#elvis stories

[lovingdilfs]

Guys… he finally did it! He gave us the jungle room scene! Respectfully thank you Baz! Finally giving us what we need! And the way Austin is looking is… I-I’m speechless!

[prettyprissyblvd]

Though the quality isn't beautiful, if you look closely at Elvis' knuckles in this photo you can see they're a bit bruised. Such bruising was caused by him banging his fists on the car of a few girls after they got into a physical altercation with Priscilla outside of their California home. + an excerpt about it from Elvis & Me.

It's hard to imagine him in a fit of rage for me, but he had all the right reasons to be so angry in that situation.

[jackmustcry]

[joons]

This may be a prickly subject, and I'm sorry if so. But I'm trying to learn more about Elvis, and every time I bring him up to people I know, they try to tell me he was this terrible person, and point me toward Priscilla's book, the movie made on it, and the discourse. Idk if you've talked about it on here (I tried searching your blog but couldn't find anything on it). If you're willing, I'd love to hear your take on it so I can see a more nuanced view.

The film Priscilla was greenlit roughly a month after Priscilla herself was informed that she was close to becoming financially insolvent in 2022. With a business partner, Brigitte Kruse, who allegedly helped broker the film deal, she established a limited liability company called Priscilla Presley Partners that was supposed to use her image and likeness to create several lines of merchandise to coincide with the film's release. That business partner is now suing Priscilla because she did not have the rights to her image or likeness, or any ability to use the Presley name, because she had already sold all of those rights and was no longer considered in good standing with Graceland or Elvis Presley Enterprises. The entire business deal, then, according to the lawsuit, was built on her misrepresentation of how much her image was worth.

The deal between the two of them fell apart after Riley Keough, Lisa Marie's daughter and Priscilla's granddaughter, settled with Priscilla to give her a lump sum of $1 million from Lisa Marie's estate and yearly amounts of $100,000. Priscilla sued very shortly after Lisa Marie's death because she thought Lisa Marie's signature on a will had been forged because Priscilla was not included in it. All of the assets were supposed to go directly to Lisa Marie's son, Benjamin Keough, who died in 2020, and her three daughters, two of whom are still teenagers. Now, part of those assets have been claimed by Priscilla and her other son, Navarone, who has no connection to the Presley family and has stated he is glad Lisa died.

Four months before Lisa's death, Lisa wrote to Sofia Coppola and made it clear she had strong concerns about the Priscilla film and was suspicious of the intentions behind it:

"As his daughter, I don’t read this and see any of my father in this character. I don’t read this and see my mother’s perspective of my father. ... I will be forced to be in a position where I will have to openly say how I feel about the film and go against you, my mother and this film publicly."

Lisa was enormously grateful for efforts put into 2022's Elvis to find her father's soul and to restore his dignity in a world that often turns him and his family into a joke:

"You can feel and witness Baz’s pure love, care, and respect for my father throughout this beautiful film, and it is finally something that myself and my children and their children can be proud of forever."

It is such a strong and powerful statement, to see how much Lisa valued family, not just her father but her own children and their legacy, and how willing she was to speak up no matter what was going on in her personal life to say what was right. On this and many other things, Lisa and Priscilla's values have rarely been in alignment. A friend and EPE business associate, Joel Weinshanker, said of her, "Lisa couldn't be bought, she couldn't be pushed. If she felt that something wasn't in Elvis' best interest, it was never about money. And she really is the only Presley that you could say that about."

Priscilla, though, has adjusted her stories about her time with Elvis almost every time she discusses it. For a quick example, she said in her book, which was released in 1985, that Elvis insisted she do her hair and makeup a certain way, that he had control over her look and would get upset if she didn't dress how he wanted. But in an interview with Ladies' Home Journal in 1973, she said that she made a deliberate choice to attend makeup school so that she could learn how to style herself, and that it was her idea to wear big, black hair and big, black eyeliner. She said she was embarrassed for going overboard. She said, "I wish that Elvis had said something, but he must have liked it because he never commented." This lines up with recollections from Patti Parry, a platonic friend of Elvis' and a hairstylist, who said Priscilla always wanted Patti to do her hair in a "big boombah," but that Priscilla would then get upset when Elvis didn't notice or didn't like it.

These changes are impossible not to notice if you follow her for any length of time. At the film premiere, she said it felt just like watching her life and said she was consulted on everything, since she was an executive producer. After the film came out, she said she couldn't understand why Coppola had changed so much about the story and misrepresented events. In the '70s, she said she and Elvis lived almost totally separate lives, that she came and went as she pleased, and that she loved this freedom. Later, she said she felt completely stifled and trapped and never left the house, even though she had friends she went out with all the time. In 2019, she tweeted a forceful denial about a National Enquirer story: "This is the Enquirer folks... please don't believe everything you read. ... Never planned on being buried next to Elvis. What will they come up with next?" But part of her settlement demands in her lawsuit against Riley in 2023 asked "to be buried next to Elvis." This year, she said in two separate interviews that Lisa was with her when Elvis died and that Priscilla had to break the news to her, despite the fact that Lisa was at Graceland when it happened. She has said she gave Elvis the idea to wear belts on his jumpsuits, to have a lightning bolt as his logo, to sing "An American Trilogy," though none of that is true. She retells the story about forcing Elvis to burn all of his spiritual books to prove he loved her as an almost funny anecdote about debrainwashing him, while Elvis later said it was the worst thing he ever agreed to, a desperate attempt to make her happy by giving up the things he valued the most. (For the record, this is my opinion about their relationship on both sides: thinking they could change themselves and each other to make it work. It never did.)

Every secondhand Elvis account has to be treated lightly and only valued for its consistency with known facts and other witnesses. I try to give enormous benefit of the doubt to anyone in the Elvis world because they often only have partial knowledge of what Elvis may have been thinking at any given time, and there are numerous examples of people who were taken advantage of by unscrupulous journalists who changed the story they wanted to tell. But Priscilla's stories sometimes are not even consistent with her own statements, which makes them very poor options indeed to base anything on. However careful we are about noting potential biases and inaccuracies in other memoirs, we have to be triply, quadruply careful with anything in which Priscilla involves herself because she has a vested interest in generating discourse today in order to make money. Unfortunately, Priscilla has a habit of stifling other accounts or making sensationalized statements each time there is a possibility that she will lose some of the cachet that comes with being an Elvis Source—after Elvis' death, when she believed she was going to inherit his airplane and disinvited everyone that Vernon said could fly in it to his funeral; when she sued the parents of one of Elvis' ex-girlfriends after he died because he had allowed them to live rent-free in a house he bought for them; when she claimed that Elvis wanted to reunite with her before his death, despite the fact that he was engaged to someone else and told many people he couldn't see a reunion ever happening with her; before Vernon's death, when she convinced him to make her an executor of the Presley estate until Lisa came of age; after Lisa came of age, when she convinced Lisa to let her stay on as partner; when Lisa accused Priscilla of misspending Lisa's money, during which time anonymous sources cropped up to say Lisa was in debt and drug-addled; when Priscilla was removed from her position as an EPE spokesperson but kept collecting $900,000 a year from the company; when Lisa died, and Priscilla sued once she learned she wasn't in the will; when Priscilla was no longer associated with EPE and decided to do another adaptation of a book that she has since recanted parts of and has contradicted before and after its release.

When Priscilla thinks there is a threat to her image and position, she does new interviews and projects to muddy the waters and stir public interest, whether it is true or false, positive or negative, laudatory or defamatory. She gets corrected by Elvis' surviving family members, girlfriends, friends, and fans, but these stories do not get the same reach no matter how much they are backed by contemporaneous documents and witnesses, or how many resources there are to educate the public on how Elvis' and Priscilla's attitudes about marriage and relationships changed—along with the rest of society—between 1960 and 1970.

I think almost any single-source project is not going to advance our understanding of Elvis in any way because no one individual can speak for him, and we are kind of obligated to include all the context we can in order to appreciate his character, his successes and failures, flaws and virtues—and to treat both himself and those around him as fully three-dimensional people who have their own blind spots. Priscilla is far too aware of her own image, and far too willing to change it to suit the audience, to be particularly valuable here.

She is next scheduled to appear at the Lexington (Kentucky) Comic & Toy Con.

[arealtrashact]

Take me to the distant past, I want to go back.

[missmaywemeetagain]

Got a Lotta Lovin' to Do (A Scarf Universe Story) ❤️‍🔥

Okay, sooooo...this just came to me in a strange fit of inspiration this week. It's naughty but also a little sweet in concept. It may not be for everyone, so let's say it's currently canon adjacent for the Pink Scarf Universe...

This takes place a few months post A Pink Scarf Thanksgiving, in February of 1978. Yes, I know, we make it to '78 and there is something both heart wrenching but also wonderful in that, isn't there?

I wanted something that felt real but also a bit indulgent, and also wanted to bring our spitfire Sandy back into play. In fact, I made it from Sandy's perspective, which was a bit challenging considering the use of second person, but hopefully it makes sense!!

Premise is that Reader is in a fix, desperate to coax a very nervous Elvis back into her bed, and enlists her best friend Sandy to help in an unorthodox way. 

Anyway, I'm a bit nervous about this one 😬 and am just sort of testing the waters as a preview, so let me know if you like it and want me to continue it! (Also, the turnaround was fast, so please excuse the semi-rough edit/revision! 🙏🏼)

xoxoxox, Madi 💗

(listen, I know this pic is much earlier than '78, but the vibe is right and the hint of silver at his roots seems applicable and has me in a chokehold, so bear with me here...)

TW: sexy smutty stuff, heading towards a threesome (mff/fmf), mention of medical issues/trauma, sassy Sandy, silver fox Elvis!!🦊

Got a Lotta Lovin’ to Do

February 1978

“Darlin’, you sayin’ what I think you’re sayin’?” he asks you. Elvis’ eyebrow is halfway to his hairline and he sounds more incredulous than hopeful, but Sandy can see the twinkle in his eyes when they slide over to her. It’s more than a cursory glance, one filled with questions and a latent heat. She wrestles with the urge to fidget under his gaze, clenching and unclenching her fists instead of looking away from his scrutiny.

She’s certainly never been one to back down from a fight, not even with the enigma that is Elvis Presley.

Especially not with him, she thinks.

But Elvis has never looked at her like this before and even knowing him as long as she has, she isn’t unaffected. Despite everything he’s been through this past year, he still has the ability to level a woman with a look, she’ll give him that.

His eyes slide back over to you, and Sandy can breathe again. It’s gonna be a long night, she thinks, if a mere glance has her feeling so exposed.

You nod, biting your lip, and she knows how nervous you are, how desperate you are for this to work. She grabs your hand in solidarity and you squeeze it in return.

If it were anyone but you, she wouldn’t have agreed to this. It is much too messy, but extraordinary people and circumstances call for extraordinary measures, and being in Elvis’ world has always meant living in shades of gray.

Sandy knows she’s the only one you’ll trust with this. For as much shit as she gives Elvis, she loves and cares about you both deeply, more than she might voice in mixed company. And you know she understands why this is so important.

Now the two of you just need to convince Elvis of it, too. Though by the increasing level of tension in the room and the way he adjusts himself in his seat, Sandy doesn’t think it’ll take much persuading.

He cuts quite the figure, sitting there in the plush, golden, velvet chair with his bejeweled fingers tapping a slow and steady rhythm out on the arms. After what happened last summer, he’d finally let his hair grow out to its natural color, the salt-and-pepper combined with glinting silvery streaks. It’s incredibly striking, giving him an even more handsome and regal air than before, if that’s possible. With his new post-recovery regime, he is looking good and, according to you, feeling healthier than he had in years. The result is attractive, to say the least.

But while that side of things improved, the sexual piece apparently has not.

Sandy and you perch on the edge of the bed, sitting so close you are pressed against each other, facing him, waiting for his verdict. Elvis takes in the two of you closely before sliding his eyes back over to her.

“And you, Sandra? You agreed to this?” His voice is laden with curiosity and surprise. She doesn’t blame him.

“Yes, with conditions,” she says, willing her voice to stay steady and calm when she’s feeling anything but.

He chuckles darkly. “Of course. I’d expect nothin’ less from you, honey.”

The endearment, one he’s used with her a million times over the years, now comes out laden and warm, sliding through her veins like liquid heat. She’s not sure how she feels about it, to be honest, but it’s a little late to turn back now.

Sandy looks at you for permission to continue. You nod.

“Okay, first, this is a one-time deal,” she begins, forcing herself to look him straight in those endlessly blue eyes.

His lips curve up with the beginning of a smirk and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know what he’s thinking. She thinks it’s funny how he’s posturing, considering the whole reason she is here is to help bolster his confidence, but she supposes over twenty years of adoration from females makes his response a habit.

Honestly, it’s the stipulation she’s the least worried about, it being there more for your sake than hers, and it gives you all an out if this goes south. But boundaries are good for Elvis. So she quirks a brow back at him until he nods.

“Second, no one hears about this. It’s a nonstarter. No bragging to the guys, ever. No one outside this room can ever know…especially not Jerry.”

This is the one she is most worried about. While her marriage to Jerry ended over half a decade ago, on relatively decent terms considering the circumstances, she knows this would cut Jer to the core, and that is not why she’s here. Jerry isn’t in Elvis’ employ anymore, but they are still good friends, brothers even, and she doesn’t want to ruin their relationship.

A cloud of seriousness falls over Elvis’ face, banishing his earlier mirth, and that lets her know they are on the same page with this one, despite his terrible track record of secret keeping. “Done,” he says with finality.

“Good. Third, I reserve the right to bow out at any time,” she adds.

“Honey, I’d never force you to do somethin’ you din’t want to do. Ain’t never been like that and ain’t startin’ now,” he says with surprising gentleness.

She nods, expecting as much. Taking a deep breath, she pauses before the last request, mainly because she can’t believe she’s actually saying it out loud. Might as well just get it done.

“Finally, your dick stays out of my pussy.”

He chuckles at your frankness while you choke, coughing wildly—she hadn’t warned you about this one. It’s more the principle of the thing, really. She is along for the ride, sure, but in the end, she’s mostly here for your wellbeing. And by the way he looks at Sandy with something akin to respect and nods as she rubs his wife’s back, she knows he understands.

You eventually recover from Sandy’s bluntness, turning your attention back to your husband with a hopeful look in your eyes. “So, is this…I mean…do you want to do this, baby?”

For the first time, you see his trepidation, his overwhelm of the situation only barely covered by his mask of humor. This is what you’d been talking about, this reluctance and lack of self-assurance. When you’d come to her about the fact that Elvis hadn’t been intimate with you since the medical crisis that nearly killed him, it made perfect sense. Not only had he gone through something terrifying, but his surgeries also changed his body in ways that must have been uncomfortable. Coupled with extensive recovery and weaning off old medications and starting new ones, it was a recipe for disaster in the bedroom.

Sandy knew you had to be desperate for you to ask her for this kind of help. You knew it wasn’t because Elvis found you unattractive or didn’t love you anymore—he was afraid he couldn’t perform, afraid he couldn’t satisfy you, and you were afraid you’d hurt him somehow. It was obvious your sex life had been amazing in the past, though according to you, it had dwindled the sicker and more in denial about things he’d gotten. But for you to invite her into the bedroom to put the spark back in their marriage wasn’t something Sandy had expected.

Apparently, Elvis loved some girl-on-girl threesome action and had indulged in such things back before you and he had finally gotten together. You were never entirely comfortable with the idea when Elvis brought it up in the past—the idea of sharing him didn’t sit well and knowing Elvis, he’d make some poor woman fall in love with him or someone would talk and you’d be in a fix, so the idea had been nixed before it could take root.

But now you were frantic and willing to try almost anything, which apparently included asking your best friend to fool around with you and your husband.

It’s a matter of trust, you’d said, twiddling your fingers uncomfortably in Sandy’s kitchen, tears pooled in your eyes. You knew she’d never talk, knew she’d never betray you, and most importantly, knew she could separate sex from emotion and would never fall in love with your husband.

It was all true. How could she say no to you when you needed her help so badly? So, here she was, apprehensive but intrigued, waiting for Elvis to decide all of your fates.

“You can just watch, baby, if you want to, or whatever, it’s fine,” you encourage him when he seems frozen and unable to respond. Sandy can see you both floundering in indecision and fear and can’t stand it anymore. She’s never been one for patience or inaction, after all, so without further ado, she silences your pleas for your husband’s attention with her lips.

“Oh!” you exclaim in quiet surprise against her mouth, your hands flailing a bit in resistance.

Talking about something like this and doing it are two different things, Sandy knows, but she persists, kissing you gently, hands cupping your cheeks, until you relax enough to kiss her back. She can’t help but feel a little gratification when you sigh softly and yield to her, your hands flitting to the curve of her hips.

It would be stupid to say she didn’t find both you and Elvis attractive, but never in her wildest dreams had it been in the cards to have either of you, so she’d never dwelled much on it. But now, feeling the weight of his gaze as she laps her tongue between your lips, testing your willingness to do this, her body lights on fire.

She pushes through the foreign feeling of being watched so intimately, knowing this is just as much about putting on a good show than anything else, but she didn’t expect it to be quite so tantalizing. Something about being the one to take charge sends a thrill down her spine. Dragging her lips down your neck to your collarbone, she knows she’s not imagining the rapid fluttering of your pulse under her lips or the way you lean back to give her more access.

You’ve never been with a woman, but she knows it’s been a long time since you’ve had attention of this sort from your man, either so when Sandy trails her fingers down over your breast, she feels the jolt go through you. Her moves are deliberate but slow, allowing you to acclimate, allowing Elvis to take in every movement.

She can’t help the warmth pooling in her belly when she palms the heaviness of your breast, pinching your clothed nipple and you gasp, arching into her with genuine willingness.

“Lord have mercy,” Elvis huffs quietly, and you both know you have him.

It’s much too easy, then, to unbutton your blouse, exposing the white lace bra underneath before pulling hers up over her head to reveal her own. You’d been clear about the white—apparently he gets all kinds of excited about little white underthings—and far be it for her to ignore such a titillating detail.

Sandy takes it upon herself to continue the play, pressing her lips to the soft skin of your décolletage, following the soft rise of your breasts before nuzzling and nipping at the dusky areola peek-a-booing through the lace. Mewling and pawing at her head, you are strung so tight Sandy thinks you’re not acting in the least.

It’s a little strange, this softness of your curves against her own, but pleasant. Moreover is the deep satisfaction in her belly at drawing little whimpers out of you as she kisses and reveals more of your skin. Even more surprising is the gratification of bringing something out of both you and your husband that has been out of reach for much too long.

Your fingers cart through her hair, manicured nails tickling her scalp in a way that makes her vibrate. She arches at the contact and looks up at you with a coy smile, sliding a hand up your smooth leg and under the hem of your skirt.

Elvis clears his throat, interrupting them. “Be good lil’ girls f’me and s-strip down to your panties,” he says in a gravelly voice Sandy has never been privy to hearing. A shiver runs down her spine, melting and churning with all the new feelings the evening is bringing. His tone is halfway between a need and a command and neither of you need to be asked twice.

Her inhibitions fall to the floor in a heap along with pants and skirts and bras. Never once in her life did she expect to feel Elvis’ heavy, heated gaze turned on her nearly naked form but now that it’s happening, she can’t help but squirm a little. She has nothing to prove and is usually confident in her skin, but she’s certainly not a young woman anymore, her body soft and curvy with the changes age brings. Her only consolation is at least the three of you are in relatively the same boat in that regard.

Sneaking a glance at Elvis, she is bit relieved to find his examination admiring rather than turned off. Though, considering he has two naked women ready to do his bidding, it seems the natural response.

“Don’t be shy, Satnin. I’m sure Sandra won’t bite toohard if you touch her,” he muses, those bedroom eyes of his flickering with lust. You giggle nervously and then look to Sandy for permission, which she gives with a nod and a reassuring smile.

Your caress is timid at first, then more exploratory of her body than she expects. Maybe it’s the resounding hum of encouragement from your husband giving you more confidence or just pure sexual energy and curiosity, but whatever it is has Sandy feeling delightful. A tweak of a nipple here. A soft tongue there. Hands and mouths finding a rhythm of pleasure.

Sandy palms your bottom, running her fingertips down along the seam of your white underwear, when Elvis cuts in, his voice thick with desire:

“Play with her an’ make her feel good, Sandra.”

Tingles erupt over her skin. She follows orders, sliding her hand down into your panties and through your soft curls until she reaches your hooded clit. She rubs gently, like she would do to herself, and you gasp in her mouth, body bowing to get more friction.

After a few moments, the unmistakable sound of a zipper clicks through the air. Her body suddenly burns with the scandalous nature of it all, and her excitement surprises her.

“Is she wet?” he asks Sandy.

Sliding her fingers down, she can feel the slick of your arousal on her fingertips.

“Yes,” she says unabashedly.

A pause.

“Are you?” His voice is low and dripping with honey.

A pulse of heat starts throbbing in her core, and for the first time tonight, she stumbles over her words, suddenly breathless. “I…I think so?”

“Honey, see if you’re makin’ Sandra excited,” he commands you, then with humor adds, “She apparently doesn’t know.”

Sandy throws a glare Elvis’ way but then your fingers are cold against the blazing heat of her muff, a sensation which makes her jump as you glide your fingers over sensitive, slick skin.

“She’s soaked,” you relay demurely, and all at once Sandy feels like the tables have turned in this little tableau.

“Show me. Both of you.”

His demand makes her stomach drop, like she’s on a roller coaster.

She feels disappointed when you pull your hand away, and the sentiment feels mutual. Both of you display your shining fingers in the dim light.

Elvis crooks his finger and beckons you both closer.

There’s no helping the curious way her eyes drift down and land on his dusky pink cock, the head peeking out from his foreskin, dripping and standing at full attention now he’s been released from the confines of his black pants. Sandy’s mouth goes dry when she realizes just how much nature has blessed him in ways other than his talent.

Is it wrong that she wants to touch it, to feel the heavy heat of him in her palm? To make him shudder underneath her touch? Perhaps so. The itch to torture him with her body just a little for every cunning remark and every dumbass selfish move he’s made in the last 15 years is strong and it makes her tingle just to think of.

He must read the look on her face because his eyes go a bit wide with something unreadable before narrowing with laser focus.

Her heart starts thudding against her ribcage, all the blood rushing out of her head when he wraps his large hand around her wrist, dwarfing it, and pulls her between his spread muscular thighs. Then he draws those glistening fingers of hers right into his mouth.

She gasps. Every nerve in her body is set alight with fireworks as he sucks her fingers clean of his wife’s arousal, his tongue warm and soft and oh-so thorough.

It’s her whimpering now as he pins her with his flaming eyes. Her breath catches. His mouth pops off her digits.

“Mmm…sweet as a sundae. You’ll see, Sandra Dee.” A slow, sly grin spreads across his handsome face as he releases her wrist.

Being on the other end of that devastating smile, especially in a situation like this, has her trembling. It pisses her off a little, actually, that he’s having this effect, and by the glint in his eye, he knows it.

Like he’s saying, Game on.

Then, he looks to you, pulling you close. His mischievousness softens slightly. Sandy is glad to see under the red flush of pleasure on your cheeks there is also a look of relief on your face, as if you are thinking, “Oh, thank heavens, it’s working.”

Sandy steps back, happy to give the couple space, but Elvis’ hand shoots out, latching onto her arm.

“Nuh uh, now where d’ya think you’re goin’?” It’s husky and playful but also fraught with an undercurrent of tension, as though he’s not quite ready and maybe a little nervous about being alone with his wife. He keeps his hand on her arm but turns his attention to you.

“Haven’t sampled another pussy in a loooong time, lil’ mama,” he drawls up at you, “Ya sure you wanna give daddy a taste?” His brow quirks, asking for permission, making sure you’re still comfortable with this arrangement you’ve surprised him with. The words are confident, but Sandy can hear the gravity behind them.

You nod encouragingly. “Yes.”

“Mm’kay then,” and then he sucks your fingers right into his mouth.

Sandy can’t help but blush wildly as she watches him savor her off his wife’s hand. And it’s positively obscene the way he opens his eyes and stares into hers brazenly as he does it.

Never has she felt quite so exposed. Arousal swirls in her core, betraying all her sensibilities.

Elvis runs his tongue under his upper lip after he’s done, where he lets it peek out at the corner of his mouth with a smirk. “Now ain’t that jus’ the cherry on top,” he purrs, eyes sparkling.

Sandy hates how she goes a bit weak in the knees at that. God, this man infuriates her, always has in that loving way of his, but this is a whole different level of understanding and intimacy she’s not accustomed to with him.

But whether she likes it or not, her body is absolutely buzzing with anticipation for the both of you, as evidenced by the way she clenches her thighs and the way her panties get just a little bit more ruined.

The motion doesn’t go unnoticed by Elvis, and his gaze darkens.

Oh, it’s gonna be a long night, alright.

A long night, indeed.

*

As always, I love and live for your reactions, comments, asks, and reblogs, so thank you in advance for both reading and giving another one of my stories a chance! 

Taglist Pt 1

@eliseinmemphis@russian-soft-bitch@tattywood

@sassanoe@thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle@carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23

 @littlebitofgreen@paigevis@bugg06@xhannahbananax03@artlover8992

@18lkpeters@frozenhuntress67@girlblogger2002@kendralavon7@misspresley

@be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis @from-memphis-with-love

 @precious-lil-scoundrel @stylespresleyhearted @prompted-wordsmith @crash-and-cure @elvisgf @lookingforrainbows @fic-over-cannon @godlypresley @ab4eva @whatstruthgottodowithit @elvisabutler @amydarcimarie@idontwanttoputanything @callieselvisobsessed @captainamerica1235-blog  @xenaspace3-blog 

@simplyamberj@claire-elvisgirl@everythingelvispresley@louisejoy86@deniseinmn @madelynpresley

[hooked-on-elvis]

[STORY TIME] 🤢🍹 DRUNK ELVIS (1968)

Story told by Charlie Hodge.

Next to him are Joe Esposito and Larry Geller. All men, Memphis Mafia. You can hear the story on the video above, if you prefer, or you can scroll down and read it (Charlie is the way to go, press the play button). But before the story, just wanted to say: Charlie was so funny! The "huey" joke! LOL! I adore him. ♥ Rest in peace, sweet Charlie, also Joe. God bless your souls.

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[STORY TIME] 🍹

Well, as we know, Elvis was not a drinker. Hardly he'd get interested a few drinks, but that's the thing: when a person like that drinks and gets carried away, he goes all the way, not knowing his own safe limits; in reality it doesn't take that much alcohol to make 'em tipsy. As any person who didn't drink often, Elvis' tolerance for alcohol was very low - taking from the stories told over the years. Sometimes disasters happen when one not used to drink have too much drinking, other times just funny things take place. Charlie is talking about one of those moments for Elvis, a funny one.

According to Hodge, he and the guys (Memphis Mafia) were with Elvis in Palm Springs, on set while he was filming a movie during the 60's. Charlie recalls it as being 'Live A Little, Love a Little' — for which filming began on March 13th, with principal photography ending in May 1st, 1968, so that story happened in early 1968.

Elvis and Michele Carey on scene from 'Live A Little, Love A Little" (1968)

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Charlie says Elvis was filming one of the scenes he's in the sea, when he complained the water was too cold. He then asked his guys if they happen to have anything to drink, so could use the liquor to help keeping his body warm while he was filming that sea scene. They didn't have any, so they sent Charlie to buy some. Charlie bought a peach brandy and rum, so he came back with it and Elvis drank it... but it turns out he liked the peach liquor, a little too much.

Normally people who don't drink they go ease with sweet tasting liquor and they don't stop drinking, simply because don't feel getting drunk... until they are hammered. This happened to poor Elvis a few times.

When he finished the one peach brandy drink he had, on their way home after shooting day was over, Charlie mentions how Elvis was already slurred speech/swaying drunk but he said he liked the drink and wanted to go buy some more. The guys stopped by a liquor store. There, silly Elvis enters the store and absentminded goes walking around, calmly checking the options as if nothing was happening around, while "poor Joe", as Charlie says, was desperate to get him back in the car, in fear some mob took place if people found out Elvis was there.

Well, they got home safely after all, and El had all the drinks he wanted until everybody heads to their own bedrooms. Charlie says Elvis was wearing his blue nylon jammies and, he jokes about it, saying all the guys too were wearing blue nylon jammies that night, actually; in his words, "because we figured, if Elvis looks good in blue nylon jammies, we do too!" 😆

Scene from 'Live a Little, Love a Little' (1968)

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Shortly after, Joe Esposito hears a knock on his bedroom door. He opens the door and sees Elvis standing two-hands leaned against Joe's bedroom door frames, ill looking (clearly sick from the drinking).

El looked at Joe and said,

"Joe, I'm dying."

Esposito tried to calm him down, telling him he was alright and he should go back to his bedroom and just lay down and sleep, but Elvis ignored.

"Call daddy" (Vernon)", he said to Joe.

"Tell him to sell Graceland. He doesn't need that big old place... and sell all the cars, he don't need them too."

Joe continued trying to calm Elvis down, ignoring the nonsense the man was saying, but El (as any good wasted person who thinks he's in perfect clear estate of mind), insisted,

"I'm not kidding, I'm dying!"

Finally Joe got to send Elvis went back to his own bedroom, but soon EP was back repeating the same things. "I'm dying." According to Charlie, this went on for about three times. On the third time, as soon as Elvis said, "I'm dying" again, he threw up right in front of Joe. 🤢

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Can you picture drunk Elvis? (LOL) Those little anecdotes of Elvis Presley's life are just so fun to hear about! That bring him closer to us, making that god-like looking man feel like any friend of ours, or even ourselves. I love hearing those "hammered Elvis" stories, don't you?

Elvis in scene from "Wild In The Country" (1961)

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What kind of drunk person you think our sweet El was?

I think he would get extra affectionate, mellow and even needy, which makes me crave to be right there with him. ♥

[melancholicbutterflies]

a Papa Bear story

♡ PART III ♡

Summary: Your best friend invites you over for your first sleepover!

Tags/Warnings: protective!elvis, mentions of corporal punishment

Word Count: 2,858

YOU WERE SO excited. Finally, you'd been old enough to be allowed to take part in your very first sleepover! Your good friend Macy had invited you and, after a brief talk with your momma, plans were underway. After school on Friday, Macy's momma would pick you two up and you'd go to the mall for a bit to shop and walk around and have dinner, and then you'd go to their house to hang out. Macy said they had a whole slew of movies and it was really up to them; in their household things were laxer, and you couldn't wait. You loved your momma and step daddy but gosh, Elvis could be really strict and there didn't always seem to be a rhyme or reason why, at least in your young, early adolescent mind. Since the next day was Saturday, Macy's momma would drop you off sometime in the afternoon, so you could sleep in and just have a ball.

The only thing that concerned you some was your momma hadn't mentioned anything about Elvis knowing about your plans. He wasn't home, on a tour somewhere out west and had been for a few weeks now, and so he wouldn't have known right away anyhow, but usually he liked to be updated and would call frequently, insisting to speak to you. Ever since your conversations, and when you'd become a woman as he called it (you still didn't quite feel that way), he seemed to keep an even keener eye on you. It was not unusual for him to inquire about your who with and how you were spending your time, but not in any sort of way that made you think it was purely out of curiosity. There was always this undercurrent of if you said the wrong thing he'd be angry with you, and even in the few years you'd known him you just couldn't take him being upset with you for any reason.

Macy appeared to have a very different relationship with her daddy. He was often around because he worked a nine to five job, but she talked to him in a way that would have earned you a spanking for being 'disrespectful'. In fact, there seemed to be very few rules in her household, something that made you in awe of and somewhat frustrated. After all, why couldn't you get to do what you wanted whenever you wanted and how you'd like it?

Macy's momma waved to you from her minivan, smiling. She was leant up against it, smoking, as she waited for you two to finish up and walk over. "Great to see you, Y/N!" She brought you in for a hug, already feeling very familiar. Her affection was a nice change of pace from your momma who you loved but wasn't oft to show it so demonstrably as your daddy. She gave Macy the same treatment with an added zealous kiss on the crown of her head. "Feel like getting some ice cream on the way?" She asked, going around to the driver's side. "I know we probably shouldn't spoil our dinners, but, what the heck, I say?!"

"Yay!" Macy cried, and your eyes widened as you looked at her in excitement. "Could we really?" You asked.

"Sure, why not? It's Friday, and you girls are always working so hard in school. You deserve a treat!"

It was hot as Hades, and so the line was unexpectedly short. Not long after you were on your way to the mall with three single scoop ice cream cones in hand, and the windows down letting in some much needed breezy air. "Any shops you girls want to look at in particular?"

"Oh, well, there's this jewelry store I wanna look at. How about you, Y/N?"

"I didn't have any I thought of, I'd be happy to just walk around with you."

Macy turned you, suddenly mischievous. "Ooh, what if we run into some cute boys from school?"

You paused in licking your ice cream cone, unable to stop your glance from flicking between your friend her mom, who seemed preoccupied singing with the song on the radio. "Oh, I don't know."

"Why not? I heard Tommy comes here all the time." Tommy was a boy in your class that Macy really liked. You just thought he was annoying, but his friend was a lot nicer you thought. You just never tried anything because of the conversation you recalled with your step daddy. He'd been pretty clear about how he felt about boys.

"Y/N!" Macy moved a hand in front of your face to get your attention.

"Yeah, maybe. We're just there to have fun though."

The first shop you went into was the one that Macy was set on. It was sort of girly, but had jewelry and earrings for every kind of piercing you could put in your ear. "Look at me!" She cried, looking from the mirror to you in a whole set of costume jewelry.

"You look so cool," you agreed.

Later on you found a case of different sunglasses and tried those on, striking ridiculous poses to each other. Marcy's momma was always near but didn't supervise you closely. She was sitting on a bench outside one of the stores you were in thumbing through a magazine with Grace Kelly on it.

Macy's hand came on you suddenly and she leaned in to whisper in your ear, "don't look now, but I think that's Tommy and his friend over by the hot dog stand. I said don't look!"

"How am I supposed to see them?"

She sighed. "Well, fine, but just don't make it obvious. I don't want them to think we're some kind of creeps staring!"

You refrained from telling her that was exactly what you were right now, but did as she bade. Inconspicuously you saw his friend was the one you had a small crush on, Danny. They were both pretty oblivious, talking and laughing and carrying on in their own little bubble.

"Should I go up to them and say something?" Macy asked. "What do you think?"

"I don't know—"

"You're right, too forward. maybe we should pretend to walk in front of them and not see them, and they'll say something? Then it was their idea."

"I guess." You didnt want to come off as a stick in the mud, but you kept hearing your daddy's words in the back of your head. If he knew you were even thinking of talking to boys he'd be furious with you. And with your momma for allowing it to happen. As if it was her job to guard you. Again you felt some resentment creeping in: Macy didn't have to worry about any of that. It just wasn't fair.

Your inner dialogue was interrupted as Macy tugged on your arm insistently, "come on, let's pretend to walk by them. Tommy better say something," she grumbled. You didn't have any reason to fight her on it and decided to just play along. Macy was pretty demanding when she wanted to be.

The boys hadn't seen you at first, but when Macy made a show of stopping to tie her shoes in front of them they finally noticed you. "Hey, it's, um, Mary, right?" Tommy spoke first, glancing between the two of you. "Macy," she corrected, smiling wider than you'd ever seen her smile. "And you're Tommy, right?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"We have a bunch of classes together. Actually, we sit near each other in home ec. This is my friend, Y/N, she in our grade too."

"Hi," you greet shyly, trying not to look at Danny for too long. He was even cuter up close!

"Y/N," Danny said, "I remember you. You're the girl who's super good with numbers!" He seemed very impressed by this, and you were tickled that he noticed you, even if it was for something pretty nerdy.

"Thank you! And um, you're really good in English."

"Yeah, maybe we should tutor each other," he laughs. He doesn't realize you latch onto this, desperately hoping it could happen. You could see it now.

Tommy's digging his hands into his jean pockets, swaying back and forth on his heel. "Well, I reckon we should probably get going. Got a movie we're seein' tonight."

"Without your folks?" You asked.

The boys turned to look at each other and laughed. "Yeah, our folks trust us, you know."

No, you didn't, but you nodded like you did.

"It's a real scary one," Danny added. "'The Bloodening', it's called. Have you gals heard of it?"

"Woah, that's a real creepy one!" Macy said, and you mirrored her expression as if you had any idea of what they were talking about.

"Yeah, so we better get goin'. Nice to run into ya though. You girls take care all right?"

"We will!"

"Thanks!" You said.

Macy turned to you afterwards and giggled. "Why did you thank them?"

"I have no idea!" You laughed.

After eating some Chinese for dinner, Macy's momma drove you back to their place. They lived in a quiet neighborhood with a lot of similar looking houses next to each other. It wasn't as nice as Graceland, far from it, but for ordinary folk you think it was pretty nice.

The first thing you did was get changed into your PJs. Macy's were a little blander than yours, and for the first time you felt a little ashamed at how you looked.

"What is that?" She giggled, eyes racing up and down your bunny pajamas. "It's so..."

"So what?" You asked defensively. your daddy had picked it out special for you and you hadn't the heart to tell him it wasn't quite your style anymore but you'd be damned if you let someone else make fun of it, even your good friend.

"Well, you know. It's pretty cutesy, right? Why'd you pick out one like that?"

"All of my PJs are like this," you shrugged your shoulders, turning around to brush your teeth, which as you'd learn was a mistake since you'd dig into a bowl of candy and popcorn for the flick soon.

"What do you mean they're all like that? That?" She asked incredulously.

"Yeah. My daddy picked it out for me and he likes it so I... like it."

You were met with some silence and you glanced in the mirror at Macy who was looking at you a little strangely.

"What?"

"I don't know, Y/N, that's sort of weird."

"What, like your parents don't buy you clothes sometimes?"

"Yeah, when I was little little, not now. Well, once in a while mom will take me shopping but it's pretty much up to me what I wanna wear as long as it isn't too racy."

Your brows furrowed as you spit into the sink, washing your mouth out. Was it odd that your daddy still picked your clothes out for you? Macy getting to wear what she wanted was an entirely new concept to you, one you didn't think would be possible until you were at least eighteen and could make your own decisions. Was this what other girls your age were doing?

"Sorry, Y/N, I didn't mean to make you feel any type of way," Macy said, realizing your quiet must have signaled you were upset with her and feeling self-conscious.

"You didn't," you lied.

"Well, if I did, I'm sorry anyhow. I mean, we're all brought up different, I guess... I guesss if your daddy still wanted to pick out your clothes for you that ain't got anything to do with me. Just thought it was a bit weird is all."

"Yeah..."

"Come on, let's go watch that movie! It's an action one. You like that kind of stuff?"

"Oh, yeah!"

"Momma's bringing in some candy and popcorn for us. Guess I should have said that before you started brushing your teeth," she smiled.

You followed her out to the living room as she set the movie up. It was a much smaller screen than you were used to, and it took some finagling to get it the way you needed it to see properly. As the movie started you began ruminating on all that had transpired earlier in the day and it became hard to focus on the plot. Just how different was your life made out to be, you wondered, and was all of it really for the right reasons?

The next morning you woke early to the sound of hushed voices arguing. Glancing to your right, you saw Macy was knocked out cold, drool lining her pillow. The time, which was visible on the nightstand in between your respective beds, read '6:05AM'. Thinking this might have been Macy's dad, you nearly went back to bed but you caught sight of a familiar looking Cadillac parked diagonally on the driveway. If you looked closer you could see slight squeal marks. you'd seen the car enough times to not have any doubt in your mind who it belonged to.

Your step daddy Elvis was here.

Walking quiet as a church mouse around Macy and further still to the door, you cracked it open a smidge to listen in on the heated discussion, knowing you'd be able to hear from your position; Macy said she listened to her parents all the time as voices carried easily up the landing outside her bedroom.

"...You can't just burst in here like this, Elvis...." This was clearly Macy's momma talking. "Yes, I know who you are, but it's unreasonably early and... that's nice you don't care, but what I'm saying is it's just not right... okay, I accept your apology, but please don't...!"

There was a slight crash and the sound of heavy footsteps thudding up the stairs. When you looked up it was your step daddy, eyes burning and fists clenched at his side. He looked like he'd just come back from his tour, wearing fancier clothing than he usually did while home. When he took notice of you by the door, he deflated some, although the ire in his eyes never disappeared.

"Girl, you are in a lotta trouble. Wait till I get my hands on you!"

"Elvis, daddy, please don't! I'm having a lot of fun here! It's my first time!" You begged.

"Your first—" his mouth open and shut like a fish. "What in blue blazes are you talkin' about, honey?!"

"My first sleepover," you replied morosely. And your last, judging by how upset Macy's momma sounded. The normally calm and collected woman sounded angrier than you'd ever heard her. You could just see her forbidding her daughter from talking with you again. You couldn't lose your best friend because of your daddy's temper, you just couldn't!

Elvis let out a deep sigh and turned his head and eyes skyward, as if asking for some divine intervention. "God help me..." He muttered, seeing your eyes tearing up now; it made him feel somethin' awful.

Looking back down at you and kneeling on one knee, he said, "I didn't realize how important this was to you, cupcake. I just wish your momma would'a let me in on what was happenin'. And you," his anger flared to life again, "how many times we talk on the phone and you ain't mention no 'sleepover, Elvis'."

"It was only last minute," you said, looking down.

"Uh huh." It was obvious he didn't believe you. You didn't know it, but you always had a tell of avoiding eye contact when you were fibbing, and Elvis had learned that early on.

"I'm sorry, Daddy." You ran into his arms to hug him in hopes he would calm down and go easy on you. Your touch was always soothing to him, and you were learning to use it to your advantage.

"Can't you see Daddy was worried, baby? I come home to find you not in your bed and your momma sayin' you went off with some people I don't know, never met... gotta understand it from my point of view, honey," he pulled you to arm's reach to look you in the eye.

"Yes, Daddy, I get it."

"You will," he said, raising a brow, "that lil' tush a' yours, cute though it may be, is gonna be mighty red when I'm through with it. I need you to be honest with me, darlin', and if that's the only way I'm gonna get it through that thick skull then I will."

Your eyes widened. Surely he hadn't meant right here and now?

Chuckling lowly, he mused your hair. "Not right now, honey. Later. When we're back in Graceland."

"You mean I can stay?"

He eyed you up and down for a moment, considering. "Oh please, Daddy! I'll do anything to stay! Please let me!"

"When you due back home?" He asked, scratching his chin.

"Only a few hours. They said they'd take me back early afternoon. Or Momma was gonna pick me up."

He pursed his lips. "I'll pick you up."

"I can stay?"

"Yes, sweet thing, you can stay."

taglist: @everythingelvispresley @dkayfixates @animalloverthingsss @suspiciousmindsxo @iloveelvis @18lkpeters @doll-elvis @ccab @elvisalltheway1 @satninroses @dkayfixates @darkmoviesquotespizza @jaqueline19997 @louisejoy86 @myradiaz @velvetelvis @sillybookmarks @alllriseabove @livelaughelvis @blog777e

[sissylittlefeather]

This is the Story

Chapter 10

A/N: Merry Christmas, baby! This chapter is loooooong, but lots happens and I hope its entertaining for you all. Let me know your thoughts in the comments!

Need to catch up? Here's my Masterlist!

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, kidding, cussing, oral sex (f receiving), p in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, teasing, light restraint during sex, I think that's everything

Word count: 4kish

Song, still

She lays next to him and nuzzles into his shoulder, as he leans over and kisses her forehead, both of them determined to never let anything come between them again.

******

When Elvis returns to Stax the next day, he's in a much better mood. Recording goes well and he's able to finish quickly and go back to spending time with Grace and Wendy in the evenings.

Despite the fact that Richard is gone, they don't move out. Instead, Grace moves into Elvis's bedroom and he buys bunk beds to put in Lisa's room so that Wendy has her own space.

In December, Lisa Marie comes to stay and Elvis is excited for their first weekend together as a family. On Friday night, they settle in for a movie night with the girls on the floor talking and laughing. Elvis has his arm around Grace as she lays her head on his shoulder. He's reveling in the normalcy of the evening when he has an idea.

"Hey, honey, what would you think about going horseback riding with the girls tomorrow?"

Grace sits up and looks at him with a strange look on her face.

"What?" He asks when he sees her.

"I'm... I'm deathly afraid of horses..." He turns and looks at her incredulously.

"Why?"

"I don't know. They're big. And smart. I'm just scared of them."

"Aw, honey, no. I'm gettin' you on a horse tomorrow." She laughs.

"We'll see." He puts his hand on her cheek and leans in and kisses her gently.

On the floor, Wendy turns to Lisa.

"See, I told you they've been kissing a lot!" Lisa Marie throws her arms around Wendy.

"We're gonna be sisters!"

Elvis and Grace hear this and laugh, going back to their position with her head on his shoulder. He knows it's early to think about it, but right now, in this moment, he wants nothing more than to make Grace his wife.

The Colonel be damned.

******

The next day, Grace reluctantly dresses to spend the day outside in the cold. When she gets to her shoes, she stands in her socks and stares at the line of them not sure what to pick. Just then, Elvis comes through the door with a box.

"Hey, hon, I had Jerry run out and grab these for you. Come look." She walks over to where he sets the box on the bed. He opens the box, too excited to wait for her to do it herself. He reaches in and lifts out a pair of beautiful black boots. They have turquoise detailing and white stitching.

"Oh, Elvis, they're perfect. But they look expensive."

"Honey, your boyfriend is Elvis Presley. You need to get used to expensive things." That's the first time he's referred to himself as her boyfriend, and her heart swells knowing that's how he sees himself. He pats on the bed for her to sit down. She does and he slides the boots onto her feet. They fit just right and she suddenly knows what Cinderella felt like, transformed into a princess in one move. He stands up, leaning in to kiss her deeply. She's so happy that for a second she forgets that she's about to be dragged outside and plopped on a horse.

"Come on, the girls are ready."

When they get downstairs, Wendy is showing off new boots too. Hers are brown with pink detailing, just like Lisa Marie's.

They make their way down to the barn together, where they spend the next few hours with Elvis helping Wendy and Lisa ride and Grace keeping a nice distance from the horses. Eventually, the girls get tired and go play. Just when Grace thinks she's successfully avoided riding a horse, she hears Elvis's voice.

"Hey, come here, honey." Her heart jumps into her throat and she walks over to him cautiously. He takes her hand and guides her over to the side of one of the horse's necks, speaking softly to the horse as they approach. He stands close behind her and for a second she gets lost in the intoxicating scent and feel of him. Then, he slowly and deliberately moves her hand for the horse to smell. She's shaking slightly, so he switches to speaking softly to her.

"You're alright, honey, I'm here." She nods gently and he moves her hand back to the horse's neck. He continues to guide her as they stroke the horse together.

"See, now that's not too bad, is it?" His voice is low and soothing and the fear slowly melts away to be replaced by a feeling of calm warmth. After a few minutes of this, he wraps both arms around her from behind and sets his chin on her shoulder while she continues petting the horse.

"You ready to try riding?"

"Are you talking to me or the horse?" She asks with a small smile. She feels him smile in return.

"You, hon."

"Well, if you're here with me, I guess I can try it."

Somehow, he manages to get her onto the horse without incident. She's in awe of his ability to make her feel safe, even in situations where she would be otherwise terrified. He walks the horse around for a bit to let her get used to the sensation. Finally, he walks over and gets on his own horse, riding next to her to keep her relaxed. They spend the rest of the day riding and Grace gets more and more comfortable as the time passes. By the end of the afternoon, she agrees to go riding with him again another time.

As they walk back up to the house, Wendy and Lisa walking in front of them, Elvis sighs deeply.

"I wish we could always be the four of us together." Grace takes his hand.

"I know. I do too. But we'll all be together again soon for Christmas." He stops walking and looks at her.

"We'll be in California for Christmas."

"Wait, what?"

"It's the only way Priscilla will let me see Lisa for the holiday. I have to come to her." Grace looks down at her feet. She's not sure what she expected, but it wasn't that.

"I thought we would be together for Christmas."

"No, honey, I'm sorry. I should've told you sooner." He wraps his arm around her and pulls her close. The idea of being away from him makes her feel a little sick, especially knowing he'll be with his ex-wife.

"How long will you be gone?"

"I leave on the 23rd and I'll be back on the 30th."

"A week?!" Grace feels like a child. Why is she so upset about being away from him? She's never had a problem being on her own before. What will she do when he's in Vegas or on tour?

"I'm sorry, Grace. I'd stay here if I could."

"Mama, Daddy, come on!" Wendy hollers as the girls reach the front door. Elvis and Grace go back to walking, not saying another word about the upcoming holiday.

******

The time before Elvis leaves passes quickly and uneventfully. Lisa Marie goes home after a tearful goodbye with Wendy and Grace makes plans to go to Tulsa for the holiday. Elvis volunteers to make an extra stop on his way to California in his plane, so that they don't have to pay for plane tickets. Wendy is ecstatic, but Grace is reluctant to accept his offer. Is she becoming too reliant on him? The old fears start to creep back in and she wonders if she needs to put some space between them again. Still, he's been nothing but trustworthy so far.

And there's the matter of Frank and the book. How long can they continue like this before he finds out and pulls the plug on her assignment? She's not sure she's ready to depend on Elvis completely, even though they're living together at this point. All these things are running through her mind as he waits for an answer about the plane.

"Grace, honey?" When she looks into his eyes it's like everything else melts away.

"Okay, we'll fly with you. Will you pick us up on your way back?"

"Of course. I won't leave you stranded in Tulsa." He laughs and she relaxes a bit. Maybe she can let go a little and trust him.

******

Once they get on the plane and Wendy is settled into a seat with a stack of coloring books and a box of crayons in front of one of the many televisions, Elvis and Grace sit next to each other on the couch behind her. Several of the Memphis mafia guys and their wives are also sprinkled throughout this front part of the plane. Grace pulls her feet up under her and leans over onto Elvis. He kisses the top of her head and everyone else purposefully ignores them. Then, he gets a devilish glint in his eyes and whispers in her ear.

"You know there's a bed on this plane." He wiggles his eyebrows at her and for a second she considers it. But then she remembers Wendy and gestures to her with her thumb.

"Did you forget we have other passengers?"

"Dammit, Wendy." Elvis says under his breath, but she hears her name.

"What?" She hollers from her stack of coloring books.

"Nothing, baby. Daddy is just being silly." Grace says as she smacks Elvis in the chest with the back of her hand playfully.

"You called me Daddy again. Are we making this a habit?" She laughs and he leans in and whispers. "Because I'm not complainin'." Her heart skips a beat as his lips graze her ear and she feels her core get warmer.

"I think I need the bathroom. Can you show me where it is?" She says loudly, cocking her head and turning to Elvis.

"Oh, of course, honey." He takes her to the bedroom at the back of the plane and then looks back to make sure they're out of sight. Once he's confident they have some privacy, he closes the door and pushes her up against it, kissing her hard with his lips parted, sliding his tongue into her mouth passionately. He runs his hands up her front and rolls his hips into hers.

"I need you, baby." He moans against her lips.

"Fuck, Elvis, you know we can't."

"Oh, come on, I'll be quick." He kisses down her neck as he presses his erection into her. She moans softly and bites her lower lip. Her panties are getting wetter by the second and she knows she needs him too. She's just about to give in when she hears from the other side of the plane, "Mama!"

Elvis jumps back like Wendy can see them, but thankfully she can't. Grace smooths her hair and takes a deep breath, giving Elvis an I told you so look. He clears his throat and adjusts himself so that his erection is up under his belt. Before she opens the door, Grace runs her hand up his shaft and squeezes him gently.

"What was that?" He asks breathily.

"Don't forget me in California." He groans as she starts to walk away and grabs her from behind, kissing the back of her neck and rubbing her clit over her pants.

"Two can play at this game, honey." She giggles, turning to face him and is about to kiss him when Wendy calls out again.

"MAMA!"

"I'm coming!" She hollers, still wrapped in his arms.

"Not yet, you're not." He says under his breath, nipping at her neck softly, and Grace erupts into laughter again.

"I need to go check on my child." He grunts and lets go of her reluctantly. Finally, she opens the door and walks back to the part of the plane where Wendy is. He takes a deep breath and follows her, settling on the couch again. Just then, the captain comes over the intercom and tells them they need to be seated for landing. Both Elvis and Grace know this means they're about to be separated for a week. She sits on the couch next to him and he holds her hand in his. Then, he picks it up and brings it to his lips.

"I love you, honey. You know I'll miss you."

"I know. I love you too."

They brace themselves for the landing and the goodbye that's coming.

******

In Tulsa, Grace is greeted warmly by her family. Maryann looks around suspiciously.

"No Elvis this time?"

"No, he's in California with his daughter."

"Oh, darn. I was hoping we could trick him into some Christmas songs." Grace laughs and they settle into the family holiday time together. Still, she can't help but miss his presence. She's gotten so used to having him there that being without him comes with a feeling of emptiness that she really doesn't like. It's going to be a long week.

******

Elvis knocks on the door of Priscilla's house, his arms loaded with some of the gifts he has for Lisa Marie. He shipped more of them earlier, but he has a few he bought since sending the others. Priscilla answers and he walks in, setting the gifts by the tree. Lisa Marie runs and jumps into his arms.

"Daddy, where's Wendy and Grace?" He looks at Priscilla awkwardly.

"Oh, I didn't bring them, baby." Priscilla looks at the ground.

"Why not? I thought me and Wendy were sisters now?" Lisa Marie asks, pouting. Priscilla chimes in.

"She hasn't shut up about Wendy since September. Who is Grace, Elvis?" Elvis blushes. He hadn't thought about the fact that he would have to tell Priscilla about her.

"She's... she's my... Grace... she's my girlfriend."

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised. You had girlfriends while we were married. Why wouldn't you have one now?"

"Cilla, can we not do this?" She sighs and walks out of the room, leaving him with Lisa Marie. He pulls her into a big hug before setting her back on the ground where she goes to the pile of presents. There's a dull ache in his chest where Grace's absence settles. He misses her so much that it hurts. He sighs deeply, not sure how he's going to make it a full week without her.

******

On Christmas Eve, a box arrives at Grace's mom's house addressed to Grace and Wendy. Inside, there's a note from Elvis and two wrapped gifts.

"G,

The big one is for Wendy. The smaller one is for you. Don't open them until Christmas. See you soon.

I love you,

E"

Grace has a strong desire to kiss the letter, but Maryann is watching, so she doesn't. Instead, she walks over to the tree and sets down the gifts.

"You miss him, don't you?" Grace looks up at Maryann, praying she can't tell that her eyes are glassy with tears. She swallows the lump in her throat and nods.

"Why do I miss him this much? It's pathetic."

"Sweetie. You're not pathetic; you're in love. This is how it's supposed to be." She pulls Grace into a hug. "Just when I thought my big sister would be a spinster forever, she goes and falls in love with the most famous man on the planet." Grace laughs.

"I might still be a spinster."

"Nah. I've got a feeling about this one."

******

After Lisa and Priscilla go to bed, Elvis sits in the guest room staring at the phone. He has a note with a phone number on it in his hand. Should he call her? She's probably asleep since it's almost midnight in Tulsa.

The longer he's away from her, the more it solidifies how he feels about her. He just wants to hear her voice, so he picks up the receiver. But then he hangs up again quickly. He should let her sleep. So instead he changes into pajamas and lays down with a book, trying desperately to think of anything but Grace.

******

Christmas morning comes in Tulsa and there's a flurry around the living room as everyone opens their gifts. The kids are especially having fun opening their toys. When Wendy gets to the gift from Elvis, she's thrilled to find a pair of roller skates and a delicate gold necklace with a "W" on it.

"Oh, Mama, look at this!" She brings the gift over to Grace excitedly.

"That's beautiful, baby! And skates too!"

"What did Daddy get you?" The adults in the room get quiet and look at her. They're all curious what's in the package as well. She looks around the room awkwardly and picks up the box. Her hands tremble slightly as she tears at the wrapping, but she's not sure why.

When she finally gets the box open, she lets out a small gasp. It's a first edition of her favorite book, Wuthering Heights. How did he remember that from their conversation by the pool months ago? She delicately lifts it out and notices something else under it. She sets the book on the table next to her and pulls out what's underneath. It's a jewelry box. She opens it and there are two necklaces, one with an "EP" and the other with a "GD". The one with her initials has a card under it that says "this one is mine" in Elvis's handwriting. Her hand goes to her mouth and she can't find any words to say. With this gift, he's making her truly his. But not just that. He's saying that he's hers as well.

"You know what they say. You should never accept jewelry from a man you don't intend to marry." Ruth states boldly. Grace gives her a defiant look and takes the necklace out of the box.

"Maryann, will you help me put this on?"

"Gladly." Maryann smiles widely and assists her in putting the necklace on. Ruth watches wide-eyed. Grace holds the book to her chest and touches the gold letters where they sit at her collarbone. One of the kids jumps in to break the silence and the chaos begins again, but Grace barely notices. All she wants is to call Elvis and thank him for the gifts. She doesn't have a number for him, though, and he's probably busy. She sighs, lost in a haze of love. Then she realizes that she doesn't have a gift for him. In a panic, she decides to make a phone call to her best friend from home.

"I'll be back."

She goes back to her old bedroom and grabs the phone. She dials quickly, praying she'll pick up the phone.

"Cindy! This is Grace."

"I was starting to wonder if you were still alive. Last I heard you were headed to Vegas. Was the picture real?"

"Wow, I need to catch you up a lot."

"Is that why you called?"

"Well, not exactly. I need a huge favor. I know you're a photographer..."

******

It's after 10pm again and Elvis sits in the guest room staring at the phone. He picks up the receiver and puts it back three times. Then, he hears a soft knock on his door. Priscilla enters in her pajamas.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"You miss her, don't you?" He looks at her with his eyes wide, not quite sure how to answer. "It's okay if you do."

"I really do."

"Do you love her?" He hesitates for a second before answering.

"I do." Priscilla sighs.

"Then don't mess it up this time. You have a chance to do this right. So do it right." She pats his knee and then stands up.

"Thank you, Cilla."

"I'm happy. You should be too." He nods.

"I really am." She smiles sadly and makes her way out of the guest room.

"Goodnight, Elvis." She says it quietly as she closes the door behind her. Something about having Cilla's blessing makes the whole thing more real. Still, he's ready to get back to Grace as soon as possible.

******

The rest of the Christmas holiday goes by relatively uneventfully. Elvis calls a few times to talk to Grace, to which she blushes and takes the call in the bedroom. She also meets up with Cindy for an afternoon to secure Elvis's gift. Cindy is excited to hear the details of Grace's new love and cheers when she shows her the necklace.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Grace and Wendy wait on the tarmac for the Lisa Marie to land. Grace is anxious to see Elvis and Wendy is just ready to go to sleep. The sun has already gone down and she's exhausted from a week with her cousins. When the plane lands and they roll the staircase over to the entrance, Grace's heart skips a beat and she fondles the "EP" necklace around her neck. He comes down the stairs eagerly and immediately pulls Grace into him.

"I missed you, honey." She leans back and then kisses him fully on the mouth.

"I missed you too, E." It's the first time she's called him by anything other than his name and he loves it.

"Can we get on the plane?" Wendy whines and pulls on Elvis's coat. They make their way onto the plane and settle in among the rest of the Memphis mafia. Elvis and Grace are wrapped around each other on the couch. It takes less than 20 minutes for Wendy to pass out in one of the lush chairs.

Grace digs in her bag and hands Elvis an envelope.

"Merry Christmas."

"What is this?"

"My gift for you." She smiles playfully as he opens the envelope. Inside, he finds a collection of photographs of Grace wearing the "EP" necklace... and not much else. He inhales sharply and looks around to make sure no one else can see what he's looking at.

"Honey... this is... wow." He adjusts his belt to hide his hardening cock.

"Do you like them?" Grace asks with a nervous look.

"Do I like them? Honey." He smiles devilishly. After a few more seconds of looking through the photos, he leans in to Grace's ear and whispers.

"There's a bed on here, remember? Wendy is asleep." She pulls back and looks into his eyes as they sparkle with a devious shine. She knows she should say no with all the people on the plane, but it's been 7 days since she's seen him and her logical brain isn't making the decisions. He stands up and she takes his hand. As they walk to the back of the plane, Elvis leans over to Jerry and his wife.

"Keep an eye on her." He gestures to Wendy and Jerry nods.

The second they're out of view from the rest of the passengers, Elvis pulls Grace into a deep kiss, his hands moving to her ass to pull his hips into hers.

"God, I missed you." He moans into her mouth as she presses her body against him.

"I missed you too. I love my gifts. I can't believe you found a first edition. And the necklace." He looks down as she shows him that she's still wearing the necklace. He kisses her fingers as she holds the golden "EP".

"You're still wearing it." A smile spreads across his face.

"Of course I'm wearing it."

"You're mine."

"I am. I have yours in my bag."

"Good." He leans in and kisses her deeply again. He keeps walking her backwards through the plane until they reach the bedroom. When they get there, they start pulling off each other's clothes, his jacket and shirt hitting the floor and her top and skirt falling to the ground. He lays her down on the bed and kisses down her body as he continues to undress her. Once they're both naked, she climbs on top of him and he things she's going to sink onto his dick, but she doesn't. Instead, she situates herself over his face and he moans into her.

"Yes, honey, come here." As she's settling onto his face, they hit a bump of turbulence and she yelps.

"Don't worry. There's a seatbelt on this bed." He looks at her mischievously. But she does him one better and grabs the seatbelt, buckling it across his chest and arms. Then, she crawls back onto his face and he whimpers, unable to reach up and touch her. Still, he goes to work with his tongue, licking and sucking her clit fervently. She presses her hands against the wall above his head and moans loudly. He laughs and whispers into her.

"Baby, there's a lot of people on this plane."

"They're way at the front. I don't care if they can hear us. Do you think they don't know what we're doing?" He chuckles and nods.

"Good point." He goes back to licking and tongue-fucking her and she slams her hand on the wall.

"Fuck. E, I'm gonna come." She says it through gritted teeth as she grinds onto his face. He smiles and picks up the pace with his tongue, dying to reach up with his hands and grab her hips. When she finally does come, pulsating and shuddering on top of him, he reaches up and undoes the seatbelt, grabbing her hips and lapping at her pussy desperately. Then, he flips her over onto her back and fastens the seatbelt over her.

"My turn, baby." She laughs as he lines himself up with her entrance and pushes into her.

"Oh, fuck, Elvis." He fucks into her rhythmically, slamming his hips against hers as her arms are pinned to her sides with the seatbelt. He leans over and kisses her deeply as he pounds into her.

"Are you mine, baby?" He whispers in her ear, nibbling on her earlobe.

"I'm all yours. And whose are you?" He undoes the seatbelt so she can wrap her arms around him as he gets closer and closer to his climax.

"Oh god, Grace, I am yours. Forever." The last word makes the tears gather in her eyes again as he pushes into her over and over. Forever? This is all she wants for as long as she lives. As he pumps in and out of her deeply, she pulls his shoulders down to her and nips him softly as he continues to fuck her, hitting all of the sensitive parts of her. He groans and moves his hips faster and faster.

Finally, he slams into her, shuddering and moaning.

"Fuck, yes, honey, I love you so much. God, I missed you." He comes hard into her and she wraps herself around him. She smiles and kisses his shoulder, pulling him down on top of her until he's laying with his head on her chest. He pulls his head up and looks at her intensely.

"I don't ever want to spend another night away from you. Tell me you'll come with me to Vegas and on tour and anywhere else I might go." She pushes his hair back off of his forehead and looks into his eyes.

"I'm yours, E. You can have me anywhere you want me." She's not sure how it'll work out with Wendy, but in this moment she doesn't care. They'll figure it out.

He kisses up her neck to her ear.

"I want you wherever I am."

"Then I will go with you wherever you go." He kisses her mouth again deeply. "I love you, E."

"I love you, honey."

He lays on his back next to her and pulls her close to him. They have a few more minutes to spend in this haven of bliss before they have to get dressed for landing. He's not going to waste a second of it.

******

Until Chapter 11! I love you all!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @ashtag6887 @aliypop @your-nanas-house @dkayfixates @everythingelvispresley @xanatenshi @returntopresley @p0lksaladannie @deniseinmn @jaqueline19997 @that-hotdog @18lkpeters @joshuntildawn13 @rjmartin11 @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69

[texaschainsawmascara]

Susan Walters as Priscilla, Elvis & Me (1988)

[cruciomione]

headcanon for sydcarmy that I've had for months now that i was reminded of rewatching Fools Rush In yesterday (rip Matthew Perry) and reading @ambeauty 's new fanfic.

i love the unplanned pregnancy trope with them and also the idea that they would do every milestone backwards or hit them super fast in terms of their relationship. hear me out

what i love about sydney and carmy is how intense they are about each other while not knowing each other for that long. carmy spends braciole acting like a heartbroken widower and ends the episode by planning on revamping his family restaurant with a girl he's only known for a couple months. the restaurant dream he thought died with his brother, the person he loved the most (woah). while sydney is her most emotionally vulnerable with a guy she barely knows (and physically too, i.e the hug after the fire suppression test and the table scene) and constantly gives him second chances when he doesn't deserve them.

they are weird and intense about each other even with all these platonic and professional boundaries they put in place.

in my mind that is rotting from tumblr and ao3, when those boundaries disappear they will do the relationship shit on speed drive. oops they get pregnant after a few months of dating or a situationship. whats having a baby when you have a restaurant? they are already the mom and dad of the bear!

they would elope randomly on a tuesday afternoon after dating for a couple months bc they practically eat sleep live and breathe each other every single day anyways? carmy tells syd he doesn't want to wait when he already knows she's it for him. syd says he's crazy but she may just be crazier for agreeing (also grew up with hearing her parents love story who got married super young and fast so why cant she?)

oh they just started dating a few days ago? syd moves in or they start looking for new places. shes already here all the time when they menu plan. carmy already buys her fave snacks, subscribes to a couple streaming services for the first time bc syd loves to binge-watch shows, and has a couple of her scarves laying around.

and i love that this could go really bad, how intense and how much they love each other (bc im an angst enjoyer) or most likely really great bc these two losers want to practically live in each other's skin and make each other better.

side note: after watching fools rush in again...need a sydcarmy au bc the premise of two people from different cultures, values and perspectives foolishly rushing into a big thing like opening a restaurant having a baby is so them!

[lovingdilfs]

Steamy meeting (smut)

My head is filled with snot!🤧 - guys I need some more ideas for smut! Help a girl out here! Give me some requests!

Warnings: angst, 18+ mature, sex, fingering

“Come here baby” Elvis patted his lap as a gesture for you to sit on him, while the meeting was still happening. You hesitated for a moment, unsure if it was appropriate to sit on his lap while he was in a meeting. But seeing the playful glint in his eyes, you couldn't resist. You walked over to him and sat down on his lap, feeling his strong arms wrap around you.

The Memphis mafia looked at you both with surprise, but Elvis didn't seem to care. He continued to hold you close, and you kept rocking back on forward to sit more comfortably, “honey stop” he whispered softly into your ear. You looked with confusion in your eyes, wondering why. You shifted in his lap again, trying to find a more comfortable position without being too obvious, “baby, just stop moving like that” he sounded almost like he was panting, biting down his lip. “Like what,” you asked teasing, knowing damn well you had worked him up, by the feeling of him hardening under your skirt. You shifted one more time, whispering softly in his ear “like this?” Elvis let out a low groan, his hand gripping your waist tightly. "Oh fuck," he moaned under his breath, hot against your neck. "What was that" his moan caught you off guard. You giggled softly, feeling a sense of power and desire wash over you. "Nothing baby, just sit still" he whispered back.

“Oh well, I’ll just get off” you tried to push yourself away, but his ring-filled hands grabbed you tightly to stay. “You can’t, not right now… promise me you will sit still” he was patting out. You leaned in closer, pressing your lips against his ear, and whispered, "What if I don't want to sit still?" You shifted a little bit, feeling his hard cock, pressing against the fabric of your cunt. Elvis coughed a bit to cover up his low groans, “are you alright E” joe asked when he looked over to see Elvis’s cheeks red from the desire. Elvis cleared his throat, trying to compose himself. "Yeah, just a little tickle in my throat," he said, his voice slightly strained. "Sorry about that, guys."

The rest of the meeting continued, but you could feel Elvis's eyes on you, burning with desire. You knew you were playing a dangerous game, but the thrill was too intoxicating to resist. You shifted in his lap again, feeling his cock growing even harder. Elvis bit his lip, trying to stifle a moan.

Finally, the meeting ended, and the Memphis Mafia began to file out of the room. Elvis stood up, pulling you close to him. "Upstairs now!," making you feel his hardened length against your stomach. Your heart was racing with anticipation as you followed him up the stairs. As soon as you reached the privacy of his bedroom, he slammed the door shut and pushed you up against it, kissing you hungrily.

You responded with equal fervor, wrapping your arms around his neck as he pressed his body against yours. You could feel his hands roaming over your body, eager to touch every inch of you.

As the intensity of the kiss grew, he began to pull at your clothes, desperate to feel your skin against his. Within minutes, you were both naked, and he pushed you onto the bed, climbing on top of you. “You dirty little girl, making me all worked up in front of my friends”

His hand slipped between your thighs.

You gasped at the sudden contact, feeling his fingers brush against your swollen clit. He leaned in, his lips grazing your ear as he whispered, "I’m gonna fuck you so hard, you will know how to behave!"

You closed your eyes, trying to stifle your moans as Elvis continued to pleasure you. with his fingers, hitting the right spot inside your cervix. Your knees felt weak. "Please," you whimpered, "take me now."

"You're going to be a good girl for me, aren't you?" he whispered in your ear, he curled his fingers inside you, making you scream out “yes daddy!” He smirked at your words, "That's right, baby," he said, his voice husky with desire. "You belong to me now." He continued to move his fingers inside you, building up the pressure until you were on the brink of orgasm.

Just as you were about to come, he pulled his fingers out of you, leaving you feeling empty.

He kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth as his hands roamed over your body.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as he ground his hard cock against your wet pussy. You moaned into his mouth, desperate for more.

Finally, he entered you, his cock sliding smoothly into your tight, wet cunt. You cried out in pleasure as he started to move, pounding into you with long, deep strokes.

As the orgasm approached, you could feel your body tightening, your pussy clenching around him. With one final thrust, Elvis pushed you over the edge, and you came hard, screaming his name.

He continued to fuck you, his movements growing faster and more urgent until he reached his own climax, spilling his hot cum deep inside you. “Oh fuck baby girl! You take me so well!”

You moaned in response, feeling the waves of pleasure coursing through your body as he finished inside you. You clung to him, feeling the sticky warmth of his cum inside you.

As he pulled out, you both collapsed onto the bed, panting and sweating. Elvis pulled you close to him, kissing your forehead softly.

[carbuckety]

Bob Dylan & Andy Warhol

Screen Test - 1965

[doll-elvis]

here’s a lil story I found about how elvis discovered his love for a certain something

from the book “Rhythm Oil” published in 1991

the original article was written in 1967 by the legend Stanley Booth and published in 1968 with the story about Natalie and Elvis cut by the publisher (lame for that)

[joons]

thinking about how elvis was such an empath that he had to be protected from himself, from the intensity of his emotions and his great, giving heart that would give himself all away if left alone

[missmaywemeetagain]

Fireside - A Pink Scarf Universe Story 💗🧣💗

A/N: Apparently, I am not able to stay too far away from our darlin' Reader and Elvis, no matter how hard I try! I just love them too much. So, here is a sexy little blurb taking place in February 1970. I hope you enjoy, and maybe if this gets enough likes and traction, I'll release more and grow the "Pink Scarf Universe" lol, who knows?

If you haven't read Pink Scarf, read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist (though honestly you could probably read this without knowing their story it just won't be as fun for you without the background info 😂).

I will also say this isn't as heavily edited and revised as PS, but hopefully it's still readable...

TW: MINORS DNI 18+ SEXX. PS Daddy E is back! The usual filth with these two. Fluff. A tinge of angst at the beginning. 😏

Word Count: 4.4k

Fireside

Graceland, Late February 1970

Shivering as you make your way across the lawn, you pull your arms across your coat in tight, feeling a bit insolent and annoyed that you even have to trudge out here in the middle of the night. But Elvis had insisted, in that spontaneous way of his, that he must have a campfire tonight, of all nights, even though they all had just returned from his second engagement in Las Vegas and were all beat to hell with exhaustion. So, he and the guys had all tasked at building what you considered to be a too large and dangerous fire in out on the back lawn.

Perhaps you might be feeling more understanding if you hadn’t just spent two weeks away from him—the longest amount of time you’d been apart since August. You’d been sent home early after catching the monster flu that had been going around, which had turned quickly into a terrible bout of bronchitis. The desert air had done you no favors, and Elvis, along with the doctor, had sent you home to Memphis despite your protests. You were furious because Elvis, too, had caught the flu, but in that stubborn way of his had insisted on performing through it like an insane person.

“All these folks paid good money and flew in from all over to come see me, Satnin. I ain’t gonna disappoint them,” he’d said to you as you both coughed and raged with fever.

You were so mad he’d sent you home during your first engagement as one of his back-up singers that you were still stung by it. But you were also finding yourself increasingly needy for him along with your moodiness.

Which is why you find yourself out in the cold, sniffling, desperate for your fiancé to come inside and shower you with attention instead of living it up out in the cold with the guys he just spent a solid month with.

Your grumpiness is fueled as you approach the roaring flames and spot Elvis in his low Adirondack chair, laughing it up with the guys. You don’t like the feeling of jealousy that creeps over you at his attention being pulled away from you by these men. It’s silly, you know, just as you know it’s part of the package. Elvis’ light and charisma demands attention whether he means it to or not but having been away from him the past few weeks made you miss him in a way you haven’t felt before.

Part of you can’t escape how handsome he looks in the firelight, his smile wide and crinkling his lovely blue eyes. And that damn laugh of his is so contagious and musical that it almost—almost—pulls you out of your funk.

That tether between you has been pulled tight for too long and yanks you towards him out here in the cold. You stand over him sullenly for a moment until he raises those soulful eyes up to yours.

“Why ain’t you in bed, Satnin? You shouldn’t be out here. You’ll catch another chill,” Elvis says in what to him is a caring way yet to you feels almost dismissive. But he must see the needy look in your eyes and the tears brimming there because his voice softens and he adds, “Come ‘ere then,” and lifts the heavy blanket over his legs. A sense of deep relief falls over you as you slide sideways into his lap, throwing your legs across his, his warmth cocooning you. He pulls the heavy blanket up over you both and you snuggle into his chest.

Yes, this is what you need, you think, collapsing into him, his spicy familiar scent enveloping you, the heat of his body burning into yours. One arm circles around your back and his other hand rests on your thigh, pulling you ever closer. God, you missed this. You missed him. To think you spent so many years near him but without him… No wonder your brain concealed so much from you for so long—this yearning you feel is nearly unbearable and he is already yours.

You sigh into his neck, and he presses his chin down to look at you. “What’s wrong, baby?” he whispers in your ear, his hand slipping under your coat to rub comforting circles at your waist. His slender fingers are cold, but you don’t care in the least.

“Missed you,” is all you can eek out in your sensitive, tearful state, your hand clutching at the front of his coat.

“Aww, darlin’, I’m right here,” he says, kissing the top of your head, then pressing his fire-warmed cheek to your cool one.

You can’t help but pout, your mood worn from weeks of being sick and without him to comfort you. It’s not like you to act this way—for years you built a stoic shell around yourself to cope with Jack being gone all the time—but Elvis managed to break that shell into pieces last summer. Since then, you’ve found yourself feeling every little thing and unable to hide it from him. Perhaps it is because he is so finely tuned into you that he just knows when something is off, but you can’t seem to hide things from him even when you’ve tried.

“Mhm,” Elvis tuts in your ear, “you’re still sore that I sent you home, ain’tcha? I’m not gonna be sorry about that, honey. You were too sick and the doc was right—that Vegas air was doin’ you no good.” He shakes his head.

You huff stubbornly and bury your head into his long neck. Of course, logically, you know they were right to send you back, but you are still upset and not just about that. You can’t seem to voice exactly what you are mad about, only realizing that you are annoyed and sad and small and needy in a way you’ve never been before. And this overwhelm seems to steal your ability to express any of those emotions in words. You’re not sure what exactly you need, other than being as close as possible to the man you love.

“Oh, don’t you be obstinate, now,” Elvis warns quietly, the slightest edge of temper in his voice. Your only response is to cling to him harder, to nuzzle yourself further into the warmth that emanates off him.

He says nothing for a moment, staring into the fire, but you can sense the gears turning behind those pretty, worn eyes. Finally, he seems to come to some conclusion because his countenance shifts and he forces your chin out of his neck with his finger so he can look you in the eyes.

“Is all this because you need Daddy to take care of you?” he asks quietly, firmly. His voice is low and rumbles right down to your toes, the words setting every one of your nerves on fire along the way.

A whimper escapes your lips. You are suddenly grateful for the inky darkness of the winter’s night, at the heat of the fire, because they conceal the blush that suddenly blotches your cheeks as Elvis stares deeply into your eyes. The gaze has you squirming to get off his lap and you want to pull him into the house where you need him, but his large hands clamp down firm.

“Be still,” he commands sternly, but only loud enough for you to hear.

Your heart is galloping at the implication of those two little words.

“Now are ya gonna be a good, quiet little girl for me?” Elvis asks, his hand gripping your chin so you have to look at him. His face is the picture of controlled calm—it’s only the flames dancing in his darkening eyes that gives him away.

You hadn’t realized just how badly you needed him to take control until this very moment.

You manage to nod solemnly as all the blood in your body seems to rush into your core. You don’t know what he has in store for you, but the fact that he is not making any attempt to leave the company of the men surrounding you makes you nervous (and maybe a little intrigued).              

Elvis releases your chin and pulls the heavy blanket up over your shoulders, encouraging you to snuggle back into him by tightening his hand around your waist. The warm wool now covers you both from head to toe, and it is only then that you start to glean why that might be important.

You rest your head on his collarbone, waiting with bated breath, feeling the slow, steady beat of his heart begin to quicken under your hand as you slip it into his coat. You’re unable to help the impulse to place a fluttering kiss at the pulse point on his elegant long neck, and his lip curls up in response. Before long, he begins drawing small circles with his fingertips up the inside of your thigh, and when reaching the hem of your dress, he slips under without compunction. You stiffen as he continues, unhurried, up, up, up until he reaches your panty line.

Your eyes widen and you wonder if Elvis is really going to do this with all the guys around. It’s bold, even for him, even with the blanket tenting and concealing his movements. A snake of apprehension in your gut is overrun by the thrill of the risk. The conversation around the fire flows on without either of you, and the crackle of the flames conceals a lot, and for that you are grateful.

The light brush of his fingers over the cotton of your panties makes you jump despite yourself, and in response, Elvis grips your waist hard, stilling you.

“Be good,” he orders through clenched teeth, “or I’m gonna stop and leave you to fend for yourself. Or maybe I oughta pull this blanket off and let the guys enjoy the show.” His lip quivers up slyly at that.

The threat stills you either way.

Elvis chuckles darkly. His fingers resume their teasing, dancing over the cotton at your core delightfully as you attempt to stay as still and quiet as possible. He is maddeningly patient, doing this until you can feel the throb of your pulse blossoming between your thighs, and it has you oh-so-quietly panting into his neck. But it’s not until he feels the fabric dampen under his touch that he finally slides his naughty, slender finger underneath, grazing through your slick and up to your sensitive bud, forcing you to bite down to keep from keening loudly.

Fuck, you’ve missed him.

By now, he knows how to play you like an instrument, his instrument, knowing exactly how much pressure to use as he circles your clit again and again, enough to get you sufficiently worked up. His casualness suggests he has all the time in the world while you’re sitting in his lap beginning to shudder from the pleasure coiling low in your belly.

Occasionally, he’ll stop, just to listen to your desperate breathlessness, your carnal wanting of him quelled by trying to be a quiet, good girl like you promised. A hint of a smirk plays on his face, making you want to crush your mouth to his or slap him for his teasing. Instead, you settle for clawing at his shirt.

The wetness that gathers between your legs has your panties soaked and sticking to you now, which might be embarrassing except for the fact that you are so damn needy for him, you couldn’t care less about your ruined underwear. Elvis discovers this fact as he finally dips lower, running the length of his finger back and forth through your sopping, swollen folds, taking his sweet damn time.

You tense. You are nearly ready to come undone just from his teasing, but you know that’s not what he wants. That’s not the game he’s playing. You raise your head from his chest just long enough to give him a pleading look.

He's doing a decent job of keeping his handsome features neutral, looking to a casual observer as though he is following the conversation around the fire and not driving you to madness under the blanket. But knowing him as you do, you can see the tiny giveaways that he, too, is flustered: the way his nostrils flare with his increased breathing rate, how his brilliant blues gleam with arousal, the way his plump lips part when he finally presses his middle finger deep into you.

Your wetness devours him readily. To hide the gasp and roaring flush on your cheeks, you pull the blanket up even farther. You clutch at his chest and your nails scrape his skin. After a few agonizing minutes, there’s no helping the instinct to grind your hips against his hand, wanting him deeper, wanting to consume him.

But while he smirks and is pleased with your desperation, he also will not relinquish control. He stills completely, one hand gripping your waist hard as a reminder of who is in charge. Your warm, wet heat clenches around his finger.

“Be good and stop squirmin’, little one,” he whispers low in your ear, “and maybe Daddy will keep finger fuckin’ you ‘till ya come.”

You stop moving but whine in response to those dirty words coming from his perfect pouty mouth—you just can’t help it—but it’s so quiet he can barely hear you. Your reward is another finger sliding deep into your heat. He picks up the pace in an unforgiving way. Gasping, you bite your lip when he curves those fingers just so, hitting that spot deep inside that is only his.

The blanket barely moves, and you have no idea what magic he is using to keep things so incognito, especially considering he naturally has so much energy that his limbs are usually vibrating uncontrollably. You still feel completely on display, though, especially when the pad of his thumb begins massaging your bud in time with his expert fingers pumping in and out of you.

I’m going to come undone, right here, in front of all the guys, you think in horror. You have no clue how you are going to keep quiet and still and good if that happens. Panic begins to build behind your arousal because you just know that coil is going to burst and you’ll cry out in ecstasy any second now (but a dark part of you is even more aroused by the scandalous nature of it all).

Elvis must sense the change in you because he edges you right up to the point of no return but not over. He halts his ministrations. You clutch desperately at his expensive shirt, certain you are going to shred it to pieces by the time this little game of his is through. Your heart pounds hard and fast against your ribcage, in time with his, and you wait to see what he has in store for you next. Because even though a part of you is embarrassed by this game, you are drinking in every drop of attention, relishing his command over you, needy for every morsel he deems to give you.

He’s considering his next move, you think, by the way his eyes narrow slightly and his grip on you shifts. When he pulls his fingers out of you, you almost moan for the loss of them, but catch yourself at the last second. Brazenly, he wipes his sticky fingers down your inner thigh, his eyes dancing with amusement as he does so.

You gape at him. He can’t be finished, you think dismally. He can’t leave me like this.

No, you don’t think so, not with the way you can feel his hardened length pressing into your hamstring.

He kisses your temple sweetly. “Now listen carefully, little girl: Imma need you to shift onto one of Daddy’s legs for a second. Nice and slow now, don’t call attention to it. And hold those ruined panties of yours to the side. I wanna feel that pretty little kitty weepin’ for me,” he rumbles in your ear.

Oh my goddd... The urge to moan long and loud fills you but you just nod instead.

You follow his directions and move your weight so one of his lean, muscled thighs is between yours. The rough fabric of his pants scrapes your bare pussy as he bounces his leg a few times, sending a cascaded of shivers into your belly. His pants will need to be dry cleaned for the soaking spot you’re leaving there, and part of you feels a sense of pride to be marking him in such a way. Mine.

Holding the blanket up to your shoulders dutifully, you stare at the golden flames licking into the air in front of you. No one seems to notice or care that you have shifted.

That’s when you feel it. The slow, deliberate way he undoes his belt, the ticking of his zipper. You blush furiously, then feel the spring of his heavy cock being released. Before you can react, he unceremoniously and quickly lifts you fully onto his lap, lining you up then impaling you down upon his length.

You cover your surprise and choke with a cough—not unusual considering you’re still recovering from bronchitis. Thank god you are as wet as you are because, even so, it’s a damn tight fit with him having been away these past few weeks. You have to keep yourself from rolling your eyes into the back of your head because he’s finally filling you the way you need him to.

Yes, this is what you wanted. This is what you needed. You just didn’t expect it to be in front of all his (albeit unaware) friends.

By the way Elvis grips your waist and from the soft grunt that escapes him, you know he’s struggling to contain his own reaction to your heat, despite the air of control he’s been exuding. He adjusts you how he wants you: leaning your back over his chest, your legs draped over his, his chin resting on your shoulder. With the way the seat of the chair tips down to the ground and with blanket pulled all the way up, nothing looks amiss.

You close your eyes and sigh, relishing the feel of him stretching you, his cock buried deliciously deep inside you. He envelops you in his arms, one under your breasts, the other at your lower belly. His warmth burns into your back, but he does not let you move. Those wiry but strong arms have effectively pinned you to him. Almost frantic, you try for some semblance of friction, anything at all to ease the tension, but he just chuckles at your near-silent gasps, holding you fast against him.

Finally, once you relent and relax, Elvis swivels his hips, again and again, in a slow rhythm not unlike one monumentally famous performance on TV in the beginning of his career, the one that sent the church ladies off their rockers and the teenage girls fainting. Suddenly, you want to giggle at the fact that his damn hips resulted in both his skyrocketing career and in his censorship because those same hips have certainly become even more skilled in the many years between then and now, but for different, more scandalous reasons. Maybe those church ladies had a point, after all, you laugh quietly. And it causes you to clench around his cock.

Then you hear a low growl in your ear: “What a dirty little girl you are, letting Daddy take you like this in front of all these men. Bein’ so good for me. You like this, baby girl?” Each statement is accentuated with a shallow but pointed roll of his pelvis.

You bite your lip, nodding. His dirty talk has molten heat flooding down your limbs and directly into your cunt. With the warmth of the roaring fire coupled with the passioned heat at your back, your arousal grows with each small movement, each scandalous word, and has you feeling like you might combust before this is all said and done.

So desperately do you want to ride him within an inch of his life, but he won’t allow it. No, this is his show, and you give into him, fully resting back onto his chest. He rewards you by finding your clit again, massaging it in slow time with his barely moving cock. The result is both torturous and delectable, working you into such a state that you dig your nails so hard into his clothed thighs that he hisses.  

“Fuck, little one, you feel so good,” Elvis breathes jaggedly into your ear. He presses a hand to your lower belly, then rolls his hips up. In this position, he’s big enough that you both can feel him there. “Takin’ my cock so well.”

You do your level best not to mewl, to stay quiet for him. Instead, your breathing pants through your nostrils and you try to keep your wits about you, trying to stay good as he fucks you so slowly within an inch of your life. Fucks you with all the guys around, who seem none the wiser.

He must feel you begin to flutter around him, your climax drawing ever closer. You feel like you’re about to burst because you need to scream, to moan out his name, do something that will let you release this pressure, but you tamp it all down as far as you can.

“Daddy’s gonna make you come now, sweetheart,” he purrs.

“N-not h-here,” you breathe out, panicked, knowing you can’t hold on much longer.

“Yes, here,” he chastises. “Right in front of ev’rybody. You’re gonna come so hard, baby, cuz Daddy treats you right, doesn’t he?”

You almost sob at that and nod, that coil poised to explode at any moment.

“But you’re gonna be good and so, so quiet cuz it’s just for me baby. You ain’t gonna cry out or move a muscle, okay?” he whispers and though he’s commanding, you know he’s close to losing control himself by how labored his breath is and how tightly he’s holding you.

You nod, and he flicks your clit with expert, rapid precision. “Now, lil’ one. Come now.”

That’s all you need. Quite suddenly, you are consumed by fire as hot as the one blazing in front of you. Your body tenses, then shudders violently in his lap and he holds you to him as you careen over the edge, lost to the dark night. It takes every ounce of self-control in you to not cry out, resulting instead in your huffed breaths. Long nails bite into his arms, clamoring for some outlet for your pleasure. Your eyes close, stars dancing behind them. Your walls clench and flutter around his length and you feel his slow rhythm begin to stutter.                                                        

“Fuck, baby, Jesus fuck, so good for m-me. Daddy’s gonna fill y-you up now. All mine. Aw, h-hell.” He pulses inside you, covering his own orgasm by biting deep into your shoulder, so hard you can feel it through the heavy winter coat you’re wearing. His thick, hot arousal throbs and coats your insides and you ride him through it with the tiniest rocking of your hips, feeling lighter than air but also grounded by him.

That’s what life with Elvis is like, you think. He grounds you to him, to his orbit, and sends you both shooting to the moon and the stars.  

Completely blissed out and spent, you fall into him, and he slumps back in the chair. As you come back down to Earth, you feel your breathing sync with his. You close your eyes and revel in the wonderful way he’s made you feel, this man you are so wildly in love with.

You’re no longer upset.

You’re just glad to be back in his arms.

Elvis nudges you and you realize you may have dosed off, as he is now soft inside you and the fire has dimmed some.

“I think you made quite the mess, lil’ mama,” he whispers, nipping at your ear.

Indeed. You can feel the cool pooling of your collective arousal coating you and his lap.

“I made the mess, huh?” you whisper back with a roll of your eyes.

“Oh, most definitely.” You can feel his boyish grin as he kisses your neck.

“Sure. And how exactly are we supposed to get back in the house without everyone knowing we had sex in front of them?”

He pauses and then you can feel the vibration of his chest as he starts to chuckle, that way he gets just before he has a laughing fit.

“Oh, don’t you dare start, E,” you warn. It’s contagious, of course, and you feel your own laughter bubbling. “You didn’t think this all the way through, did you, love?” you shake your head.

“That’s what I have you for!” he laughs.

“Well, I guess we’re just gonna have to sit here and simmer in our juices until everyone decides to go to bed, now won’t we?” you try to whisper sternly, but giggles escape at the complete ridiculousness of the situation.

“Not in our juices!” he cries with laughter. He’s completely beside himself, pressing his forehead into your back in an effort to hide his amusement.

“What was that, EP? Thought you both fell asleep over there,” Lamar says.

“N-nothing!” Elvis hiccups. “Just go about your business! Y’all must be getting’ tired, right? Time to go inside! Time for bed!” He flails his arms in the general direction of the house.

You are both trying, quite unsuccessfully, to hold back your laughter, and the guys are looking at you two like you’ve grown horns.

“Um, sure, EP? I guess it is getting late,” Charlie throws out.

Quizzical, the guys grumble a bit and begin to mosey their way towards the house.

“You comin’?” Lamar shouts.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it! We’ll get there!” Elvis calls, shooing him away, then dissolves into another peal of breathless laughter.  

“Okay, Crazy,” Lamar mumbles.

Elvis is sniffling and snorting by now. Your face is red and tears poke at the corners because the more he laughs, the more you laugh.

“I love you, Satnin,” he says, kissing your cheek gently once everyone is gone and your giggles have subsided.

“I love you, too, baby boy.” You press your forehead to his. “Now please tell me you have a handkerchief or something cuz otherwise you’re gonna need to wear this blanket around your waist to get inside.

“Anything for you, baby, anything for you,” Elvis says, holding back another peal of laughter.

And you know it’s true.

*

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