letting his hand rub your back soothingly, he kissed your bare shoulder.

“Are we gon’ give the future a try?”

You squeezed him in your embrace a little before you pulled back to look at him, smiling.

“I think you should take me out on a date first,”

He raised his eyebrows at the teasing tone on your tongue, letting out a laugh. Nodding his head, he folded his hands together at the small of your back.

“How ‘bout a Sinatra show?”

You grinned as you moved your hands to his cheeks, grabbing his face once more.

“Now you’re talking,” you wiggled your eyebrows, kissing him again. He laughed against your lips softly, making you squeal as he picked you up in his arms and got up from his seat.

Before you could stop him, he had thrown you on your bed, your frame bouncing on the soft mattress a little. Removing some hair out of your face, you looked at him with a laugh.

“I’m guessing I’m getting the Elvis Presley encore first?”

He grinned as he crawled onto the bed, hovering above you by placing his hands on either side of your head.

“You guessed right, princess,” he hummed in your ear as his lips were attached to your neck, teeth grazing the shell of your ear.

The new nickname sent a shiver down your spine and an electrifying tingle in between your thighs.

Unlike in 1960, you didn’t mind feeling small in the presence of Elvis- tonight you reveled in the feeling.

Taglist: @breadsquash @feverkitten @woundmetender @returntoelvis @prayerstopresley @ab4eva @marriedtopresley @steph-speaks @wonka-gifs @notstefaniepresley @ellie-24 @dollksj @webbedwebs @re3kin @wivette @eliseinmemphis @fairypitou @18lkpeters

#elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #elvis x you #elvis presley x you #elvis x y/n #elvis presley x y/n #elvis imagines #elvis presley imagines #elvis smut #elvis presley smut #elvis angst #elvis presley angst #elvis #elvis presley #tamwrites

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doll-elvis · 7 months

Text

** warning drama ahead **

Regarding plagiarism and @lettersfromvenus:

I definitely did not envision this to be my first post back from the break that I’ve been on from posting but after my lengthy exchange with her last night I’d just like to clear the air and explain the situation from a different point of view as I believe lettersfromvenus has been dishonest to her audience

** but before I even get into all of that I would like to sincerely apologize if you have messaged me, replied to one of my posts or sent in an ask, I am going to start working on getting back to everyone as soon as possible- I cannot even explain how much I have missed being active on here and I’d like to give a huge thank you to all the elvis fans and blogs out there because y’all have been keeping my moral high 🫡

my immune system decided to quit a little over a week ago and what I thought was a normal cold/flu turned out to be pneumonia of all things. even though I lowkey almost died from it when I first got it as a kid, I don’t remember it being this exhausting?? I’ve been bedridden like a victorian child and have been reminiscing on all the times that I had an appetite and could stand up without losing my breath

literally me since last thursday

** as for the situation regarding lettersfromvenus **

a few days ago it was brought to my attention that some accusations were being made against her after I saw an ask that was sent to another Elvis blog on here. She was being accused, by the original author, of copying a fic (word for word) from wattpad (including the title and cover-art) and posting it on here as though it was her own work

here is that post from the og author ⬇️

I always try to be as neutral as possible but after reading posts from both @ladiilokii and lettersfromvenus, I ultimately decided that the latter was clearly in the wrong and that her explanations made no sense and did nothing but pivot the blame

and so I left this exact comment on ladiilokii’s post to show support ⬇️

** “at first I was going to give her the benefit of the doubt but her responses to your messages are just insane, I’m so sorry this happened!! I’ve unfollowed her and reported her post, I can’t believe she is refusing to take it down after being caught red-handed 🤧” **

“insane” was a harsh word to use but that is the only word that came to mind after reading lettersfromvenus’ responses to being called out

she claimed that she was sent prompts/scenarios by an anonymous person and that she then wrote the fic based on those prompts, which just magically happened to be the exact same, word for word, as ladiilokii’s og fic. not only is that impossible, but it also doesn’t account for the stolen cover-art as an anonymous person cannot send a photo through the inbox, their username would have to be public

letterfromvenus then admitted to the og auther (pictured below) that she got the cover-art directly from the original fic on wattpad

** “all I did was steal the title and the picture because it had fit so well with what I thought my fic”-lettersfromvenus ** im sorry but how do you “think”something is your fic? you either wrote it or you didn’t…

lettersfromvenus’ full direct message to ladiilokii ⬇️

these explanations made zero sense to me and the lack of accountability on her part is astounding- she basically said “your work was amazing, they meant for it to be copied” ?!?

Much like the og author, I don’t believe that lettersfromvenus was sent any prompts by an anonymous person. I think she found the original fic and posted it as her own work thinking nobody would know where she got it from as it was originally posted in a vast collection of one-shots

I can’t speak to experience of being a writer but I could imagine it would be incredibly disheartening to have someone else take the credit and reap the rewards of all the hard work, effort, and time that goes into writing a fic

and so that was my involvement in the situation. like I mentioned I did decide to unfollow her because I thought it was unfair/dishonest how lettersfromvenus was making ladiilokii out to be the aggressor even though she had every right to call out the person who was stealing her fic

but nonetheless I didn’t say anything to lettersfromvenus and I just hoped that she would learn from her mistakes and offer a more sincere apology and explanation in the future

flashforward some days later to yesterday, when around 5:40pm, I got sent an anonymous ask which had a link to a new post from lettersfromvenus. obviously there is no way to prove who sent in the ask but I had my suspicions that it was her as she directly addressed the og comment that I made on ladiilokii’s post, in her new post⬇️

(https://www.tumblr.com/lettersfromvenus/730026135806722048/okay-so-i-swore-right-down-to-not-waste-my-time-on?source=share)

in retrospect I shouldn’t have engaged but I just couldn’t believe that she was trying to twist the situation and make it seem like she was getting all this unwarranted hate when in reality this was started by her when she consciously decided to steal another person’s work, and then refused to accept any blame. I still stand by my reasonings to unfollow and report her for the stolen fic

and so I commented on lettersfromvenus’ new post (linked above) to clarify again why I decided to unfollow her, as she questioned why I did. I wanted to be as frank as possible and so I wished her the best, but I maintained that I wouldn’t support her work in the future and that I thought the og author deserved a better/more truthful explanation

unfortunately I was blocked by her after our back and forth so I can’t see all of my og comments but here are some of hers and mine that I was able to sc beforehand⬇️

may or may not have had a friend send me more sc of the convo after I was blocked ⬇️

“I did not plagiarize the fic” are you sure about that?

courtesy of @ladiilokii ⬇️ (lettersfromvenus is left, og author is right)

some other screenshots⬇️

“you’re literally blaming me for shit out of my control”- it wasn’t out of your control, you purposefully did what you did and instead of openly admitting to it, you’re pivoting the blame onto an “anonymous” sender (which she has still shown no proof of)

and even if someone did send you a complete fic in your inbox, you are still obligated to say that it is not your own original work if you post it, it is still plagiarizing even if the author is anonymous

** btw this was the caption of the fic she posted that she stole from ladiilokii- “Writing takes a lot of time, so please make sure to support us writers” writing does indeed take time… copying and pasting does not **

and please the irony of saying this fandom is toxic for calling you out for stealing another fan’s work- like ma’am take a look in the mirror before calling other people toxic 🤧

my patience is now non-existent regarding this person so I’m sorry if I’m crass but if her idea of “hard work” is copying and pasting a fic and stealing the title/cover-art, then yeah that deserves to be discredited, like what do you expect??

since I was blocked I can’t see my comment anymore but I mentioned how she admitted to stealing the cover-art and that she should have given credit for that, and she then replied that her stealing was essentially justified because the author who made the cover-art didn’t credit the photographer that took the photos of Elvis ⬇️

she also went on to say that everyone who writes the word “Elvis” is plagiarizing Gladys because she created Elvis- I hope she stretched before she made that reach

we only went back and forth for like 15 minutes but my head still hurts from it. she was just impossible to reason with, she had zero accountability, and at times I felt like I was speaking to an actual toddler… she even told me to go back to elementary school to get common sense 💀

me engaging with her on that post proved to be futile, but I can’t say that I fully regret it because this clearly shows her lack of a moral code as a writer (thou shall not plagiarize)

I hate for this to be my first post back and I do know that I am contributing to the drama (for better or for worse) by making this lengthy ass post but that whole exchange with her truly shocked me and I just couldn’t keep quiet about it, especially when she has gone to her followers and made herself out to be the victim, and made others out to be the aggressors… my brain cannot compute the fact that she is trying to garner sympathy from this

** however, I by no means, wish for any hate sent to her about this. some of my comments and rebuttals have been snippy & I definitely lost patience in all of this but I don’t know how old this person is, she could be 12 for all I know, and I think we have probably all been guilty of doing dumb things on the internet. From my understanding she did end up deleting the fic at the og authors request **

I made this post in hopes that it provides some clarity to the situation and in hopes that I could show the conversation with as much transparency as possible as since I’m blocked I’m slightly worried that she is making me out to seem like I instigated this when I only directly spoke to her once I saw that her post mentioned my comment

to me this situation wasn’t even really about who was involved, it was about the principle of it because no matter who the person is, plagiarism is wrong on all of counts. if someone plagiarized lettersfromvenus’ original work in the future, I would still speak to her defense because no one deserves to have that happen to them

if there is anything you would like to do, please show some love and support to @ladiilokii , the original author of “Welcome to Detroit, Baby” <3

anyways- I cannot wait to get back to my original schedule of posting, I’ve been on a break for only 11 days but my god it has felt like an eternity 😭

#idk why this whole situation struck a nerve with me #but it got me heated on a Sunday night #I just don’t understand how someone could steal another persons work and not feel any guilt #again the lack of accountability is astounding #elvis presley #elvis #elvisaaronpresley #elvis fans #elvis fandom #elvis x reader #elvis fanfiction #elvis imagines

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dear-holly · 2 years

Text

The Singer and The Journalist - Part 1

As promised, here is Part 1!

Pairing: Elvis Presley x f!reader

Warnings: Time period sexism, a little internalized misogyny towards other girls?, other than that just pure fluff

Summary: You’re a music journalist just getting your start in the industry, and your first-ever interview is with none other than Elvis Presley.

˚.✶⋆₊✧˚.‧

Which musicians or artists inspire your sound the most?

What do you have to say to parents and authority figures who view your dancing as "vulgar"?

Thousands of girls would now love a date with Elvis Presley. Have you found a special girl that's caught your eye yet?

You scribble out the last question written on your notepad, muttering under your breath about your editor's choice of questions. You had only been working for the music press industry for a few months, and, although your editor did give you terrible starter questions like the one you'd just crossed out, you were grateful to even be sitting in the room down the hall from one of the most famous musicians at the moment, Elvis Presley. Journalists were allowed ten minutes each with the musician in his hotel room a few doors down to interview him. You didn't know as much about Elvis as your girlfriends did (how Mary knew his exact shoe size, you had no idea), but you knew a little bit about his performances and musicianship. You definitely knew about how girls would throw themselves at him, practically begging to sleep with him after his shows. But you weren't there for the handsome, smooth-talking Elvis Presley that all the girls screamed for; you just needed the facts and a good story.

Being a woman in the journalism industry wasn't easy; it seemed like the only way to get your name in print or to be taken seriously was to fake a male-sounding pen name when you sent in your work. But, this editor was the first one to show genuine faith in your writing skills, and you were determined not to mess this first ever in-person interview up. Your leg bounced nervously as you waited your turn, white heels sticking out harshly next to the shined leather shoes of the men sitting around you, examining their own notepads of questions.

"Darlin', there's no need to be nervous," the man next to you said, and you turned to face him, startled out of your thoughts.

"Oh," you said. "Um, thank you?"

"It's not going to be published anyway, whatever you write down in there. You might as well leave Presley your phone number and a love note instead," he said, and a few men next to him chuckled. You felt your face burn with embarassment.

"Miss Y/N?"

A man with a squashed hat and ruddy face appeared in the doorway, cigar dangling out of his mouth and smoke curling up to the ceiling, before you could think of something to say back to the journalist next to you. You stood up, smoothing your pin-curled hair behind your ear and clutching your notepad and pen.

"Mr. Presley will see you next," the man said, and you recognized him as Elvis' buisness manager, Colonol Tom Parker. Your editor had warned you about him, saying that he liked to sit in on Elvis' interviews with the press to make sure that nothing that could possibly be percieved as negative to his image would be written down or published. The Colonol's eyes raked you up and down.

"Clearly Five Chords Publishing did not send their A-Team," he said, and then his eyes landed on the man who had made the rude comment to you. "Ah, Martin Perry! How good it is to see you again! Your piece on my boy was very well done, very well done."

Leaving The Colonol to catch up with his aquaintance, you slipped out of the door and down the hall to Room 214. You glanced at your questions again, wishing that your editor had at least let you write them yourself, and timidly knocked on the door.

"Come in," a deep, Southern drawl inside said.

You pushed the door open. Elvis lay on his back on the couch in the room, plucking the strings of an acoustic guitar nonchalantly, humming to himself softly. He didn't seem to really notice your prescense nor care that you were even there. You took a moment to really look at him, the curve of his lips as he hummed, heavy-lidded eyes that seemed to have smudged makeup underneath them, and a mop of slicked black hair. His look was so different from the other musicians you'd seen or knew about; you could only describe him as beautiful.

"Hello, Mr. Presley," you said, and he finally glanced up a little, but didn't sit up from his position, still staring at the ceiling and plucking the guitar.

"Elvis," he said.

"I'm sorry?" you asked. He looked at you for real this time, and his eyebrows shot up.

"Just call me Elvis." He sat up then, scooting over to make room for you on the couch. "You're sure a whole lot prettier than the other journalists."

You didn't know what to say to that, but you knew you must look awkward just standing by the door. Mentally taking a deep breath, you sat on the couch next to him, crossing your legs and sitting as far away as possible. Even so, you could smell his cologne and feel his stare on you, and it was making you a little bit dizzy.

"Um, let's see," you stuttered out, flipping through your notebook. You avoided his intense eyes, and you could feel a blush creeping up your neck onto your cheeks. Elvis chuckled.

"I'm not gonna bite, honey. Is this your first interview? You don't see too many women writers," he said.

"Yes, this is my first interview. I promise I'm not usually this unorganized," you said, nervously flipping through your notebook and finding the page of questions. Elvis watched you a minute and then turned to face you completely. You looked up at him, meeting his eyes. You noticed a piece of his black hair fall in front of his face.

"Here, I'll show you the ropes," he said. "You ask me the same questions everybody asks me, I give the same answers I always give 'em, and you wind up twisting my words all up to make me sound like some kind of marajuina-smokin' delinquent messin’ with the minds of teenage girls."

Your face really heated up then.

"Oh-I," you sputtered out. Elvis grinned, his smile lopsided and sending butterflies throughout your stomach.

"Aw, darlin’, I'm sorry. I was just pullin’ your leg and messin’ with you," he said and you awkwardly let out a relieved sigh and laugh back.

"It's kind of true, though, the journalists askin’ the same questions over and over and all. And makin’ me look bad in the papers. That's why I was givin’ you the cold shoulder when you first walked in. I thought you were one of 'em. But you're tremblin’ all over and your hands are still shakin’, sweetheart." Elvis pushed down the notepad gently.

"Face me," he said, straightening his posture. You turned to face him. He was so handsome, it was almost blinding. Mary would never believe you were sitting this close to Elvis Presley, looking right into his eyes.

"We can do a little practicin', together" he said, taking the notepad out of your hands and pretending like he was reading it. "Now you pretend that I'm the journalist and you're the singer. I'll start with some easy questions."

"Okay," you said, unsure of where all of this was going. Although most of your previous interviews had been in writing, you knew enough to know this was not how a typical in-person one went.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"F/N, L/N" you said, and he smiled to himself.

"What?" you asked. He shook his head. You felt those butterflies again.

"Nothin', Y/N. Next question: how did you wind up as a writer?"

"Oh. Well, I suppose I was always writing from the time I can remember," you laughed, opening up a bit. "My mother said I must have been born with a pencil in my hand!"

Elvis chuckled.

"There's just something about the music industry in particular that draws me to writing about it. The way musicians speak and talk about music as though it's the very thing that keeps them living. It's just beautiful, hearing them tell the story behind the lyrics or the emotion behind their performances. Although, it is truly so difficult to capture in words. It's even more difficult to find a job that'll hire me and my voice. Nobody seems to like it."

"I like it," Elvis said.

"You've not even read anything I've written yet!" you said.

"No?" he cleared his throat dramatically. "Movin' on to the next question then."

"'Thousands of girls would now love a date with Elvis Presley. Have you found a special girl that's caught your eye yet?'", he read out loud from the notepad, and you felt your heart drop to the pit of your stomach.

"I didn't write that one! That was my editor. I would never ask a silly question like that to a musician," you tried to explain yourself, but you could tell Elvis was getting a real kick out of making you blush and fiddle with your thumbs. He chuckled again, half-smile shining.

"I knew that wasn't somethin’ you'd write. I haven't even read anything by you, and I can already tell that wasn't written by a girl like yourself," he said. "But, for the record, the answer to it is maybe. I'm not sure yet."

You smiled, but inside you were dying. This was the most embarassing interview you'd ever done, and to make matters worse, you were certain your ten minutes with Elvis were up and you hadn't even asked him a single one of your real questions. You were sure The Colonel would be bursting through the door any minute telling you to get out.

"Okay, last question for Miss F/N, L/N," Elvis said. You were hoping this was the actual last question, because if you went back to your editor empty-handed you weren't sure if you would ever find another journalism job anywhere in the city again.

"Ask away," you said, a little nervous.

"After all the rest of these interviews are over, do you wanna go out with me tonight?"

Your whole body felt like it was on fire. You knew going into this that Elvis was known for having pretty girls go backstage and follow him all night long, and you weren't quite sure what "going out" meant to him. Your mind echoed with the voice of that journalist who'd made that comment to you about just wanting to be with him. You looked away, taking the notepad from him and standing up to leave.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Presley, but I'm not the kind of girl who does that. Thank you for your time," you said, making a beeline for the door. He slung his guitar off of him onto the couch and gently grabbed your arm, stopping you.

"Oh, Y/N, I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry if you took it that way. Look, honey, to tell you the truth, I think you're beautiful and smart, and I want to get to know you more. I'd love to take you out on a date, nothing more," he explained, and you thought a moment. You looked up at him, and when your eyes met his lips curled up into a slight smile.

"How about just ice cream? I can pick you up around six in front of the hotel if you'll still be here. I'll be in the pink Cadillac," he said. He grinned down at you. "You can ask me more of those questions you have then."

At that moment, The Colonol burst through the door.

"My apologies! I got caught up and lost my track of time." He looked at you and Elvis standing close together by the door and gave you a weird, disapproving look. "Your time is up, I'm afraid, my dear."

You nodded.

"It was nice meeting you, Elvis," you said shyly, smiling and closing the door. Elvis held up six fingers out of the sight of The Colonol, who was busy pouring himself a glass of champagne off of the hotel bar cart.

See you at six, he mouthed at you, and you shut the door behind you, mind and heart racing with thoughts of the man you'd only just met who made your tummy curl up into knots in a feeling you'd never felt before.

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis imagines #elvis presley imagines #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader

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sassy-ahsoka-tano · 2 years

Text

The Leather Jumpsuit

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: Yes! - anon

Prompt: As a fashion designer, you work with Steve and Bones when they decide to take on Elvis’ comeback show. Sparks fly between you and Elviswhile they plan the show.

TW: None!

Rating: Pg-13 || Word Count: 3899

A/N: Idk how to write short fics anymore apparently...send help...or more requests 💕

🦋 mila

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

You're sitting in the dressing room, sketching the flare on a pair of leather pants when you hear voices down the hall.

“Alright now, Elvis, we’re hoping that you can channel your old self through the costumes you wear for the special…”

You recognize the voice immediately as Steve Binder’s. It gets louder as he approaches and comes into the dressing room. You nervously stand up when he enters with Bones Howe and the Elvis Presley. You intertwine your fingers behind your back to calm yourself. You’d never let anyone know it, but you are a massive Elvis fan. You’ve followed along on his journey since he was back singing in Memphis clubs. You hold out a hand.

“Hi, nice to meet you, Mr. Presley. I’m Y/N, and I’ll be handling your costumes for the special,” you say, gesturing him into the dressing room.

“Elvis, you won’t find a better, more meticulous designer anywhere in the world. Y/N is the best,” Steve say, and you thank him quietly. You refuse to flush, even though his compliment draws far too much attention to you.

“Very nice to meet ya,” Elvis responds, and you work hard to hide your shock at his deep voice. Of course you've heard it on the radio, but you are totally unprepared for how deep it really is. You say thank you to Steve and Bones and get straight to work as soon as they’d left.

“So, Mr. Presley-”

“Elvis, please,” he interrupts.

“I don’t refer to any clients by their first name-”

“Even if they ask you to?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

“Especially not if they ask me to. Now, Mr. Presley, Steve and Bones tell me that you’re trying to reconnect with who you really are?”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s the goal.”

“Big goal. It won’t be easy, but I think I can help you. It may not seem like it, but clothes are a huge part of who we are. They help us express what’s inside of us to other people,” you say. “We can also work backward to figure out what is inside of us that we’re reflecting on the outside through our clothes. So, I’ve pulled some of your looks from previous concerts, performances, shows, etcetera, and I figured we could use that to dig deep into what you actually want the final product to look like.”

“You really got this all figured out, don’t ya?”

“I come prepared to my meetings, Mr. Presley.”

“I like a girl who’s well-prepared,” he responds and you bury a creeping smile.

“But before we deal with style, let’s focus on the fabric. That will help us narrow some things down. So, what are you looking for? What kinds of fabrics do you like? What kinds do you hate?”

He doesn't say anything right away but rubs his fingers over his chin. The way his eyebrows furrow tell you he's deep in thought. After a few moments, you speak up.

“So…” you prompt him. “What do you want to wear? You can give me anything to start with.”

He glances up at the colored drawings you have taped up on the wall, but says nothing.

“Well, we know you’re not wearing a Christmas sweater, that’s for damn sure,” you say, shaking your head. “I think you should wear what you want to wear, but until you can decide what you really want we can’t make any decisions. So, if you’re still unsure, maybe we should jus-”

“I’m thinkin somethin unforgiving, badass, almost like…armor,” he cuts you off, that pensive look still creasing his features. You nod.

“If you want unforgiving, Mr. Presley, then you want leather,” you respond, starting to dig through your fabric samples.

“Leather? Why’s that?”

“Well,” you say, smiling when you find that scrap of Italian leather that you’ve been keeping for something special,” it’s unbearably hot, almost impossible to move in, and puts all your worst angles on display for everyone to judge.”

You hold the black strip of fabric up next to his face and nod.

“It’s about as unforgiving as you’re going to get in terms of fashion. And I do have to say, this Italian black leather looks magnificent on your skin tone.”

“Is this the kinda leather that would upset fine, upstandin white gentleman?” he asks, examining the sample. You laugh.

“Oh yes, sir. This is the kind of leather that would upset your own mother if she saw you wearing it,” you say.

“Steve and Bones were sayin somethin about a leather jacket…”

“Hm…” you glance back at some of the drawings of his previous looks and a thought occurred to you. “Just a jacket?”

“What are you thinkin in that genius brain of yours?” he asks.

You smile, imagining the entire look in your head and then on Elvis’ body. You have become obsessed with drawing him. Something about his body draws you to it, and you want to explore all its shapes and lines. You feel like you know him somehow through your drawings. And the way he dresses is so fashion-forward that it inspires the designer in you. You literally have mountains of ideas of how to dress him. You would be mortified if anyone found it, but somewhere in the room, there's a binder stuffed full of papers and scraps of parchment with drawings and sketches of potential outfits on them.

You know that you can pull one of these out and it will work for the special, but once Steve and Bones told you how much Elvis needs this concert, you had decided none of your previous designs are quite right. No, this performance needs something entirely unique, different, and attention-grabbing. It needs to invite people in, demand their attention, and make a statement that can't be ignored. You have the perfect solution.

“I’m thinking full leather. Everything leather. A whole jumpsuit, with a jacket and pants,” you say, searching for your drawing pad. Snatching it up and flipping to a new page, you scribble furiously. In just a few moments, you have a fully rendered design with startling accuracy.

“Yes!” you shout. “What do you think, Mr. Presley? I think this could be perfect. It is badass and strong. It commands attention and sustains it. It makes people look at you and accept you for who you are. It’s something you can’t ignore.”

He's looking intently at the drawing as you pace around the room with your excited arms flailing wildly. He looks up at you with a smile.

“How did you do that so fast?” he asks.

“You like it?”

“It’s perfect. This is exactly what I need to get my message across.”

“Excellent. Well If I can get started on it tonight then I should be able to finish it in two…maybe three weeks? That should give us enough time for a fitting and then alterations,” you are mumbling to yourself and jotting down notes on a different notepad.

“These are amazin, Y/N…” he mutters, and you turn to see him examining the drawings you have pinned up on the cork board. “The detail, the shading…me. Everything’s so realistic.”

“Thank you,” you say dryly, hoping to throw him off your tail. You will be mortified if he knows how obsessed with him you were, and you nervously glance toward the binder that is tucked away in a stack of shelves.

“How would you feel about bein my permanent designer?” he asks, and you nearly drop everything you're holding.

“What?”

“My permanent personal designer. These are all exactly what I’m lookin for.”

“Oh, I don’t know. What if you decided to go in a different aesthetic direction? Then I’d be no good to you,” you respond, banishing the thought of being so close to him every day. You can't take an opportunity like that without something going wrong. It's too good to be true.

“We could adapt, you and I,” he says, pulling down another design to examine it. You glance at him and shake your head.

“No…no I couldn’t.”

“Elvis, you’re needed for the ‘Here Comes Santa Claus’ rehearsal,” one of the stage managers shouts into the room.

Elvis sighs and groans, stacking up the designs and gently placing them on a table near you.

He grabs your arms and turn you to face him.

“Please think about it, wontcha? For me?” he asks, and you look into his eyes for the first time. He is truly gorgeous, and you feel totally overwhelmed.

“Alright. I’ll consider it.”

He smiles.

“Good. Cause I really, really want you around,” he says, and his eyes flick to your lips.

You can't bring yourself to say anything and before you regain consciousness, he's out the door. You sat down. What did he mean by that? You were sure it was just your fangirl heart exaggerating scenarios in your head, but what if he genuinely liked you? He said he wanted you around…no he really, really wanted you around. Whatever the outcome, you knew that this jumpsuit was about to be the most beautiful piece of fashion that ever existed.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

The next two weeks pass fairly uneventfully. Well, for you, at least. The Colonel has everyone going crazy trying to prepare for the Christmas special, and you are caught up in sewing sweaters and elf costumes all day. In your free time, which is rare, you're able to work on the leather jumpsuit. But most days, you find yourself huddled over the difficult fabric with a desk lamp, well after everyone else has left the building.

After the idea session, you'd seen Elvis every day. You collaborated, traded ideas, and made changes. Your passions combined and animated you both. He constantly complimented you and always left you with a smile.

But toward the end of the two weeks, he's started to disappear and you barely see him at all. Each day that goes by without seeing his face makes you more depressed and less sure that he's actually interested in you at all.

Nevertheless, you're pouring your heart and soul into the jumpsuit. All the love and admiration you feel for Elvis will be visible on this garment, whether you mean it or not.

One night you're working incredibly late, and your eyes are starting to stick together with sleep. You are, as you have been so many nights recently, hovering over the leather jacket, tediously hand-stitching a difficult and unique pattern that you had learned from your mother a long time ago. You could have used the sewing machine, but hand-stitched always looks better. And you know that no other garment in the world will have the same stitches that this one does. Your back ache and fingers are sore, but you keep sewing. You’ve made a deal with yourself to have at least the jacket finished tonight, and you are getting so close. It's some time past midnight, you’ve lost track, when a voice startles you.

“What the hell are you still doin here?”

You jump, accidentally stabbing your finger with the needle. When you jerk to face the door, your ankle hits something heavy and whatever it is falls to the ground with a bang. Your hand flies to your chest, and you release a breath when you see Elvis standing in the doorway.

“Ouch,” you mutter. “Mr. Presley, you scared me.”

You put the back of your hand up to your head.

“Woah, what happened?” he asks, coming closer to you. You stare at him, confused for a moment before he takes your hand and you realize what he's seen.

“Oh it’s nothing. I just stabbed myself by accident. It’s nothing that hasn’t happened before,” you reply. But when you try to pull your hand away from him, he won't let you. He grabs a piece of red cloth from the table nearby.

“Is this expensive?” he asks. You shake your head with a smile.

“No. It’s cheap cotton, about $1.50 per yard,” you respond, and he dabs it onto your finger. For whatever reason, your finger continues to bleed - not a lot but enough that the crap cotton isn't cutting it.

“Damn, this is cheap,” he says, and you chuckle. He throws the cotton onto the floor and raises your finger to his mouth. You grip onto the seat to keep yourself from falling out as he pops it into his mouth. You allow that much but when his tongue touches your finger, you pull it back and wipe it off on your clothes.

“Thanks, Mr. Presley,” you say and gulp.

“Please call me Elvis,” he says. “I think we’ve spent enough time together for that.”

“Well thank you, Elvis.”

Silence settles and as you're gathering yourself back together, he leans down to pick something up. It's a small square scrap of paper. As soon as he holds it up into the light, you know exactly what it is: you'd drawn a close-up of his face, but it isn't just any drawing. It's like a photograph. The colors, the shapes, everything is exactly where it's supposed to be and exactly the right size and shade. It's a drawing that only someone deeply in love — enough to notice the smallest of details — could have made. You think about ripping it back. But it's too late, he’s already seen it.

“Oh, that’s nothing,” you say nervously. “Sometimes to get to know my subjects better I do more in-depth drawings of what they look like. It helps me envision the outfits on them.”

He sits down across from you and nods slowly. His expression is a mixture of confusion and at least five other emotions that you can't place. You close your eyes, waiting for him to yell at you, fire you, or otherwise destroy your life. But you don't hear any harsh words. Or any words at all. Instead, you hear him pick up the binder and start to flip through it. You keep your eyes closed, not brave enough to confront the damage your clumsiness has done.

“You sure do have a lot of me…” he mumbles, and your eyes fly open. “And they’re all…”

You brace yourself.

“Incredible. Just amazing,” he whispers, and you release the breath you’ve been holding. “I’ve never seen anythin like it. I mean it’s a dead ringer for me.”

He holds up one of your drawings next to his face, and you laugh nervously. He puts the binder down and peers over at the jacket.

“And this,” he says, reaching for it. He pauses and looks to you, “Can I pick it up?”

“Yes, Elvis.”

He lifts it and holds it up to his chest, looking into the mirror. He doesn't finish his sentence and just shakes his head in disbelief.

“Do you wanna try it on?” you ask sheepishly. He whirls around.

“Can I?”

You laugh, nodding.

“I’ll get the pants. I’ve had to keep hiding them so nobody tattled on us, but I’ll carefully iron it before the actual show so it-”

You stop short when you turn around. He's shirtless already and is unzipping his pants.

“Will look brand new,” you quickly finish your sentence. You bring him the pants and then turn your back to cover your eyes.

“What are ya doin?” he asks.

“Well, you’re changing…”

“I’m not embarrassed. You can look,” he says, and you don't know what to do. If you had any self respect, you wouldn't have turned. But, the shameless side gets the best of you. When will you ever have this opportunity again?

You slowly turn and raise your eyes. He's mostly dressed; the pants are on, although unbuttoned, and he's pulling the leather jacket over his shoulders. He seems to be struggling, so you approach and help him pull the jacket all the way on. Your fingers accidentally brush his hairy chest, and you apologize.

“Don’t apologize, baby. I don’t mind,” he says, and you take a deep breath.

“Well, that’s probably good, because the pants definitely need some work,” you reply, trying to shrug off your butterflies.

He gets up onto the pedestal in the middle of the room and turns from side to side in the mirror.

“How does it feel?” you ask.

“Like home,” he responds. “Like me.”

“It looks damn good on you, Elvis,” you add. “I think it’ll be a real hit. But we’ll have to take the hem in a little here…”

You trail off and get lost in your thoughts. Before you know it, you're squeezing parts of his legs and feeling him up. When you realize what you're doing, you jump back and mutter an excuse me.

“Honey, you can keep doin that as long as you want,” he says with a smirk, and this time you can't contain your embarrassment.

“Oh believe me, it would be my pleasure,” you say in a joking tone.

You look up at him with a smile, which fades quickly when you see how he's looking at you. He's bent over, inches away from your face, staring directly at your lips. You clear your throat and tilt your head all the way up so that you're even closer to him. His finger finds its way to your chin, and he pulls you up for a kiss. You accept his lips timidly, and the kiss is only a short, sweet peck. When you part, he disappears from you. You open your eyes, and he's already putting his street clothes back on.

“It’s late,” he says, “I’ll drive ya home.”

Neither of you say anything to each other for the rest of the night. You pack up quietly and he drives you in silence to your house. When you get there, you mutter a quiet thanks and get out. He waves and then drives off, leaving you standing in the driveway.

When you go inside for bed, you throw yourself under the covers and try not to cry. You’ve screwed up. Something you did was wrong. You had an opportunity and you messed it up. You keep most of your tears at bay, although a few do fall before you fall asleep.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

The next week is even busier than the previous two. You get to work on the alterations for the jumpsuit and still keep up the Santa Claus act on the side. You don't spend any more late nights at the studio. Whether it's because you're embarrassed or afraid to confront him, you aren't sure. But you take the jumpsuit home with you and work on it in the garage.

The day before the show, you finish the last stitch. You really want Elvis to try it on again to make sure everything will fit perfectly, but you can't ever find him and everyone in the building always needs him for this or that. You give up after an hour of timid searching.

You stay around a little after hours to see if he’d be around, but when the lighting director tells you Elvis had left hours ago, you angrily throw your things together and head out.

How dare he, you think. How dare he treat me like this and then ignore me for a week. Well, he can’t avoid me tomorrow. He has to put the suit on, and I’m the only one who knows how to handle it.

You sleep horribly that night and wake up with a headache in the morning. Still, you wear your most attractive outfit and show up to work fifteen minutes early. You're ironing the pants when the King himself walks in.

“I’m here for my fittin,” he says dryly.

“Right this way, Mr. Presley,” you spit out the words without turning to look at him.

He steps on the pedestal and you finish the last bit of ironing. You bring the pants over first, even though they're still warm. You hand them over, and he shakes his hand.

“Ah, damn it’s hot,” he says.

“Oops,” you reply, feigning absentmindedness.

Once he has the pants on, you help him pull the jacket on and zip it up. You want to be forceful and angry with every movement, but this jumpsuit is your pride and joy. You aren't about to ruin that. You avoid his eyes the entire time. When you're finished dressing him, you turn away without a single word, but he catches your arm.

“Where do you get off not talkin to me?” he asks. “And callin me Mr. Presley. I thought we moved past that.”

You yank your wrist away.

“And I thought we’d moved past being children a long time ago,” you respond, still refusing to look at him.

“What in the hell is that supposed to mean?”

You stay silent, wanting to make him suffer for a minute. He stomps off the platform and grabs your arm again.

“What the hell does that mean?” he repeats, and you shake him off again.

“Ignoring me? After you stood here and flirted with me, and kissed me, and sucked on my goddamn finger? How dare you,” you hiss back.

“I haven’t been-! Ugh!” he sbouts and then take a deep breath. “I wasn’t ignoring you. I was leavin you alone cause I thought you weren't interested.”

“Not interested?!” you yell. “How the hell could you think I wasn’t interested? I draw you nonstop. I think about you all the time. I’ve devoted every goddamn waking moment of the last month that I possibly could to make your stupid jumpsuit. I’ve put real blood, sweat, and tears into this. And when you kissed me I was the happiest I’ve ever been! But you had to ruin it, didn’t you?!”

You whirl around to hide the fact that tears are falling down your face. A few moments of silence pass before you feel his hand gently pulling your shoulder. You try to resist, but he's too strong. You won't meet his eyes and are too proud to wipe your own tears. His calloused fingers gently swipe the falling drops from your cheekbones and you huff.

“I’ve been so stupid,” he says quietly. “You’re right…I can’t believe I didn’t see it. I didn’t mean to hurt you, Y/N. I just didn’t think you wanted me cause when we kissed you…well you gave me nothin.”

“I was too shocked to move,” you whisper. “I didn’t ever expect in my life that Elvis Presley would want to kiss me. Little old me.”

A moment of silence passes.

“Well, Elvis Presley would like to kiss you again now, if that’s aright?”

You turn to face him and see the sincerity in his eyes. You nod slowly. He gently guides your face and lips to his and gives you a tender, long kiss. You make sure to kiss him back this time, not wanting to make the same mistake twice. This time when you pull back, you both smile.

“Elvis, the show starts in a few minutes,” one of the stage managers interrupts. “The Colonel wants you to get out there now.”

“I gotta go. One more kiss for good luck?” he asks. You shake your head but kiss him anyway. You pull back faster than he's ready for.

“You can get the rest of it when you come back. Now go out there and make my leather suit your bitch,” you say. He laughs, kisses your cheek, and runs out to the stage.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

Reblogs, likes, comments + feedback are extremely appreciated! Please help support your content creators!

**If you notice any triggers or grammatical errors that I missed, please let me know! :)

#elvis #elvis 2022 #milasfics #milaselvisfics #milasthings #milaselviscontent #austin butler #elvis fics #elvis imagines

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emmie-tt · 5 months

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Series -------------

to be wrote...

Oneshots -------------

Revenge

AUs -------------

to be wrote...

#elvis presley fic #elvis presley imagine #elvis smut #elvis imagine #elvis presley #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis imagines #elvis presley imagines #elvis presley masterlist

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bcofl0ve · 2 years

Text

hi besties! new to the austin/elvis fandom but have been writing fic for other fandoms for years and would love to start doing it here too! feel free to send prompts, i can do pretty much anything (smut included 🫶🏼) but especially love writing hurt/comfort ish. happy to be here (-:

also: in my past tumblr life i ran a broadway snark/gossip blog. always down to talk austin related gossip, just pop me an anon!

#austin butler x reader #austin!elvis x reader #austin butler headcanons #austin butler #elvis x reader #elvis movie #elvis fanfic #austin butler fanfic #elvis #austin butler imagines #elvis imagines #bcol olivia media

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youaintnothinbuta · 4 months

Text

“What flavour do you want?” “You.” — austin butler x reader

Summary: At the end of a dinner date, Austin decides he’d rather have you for dessert.

Pairing: Austin Butler x fem!reader

Word count: 1200

Warnings: smut, 18+, oral (f receiving), explicit, mature language. also warning this might be a little bit shit, I wrote this last year and never posted it :,)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You and Austin sat across from each other, on your date, him observing you as you considered the dessert menu.

“What are you thinking, Aus? We could get ice cream, what flavour do you want? Vanilla? Chocolate?” You asked, not lifting your eyes from the menu.

Austin smiled, it stretched perhaps a little too far as he leaned in to you and mumbled, “You.”

You laughed at his joke, “C’mon, what do you want for dessert?”

“You.” He repeated himself, his hand reaching out under the table to gently tap the inside of your knee.

Oh. OH. He wasn’t joking.

Your heart fluttered a little, realising he’d been sat there, watching you quietly, thinking about all the things he could be doing right now, all the things he wanted to be doing.

“Do you want to go?” You asked, shifting in your chair.

“Very much so.” Austin stood up, going to pay the bill. Coming back to your table, he picked up your coat off the back of your chair and draped it over your shoulders as you stood up.

The pair of you walked out the restaurant graciously, but inside your tummy was on fire, tingling with excitement, knowing what was soon going to unravel between you and him. The whole drive home Austin kept his fingertips pressed into your thigh, gripping onto you for dear life. Austin was starving for you, ready to devour you the second he got a chance. He always gave you good head, he loved it, loved making sure you felt good, but when he got himself worked up the way he had, wanting to eat you the way he did, it was always an extra intense experience.

“Come on, baby, bedroom.” He placed a hand on your back, guiding you with him as he locked the door after bringing you inside. He didn’t have to tell you twice.

“Sit, Austin.” You pushed him gently towards the edge of the bed. He nodded and took a seat, watching you with hungry eyes. You dropped your coat on the floor and lifted one of your feet up on his knee, asking him to undo the buckle of your heels. He did just that, pushing your foot down and bringing your other one up to do the same.

You stood in front of him, each of his hands finding your thighs, running his fingers up and down the back of them, tickling you slightly.

“Let me at it, darlin’.” He cooed, pulling you closer to him. You smiled, bringing his hand under your dress, to the waistband of your underwear. He pushed them down around your hips and then to the floor, taking his middle finger and pressing into you slowly, before drawing a slit down towards your clit, making you shudder. He paused for a second, shutting his eyes to process how wet you were for him.

He brought his face to your body, gently kissing around your tummy. He placed his hands on your hips, guiding you to lay down. You did just that, he then got comfortable, laying between your legs. He continued his trail of kisses, up and down your inner thighs, all around your pussy, except for the place you needed him most.

“Austin.” You mumble his name, your way of asking him to move on with the teasing. He smiled, placing a final kiss directly on your clit, making you jump slightly.

“Mm, sensitive, baby?” He hummed.

You nodded.

“Good,” he kissed your core once again, “I always get the best orgasms from you like this.”

He wrapped his arms around each of your legs and pulled your body closer to him, resting his hands on your tummy. He collected your arousal on the tip of his tongue as he licked a long stripe up your slit, before letting your own fluid coat your clit, swirling around in slow circles, making your moaning begin. Your hands reached down, tangling your fingers in his blonde curls as you gently gripped and tugged on his hair. Your sudden desperation he takes as a cue that he’s dragged it out long enough, and he encompasses his lips around your clit, gently sucking on it. You let out the most strung-out, desperate moan, propping yourself up on your elbows to get a good look at what he was doing to you.

“I love the way you taste, darlin’.” He looked up at you, gave you a little grin and went back to sucking on your clit, making eye contact with you as often as he could. The visual of him, pleasing you like this, it’s almost enough to push you right over the edge, your arms started to shake with the weight of your body, making you drop back down onto the bed, continuing to whimper and whine as you watch Austin down the length of your body. He stopped sucking for a moment, bringing one of his hands off your stomach and using his thumb to lift the hood of your clit up, giving himself more surface area to suck on.

“Holy fuck, Austin.” You gasped, your pelvis smacking into his nose as your body jolted, your already sensitive clit on fire with the feeling he was giving you. Austin knew your body, knew the signs of your orgasm building. The specific whiny moans, the way you hips couldn’t hold still, the way you pressed up again him to get as much friction as you could, and the way your thighs started trembling.

“Oh, baby.” He mumbled against you.

“Austin, please, I’m so close.” You begged, your hands unable to choose whether they’d rather grip onto the bedsheets or his hair.

“I know, honey, come for me.” He encouraged you, his hands having to press harder and harder on your stomach to hold you still enough to keep his lips in contact with you.

You thrashed around, in his grip, your body unsure of what to do with all the pleasure he was giving you. With a loud cry, you felt that big release, your thighs clenched around his head, your orgasm pulled your hips upwards, lightly smacking Austin in the nose, making him smile as he continued to gently lick the rest of your orgasm out of you.

Once he was sure he’d gotten out of you all he could, he crawled up, laying his body over yours. The weight of his body on yours helped you calm down from your high, and he loved the feeling your body twitching underneath him, the feeling of your heart racing, right up against his.

“That’s my girl.” He kissed your lips, then your forehead, “such a good girl for me.”

Still wriggling around under him, you couldn’t manage anything but another moan, making him chuckle.

“That was good, huh, baby?” He smiled, looking down at you.

“Yeah.” You mumbled, your abs clenching against him with another twitch.

“Still coming for me? Oh, darling, that’s it, that’s the way.” He continued to talk you through your orgasm, holding gentle eye contact with you.

With a deep exhale, you finally felt your heart rate begin to return to normal and your muscles relax, “That was crazy, Austin.” You laughed.

He smiled, “told you I could get a good one.”

#austin butler elvis #austin butler x you #austin butler x y/n #austin butler x reader #austin butler smut #austin butler imagine #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler #yn #yn x austin butler #reader x austin butler #austin elvis imagine #austin!elvis x y/n #austin x reader #austinbutler #austin x yn

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amygdalae · 1 year

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theres this one customer that comes in pretty infrequently but is recognizable enough that we all just refer to him as “the Elvis Guy”. he always comes in looking for books about Elvis. and every time he’s around he expresses incredulity that we don’t have many books about Elvis in stock. “He’s still the King, you know”, he said recently. Fallout character behavior

#on sunday he was looking specifically for coffee table books about Elvis. i could not find any we were able to order #if you just imagine what his voice must sound like youll probably be right on target #hes always wearing a long black coat and looks very tired #i just picture him aimlessly wandering the mid-apocalyptic american wasteland searching for just a smackerel of Elvis

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jhoneybees · 5 months

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Imagine he has a massive crush on you and he watches you reach up for the cookie jar above the fridge, making sure to quickly look away when you turn back around to give him a chocolate chip biscuit🤭....or cookie😂

#elvis #elvis presley #50s elvis #60s elvis #elvis fans #elvis imagine #elvis presley x reader #elvis imagines

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wanderingelvis · 3 months

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how about elvis & ditzy/innocent reader doing something in public?

thank you!! i don't do a lot of smut so i hope y'all like this! 🧚

🧚 masterlist 🧚 word count: 1,758

pairing: 70s elvis x innocent!ditzy!reader

warnings: fingering (f receiving), praise k!nk, overstim, public smut, daddy dom dynamics

"This bit is my favourite." You whisper adorably to Elvis, trying to be as quiet as possible and contain your sweet excitement at the scene about to play.

It wasn't uncommon for Elvis to hire out the Memphian Theater for you two and the Mafia. In fact, it was the go-to activity for you all after a long day of Elvis performing, recording or rehearsing. It was however, a bit more unusual for Elvis to let you pick the movie.

The choice was Sleeping Beauty, your favourite movie and Elvis would often call you his 'lil' sleepin' beauty' as you did indeed remind him of Princess Aurora.

Elvis smirked down at you, sat upright by his side, your big round eyes fixed on the screen as you mindlessly parted those pretty pink lips and put popcorn in your mouth, over and over again, your attention not leaving the screen as Aurora met Prince Phillip in the woods for the first time.

Knowing how transfixed his sweet little thing was, Elvis effortlessly pulled you onto his lap, your attention never wavering from the screen as you let Elvis manhandle you like his own little dolly.

Slowly, Elvis started feeding you the popcorn, as you watched the movie like a good girl. Absent-mindedly, you'd wrap your lips around Elvis' thumb or his finger as he'd place it in your mouth so you could suck the sugary sweet residue off his digits.

Truth be told, Elvis hadn't followed along with the movie since the first scene, his attention solely on you. But oh, how he adored watching you be so entertained and sweet for him.

He knew the rest of the Mafia weren't over the moon with your choice of movie, it wasn't exactly the usual Western that they were used to, but Elvis didn't care, he only cared about the sweet thing on his lap. Besides, they were a few rows back, allowing the two of you to have your own space.

All of Elvis' affectionate touches and kisses went over your head initially, your mind elsewhere, enjoying the popcorn you were being fed by the big, old man who's lap you were settled on.

It wasn't until Elvis wrapped a strong arm around your tummy, holding you in place as he shuffled in his place, letting his legs part ever so, so that your legs were now completely apart, each leg dangling over each of his, leaving your core dangerously exposed under your sweet pink skirt, that you begin to feel that funny feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Gently, Elvis' coarse, large hands toyed with the hem of your skirt, his fingers lingering ever closer to your centre. Elvis kept his arm secured tightly around you, holding you in place so you couldn't squirm about as he began to trace circles into your plush thigh.

"Um..." You murmured softly, feeling that all too familiar funny feeling from Elvis' touch.

"Uh-uh doll, no talkin' durin' the movie pretty girl." Elvis reprimanded cooly, whispering in your ear from behind and making your shiver all over, causing you to try and squirm before realising that Elvis was holding you closely to him. "Eyes on the screen lil' one." Elvis instructed, quietly delighting in teasing you.

Elvis didn't wait though before he dragged his hands up your thighs, pushing up your pretty skirt and exposing your panties to the cold air of the theatre.

You blinked sweetly, trying to keep your attention on the movie that Elvis had paid a lot to have screened for you.

It was only when you felt Elvis' fingers toy at the damp fabric between your legs that you let out another stuttered gasp, your head lolling forward ever so, at the sudden sensation.

"Such a sensitive thing, hm?" Elvis whispered into your ear at your reaction at just a mere touch.

See, Elvis was right. It didn't take much for Elvis to stimulate you, he knew you inside out and he knew exactly how to work you into overdrive, and oh how we adored watching you get all antsy and disoriented.

And of course, Elvis knew what he was doing to you. He knew exactly what he wanted to happen during the movie as soon as he'd booked it. He knew that he'd wanted to pleasure you in the darkened room as soon as your eyes went wide with delight when Elvis told about the date night. Even as Elvis held your hand and led you to the seats in the theatre, Elvis knew those hands would be somewhere else entirely within a matter of minutes.

All you knew of course, was that you were excited for the movie that in your words was "just oh so pretty!". Elvis' decidedly darker intentions with you had gone right over your sweet head.

But there you both were, your lips parted and glossy as Elvis' fingers slipped under the damp fabric and began to massage your clit, pressing his thumb onto it and applying pressure as he rubbed you in circular motions.

Elvis watched with a smirk as he felt your chest rise and fall at a quicker and more erratic pace, he relished in the power he had over you.

You began to writhe in his hold before you felt his grip get tighter around your waist, his silent sign to hold still, a sign that you instantly obeyed. But there was nothing that could stop your head falling back on his shoulder as Elvis' fingers rubbed through your glistening folds, slick coating them.

Your breathing had now become erratic with breathy pants leaving your lips as the urge to mewl at the sensation grew and grew.

"Good girl, gotta keep quiet huh?" Elvis hushed, making you want to whine but you knew you couldn't draw any attention to the pair of you. "Now, pay attention to your movie baby." Elvis said, teasing you as he knew you were struggling with even keeping your eyes open, let alone concentrating on the movie on the screen but he just wanted to make you into a little mess.

And without warning, Elvis slipped a finger into your hole, your muscles tightening around it as you whimpered softly, tears pricking at your eyes from the searing pleasure and burn of it.

"That's it, taking it like such a good girl, ain'tchu?" Elvis soothed in your ear, knowing the torment he was putting you through by not letting you moan and whine like you normally would in Graceland.

You managed a feeble nod as your wet lashes fluttered, drinking in the pleasure as Elvis stretched your walls.

"Would you like another one?" Elvis asked cooly, a gloating smile taking over his face as you quickly nodded.

"Yes." You hissed, inadvertently rocking your hips ever so slightly, getting all desperate for Elvis' touch.

But Elvis wasn't one to give up control as he swatted your side at your movements, tsk-ing at you disapprovingly.

"Uh-uh Little, you just sit tight and keep them eyes on the screen and behave." Elvis reprimanded, as he stretched you further, putting in another finger, pumping them in and out of your pretty pussy, placing gentle kisses on your cheek and neck, overstimulating you more and more by the minute.

Your face was all flushed and pink, your hands balmy as you gripped onto Elvis' strong arm that was across your tummy with one of them and continued to hold the box of popcorn tightly with the other.

Elvis quickened his pace in you, watching with intensity as he watched a tear fall from your wet lashes. "Mmm baby, yer so sweet n' soaked, ain't ya?" Elvis teased lowly, watching you furrow your brow, trying so hard to be a good girl like you'd been told and keep in the moans you wanted to desperately to let out.

At this point, you're in total bliss, you're nothing more than a dripping mess in Elvis' arms, totally succumbed to his touch and desperate for more of it.

And this is exactly why Elvis is just so in love with you. You're his little dolly, to use exactly the way he wants, whenever he wants. It doesn't matter if the entire Memphis Mafia are 10 rows behind you, it doesn't matter if this is your favourite movie that you haven't seen for years, it doesn't matter that your panties are by your ankles in the middle of the Memphian, all that matters is that you belong to Elvis.

Truth be told, despite Elvis telling you multiple times not to make a peep, he didn't actually care if anyone heard the two of you, in fact, it turned him on to know that he had this sort of dominance and power over you that everyone would know that you're his, that you listen and follow every word that comes out of his mouth, that you love him just as much as he loves you.

You can feel that 'love' underneath you too, rock hard and huge, pressing into your ass, as he continues to pump his fingers into you and you bite your lip in a desperate bid not to cry out loud.

It didn't take long for Elvis to quicken his already fast pace on you, sending you into sensory overload, not being able to cope and hold it in any more.

"Let it out f'me." Elvis soothed sternly and it wouldn't be a lie to say your vision went all blurry and starry as your mind become clouded and you felt that familiar warmth spread through your body and your pussy leaking on Elvis' fingers and pant leg.

You couldn't help but let out a gasp as Elvis removed his fingers from you and Elvis didn't reprimand you this time, knowing that all you'd been was a good girl for him.

Elvis manouvered you ever so slightly so he could grab your damp panties that had fallen to your ankles and pocketed them before you had the chance to lazily grab them, he'd give them back to you when you both arrived back to Graceland.

Elvis watched you with that shit-eating grin on his face as you blinked hazily, looking adorably dumb-founded as you sat in his lap, cum dripping down your bare leg as you looked up at him with that gorgeous, innocent gaze that Elvis could simply die for.

"You're gon' miss the movie dolly." Elvis said softly, pointing his ring clad finger at the screen, as he rubbed soothing circles in your back, knowing you'd be begging to come back to the movie theatre in no time.

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presley4president · 11 months

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I’m in love

#elvis #elvis film #elvis presley #elvis songs #elvis fans #elvis imagines #elvisaaronpresley #50s elvis #60s elvis #elvis movie #elvis x reader #army elvis #elvis photos #elvis pictures #elvis music #elvis the king #70s elvis #gi blues

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starryschoolgirl · 6 months

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Good Husbandry

Summary -> While you view preparing for your honeymoon as finding all the hottest destinations in Honolulu for tourists, Elvis knows that he must help you, his soon-to-be virgin bride, understand all that comes with the honeymoon. What a good man he is, to give you a little hands-on lesson on what good husbandry is.

Warnings -> Lovely domestic things, innocence/purity kink, religious undertones, smut, just the tip trope, hinted breeding kink, swearing, Elvis gets a little rough, mention of RFK's assassination, the reader is overbearingly sheltered when it comes to topics like sex, cum eating, fantasies of "ruining" a girl's vagina, there's definitely some plot here I won't lie, loved writing this a little too much.

WC -> 7.3k

A/N -> This is an installation of the Baby Love AU. Find Masterlist Here!

The past few days had been a whirlwind of emotion for everyone. Elvis was doing press conferences for the NBC special he was about to start filming for, and while you usually go with him, with the recent assassination of Robert F. Kennedy, it was decided unanimously that it would be best if you were at home.

Elvis would have liked to keep you by his side, but given your family’s public connection to the Kennedys he knew that the press might behave in an uncalled for manner toward you.

It was also to be noted that he’d been very patient with you the entire week, after all you did know the man. He was a close family friend, a lot closer to your father, mother, and older brother than you. But there were still tears shed a few nights ago when it had occurred.

Most of that week you sat around the current California home, keeping the couch company like you were the prettiest of pillows as you spent most of your time on the telephone with your hysterical mother and being soothed by your childhood nanny who now watched your younger brother. You’d decided to write a letter to Ethel, she was no doubt being bombarded with phone calls from press and other family with the recent death of her husband.

It was a rough way to start the month, it was only 6 days into June when something as tragic as that had occurred.

You were certain things would change in regards to the guest list of your wedding just a little over a week away, for one you could understandably count on the possible absence of Ethel Kennedy and her children. Aside from her it wasn’t Elvis’ side you were worried about, because when Elvis says jump they all say “how high?”. It was your own side that worried you.

You knew it was selfish and stupid to be thinking of that at a time like this, those poor Kennedys have been through so much. But you couldn’t help the worrisome thoughts that lingered in your mind. Your parents already didn’t approve of Elvis all that much, with the influx of emotion that this event caused they might just cancel all together and then you’ll be left without anyone from your own family.

And that alone could cause an emotional storm to brew in Elvis. He always expressed his own disdain for your family, but you knew there was guilt deep down that he felt. And if he realized that he were the reason your wedding day went without family, he would be angry with you and himself. But that was only because he felt things very deeply, he was caring in that way.

So you made sure the past few days to get in as much reading as possible, so that even if your wedding doesn’t end up being the dream you hoped for, that your knowledge of your honeymoon destination would make up for it.

It had to be perfect. You had to be perfect.

"We better get up and get changed soon..."

You hummed absently at Elvis' words as your eyes continued to skim along the page.

"Wouldn't want the rest of the boys seein' ya in ya nightie"

You hummed once more at whatever he had said, much too focused on your book to pay much mind. Elvis noticed this and laughed softly as he asked,

"What are ya readin' Honey?"

You looked up from the book that you had been enthralled in for the past half-hour to see Elvis staring at you over one of his religious books, he had a crooked smile and a quirked eyebrow, his facial expression likely from the fact that you were actually reading a book.

You smiled cheekily and crawled closer to him on the bed, resting your cheek on his shoulder as you quickly card your floral bookmark in between the pages you were on before closing it and presenting it to Elvis, your fiancé.

"It's a book all about Hawaii, it has some of the best secret locations on all the islands, including Oahu"

You smiled up at him as his eyes scrolled to look over at you then at the book, a smirk playing on his lips as he did so. He set his book down on his lap to grab yours, one of his fingers tracing over the cover as he murmured honestly,

"Well Babylove, I don't think these locations are all too secret anymore considerin' the book is 7 years old"

You hummed softly at the statement. Truthfully you only picked the book off the shelf because one, it said Hawaii which is the place you and Elvis were planning to be your honeymoon destination, and secondly, it was pink.

Elvis shook his head fondly and brought a hand up to ruffle your hair, thankfully at the moment there were no rings on his fingers to pluck and pull at the strands of your hair. With that in mind you happily leaned into the touch like a cat getting its fix from its owner.

You roll your body closer, dragging one leg over Elvis' legs as if he were one of those long body pillows. You snuggled your face into his chest, feeling the silky fabric of his short ascot scarf. He'd recently begun wearing them often, you didn't mind it because you could tug him by his scarf whenever you wanted a kiss.

Your voice was soft and murmured into the fabric, "I wanna start our marriage off right, our honeymoon has to be perfect, and this book,”

You pull back for a moment to grab the book and open it to the first page. Elvis watches with an amused smile as your dainty little finger flies across the dust-colored pages to the sentence that you read aloud,

"These spots will guarantee a sweet time with that special someone"

Elvis’ voice is laced with harmless sarcasm (that you don’t quite catch) as he says,

“Oh well if the book says so, it has to be true”

You then excitedly close the book and show Elvis the back cover, where a quote from what must've been a review was laid out in bold, "Has the hottest places for America’s hottest honeymoon destination"

Elvis laughed softly. His arm wraps around your shoulder as his hand runs up and down your back, calluses grazing the delicate fabric of your satin nightie with a scratching sound before taking its rest on the curve of your ass. He explains, "Well little one, there's a bit more to honeymoons and marriage than that"

Your eyebrow quirks in the way you learned from watching Elvis' own eyebrow within the span of your relationship. It looked as if you were suspicious of Elvis, thinking he was trying to pull the wool over your eyes.

With a gentle hand Elvis removed the book from your hand and set it on the nightstand where he then set his own book on as well. You laughed softly as Elvis’ hands pulled you into your place, till you straddled his lap innocently for him to explain something,

“Well Babylove, a big part of marriage and honeymoonin’ is good husbandry.”

You go silent for a second, thinking to yourself as your fingers trace little shapes on Elvis’ chest absentmindedly. When you come to the conclusion that you’re clueless on the subject you ask,

“What’s husbandry?”

Elvis’ hands run along your sides, running up to your ribs, down to your hips, then repeating their cycle, it was in his own absentmindedness that he did it as he explained,

“Well, husbandry is kind of cultivatin’ and makin’ use of land, sorta like plantin’ a seed and takin’ care of it.”

“Like farmers do?”

“Very good girl, like farmers do. Now ya see, that comes into play within things like marriage and honeymoons. To be a farmer, the first thing ya gotta do is plant a seed, then ya get your farm goin’ and everythin’ is just dandy as long as you keep takin’ care of that seed.”

You nodded your head along to what he was saying, it made sense. But what did that have to do with your honeymoon?

“Just as that goes, to be a husband, you also gotta plant a seed. So ya see, in marriage, instead of a farmer plantin’ a seed, it’s the husband who plants the seed, and he plants it right in your petals”

You grimaced with embarrassment as you heard Elvis mention your “petals”. Such talk was still very new to you. Having been raised by the church most of your life, and having only attended catholic private schools, you’d been taught that such talk was deplorable and vulgar.

Elvis seemed to be trying to undo all their teaching as he was very free and open with topics such as that one.

He could see the way your face began to dust a precious pink along your cheeks as you stared down at your hands scrunching up his shirt’s fabric within them. He couldn’t help but adore his sweet girl and lift your chin to take in the entirety of your innocence, the privilege of being innocent and naive having been fed to you with a silver spoon since you were a baby with your family’s fortune.

Your education didn’t span too far, it was done under the assumption that you’d be protected from the roughness of the world, the riff-raff. And though Elvis was a fair match monetarily-wise to your parents and the people you were raised around,with enough money to keep you as far away from the world’s roughness as possible, he was still considered to be in that riff-raff crowd.

Oh, what a shame for your family and the rest of your upper-class culture to have a rare purity, like you whisked away from your family made up of good breeding and a pure bloodline by a man like Elvis who would screw it all up when he one day planted his seed into your womb, making your once purebred French bloodline his own as he mixed himself into the history of your DNA to make a child that you will carry for months.

A child you will love to no end while your ancestors roll over in their graves.

Just the thought of it all made Elvis giddy.

His smile is cheeky as he grabs one of your nervous hands to soothe you while also keeping a grip on your chin with his other hand, his voice is breathy from speaking through a laugh,

“Now don’t let me lose ya, still got some splainin’ to do”

You can’t help but continue to duck your head away into your shoulder to hide your embarrassment, till Elvis pulls you out of it with his sweet little nickname for you,

“C’mon now Bubbles, need ya to keep listenin’ f’me”

You look up to meet those dark blues of Elvis’ that pierce with a strange softness.

“To seal the marriage a man plants his seed in a woman, and from then on he has to take care of that woman, that’s good husbandry. That’s part of what happens on a honeymoon. Understand?”

You nod slowly, and mumble a soft, “I understand”, before laying yourself down on Elvis, making yourself comfortable as you lay your head against his chest, your arms wrapping around his torso, somehow squeezing their way between Elvis' frame and the mattress.

Marriage seemed scary. Ever since you had gotten engaged to Elvis you felt a different weight begin to fall on your shoulders. And though you were excited to marry Elvis, you couldn’t help but remember how your mother described marriage to be with your father.

As Elvis dragged his hands along your body tracing every poke of a bone through your skin he closed his eyes, showing his affection through the action, you thought back to how marriage was represented to you as a little girl.

There were nights when your father stayed late for work that you’d sit on the floor between your mother's legs as she sat on the sofa, by then she would be nursing her 4th glass of wine that night, and let her braid your hair before bed.

You’d whimper softly as her diamond-littered gaudy engagement ring, which was comparable to the one you now owned, would catch on some strands of your hair. But you wouldn’t voice any complaint as she was too busy voicing her own, complaining to an 8-year-old you about your father’s “wandering eye”, how he loves work more than he loves his family, and that he can’t even function without a pill, in what sense she meant “function” you’d never know, because you only saw your father as a personal superhero. The man who would bring gifts like Santa, the man who would read you to bed on the rare nights he could, the man who held the whole world in his hand every time he held you.

You didn’t recognize the man your mother would drunkenly describe. And soon after you wouldn’t recognize your own mother as she would break into tears and talk about how it’s her fault, and that she knows it all falls on her to make the marriage work, she just needs to try harder.

You’d caress her knee and try to soothe the adult, “It’s okay Mommy”, while mustering up the courage to promise her that, “It’ll be okay”

And then at the end of the night, she would turn you around and slur with as much affection as she could muster,

“Always tend to your husband Sweetie, don’t make a prude of yourself like me, don’t make a nagging wife, be pleasant and pliant and you’ll be a happy wife”

Of course you weren’t married yet, and that might’ve been what was causing you to be such a worrywart, because you were scared of the unknown. That’s why you’ve been trying your best to find ways to start the marriage off in the best way possible.

But you now had a whole other thing to worry about perfecting, husbandry.

It would all work out though, as long as you heed your mother’s words and be a pleasant, pliant wife, you’ll be just fine, and you’re confident that Elvis would never turn out to be the kind of husband that your mother described your father to be.

You mumbled into the fabric of Elvis’ shirt,

“How does a man plant his seed in a woman?”

Elvis’ hands came to a halt at your words. He thought he’d gone over this kind of thing with you before, then again there was never much need to. You never prodded for more than you were given, because you were simply unaware there was more you could get out of the pleasures of your body.

Elvis stared down at the top of your head as you kept your cheek resting on his chest, he realized how abstract your thoughts must’ve been compared to his within your relationship. He had spent countless nights holding himself back from making you his completely, there were so many times he easily could’ve done so. So many times you put yourself in the position to be vulnerable to the disgusting thought of a man who knew the pleasures you could give.

Had Elvis been a different man he would’ve done so by now, taken you shamelessly and left you crumpled on the floor next to your crumpled up clothes.

But he’d be reigned back by the thought that God wouldn’t make something like you, something so pure and holy, for sin. Had Elvis not been a god-fearing man he would’ve had his way with you.

All those nights he spent eating you out, listening to you finally break that voice box of yours in, the only thing he’d thought about was how much louder you would be when he could finally fuck you, meanwhile you thought that the sensation guided by Elvis’ tongue that momentarily blinded you was as good as it got, was as close as you’d get to God.

Oh Elvis could show you so much more, teach you so much more, touch you so much more. And as shameful as it is, he’d be a liar if he said that the fact that he wanted to be the one deflower you didn’t play a role in your engagement.

“I could show ya how it’s done Honey, would ya be alright with that? It’s a little different from anything we’ve ever done”

You sat up on his lap and nodded as you kept a hand to support yourself up on his stomach. He basked in the sight of you with a small smile, digging his hands through your hair like roots in the dirt, so deep and entangled it could be hard to tell where your hair began and his hands ended.

It wasn’t at all painful in the way your mother’s hands used to rest in your hair during her drunken stupor.

It was gentle as Elvis always was.

He used a gentle force to pull you close enough for him to press a kiss to your forehead for a moment and hold it there, you closed your eyes and let out a breath, any stiff stress in your body leaving at the touch of Elvis’ lips.

He pulled away, lips and hands.

“Lay down Baby”

Elvis patted your side of the bed and you quickly laid down as you usually would, and with a quick fwip of his hips Elvis’ knees rested just outside your thighs, his entire body hovering above yours as he reached over to your nightstand.

You heard the clink of glass, no doubt the two glass figurines you’d had since you were a child, your voice was soft but panicked as you felt a pang of protectiveness over your childhood trinkets.

“W-What are you doing?”

His response was immediate as he knew your sentimental feelings toward your figurines,

“It’s alright Honey, jus’ turnin’ Dottie and Lottie around”

“Oh.”

You let out a sigh of relief before having a blush spread like a wildfire in the summer across your cheeks. When Elvis had first touched you, you felt the need to turn your glass figurines Dolores and Charlotte, also known as Dottie and Lottie, around before he could continue any further. When he asked you why you could only mumble a quiet explanation about wanting to preserve their innocence. Elvis didn’t mind the strange gesture, he thought it was rather cute actually, it was something so girlish and sweet, something he’d never think of, it further instituted that you really were an endearing little girl.

And ever since then anytime Elvis touched you, he’d always turn your figurines toward the wall for you. And him doing it now meant that to plant his seed in you, he had to touch you.

You close your eyes as you relax into the mattress completely, and feel a shift in the bed then the cold air began to linger up your nightie, or rather Elvis made your nightie linger up your skin, giving way for him to view the cutely contrasting color of your pastel yellow panties to your pastel blue short satin nightie.

As the bed shifted a little more you allowed Elvis to part your legs so he could slide off the piece of fabric, his hands caressing the skin of your ankles a few seconds longer than the rest of your leg, and then he intricately removed your panties off your feet he laid them on the outside of your thigh, within arm's length.

You assumed what you’d be feeling next was what you always felt whenever he touched you, those calloused fingers of his walking their way up your thighs as he made himself comfortable right between the two limbs, his mouth and nose inches away from that bundle of nerves that he so lovingly explained was the bud of your little rose.

His fingers would then drift down to what he called the petals of your rose, separating them gently, exposing your hole to the cold air of the room making you shiver like the scared little girl you were as he did so. But he liked it, liked how visceral all your reactions were from your inexperience.

Only this time, you’d been wrong as you heard the familiar shink of his belt, and as if you were a trained dog and his belt were a clicker, your eyes shot open as you knew what that sound meant. It meant you got to do the touching, but, why were your panties off if you were doing the touching?

As you sat up you saw Elvis shucking his pants and boxers down, you watched with a blush as you saw his dick, it wasn’t yet completely hard, it more so at half-staff if anything, with that it maintained enough loose skin so that the usual image of his veins bulging profusely through the thin skin was not a sight you’d yet see, but you could change that.

As you sat up with your legs still spread enough so that Elvis once he was free of his pants was able to swiftly kneel between them. You leaned forward with an eager hand but Elvis had caught your wrist before you’d made it to your target, you batted your eyelashes up at him in confusion.

“Elvis?”

He had a crooked smile on his lips and asked, “Don’t ya remember what ya gotta do first? C’mon Hon we’ve been over this a dozen times”. You had to think for a moment but felt flushed with embarrassment at your own mistake.

Elvis’ eyebrow ticked upward as he caught your realization, then he slowly raised your hand up to your mouth for you to lick a stripe along it. When he didn’t immediately pull away you knew to keep lapping at the skin till Elvis saw it suitable.

His head tilted down a little as he made eye-contact with you through the cracks of your fingers, staring at you as you licked lines of wet along the lines of your palm, he was mumbling a praise or too like “There ya go”, and “Just like that”. You only shut your mouth as his free hand came up to cup your cheek and gently push you back from your hand.

With your newfound view of his cock it definitely looked less limp than before but Elvis had taught you how to get it standing, and you wanted to show him that you could. He’d been loosening the reins lately and had been giving you more independence to touch him in the way you knew he liked. But at the perfect moments he’d step in and be a helping hand, wrapping his much larger hand around yours as he showed you what kind of pace he liked when his dick twitched a specific way.

It was him helping you build this muscle memory that was slowly etching its way into your brain, on the walls of your skull, and in the nerves of your hand

With the softest of groans leaving Elvis’ mouth your eyes shot up from his cock that maintained the attention of your palm, wanting to see his face, see the preview of your own triumph as you continued to stroke with the pace his hand guided yours along.

His smile was gone as his mouth twisted slightly to let out the low noise, he licked his lips quickly and tightened his hold on your hand, in turn tightening your hold on his cock as he ran your palm up and down it, your voice was hesitant and soft as you questioned, “L-Like that Elvis? I do it like that…”

He hummed an affirmation and mumbled, “Keep at it”, before pulling his hand off yours, leaning back on the bed on his palms while watching you with lowered lids, had they been any lower they would’ve been closed.

You tried shuffling yourself closer by planting your heels into the mattress and scooting yourself closer, but it was hard to focus on both things. You didn’t want to louse up what a good job you were doing, but you felt you could do better if you were just a little closer.

Elvis must’ve read your inner turmoil as he leaned off his palms and cupped the back of your knees with each hand, pulling you closer at the top of your calves where they connected with your thighs. As you continued with your strokes you noticed how close you now were, your bare pussy had never been so close to Elvis’ cock.

With the realization a strange curiosity shot through you, a kind of curiosity that had filled your senses one of the first times you’d sat on Elvis’s lap. He kept you on one knee easily, and it had been the leg that he often bounced absentmindedly, and as he easily bounced you on his leg you felt a weird sensation, and that damned curiosity of yours got the best of you subtly shifted on his leg, and suddenly the jumbling of your legs on his knee had shifted to a jumbling on a small bundle of nerves between your legs.

No you wouldn’t let your curiosity get the best of you again, you wouldn’t.

As Elvis pulled his hands away from your legs he leaned back on one palm and the other he reached forward to rub that very bundle of nerves you’d just been thinking of about. Just the slightest bit of force made your body react with what could be described as a convulsion as you breathed out a noise of surprise.

Elvis’ almost dazed look on his face didn’t shift as he glided his calloused thumb down between your folds, scooping up whatever was beginning to wet them, then using it as a lubricant to give your clit a good rub down, his facial expression unwavering as he watched you twitch and struggle to focus on doing a good job.

His voice was low and almost sounded slurred as he mumbled,

“Now this is hard ain’t it Honey? Tryin’ to pleasure each other at the same time?”

Your face shrunk and your lip quivered as you tried to maintain that you wouldn’t break under the sensations of it all, wanting to do good.

Upon gaining no answer Elvis’ eyes glazed up to meet yours, they now shifted to sympathy as he reassured you gently with little circles of his thumb around your bud,

“It’s alright Baby, I know it. I know it’s hard, that’s why through marriage a man can plant his seed in a woman, makes it easier y’know? A man can help you while he helps himself, ya shouldn’t have t’be doin’ work Honey”

You don’t know when you started nodding along to his words, you hardly understood them, but the way his eyebrows arched, the way his lips curled, the way his voice drew out, he seemed like he knew everything in the world. He was so in his element that you wouldn’t question it if he told you a cat were a dog.

But you had to ask, through your soft pants and whimpers, “H-how?” How was it possible to both be pleasured at the same time? How was it possible for both of you to reach that special spot just between the earth and the heavens where all felt impossibly right?

Elvis’ lips grew to a smirk once more as he removed his thumb from your clit and his hand wrapped around yours to pull you away. As you looked down you saw that familiar sight, that thin skin stretched out to show that long vein that started at the side of his dick and traveled down the center.

His other hand ran up your calf, to your thigh just to rest on your stomach, still covered by the top of your satin nightie, and with a firm force and a, “Lie back f’me” you were laid down on the bed with your legs spread.

He spread them a little further, and you watched as best you could while still laying down, craning your neck painfully to see what he was doing as he made a ring out of his thumb and index finger.

Elvis’ eyes met with yours, making sure you were watching before lining the tip of his cock up with the little makeshift hole he made of his fingers for demonstration.

“When a man plants his seed, he fills you with himself. This right here,” He lifted the little ring he’d made of two fingers, “This is like that little hole between your petals, so what I’m gonna do is fill it just slightly,” he slid the ring over the tip of his cock, leaving you to watch with a mouth slightly agape as his movement stretches the foreskin.

It’s not like when you stroke him though, he stops much too short, and doesn’t even go near the base of his cock, he ends at the base of the tip only.

“Now, this much is just till the wedding Hon. We can only do just the tippy top Baby, can’t break ya in just yet, we gotta wait till we’re unified under God to make that kinda connection-”

“...cause it’s special”

Elvis looked up at you, surprised to hear your soft voice so suddenly, it seems the words left your mouth with a little thoughtful pout. God, let this man hold back today. Let him be graceful and kind to his babylove, Elvis thought to himself as he smiled softly and hummed,

“Yes it is sweet girl, it’s somethin’ special”

As a moment of sweet silence filled the air the two of you made eye contact, you smiled, feeling unsure of what was to come, he smiled back knowingly.

“Are ya ready Babylove?”

You bit your lower lip nervously and could only nod with trusting eyes. Elvis’ figure suddenly shut out most of the light from the ceiling as he supported his body above yours with one hand while he used his other to line up the tip of his cock.

You let out a shaky breath as he parted your fold with the tip of his cock before running it along your leaking slit. From the bottom up past the top till he hit that bundle of nerves that he could find with a blindfold. You squeaked softly at the bit of force he was using to circle your clit with his cock.

Elvis swore he’d do everything with you in mind, but as he watched the way your big eyes would crinkle to little bouts of eyelid folds and as he saw the way your lip quiver with every squeak and breath you let out, he couldn’t help himself but gauge your reaction to a little something.

Your breaths came out one by one in panic as you suddenly felt the tip of his cock begin to bat around your little bundle of nerves from the top, from side to side, even attacking from the bottom. Your eyes shot open from their little crinkles of stress and just before you could open your mouth his little batting around of your sensitive bud turned to slowed drawn out circles rubbing along the edge.

“That feels good huh Honey? It’s gonna get even better, just need ya to relax. Uh huh, that’s good, you’re doin’ good”

You relaxed into it, your jaw falling slack and your breaths coming out shallow. As you sank into that warmth that always accompanied Elvis’ gentle touch, Elvis pulled his neck back slightly to get a better look at your hole, with your folds parted he had a perfect view if he could look past his cock. He craned his neck a little to the left and found the target, wide open from your relaxed state, he licked his thumb to lubricate it and like a veteran, he navigated his cock down and at the forefront of it as his thumb took its place and pace in circling your clit, had you not been watching through lidded eyes you wouldn’t have even noticed.

“Here it come Baby, here it come”

Elvis couldn’t even look at you to gauge your reaction as his head fell back immediately as he was engulfed by your heat. Somewhere in the distance he heard a high-pitched noise but he was too high on the feeling- No, the knowledge that the first thing to fill you, to really fill you was his uncut cock’s head.

He breathed out to the ceiling, or rather to the Lord,

“Fuck…”

How could a feeling like this fill his mind, body, and soul from just the tip going in. Shit if he hadn’t already proposed to you he would do it now, just so he could one day feel the full effect of your body on his.

And then he finally peered down at you, and you were a sight to behold. He hadn’t been with a virgin in a long time, and the ones he had been with, you made them look like the most experienced girls in the world.

Your face was crumpled and your clenched fist was brought up to your mouth, you bit down so hard on your knuckles Elvis could see the skin losing its color around your little teeth. His hand slid down to your hip, running along the skin soothingly, as he hummed out, “Relax, it’s alright, just relax”

You nodded and pulled your fist from your mouth to show you were relaxing, but as your lower lip trembled Elvis could only softly remind, “Relax…”

And after a few moments of Elvis running his hands along your hips you spoke in an unsure whisper, “I-Is that it?”, Elvis sighed with a smile, “No Hon, don’t worry, but I can’t show ya the rest till ya relax, alright?” Elvis could feel you tightly around him, if he tried to pull the head of his cock back out he’d hurt you, he knew that.

"I-I am relaxed"

“No ya not Babylove”

You sighed softly, feeling a bit frustrated, this wasn’t what you thought it would be, it hurt. And it was obvious that you weren’t acting in the most pleasing way, so you lied through your teeth with a bit of an edge to your quiet words, “I’m relaxed.”

Elvis’ soft smile fell slightly at the tone of voice, and his eyebrows rose as he stared down at you, only now you avoided eye contact and opted to look at the wall. You tried to focus on the paint of the wall as best you can but it was thrown out the door as you felt a painful pull.

You whined at the feeling, and watched as Elvis pulled out, now you attempted to look him in the eye but he didn’t even spare you a glance as he muttered before lining himself up again, “Call that fuckin’ relaxed? If you’re so relaxed it should be easy goin’ back in”

Before you could voice an apology he’d already shoved the tip back in. It was much rougher than the first time he had put it in, it had you release a loud whimper and kick your feet, your heels pushing you away from his body, but his hips only chased further.

And those hands that were soothingly rubbing along your hips earlier now had them in a bruising grip to keep you from moving.

“Said ya relaxed, so fuckin’ act like it-”

Elvis let out a low groan as he stroked his cock while your little hole contracted from the stress of it all, it was like you were trying to swallow him, trying to suck him down into you. Almost like your body knew you needed his seed. And had he been a different man, or more accurately, had you been a different girl, he would’ve given it to you without shame. But you were different, you were special, you made this special.

He pulled out once more just to push back in, and then he repeated with no time in between, leaving you gasping at the rough push and pull of his cock head and whining at it, before blubbering out a series of apologies to him.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, ‘m not relaxed..! I-It hurts Elvis..!”

He’d ignored your apologies, but the way you said his name, like he could solve all your problems while also causing all of them, it was like you had this type of innocence. A pure innocence that no matter the pain he’d cause you, you’d still love him. Like if he kicked you, you’d come running right back.

Elvis stopped himself from pulling out once more and stared down at you, his grip released and one of his hands cupped your cheek and rested a thumb at the corner of your eye just before your temple, ready to catch a tear in case those teary eyes of yours spill over.

You stared up at him with a frown and pulled your hands to rest nervously on your stomach, feeling a sudden sense of awkwardness mixed with discomfort at the idea of Elvis being upset with you. But instead he seemed to sympathize with you,

“Now you see, ya gotta listen to me Babylove. I don’t expect much from ya, all I expect is honesty, now, be honest and let me know when you relax.”

You let out a shaky breath and soft noise as Elvis’ thumb landed back on your clit, beginning to rub those circles that make your hips twist a little from instinct. Elvis’ lips had been on yours in the blink of an eye, but his kiss was deep and slow, it wasn’t like when he’d kiss you so hard and so fast that your teeth knocked against his. Instead you felt his tongue explore each and every inch of your mouth carefully, could feel the way his tongue swiped along the small space between your lower gums and teeth.

His nose lightly grazed against the start of your cheek as he tilted his head to get a different angle.

And in what would be one of the only moments for you to catch your breath within the kiss, you managed to breath out, “‘M ready”

It was a different kind of tug due to the efforts of the both of you. You were relaxed and open and Elvis was only rocking back and forth into you, no complete pulling, you couldn’t handle that yet.

With each rock of his hips, you let out a little breath or squeak. For a moment you lost focus as you watched the way Elvis used the thumb on one hand to stroke your little bud while using his other hand to stroke himself, but you were pulled back into your moment with Elvis as he groaned lowly, followed by a groan that sounded a bit more throaty. He was close.

And knowing that it was because he was in you made you feel a sense of excitement, and sense of sexuality, realizing you could make a man feel this way by doing nothing but laying there like a pliant doll.

Be a pliant wife. Your mother was right.

Your hips dragged upward slightly, crashing into his hips that were rocking down into you, the collision of skin made you moan softly as your manicured nails reached for the sheets, one hand gripped them brutally while your other hand ended up in Elvis' hair, not gripping, only carding through the dark strands.

“E-Elvis, it’s- I’m…”

You couldn’t describe it, what was coming, but thankfully you didn’t have to as he mumbled into your lips,

“I know Baby, I know. It’s comin’ f’me to, comin’ fast Babylove- H-how’s it comin’ for you?”

As the upward grind of your hips turned to little upward thrusts that your feet could manage on the slippery sheets of the bed you could hardly choke out a word as his thumb had entertained that warmth just below your stomach for too long, it’d been teased and tugged along far too long from the rubbing of his thumb on your little bundle of nerves that at its peaking point, it snapped, leaving you to try and choke out the words,

“It- I- It’s-”

As your mouth remained agape but your voice fell silent, and those pitiful attempts at thrusts of yours fell back to wishful grinds of your hips. Elvis thanked the Lord, he’d been trying his best to hold on for you, to slow his rocking when he felt himself get a little too close, he’d been edging himself almost the entire time for you.

And now as he pulled out and continued to stroke his cock with one hand, the hand previously fondling your clit reached for the pair of panties he laid aside so long ago.

As you caught your breath you watched as Elvis’ hand stroked twice, thrice, four more times along his length before he buried his cock in your crumpled up panties, letting his head fall back and a guttural moan fill the room as he reached his peak.

After a few moments of silence accompanied by the pants of the both of you Elvis removed the metal ring holding his short ascot scarf together at the center of his neck, you heard a clink as he tossed it somewhere on the wood floor, then you watched as the fabric got closer to your face, closing your eyes at the contact you could feel Elvis wiping away the dampness building on your head and cheeks from the heat what you just experienced. As the feeling left you watched as he wiped his own face off before bringing the satin scarf down to your petals, wiping off the proof of your pleasure from your pussy’s lips then wiping off your thighs that happened to be the victims of the heated juices that spread through your body which were shoveled out from the earlier pulls of Elvis’ cock’s head.

After Elvis caught his breath and pulled the panties away from his cock to see his work, then he flipped it toward you, and you saw that familiar white liquid that Elvis told you was a reward for your hard work.

“When we get married and I fill you with my seed, this is what I’ll be fillin’ ya with, I promise…”

Your eyes were lidded and tired, but full of love as you took in the sight of your fiancé, his once perfectly coiffed hair now ruffled, you could see sweat stains forming on the blue silk shirt he didn’t bother to take off before starting, and those eyelashes of his must’ve been batting so much as he now had a stray on his cheek, he must’ve missed it with his scarf.

As Elvis prepped your reward, scraping it off the pastel fabric with a finger you parted your lips, and as he finger-fed you his seed you accepted the finger into your mouth, closing your lips around it as you sucked it clean. “Atta girl, did so well”

Your own little finger guided up his cheek to swipe the eyelash off his cheek, he watched with confusion at the way you smiled around his finger, then you flipped your finger around to show him.

As he crawled over your body to lay down beside you, removing his finger in the process you spoke with a bit of hoarseness, “Make a wish”

Elvis smiled fondly and put a hand over your thigh, “You can have this one Babylove”

You smiled before checking once more, “Are you sure?”

He wanted to laugh at how serious you were taking it all, and with a gentle rub of his hand he reassured, “I’m sure Honey, I’m sure”

You smiled down at the little eyelash resting on the middle of your index finger. And you wished for all that you could want, you wished for a happy marriage.

I had so much fun!! I really liked writing this, and I'm so happy I've had requests to write this character to the point I can turn it into a whole au!! hope you liked it.

If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this au feel free to just comment or message me!

@fadedsummerlove, @lialocklear, @astral-eyed-cat here it is lovelies

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