#elvis x y/n

[sissylittlefeather]

Sissy- I’m so excited you reached your 500 follower mark. You’re very talented and I love sharing this little Elvisey corner with you. ✨

This photo of him is gorgeous and dreamy and sort of gives me Sissy poetry vibes. I’ll trust you to create whatever feels good to you. A little smutty, a little fluffy, whatever tickles your fancy dear 🖤

Thank you for being who you are 😘

@lookingforrainbows Awww you're the best! Thank you! Love you sweet friend!

I might've gotten a little carried away with this one, but you said poetry, so here you go...

Just the Two of Us

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, kissing, fingering, o in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, public(ish) sex, and some really indulgent purple prose

------------------------------------------------------

"We're married."

"I know." You look at your new husband and you're in absolute awe. How did you get so lucky? As you walk hand in hand on the beach, you can't believe this is actually your life. You're married. And not just to any man. You managed to land the most famous man on the planet, but more than that, you love him more than you ever thought possible.

He stops and turns you toward him, wrapping his arms around your waist. The wind blows through both of your hair as the sun begins to set over the water. He leans in and plants a gentle kiss on your cheek.

"I love you so much, baby." He coos into your ear. You can't help but smile at his obsession with telling you how much he loves you as often as possible. This is probably the tenth time he's said it since you've been walking up and down the beach. "Let's lay down."

You spread out the towels you've been carrying this whole time, take off your gauzy white cover-up, and settle on the sand, lying on your stomach. He lays next to you, propped up on one elbow to look at you.

"Do you know how beautiful you are?" He says with a sly smile.

"I'm starting to believe it. It's hard not to when you say it so often."

"I just want you to see yourself the way I see you, baby." He runs his fingertips down your cheek and leans in and kisses you again. Then, he looks out over the waves and surveys the beach around you. It's deserted, but of course it is since this is a private beach reserved just for your condo.

You're soaking in the last of the evening rays when you feel him fiddling with the strings on the side of your bikini bottoms. Your eyes pop open as he pulls on one and it comes untied.

"Elvis. What are you doing?"

"Nothing. Just... playing..." He reaches across to your other side and pulls on that one too until it falls open.

"Elvis..." He slides his hand under the back of your swimsuit and takes a handful of your ass, squeezing it gently. The sound of the waves crashing fades into the distance as his hand drifts a little lower, his finger tracing the edges of your entrance. He moves his fingertip to your clit and begins to make slow circles. Without meaning to, you lift your hips and spread your legs a little. He knows this signal and pulls his hand back to press his middle finger into you.

"Mmm... Elvis we're on the beach."

"So? There's no one around for miles. It's just you and me, baby." He pumps his finger in and out of you and you moan softly.

"But still." He pulls his finger back.

"You want me to stop?"

"No!" He smiles and presses his finger into you again, using his pointer finger to rub on your sensitive button. He leans forward and presses his lips to your shoulder as he continues to play with you.

"I just want to please my wife on our honeymoon. Is that bad?" He adds a second finger to press inside you and continues to drag his other fingertip across your clit quickly.

"No... it's so good..." You can't help but moan as he works you with his hand. You feel your release building as he moves on you. His ability to bring you to a climax with just three fingers will never cease to amaze you. The pressure continues to build in your center and he stops pumping his fingers to focus on your clit. He moves his fingertip over and around you and the blood rushes to your core. "Fuck, Elvis!"

You try not to scream as your orgasm slams into you, spreading you open right there on the beach and burning you up like starlight. Everything is warm and pulsing and all you see is his smile. He knows how he's made you feel and it's all he wants. But there's one more thing he needs.

"Can I make love to you on this beach, baby? I need you... right now..."

Everything inside you is warm, sensuous honey, so the thought of saying no doesn't even cross your mind.

"Yes, please." He kicks his pants off, pulls off his shirt, and rolls over on top of your back, discarding your open bikini bottom. You spread your legs just enough for him to find your entrance with the tip of his rock hard cock. He pushes into you slowly from behind, filling you inch by gasp-inspiring inch. When he's got you fully stretched around him, he pulls almost all the way out and thrusts into you deeply again. He begins a steady rhythm of rolling his hips into you, pumping into you as you try not to make too much noise. You're up on your elbows with your ass raised to give him the best angle. He kisses your shoulder and then slips a hand up under the top of your bikini to play with your nipple. After a few more minutes of thrusting, he unties your top and takes that off of you as well. Now it's just you and him, naked together under the open sky, the sun setting over the water creating a kaleidoscope of cotton candy clouds reflected on the waves.

The places where your skin kisses his are lightning hot with passion and sweat. And his lips. He presses his lips to any place he can reach on your back as he continues to fill you with himself over and over again.

When he pulls out and rolls onto his back, you know exactly what to do. You've made love to him enough to know what he wants. You crawl on top of him, settling a knee on either side of his hips and sink down onto him. The change in angle makes you moan together in unison. Somewhere a dog barks, but you don't care as the wind brushes your nipples causing them to harden even more. He notices and reaches out with both hands to caress your breasts. The waves crest and break on the beach behind you as you move up and down on him, taking him as deeply as you can. The sun is just a sliver over the water, but the moon is full, replacing the purple and orange sunset with silvery beams and glittering stars. He looks at you like you've swallowed the moon, it's light emanating from every edge of you.

"You are the answer to every prayer I've ever spoken into the darkness." He whispers into the night. His hand finds your cheek and he drags his thumb across your lips. No one else on earth knows the poetry of your bond. But he breathes life into it every time he touches you. "I am whole because you exist."

You lean forward and lay on his chest as he thrusts slowly into you from underneath. He pulls you into a deep kiss, your tongues creating a medley of dance steps all their own. When the kiss ends, you whisper back to him.

"You are my sun. The center of my orbit. I am me because you are you." He kisses your cheek and smiles.

"The only thing that ever made sense to me was music. And now you're the only notes I hear." His voice is just for you in the inky black night. Your heartbeats match the rhythm of his thrusting and the waves pounding the beach.

"All I want is to be yours forever." You half-moan into his ear.

"You are mine, baby. And I'm yours. Until we ourselves are moonlight." He groans and closes his eyes.

Before you were married, your union would've ended now to prevent any too-soon consequences. But tonight, here on the beach as husband and wife, there's a longing from both of you to continue. Any uncertainty about the future is now replaced by hope. So he doesn't stop. Your movements create a tapestry of oneness and as he approaches his release, your pace is steady. It's an unspoken agreement, a covenant that doesn't need acknowledging.

"Oh, God, baby..." He moans, eyes closed and lips parted slightly. You look at him with endless admiration. He's almost angelic in this moment and you revel in his beauty as he tenses and then shudders into you. The warmth inside you is not just metaphorical and he fills you with everything he has. This is what it means to be joined forever.

"I love you. I love you. I love you." He whispers, his voice husky with post-climax emotion as he kisses your lips between each phrase. When he's finished and beginning to soften, you readjust to lay next to him. He rolls over to face you, tracing his fingertips along the outline of your body as gently as butterfly wings. There is no more separation between you. You don't end and he doesn't begin. You simply are, like pieces of tracing paper layered together to create a single image.

"My husband." You whisper, your fingertips gracing the side of his face with a kind of holy adoration.

"My wife." He replies, his eyes like oceans deep enough to contain you both.

You lay there under the summer moon, two naked souls bound together by a love beyond comprehension. Tomorrow will bring you back to a reality filled with concert dates and meetings. But tonight? Tonight is just for the two of you.

******

The End

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

[youaintnothinbuta]

“I wanna go steady” — Elvis Presley x reader

Summary: part two to this fic, where Elvis finally asks you to go steady n be his girlfriend

Pairing: Elvis or austin!Elvis x reader

Word count: 1K

Warnings: none! Fluff, maybe typos sorrryyy

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The sound of the doorbell echoing through the house sent your heart racing as you rushed downstairs, nearly tumbling down the stairs with the fright it gave you. You reached the bottom step, smoothed out your dress, and took a deep breath to calm your nerves.

You exclaimed a bright “hi” as you swung open the door, and there he was, Elvis, standing before you with that charming smile that never failed to make your heart skip a beat. He was dressed in a black button up, his hair slicked, his eyes just as piercing as ever. In his hands, he held the most beautiful and enormous bouquet of flowers you'd ever seen, all of them in your favorite shade of pink.

“Hi, baby.” He enveloped you in a warm hug, his arms wrapping around you in a familiar embrace that felt like home. As you leaned into him, he pressed the flowers into your hands, his lips brushing against yours in a gentle kiss.

“Elvis,” you mumbled, kissing him on the jaw, “these are beautiful. Thank you.”

He smiled, his eyes sparkling with affection as he watched you admire the flowers, “you’re very welcome, sweetheart.”

“Come,” you pulled him inside, going to search your cabinets for a vase for them. Your parents weren’t home, they went out for dinner, otherwise he would have gone and said hello to them. You rummaged through the cabinets, pulling out a delicate vase from the back of the cupboard. Elvis stood by, covering the countertop with hand to protect your head as you stood.

While arranging the flowers, you discovered a small note hidden among the blooms. You hadn't noticed it before, and your heart skipped a beat as you read the words. He held you from behind, resting his chin in the crook of your neck as you read it.

To the prettiest petal there ever was.

All my love, Elvis.

“Oh, you!” You squealed with delight as you gave him a peck on the lips. “Elvis, you are too sweet.”

He chuckled, his hand resting on the nape of your neck, his touch firm yet calming. “Nonsense,” he whispered, his voice gentle, “now, you ready?”

You gave a satisfied nod, heading for the front door. His tall frame reached out to grab your coat off the hook before you could, wrapping it around you with a gentle touch that sent shivers over your skin.

With a quick peck on the cheek, you shut the front door and headed to his pink Cadillac. The drive to the restaurant was filled with laughter and conversation, the anticipation of the evening ahead palpable in the air between you.

As you arrived at the restaurant, you were greeted by the warm glow of candlelight and the aroma of delicious food wafting through the air. Over dinner, you shared stories and dreams, lost in each other's company as you savored every moment together.

As you sat across from each other, sharing ice cream for dessert, Elvis reached across the table to take your hand in his, clearing his throat.

“Y/n, there's something I-I've been w-wanting to ask you.” His nervous stutter that you adored so much made an appearance, you gave him an encouraging glance.

Your heart skipped a beat as you looked into his eyes, seeing the depth of his love and affection reflected back at you. “What is it, Elvis?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He took a deep breath, his gaze never leaving yours. “I know we've been seeing each other a w-while now, and I ain’t never been happier,” he began, his eyes filled with sincerity. “I wanna go steady, y/n, will you be my girlfriend?”

“Yes, Elvis,” you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. “I would love to be your girlfriend.”

He leaned closer into you, you leaned in too, your lips meeting in a tender kiss.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box and placing it in front of you. “I got you something,” he said, his voice soft.

You opened the box, your breath catching in your throat as you saw the delicate silver bracelet nestled inside. It had a tiny heart-shaped charm with his initials engraved on.

“Elvis, it's beautiful,” you exclaimed, feeling overwhelmed by his generosity.

He took the bracelet from the box, gently fastening it around your wrist as he looked into your eyes. “Like you.”

He looked up at you from your wrist, his thumb reaching out to wipe away a tear that threatened to spill over.

After he paid the bill, he stood up, once again helping your arms into your coat. After dinner, Elvis took you for a leisurely drive, the night sky twinkling overhead the cool breeze brushed your hair back. And as you arrived back at his house, you cuddled up on the couch and watched whatever was on tv for a while, getting cosy. As the night progressed, Elvis felt your lean more on him, yawning, growing tired.

“Let’s get you home so you can get some rest.” He whispered, kissing your forehead.

At your home, he walked you to your front door, he kissed you goodnight, his touch lingering on your lips.

“Thank you,” you smiled sleepily, “tonight has been the best night of my life.”

“My pleasure, sweetheart.” He replied.

"Wait a minute, darlin'," he stopped you, as you turned to go inside. "Turn around for me."

You did, and he unclasped your necklace, slipping a ring off his finger and putting it on the chain. He did it up again, and you felt a little thrill run through you.

"What's this?" you asked, touching the ring.

“Well, you gotta wear my ring around your neck,” he said, his eyes sparkling with romance. "You're special to me, darlin', and I want everyone to know it."

You kissed him one last time, feeling like you were floating on air. You went inside, took off your shoes and coat, and couldn't stop grinning from ear, not even while you were sleeping.

A/N: the little stutter he would get like at the beginning of the 1955 maybellene recording and in that scene in loving you OH MY GOD I love it so much

[wanderingelvis]

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

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

🧚 masterlist 🧚 word count: 1,758

pairing: 70s elvis x innocent!ditzy!reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[starryschoolgirl]

Responsibilities (of marriage)

Summary -> Even though the two of you may have a little fight here and there, Elvis reminds you that regardless of your feelings, you still have your marital duties to abide by, it's what holds a union together. Your responsibilities as a wife. And to keep him, you're bound to fulfill them because Lord knows he can have them filled anytime anyplace.

Warnings -> Jealousy, the brutally soft/appeasing nature of the reader can be annoying to some people, smut, p in v, possible dacryphilia, unprotected sex, sex in a house full of people(?), kitchen sex, entitlement to a woman's body, innocence/inexperience kink, threats of infidelity, dismissed jealousy, Elvis gets pervy with panties, ass slapping, outdated views on how marriage/being married should be, swearing, talks of 'breaking in' girl's vagina, repeated denial of sex, persuasion for sex, this is quite dubious at certain points

WC -> 5.6k

Edit: This is an installment of the Baby Love au!!

This could only have come to fruition thanks to the wonderful input of @yourfavoritedreamgirlblog, thank you Lovely for the help

As another song came to a wrap Elvis made sure to send a smile to every girl in the room, along with a few of the guys who watched from their places at the fold-out table they used to play cards on, having their respective girls on their laps.

Squeals of excited ecstasy left the mouths of the girls that surrounded Elvis as he sang one last sweet, drawn-out note.

This kind of night wasn't an unusual occurrence, Elvis often held jam sessions with girls there to praise him because for some reason your words and the words of his entourage weren't enough to satisfy his ego. It had started happening a lot more since you and Elvis officially tied the knot, not even a month ago now.

But tonight it wasn't in you to be the cool wife, to be just the wife. The wife who was sweet and unthreatened by the floozies Elvis would let into the house, into your home. A strange swirl of anger and sadness had been giving you a headache for the entirety of the jam session. It either stemmed from your waves of emotions, or it was the fumes of how much perfume these girls were spritzing all over themselves, filling your house with the scent of them.

It also didn't help that Elvis had been paying special attention to the girls tonight, usually he'd take time to look at you and smile at you throughout the session, but tonight he hadn't given you any attention.

Biting down on your wobbly lip, you watched from afar on the plush couch, Elvis sat on a stool a few feet away, his guitar sitting on his lap as a group of girls sat at his feet like concubines. The girls were meant to be there for the other guys, at least that's what Elvis had always said to you. Joe would go down and pull a few pretty girls from the gate of your California home and drag them up to the house so that they could entertain the boys.

As your nails dug little crescents into your palms Elvis' laughter boomed over the shrill giggles of the girls sitting at his feet, he then asked as he stared down at a particular green-eyed blonde,

"Got another request?"

Just then a different girl wearing a skin-tight green dress crawled forward slightly, putting her hand on Elvis' knee as she suggested with those big batting false lashes,

"Could you read to us again?"

Elvis smiled down at her sweetly and put his hand over hers as he purred,

"'Course Doll… And by the way,"

He went on about how pretty her makeup was done and that led to another girl clinging to his leg and asking coyly, "What about my eyelashes Mr. Presley? They're natural.", everyone in the room knew they weren't, even Elvis, but he'd feed into the girl's words because she was just so cute.

As the group continued to converse with Elvis' preferences being the focus, you bit your manicured nails harshly, feeling tears build up in your eyes as you watched this all go down in your home.

Your legs bounced nervously, but only seconds later a woman turned her head back to the sound of your heels clicking against the wood floor. Her stare wasn't nice or sweet, it looked closer to disgust. Your nervous habit came to a halt, not wanting to be bothersome to anybody even in your own house.

As her head turned back to Elvis her hair flicked with it. You pulled your nails from your mouth and let them rest in your lap, the paint on your pointer and middle fingernails was chipped. You'd have to fix the ugly mistake tonight.

Elvis' conversation with the girls came to a stop as he decided to fulfill the blonde's wish, and for the first time tonight he looked over to you with a hand pointed to the cushion next to you where he left one of his religious books,

"Honey, could ya grab my book f'me?"

You looked up at him with wide eyes and immediately stepped into action, grabbing his book gently and stepping around the girls who stared up at you with unreadable gazes. You mumbled quiet apologies as you tried to step around them to get to Elvis, you felt like an inconvenience, and you knew you shouldn't, but you did.

As Elvis grabbed the book from you, instead of smiling and mumbling a 'thank you', his eyes caught the imperfection on your nails. He grabbed your wrist gently and turned it so that he could get a better look at your hand, with a soft laugh he spoke bluntly,

"Your polish is chipped Honey,"

A few girls giggled along with his laugh, but you knew they weren't laughing out of love the way (you hoped) Elvis was. They were laughing because even the smallest glimpse of imperfection from a woman married to a man like Elvis was pathetic. It gave them the idea that they had a chance with Elvis. Little Miss Perfect made a mistake, so they had an opening. You felt a blush of embarrassment fall over your face and softly stuttered,

"I-I know, I'll fix it"

Elvis stared at you with a small smile, his thumb gliding across the smooth skin of your wrist as he mumbled,

"I think it's best ya do"

The attention on you at the moment was making you antsy and irritable. You just wanted to go back to being a decoration in the corner of the house. Something that no one but Elvis would pay any mind to. The uncomfortable feeling of having the eyes of girls you didn't even want in the house on you was weighing on your mind and your words.

You looked down at the tips of your heels and avoided eye contact as you quietly repeated yourself to get yourself out of the situation as fast as possible,

"I said I'll fix it."

His eyebrows lifted ever so slightly at his sweet little girl's tone, his grip on your wrist tightening just enough to leave a mark but not so much that the girls that surrounded you could see it. His smile turned patronizing as he tilted his head a little. He spoke through a breathy laugh,

"Shouldn't have chipped it in the first place Doll…"

The laughs of the other girls sounded like a soft hum as you stared at your feet, nodding in silence as you chewed your lower lip, feeling tears build up in your eyes once again. After he got your nod he let go of your wrist, but instead of turning to head back to the couch, you turned a different way, as you made your way through the girls in a different direction. As you walked you murmured a soft, "Excuse me", a quiet, "Sorry", and a shaky, "P-pardon me"

As you began to quickly make your way to the doorway that led to the kitchen you could hear Elvis ask, "Where ya goin' Hon?" and you continued without looking back or speaking, fearing that if you did he'd see your teary eyes and hear the cracks in your voice.

Thankfully the kitchen was a completely separate room, and though you could still hear everything going on in the living room, it was more subdued despite that the entry to the kitchen was open and free for noise to flow in and out. You sniffled softly and stared down at your nails, finally taking in the ugliness of the chipping at your polish.

You walked over to the medicine cabinet just above the stove, you were tall enough to open it but unfortunately, you weren't tall enough to reach inside so you had to grab one of the stools that were used as seating for the island counter, shakily standing on it as you continued to sniffle.

Your search for the nail polish remover was a hard one, maybe it was due to the tears that filled your eyes and made your vision blur, but for some reason, you were having such a hard time finding it that you hadn't even noted that the strumming of the guitar in the other room had come to a stop, and Elvis' voice which sounded like a soft murmur from here in the kitchen had now disappeared from the air, like the scent of your favorite dinner after everyone had taken their portion.

It was only when you felt the rough callouses on Elvis' hands and the rings that adorned his fingers run along the inside of your thigh that you realized he must've stopped entertaining the girls at some point and entered the kitchen. He looked up at you as you stood on the stool while his hand continued to knead at the flesh of your thigh.

Your lip wobbled as you looked down at him and you quickly used the back of your hand to swipe your tears away as you noticed a frown tug at his lips. He mumbled in plain confusion,

"Why ya cryin'?"

You sighed softly, disguising it as a breathy laugh as you shook your head,

"It's nothing"

Elvis' hand that caressed your inner thigh ran down toward the back of your calf, rubbing upward and downward twice before he spoke pointedly with an unamused look on his face,

"If it's nothin' why'd ya leave? And why didn't you answer me?"

You looked down at him with widened eyes and quickly closed the cabinet so you could put all your focus on him, feeling apologetic as you'd forgotten about that.

"I-I didn't mean to- I was just, I was embarrassed…"

Elvis' laugh was low and dry, complimented perfectly by his rough voice and tightening grip on your calf,

"You were embarrassed? How'd ya think I felt after my wife ignored me in front of a whole fuckin' room of people?"

You kept yourself from wincing at his tone as you looked away from him, realizing how inconsiderate your actions were, and remembering your mother telling you that the wife is a representation of the man, that she is responsible for his image, and that she should always maintain decorum. Hardly married a month and you'd already made so many mistakes, this was just another notch to the bedpost.

Your voice was quiet as you breathed out another apology.

A silence ensued as Elvis' hand ran up your calf to your thigh, slipping up even further to touch the skin under your skirt. You turned abruptly which made him lose his touch on your skin, before stepping off the stool carefully. Your eyes were widened as you looked scandalized by even the prospect of what he was silently proposing.

As he moved the stool out of the way to clear his path toward you, arms reached out and landing around your waist. You put both your hands on his chest, the force you could evoke from yourself was a small pathetic one as you whispered up at him, "No, no, no…"

He smiled down at you and licked his lips, his girl was so smart.

"No what? Hm?"

Each stride of his pushed his body against yours, the contact would lose for a second as you took a step back, but he would follow up with another stride until you were pushed back against the counter, you could feel the hard granite pushing into the back of you.

He knew what he was suggesting, he knew what he was imploring with those fingers that danced too close to the lace lining of your panties under your skirt. He just wanted to hear you say it, to say you knew what he was implying.

You, his sweet little wife, having only recently had her cherry popped by her husband, a girl who while she dated him wasn't all that aware of sexual cues until now. And within the span of a few weeks, Elvis had broken you in all nice and proper, he'd taught you how to take a cock, and he loosened you up enough to where sex could be enjoyable.

And though the wedding was almost a month ago, he still cradles the idea that his darling bride is still new and flimsy, inexperienced and innocent.

He wanted to hear what he was turning you into. From a virgin bride who needed to be gently introduced to her marital duties, to a fucked-out wife who knew her place and knew when she needed to fulfill her responsibilities. Whether those responsibilities take place on the plush of your shared bed, the leather of the couch in Elvis' dressing rooms, or the hardened countertops in the kitchen.

It didn't matter, it was your responsibility.

"E-Elvis, there are people, they'll hear…"

Elvis' grip on your waist had firmed up as he leaned down to press little kisses along the side of your neck. One hand rose to gently get a grip on your hair as he used it to pull your head to the side, giving him more access to the skin. He mumbled softly into the skin,

"Isn't that what you want?"

You breathed out a confused, "What?" as his kisses continued up your chin and then to your cheek. He pulled back and smiled down at you, both his hands cupping your cheeks in the gentlest of ways,

"As subtle as ya think ya are, it's pretty easy f'me to tell when you're jealous"

Oh no. He knew.

Your mother always told you that a good wife doesn't get jealous, she shouldn't anyway.

She's the wife and that's the spot that matters, a man can have girlfriends if he wants to. Because the only way to keep a man happy is to let him have his cake and eat it too. Men were simple that way, they were greedy and lustful. And your mother told you that no matter how hard you work, there comes a point when a man will no longer lust over his wife, his eyes will travel elsewhere and that's a given. But you'll stay around as long as you're pleasant company because men are greedy.

You looked panicked as you tried to deny it with a shake of your head, your voice frantically soft in the way your mother always spoke to your father,

"I'm not-"

His voice was sharp as he easily cut through your denial,

"Think I'm stupid or somethin'? I know ya want those girls to know you're mine. So I'll be a good husband and comply with your wishes."

It was all falling apart, you should've just sat there and dealt with it like a good wife. As you realized the bunch you got yourself into you began to try to explain yourself, only to have your thoughts get all jumbled as Elvis pressed his body against yours entirely, his arms trapping you against him as he wrapped them around your waist. His nose was buried into the crook of your neck as he began tugging the neckline of your shirt down, when it didn't comply he simply began ripping it.

"Elvis don't!"

He mumbled into your skin, sounding a little annoyed as he did so,

"Would ya just shut the fuck up"

You blubbered with your hands attempting to push him away by his shoulders, you needed to explain to him that you were fine with the girls, you didn't care, you could be the placating wife a man like him no doubt needed. You really could. So the two of you didn't need to do it now, didn't need to do it here for anyone to walk in and see. For the people just one room away to hear.

Your voice was panicked as you continued despite his scolding,

"B-but, I'm not, I mean- We can't"

As Elvis continued to attack your neck he spoke roughly into the skin, "Goddammit" and pulled away, pulling you by your wrist over to the island counter, center of the kitchen and as big as a dining table. You tried to explain your viewpoint quickly,

"People will hear, I don't, please no, not here, c-can we go upstairs?"

He kept a bruising grip on your waist with one hand while the other grabbed your chin roughly, making you look him in the eye. Your breathing was ragged, not from means of pleasure, but rather your fear of having a displeased husband, having done something to make him look at you the way he was now. You're sure what's in his eyes is anger, fury, disappointment, and dissatisfaction.

"Look Honey, I don't wanna be an ass of a husband, but if that's what I gotta be to make this marriage work, then that's what I'll be."

You stared up at him with fear of what being an ass of a husband entailed. Was he going to find a girl who'd let him fuck her in this situation instead? Would he do that? No, he wouldn't… Your eyes watered at the idea.

Your tone sounded hurt as you said, "Elvis…"

As your eyes continued to fill with tears Elvis' hands flew down to your hips, quickly spinning your around to face the island and pressing his groin against your ass. The surface was digging painfully into where your hip bones were.

"If I have to fuck you face down over this damn counter so that this marriage can keep on keepin' on, then that's what I'm gonna do."

You gasped at his statement and tried to maneuver out from between him and the counter, but that only led to him grabbing you by the back of your neck with a gentle, but firm grip. He pushed you down by the neck till you were completely bent over the counter. As the cold granite snapped against your temple and cheek you whined softly, "Elvis, can we please do it upstairs? Please"

Even in this situation, you were still acting like a good little girl, still minding your manners, talking sweet and soft.

Elvis gave you an ultimatum from behind as he shifted his crotch slightly, letting you feel what you were doing to him,

"I don't wanna fuck you upstairs, I wanna do it here and now, if you won't I'm sure one of the other girls will."

You stayed bent over the counter pliantly, chewing the bottom of your lip with an internal battle, Elvis' voice interrupting it as he asked,

"Now then, I'm gonna make this marriage work, spent too long breakin' ya in to have ya turn into some naggin' old, jealous prude of a wife."

Before you could say anything in response he was already hiking your skirt up to have it pool around your hips as he kneaded your ass. You let out a strangled yelp as the sharp sound of Elvis slapping your ass filled the room. Followed by another. he leaned over your body and cupped your chin from behind as he littered kisses down your temple and cheek, growling into the skin, "Go on Baby, let them hear you, let them hear what I do to you."

Another slap of your ass filled the room followed by a cry. You hated that you liked it.

Elvis pulled back to stare at your pretty pink panties, his fingers toyed with the edge of the thin fabric. After ample admiring he tugged the sides down, eventually letting them drop and watching as they fell to your ankles. He smirked softly as he watched your small clumsy feet try to step out of them.

"Atta girl, knew my sweet girl would come 'round"

You hummed softly, happy with the tinge of approval in his voice. Your actions showed that you could be the kind of wife Elvis could fuck next to a room full of people, but your body betrayed you as you trembled with anxiety from the thought of someone else coming in and seeing you in this state. Seeing you acting like a whore.

As you heard the click of Elvis' belt buckle you inhaled a sharp breath of nerves. And though at this moment, any spectator might think Elvis was just another self-centered man who thought sex was only about the man's feelings, you knew Elvis was thinking of you, that by having not even fucked you yet he was being considerate. He could have easily pushed you against the counter and had his way with you a few minutes ago.

And he showed his silent consideration of your feelings as he kept one hand on your lower back, rubbing soothing circles into the skin while his fingers on his other hand fumbled with the zipper of his trousers, pulling out his length and quickly spitting onto his palm just to rub himself up.

Had it been any other man the image would've been disgusting, but when it was Elvis it was different. Because your husband wasn't like any other.

His hand that once soothed you drifted down to squeeze the globe of your ass before traveling even further South as he used two fingers to part the lips of your pussy. A soft squelch filled the air between to two of you as he parted you, it was proof that your body wanted him just as much as his wanted yours. The noise left him to hum pleasurably, and you to press your red-hot cheeks into the cold counter.

"What's this? Were ya secretly hopin' I'd fuck you over the counter?"

You whined softly at his insinuation. Squeezing your eyes shut in distaste as he reasoned, "No point in askin' I guess, I mean-" His eyes caught sight of your discarded pink panties on the floor and he quickly reached to grab them, laughing softly to himself as he saw all he needed. He continued, bringing your panties down for you to look them head-on.

Your face flushed at the sight and as you tried to turn it away his other hand gripped your chin roughly, the rings pinching at your skin as he made you stare at your own doing, laughing breathily, "The answer to my question is right here ain't it?"

And it was. You didn't want to admit it, but it was all true. The idea of, after repressing your jealousy night after night for so long, of finally letting everyone know you were his and he was yours… It was such a romantic idea. And for you, raised to only get your rocks off on romance books rather than boys, romance was the most erotic thing of all.

His two fingers that parted your pussy's lips squeezed their way through the folds, entering a much warmer, more enclosed area. Your vagina contracted slightly at the sudden intrusions of Elvis' long fingers, you let out a soft breathy moan, it was quiet for the most part but had a high pitch at the end that could give away that not all was normal in the kitchen.

He spoke breathily at the noise, "Oh Honey," it was a giveaway that he'd enjoyed hearing that sound leave you. You quickly flung your hand over your mouth as Elvis' fingers curled within your heat, the squelching continued with each movement, the larger his movements were, the louder the squelch would be. It amused him.

When he deemed you ready he pulled his fingers out, running the white discharge that stuck to his fingers along his length, using it as a lubricant of sorts, but really, he just loved how lewd the idea was. His special times with you always ended with your skin getting stained with the proof of his satisfaction. So when he could, he loved to lather his cock in your proof of satisfaction as if it were the most purifying of body washes. You getting cum on your face and him watching it begin to slowly slide down your skin was lewd and he knew deep down you loved it, this was his equivalent, this is what he loved.

His head fell back gently as he tugged at his foreskin again, making sure to get your discharge in all the little cracks and crevices before lining himself up behind you. You could feel the tip of him press against your lips, despite all his experience he always fumbled around a little down there, in his defense there were a few things to look out for before he could land himself in the gold mine.

You tried your best to brace yourself, but there wasn't much to grab on the counter, it wasn't like when Elvis fucked you on the bed and you could cry into a pillow and grasp at the sheets, the best you could do on the counter was hold onto the edges, it was worth a try though.

As Elvis pushed into you he groaned lowly, the noise only getting louder the further he pushed in. You did your best to keep quiet, to keep your dignity, but it was only due to you beginning to stand on your tippy toes to stop Elvis from getting his natural leverage due to height into you, it soothed the burn enough to where instead of moaning loudly you got by with a soft cry that you did your best to choke back.

Elvis noticed this and leaned down, careful not to shuffle around in you too much. He kissed your shoulder gently and murmured into the skin, his tone and words sweet for the first time this evening, as he spoke he sounded the way he always did when the two of you were alone, his public behavior now wearing off as he tried to soothe his wife.

"I know it's still hard Babydoll, but this is the only way it gets better, c'mon, come down from the tips of your sooties, ya can do it Baby, I know ya can…"

As Elvis continued to press gentle kisses along your shoulder you slowly eased yourself down from your toes, but the tug at your inner walls and the burn that followed was too much. You fell forward defeatedly onto the island counter, raising yourself back up to your toes as you cried softly into the hard surface,

"It hurts Elvis..! I can't, I can't"

Elvis grimaced and looked up to the ceiling like he was asking the Lord for patience as the throbbing and twitching of his cock was beginning to tingle him painfully, he needed to move, but he needed you to be ok with that.

With a gentle hold, Elvis moved your hair to the side so that he could press a gentle kiss on the back of your neck. You could feel and hear him murmur into the skin, his voice patient yet stern,

"You've done it before Mama, we've been workin' so hard. Don't ya remember it only burns at first, r'member how good it feels after?"

You nodded slowly, he watched from behind and quietly hummed, "There, now let yourself down on me Honey, all the way." His hands settled at your hips as he slowly helped guide you down from your tippy toes, you winced softly as you continued, and he encouraged, "A-almost there Baby, that's right, there…"

His last word had drawn off as his head fell backward from being completely engulfed within your heat.

Pulling out a little was easy, it was the going back in that was hard as it put the both of you right back where you started with you arching back up on your toes and crying out softly from the familiar yet painful intrusion.

Elvis swore quietly, "Fuck's sake…"

Though you felt bad for being so bothersome, you stuck with your actions. You'd never done the act in this position before, all the other times you and Elvis had sex up until now, it was always slow, sweet, and soft. There was never any pressure, and you never had to stand up.

You stuttered out as you felt your poor little toes begin to tremble from supporting your entire body for so long,

"It-It's not getting better, it b-burns"

Elvis grunted and laid his head on your back as he spoke through a sexual frustration from being granted access to your pussy just to have it taken away once again,

"It will get better."

You were being such a tease, well not purposely, but it still wasn't something that would fly with Elvis. He knew how to cut through to you though, he knew his bride was such a sweet girl, such a people pleaser, that she wouldn't be so difficult under different conditions.

Elvis pressed his head against your back, his tone of voice low and breathy as he asked,

"Remember all that breakin' in I did for ya? How good I was? I was good wasn't I, mama?"

You wanted to sob as you were stuck in a predicament, if you stopped Elvis would think you didn't think he was good enough, but if you kept going you were certain he'd tear you open from the inside out, or at least rip the crevice of your womanhood, the idea made you grimace painfully as you thought about it.

As you ducked your head into your shoulder to try and stifle a cry, Elvis was there for you to lean your cheek against instead. It was romantic, the feel of your wet tears that glided down your face as if they were shooting stars, rubbing up against his much dryer cheek, letting him feel the struggle he was putting you through. Letting him feel what he was doing to you for once while you knew all too well with a hardened cock up your pussy what you were doing to him.

He hummed soothingly and clicked his tongue once, twice, before murmuring as he placed a kiss on your damp cheek,

"I jus' need ya to trust me Honey, same way ya did on our wedding night"

His kisses danced along your cheek and lingered on your earlobe, nibbling the edge softly as his hand drifted around your waist, landing expertly at your clit as if he knew your body like a map.

"Don't tell me ya forgot about that already?" He whispered as his middle fingers began to circle that special little bud down there, making your hips twitch ever so slightly with the sensation.

You let out an airy moan as he added his index finger to the circling of your most sensitive bundle of nerves, rubbing slow lazy circles as you felt the hot, wet edge of his tongue land on the skin just below your ear as he pressed gentle little kisses. His words were encouragingly sweet, "I've been neglectin' ya here, haven't I?"

Your hum was weak and broken as you tilted your head back, biting your lower lip,

"Mhm"

Elvis cooed softly and kept with his thumb's movement.

"Oh Baby, why didn't ya tell me?"

As the burn in your aching cunt loosened to a familiar warmth from Elvis' expert strumming of your clit your breaths became ragged and torn, just the small stroking of his fingers was turning you into a panting dog, a bitch in heat. With the warmth overcoming your pussy your body began to chase what it needed, your hips began to grind downward. The feeling of Elvis' length rubbing up and down ever so slightly within your walls as you continued to grind down what you could handle was a pornographic one.

As you could practically feel the shift of his foreskin within your cunt with each rise and fall of your hips, Elvis' hands now rested on them as he helped you broaden your movements, his hands squeezing your sides tightly as a low groan fell from his lips. "That's it, oh fuck…"

As his head fell back he brought a hand up to rest firmly on the center of your throat, pulling you back by it just barely so that your head could fall back on his chest. The breaths you both let out no doubt danced with each other in the air as you continued to grind down as best you could while his fingers strummed a tune on your clit which pulled the notes from your mouth as your breaths turned to airy moans.

Abruptly, Elvis gave a small thrust upward, the strength within the movement was enough to make you bounce slightly and let out an immediate moan of pleasure. You quickly flung your palm over your lips just for him to remove his hand from the center of your throat, now gripping your wrist and pulling your hand down to your chest as he murmured lowly,

"Let it out Honey, let 'em know you're mine, and I'm yours."

He began to grind upward into you slowly, working his way back to a thrust, each movement evoked a noise from you louder than the last, and as time went on the soft grinding of his groin into your ass as his dick plunged further up your heat turned to soft skin-to-skin claps with air between them. He tended to be loud as he chased what he needed.

He groaned into your neck as he pressed open-mouth kisses along it, your skin didn't even make a dent in minimizing the sound of his groans. He was loud and full of want, and as prudent as you were taught to be about sinful, sexual desires, it was the most liberating experience you could ever go through.

The smutty sounds of skin slapping on skin reverberated in the walls of the kitchen, stretching into the room just a thin privacy wall away. All the while Elvis was groaning and growling loudly against your skin, mumbling your name between groans and low moans.

His fingers kept their rhythm, so even in the chaos of Elvis' thrusts speeding and his body pushing yours against the hard granite of the counter to the point of bruising, he kept his fingers going just the way you liked. Your moans went up a pitch as you felt a feeling Elvis had introduced you to a few weeks ago on your wedding night, it was one you'd slowly begun to crave even when the two of you were doing something as simple as sitting in the car together. You could hold back and keep your dignity in those moments.

But now as the feelings lingered in your face and were oh so close, you felt like an addict who needed her high. Your voice cracked in a moan as you begged,

"Yes, just like that"

He growled breathily, his lips still dancing along your neck as his hips rocked into you from behind, his voice was breathy as he asked,

"Like that? Ya like it like that? Yeah?"

Your head hung back on his chest, your mouth open wide as your hips began to chase the sensations, "Yes Elvis, y-yes..!"

By now all the chatter that filled the house like background noise was completely silenced as the sounds of sex that filled the kitchen drifted into the other rooms. The air of the other room was awkward as your high-pitched moans which contrasted beautifully with Elvis' low groans were the only thing keeping the California house from silence. Everyone's assumptions were answered by the sudden increase in the volume of the skin-to-skin slapping along with of course your noises of ecstasy.

Elvis swore loudly into your neck, his voice reverberating against the soft skin,

"Fuck Baby!"

As he bit down roughly onto a rather sensitive spot your moans hit their height as you practically wailed, "Oh Elvis!"

And within the span of a second, that coil that played around ever so coyly in the space between your stomach and pussy had completely broken. Elvis' animalistic speed of rhythmic thrusts lost their rhythm and their speed as you felt a warmth like no other fill your body, his open-mouth kisses simply turned to his lips dragging lazily along your neck with a loud groan accompanying the skin.

His thrusts tampered down to deep grinds of his hips down into yours as you'd let out the heights of what your voice box could manage. Your mouth was still open wide but nothing leaving it as you'd reached nirvana.

Your body gave out as your legs trembled and you had to lean over onto the counter to support yourself. From behind Elvis' arms caged you against the island counter, his hands at either side of you pressed down onto the surface to support himself up. You let out a soft whimper as he slowly pulled out of you and fumbled around you from behind for a few moments, the familiar sound of his buckle could be heard.

Before you knew it his hands were on your hips turning you back around to face him, he was dressed, and in hand were the discarded panties of yours that he quickly shoved into the back pocket of his trousers.

Elvis' hands flew to smooth your hair back into place gently. They lingered on your temples as he leaned forward to press a kiss to your head, you closed your eyes in the process.

"You're so beautiful Honey, did so well for me…"

He quickly hiked your skirt back down to its proper length, and wrapped an arm around your waist, suggesting softly,

"We'll head upstairs for the night"

With the fucked-out look in your eyes he knew you needed rest and a shower. So he kept an arm around your waist and walked slowly with you out of the room. As the two of you passed the group in the living room you kept your eyes trained on the floor, knowing if you looked up, you'd only be met with looks of disgust from the girls that still occupied the floor of your living room, sitting around Elvis' stool as if it were a king's throne.

Elvis didn't spare them a glance as he only looked back toward Jerry and Joe, the two men were holding their cards without qualms at what they (and the rest of the house) were just exposed to listening to, as they'd heard that kind of thing more times than they could count coming from the two of you.

"Could y'all escort the girls out when you're done with 'em? Wife and I gonna be upstairs a while…"

With that simple statement, he helped you walk toward the staircase and kept a supporting hand on your lower back. Asking once, twice, three times, if you needed anything. You replied no.

All you needed was him, and that's exactly what you had.

And all the other girls knew it as a little something had fallen out of Elvis' pocket. It was hardly in his pocket to begin with. The boys wouldn't tell him, "Hey E, ya dropped somethin'" Because the boys knew the message he was sending to every girl in the room.

You were his, and he was yours.

Well, for my first time writing, I quite enjoyed that. Anyways...

[lustnhim]

big daddy elvis (70s) photos 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

[marinas-drafts]

Honeymoon

A Sky High Lovin’ segment, the swingin’ 60’s

Summary: If weddings are for the bride then it suggests that Honeymoon’s are for the groom -a stupid cliche you had dismissed until your dashing groom proves a little inexorable in his intent to “educate” his new bride on the long Learjet flight to Honolulu

Warnings 18+: (sex, dubious consent) I am about to possibly over exaggerate these cautions but I find it necessary, particularly for anyone who is used to reading my work because this is by far the most dubious consent piece I ever ever written and the theme is entirely narratively sympathetic to entitled husbands and female objectification. So, as it’s me, of course there’s love and tenderness but it’s also got -repeatedly denied requests to stop during sex, innocence kink, possible male enjoyment of a recent virgin’s discomfort, nasty baby talk, worry about a man being unfaithful if you deny him, talks of teaching you how to take him, (possible grooming?!) assumed husbandly entitlement to a wife’s body, archaic views on gender roles… y’all, I ripped off Pricilla and went full Lana Del Rey and glorified breaking a woman into her husbands tastes, like, that’s the theme and it’s reveling in it so, enjoy but heads up 🌷🎀🌷

Repost here from my main: @precious-little-scoundrel

There’s something very salacious in the simple act of walking across the tarmac amidst a swarm of reporters clicking away with their cameras, ready to print the image of your little figure pressed against his side, images for all the world to look at and know what occurred to you last night.

What you two did. How he made you his. On your wedding night.

He made you a woman, his woman and the whole world knows it now. There’s something so damn dirty about this, even -or perhaps because- of how traditional it is. The ring sits with a comforting weight on your finger as he holds your hand, and your belly aches from your husband drawing his pleasure from your virgin body, your thighs trembling as you try your best to keep up with his long strides in your kitten heels. It’s so proper, it’s everything he ever wanted, and it makes your cheeks burn beneath the generous layer of makeup.

He looks painfully handsome and happy this morning, impeccably polished in the bright sunshine and you wonder at his duality. The way he can clean up and regain his proud suavity when last night you had seen him mussed, tremblingly tender and near unhinged in his passion while consummating your union. A dab of pomade, a double breasted jacket and his wife’s little hand in his -he’s utterly in possession of himself now and is the fuckin’ American dream incarnate right in this moment.

He’s very proud as he introduces you to some of the familiar press faces, and very gallant as he guides you up the few steps into the Learjet, broad palm searing your lower back and you wish you two could have remained tangled up in sheets, honeymoon and travel arrangements abandoned indefinitely. Just you and him floating together in a sky of crisp sheets and tangled limbs.

The photographers crowd in after you, soaking up the shy way you cuddle in close as he tucks you into his side, sympathetic to your own desire to be alone but too happy to begrudge anyone a glimpse at his little prize. Uhem, bride. The amount of satisfaction he finds in you is palatable to all here, his arm around you holds you close and grounds you even as his face splitting grin proclaims that you were a tight but obedient fit last night.

Your eyes burn you’re blushing so hard and that makes him grin harder and it’s pavlovian that smile, you can’t help but grin back, harder and crinklier than his and that stokes his joy further and soon y’all are giggling over memories the photographers will never be privy to. Those are yours, frantic and tender and aching.

Even the ever hungry photographers are glutted by the loved up display you give them, and soon they are departing and the plane door is shut. Then it’s goodbye America, off to Honolulu.

The tiny jet crew and the couple of boys from his paired down entourage settle into their seats as the jet roars down the runway and lifts off, effortless, soaring and sleek. Beside him you are restless, shifting and jittery on the leather seat, though he is gratified to see the demure way you cross your ankles and the ladylike poise of your spine even surrounded by the comparative privacy. His perfect southern Belle, whose every thought and action and word is to reflect well upon him and keep his name from disrepute, he couldn’t have chosen better. Your mouthwatering submission last night proved it.

You squirm again. Maintaining the modest coverage of your pretty little shift dress, the one accented with navy bows that coordinate with his suit, requires you to keep your upper thighs pressed together tightly, squeezing the bruise of your freshly opened little flower as it pulses distractingly, as if in flustered shock at its sudden required usage. Throbbing, sticky and hot.

“What’s my lil lady doin all that fidgetin for, hmm?” he asks you, tone solicitous but his eyes glint, “Plush leather seats not soft enough for my baby’s bottom?”

You startle and blush, just as he knew you would, and it’s adorable really, the way you can still be bashful after months of foolin and despite the recent intimacy of the night before. And it’s downright precious that you are so sore and achy after he had been so painstakingly gentle when he took you. You had no clue how sweet he’d been, the amount of self sacrifice he had shown in his languid slide and shallow thrusts, tender kisses and gentle grip. Resolutely holding back the absolute wreckage he could unleash on your poor, widdle unsuspecting cunt.

“Just excited.” your body vibrates as you shake your arms to highlight your explanation, gesturing to the wide blue sky out your window and the decadent interior of the jet.

He grins down at you and kisses your cheek, reaching for the seatbelt fastened at your lower belly and he flicks it open with his thumb, the heat of his hand branding you like an iron for the brief contact. “Lemme show ya round then, baby.”

He folds your hand in his again and weaves you down the aisle between the padded seats and towards the back of the plane, the occasional stray crew member meekly ducking towards the cockpit. You two pass the music lounge with its built-in piano and electric fireplace, then the kitchenette with its circular bar and spherical burst of lights coming out of the wall like cascading planets, back towards the little bedroom. You marvel at the designs, the colors, the unabashed wealth of it all floating thousands of feet above solid earth.

Happy and giddy you tuck into his side and he holds you close, arm snug around your waist, satisfied to show his little wife all he has to offer her.

“Y'know,” he serves as your guide, supplying details and anecdotes, most of which you already know but would listen to, enraptured a thousand times to keep him free and easy with his conversation, “Frank n' i didn't really get along when i first started out. ‘Said my music was brutal n' ugly. But we get along now. met 'im in person right after i met you. Reckon' ya rubbed off on me 'cause now we're good friends n’he lent us this jet to defile as we saw fit." his tongue pokes between his teeth, amused at himself and you find there is something cutely self-deceptive about his rare fits of humble bragging. “He’s got a mirror down here, nice big ole Broadway style vanity with it, bright lights n’low counter.” you’re far back into the plane now, he holds back a dividing curtain and you step into the little hallway dressing room right in front of the inauspicious bedroom door, “Frank uses this setup to primp before goin down the ramp to meet fans or shovin off for the next concert, reckon it’ll serve for the lesson I wanna show ya.”

Curious as to his plan, you look to him, both his image reflected in the huge, bare bulbed mirror and his own dear face beside you, more than a little pleased to see what a striking couple you make in the reflection, with his tailored suit and your chic smock, an IT couple without a doubt. It makes you feel pretty, wanted, a little proud maybe. That you won out of all those other hopeful girls. He sees your pleased expression in the mirror, the way your hip cocks and your expression morphs to your best kittenish smile. You’re preening. You think you’ve made it, think you’re at the summit of what life can offer and he may be partial but he thinks you wear smugness rather cutely. Makes him wanna shake ya up, rumple you a little, remind you who gave you all this. That your new image and importance and identity are due to being Mrs Presley.

He scoots up behind you, wrapping his arms around your belly and pulling you close to him, his chin settles atop your head. “Likin what you see?” he asks slyly, staring at the reflected image that will be on every magazine and newspaper tomorrow, the King of Rock n Roll and his perfect little darling who thinks she’s a woman now that she took cock once.

He runs his hands along your body, broad palms gathering then smoothing out puckers and rolls in the fabric of your dress as he follows the curve of you, breast to thigh and back up, then back down, further this time. He squats a little behind you and his clever fingers hook in your hem line and begin to draw it up, little by little exposing more and more leg in the mirror.

“Oh, no I-“ your hand flys to the apex of your thighs, pressing the fabric against you and keeping a covering there as his gathering has pulled your dress nearly to your little secret place, “what are you doin Elvis?” you ask, a little unsure and bashful of him exposing you in this somewhat public place, even if the crew is nowhere to be seen and the curtain is drawn.

It’s obscene to rumple up the perfect couple, all the starch and pomade that make Elvis Presley and his new bride the envy of the world. And it’s worrying. He does not know you omitted underwear today, the feeling of the fabric chafing and holding in the heat of your tender pussy too much to bear while maintaining a proper face on the tarmac.

“Gonna show ya somethin,” he repeats, eyebrow quirked at your “no” and the nervous way you are almost cupping the last few inches of your dress over your private parts.

He keeps ahold of the fabric he’s gathered up so far and takes to running his knuckles up your side soothingly again, till he notices there’s no band or catch on your hips as he glides up.

“You hidin somethin from me, honey?” he asks, already knowing the answer and the reason for your flaming cheeks, “Keepin secrets from your husband already, denyin him his right?” he tuts and your pretty coal rimmed eyes fly open in denial as you shake your head and pull your hand away. “That's more like it.” He nods approvingly, and ever the showman he waits a minute, building the suspense as his hands continue to map out your clothed body as your breathing quickens. In the mirror both your eyes zero in on the barely hidden triangle between your legs. Then with a flourish and flick of his wrist he swoops the hem up and a rush of cold air hits your exposed pussy. You slump into him and await his verdict. “Darlin, what’s this?“ he asks you gravely, his eyes very dark in the mirror and there you are, pristine up top and entirely bare below, it’s -vulgar. Vulgar and salacious with a fully suited man behind you shaking his head in disappointment that you’d be so careless on your first day as Mrs Presley, risking flashing the photographers or the flight crew because you were too delicate to stand a little fabric. He expects more of you, and he knows you know that.

You mix your explanation with your apology, looking like an eager to please little foal on shaky legs, and he accepts it with another tut and a hum as he rolls your dress up methodically until its bulk is beneath your armpits. The shame you feel in being so exposed is your own fault, your own doing, you know that.

If you’d obeyed you would currently have some demure scrap of silk covering you in the full glare of the showbiz mirror. But now you are bare to his blazing eyes. Your handsome new husband inspects you closely in the mirror, his ringed fingers trailing over your hips and over your belly, swooping up your ribs and tickling the underside of your breasts. Back down he goes, hands gliding and palms warm and broad, spanning much of your abdomen in his reach, down and down till he is petting your mound. Your arms dangle listlessly at your sides, entirely unsure what your part in this is, except to submit to whatever he wishes.

“You say your lil pussy is tenda, hmm?” he understands your motive now, and coos solicitously over your discomfort, even as he smirks at the notion you’re sore from that pathetically gentle love making. It snaps something primal deep inside him, or at least, he thinks that’s what made the decision for him, the decision to enlighten you that last night may have been real nice, but it weren’t typical. He can’t have a wimpy wife, he knows you’re made of tougher stuff, just needs to be coaxed out of you. “A little discomfort ain’t no reason for ya to risk showin the world Mrs. Presley’s goods, is it?” he observes and you nod in abashed agreement.

“No it isn’t,” your tone is fervent and you are so eager to make amends, “I’m sorry Elvis, I wasn’t thinking, I’ll do better.”

“I expect you to.” he says, not unkindly but you gulp and nod anyway, unmoored by his effortless authority. “Now, let’s see about this lil owie, hmm? Spread your legs for me, c’mon wider, that’s a good girl.”

You moan as his hand engulfs you’re throbbing heat, cupping the wounded little place and pressing it firm but gently with his palm. He can feel the thud of your heartbeat down there and the sticky proof of your excitement at just being near him. There’s heat pouring out from you too, a lotta heat. Half of it arousal no doubt, but it’s angry down there like a woman gets during her menses. Puffy and sweltering against his palm.

It’s gonna feel indescribably good around his cock.

“Now we’ve opened ya up,” he explains softly in your ear, “she’s gonna get all fussy down there if she’s left empty for too long.”

You meet his eyes in the mirror with a worried look, unconvinced that emptiness is at all the cause of your discomfort. You feel like something got rearranged down there and needs to be left to mend itself in peace. Preferably in a hot bubble bath. The one luxury this floating palace doesn't have.

“You trust me, don’t ya?” he asks your fretful expression proddingly, “Don’t want ya to close back up all th’way. Go too long and then we’d be starting from scratch each time, you understand baby?”

That does make sense. You swallow your fear and shake your head agreeably. Why shouldn’t you?

He was so tender last night, so romantic and gentle and chivalrous. He had kissed away all your fear and worry into the fluffy bed, sending you careening into bliss and flinging you up to the stars before gently pressing in when you least expected it. It had hurt then, sure, a little pinch and an uncomfortably full feeling he helped soothe by tilting your hips with a courteous pillow beneath them.

Making love had been nice, unexpectedly nice.

And better yet had been the sight of your gorgeous groom, shaking in effort to hold back his vigor as he worked himself in and out above you, gentle and kind, slowly losing a grip on his decorum and letting out sounds of pleasure and praise. There had almost been a whine on his lips as he stalled suddenly and clung to your shoulders and spilled inside you, cementing your union. It had made you feel gloriously happy, and a little smug to see him come undone from the feeling of being inside you.

He earned your trust.

“I understand.” you assure him, the little kisses he is pressing to your neck making you brave. You’d like to see him come undone again. If that means he has to go inside you again then you’ll accept that. Maybe he was right last night, maybe it’ll be even better today.

“That’s my good baby.” he praises you, pleased and handsome over your shoulder, “Gonna turn you into the best little wife the world has ever seen.” he starts to drag his fingers through your bruised petals and you make a ugly little grimace at the soreness before seeing how unpretty it looks in the mirror, consciously changing your expression to demure acceptance. The shiny pink of your lipstick highlights the baby doll serenity of your gentle smile.

“Take me to bed, please, Elvis.” you try to play along with him, desperate to show him your excitement and desire to please.

“Aww now, we’re not goin’ to bed this time, darlin, we’re gonna have a lil lesson so you ain’t in the dark bout marital duties and all that.”

You stiffen in his arms, confused and wary. He keeps nuzzling at your cheek and neck. You had anticipated that there might be adventurous trysts once married, sure. He had proven himself fond of messing with you outside the bedroom during your courtship, fingers playing with you under tables and in hotel elevators. You had prepared for him gently making love to you on a picnic blanket under a Hawaiian moon. Maybe in the tub, or heavens -perhaps the kitchen if he was ravenous. But you’re concerned now that you haven’t grasped his entitlement fully, you’re still trying to understand what he means by “lesson” and why he led you to this vanity. You have a shaky feeling that your embarrassment at being flashed in front of the mirror is about to pale in comparison to what he has planned.

His hand goes from petting your sticky folds to rubbing and swirling, calloused fingertips worrying your bud till you’re nearly keening in enjoyment. He hasn’t looked you in the eyes in a minutes. You keep watching his face as his expression goes from intent to hungry, watching himself fiddling down there with your pink petals as he gets you primed. Primed for the two insistent fingers that plunge into you with no warning. It’s easier this time, having had a coke bottle up there, even just once, did the trick, his fingers meeting far less resistance than last night. He’s made his mark, claimed ya and stretched ya. Never the same again.

His movements burn for you, tugging and persistent as they are and you wince, can’t help it with the way his elegant digits are caressing your sore walls at a foreignly fast pace. You hope that maybe not looking at the rough act will ease your discomfort, like looking away from the needle poke when giving blood helps you keep from getting queasy. The sounds though, wet and squelching, are unmistakable despite the hum of the jet's engines. You watch his face, hoping he’ll look up and meet your eyes, but he’s transfixed by the sight in the mirror of his fingers disappearing into you.

“Gimme your hands, baby.” his sudden instruction startles you as you had flown far away in your mind, trying to reconcile the conflicting amounts of embarrassment and arousal you feel under his heated scrutiny. Who knew married life would cause such a upheaval inside?

“Yes sir.” you present them palms up, and he jerks his chin,

“Now baby, listen, you’re gonna replace my hands while I get myself ready, alright, gonna keep my progress for us. C’mon, hand on each side, pull your lips apart, gonna spread your snatch nice n wide so you can really see the mechanics of the thang. The act.”

The act? What act - you figured if this was going to happen to you at the vanity he would spin you around and set you on the counter, take you kindly as you sat. He had licked you in a movie set bathroom like that one time. Your brain scrambles in confusion and panic, supplying the only familiar acts and positions you’ve tried so far. A man can’t take a woman standing, he can’t, it wouldn’t fit, or at least, it wouldn’t be nice, surely and he wouldn’t be anything but nice-

“Now,” he’s speaking up again, “squeeze your arms a lil, gotta keep your dress nice and clear of the exhibit, ok?” he snickers at the way your dress is bunched beneath your underarms.

You make a respectful noise of acknowledgment, too nervous to say more. Your folds are puffy and slippery beneath your numb fingers as you pull your labia apart like he instructed. This feels new, keeping clothes on while being intimate. It feels…irreverent and dirty somehow. Just like standing here, your whole reflection lit brilliantly and his eyes still glued to that place between your legs.

You watch him pull away from behind you and start to methodically undo the buttons of his double breasted suit jacket, sliding it off his lean arms and folding it carefully over a towel rack, “Ya see, darlin,” he explains, as he undoes his cuff buttons and starts to roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt, “it's only proper you know what it looks like when we're joined together. I’ve got no desire to keep ya in the dark bout somethin God says is a good thing. This isn't the olden days, I don't mind having an enlightened sorta gal. So long as you don’t turn into the bra-burning sort of enlightened.”

He meets your eyes then as he gives you a look from under his lashes, admonishing you to stay away from such nonsensical, feministic, man-hating company as his deft fingers pop open the button of his slacks and he pulls himself out, weeping, thick and ready. You had no idea he was already so fully excited, your legs begin to tremble anew. He looks larger like this, somehow, all poshly dressed and admirably sauve in the mirror as his cock juts out of his tailored slacks, a single indecorous vulgarity marring his pristine Ken Doll image.

You flush red hot at the sight of him

lazily pumping himself as he saunters back to you, his hand yanking and pulling to chub himself up and then a thumb swirling around the uncut tip. He’s leaking and messy already, a profusion of precum wetting his hand and you give a silent prayer of thanks that at least he will add to the slick, hopefully ease the slide.

He doesn’t waste time with romance, he takes his place again behind you and this time you feel him sliding between your cheeks and then your legs, the feel of his open fly and belt against your bare butt. Due to your obediently spread lips, it’s perfectly visible when he slides through your folds and pokes out the other side, a pink, blunt, oozing cockhead playing peek-a-boo in your garden. He bumps your clit again and again with it until you are huffily shivering in his arms.

“Elvis are you really gonna-“ you can’t bear the suspense of it, you have to ask him his intentions, if he really means to make love to you standing up.

“-really gonna fuck my new wife in front of this state of the art mirror?” he laughs, thinking he knows what your quibble is, “Goddamn right I am, be a crime to not avail ourselves of the experience.”

He punctuates his enunciated vocabulary with rough thrusts against your bud that have you shaking and coming…just a little. Just enough for him to be sure you’re ready to take him.

“Fuck me?” you repeat in a panicked whisper, “B-b-but I’m your wife, Elvis!” you object, wounded.

He gets confused, stalling with his hand as he lines himself up with your freshly excavated entrance, “Whadda ya mean, honey?” he asks kindly, reaching around to tilt your chin towards him, but you sense that there’s an impatient edge to it.

You tearfully explain to him how your mother and other women have told you very explicitly you that men don’t fuck their wives. They make love to them. You are very adamant regarding it, and he ought to know better.

“Why baby, that’s the single greatest pile of horseshit I’ve ever heard.” he declares in fond amusement, smooching your tear stained cheek and resuming his rutting through your folds, “You gonna trust some ole ninnies over your husband? Baby, I gave ya a real nice wedding night cause I love ya and you’re my special girl and I thought it your due, but I ain’t gonna be saddled with a wife who can’t meet my needs when I need a quick fuck, ya hear me? Case in point is now, my dick’s about to fall off from all this chit chat.”

You suppose there’s a great deal about marriage that is far more complicated than movies and books and Sunday potlucks led you to believe. It’s hard balancing how to please your husband as you ought with retaining some dignity that will make him respect you. You can’t imagine Elvis ever not respecting you, it’s too ingrained in him and what he wants isn’t to humiliate you, it’s what he needs to be satisfied. And you so badly want to keep him satisfied, you know deep down you’d do unspeakable things to keep his attention on you, perhaps that is where your shame comes from. It’s less about his expectations and more about the fact you’d throw away all your mother’s teachings before causing him to go elsewhere for comfort and acceptance.

You turn your head to him and pucker your lips for a kiss of acquiesce, which he obliges. His hand is still firm on your jaw as he deepens it, and it’s heady and passionate and loving and -he’s breaching you suddenly. A squat and flex and tilt of his hips and then he’s snagged your hole and he is pressing up and up and up and you whine into his mouth as his foreskin rolls back in your canal, an extra friction against your raw walls.

“Elvis!” you beg, breath caught in your throat at the burning sting of him as your hand flies up to clutch at his arm, secure around your hips, “its it’s-” you flounder with a word to adequately describe the delicious pain of it as he goes deeper.

He mouths messy and moaning at your neck and you can feel his belly shaking against your lower back, his cock twitching at the feeling of getting dipped in your silky channel. It makes you cringe in discomfort.

“You’re so goddamn perfect and warm as anythin,” he praises in a slur of kisses and moans as he flexes up and up.

The farther in he goes the more it loses any snuggly quality and instead feels rather like getting slowly impaled. You shift your stance in front of the mirror, legs spreading of their own accord and eyes squeezed shut in concentration at just trying to breathe. It goes on forever and you start to try to go up on your tip toes, to get away from it, from him, to lessen the fullness and the deepness of his assault somehow. He persists. You try to scramble up him, leveraging your weight on his forearm till your little feet are nearly off the jet floor.

His answering chuckle vibrates your back, “Looks like you’re tryin to learn how to levitate, honey.”

You scramble harder in a vain attempt to get taller, to elongate your poor vagina somehow, to keep him shallow

“T-that’s all I can take, Elvis” you try to tell him when he’s only over half in.

It's an honest declaration, to your hyperventilating self he feels impossibly big and certainly every bit as deep as it felt last night when he took you discreetly beneath the sheets in the good ole fashioned missionary position.

Your eyes widen as he doesn’t stop, just goes on and on and on, as your breaths get more panicked, shallower with each inhale, on the verge of a panic attack until he stalls and starts to pet your belly and kiss your cheek in an effort to bring you back down. “Breathe babydoll, breathe for me. Calm down, satnin, you took this all last night. you can do it again, I knows ya can.”

You've long ago started to whimper when he didn’t listen, half in pain and half in fear that he isn’t stopping, that he isn’t being as nice as he was last night. Why isn’t he stopping? oh why, why, “I can’t, I think I’m not made for it.” you wail as you writhe helpless in his arms, a pounding ache between your legs and a strange flutter in your chest.

“No, no, don’t say that baby, please don’t say that, you’re perfect baby, just perfect.” he pleads a little frantic, rubbing his lips along your cheekbone to collect your tears, “Only need a lil breakin in is all, this won’t always be so rough. I’ll fix ya honey, I’ll make it better. Don’t you go objectin’ to the heavenly proportions God gave ya, or what he gave me neither. We were made for each other.”

Hearing the tender worry in his voice soothes you, even more than his comforting touches, knowing he isn’t indifferent to your struggle, he just wants what’s best for you as any good teacher would. You take a breath, a large breath and it feels like it made him sink deeper somehow. You bite back a sob.

“You can do it.” he says in your ear, his voice shaky from how badly he needs to be moving inside you, “Please baby, let me in, I’m hurtin’ real bad, if you could just see lil elvis you’d feel so bad for the poor guy. Let him in, you can take it, let him in, let him in his lil house. That’s it, that’s it just a little bit more.”

The man lied. There was nothing “little” about the more he gives you when he bucks up that last bit and buries himself fully inside, balls snug against your butt.

“Oh, i’hurts.” you moan, tears leaking through your clenched eyes, smearing your immaculate cat eye. “hurts -I-I can’t, Elvis.”

“You can.” he declares firmly, trying so hard to stay in control, to gather the last shreds of his gentlemanliness, “More like -you *are* doing it. Look, come on. Baby! I said look! Open those eyes and watch how well you’ve taken me.”

You pry your clumping lashes apart and slowly your eyes drag from the reflection of your faces pressed together, down to your breasts where his hand is crushing a velvet bow in his grip, down your belly to to his forearm barred around your hips. Down to that place where you join.

“Where’d lil Elvis go, hmm?” He teases like you’re playing hide and seek, and you let out a watery laugh, rolling your eyes at his babying tone, “Where'd he go, darlin? Oh, there he is,” he pulls out a tiny bit so the pink veiny length of him peaks out from between your lips, “there he is -wait where’d he go?”

“Elvis. Stop. Stop, that’s so dumb.” you beg through your sniffling giggles, the fiery stretch of him temporarily forgotten.

He laughs at your embarrassment and pulls out further this time, then snaps his hips back up to the hilt of him, drawing a pained cry from you “Who’s my bestest girl, hmm? who’s that? Shhh, shhh, Das you ain’t it? Look at’chue, doin so well. I need ya to stand straight baby, let those heels touch down. I mean it, plant your feet, don’t cry about it, no reason to cry, you gotta relax.”

You’ve heard him use the same tone of voice when helping Red’s puppy get a burr out of its paw. Pitifully you obey him, planting your feet and it feels like you’re riding a telephone pole, the way he’s stiff and unyielding, deep inside you, plumbing the depths of your belly.

“That’s more like it.” he hums in throaty appreciation of the snug fit of you, “Alright now, ‘member the job I gave ya?” he reminds gently as he starts to thrust slow and deep, watching as your face crumples in grief, “Hold yourself open baby, it’s very important you watch this, I need ya to understand you’re perfect for this, gotta let go of ma arm, c’mon now.” he pries your grip from his forearm and brings your hand back down to your puffy heat, “Spread yo’self.” his accent deepens as your body struggles to take him, clenching around him in an effort to expel him, and only serving to make him moan in bliss. “Look a’that.” he marvels, sounding utterly worshipful of the way the glistening pink length of him slowly comes into view, then slowly disappears -absorbed inside you, your painfully stretched little hole fluttering hopelessly at each dragging inch of him.

“It still really hurts.” you observe childishly through gritted teeth, your pained body fighting the fuzzy headed arousal you feel while watching the obscene display of him sliding in and out of you for a few languid grinds.

“That’s cause you’re so tense, loosen up baby, -actually, here.” he shuffles you forward and you make a reckless sound of disgruntlement at the feel of him shifting inside you with each baby step, “Here, knee up here.” he hooks his hand beneath your knee and props it up on the counter, somehow making this worse and better all at once with the new angle.

“Ow, oh god, you said it would get better.” you accuse, biting your lip in savage self reprimand after it. Foolish girl, to risk making him unhappy and frustrated, stoking his wandering eye.

“It will, dammit, it will. I'm gonna need you to hang in there and play with your lil button till it does, alright? Bout to burst back here with all this startin and stoppin.”

“Ok.” you whisper, feeling a little more steady with the firm counter beneath your knee, opened up a little for the intrusion of him.

He pats your hips and presses an appreciative kiss behind your ear, nearly drunk off your sweet little struggle to be good for him. It makes his heart soar and fills him with wild wants, makes him reckless, and a little mean somehow, like crushing rose petals to gain the scent.

“Now, I know I made love to ya last night, darlin,” he pets the bulge of his cock in your belly and you shudder in anticipation, “cause that’s what weddin nights are for, but now you’re a wife proper you gotta learn how to take cock without so much whinin and clingin, alright? Made ya a woman, didn’t I? so do me proud, act it.”

With this emboldening commission he presses one more kiss to your neck before pulling out before driving in, hard. And then he does it again, and again and again at a pace you’ve seen him maintain on stage but never, never imagined him using with you, against you, it feels like.

You shriek and your knee slides further apart with the violent rocking, trying with terrible desperation to find solace and feminine satisfaction in the guttural groans and huffed out praises your husband vents as he takes what he needs, flaming eyes glued to the mirror and the place where he plunders you.

You are really trying, it just hurts so damn much.

You know you’re lucky, you cling to that even as he spears your cervix again and again with gusto that suggests your panicked clenching is the best damn thing he’s ever felt in his life. You’ve heard from other women, older women trying to counsel you, prepare you for what lay ahead, that some husbands didn’t even bother trying to make sure their wives were slick enough. That the dry drag and burn of a man can make the stretch truly unbearable. It keeps you grateful that the lewd sounds now causing you to blush are testament to the flood of slick down there. It keeps you grateful meek even as you wail and smear your makeup with your gasped out shock.

He should slow down, he should moderate his thrusts, cherish his wife. He can see you’re struggling and panting and crying and somehow it’s all just a drug to him, the gorgeous little dolly he crafted so perfectly this morning looking utterly overwhelmed and defiled by his cock. It’s enough to make a man lose his bearings and forget his mama’s teachings on how to treat a lady.

The beast won’t be tamed. And so Elvis Presley begins to babble a stream of apologies as he exerts all the energy of his able body in fucking his young wife, like the deeper and harder he goes the more likely his lil swimmers will have the chance of making themselves a nice comfy home in your sweet womb:

“oh goddamn baby I’d stop if I could, but yer squeezing me like a vice and I just…I just can’t stop baby, be good, be good, don’t cry on me, be good for your husband, baby. You’ll get used to it, we’ll train your pussy baby, just gotta get through these early stages. Early stages and it’s, it’s normal, just a lil skittish is all, ain’t no way god made me want you this bad just for you to be cold. Ain’t no way, I can feel it when you’re dancin to my music, you want it deep, you crave it deep, you were born hungry. Oh goddamn, yes, yes, fuck yes, baby, I’m sorry I’m sorry, yes, keep squeezing me like that …….”

It is not talent on your part, this clenching that has him snarling in rapture with his eyes rolling back in his skull, it’s pure creature instinct, whether trying to expel him, bring him deeper or milk him fast so this agony will end, you don’t know. All you know is that his force is terrifying and you’ve never seen something quite as erotic as the pristinely polished beauty of his face morphing into ravenous determination.

Your panic flares one last time, unwilling to allow yourself to coast into enjoyment of this filthy usage without a fight. “Please, Elvis please -enough!” you gasp, even as something seems to have shifted inside you, a tilt or a nudge, whatever it is, it’s a spark of something dangerous.

“Listen here now,” he pants in frustration, one of his hands leaving your hip to fly down to your clit and rub it viciously, “i don’t have a particular hankerin to pin you down over the tabletop, face down ass up, and make this marriage work but I will if I have to. So be a good girl n’ quit all your whinin, show me some of that grit you show when I’m teachin ya on the mats. Don’t wanna make me do nothin rash, but I ain’t gon’ have my honeymoon ruined cause my wife is insistent on bein’ an obstinate lil’ brat!” his voice his shaking with effort, “now, open ya self up!”

It spooks you, this inexorable side of him, white hot lightening ripping through your nerves. Suddenly you’re alite. Scientists might be quick to give credit to the clever little rhythm his thumb strummed over your clit but till the day you die you will swear it was instinctive obedience that had you spasming and then gushing, suddenly relaxing and drawing him in, pliant and eager. Subdued at last.

“Aww baby, oh baby that’s it, oh thank fuck,” he gasps in relief as he feels the change, “I’ve gotchu, you know I gotchu always, gonna help ya get over that damn hill, gonna drop ya off that cliff gentle like.”

His movements are not gentle, if anything they speed up, but his hands cradle you, his mouth caresses you and he places his own knee beside your own, glued together everywhere except for the snap of his pelvis. There is a razor's edge here, in the sensations his body is drawing from yours, and it is an edge upon which you wobble, tipping now towards pleasure, then pain, then back again to pleasure. It confuses and overwhelms you, makes you moan and keen and beg like an animal in heat, the jet crew and all your ladylike deportment forgotten.

“Oh dear god Elvis, I- oh, oh, please don’t stop!” you’re suddenly shouting in a shocked beg, something irreversible building and this isn’t your standard *nice job buddy that was swell* orgasm approaching, it’s one of the *well done sir, I think I just died there for a minute* variety. It’s shaking, and thrumming and burning up your entire body, suddenly making lyrics to his well worn songs take on an entirely new meaning.

“Lordy mama, tryin to let the whole plane know I’ve broken ya in at last?” he teases, finding it heavenly the way you move with him now in an easy give and take, the smacking of your bum against him and the happy slack of your mouth driving him to madness.

Gone is the suave man of myth and envy, here is an animal instead, mounting and mauling and claiming you with ferocious devotion and you take it like a jerking rag doll, whining in need where you were once whimpering. He’s proud of you. If he had breath to laugh he would at the way you suddenly look dazedly disbelieving in the mirror right before your body seizes up and pleasure annihilates all your senses.

Your legs give out and you slump, having only the vaguest awareness of the fact he’s beginning to grunt and cry out himself, using you like a writhing receptacle, coming unglued behind you as you begin to melt on him like butter. There ain’t much thought or chivalry to the way he grabs at you, a hand beneath each knee and folds you in half, split open in front of the mirror as he ruts every last drop of satisfaction into you. He hears himself hollering as if through a tunnel, something that the fight crew, if asked, would paraphrase as being “oh goddamn, you are more perfect than anything.”

You are numb and pounding down there, the last frantic usage of your pussy an ordeal you endure with cock dumb acceptance. The way his face draws up and crumples shortly after, and then slacks in bliss -it is the single most violently arousing thing you’ve ever witnessed. Feeble as your energy is, you feel a surge of feminine pride at the way he mumbles and moans and finally shakes to a stop.

“That’s it, oh you’re so beautiful.” you moan, watching as his hair falls into his bleary, slow blinking eyes as he comes back to the surface, “And you’re mine.” you sigh, content.

“Mhmm, yours.” he coos, jostling you a little on his cock and he snuggles closer somehow, you think you feel his seed start to dribble out despite the sizable stopper inside you, “Well, bless your heart darling, I’ve got ya folded like a camp chair. Ha!” he gently folds your legs back down, pulling out of you with painstaking gentleness on the way down, “That weren’t very gentlemanly of me, was it?” he teases.

You sway dangerously once placed on your own two feet and you don’t even have the chance to fall, he never lets go before he realizes what’s needed. He picks you up and sets you on the counter, you pool back against the mirror, boneless and debauched, legs stuck bow legged from such a long ride and a vividly puffy pussy leaking his seed onto the counter. He tucks himself back in with still shaking hands. He won’t be fully back down to earth till Honolulu’s runway, he thinks. Just in time to carry you off the plane. And begin it all over again.

Married life, he could get used to this.

“It was perfect, you’re perfect.” you slur earnestly as he returns to you and unzips your dress, hauling it over your teased you hair, baring you fully as you sit on the counter, kicking feet thumping against the cabinets in your patten leather heels

“Nah…perfect -that would be you, Mrs Presley.” he kisses you deeply, before taking you in his arms bridal style and carries you into the bedroom, conscious but uncaring that you’re leaking all over his pristine shirt sleeve.

This next part oughta involve washcloths or wet wipes. But that would require leaving your sweet arms and facing a jet crew that just heard him railing his tender young bride.

Yeah, he’ll just use his mouth.

Hope y’all enjoyed. This is a repost from my (currently censored) main blog @precious-little-scoundrel and in turn it’s a repost from the original written over a year ago on my deleted OG Elvis blog@aconflagrationofmyown I want to start collecting my fics here in case anything happens with my main. Xoxo

[memphisflash]

𝐒𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐤𝐢𝐧 | 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨

Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader

Summary: It's been a year since you've seen Elvis - he hasn't called or reached out to you once, yet you still can't forget about him. Summer rolls around and you find yourself back in Vegas, picking right up where you left things with the singer that brings the heat to the desert every year, and you can't help but fall harder and deeper...

Word count: 6,7K

Warnings: basically a smut fest. reader losing her virginity, unprotected sex, oral (f. receiving), kissing after oral, somewhat uncomfortable first time for reader (that shit hurts, hello???), they fuck multiple times- woops.

A/N: I tried to keep it short and sweet, but anyone who knows me that's a damn joke, because I always get carried away HA. I kinda hate the ending but oh well, I had to stop somewhere. Hope y'all like it!

← part one | masterlist →

A whole year had passed since that night you shared such an intimate moment with Elvis.

He had asked for your number before the two of you said goodbye but you didn’t expect to hear from him. You didn’t, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

You didn’t want to become just another foolish girl that was completely head over heels for the singer, but you couldn’t help yourself, no matter how hard you tried.

He’d been on your mind every single day for that whole year.

You listened to his records, read everything the magazines printed about him and would even watch some of his movies to hear his voice. Your boss at the local art gallery you worked at in Tucson, your hometown, even caught you daydreaming a couple of times and snapped you out of it which was highly embarrassing.

The whole thing was embarrassing, to be quite honest.

You were in love with a man who was fawned over by thousands of girls across the globe and he most likely didn’t even remember you. After all, you hadn’t been the first girl he brought up to his suite in Vegas.

You hid those feelings well for your parents though, who thought you were just infatuated by the superstar and dealt with the amount of times you played his music through the house. Your father secretly liked it – you’d heard him sing along plenty of times when he thought no one could hear him.

But your best friend Emma knew better. She was the only one who you had told what happened between you and Elvis and like the supportive, and sometimes tad overly excited, best friend she was, she made it her own personal mission to save up for another trip to Vegas the coming summer.

You picked up a few extra shifts at your job and even babysat the children in the neighborhood and before you realised it, summer was there and you and Emma made the six hour drive to sin city.

Las Vegas was as exciting as ever. With Elvis’ residency being promoted like a summer festival, Elvis fans were everywhere – walking the strip to spot him or any of his entourage members, taking up hotel rooms in the numerous accomodations in town and shopping, dining out or seeing afternoon shows by other artists to kill time.

Vegas was thriving off of the tourists and if you could, you would want to stay here for the rest of your life. Despite your innocent nature, the sinful aspect of it all drew you in.

“What if he does recognize you…” Emma retorts to your worries as you lay side by side on a tanning bed by the pool of the International hotel. You two had booked so many months in advance that you were assured a nice room in the crowded hotel. “and asks you up to the room again. This is Vegas, baby, anything can happen!”

Emma grins widely as she looks at you over the rim of her sunglasses, wiggles her eyebrows and then laughs as she pushes them back up the bridge of her nose, reaching for her margarita. You laugh with her and sigh deeply as you watch some people in the pool splash around, chattering and hollering adding a nice atmosphere to the pool area. “Oh please, Em, I bet he won’t even recognize me. He’s been to other places for the past year and God knows what kind of girls he met.”

“You’re hotter,” Emma says matter-of-factly as she puts her drink down and lays back on the sunbed, soaking up the rays of the harsh Vegas sun.

“You haven’t even seen the other girls,” you snort softly, looking at her even though her eyes were closed behind her glasses.

“I don’t need to. I’m your best friend and I’m obligated to tell you, you’re hotter. And even if I wasn’t, I would still tell you the same thing.”

You couldn’t contain the smile on your face and let it spread across your features, playfully slapping Emma’s arm. She always knew just what to say.

Ofcourse you didn’t think you were ugly, but you would always compare yourself to other girls that seemed just a little more prettier. A little skinnier, their skin a little more flawless, their clothes a little more expensive.

Emma often talked you out of it though, because she was right when she’d tell you that wasn’t the way to live your life.

You did have to admit that your confidence had grown in the past year, even if it was just a smidge. Your boss gave you more responsibilities at work which had you come into contact with customers face to face more often, which included handsome business men and rough around the edges cowboys who came in to buy an art work.

They’d flirt with you more often than not and their blatant but sweet compliments even helped you with your blushing. In a way, you’d grown used to the men in Tucson, so hopefully you’d be the same around that one man from Memphis.

If you’d even meet him again.

“Okay, let’s say he knows who I am and he invites me up to his suite again,” you said, sounding a little more light hearted. “I think I wanna have sex with him.”

“You already did, Miss Foreplay.”

“That wasn’t.. sex!” you whisper loud enough for Emma to hear above her own laughter, gasping as you chuckled. You sat up and swung your legs over the edge of the sunbed, leaning in closer to your friend so nobody else was able to hear you. “I’m serious, Em. I want to.. I want him to.. you know.”

Emma pushed her sunglasses into her hair, turning her head to look at you. She laughed and rolled her eyes playfully. “You can say it, Y/N, it ain’t some kinda disease. You want him to pop your cherry,”

The way the word ‘cherry’ rolled off her tongue so sensually it had your cheeks heating up a little, but you quickly forced the heat back down, slapping your friend’s arm once more.

This time with a little more force, which made her pout and rub her arm.

“Don’t say it like that!”

“Fine. You want him to fuck you then.”

“Emma!”

The girl next to you laughed loudly and quickly avoided you before you could assault her poor arm again. You shook your head but laughed along with her – she was impossible at times, but you loved her like a sister.

You and Emma had tickets to several shows Elvis did at the hotel. You were staying for two whole weeks and would attend a few shows during the week, and every show during the weekend.

While getting ready for the dinner show that started at 7, the phone in your hotel room rang. The sound startled you a little, hoping it wasn’t the front desk with a noise complaint because you and Emma had been playing music while getting ready – and Emma was singing along in the shower, sounding like a dying cat.

You put your curling iron down after switching it off and ran into the room from the bathroom, picking up the phone. It was the desk clerk, telling you you had an incoming call from an individual named Jon Burrows.

You didn’t know anyone by that name, but thinking it could’ve been work related, you accepted the call.

But as soon as you heard that deep voice and that Southern drawl, you realised this wasn’t Jon Burrows.

“Hi Cherry,”

Your heartbeat started picking up, resembling something of a group of wild horses gallopping.

“Elvis?” You questioned, sounding breathless and in somewhat of disbelief.

He didn’t confirm, but you knew it was him. Especially when you heard his deep, rich sounding laugh which felt like a comfortable blanket being wrapped around you.

“Now why didn’t ya tell me you’re in Vegas, honey? I called your house and your Daddy told me you were already here, comin’ to see me..”

You looked at Emma as she wandered out of the bathroom, waving your hand like a maniac to the radio that was playing. She frowned but took the hint and switched it off, walking closer to you to silently ask who you were talking to.

“Well, I’m sorry, Elvis,” Emma immediately widened her eyes and sat down next to you, pressing her ear close to the phone. “I didn’t.. I didn’t know how to reach you..”

You mentally cursed yourself for such a lame answer, but it was the truth. You didn’t have his number, and in that whole year, he never called you.

At least, not to your knowledge.

“You comin’ to see the show? How long are ya staying?”

“Me and my friend will be here for two weeks, and yes, ofcourse we’re coming to the show. We wouldn’t want to miss it.” You made sure your voice sounded extra sweet and Emma nearly toppled over when Elvis said, “That’s my girl.”

“Don’t make any plans for after the late show tonight, honey. I want you and your friend to come to a little party, okay?”

Emma looks at you and immediately nodded yes. You agreed and after talking to Elvis for a few more minutes, he hung up to get ready for the show. You put the phone down and looked at Emma, who was staring at you with wide eyes before you two squealed like two teenagers.

“Oooh, that man wants you, believe me,” Emma smirks as she gets up and turns the radio on again, dancing happily through the room while getting ready.

As always, Elvis was amazing on stage – his moves making you feel things and his vocals were superb. He recognized you in the crowd and during the moment where he wandered through the crowd and kissed girls, he made sure to press an open mouthed kiss onto your mouth, his tongue playfully flicking against your lips.

You were already on cloud nine, fantasizing about what would happen during the rest of the night when you’d have him alone. You were praying that that party wouldn’t last very long.

It turned out the party was held in the dressing room and you nearly fainted at the sight of Cary Grant greeting Elvis when you stood next to him. They talked for a short while and you couldn’t even keep up with the conversation, so many things around you were happening.

Emma was standing across the room, talking to Charlie Hodge and by the way she was squeezing his arm and throwing her head back as she laughed, you could see they were hitting it off.

Good for her – Emma had horrible taste in men, often falling for the bad boys, but Charlie Hodge seemed like a nice man. And a funny one, because you could hear your best friend’s flirtatious laughter all across the dressing room.

Elvis and you didn’t talk much one on one, as there was always someone who came up to strike a conversation with him. But he kept his arm around your waist, because he liked knowing that you were still there, close to him.

To him, it wasn’t strange at all. He acted like you’d always been there, like you belonged to him and only him.

It sent your mind spinning, or maybe that was because of the two Cosmo’s you’d already had.

The party was nice – everyone was having fun, talking to each other, enjoying each other’s company and sipping drinks. But it was like Elvis could read your mind when he looked at you and leaned in closer.

“Let’s get outta here. I want to be alone with my sweet little cherry,”

The way he whispered in your ear nearly had your knees buckling, but instead you flashed him a smile and quickly nodded. Elvis slipped his hand into yours and as he signed to Red and Sonny he wanted to leave, the four of you moving out of the room. You exchanged one more look with Emma, who grinned widely at you and blew you a kiss, mouthing a “have fun!” to you before she disappeared out of your sight.

After walking through a few long hallways and a short ride on the service elevator, you arrived at the top floor of the International and you disappeared into the suite with Elvis.

“You know, I really missed ya, honey,” Elvis smiled at you as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close against his chest, making you stand on your tiptoes a little due to the height difference.

Again, you wanted to ask him why he hadn’t called if he missed you so much but you knew better than to ruin the moment.

You hugged him back, telling him you missed him too and in this moment, you felt like he truly cared about you.

Like you weren’t just a fan, or just another girl that would tend to his needs for the evening.

“Why don’t you go take a shower an’ we can relax, hmm?”

It could sound so innocent, but with what you had planned for tonight, you knew it was the beginning of something very sinful.

Elvis led you to the bathroom and handed you one of his silk pyjama button ups, this time in a shade of crimson red. Once again, he didn’t give you the bottom half of the set but you didn’t mind it, nor protest against it. As he left you alone to take a shower in the other bathroom in the suite, you locked the door behind you and turned on the shower. You washed your body, making sure to leave your hair and make-up untouched.

Thank God for Emma who hounded your ass for making sure you were trimmed nicely – your bikini line, legs and pits waxed, only a little bit of pubic hair left on your vulva.

You turned the shower off after a little bit and dried yourself off, making sure to spray some perfume in your neck that you carried in your purse and sneaked into the bathroom. You put on the button up, leaving your panties on top of your folded clothes on the sink. You quickly brushed your teeth with the spare toothbrush in the bathroom and took a deep breath before you walked back into the bedroom, smiling shyly at Elvis who was already sitting in his bed against the headboard.

His hair looked like he’d just dry-blowed it, soft and fluffy. He was wearing his own set of pyjamas in black and the tan skin that was visible due to half of his top being left unbottoned made arousal slowly creep its way to the surface.

Talking turned to cuddling, cuddling turned to kissing, and kissing turned to wandering hands creeping up your top.

You were nervous, God how nervous you were, but this time you didn’t stop him when he cupped your breasts.

A soft gasp left you when he caressed his thumbs across your perked nipples. He looked at your face to see if he was taking things too far, but as he saw the flush on your cheeks and the way you were looking at him with pleading eyes, he figured he could go on.

As long as you did not tell him to stop, he wasn’t going to.

Slowly he got on top of you, wiggling himself in between your legs which you eagerly opened and wrapped around his waist this time. He moved his hands out from underneath your top, fingertips working quick as he flicked the buttons open one by one.

“Cherry,” he spoke softly, his eyes finding yours. “Have you been touched in the past year?”

The question rolled off his tongue so casually as if you were just making conversation, but it caused goosebumps to tingle along your skin. You looked at him and shook your head slowly, unable to control the heat that was crawling up your neck, reddening your skin.

“N-No..” you whispered, feeling exposed as the fabric of your top fell open, your breasts on full display for him. “Only by myself,”

You didn’t know where you’d got the courage from to say such a thing, but it slipped out before you could stop it. Elvis smirked, his hands back to cupping your breasts, squeezing them a little firmer.

“Is that right?” he hummed lowly, keeping his eyes on your face as he leaned in closer to your chest, his soft lips connecting with the supple flesh of your right breast. “Did ya think ‘bout me when touchin’ yourself?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, his tongue poked out to swirl it around your nipple. A gasp and then a moan slipped past your lips and you gripped onto his shoulders, arching your back a little.

“Yes!” you moaned out, perhaps a little more desperate than you intended to. “Y-Yes.. Always.. thinking about.. you..”

Your words came out breathless as he sucked onto your nipple softly and he grinded against you a little. You could feel the outline of his cock pressing against your folds and you were pretty sure you were staining his silk bottoms with your arousal.

Neither he or you cared and you grinded back against him, trying to rub your clit against his length.

Elvis could see the difference between last year and now. With those flushed cheeks, he knew you were still the same girl but there was a flair of eagerness lingering about you now.

You wanted him and he sure as hell was going to enjoy taking you, stripping away your innocence completely.

Just as you were about to reach out to unbutton his shirt completely, he was already moving lower onto the bed. His lips dragged over the curve of your breasts and along your stomach, his hands sliding up the back of your thighs to spread your legs and give him the view he’s been so eager to see all night.

Your perfect exposed pussy… right there in front of his nose. So beautiful, so pink, so untouched.

He looked up at you through his dark lashes as he kissed your inner thighs, grinning against your skin when he felt your legs trembling with anticipation. He could practically smell your arousal and it had him groaning softly as he rubbed himself against the mattress slowly.

You wanted nothing more than to feel his mouth on the most intimate part of his body but he decided to take things slow. He knew you were eager but he wanted you to experience it all, and he wanted to be the one who could make you feel this good.

His fingertips caressed through your folds, spreading your slick all over your lips before he pressed his thumb against your clit, adding a little pressure. You were looking down at him the whole time, not wanting to miss a second of this sight, and he loved hearing you moan softly the way you did.

By the end of the evening, he intended to have you screaming for him.

“My Cherry’s got such a pretty pussy,” he whispered as he grinned at you before looking down at your wetness glistening against your skin. He ran his middlefinger down your folds, slowly pushing it inside of your entrance. “All for me to play with,”

You gasped and gripped onto the sheets, your muscles immediately tensing up around his digit. He let out a soft laugh as he pulled his finger back before sinking it into you completely again. “Relax, baby. It’s jus’ a finger,”

Just a finger that already had you moaning louder, like a damn cat in heat. You moved your hands to your face to cover up your mouth and muffle your moans, and Elvis let you – for now. Instead, he focused on the task at hand, moving his finger in and out of you a little faster.

Then he added another finger and you were clenching around him so viciously, he was thinking you were going to push his fingers out of you at one point by just using your muscles.

The thought of feeling that feeling around his cock had him grinding against the bed a little more.

But Elvis wasn’t a quitter and he pushed the two digits deeper inside of you, fingertips curling inside of you and caressing that special spot. Your hands couldn’t contain your moans anymore and they once more found the sheets as you arched your back, spreading your legs wider.

He repeated the action a few more times, fingering you at a steady pace until he couldn’t take the sight of his fingers coming out so wet anymore. It was too tempting.

“Let’s see how sweet you taste, Cherry,” he smirked as he pulled his fingers out and grabbed the back of your thighs, pushing his fingertips into your skin a little to keep you still.

Without warning, he leaned in closer and dragged his tongue from your entrance to your clit. You gasped as your hips stuttered and he held onto you firmer, looking up at you as his tongue swirled slowly around your clit, before he gently sucked it in between his lips.

The sight was downright sinful.

But even though you couldn’t get enough of it, you couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling into the back of your head as his tongue slipped through your folds again.

He put your legs over his shoulders, his hands moving up your sides until they found your breasts again. He fondled them lightly, pinching your nipples in between his fingertips softly as his tongue worked wonders on your eager pussy.

“Mmm, Elvis!” you moaned out freely now, unable to contain yourself. The sounds leaving you, the way you were moaning out his name, made you feel so… slutty.

And yet, you were loving every second of it.

He groaned against your skin, his hands slipping down to your hips as his eyes shot open and stared up at you. He wanted to see your reactions to his actions and make a mental reminder of it – the way your teeth sunk into your lower lip, the way your eyebrows knitted together. And the added roll of your eyes as he sucked on your clit was very much appreciated.

You didn’t know what an orgasm felt like. Sure, you had touched yourself but when that pressure would start building in the pit of your stomach, you stopped.

Because truth be told, you were nervous about it – scared even. And now that Elvis was the one who was causing the muscles in your tummy to tense up like that, you felt as if you were about to crawl out of your own skin.

Tangling your fingers in his now messy hair, you tried to get him to stop, tried to get away from him, but the raven haired devil wouldn’t let you.

He’s been between enough girls’ legs to know that you were close to falling apart. Could feel it by the way your thighs were trembling on his shoulders, hear it in the way your moans turned a little more high pitched, a slight hint of panic hidden on the back of your tongue.

You could practically feel him smirking against your clit as he slipped in a finger, pumping it in and out of you in a steady pace. There was a slight sting, though it was barely noticeable due to the orgasm that had you on the verge of tears.

You clamped your hand over your mouth as you squeezed your eyes shut, your other hand still in his hair as he just wouldn’t stop while you were falling over the edge. If it wasn’t for Elvis holding onto your hips to keep you down, you were sure your hips would’ve lifted off of the bed with the way they were bucking upwards and you were writhing in the sheets.

You could barely recognize your own voice as you moaned out, Elvis’ name falling off your tongue like a mantra.

Elvis slowly loosened his grip on your hips and let you spread your legs, raising his head to look at you with a smug grin spread across his face. You pushed some of his hair out of his face and then let out a breathless laugh, running your hands through your own hair.

Elvis loved the way you were looking at him with those half-lidded eyes that held stars in them, cheeks flushed the way he likes.

“Jus’ like I thought, Cherry,” his whisper is low, his voice a little raspy as he kisses your lower abdomen. “Jus’ downright teeth rottin’ sweet,”

Your cheeks heated up even more as he crawled his way back up, kissing you, letting you taste yourself. It made you moan softly in his mouth, allowing him to take the pyjama shirt you were still wearing completely off.

In a matter of seconds, Elvis’ clothing pieces flung across the room as well, thanks to your greedy hands.

Foreheads pressed together, moans exchanged into each others’ mouths, Elvis thrusted his hips forward slowly as your small hand wrapped around his hard cock. You figured if you would do something wrong, you would know by his reaction, but now he seemed to enjoy it with the way his tongue was dipping into your mouth now and then, eyes closed as he grunted and his jaw clenched.

Elvis had planned to take his time tonight, but he couldn’t take one more second of foreplay. He wanted, needed, to be buried inside of you.

“Can I put it in now, honey?” He whispered as his eyes flutter open, looking at you with a small smirk as he remembered how a year ago you were nearly pleading for him not to put it in.

But tonight he could see how much you wanted it, there was no way in hell you’d put a stop to it now.

At least, he prayed you wouldn’t.

A sense of relief washed over him when you bit your lip and nodded, yet he still wanted to hear you say it. “Are you sure?”

“Y-Yes,” you inhaled a shaky breath, squeezing his cock softly in your hand as you loosely wrapped your legs around his waist. “I want you to be my first.”

You felt vulnerable speaking those words and Elvis smiled, fingertips caressing some hair out of your face and gently tugging it behind your ear. He pressed a kiss onto your lips and nodded. “I’ll be real gentle, okay?”

Slowly letting go of his length and having your hand replaced by his own, you put your hands on his upper arms. He didn’t rush it – didn’t push it inside of you at once, instead caressing the tip of his cock through your folds and rubbing it onto your clit for a little bit.

But it was going to have to happen eventually and even though you’d anticipated it, the feeling of his tip finding home at your entrance still made your muscles tense up and your nails digging into his skin a little.

“Relax,” he whispered, looking into your eyes before kissing the corner of your mouth. “Jus’ try an’ relax, or it won’t feel good, cherry,”

Truth was, it wasn’t going to feel good either way. Emma had already warned you about this, even going as far as to say she had bled when she lost her virginity.

God, how embarrassing would that be… although you doubted Elvis would mind it, because he seemed like an understanding man, but you still didn’t want it to happen.

You inhaled a deep breath and nodded, trying as hard as you could to relax, but it was barely working when he pushed himself inside of you at a snail’s pace. Inch by inch his cock disappeared inside of you, stretching you the way his fingers, or your own, never could.

He let out a deep groan that came straight from his gut as he finally bottomed out, having missed someone so incredibly tight engulfing him.

“E-Elvis… It h-hurts..” you looked at him with wide eyes, nails pressed into his arms so firm you were sure small crescent moons were created in his flesh but he didn’t stop you.

“I know, baby, I know,” he cooed, leaning his elbows on the bed on either side of your head, slipping one arm underneath your head to keep you close to him. “But it’ll feel better in a little while, ‘lright? Jus’ relax..”

You trusted him and you really hoped he was right, because now you were so full you could barely speak. He could see the tears twinkling in your eyes and as he lovingly kissed your cheeks, his fingertips caressing your shoulder, you melted into his arms a little more.

He held still inside of you for quite a while, letting you get used to the feeling of being filled with something the size of his cock – which, for the record, was definitely not small.

Perhaps someone who’d been so blessed wasn’t the right person to lose your virginity to on a physical level, but then again… go big or go home.

Emma would be proud of you.

And all craziness aside, you were happy that you were losing your virginity to Elvis Presley. Not because he was famous, but because he was so gentle and sweet, taking his time with you and being patient. It was good to have someone older, someone with experience who knew how a woman’s body worked instead of taking what he wanted and calling it a day.

This was truly a special and intimate moment and you were losing yourself into it more and more.

As you felt you were relaxed enough, you whispered to Elvis that you were ready and boy, were you wrong. The second he slowly and softly started thrusting into you, those tears that had blurred your vision were starting to roll down your cheeks. You quickly wrapped your arms around his neck, pushing him closer into your embrace which made him hide his face in your neck – you didn’t want him to see your tears, nor did you want him to stop.

A million of girls have been through this for centuries.

If they could do it, so could you.

“Don’t cry, honey,” he whispered in your ear, kissing your neck. Damnit, why does he seem to know everything? “Jus’ relax… Give all of yourself to me..”

He kept whispering sweet nothings in your ear and they helped you relax and your muscles to lose that tension – must be witchcraft, you were positive of it.

Step by step, slowly but surely, Elvis picked up the pace as he heard your gasps and soft cries turn into soft moans. The sting was still very much present, but the burning sensation had subsided and you were sure that had everything to do with the grunts and deep moans leaving Elvis, and the sight of him on top of you. He had pulled his face out of your neck again, his eyes boring into yours and while you usually hated eye contact this intensely and for so long, now you couldn’t find it in you to look away.

You were lost in those oceanic blue orbs and when he smiled that sweet smile at you, you couldn’t deny the fact that you were sickly in love with Elvis Presley.

It wasn’t just idol infatuation.

You were totally, completely, irrevocably in love.

Sex was a tricky thing to human kind. Some people used it as a meaningless way to get what they want or to meet their needs, and other people view it as something sacred, something meant to be shared with only that person who you love more than anything in the world.

You had no idea it could be this good, never believing Emma when she said that once you’d done it, you would only want more and more. You’d turn greedy, goddamn near feral because it was such a raw and primal instinct… perhaps that was why it was considered a sin.

You’d never think you would turn into one of those girls that would crave sex and felt like they’d just die if they didn’t get it. But Elvis had that kind of effect on you.

The sun had long risen over Las Vegas but the suite was still dark due to Elvis’ dark curtains being drawn. It must’ve been around 6 or 7 in the morning, but neither of you had slept a wink.

When he’d popped your cherry a few hours earlier, it had hurt. The second time you did it, there was still a slight uncomfortable sting. But by the third time, you were a moaning mess as he turned you around and pressed your face in the pillow, the sound of his balls hitting your clit with every thrust filling the room.

If it wasn’t for the sex daze you were in, you’d be embarrassed by the way you were already crawling onto his lap again after the both of you had taken a shower. Your limbs felt weak and Elvis felt the same, but you couldn’t help yourself and Elvis couldn’t deny you.

“Goddamnit,” he groaned as you straddled him and sunk down onto his length, your hands on his chest, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I created a monster.”

You laughed softly at his words as your cheeks flushed crimson, although that could just as well be because you were so worked up. Elvis grabbed onto your hips and pulled you down a little more, gasping as you fept his tip grazing your g-spot.

“O-Oh… Elvis..” you moaned, biting your lower lip harshly. “S-So deep.. like this..”

He smirked, moving his hands to your ass to squeeze your cheeks in his palms before landing a soft slap on the left one. “That’s right, baby. Can’t get enough of bein’ filled, can ya?”

You giggled softly and started thrusting, slow at first but quickly working your way up to a faster and more steady pace. Didn’t take long for you two to become a bunch of moaning messes once more, going at it like damn rabbits.

It had felt like Elvis had taken a piece of your soul from the moment he’d entered you for the first time and you willingly gave it up for him to keep. You had blossomed into a new person tonight – broken out of your cocoon, going from girl to woman.

Elvis bent his knees a little, heels pressed into the mattress as he grabbed onto your hips and kept you from moving. Instead, he took over and thrusted up into you in such a pace that you had to grip onto his arms to keep steady.

“Oh, fuck!”

He was surprised by the profanity coming from you, but definitely not disappointed. He liked his ladies soft spoken in public, but inside these four walls it was a whole different story. Those rules didn’t apply and especially not to you, because he enjoyed this side of you.

Added more fuel to his fire.

“Shit, I fuckin’ love that pussy,” he growled as he clenched his jaw, his fingers most likely leaving marks on your skin. You threw your head back and Elvis took the opportunity to watch the softness of your skin, he could’ve sworn he could see your heartbeat pulsing underneath it, and the way your breasts bounced along with his thrusts.

He wasn’t going to last long and neither were you with the way he was pounding into you, hitting the right spot every time his hips came up. You were moaning so loud that you wouldn’t be surprised if the downstair neighbors could hear the whole thing.

Though before the two of you could reach climax, he wrapped one arm around your waist and switched positions so fast you barely noticed it until you were laying on your back and he was pounding into you like a mad man. The beads of sweat that formed on his forehead, the animalistic growl that left him when he pulled out of you after a few more thrusts to release strings of cum onto your breasts and stomach was a sight to behold. This man was extraordinary.

You’d fallen over the edge right before he’d pulled out and you were clenching pathetically around nothing, wrapping your arms around him to keep him somewhat close, careful not to mess up the masterpiece he’d created on your skin. His lips found yours, kissing you for a little bit until he hid his face in your neck.

“I think I’ll keep you… My personal little Cherry,” he grinned against your skin and you scoffed softly.

“What am I? A puppy?”

He pulled his head back to look at you and raise an eyebrow, playfully nudging your chin. “Oh, she’s been fucked a couple of times and immediately has an attitude, huh?”

You laughed softly at his words, cupping his face to playfully squeeze his cheeks together. He leans into your touch and softly bites down onto your thumb before kissing it.

“You ain’t a puppy,” he said as he smirked, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “You’re jus’ a little baby.”

“I’m not a baby!” You exclaimed, pretending to be offended as you gasp.

He nodded his head and leaned his face closer to you, pecking your lips while he talked against your mouth. “Uh-huh, you are. A baby with pretty little feet and little red cherry cheeks,”

Instantly, you blushed and pouted against his lips, which made him laugh softly. “As long as I’m your baby, I’ll take it.”

You didn’t mean to say those words. They felt too bold for you to be saying and you half expected him to turn serious and tell you not to get things in your head, but instead he looked into your eyes and smiled.

“Ofcourse,” he said, patting your hair. “You’re my little cherry and I don’t like sharin’..” his fingertip caressed across the black star sapphire diamond engraved into the ring you were still wearing around your neck.

For the whole past year, you had not taken it off once.

“We should clean up and sleep,” you whispered, ignoring how his words had sent your heart aflame.

“I wanna get ya ‘nother present,”

He was already getting up and pulling you off the bed, letting you wander off into the bathroom to clean his cum off of you. This time, you left the door unlocked and seconds later, Elvis came in with his jewelry box.

“Elvis, no.. Put that away. Let’s sleep..”

“Honey,” he said sternly, although you could hear he was playful at the same time. Grabbing your wrist, he pulled you closer to him and grabbed a ring, slipping it into your finger, looking at it and when decided he didn’t like it, he took it off of you and rumbled through the box to find another piece. “We can sleep when we’re dead.”

You let out a laugh and shook your head at his antics. While he was putting jewelry on you, from rings to bracelets, your eyes were on him.

This magical, weird, funny, sweet man that had the world at the tip of his fingers and probably one of the richest people in the country, and yet he had no problem giving away his gold as if they were pieces of candy.

You didn’t care about the jewelry, though. Or about the money, or about any of the luxury. All you cared about was the man next to you, a child like smile of excitement rooted on his face.

You didn’t want to think about it all ending, so you forced yourself not to. Because all that mattered was right here and now, and this night (and morning) of two people’s souls connecting the way they’d done.

They say you never forget your first time and you wholeheartedly believed that statement. How in the world could you ever forget Elvis Presley?

Taglist: @peaceloveelvis @notstefaniepresley @jhoneybees

[elvisalltheway101]

Stay; 60s elvis x f!reader 18+

summary: Elvis isn’t new to pleasuring women, but you were.

^^^^^^^^^^^

You told him you were a virgin, you swear.

but he must’ve forgot because by the time he knelt down to your spread, slick thighs, he could have cum right there. You were pure, pubic hairs curling and decor to your flushed lips that were wet and shiny under the crappy camp light.

He dove right in, and your pretty lips couldn’t close. Gasping softly with cute mewls had Elvis moaning into your cunt but it’s when his upper lip was pressing against your hooded clit that, that’s when he felt it.

Your untouched little hole. As his tongue dove in eagerly to capture the feel of your walls engulfing his pink skilled muscle, your hymen blocked and your hole clenched to whatever length was able to fit.

“O-oh fucking damn me.” He whimpers softly, pulling his face out of your pussy to pepper kisses against your heated inner thigh. “Look atcha all untouched, waitin’ for me, huh?”

You nod vigorously, too hazy and drunk into the sexual bubbly pleasure he driven you into. He smirks and nuzzles his face back into your pubic mound. His nose inhaling your natural scent, as your belly heaves and tightens with every height and squeal of desire.

You lean more juices that run down his chin, and he eagerly laps it up, only to flick against your untouched hole again. By this time, he sneaks a hand up to rub tight circles against your sensitive little nub while he praises your virgin cunt.

You squeal, thighs flying about as you clutch at the sheets. Your hips bucking into his palm as he watches apart with strings of your arousal and his drool connect to your pussy and his lips. He watches with hungry eyes at your hole that springs nectar down and onto his sheets. Watching your pussy pulse with need.

Stars flood your vision when your orgasm crashes into you but he doesn’t stop. His thumb keeps wetly flicking against your puffy clit and when tears of pleasure and overstimulation flood your cheeks and eyes, he ruts his hard, straining cock against his own palm.

he focuses his thumb right onto your lil bundle of nerves, as he lowers his head to lean back in and flatten his tongue to feel that closed hymen of your again right on his tongue. His eyes roll to the back of his head as he rolls his tongue against you and your nearly a squirming, moaning and withering mess under his touch.

When you try to shove his head away, feeling as if you’re gonna pee, he swats your hand away and growls into your swollen, puffy vagina, “stay.” Caging your hips with one arm that’s still pressing on your clit, and the other arm busies to relieve the ache you’ve made him.

He ruts his hips against his sweaty palm to the feeling of your virgin hole squeezing and clenching around his tongue. He moans and pants into your sloppy, slurping messy pussy.

His cock angry and hard, he gasps in delight as you scream in pleasure and tremble, squirting your juices. Immediately gushing onto his face, he flutters his eyes close as he’s showered in your cum rain, his cock pulses hard and wickedly, creating a steamy mess in his slacks. White cream from his swollen and horny manhood, he grits his teeth, stutter his hips against his palms.

glancing down at his wet pants to your cunt that follows with your heavy breathing, he might get hard again at the thought of pressing into that hole and break into you real good.

“Stay”

•••••••

tagging my doll: @jhoneybees

[dreamingofep]

A Blue Velvet Crush

(Elvis/Austin!Elvis × reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

TW: Cussing, teasing, SMUTTT, fingering

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)

Word Count: 5.4K

A/N: Hello everyone! This picture of Elvis lives rent free in my head and I knew when I first saw it, I had to write something for it.

If you've never seen some of this performance, I'd recommend watching! I'll make another post with the youtube link!

Thank you again❤️

Sorry for any spelling mistakes or goofs.

Mississippi, September 26th, 1956

Traffic was backed up for miles and the buzz in the air was electrifying. You couldn’t hide your nerves though. You weren’t even supposed to be here today but by the grace of God, you got thrown in the ring and had to cover today’s most important story. Elvis Presley was back in his hometown of Tupelo, Mississippi to perform a charity concert. His rise to fame seemed to happen overnight and everyone was dying to see him in person. 

You were just an intern at the Tupelo Mirror and your supervisor that was running the Elvis story got sick this morning. Eric called you at the crack of dawn, frantic that no one was going to be there to take pictures. You had only been at the newspaper for a month and a half, you didn’t want to overstep your role and be too forward, but you mentioned that you have photography experience. You ran your college photography club and were majoring in journalism. You know you can take some decent shots of him. You try to sell yourself, affirming you can do this! The whole reason you were working for the newspaper was to get a better shot of getting a job at a newspaper company after you graduated. You thought this would be the perfect way to gain the experience. And if you got some good pictures of Elvis Presley? That could change your whole life. 

You did have a fondness of the man but like, who didn’t at your age? He was the new cool guy who was causing havoc wherever he went. He was talented and had this luring sense about him. You hadn’t ever seen him in person, but based on the few televised appearances he’s made, he was beyond incredible. You knew he had a talent that no one had ever had. Your parents would always make a fuss if you were watching him and tried to make you feel bad for it. 

“No Christian boy should be moving like that! It’s abhorrent.” Your parents used to say. 

You’d just roll your eyes and grumble under your breath. Your parents didn’t understand that he was something young people could love and be fully immersed in without having to act all prim and proper about it. There was no other artist that would make you feel the way Elvis made his audiences feel. He was passionate and he felt the music to his very soul. It showed so easily he didn’t have to say he loved what he was doing. 

And now you were going to be feet away from Elvis, taking his picture and maybe even getting the chance to ask him a few questions. The cars started moving forward more and before you could get through the gates, a police officer stopped you. You rummaged through your satchel and pulled out your press pass. He quickly nodded and directed you to the portion of the lot where other photographers and press reporters were gathered. You quickly find a spot and throw your car in park. You throw your satchel over your head and grab your camera out of its bag. It wasn’t the most high-end camera but it took nice pictures. You double-checked the camera had enough film and quickly made a beeline to the stage. 

There were thousands of people here already and the buzz in the air was electric. You saw girls jumping up and down giddy that they were about to see Elvis live. You had some of the men standing next to them with a bored expression on their faces like they didn’t want to be there. You had to play it cool though. You had your press badge on and the last thing you needed was for someone to see you acting giddy when you had to be professional today. 

There was a corralled section for the press behind ropes that gave you a bit better access on the side of the stage but it was still very crowded. Not only that, but it was all men here and they were all significantly taller than you. You couldn’t see a damn thing from this area and became worried you weren’t going to be able to get one good photograph of this entire thing!

You try to push and shove your way closer to the front but just get these condescending looks toward you and don’t budge an inch for you. You didn’t expect anything less honestly, the industry was made up of men and wasn’t exactly kind to women entering the workplace. You shake it off, not letting it get to you too much. 

The audience starts screaming as the band takes their place on stage. It’s a small band with just a drummer, bassist, and guitar player. They’re all smiles when they hear the crowd go wild for them. Your eyes are focused on the side of the stage though. You want to get the first glimpse of him when he gets on this stage. 

The audience continues to grow antsy and an announcer hops on stage. He steps in front of the microphone at center stage and taps it with his finger. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, I know you all are very excited to have one of our very own from Tupelo be here today. I need you to give a warm welcome to Elvis Presley.”

The crowd erupts at his name and everyone bursts out in insane excitement. You keep your eyes on the side of the stage and you raise the camera to your face, getting ready for the first shot. 

The audience gets louder and you feel the hair on your arms rise. There you see him. He’s dressed in a velvety blue long-sleeve and loose black slacks with his perfect white oxfords. His hair was greased back and looked shiny. He had his guitar on and made his way to the microphone. From this angle, he looked so tall, his legs easily gliding him across the stage. 

He carried this nervous energy about him tho. He puts his hand in his pocket and grabs the microphone with the other hand. 

Click. 

He starts Heartbreak Hotel and drives the place insane. Everyone is screaming and some girls are even crying. His voice rings out flawlessly and once he starts singing, there’s no stopping him. He can’t seem to stand still. Whether it’s the music moving him or the nerves, he is shaking and moving, making the crowd even more insane.

There are times when the screams overpower his voice coming through the microphone. He has an amused look on his face the whole time though. Especially when he swings his hips and makes the girls go bezerk. You catch yourself blushing at those moves, how he can move his hips so easily as he makes these in-passion faces. He made you feel something you’ve never felt before. It was bad, it was lust driving you to keep looking at what he was going to do next. You wanted him to move more to see just how those hips would move in other circumstances…

Click.

Fucking focus.

He wasn’t afraid to get close to his fans. It looked like he really loved them. You could tell he moved his leg just to get them going and have them look there. Or how he’d say a certain word and prolong it all sensually, it drove the place nuts. Even just the way he held the microphone and dragged it along beside him. He commanded that stage by doing the smallest things. Elvis walks slowly to the edge of the stage where dozens of fans reach out their hands for him. He gets close and reaches out his hand too, still singing and never missing a beat.

Click.

You get the side profile of him but you think it’s going to be a great picture when it develops. What you really want is a perfect picture of his face straight onto the camera. That would be a great way to solidify that you are a great photographer and can do this professionally.

Elvis finishes his set and gets rushed off stage into the building behind the arena. You follow the crowd that’s trying to get to him, hoping you can get another picture of him that’s even better than the ones you took. The other photographers aren’t paying any attention to you and push and shove their way through. You huff annoyed, hoping you can get in there before they close the doors. 

You find a spot on the side but all the men in here are so much taller and crowding Elvis. You slump by the door, frustrated that you might have ruined your big chance to prove yourself at the newspaper as you haven’t gotten a single shot of his face straight on. You wanted to the perfect shot and it seems your opportunity was wasted. 

“Alright everyone it’s time to leave. Elvis won’t be answering any more questions,” a man bellows. Most of the men try to protest but they slowly start to funnel out of the door. You continue to get pushed aside until you’re almost behind the door. You don’t move from behind there because, for a brief second, a devious idea pops into your head. 

Just stay here long enough for everyone to leave and ask for a picture when he’s alone.

Your heart pounds away at just the thought of being alone with Elvis but you had to try it. The worst he could say was no and get out. 

The last few remaining men shuffle out of the room and Elvis yells out that he’ll be right out. The door shuts closed, making your little hiding spot be exposed in plain sight. 

Elvis had his back to the door so he didn’t see you right away. You sighed in relief for that but had to work up the courage to say something to him.

What exactly should you say in this situation? ‘Hi I snuck in your dressing room even though I was told to get out, can I take a few pictures of you for the newspaper?’

You cringed just thinking about it. You took a few deep breaths and straightened out your dress.

“Umm, excuse me, Elvis?” You say sheepishly.

He turns around quickly at the sound of your voice and stares wide-eyed at you. He doesn’t say anything right away and neither do you because seeing him this close and in person is too much.

He is beautiful, in every shape and form, he is beautiful. You’ve never seen such a handsome-looking man before in your life and have no words. Logical thinking went out the window with him and he looks at you with the same expression on his face. You haven’t said more than four words to him but you want him. You want him to look at you and touch you and never stop. Your core flutters at that scandalous thought.

“You scared me there honey. H-how’d you get in here?” He asks with a mischievous grin forming on his face.

“W-w-well I uhhh. Well, I work for the newspaper and I was wondering if I could take a few more pictures of you?” You ask nervously. A long silence fills the room and you are about to turn on your heels and run for the door when he gives you another cheeky smile.

“Sure, I don’t mind at all. What was your name lil’ darlin’?” He asks smoothly.

Lil’ darlin’.

Jesus Christ I’m not going to make it out of here alive with all his charm suffocating me.

“Oh gosh Elvis, thank you so much. This truly means so much to me. And my name is y/n.” You tell him in a hurry. You make sure your camera is on and ready before you look back up at him watching you intently.

“Y/n… that’s very pretty…Where’d you want me, honey?” He coos.

Your heart pounds in your ears and you can’t register anything he just said. All you can do is look at him in shock and can’t believe you’re alone with him. You know how many thousands of girls would kill for a moment like this? And the question he just asked?! Ooh, the sheer audaciousness he has. He knows he's irresistable.

I'd love you to cover me in kisses with those pillowy soft lips...

“Huh?” You say in a daze.

“Where did you wanna take my picture honey? You’re the photographer and all,” he teases. You feel the heat rise to your cheeks and you nervously look down at your camera.

“Oh yeah… sorry… I’ve never really done this,” you admit. His eyebrows shoot up surprised, “First time? Wow, that’s somethin’ for a little lady coming here and coverin’ a story on a day like this. The whole town is making a huge fuss over me, I don’t think deserve it, but it’s very special either way. I’ll make sure to give you the best pictures,” he winks. It feels like your heart just about stopped by that one minuscule movement.

Stop that. Stop that right now!

You sweetly smile up at him and move further into the room, trying to see what angle and lighting would be best. The wall behind him was blue and you thought that would be a perfect backdrop to accentuate the velvet shirt he was wearing and his piercing blue eyes.

“Umm, let’s try with you stand there. I think that would be a nice background,” you say.

He casually takes a few steps back and puts his hands in his pockets.

“Like this?” He asks. You raise the camera to your face, make sure the frame is straight, and push the button.

Click.

He looked good without even trying. He had this golden aura about him. Like he shined from within. He was remarkable and you know that without saying much else to him. Even if you didn’t like him already, you can see the appeal. He was so easy to love. So easy to be around. Everything about him was inviting and warm. You don’t know how you were going to peel yourself away from him…

“Okay, how about one smiling?” You ask. He nods his head and gives you this cute cheeky smile.

Click.

God help me I can’t breathe with this man around looking this good.

“How are they comin’ out honey?” He asks, his southern inflection on honey making you feel like the actual word.

“Oh, just fine. I think they’re going to be amazing when printed,” you try to say casually.

“Oh good… what are you doin’ working for the newspaper?” He asks, fixing the sides of his hair with a comb.

Click.

“I don’t work for the newspaper, not yet at least. I’m just an intern. I’m a student at the University of Mississippi studying journalism and thought it would help to work there for a bit so when I graduate in two years, I can hopefully get a job at a newspaper,” you explain.

He intently looks at you, interested in everything you have to say, “That’s wonderful honey. I think that’s great you’re pursuing that. I don’t doubt for a second you won’t get a job anywhere you apply for,” he says sweetly. You can’t help but blush at his nice words and fiddle with your camera.

“Thank you, Elvis,” you say quietly. He walks over to the sofa that’s up against the wall and casually takes a seat.

He stretches out one arm along the back of the couch and the other rests on the arm of it. His legs were spread open and your eyes can’t help but stare at them. They were so long and he exuded sensuality, it nearly made you dizzy. He sees how you’re looking at him, intrigued with the man that so many found attractive.

You raise the camera to your eye once again as he looks down the lens intensely.

Click.

You felt like screaming like those girls were earlier. You’ve never felt so attracted to someone’s presence. It kind of scared you in a way. 

He moves on the sofa slightly, bringing his hand to his mouth and giving you this luring, sultry gaze.

Oh lord, I’m a dead woman…

Click.

He doesn’t change this pose after the flash goes off, he continues to sit there with his eyes drinking you in. Your body can’t take this, the tension in the room is palpable and you are seriously considering running out now since you have plenty of good shots. Elvis slowly starts to lower his hand from his mouth and you see he was biting his lip behind it this whole time. He slowly drags his teeth across it before letting it go with a pop.

“Anyone ever tell you how beautiful you are?” He asks softly.

You can’t hide your flushed cheeks anymore and lower the camera from your face to see if he’s being serious. His eyes look heavy and somber, but he cracks a little grin to lighten the mood.

“Oh, no… not something I normally hear,” you say insecurely.

“That’s a shame darlin’, you really are. You have the most gorgeous smile, beautiful eyes, and the longest legs I’ve ever seen,” he gushes. 

I’m dead. I’ve gone to heaven and died. This can’t be happening!

“Well thank you very much. I could say the same for you,” you say coyly.

His eyebrows raise at the blunt remark and chuckles softly to himself. He lowers his hand off the back of the sofa and places it on the empty space beside him, looking at it, then looking back up at you. He doesn’t need to say another word, he pulls you in without trying.

You carefully place your camera on the table and take your bag off your shoulder. You make your way to sit beside him as your heart gallops like a racing horse.

He turns his body a bit to face you more and being this close to him is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. You have to hold your breath or he might notice how nervous you are.

“No guy back home telling’ you how pretty you are hmm?” He says, tucking back stands of hair behind your ear. All you can do is shake your head no. His fingertips barely graze the lobe of your ear but it makes you feel weak anyway. The arousal dripping from your core is not helping the situation and not letting you think clearly.

“Oh, well I’m sorry men are so blind over there. I think you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” he quips, giving you a cheeky smile. “The most pretty eyes, the most pretty nose, the most pretty pink lips I’ve ever seen,” he coos, leaning in closer until you can feel his breath on your lips.

You can’t take it anymore and lean in, devouring his lips with yours. You let out a deep breath as your mouth touched his, his lips feeling softer than you could have ever possibly imagined. He was so gentle with his kiss, making sure he wasn’t overstepping your boundaries. But you didn’t care about that. You screamed for more from him. More kisses, more long heated stares, more everything. 

You boldly, place your hand on his bicep, pulling yourself closer to him. He responds to your touch and you can tell he likes it. His crushed velvet shirt felt nice underneath your fingertips and felt his toned arms. He places his hand on your cheek, pulling you in with more urgency. You feel breathless, loving the way his skin makes yours feel like it’s on fire.

Elvis softly pulls away, not before biting your bottom lip and letting a sigh slip out of his mouth.

“Those lips darlin’, I could kiss them all day,” he mutters, his eyes heavy with lust.

“What’s stopping you?” You whimper. He grins and pulls you in once more.

You can’t believe any of this is real. The way he is kissing you should not feel so good and yet it does. You put both of your hands on his chest, pulling him closer to you by the collar of his shirt. His hands start to roam along your back, feeling the curve of it and how well this dress fits you. Every inch of you wants his hands placed lower. Right at the spot that is yearning for friction from those perfect hands.

He starts to drag one of his hands to your hip, squeezing there then down the top of your thigh. Need coursed through you and you couldn’t help but open your legs a tad bit. You’re not sure if he noticed, but he let out a pleased hum as he kissed you with more intensity.  

You needed to feel him. You needed to feel how soft his skin would be when it’s pressed against yours. Your hand sneaks into his shirt and feel the coarse little chest hairs he had there. You were right, his skin felt perfect and it only made you crave more. You snake your hand lower and onto the top of his thigh. You make the same movements he’s doing to you and you feel his body melt at your touch. 

You move your hand a bit lower and go to caress the inside part of his thigh and you freeze.

“Oh…” you moan into his mouth.

What you felt underneath your fingertips made you cry in need of him. Dear God, he was blessed in more ways than one. He was so much longer than you expected and it made your heart leap out of your chest. His cock was warm and fully hard in his pants as your fingertips slowly start to rub against him. You pull away from his lips and have to look at what your hand is feeling. 

You were going to die and see the pearly gates if you tried to have that inside of you. But God you didn’t care, you wanted him so bad. You’ve never wanted a man like this in your entire life. Looking up at Elvis, he looks calm and collected, still giving you a heated stare. He looks down at your hand, then back up to you with an innocent look about him. 

“You like what you feel baby?” He asks low. You take a deep breath before answering him.

“Y-yes. Yes, I do…” you say softly, your hand moving along him more. He lets out a pleased groan and adjusts his hips slightly, liking the feeling of your touch on him.

“Do you want more? Do you want to feel what it’s like inside of you?” He coos, leaning in for a soft kiss that leaves you dizzy. Your breathing felt erratic and the ache you had in your core only worsened.

“Yes please Elvis… please,” you beg. He smirks at you and kisses your neck, sending a shock of electricity through you. 

“Can I see what you’re wearin’ underneath this pretty dress honey?” He asks you. You nod your head and his fingers find the zipper of your dress easily. He slowly pulls it down and pulls down the fabric off the front of your body. You help him slip you out of your dress and sit there with your white bra and panties left on. He lets out a pleased little groan as he sees you sitting there, trembling with need. He gently touches your exposed skin, leaving little goosebumps behind. He touches your breasts gently, biting his lip as both of his hands cup them and start to play with your nipples through the fabric of your bra. You can’t help but lean into his touch loving every second of this.

He places a soft kiss on top of your breast as he reaches around and unclips your bra. He quickly puts one of your nipples in his mouth and sucks on it, groaning as he does so. Your back arches into his mouth, craving so much more from him. His other hand roams your body but only focuses on the top half of you. Your core was dripping with arousal and aching to be touched by those long fingers. You guide one hand between your legs and have him put pressure there.

You gasp instantly, his touch feeling better than you could have imagined but also realize you’ve soaked through your panties. He takes his mouth off of you and pulls away to look down at his hand.

“Fuck honey, how long have you been soaked like this?” He grumbles, his two fingers sliding up and down through your covered folds and creating the most delicious friction.

“Since I saw you moving on that stage,” you admit weakly.

He chuckles softly, “Oh honey, why didn’t you tell me sooner… this pussy just weepin’ for me?” He asks as his fingers slide the elastic of your panties to the side and expose your leaking core to him.

“Yes,” you moan. He nods his head and slowly pushes a finger inside of you. You both groan together, filling you so nicely. Your hips rock into his hand, needing everything he can give you. 

You throw your head back as he adds another finger inside of you.

“Elvis,” you moan, your chest heaving for more. He watches you intently, liking how on edge you are for him. His fingers twist and curl inside of you and you gasp for air. He likes what he’s doing and can’t get enough got you either.

“You feel so nice and wet baby. Can I give you my cock now?” He asks.

“Please, I want you Elvis, please give it to me,” you beg, reaching for his belt and unfastening it. He pulls down your panties and you lift your hips to help him get them off. You then work on the button of his pants and slide down the zipper. He lifts his hips up too to take them off and you watch as his cock comes out. Oh God, you were weak by just looking at it. His pink tip was peeking out from his foreskin and clear precum started to dribble down his length. His hand wraps around his length and spreads some of that slickness around the tip of him, moving his hand up and down slowly. You look back into his intense eyes and don’t know what to say.

“You want to ride me, honey?” He asks. The look on your face must have shown the apprehension you had thinking about taking him like that. He rubs his thumb along your cheek and smirks at you.

“It’ll feel so good baby. You’re so wet for me, you’re going to cover my cock in your sweet honey and make us feel so good,” he groans as you watch him swirl his thumb around the tip of his cock. A pent-up moan escapes your lips and quickly straddle his hips, needing him more than ever.

He rubs his length through your folds, covering him in your arousal and making you both moan with the sensation. You hold onto his shoulders and press kisses to his cheek. You feel him line himself up to your entrance and hold your hips. Elvis looks up at you with need and his eyes are begging you to have him. You felt the heat of him pressed there against your entrance and you can’t wait any longer. You start to sink down on his impressive length, moaning as you take the first few inches. He felt so good, filling you so completely and stretching out your tight entrance. He throws his head back onto the couch and groans as you take him, squeezing your hips tightly.

The sounds he makes when he’s getting pleased goes straight to your head. You love the way he groans as you move slowly on him. You never knew you could be so attracted to the sound of a man getting pleased. You take more of him inside you and cry out his name, overwhelmed it can be feeling this good. 

“You feel so good, honey. You like how my cock feels inside you?” He groans into your ear. You gasp as his hips move up into you, stuffing more of his length inside of you.

“Yes, oh fuck yes,” you cry out.

You move faster on him, wanting more of him and feeling your walls fluttering each second. His eyes watch how your breasts bounce as you’re riding him, drunk at the very sight of you. You close your eyes, overwhelmed with all the sensations he’s giving you and those eyes only make it worse and worse. 

Your hips grind at the base of his cock and you both whimper. Your clit rubs at the base of him and you feel your walls start to clench around him. You ride him harder, chasing the high of your orgasm. You look back into his eyes, desperate for him to help you.

“E-Elvis… oh please,” you beg.

“Come darlin’, I wanna feel you come for me,” he groans as he snaps his hips into you, causing his cock to get deeper inside you.

You whimper in agony, not being able to hold on much longer. His hands are back on your hips and help you move more. Your breathing is ragged and your vision is blurry, you thrust a few more times on him and you feel your body shudder hard. Your walls squeeze around his length and cry out his name like he’s your saving grace. He groans with you, loving how good you feel around him. He helps you rock your hips into him more, making you come more than you ever have in your life. Your head feels dizzy and your body feels like it’s floating. You never knew a man could make you feel this good.

You keep riding him and don’t want to stop. He was still making these sinful sounds that sent a pulse straight to your pussy as you hear him getting pleased by you. He bites his lower lip as he stares at you, beaded sweat gathering at his temples and his breathing becoming more frantic.

“Ah, honey you feel so damn good. I need to come now,” he says gruffly. He picks you up off of him and has you stand in between his open legs. He grabs his cock in his hand once more and starts to jerk himself off, staring at you with need. You wanted to touch him again, feel the warmth of his length fill your hand. You boldly get on your knees and take his hand off of himself. You wrap your small hand around him and his eyes roll back in his head. Your wetness covered his length and made it easy to move your hand on him. You angle his length toward your chest and he bucks his forward and falls apart. His seed comes out in thick, hot, spurts and lands on your chest. He groans loudly and cusses under his breath with each stroke of your hand. 

“Oh yes honey, yes,” he moans.

He’s trying to calm down and regain his normal breathing but your thumb continues to tease his extra sensitive head. He groans in agony, loving and hating how you’re playing with him.

“God honey I-I-I ain’t never felt so good,” he sighs. “Come here,” he says opening his arms to you. 

You get up and sit on his thigh, your spilling arousal making a mess on him. You wince when you feel the wetness spread on him and look up at him with an innocent smile.

“Sucha messy lil’ girl hmm?” He teases.

“Mhmm, you’re quite messy too,” you quip, looking down at your chest with him covering it.

He laughs amused, “Well, you felt too good what can I say,” he says cutely, placing a soft kiss on your lips.

“I had to say thank you in some way for letting me take some pictures of you,” you say shyly.

“Oh, you didn’t need to, but I’m so thankful you did,” he winks.

You kiss each other more, reveling in this moment together, not wanting it to end so soon. But you knew he had other places to be, you couldn’t keep him in here forever.

“I don’t want to keep you from your day. The whole town is so happy you’re here,” you smile.

“Thanks, honey. It’s nice to be celebrated in sucha nice way,” he says caressing your face, “but this might have been my favorite thing I got today.” He says cutely.

“And what’s that?” You ask smartly.

“You, my new favorite reporter.”

*

*

*

Tagging:

@powerofelvis @burninlovebutler

@neptuneismysister @velvetelvis @ccab @presleyenterprise @loving-elvis @theresalwaysep

@prompted-wordsmith@sillybookmarks @dkayfixates @ellie-24 @rktismylife-blog.@myradiaz@tacozebra051

@thatbanditqueen

@18|kpeters @flwrs4aust @emma181873

@austinswhitewolf @eliseinmemphis

@everythingelvispresley @chasingwildflowers @idontwanttoputanything @ohjustpeachy

@elvisalltheway101 @austinsmutler @kingdomforapony

@generoustreemystic @claire-elvisgirl

@ashtag6887 @burnthheparaphilia @richardslady121

@jaqueline19997

@returntopresley. @iloveelvis @rjmartin11 @that-hotdog @louisejoy86 @misspresley @cattcb @annapresley8

@arrolyn1114 @raginginkedslut @epthedream69

@mh777ep1938 @50sexyshadesfashionista

@oldhOllywOod @hooked-on-elvis @livelovedilfs

[sweet-fading-summer-love]

If Only...

Pairing: Austin!Elvis x Reader, OR Elvis x Reader

Summary - When Elvis runs into you at a charity benefit, he can't control his resurgence of feelings, and he begins to wonder where it all went wrong? Why were you the one that got away?

Warnings - Mentioned nudity imagination in Elvis' memory, arguments, yelling, throwing things, swearing, written with you/your point of view but a name is assigned to "you" as June (I don't like using y/n, it makes more sense to me to put an actual name)

WC - 2.2K

Author's Note: This is a requested piece that I had an awfully good time writing, enjoyed it so much. Feel free to send in more requests!

"Elvis?"

The sound of your voice was a strangely familiar one. It had a bit of an unknown aspect to it, but he could hear the familiarity. Normally he might think it was a fan, but the way you said his name had been with such comfortability. Most fans can hardly keep their words together due to their tongue practically falling out of their mouth.

He turned his head away from the group of men gathered around the little bar at the event.

And there you were, June. Little Junie. His little Junebug. Well, not so little anymore as your baby fat dissipated from your sweet cheeks, though they were still supple and apple-like.

"Junebug?"

You smiled and put your arms out to hug him, and strangely enough, he, the man who always reeked of a suave and smooth nature, felt starstruck. No, you weren't some superstar to the world, but there was a time when you were the brightest star in his. You were his girl-next-door, well to be more realistic you were his girl-in-the-next-neighborhood. His suburban sweetheart.

His arms were hesitant at first to wrap around you, but as he smelled the familiar scent of the shampoo you often used, he relaxed into the hug. Pulling back to just stare at you incredulously, like you were a ghost.

Yes, many years had passed, and you both had your respective lives to live and dreams to chase, but as he looked you up and down as if he were measuring up how much taller you'd grown in the way he used to do every summer, he remembered those warm summer nights. He envisioned the mornings that followed and went without breath as he did so.

The way the morning summer sun filtered in through the window of your bedroom, sunlight dancing along your bare arms. Its warmth caressed your body with a softness that he had been using the night before. And when the summer breeze would drift into the room, and the covers didn't quite cover your chest, he noticed the way your nipples arose sensitively, just as they had the night before when it was he who sent chills up your spine.

You always were a looker, but on those summer mornings, he felt you were at your most beautiful. Sure your hair fell messily like hay due to the actions that took place the night before, but even that was beautiful.

At least to him.

"Elvis?"

Elvis focused back in on the sight of you, the you now. The you who looked up at him with calm eyes, much unlike those wide bright ones of the past that stared in admiration at the older boy who showed you attention. As strange as it was to say, although he had gone on to be one of the world's stars, the way you looked at him now was as if you two were on the same playing field. Even though you had to physically look up to him, he could tell that you no longer mentally looked up to him.

Your voice cut in again,

"It's nice seeing you"

He gave you one last up and down before sighing with a smile,

"It's good to see you too Junebug, you've really…"

He was at a loss for words on how to describe you, but you cut him off, referencing the obvious,

"Filled out? Yep, no more 'droopy drawers',"

Elvis couldn't help his smile at the nickname he used to call you when you two were kids and all the other girls were beginning to blossom, being the jerk of a boy he was, he would tease you for being a late bloomer, you'd gotten to an age where you were to start wearing a bra, it was poorly fitted and would droop because it had nothing to hold.

Elvis's smile remained small as he shook his head, his voice then came out soft and genuine,

"No, Junebug, I meant, you've grown to be a beautiful woman"

You returned his statement with a bit of a surprised smile. Elvis had always been playful and teasing, it was very rare you heard a genuine heartfelt compliment. It was sweet to hear, and it showed you that you had both grown in your own ways.

"Well thank you Elvis, and please, call me June," you laughed the last part, "We're not kids anymore, so I feel silly hearing that…"

Elvis' smile looked a little crestfallen at your words, but it remained. His next words fell from his mouth with a tenderness to them,

"But you'll always be my little Junebug"

After those words Elvis got a sense of deja vu, the tender tone of his words, his wording, it brought him back to the last time the two of you had seen each other.

It was a little after your graduation, at the time he'd been 19 years old, still a truck driver. To him, you had this nonsensical idea that you'd go off to college and keep in touch. He never wanted to leave Memphis, and he didn't want to leave his Mama and Daddy behind either, but he also couldn't do long-distance. So it came down to a matter of him making a choice.

That was an awful argument…

He remembered the ending, the two of you had been arguing for over an hour, it was right before you were about to go on a trip to tour a few colleges with your Daddy. He'd slammed his hand onto your dresser and yelled,

"Now Honey, I-I don't know why you're so insistent on this whole college thing, it-it's ridiculous!"

You stared at him with fury, and walked closer to him, saying as quietly as you could,

"Elvis Aaron Presley, I know you did not slam your fist on my dresser while my little brother is sleeping in the other room."

Elvis had practically grown up with you, and your mom was a woman he respected so he'd never usually do something so rude and disruptive in her house. But as you were packing your things to go tour colleges, the betrayal he felt made him think "To hell with it all".

"I did, and I'll do it again if I have to. You're not goin'."

"Yes I am! We can still send mail and telegrams, and have telephone calls-"

Elvis interrupted viciously,

"It's not about that!"

You sent him a glare and put your hands on your hips, questioning with thunder in your voice, "Oh really what is it about? You don't want me to get an education? Don't want me to be able to take care of myself?"

He bellowed,

"You shouldn't have to take care of yourself!! That's what the fuck I'm here for Baby! That's what these-"

He roughly grabbed your hand placing a finger on the promise ring he gave you and holding up his hand with his promise ring.

"-are for"

You stared at him with a foreign gaze for a moment, your voice was a whisper, but he heard you loud and clear, "But, I don't want that… I want to be part of making our future together, I don't want you to be the only one putting in the work… I don't want that at all" You closed your little suitcase as you spoke.

He licked his inner lip in unspoken anger and hummed lowly with a nod, coming to his own conclusions as he paced backward. He went from a whisper to a yell as he asked,

"Ya don't want that… Or do ya not want me?!!"

Your eyes went wide as he paced back over and picked your suitcase back up, throwing it somewhere behind him, but you hadn't locked the latch so as he did clothes flew out this way and that. As the suitcase crashed into your dresser, it caused the dresser to shake and a few little bits of glass decor to topple over, one falling off the dresser and shattering onto the floor.

With the shattering of that glass, you felt the shattering of your heart as you realized this wasn't the life you wanted.

You walked over to the glass that was sprawled along the wood floor, then you kneeled carefully in your little blue dress to caress your clothing that was now carelessly spread along the floor. As you felt tears build in your eyes and let out a sniffle you could hear his angry huffing begin to calm down.

As you assessed the damaged glass and the mess of clothes you began to hear his shoes click against the wood flooring, but before he got to you, likely to apologize, you dismissed him with a croaky voice,

"Leave Elvis."

"Junie, now, I'm-"

You turned your head only slightly, not wanting him to see the sad contortions of your face, just enough for him to see the corner of your cheek, you then repeated,

"Leave Elvis… Please…"

He stopped and stared at your form on the floor, you looked so small and crumpled, just as your clothes were. He sighed and shook his head, he felt himself get mad again from you not accepting his comfort, so before he stormed out, he grumbled,

"When ya come to your senses you know where to find me, and when ya finally do, I don't want to hear a word about this college nonsense."

Before he could leave he heard a clink-clink, and as he turned around he realized it was the sound of your promise ring hitting the door and landing on the floor. Your voice was eerily calm, much unlike the shrill screaming matches you had with him, ones that you often would kiss and make up for not even a day later.

"You don't have to worry about it, 'cause I'm not coming to find you, Elvis, not anymore. You can have your ring. I'm done."

He felt a pang of hurt in his chest at the sight of the ring and the sound of your words. He didn't fully believe you truthfully, but he humored your words, picking up the ring and rubbing it between his fingers.

"Fine, this is it then, but it's your fucking ring. I didn't buy it for myself."

He waited for you to turn around, and give him a rebuttal because you always had to have the last word. But you didn't. And that made him nervous. So in a final attempt to ease you, he spoke in a quiet tone,

"And if this is w-what you're really gonna choose, college over me, then maybe we're better off. But, you'll always be my Junebug…"

With those words he left, you were out of each other's lives. Until now.

"Elvis?"

This time it wasn't your voice that brought him back to reality, instead, it was the warmth of your palm on his cheek and the concern in your eyes.

"Honey, is something wrong? You keep losing focus"

He swallowed thickly at the nickname, and at the concern and care you've shown in that small gesture, it was as if you were the older one now.

You took your hand back with a laugh, "Ah, sorry, it's instinct these days" He quirked his head to the side, "These days?" You smiled, "Ah yes, I forgot, Tommy! Michael!"

Elvis followed where your eyes were as you called out the names and two kids appeared to be running toward the two of you from the desert table, one had chocolate smears all over his face, and you tsked at the sight, bending down slightly to lick your thumb and wipe it off.

Elvis stared blankly at the two kids who looked completely alike and looked to be no older than 5-years-old. He heard you mumble fondly as you cleaned one of the boys' faces, "Oh Tommy dear…"

After cleaning the boy up you put your left hand on Tommy's head and your right hand on Michael's head, then introduced,

"These are my boys, Tommy and Michael, they're twins. I've got a little girl too, Mary-Ann, she's only a few months old so I left her with the sitter tonight. Boys, this is Elvis, I knew him in high school"

'Knew', was enough to make Elvis' stomach churn. And the whole idea of you having kids, kids with another man, that had sent his stomach on a rollercoaster. But before you could go into further conversation, before Elvis could properly introduce himself, a man called your name, and as you heard it your head turned away from Elvis to the direction.

You clarified, "Ah, that's my husband, Richard…", you then looked down to the kids, "Boys, go tell Daddy I'll be there in a moment", and obediently the boys skipped off to wherever that voice was coming from.

Elvis was too busy processing it all to comment. Here you were with a husband and kids, seemingly happy, whereas Elvis had a couple of girlfriends on call and a group of guys who only had their best interests in mind.

Even though he was older, he felt as though you had outgrown him. He wanted to say so much, he wanted to catch up with you. But he knew if he did, he would just let all his feelings spill out. And you didn't need that, not when you're happy with the life you chose.

You smiled an almost bittersweet smile, your hands gestured behind you as you spoke, "Well, I gotta go now, Richard needs me, but, it was great seeing you, Elvis. I mean it."

You held his hand gently and as he held yours he could only mumble quietly, "Yeah, same to you Junebu-"

He corrected himself, but he didn't like the unfamiliarity and almost formality of the name,

"June."

With that, you smiled one last smile, and your hands slowly drifted out of his, and then you disappeared into the crowd.

And once again the two of you were out of each other's lives.

[ab4eva]

‘Ain’t That Loving You Baby’

Summary: Reader is out of sorts all day - grumpy, petulant, rude and just plain bitchy. Elvis takes it upon himself to set her straight.

Warnings: NFSW 18+, spanking, non-con spanking, established relationship, time period related ideas about marriage/relationships, copious use of pet names, use of the term “daddy”, fingering, aftercare, fluff. Please let me know if I missed anything.

Authors note: Y’all, sometimes inspiration for a fic strikes in the most unexpected of ways, as with this one. I know this isn’t everyone’s cuppa, so if I’ve tagged you and you aren’t into it, apologies and please just keep right on scrolling. Now please enjoy one of my top Elvis fantasies that I will write in as many different ways as humanly possible until the day I die.

Word count: 3.6k

-

You couldn’t quite put your finger on it - why you were so out of sorts today. One minute you were close to tears, feeling sensitive and tender if anyone so much as looked at you the wrong way or seemed the least bit careless with you. The next minute you were blowing up at some poor member of the Memphis Mafia, Vernon or even Elvis himself. You were grumpy, combative, and just generally in a very bad mood. It was as if a black cloud were hanging over your head, following your every step, raining on your own personal parade just to piss you off. The worst part was you knew you were being a brat but you were powerless to stop it. You felt itchy and irritated, on edge from the moment you stepped out the front doors of Graceland that morning to run your errands.

It didn’t help that when you returned, Elvis and the boys were lounging in the living room, making a right mess of things - beer bottles littering every surface, ash trays full to the brim with cigar ash, dirty plates covering the floor - it looked like a literal bomb had gone off. You’d just cleaned the entire house yesterday from top to bottom. Elvis had begged you to hire a housekeeper after you’d gotten married, but you were old fashioned, you saw it as the wife’s job to keep a clean house. And so you did…until all of these beastly men came and messed it up again. You surveyed the mess, a look of displeasure coloring your pretty face, your hands clenched into tight fists. Your heart pounded as you dug your fingernails into the soft flesh of your palm and tried very hard not to scream.

“Oh hey Y/N,” Red said lazily, the first of them to notice you standing in the doorway. “These cookies are damn delicious.” Your eyes zeroed in on his hand and you saw he held one of your freshly baked chocolate chip oatmeal cookies, the ones you’d painstakingly made dozens of last night. They were meant for the cookie exchange your book club was having tomorrow. Your eyes slowly surveyed the rest of the men in the living room, all of them perched here and there on the furniture or the floor… and all of them with cookies in their hands. The big platter heaped with cookies you had carefully placed on top of the fridge now sat almost empty in the middle of the coffee table. Your eyes found Elvis’s as you inhaled sharply and gave him a look that could kill. He had the good grace to look abashed as he quickly dropped the cookie he was holding, standing up slowly from where he sat on the couch as he moved towards you, holding both hands in front of him in a gesture meant to placate you but it only enraged you further.

“Now baby, we didn’t mean to eat all these here cookies, but you know they’re my favorite and I-I-I couldn’t resist. And I had to share with the guys, otherwise what kind of host would I be?” His blue eyes were sparkling with something close to amusement and his voice dripped honey, soft and low, soothing. He knew the look you were giving him, knew he had to tread carefully.

“Elvis…baby,” you said in a dangerous and mocking whisper, “those cookies were for my book club.” You spat the words out through gritted teeth, barely containing your rage. The thing is, you were usually so easygoing, so even-keeled, the very definition of hospitable to guests in your home. Normally, this wouldn’t even phase you. But today? It made you so angry you could barely speak. Poor Jerry had the unfortunate thought at that moment to try and smooth the situation over by offering to clean up the mess they’d made only to have you snap at him (“Don’t bother! None of you had the bright idea to even think before turning my living room into a pigsty!”) as you stomped out of the room.

Things didn’t end there as your rampage continued for the rest of the day, cutting down anyone and anything daring to cross your path. Vernon made the mistake of asking you about a shopping bill for some new dresses you purchased last week, innocently wanting to know the total so he could add it to the monthly expense account. You almost wrung his neck - the sheer audacity of the man! The Colonel came sweeping in cheerily in the late afternoon, trying to pull one of his old carney tricks on you, thinking it would lighten your mood. It had the opposite effect and you told him off so completely that even Elvis had to chuckle at it with a bemused smile. But the final straw came that evening, as you and Elvis sat peacefully (for his part, at least) in the living room, quietly reading after a rather tense dinner. You made some snide, off the cuff remark aimed at the way your husband’s business was being run and in an instant, you knew you’d stepped over the line, pushed Elvis past the limit of what he’s willing to take.

As soon as the words fly out of your mouth you wish you could pull them back in, gather the broken pieces of them and keep them inside. You suck in a gasp, your eyes flying to his face, realizing your mistake too late, realizing your bad mood has landed you here, in uncharted territory. Only once before had you taken things too far - two weeks after your wedding - Elvis had stormed out of the house in a barely suppressed rage only to return the next morning, acting as if nothing had even happened. You see his body still and his blue eyes widen in surprise before they darken, anger and annoyance flashing across his face before being replaced with a look of willful determination. You know that look, it’s the one he gets when he has an idea in his head, and like a dog with a bone, won’t let go until he gets what he wants. Your heart speeds up in your chest, pounding almost painfully, you feel a little lightheaded and your mouth goes dry. You swallow thickly, opening your mouth to apologize, to take back the words you’ve already said, anything at all to stop this train from hurtling off the cliff. “Elvis, I-,” the words start to tumble from your mouth in a rush before he cuts you off angrily.

“That’s enough!” he yells, his voice booming loud and firm, your ears ringing with the force of it. “Now listen here, girl, I don’t know what’s gotten into you today, but that’s. Enough.” His voice is now dangerously low as he punctuates each word with a stab of his finger in your direction, his gold rings glittering wildly in the soft light of the room. He stands abruptly and strides towards you, grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you to his chest, wrapping his arms around you tightly and holding you there. You struggle against him, beating his solid chest with your closed fists like a child, not wanting to be held.

“Lemme go…let me go!” you practically scream in his face. Something inside you refuses to be comforted in this moment, you feel as if he’s suffocating you. You don’t want him to touch you, don’t want him near you. And yet, it’s all you want, to be here, in his arms. His deliciously musky scent fills your nostrils as he presses your head into his shirt in an attempt to calm you. His chest is heaving with restrained emotion and his wiry chest hairs tickle your nose through his unbuttoned collar. Confusion swirls in your brain, you’re too upset to sort through the emotions that have been tormenting you all day as you thrash against him. His lip curls up in an annoyed smirk as he grabs your flailing fists, pinning them to your side as his jaw clenches, his strong arms vise-like as he clutches you tightly to his chest.

“Now, you’re gonna tell me why ya got a bee in your britches, darlin. Why ya been a goddamn brat all goddamn day… or I’m gonna make ya tell me,” he commands, his voice rough and low. His eyes search yours and his nostrils flair slightly as he breathes heavily, trying to keep you in check as you still struggle against him. You can see the vein in his neck, the one that drives you wild, popping out - which means he’s excited or angry - or both.

“I’d like to see you try,” you spit at him scornfully, your bright eyes challenging him, your lip turning up into a slight sneer as you wriggle some more.

“Don’t test me, little one. I think someone needs an attitude adjustment and I’m just the one to give it to ya.” He squeezes you tighter in his arms as you squirm, still trying to break free, and suddenly you’re having a little trouble breathing. You stop moving for a moment and his grip loosens just a little as you gulp in a breath of air. “As your husband, it’s my job to set you right when you’re misbehaving. So I’m gonna ask ya again, darlin - why are ya so outta sorts today?”

You stare at him, at a loss for words. Truthfully, you don’t know what’s gotten into you. It’s just a bad day. You remember waking up and feeling fine, maybe a little tired. Elvis was already gone, his side of the bed cold and empty. He’d been distracted with contract negotiations when you found him in the kitchen, already eating breakfast. Without you. You had wanted to tell him a story about something that happened yesterday that made you think of him. But just as you were about to he was up and out for a meeting, without ever kissing you good morning. Or goodbye. All of these little things, you suddenly realize, subconsciously added up to you feeling neglected and uncared for by him. They had curled inside your belly without you knowing, sending sad thoughts to your brain all day long. You bite your lip as it all comes rushing in and you feel yourself close to tears.

You can’t tell him these things. They’re all too silly, too small, too insignificant in the grand scheme of it all. You just stare at him, your chest heaving, your eyes silently pleading with him to understand as a tear slips down your cheek unbidden. He softens for a moment, a dozen different thoughts flashing across his readable face. He gently wipes your tear with his thumb and presses a kiss to your cheek where it fell. Then he nods once, as if making up his mind about something. He releases you, grabbing your wrist again, practically dragging you over to the big, comfy chair at the edge of the living room. You go rather willingly, unsure of what his plan is. His other hand settles on the back of your neck, gently, as he starts to push you down over the back of the chair. You suddenly understand that something you have no control over is about to happen and you start to fight him again. But he keeps a firm grasp on your wrist as he keeps pushing your head down until you are bent almost in two over the back of the chair. If his iron grip on you didn’t entirely prevent you from moving, his strong, lean body standing behind you and pressing you into the chair does.

“Stop squirming, or I’ll have to tie you down.” His voice in your ear is breathy, somewhere between amused and annoyed. “Don’t think I won’t, honey. You’ve been ornery all day and you don’t get a say in what happens now, ya hear me? Just remember, this is for your own good. And I love you.” You stop moving, knowing he’ll do whatever he deems necessary to see this through. He releases his grip on you and steps to the side, his left arm settling heavily across your back to hold you down as he rucks your short dress up around your hips. You feel him run a hand across your round ass, cupping it and squeezing softly. You hear what can only be described as a delighted breath escaping his lips behind you, the soft huff of a chuckle, his ribcage expanding against your arm as he breathes deeply. The pressure as he grips your ass gets harder and harder before he suddenly stops and his cool fingers toy with the edge of your panties around your waist before he unceremoniously yanks them down to your ankles.

“Last chance, baby,” he says through gritted teeth, his tone stern as he pins you to the chair. You start to squirm again, panic rising in your chest. He’s about to spank you. He…he’s never done that before. Not even for fun. Your body starts to tremble and you shake your head, refusing to speak. You feel him raise his right hand and a ghost of a breeze whispers across your bare bottom. You squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath, your heart banging painfully in your chest, preparing as best you know how. You haven’t been spanked since you were a little girl and there’s something wrong, and slightly exciting, about it.

He delivers the first slap to your bottom with a firm, open palm, the impact of it echoing throughout the living room, the only other noise that can be heard is the ticking of a clock, your gasp and Elvis’s heavy breathing. You inhale sharply at the sting of it, but it isn’t as terrible as you were expecting and it dissipates quickly. You let out the breath you’d been holding, if this is all it is you can handle it. All is quiet and still behind you, and you wonder if that’s it…until you feel him lean down to speak in your ear again.

“That was just a warm up, little girl, ain’t gonna go that easy on ya for the rest of ‘em,” he murmurs, and you hear the love in his stern voice as you try and process what he’s saying. The rest of them? That was going easy? You start to wiggle, trying to break free once again and realize the whimpering noise filling the room is coming from your mouth. Before you can get too worked up he swats you again, twice in quick succession, a little harder than before.

“Ow!” you yell, incensed by your situation, kicking your feet a little. “That hurt!” You spit out through gritted teeth, angry now. “Elvis Aaron Presley, you let me go this instant!” Your demands are met with an amused laugh, and you let out a frustrated growl, trying and failing to twist out of his grasp.

“I see I haven’t sorted you out yet, honey. Still got some of that brattiness left in ya that needs to be broken. Your choice, little girl.” Elvis lets a small laugh slip, his eyes on your body as he slowly and deliberately brings his hand down on your ass again. It’s strong and forceful, but not cruel. It leaves you breathless, speechless. Finally the stinging has permeated your skin and refuses to leave. It’s starting to be uncomfortable and you can tell that if he doesn’t quit soon you’re going to have a hard time sitting tomorrow.

“You’ve been petulant, rude, acting like a damn child all day. And that’s not the woman I know and love, the woman I married. No wife of mine is gonna act that like that and get away with it - not to my friends, not to my father, and especially not to me. Do you understand?” His hand gently cups you as he lectures, rubbing softly over what must be your quickly reddening ass. You hiss and grip the the pillow in front of you. “Answer me, girl. Do you understand?”

You’re not done pouting…if he thinks he can break you, sort you out, punish you - let him try. You stay willfully silent, refusing to speak. You hear him sigh as he removes his hand from you and you brace yourself for another round.

“Have it your way, darlin’…I’m gonna give you six more and if you’re still in a state, then we’re gonna have to have a serious talk, you and me," Elvis says, suddenly quiet and solemn and your heart drops in your chest. Maybe this isn’t some game he’s playing? You didn’t realize it was as important as he’s now letting on. You know you were a total bitch today and you do regret your words and actions… You cry out as he spanks you again without warning, his palm landing with more force than he’s given you so far. He continues and the spanking is relentless, but there's also something almost hypnotic about it. It feels like his hand is on your skin forever, but before you know it, it's almost over. And unexpectedly you realize the last couple of swats have sent lightening straight to your core, your nipples are tight buds rubbing deliciously against the coarse fabric of the chair through your thin dress and you’re surprised to feel slickness gathering on your thighs. You don’t know when your cries turned to breathy moans but he stops abruptly as he hears you, still two spankings left to give.

You’re breathing heavily, still clutching the decorative pillow adorning the chair as you clench around nothing, surprising yourself and Elvis as an obscene squelching noise echoes across the now quiet living room. You let out a breathless laugh, flushing a deep red, thankful he can’t see the embarrassment written across your face. You feel Elvis laughing silently as well, quiet little snorts as he tries and fails to keep from giggling.

“Well now, this is a development I wasn’t expecting,” he murmurs in your ear, leaning over you, his warm breath floating across your cheek. You turn your face towards his, your glassy eyes trying to focus on him as you blink slowly. “Now that it seems I’ve sorted you out, what kind of daddy would I be if I didn’t also take care of my baby?” His right hand squeezes your bottom lightly as his left arm finally releases you and his hand slips underneath your hips, his long, cool fingers gently sliding up your soaking folds. Your breath hitches at his touch, letting out a whimper as he reaches your aching clit, circling it deftly with calloused fingers, once, twice, before dipping two of them into your wet heat.

“Goddamn, mama, so needy for me? Maybe I oughta spank ya more often,” he says breathlessly, his voice taut with desire. You know your husband well - it’s the way he sounds when his cock is hard and straining against his pants, aching to be set free. He’s probably already starting to leak, you think dimly, and the thought has you fluttering around him.

“Oh…” you manage to breathe out as he starts to pump his fingers into you agonizingly slow, his thumb finding your clit and applying light pressure. You rock your hips, already so close to the edge you can almost taste it. His right hand smacks your ass hard and you jolt forward, the feeling of his fingers inside you and his punishing hand on your backside has you starting to whine, unable to stop. He speeds up the movement of his hand, curling his digits just so into that sensitive and spongy part of you just as he delivers the final slap to your ass that has you clenching tightly around his fingers nestled inside you, coming harder than you have in a while, your high-pitched whine turning silent as you stop breathing for a moment. He groans above you and you feel him shaking slightly as he bends over your body - you know it’s taking everything in him to hold it together. After a few moments, he slowly releases you, helping you stand and your legs immediately buckle underneath you. Elvis grabs you under your arms to try and keep you from falling but you’re both so weak with spent energy and desire - yours fulfilled, his aching - that you both tumble to the ground in a heap.

"There. All sorted out, sweetheart?" Elvis smiles down at you as your head rests against his shoulder, his arm encircling your waist. His voice is rough but tender as he smoothes the hair back from your face. "How did daddy do?" he asks, a smirk pulling his lush lips up into a lopsided grin. You blink dazedly, trying to form a coherent thought.

“Daddy?” you finally say, rolling the unfamiliar word around on your tongue. “Hmm, I could get used to that, I think.” You smile softly as your hand reaches up to cup his face, your thumb brushing the scratchy stubble across his jaw as your eyes turn serious. “I am sorry, Elvis. For all of it,” you whisper, blinking back tears.

“Shh, little one, I know,” he says, kissing your forehead softly and pulling you closer into himself, cradling you on his chest as your hand nestles in his chest hair, right above his heart that beats only for you.

And at book club the next day, when you’re settled on a mountain of pillows, no one even bats an eye.

-

Tags - I don’t have a general tag list so I’m just tagging some lovies who have enjoyed my previous fics: @jelliedonut @elvisabutler @precious-little-scoundrel @butlersxbirdy @missmaywemeetagain @headfullofpresley @powerofelvis @notstefaniepresley @amydarcimarie @prompted-wordsmith @dkayfixates @sillybookmarks @melancholicbutterflies @thatbanditqueen @eliseinmemphis @godlypresley @ccab @richardslady121 @rjmartin11 @claire-elvisgirl @literally-just-elvis-fics

[sissylittlefeather]

Hi Sissy! If it’s not too late, could you do a Fic of Elvis based on the song “Help Me Make It Through the Night?” Like Elvis and you know you’re not good for each other, but you can’t stay away. Can develop into smut but if you’d prefer not, that’s okay too! If it’s too late, I completely understand! Thank you! 😊

@peaceloveelvis Hi! Definitely not too late! First of all, this is one of my most favorite songs. I actually have a series planned to go with this song later, so stay tuned. But also, I haven't written anything without smut in a LONG TIME. This one came out this way and I might revisit it to expand on the smut later if there's interest, but I kind of like it without it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this ficlet!

Help Me Make It Through the Night

Warnings: none really, cussing, mentions of sex

------------------------------------------------------

Elvis has been a part of your life since you met him during his Timex special with Frank Sinatra. The only thing you did more than make love relentlessly was fight endlessly. The nights were hot, but the mornings never failed to conclude with both of you yelling and at least one of you crying. There was no end to the way you loved each other or the way you managed to drive each other insane. There was always something to fight about and you left each other every time swearing you'd never be together again. But somehow, you'd end up in the same place and before you knew it you were naked in an elevator or in his backseat or in a bathroom or a hotel bed in some sketchy by-the-hour kind of place. Even after he got married, you didn't stop. Your pattern of fucking and fighting stayed the same.

In 1969, though, you had a particularly spirited tryst that ended with both of you saying things you regretted almost instantly. But you were both too stubborn to admit it, so instead you threw a shoe at him and screamed at him to get out and he called you a name and swore he'd never end up in your bed again. This time, the pain you caused cut so deep that you both insisted you'd never give in again. It was over, for real this time. The hurt was too much to make the good times worth it.

So, you did what any self-respecting woman would do. You married someone else.

When he heard about it, he broke an end table and all the things sitting on it in a fit of rage and jealousy and something else he was afraid to admit.

On your wedding night, you cried yourself to sleep with your new husband snoring quietly next to you in the bed.

Then, in 1971, you find yourself walking down the street and come upon a loud and frantic crowd. Your curiosity gets the better of you and you look to see what all the commotion is about. The crowd parts like ill-meaning clouds and he looks up at just the wrong moment.

His blue eyes pierce you straight through to your soul, even from across the street. Something inside you jumps and your hand goes to your throat. Memories of every time you've ever been together slam into you like a freight train and you're somewhere between ecstasy and wanting to die. By the look on his face, you can tell he's experiencing something similar. Everything inside you is screaming at you to go to him, but you feel the cold little ring on your finger and know that you can't. You turn and walk away as quickly as you can. He fights to get away from the crowd around him, but by the time he does, you're gone.

******

You're pacing the floor of your living room when the phone rings. Even several hours later, you haven't recovered from your encounter. You pick the phone up aggressively, annoyed to be distracted by the call.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Presley would like you to meet him tonight at the Presidential Motel at 11pm." Your blood runs cold.

"Why?" The line clicks with no answer. He's left the ball in your court and you hate it. You won't meet him. You just won't. He's impossible.

But at 10:45pm you're in your car. You've spent the last several hours trying to remind yourself of all the reasons you hate him. You finally decide you're going to see him just to tell him that you don't care what he says; you were serious last time. This is not a thing anymore and it never will be again.

At 11:06pm, you sit in the parking lot of the motel, a battle raging inside you.

"This is stupid." You mutter, finally getting out of the car. At the desk, you ask which room Mr. John Burrows is staying in. The clerk tells you and you stomp towards his room getting more and more angry as you walk. The nerve of him to think he can just summon you like this.

You pound on the door with every ounce of rage your body can contain flowing through you. The door opens slowly and your heart skips. Why does he have to look so good?

"You came."

"What the fuck could you possibly want to say to me?! The last time you saw me you called me a whore and said you'd rather swallow a knife than see me again. So, whatever you have to-"

"I miss you."

"You... what?" He speaks again slowly and deliberately.

"I miss you." It feels like your stomach has fallen to your kneecaps. "I'm lonely, honey."

"Call your wife."

"Will ya just... no. I want you."

"Have you forgotten-"

"No, I haven't. And I'm sorry." He's never apologized to you before. You stand in stunned silence just outside the door.

"You're-"

"Sorry. Yes. Now, will you come in please?" You stand there completely lost. Finally, he grabs your arm and drags you into the room, shutting the door behind you.

"What the hell, Elvis?!" He pulls you close to him and presses his lips to yours. For a second, you melt into him. Then, you remember why you were mad and pull away angrily.

"No, I'm not-" He pulls you in again, wrapping his arms around you and kissing you more deeply this time. You fight to get away, but he holds you tightly. Eventually you're able to escape his grasp and you push him backwards. He goes to grab you again and you slap him across the face. Your hands go to your mouth in shock and he looks at you stunned.

"Oh god, I'm-"

"I guess I deserved that." He walks to the bed and sits down. "You actually hate me, don't you?"

You stand there for a few seconds before sitting down beside him on the bed.

"No. I don't. But we said this was done."

"I know. I'm just... I'm alone, honey. And I miss you so much it hurts worse than being with you." You look at him, but he won't meet your eyes. It comes to you that he must be pretty desperate to put himself in this position.

"You're alone?"

"You know how it gets for me. There's people everywhere, but I just... I miss you."

"Why me?" He rolls his eyes and looks at you finally.

"You gonna make me say it?"

"Yes. If you want me to stay here, then-"

"I love you. I've been in love with you since I met you. You're the only one I want when I feel like this and it's been so long-" You reach out and put your hand on his knee and he looks down at it, setting his on top of yours, gently wrapping his fingers around yours.

You're used to these vulnerable moments from him. They're what has brought you together over and over throughout the years. So when he breaks down and sobs, you pull him into your arms and hold him without thinking. Somehow you end up lying in the bed with him cuddled tightly against you, head on your chest. You stroke his hair and hum quietly. This is a familiar position for the two of you and you've missed it more than you care to admit.

Eventually, his breathing evens out and you realize he's fallen asleep. You kick your shoes off and snuggle in to spend the night. As angry as you were, you can't deny him what he needs because the truth is you love him too and you always have. You kiss his forehead and hold him tightly. You've missed this too.

******

In the morning, you make love and it's sweet and sensual and exactly what you've both been needing. And this time you don't fight. Somewhere in the year you were apart, you grew. The love that you have is more important than anything that might separate you.

And as you lay naked together, the world opens up for you. He talks about leaving his wife and you decide your husband will be better off without you.

Will it happen? Will you finally find a way to be together in a way that works for you both? You don't know.

But you made it through this night together. Something tells you that you can make it through anything now.

******

The end?

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

[youaintnothinbuta]

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

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

Pairing: Elvis Presley or Austin!Elvis x reader

Word count: 865

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded, thankful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[wanderingelvis]

Omggg cg!Elvis x littleF!reader who’s sick and keeps slipping into littlespace cuz of how sick she is so he takes care of her despite the possibility of him getting sick? 🥺

Thank you so much for the request!! I hope you like it <3

🧚 Masterlist 🧚

Word count: 2,135

Pairing: Early 70's CG!Elvis x Little F!Reader

Oh Lord, you were trying so hard, so so hard to be a big girl.

You knew that Elvis had so much on his schedule, the Colonel was working him and you too by default. You'd been on the road with Elvis, helping out where you could like the good little girlfriend you were, but it had become all a bit too much and you had caught some sort of bug that was making you feel all kinds of miserable.

And when you were ill, well, that was the most sure fire way for you to slip into little space. You just weren't very good at being independent and coping with the overwhelming and horrible feelings you were having.

But you were trying, you really, really were. You didn't want to interfere with the schedule, Elvis had a lot on his mind and you'd be damned to cross paths with the Colonel when there was so much money to be made. Even when you were feeling your best, you still didn't like to even be in the same room as the Colonel.

All morning you'd felt achey, sore and tingly all over with a fever creeping in. Naturally, you'd been quieter than usual, trying to stop yourself from slipping but it was becoming inevitable.

Your body just wasn't strong enough and you felt exhausted and vulnerable as you sat in Elvis' dressing room as he did a run-through of his show tonight.

You'd found a spare blanket and you were curled up in the corner of the large couch as members of staff and the Memphis Mafia alike walked past you, a few giving concerned looks your way, in particular, Red, who watched as you rested your head on your arms and closed your eyes.

See, being in the state that you were in meant that you had absolutely no concept of time and when you were woken from the light slumber you were in, you had no idea how long you'd been asleep for.

"Baby?" That familiar deep, Southern voice hushed, laced with concern as your eyes sleepily opened, staring up at Elvis who was studying your state with worry on his face after Red had told him that you seemed unusually low today.

You blinked adorably up at him and if you weren't so apparently sick, Elvis would do the most unspeakable things to you.

Elvis sighed, realising how wiped and sick you were as he put the back of his coarse hand on your forehead to check your temperature, which was far too high for his liking.

You couldn't bring yourself to speak, you felt all achey and sore and your head was just so fuzzy that you were pretty much ready to let tears spill down your cheeks.

And Elvis could tell. He'd been with you for long enough now to know your little space 'tells'. You'd go non-verbal, your eyes would get all big and round and glossy, because even after all this time, you still got nervous about being little in front of Elvis - a fact that Elvis actually thought was very sweet and endearing. You'd start chewing on something too, whether it was your toy stuffy, your lip or your fingers, you'd chew on something as you tried to get all your thoughts in order. And there you were, chewing on your lip as you trembled from the fever.

"Oh little one, you ain't feelin' too good huh?" Elvis cooed, to which you shook your head ever so slightly. "Oh baby. Need me to look after you, princess?" Elvis asked as you pushed yourself up feebly, the blanket pooling by your waist as you nodded and rubbed your eyes sweetly.

Effortlessly, Elvis scooped you up in his big, strong arms and your head automatically went to rest on his shoulder as you began to chew on your fingers anxiously, wanting this horrible feeling to go away.

"Y/N is comin' down with somethin' nasty, I'm gon' take care of her, let everyone know they can go home, I ain't leavin' her today." Elvis said to Jerry before he carried you to his private elevator that took him right to the suite that the two of you shared at the top of the International.

As soon as the doors closed, Elvis began to rock you gently. "Gon' get you undressed baby, take off all yer clothes and get you in the tub, give you some medicine that's gon' make you feel all good n'better then we're gon' get you into bed to rest n' take it easy. How does that sound pretty girl?" Elvis soothed.

You nodded into his shoulder, feeling vulnerable and weak as he held you tightly, you couldn't help but let out a couple of sniffles too.

"Little one, d'ya think you can use your words f'me?" Elvis said. He knew you'd go non-verbal whenever you were feeling overwhelmed and little, and usually he wouldn't push you, but when you were feeling little and sick, he needed to know that you could still understand what he was saying and there wasn't anything more serious that was underlying.

"J-Just, don't feel good Daddy." You whimpered and oh if Elvis' heart hadn't broken in two when he first saw you on that couch, it certainly had now.

The name that you'd just called him was definitive confirmation that you were deep in little space and you needed to be treated as delicately as possible.

"I know baby, I know you don't, Daddy's gon' take care of you." Elvis promised, kissing the top of your head as you got out of the elevator into the suite.

Elvis wasted no time in taking you straight to the bathroom, sitting you atop the bathroom the counter as he rolled up the sleeves on his blue silk shirt, one that you'd actually picked out for him because you thought he would look "extra pretty" in it and began to run the bathtub full of warm water for you. He then went through the bathroom cabinet, through the one that held all of the medicines you may need for any particular reason, before he found the right one for your fever and chills.

"Now, you gotta be a brave girl f'me, I know this don't taste too good baby, but it's gon' help make you better, 'kay?" Elvis said as he poured the medicine onto a spoon, ready to feed you as you watched on, grimacing a bit, you hated having to take medicine.

"I don't wanna..." You practically whispered.

"Darlin', I know it ain't nice, but you gotta take it like a good girl, can you do that fr'me?" Elvis said, his tone becoming a little sterner than before, you taking your medicine is not something he was going to compromise on.

You nodded but not without small tears forming, making Elvis feel quietly guilty, he wished that it was him that was sick, he'd give anything to swap places with you. It really did pain him to see you in this state.

"Okay, open them pretty lips fr'me angel, just like that, good." Elvis encouraged as he fed you the spoon with the medicine.

He used his pointer finger on his other hand to poke just under your jaw ever so slightly to close your mouth around the spoon. "Good." He hissed, nodding in approval at how good you were being.

Slowly, he took the spoon out of your mouth as he studied your face, your eyes staring up at him as your nose scrunched up at the sour tasting medicine.

"Baby, that medicine ain't gon' do a damn thing stuck in your mouth like that." Elvis half-heartedly chuckled, knowing you were being a little too stubborn for your own good. "Swallow." He commanded gently.

And, like the good girl you were, you did just that - although with a grimace on your sweet little face the entire time.

"Good girl." Elvis praised softly, as he began to take off your clothes for your bath.

You watched as his coarse, ring-clad hands traced your skin, causing shivers to travel through your already sensitive skin. Elvis hushed you reassuringly, saying sweet nothings to reassure you that you were okay, that he was your Daddy and he was going to make you better, and you believed him.

After you were fully undressed and after Elvis checked the water temperature, Elvis helped you into the tub where you instantly loved the sensation of the hot water on your shivering skin.

"Does my little girl like that?" Elvis smiled warmly as he watched you smile for the first time today, even if it was only a small one.

You nodded as you brought your knees to your chest to rest your head on your knees, your head tilted so you could watch your Daddy.

Elvis grabbed a loofah and took to gently washing you, getting you all soapy and lathered up in the suds as he watched you practically preen in delight at his touch.

"Bein' such a good girl fr' Daddy, ain'tcha?" Elvis soothed.

"Yes Daddy." You said sweetly, your eyes closed in bliss as Elvis continued to wash you all over.

"That's right, that's my girl." Elvis praised as he held out one of your arms to wash it, as if you were some sort of a doll for him to move as he pleased. You were so malleable and so sweet and Elvis loved nothing more than to take care of you.

When Elvis was done washing you, he scooped you up out of the tub and wrapped you up in a fluffy towel, holding you tightly and peppering you in kisses, eliciting a few soft giggles from you.

He knew you were feeling little, you were so overwhelmed and he knew the last week had taken it's toll on you. You were a little people pleaser, so much so, that you'd taken on much more than sweet, little you could manage. You would comply to anyones request and you'd caused yourself to become burnt out and Elvis couldn't help but feel responsible for not stepping in sooner - even if he knew that if he had stepped in, you would've begged him to let you help out as much as possible because you were just a little angel sent from heaven. Elvis quickly got you dressed into your favourite pyjamas that you wore when you were feeling little. They had cartoon horses on them and you'd adorably named each one, one morning whilst Elvis was reading his paper and drinking his morning coffee.

He took special care as he dressed you, mindful that your body was still tender and sore.

As Elvis led you to your bed, you began to feel all drowsy and achey again, making you extra clingy and needy with Elvis, but he secretly didn't mind.

Elvis tucked you up in bed and placed your stuffed bunny in your little grasp, smoothing back your hair that had fallen in front of your face.

After placing a kiss atop of your head, Elvis began to make his way from the bedroom to let you sleep before he heard a whine come from your lips.

"Oh honey, what's the matter?" Elvis cooed, making his way back to the bed before you reached out your arms wide and made grabby hands at Elvis, making him chuckle ever so.

"Daddy, stay," You whimpered. You were not in any fit state to not be close to Elvis. "Don't go, need you." You mumbled cutely.

Elvis smirked as he began to remove his shoes and get atop the bed, next to you, placing one arm across the pillows where your head rested so that you were able to slot into his side and snuggle into him as you clasped onto your stuffed bunny too.

"I ain't goin' anywhere baby, now rest your eyes honey, you need to get your strength back little one." Elvis instructed, his fingers running through your hair, sending shivers through you as you let your eyes close.

Elvis continued to play with your hair as he reached over to his bed-side table with his other hand and grab the telephone.

"Jer? Yeah, Jer, tell the Colonel to tell whoever needs to know that the show ain't happenin' tonight, reschedule, cancel, I don't care. I gotta take care of Y/N, ain't no way I'm leavin' her tonight, not in the state she's in. Okay. Thanks Jer." Elvis said into the receiver before putting it down again.

You couldn't help but feel bad as you nestled into Elvis' side. "Daddy?" You said meekly.

"Yes baby?"

"You don't got to cancel your show Daddy." You said softly, your big eyes looking up at his blue ones.

"Little one, I ain't ever wanna do a show if you ain't in the crowd." Elvis said firmly and you knew he wasn't going to budge on the matter - and with that you drifted off in the arms of your Daddy.

[starryschoolgirl]

Family & Fame

An attempt at a Elvis x Reader drabble

Summary -> In private Elvis was your loving husband and you were his doting wife, but in public Elvis was Elvis Presley, and you were just the wife. Unfortunately, sometimes that public dynamic would follow the two of you home, making way for arguments.

Warnings -> Jealousy, marital dissatisfaction, arguments, very cute and domestic 1st scene though, if you only want some pure fluff read that first scene it's adorable, denial of sex, yelling, swearing, flirty fans, circa 1956, Elvis' confusion leads to anger, Elvis is such a cutie I can't even be mad at him in this. Elvis is also a dad in this because I felt like it.

WC -> 3.5k

Request -> "i was wondering if you could write something with elvis x reader where there's a little marital dissatisfaction? just like a little drabble, doesn't even need to be over 100 words"

"You look handsome, now stop fussing"

Elvis leaned into your hand that cupped his cheek which was smooth from being freshly shaved.

"Now,"

You reached down for the comb on the hotel suite's bathroom counter, holding it casually between two fingers. While you smiled up at him your thumb stroked his cheekbone gently as you asked,

"Would ya hold still so I can fix that mess of hair?"

Elvis laughed softly and turned his cheek slightly to press his lips on your palm, smirking sweetly as he murmured against the skin,

"Sure thing Mama…"

With a smile you stilled his head by keeping your hold on his cheek, tapping it lightly you signaled for him to get lower, which he complied with as he bent his knees slightly, lowering himself to a height that you could see the top of his hair better.

As you neatly combed the gelled mess back into place you mumbled fondly,

"See what happens when a man fusses over his appearance? Just makes it worse, you men, so reckless with your hands…"

He asked testily with a smirk,

"And when a woman fusses over her appearance?"

You simply responded with one last perfecting swoop of the comb,

"Women don't fuss."

He drawled out a sarcastic, "Mhm…"

To which he was answered with a pointed, "Mhm."

After feeling pleased with your work you placed the comb down and smiled up at him, "Perfect", you said just before kissing his cheek.

You then turned to the long bathroom mirror that covered the entire length of the long marble countertops, leaning over it ever so slightly to rub at the skin around your lipstick, making sure it wasn't off-kilter in any way.

He smoothly stepped behind you, the front of his body pressed against the back of yours as his spine bent with yours, leaning over you onto the bathroom counter as you eyed him through the mirror. His arms wrapped around your waist and his chin fell to your shoulder as he stared back at you through the mirror.

His voice was low and gruff as he suggested,

"We don't really gotta go to this little gatherin' tonight now do we? Couldn't we just enjoy the rest of our time in San Francisco? We got about 10 more hours."

Elvis punctuated each sentence with a kiss to your neck, right in that spot he knew you were ticklish. You laughed softly and gently batted him away with a few swipes of your hand which in turn made him laugh.

You spoke while trying (and failing) to keep a serious face,

"Elvis, t-the mayor-"

Your laughing made it hard to put together a proper sentence.

"He's holding this soirée tonight in honor of you coming to- Ack..!"

Elvis laughed and said sarcastically before biting your ear,

"Oh, a soirée? I'm sorry little Ms. French I didn't know it was such a big deal"

You tried your best to continue through the giggle-fest Elvis could pull from you.

"Don't you w-wanna show them all that Southern charm you used to get me to marry you?"

Elvis growled playfully as his hands wrapped around your waist tightened and he picked you up from behind, evoking a squeal of surprise from you as he mumbled into your ear,

"Ya make it sound as if I schemed on you with those charms"

You laughed loudly as he held you up and responded,

"You did scheme on me! Made me think I was marrying a John Wayne cowboy type, just to find out you're a Harpo Marx clownish type, but instead of playing a harp you play a guitar"

He growled into your ear "Oh you little-" before ravaging your neck with playful kisses.

A knock on the bathroom door interrupted your fun, the both of you turning to see it soon opening after Elvis', "Come in Roberta"

As the door opened you smiled to see Roberta, the sweet old lady who'd been working for you and Elvis since a month or two after he released his first RCA record which brought in the money needed to have a personal nanny for yours and Elvis' daughter, sweet little Charlotte, who she was holding as she stood in the doorway.

Roberta smiled as she saw her two employers as in love as ever in each other's arms, the both of you looking like a million bucks in your outfits for tonight.

"Well kids, I just wanted to let the two of ya know Charlotte is all dressed and ready to go, and that the bellboy said the car's out front and ready.

She was much older so even though you and Elvis were adults, she still referred to the both of you as kids, because the two of you in life experience were like kittens compared to a sweet old cat like her.

You smiled and quickly made your way to take your daughter out of her nanny's arms, cooing over how darling she looked in her little dress and coat before saying with a smile, "Thank you, Roberta."

You looked back at Elvis as you bounced Charlotte in your arms, asking with a soft smile,

"Could you grab my purse over by the sink Honey?"

-----

Sometimes you forget how Elvis' emotions could flip like a switch.

One moment before walking into the big building as Elvis held Charlotte and nervously stared at the doors, you'd cup his cheeks gently and whisper reassuringly, "Hey, everybody here is here for you, to just be around you. You're the man of the evening, they're the ones who should be nervous right now, and I bet you they are"

And then the next, you're holding your sweet daughter in your arms while Elvis is holding some random girls (who you're sure are somebody's sweet daughters) in his arms as he's telling them what "overcomes" him to make him move on stage.

You could vomit, you really could, at the way they all put their hands mindlessly on his chest, and 'ooh' and 'ah' over him explaining what it was like for him to film his upcoming debut film "Love Me Tender"

You got along well with the mayor's wife and a few of San Francisco's socialites who were older women which meant they weren't here for Elvis they were here because their husbands who were close friends of the mayor were here. Due to their disinterest in Elvis, they were easy to make casual conversation with.

The younger women, however, were a different matter. Most of them clung to Elvis or waited their turn to do so. And as you watched from afar you were well aware you could go over there to claim what was yours, but you didn't feel the need to. The ring was on your finger, and his child was in your arms. Sure, he didn't often make eye contact with you through the night like he always used to, but that was just because he was surrounded by so many fans. Right?

Sometimes through the night, he'd shifted through the room to you, with a group of girls in his arms, only now it was a different set, and of course, the merry mayor following him closely, buttering up to America's icon. You shifted Charlotte to your hip as Elvis introduced you to the short, tubby man.

"This is my wife, and right there is our little girl, Charlotte."

The mayor tipped his head to baby Charlotte in your arms, "It's nice to meet you little miss, and," he then turned his head to you and held his hand out, "It's nice to meet you as well Mrs. Presley"

You laughed softly at the title and politely urged him to just call you by your first name.

The night went on like that, now and then a new important man would shuffle his way into the circle of girls that surrounded Elvis and the two of you would do introductions, eventually, Elvis had offered to hold Charlotte for you, and as he picked her up he smiled at her saying, "There's my little girl", making those big fish eyes that often entertained the little girl.

The women that surrounded him would coo at how sweet of a father he seemed to be. You only watched with an unimpressed look as one of the girls chimed in,

"She's blonde? I thought you said under that mop of shoe polish dyed hair was a light brown color, or are you just trying to fool me, Mr. Presley?"

The girl giggled and obnoxiously leaned her head against Elvis' shoulder and made a playful face at your daughter as she did so, clearly infatuated by the adorable baby, but not as much as she was with the man who had fathered the baby.

Elvis laughed softly at her jest, and responded simply,

"Well Hon, it's true that I have light brown hair now, but when I was a baby I had blond hair, it just turned brown as I got older, happens with a lotta babies"

The girl giggled once more and took an almost mournful sigh as she stared up at Elvis through her batting eyelashes (you were surprised she didn't fly away with how fast those things were flapping), and crawled her hand that rested on his chest a little higher as she spoke,

"I think I'd have to see that to believe it…"

Oh, brother.

You sighed softly at the ridiculousness of these girls, and the added ridiculousness of Elvis actually laughing and smiling along. He would get a little bit of nagging later. Thankfully you didn't have to stomach the situation too much longer as Charlotte began to cry. As Elvis tried to hush her and bounce her in his arms you smiled politely at the girls and made your way closer to Elvis.

As you took Charlotte from his arms you spoke softly,

"I think she's just a bit tired Elvis, I'll calm her in the car for a bit"

Elvis mumbled a soft 'Alright Hon', and caressed Charlotte's cheek gently with his index finger before leaning your way to kiss you. But, feeling as annoyed as you felt now, at the last second you'd turned your head, his lips landing on your cheek rather than your lips, his original target.

But he couldn't say anything as you'd already begun to walk off.

As soon as you slid into the backseat of the car, the driver asked where Elvis was. You explained that you and the little one were just resting up for a bit and that you weren't sure when Elvis would be through. Charlotte had calmed down and quite quickly fell asleep in your arms, the closing of her pretty little eyelids had marked the end of the party for you. You wouldn't leave your baby to sleep in the car alone, and you wouldn't force her to be awake for the rest of the party.

You didn't mind though as you felt all partied out yourself. As much as you hated to admit it, you don't think you ever could get used to seeing Elvis surrounded by girls and entertaining girls the way he'd been since his launch to fame.

You didn't think it was unfair of you to feel this way. It wasn't as if this was something planned when the two of you got together a few years ago. It was only recently that you'd had to start enduring Elvis Presley, the rock and roll heartthrob, and not just Elvis, the dorky boy who drove a truck and had a hard time putting together a neighborhood team to play football with him.

You closed your eyes with a sigh, resting a gentle hand upon your daughter's hair. You leaned your head against the car window, it was cold as the nights were beginning to have a little chill to them. The seasons were changing, and with them, so was Elvis.

Oh well, such is life.

-----

"…Just to the hotel Frank…"

You hummed softly at the familiar voice, pressing your head impossibly closer to the window as you tried to adjust to a more comfortable position. Just as you had settled comfortably back into the window a warm weight in the form of a hand pulled your head elsewhere. You were too tired to care, so you let it, your head soon resting comfortably on familiar broad shoulders.

That voice spoke again, but it seemed that in your half-asleep state, his voice kept coming in and out.

"…took me awhile, but… sorry… gotta entertain the fans…"

You felt annoyed by the voice interrupting your slumber, but you tried your best to ignore it after letting out a disgruntled hum.

It felt as though only a minute had passed since you'd gotten peace again before you heard that familiar voice, your husband's voice, whisper as his hand gently kneaded your shoulder, only now it was coming from the other side.

As you opened your eyes you saw the soft lighting of the hotel's sign lights spilling into the open door of the car along with Elvis' figure outside the car. Now it seemed he was holding a sleeping Charlotte in one arm as his hand tried to soothe you awake.

"C'mon Honey, we gotta get some sleep 'fore the flight"

You hummed softly and after mumbling a 'thank you' to your driver you got out of the car with the help of Elvis' steadying hand which naturally shifted to your hip after you were standing upright.

Elvis unlocked the room and kissed your cheek, mumbling something about the baby and Roberta, you were too busy on a mission to get out of this uncomfortable dress and still miffed at him, to care to process what he was saying. Your mission was to get to the bathroom to get ready for bed, as you made your way there you stopped by your suitcase to grab a short silk nightgown and your robe.

As soon as you stepped into the hotel's bathroom, and Elvis disappeared off to who knows where you could finally let out a breath. You were exhausted but you couldn't go to sleep just yet in your state. You tiredly shuffled over to the sink and began to take apart your pretty party appearance piece by piece. The hair clips that tugged at your scalp now rested on the sink, and the makeup that caked your face now caked a rag.

You struggled to reach the zipper of your dress, and for a moment your body went limp and you debated just going to bed in it. With your head hung tiredly and your eyes closed, you could've fallen asleep standing there had a set of familiar hands not graced your bare shoulders. Elvis' voice close to your ear as he asked through a smirk,

"Ya need help?"

You opened your eyes and looked at him through the mirror, you finally got a good look at him, his hair had been fussed with, could've been from him carding his hands through it throughout the night, or from one of those girls carding their hands through it. You nodded with a sigh, upset with him, but definitely in need of assistance.

As his rough fingers glided along your bare back before working at the zipper, Elvis' lips quickly fell to your neck, placing soft little pecks along the skin. You stared at him through the mirror blankly, and shook your head as you mumbled,

"Not tonight Elvis, I'm too tired…"

He hummed softly as the sound of the undoing of the zipper and the feeling of the dress loosening around your body filled your tired senses.

"Who says ya gotta put in effort Honey? I can handle ya the way I always do,"

You felt his lips curl into a smile against your skin as he murmured,

"I know how ya like it when you're tired…"

You sighed and tried pulling your neck away but his lips followed, and his hands began to explore you thoroughly as the only thing holding that dress on your body was his pressed so close against yours. You quickly stepped to the side, leaving him to shuffle forward as you were no longer there for him to lean his body against.

You kept a hand on your dress to hold it up on your body as he watched with furrowed brows.

"Elvis, I'm not in the mood for it tonight alright? We have a flight in a few hours, I want to get some sleep."

"Baby-"

Elvis reached his hand out to you but you took a step back and shook your head, a firm, "No, Elvis." leaving your lips as you walked to where you placed your nightwear with a hand still holding up your dress. Just as you began to head for the closed bathroom door he followed and asked,

"What's wrong Hon? W-what did I do to ya?"

His voice got louder as the confusion he felt was beginning to get him worked up,

"Seriously Baby, I took ya out to this nice party or fuckin' soirée or whatever pretentious bullshit you called it and this is the thanks I get?!"

You shoved him by the chest as you whisper-yelled, "You're gonna wake the baby..!"

Elvis scoffed as he took a step closer to you, practically caging you against the bathroom's door, his teeth were grit as he stared at you incredulously,

"You've been in a bad mood with me all night, seems like ya haven't even been listening… I told ya I was puttin' her with Roberta tonight! You would know if ya didn't have a stick shoved so far up your ass."

You stared up at him, feeling a pang of hurt at his words. He continued,

"Actin' like you're too good to talk to any of the fans. Spendin' all ya time schmoozin' with the rich old hags who don't give a rat's ass about me or my music"

You abruptly yelled back at him, staring daggers up at him through your teary eyes,

"That's why I was with those women Elvis! Because when I'm hanging out with them I don't gotta watch as they make goo-goo eyes at my fucking husband! I don't need to watch them paw and grab at the father of my child!!"

Elvis shook his head with a scoff and looked away from you, still keeping his hands pressed against the door, caging you in one spot. He mumbled something along the lines of "naggin' me like a jealous old wife…", a term that had only become a thing said in your arguments since Elvis' rise to fame.

You cupped his cheeks in your hand and pulled him to look at you, your voice shook as you affirmed,

"That's cause I am a jealous old wife Elvis… And had I known I would've turned out this way when I married you a few years ago… I…"

Your voice had dissipated before you could finish your sentence. You stared down at the tiled floor of the bathroom. Elvis was still wearing his shoes, whereas yours had been off the moment you stepped into the room. You could see the creases in the shoe of the foot that he was tapping nervously, and you could see the way your toes scrunched tensely.

The bathroom was quiet, and Elvis' voice which was once full of defense was now softened as he spoke quietly,

"Now, ya don't mean that Baby. You're just tired is all…"

He looked down at his shoes nervously and then at himself through the mirror on the other side of the bathroom. His hands that once caged you in landed ever so gently on your arms, his words came out through nervous stutters,

"You were right, we-we gotta catch a-a flight. Better head to bed,"

There he goes. When things get just a little too real, when the words are just a little too honest, and when reality is a little too close to crashing into the both of you, he expertly redirects it all for another time. Wanting to keep his schoolboy fantasy of having a little family of his own intact.

The little fantasy that he would whisper in your ear late at night in high school as the two of you squeezed into his twin-size bed, knowing if he talked at a normal volume the very thin walls of his house would give way to his voice waking his parents in the small room on the other side of the wall.

The little fantasy that he assured your Daddy would come to fruition if he got your parent's blessing. And it seemed so as you soon gave birth to sweet Charlotte, but just months after she was born you saw the first few strands of that fantasy being shot to hell as Elvis' talent had started being recognized.

And though it had only been maybe a year or two since then, you felt as though the boy you married straight out of high school was becoming a man you didn't recognize. And while you could keep the fantasy with Elvis going when the two of you were alone such as during the time you spent getting ready with him, it all crumbled bit by bit as his love affair with the fans and the public would disrupt his love affair with his wife. And he would let it.

So, I meant it when I said it was supposed to be a drabble, less than 100 words, short and sweet, as requested by a lovely anon. Don't know what happened...

[h0unds-of-h3ll]

Kissin’ bunnies

The Easter bunny is a little frisky.

Elvis Presley x reader! Fluff.

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: Just some making out, groping and talk of sex.

A/n: “As always I’m sorry for being gone for so long. I am writing behind the scenes but between work and school I don’t have as much time as I used to. However my love for Elvis is unyielding and I’ll always find time for him. “

Bending down placing the perfectly manicured eggs into little pivots on the ground. Your woven pink basket was full of grass paper and decorative eggs. The children from his family and yours came together and worked hard on them. The children stuck their noses to the windows, watching the adults who weren’t talking place the eggs around Graceland. The maids worked diligently to prepare for the late Easter lunch. Whipping up deviled eggs, greens, and sauerkraut. You placed one down every few feet or so along Elvis’s mother’s garden. You always admire her garden that she maintained before she passed. Elvis and her garden were her proudest accomplishments.

You anticipated when Elvis would be making his appearance you hadn’t seen him since church this morning. He announced shortly after the ceremony that he had some business to attend to with Mr Parker and an RCA obligation however the day had grown into the afternoon and Miss Lisa Marie was growing into a feverish tantrum from her fathers departure. She was a daddy’s girl through and through, no matter how hard you persuaded her she never budged. She was a stubborn little lady just like her daddy. You told them no and they’ll find an alternative to get what they wanted.

The little straw hat on your head, blocked the beating hot sun. Springtime had been cruel in Memphis. The church dress around your bare ankles helped the heat simmer to a light sweat. The chickens and horses chattering lightly. Your body is warm with excitement to see Lisa’s sweet little smile. The bottom of your bare feet catches cool soil. You begin to round the end of Gracelands exterior. Bending down and placing one by her tomatoes. As your little fingers leave the egg, you feel your hat fly off your head. You gasped, your hands flew to try to catch it but it was taken by a furry white blur. Looking up you watch a furry foot go behind the wall. You were seeing things weren’t you? Imagining the Easter bunny itself stealing your hat. Your brows furrowed and your mouth turned down into a frown. You lifted from your squatting position and wiped your hands on the skirt of your dress. Leaving your basket half full with eggs you trail after the bandit.

As you stick your bare foot out, you're enveloped into a furry chest and arms. One of them holds over your waist to keep you pressed against the bunnies chest. The other is over your mouth. Your yelp is muffled behind the big paw. Fear strikes over you as you begin to realize that you don’t know who's behind the mask. Maybe it was one of the boys in Elvis’s mafia. Maybe even one of his cousins- still, you didn’t know the intention or who they were. Your poor little hat has been thrown into the dirt. Your back is rigidly straight and surely the bunny is able to feel your heartbeat against your chest. You can hear the bunnies' heavy breathing and hum. What does the bunny want?

“If I remove my hand will you promise not to scream?”

The bunny mumbles behind your ear. Your eyes narrow, trying to place a face to the masked culprit. You give a curt nod. The bunny lets go and immediately you spin around taking the big bunny head by the ears and pulling it off like a scooby doo reveal and throwing it on the ground. You're met with the sweaty face of Elvis with a sheepish smile. You shove his chest and his back hits the outside of the house.

“You scared me!”

He giggles as a bead of sweat runs down his temple.

“I try my best.”

He stands and cups your face with the bunny paws, pinching your cheeks. He puckers his lips out like he’s talking to a baby.

“Make your cheeks all red..”

Your eyes go wide and you swing your arms out to cut him from touching you. He smiles wider. He wipes his brow with the back of the bunny arm. His tan skin pouring sweat like he does after a show. His hair was matted to his face and neck, his sideburns shone with a misty dew. He has a cheeky goofy smile on his face. Those bright blues glistening with mischief.

“It’s hotter than hell bein’ a bunny.”

You giggle slightly at his confession. You can only imagine how warm it is being a faux fur in 100 degree weather.

“You think that’s funny, huh?”

He fakes being angry and stops leaning on the house to grab your hips and push you back where he was. A soft gasp is pushed through your body. He tried his best at tickling your sides to make you laugh but the bunny paws were too much. They felt like pillows feathers. You had to beg him to stop or you were going to pee. He kept saying ‘you think it’s funny’ as a mantra. When he did stop, he took big paws full of your hips and squeezed. Your dress bunching around your waist.

“Thought you had rabies, mister rabbit.”

His eyes are downcasted to your lips. His smile has turned into a light smirk. He shakes his head as a few droplets bead and roll down his neck.

“There's no such thing.”

“Oh yes there is, you remember the bunny Lisa caught and was so proud of. It bit her and we had to take her to get shots and you prohibited any bunnies or rabbits on Graceland properties?”

His eyes glance to the sky and he narrows them as he thinks. You lean up on your toes and whisper into his ear cupping your hands around it to make sure he heard you loud and clear.

“It was also the time you joked about us fucking like rabbits when it’s ‘cillas weekend.”

His wolfish grin returns and he nods.

“That rings a bell actually.”

You smile lightly.

“I’m sure it does.”

Your snarky attitude comes like a wave and he scrunches up his nose mocking you. He takes the back of your head and pushes it to his face pressing his warm plush lips against yours. It’s not chaste and it’s not rushed, it’s slow and methodical. Longing, a yearning of pent up frustration. His kisses hold so much emotion in them, that he doesn’t need to speak how he feels in order to be understood. As he presses his tongue onto yours you taste the lemonade and Pepsi he’s had, the deviled eggs he must’ve begged Minnie for a taste for. You move your body against his as he tends to sway when he kisses. Like his very own choreographed dance. The kiss doesn’t last long but the admiration and attention does.

A cowbell rings and Miss Nancy yells out for the late lunch to begin. He parts and a string of saliva is kept between the two of you. He gives a dopey little smile and kisses your nose.

“We'll finish this little rendezvous later.”

“Only if I see you start hopping around”

He rolls his eyes with a sigh and his hands balled up on his hips.

“You’re kidding satnin’”

You shake your head crossing your arms over your chest. He watches as your cleavage starts to spill over. He groans and points a furry finger in your face with a raised eyebrow and his famous snarl.

“If I hear you tell anybody ‘bout this, I’ll make sure that this is your last Easter.”

You nod swearing it and you can’t help the smile crossing your face, as he puts his arms to his sides and starts ungracefully hopping around. You take a fistful of your dress as you start running back to the front door of Graceland. Yelling like a wild woman, “I kissed the Easter bunny!”