#genuinely a nice thing elvis did

[zilabee]

Alf Bicknell, Beatles Chauffeur (and friend), 1964 to 1966:

“It's weird to explain. Even after I left them in 1966 and went back to working with captains of industry and on a cruise, I could never get those songs - all their tracks - out of my system. They'd become a part of me. To be there was the job of a lifetime.”

“It was exhausting. I remember waking some mornings and being filled with trepidation. Filled with the feeling that I couldn't do it, that I couldn't go on at this pace.”

“I ended up with George and this guy, who turned out to be an Italian prince. He offered to show us around Rome. So, together with this prince, his beautiful girlfriend, and George, I had one of the most wonderful of my times with the Beatles. He took us at dawn on this whirlwind tour of Rome. We ended up on some of the Seven Hills of Rome. We were in St Peters Square and all these wonderful places I'd only seen on picture postcards.”

All four had been fond of doodling in an effort to while away the boredom of touring. On this leg of the tour [in Japan] Alf noticed the sketches began to take on a darker tone. Perhaps a legacy of the touring treadmill, although the Beatles discovery of hallucinogenic substances may have coloured their doodles.

“I'm often asked what my favourite tracks are. I don't really know. I guess the two which I think are most poignant are Penny Lane and Strawberry Fields Forever. They make me really sad - I don't know why.”

After the Beatles visit with Elvis, he sent his own roadies round in a giant Cadillac limousine to take the Beatles' road crew out on the town:

“We were wined and dined and went round all these wonderful Hollywood clubs. One place was closing for the night but Elvis's people Sonny and Marty had them open up just for us. Vintage champagne and platters of delicious food duly arrived. Then the singer who had been performing that night came back on and did another set, singing just for the likes of yours truly. I've always thought what a wonderful gesture of Elvis to have remembered us, the humble roadies, this way.”

Re the airport in the Philippines:

“George Martin, in particular, has been documented as saying 'Stupidly Alf Bicknell raised his fists.' I always thought that was pretty rich coming from a guy hundreds of miles away, safely tucked away in a recording studio. Whereas here I was, surrounded by this baying mob, desperate to tear the Beatles to pieces. It was my job to protect them. And it was obvious that reasoned arguing wasn't the answer. You don't stand there and wait till one of the band is hit. It was a case of 'it's the first blow that counts'. ”

Alf decided to leave in 1966, at Candlestick Park when they announced they wouldn't be touring any more. He doesn't go into a lot of detail about why, he just says:

“It had been two years. A magical time, with me privy to one of the most exciting times in the last century. I'd been privileged to be along for the ride. But like the band, the repetition had sort of got to me.”

Ticket to Ride, by Alasdair Ferguson and Alf Bicknell

I'm going to stop now before I type out the entire book. But there are other nice bits in it still. At one point or another he drove each of them back to Liverpool and stayed with their families. He really likes Jim McCartney: "There was a great spiritual feeling about him." He seems to genuinely like everyone. There's a bit where he drives George and Pattie to the airport after their wedding, speeding to escape the press, but when he gets pulled over the officer just pretends to give him a ticket and then holds up the reporters for him. There are the standard bits where John is a bit of a dick, and other bits where he's soft and kind. There's a bit where Alf goes to a bullfight with Brian because no one else will. A bit where he talks about Paul putting on a terrible disguise and going out to look for grandfather clocks, and everyone in the shops pretending not to know who he is. There's a bit where he runs into George in the mid-seventies and they have a hug on the pavement.

(If you're wondering why the Beatles' chauffeur called his book Ticket To Ride, yes, I was also wondering. But he does have another book called 'Baby You Can Drive My Car', so that is why. From what I can work out it's a better version of this one - because honestly outside the quotes from Alf, which I'm assuming are true, this book is badly written to the extreme. It kind of tries to dramatise everything, like 'he sighed dramatically' etc, and is full of small careless mistakes like using passed where they mean past, not once but twice. Unfortunately the other book costs a little fortune, so this one is good enough for now.)

[feydfuckernation]

since 2022 is almost over i’ve been thinking about all the movies i watched this year and man, nothing really compares to watching elvis in the theaters. the only other movie i had gone to see during covid at the time was no time to die the year before (since it was daniel craig’s last bond film) and prior to that i hadn’t gone to see a film in the theater since knives out came out in 2019. i’ve loved baz lurhman ever since i was old enough to watch moulin rouge, so i kind of figured i’d like elvis but man, i never expected to care so much about a film like elvis the way i do. and not only that, but the experience itself. the sheer fucking spectacle of this film is one that i don’t know will ever be surpassed for me, because i saw this film eight times in the theater and wondered if it would ever fail to meet the expectation set by that initial viewing, and it never did. not once. it was good every. single. time. i sat in just about every row you could think of and it was not only consistently good, it almost surpassed itself with every subsequent viewing. in 23 years i can’t think of a single movie that has ever made me feel that way. what elvis accomplished is nothing short of miraculous in every way imaginable. i’ve talked about how elvis as a film made me care about a man that only ever existed as a fixture of rock n’ roll music, another name for the history books, a name that mattered in the context of music my folks grew up listening to more than i did. a movie carried on the shoulders of a relative unknown compared to every other major musical biopic to come out in the last few years (bohemian rhapsody and rocketman bolstering far more recognizable star power in rami malek and taron egerton respectively), a name that i hope will go on to even greater heights as a result of his performance and his work ethic. a movie that has given me an experience unlike any other before it, one that i try to relive every time i watch it on my own. a movie that will always be one of the greatest experiences i’ve ever had the privilege of seeing on the big screen.

elvis 2022 man. elvis 2022.

[hotvintagepoll]

hotvintagepoll Hot Men Tournament rundown thoughts

I promised a final recap post and here it is! I'll try to cover the questions I saw the most as we closed out the bracket, reveal my ✨secret faves✨, and talk about the biggest surprises and turnarounds I saw in the brackets.

Yes, this will get silly.

ROUND 1

As I've mentioned before, I worked off submissions for who to include in the bracket, so if your fave was missing—that's why. I used submitted pics when I could, but many submissions didn't have one, so I tried to find decent ones in the couple of days I had to prep the first round (I didn't always succeed). By decent, I mean pics where 1) I could see the hot man's face, so not too much moody lighting, and 2) hopefully conveyed something about his vibe, even if it was a funny thing (yes, I showed Howard Keel in full Shakespeare get-up—I'm not beyond putting up a pic because I think it's funny). I didn't know all of these hotties going in, so some I had to guess with, but when I could I tried to pick shots that had a touch of the humor, class, or genre of the hot man.

For Round 1 and Round 2, I grouped the hotties by each decade, so only '60s actors ran against '60s actors, '50s against '50s, etc. Male beauty standards shifted pretty dramatically over the sixty years this tournament covers, and I didn't think it was fair to pit dramatically different styles of beauty against each other immediately.

I pitted hot men against each other based on opposing energies—hot vs cold, elegant vs rough, comedy vs drama, etc.. I wanted the polls to be interesting and I've never liked brackets where everyone is clearly in different "lanes" until the finals! I also wanted to make polls where I couldn't tell which way they would swing, so by setting matchups that felt opposite but equal, I got to be surprised by the bracket results too.

The only reason we had any three-way matchups is because the amount of men submitted didn't round to a nice bracket number. I don't like them generally and find them really hard to balance.

Secret faves from Round 1—I am a James Coburn girlie and knew he would die immediately, so that was not a shock but a bummer. I similarly knew Robert Preston is only magical to people who have seen him do His Little Dance Routines in That One Iowa Musical, but it would have been nice for him to last longer.

Surprises—Jeremy Brett was a last-minute add and I didn't think he really had a shot, so I put him in as a third wheel on the Sean Connery/Dean Martin matchup. Little did I count on the Granada girlies. (Always count on the Granada girlies.) The Elvis/Peter Falk poll was the first one to gain any momentum—Elvis was winning for the first 24 hours but then, my god, did Peter fight back. I didn't expect the Tab/Toshiro poll to make that bad a mincemeat out of Tab—people have different tastes, and I thought the people who like blonde sunny All American white boys might turn out for The Blonde Sunny All American White Boy. Sorry, Tab. I hope you've peeled yourself off the sidewalk by now. And, of course, I was SHOCKED and APPALLED that James Cagney would be obliterated by, of all people, Mr. Bing Crosby.

SHADOW BRACKET

The fervor of the Harold Lloyd and Fredric March people inspired the shadow bracket, and I couldn't be happier at the way it's gone. You were right, the original photos I had for them did suck. Cunty Harold Lloyd in his little life guard uniform was a revelation.

ROUND 2

For Round 2 I'd gotten a better sense of who was doing well and who was not, so a little of that came into play, but I mostly paired on vibes again. (I genuinely think this is a good way to make a fun, challenging bracket.)

Secret faves—Noooo not hot dilf Dick Van Dyke don't take my hot inventor dilf away uwu!!! (He was up against Marlon Brando. I would have been shocked if he'd won but for a minute there, a glorious second, it was possible.) I am also a big old softie for David Niven's particular brand of repression to the point of volcanic rupture, but he is one of many hotties who does not look good without moving and speaking so I figured he would be going.

So much beef—hey! hey you. I ran a poll asking if we are horny for dancers. Yes, was the resounding poll response. Where, then, did all the fucking dancers go? This round we lost Donald O'Connor, Fred Astaire, Harold Nicholas; Sammy Davis Jr., Danny Kaye, Frank Sinatra, and Bing Crosby all sneak into this category as well, by token of having been in the kind of big MGM bang-a-pan-and-put-on-a-show beloved bedlams we all watch at Christmastime. Round 2 voters HATED musical matchups. Except for one.

The one—SOUND OF MUSIC, the voters said, WE LOVE SOUND OF MUSIC. we will KILL the man responsible for salad dressing because of the SOUND OF MUSIC. every other dance man can die but THIS man dances a FOLK DANCE with JULIE ANDREWS in a GARDEN. I did not go into this poll with strong opinions about Christopher Plummer or Paul Newman but my god did I leave having heard all of them.

Surprises—James Edwards/Anthony Perkins matchup was a nail biter! Conrad vs Oscar kept me up at nights. Surprised to see Basil Rathbone survive against Sabu Dastagir—both very fetching, but Sabu had some top-tier propaganda. Cesar Romero put up a surprisingly stiff fight against Cary Grant (an omen for things to come).

Oh horrors—horror heroes surprisingly fell all over the place. I was sure either Bela Lugosi or Turhan Bey would sweep their three-way matchup, but Michael Redgrave of all people carried through; Boris Karloff went down against Johnny Weismuller (while holding hands with fellow fallen hottie Fred Astaire), but at least we got his guacamole recipe before he went. Delighted to see that the Venn diagram of the coalitions who support horror hero Vincent Price and funny lil guy Donald O'Connor is a circle.

Secret faves pt 2—oh yeah, I fucking love Danny Kaye and Donald O'Connor. RIP funny lil kings.

ROUND 3

For some reason this was the hardest one to make matchups for. Oh no, all the men are hot.

Secret faves—Michael Redgrave i love you SO much you're SUCH an idiot, how did you make it as far as round 3. I want you to sweep the whole thing but you should NOT be surviving this. I love you, here's a kiss, go home.

Surprises—Marlon Brando is gone! Errol Flynn is gone! Christopher Plummer exhausted himself beating the organic oreos man to death and goes out with a whimper. Beginning to actually see the roots of #mifunesweep as Tyrone Power, a hot man very different from Burt Lancaster, who was in turn very different from Tab Hunter, also gets swept under the wheels of the unbeatable toshirobus. Conrad Veidt finds that no amount of purring svelte eccentricity compares to the people who will fuck a young Lt. Columbo.

SHADOW BRACKET 2

Cannot believe it but Veidt loses this one too. Perkins sweeps and becomes Prince of the Shadow Realm!

ROUND 4

At this point I've set a formal bracket that I'm following.

Secret faves—this isn't secret anymore, but losing Jimmy Stewart hurt.

Surprises—The Gene Kelly/Jeremy Brett matchup was the diciest one all round, moving back and forth between the two by sometimes .01%. Far more surprising, however, was Cary Grant getting eliminated before the quarterfinals. Grant has never been my type, but he is famous for being THE type, so while the writing had been on the wall the whole tournament—how on earth did Michael Redgrave even get 36% in his matchup?!—seeing Grant go down was a SHOCKER. Other fallen hotties included Gregory Peck, James Dean, Harry Belafonte, and Sessue Hayakawa. Peter Falk finally met his match in Omar Sharif.

QUARTERFINALS

Secret faves—I don't know if it counts as a secret fave, tbh, as my horses in the race really went out with Stewart, but I do have a soft spot here worth mentioning. Here's my childhood dog, Keaton.

The resemblance is truly striking, and yes, he was short, fast, and not prone to smiling.

Surprises—I couldn't predict how any of these matchups would go down, but I was most interested in Keaton vs Sharif, as they are both SO hot in SUCH different ways.

SEMIFINALS:

This was such a good batch of semifinalist contestants. By this point I think we could all tell Mifune was unstoppable (though I thought Sharif might give him a run for his money), but I really didn't know which way Robeson vs Poitier would flip.

FINALS:

I wanted Sidney Poitier to pull a last-minute sweep out of nowhere, but alas, Toshiro is just THAT GOOD (maybe. I will admit that I find Toshiro's domination a little hard to believe, given the variety and hotness of all his competitors; the man is hot but all these men are hot). I'm still happy with how the tournament went.

FINAL MEDITATIONS:

Biggest shock of a dropout: the loss of Paul Newman

Biggest "you people have no taste": the loss of James Cagney

Biggest victory: Paul Robeson making it to the semifinals over often-assumed champion Gregory Peck

Biggest coalition who deserve justice: dancing men

Biggest ask character: vents anon (currently eating Laurence Olivier)

Biggest, uhh, anything: how many of you are here! I genuinely thought it would be me and 10 other people voting for the whole tournament. I'm thrilled it took off like this!

I think that's everything, but I'm happy to answer addl asks. And THANK YOU to everyone for your tags, rants, impassioned propaganda, beautiful pics, and love for the hot men! See you for the ladies!

[memphisflash]

𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐰

⊱ word count: 3,9K

⊱ warnings: dead dove do not eat!, stepbrother!elvis, stepsister!reader, reader hates elvis but honestly... not really, reader is a virgin but not completely clueless, ages are not mentioned but i figured reader is somewhere around 17/18 and elvis 21/22ish, very dom!elvis, non-con/dubious consent, strong language, pwp, smut; semi-public, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (m. receiving), forced deep throating, first time penetration, reader bleeding on elvis as he breaks her hymen, he pretty much splits her open OKAY, creampie, crying during sex. MDNI!!!

⊱ authors note: it's kinda short bc i wrote it in like an hour- i was too excited, lol. proof read it once bc the more i read it, the more i hate it, ANYWAYSSS. i probably missed a few triggers here or there, so if i did, let me know! my first darker fic, but knowing how much y'all love the feral stuff, i'm sure it's considered tame to some. ha! anyways hope y'all like, and don't forget to interact- i love reading what you guys think!! <333

⊱ dead dove masterlist | main masterlist

If there was one person you hated the most in the world, it had to be Elvis Presley.

You didn’t even have a good reason for it, you just did. Couldn’t stand the sight of him – that stupid crooked grin that tugged at his lips, which looked way too soft by the way, and had all your girlfriends swooning over. Those eyes that were oh so blue and able to turn a shade darker whenever he was moody. The way he knew how to push your buttons.

Every single time.

He was capable of making your blood crawl, getting you so annoyed and angry at some points where all you wanted to do was cry. You never did, though. Couldn’t let him catch you spilling tears over him because he’d never let you live it down.

Long story short: you cursed the day your mother married his father.

Vernon was a nice man and your mother genuinely seemed happy with Mr. Presley, which is what you still called him despite his protests. And you were a good girl, the perfect daughter – you weren’t going to get in between your mother and Elvis’ father just because you despised the Presley boy.

You were just going to bite your tongue and suck it up… even on this damn road trip that your mother and stepfather deemed the perfect opportunity for the family to bond.

You hated Route 66 for existing. Crossing eight states and three time zones on the backseat with Elvis? Your own personal hell.

“Stop hoggin’ the damn blanket.” Elvis hissed at you as he tugs on the fleece blanket you had draped over your body, while flipping through one of the dozen magazines you either brought from home or bought at the last gas station.

The sun had set a little while ago and you lost interest in the barely able to see view. The only thing you knew was that you were in Missouri, the second state. Six more to go.

“It’s my blanket. I told you to get yours out of the trunk.” You snap back at him, though keeping your voice low as you’d noticed your mother drifting off to sleep in the passenger seat in front of you.

Elvis rolls his eyes and tugs on the blanket a little harder, succeeding in stealing most of it and exposing your bare legs. Before you had the chance to protest, he was scooting a little closer and draping the fluffy blanket over the both of you.

“Where’s the fun in usin’ my own?” He smirks as he pulls it up so it was covering the both of you up until your shoulders, causing your magazine to crumble under the fabric. You scoffed in annoyance and glared at him, blue eyes holding a mischievous gleam in them as they looked up at you, your stepbrother having put his chin on your shoulder.

“Ugh, get off of me, Elvis.” You groaned softly, lifting your shoulder which forces him to pull back a little. You wanted to scoot away from, because why does his cologne smell so good?!, but you couldn’t. Trapped between the car door and his larger frame, you had absolutely nowhere to go.

And Elvis only intensified the sense of being trapped by sliding his arm around your waist under the blanket, pulling you in his side. Grin plastered on his face, he didn’t break eye contact once.

“I’m bored, sis.”

“I’m not your sister.”

“Yes, you are,” He whispers lowly as he grips onto your hip, squeezing it firmly as he leans in a little closer. “Our parents are married, remember? That makes me your brother. Older brother, in case ya forget.”

Your heart skipped a beat, breath hitching in your throat. You hated him, you hated him, you hated him… but then why did it feel so good to have him this close to you?

And oh so dangerous. So damn dangerous.

“Your father is r-right there, Elvis,” you whisper as your eyes shift to Vernon, who had his eyes on the dark road ahead, fingertips softly tapping on the steering wheel to the beat of the song that was softly playing on the radio.

Elvis chuckled softly, as if to say he didn’t care. And he didn’t. The blanket was covering the both of you completely and it was too dark inside the car to see what was going on. He knew for sure his father wouldn’t take his eyes off of the road.

“All the more reason to keep quiet.” He simply says and you didn’t expect his next move as he slips his hand in the pyjama shorts you’d put on in the toilet of the last gas stop. He didn’t waste any time, obviously eager to get his hands on you, as his hand had slipped right in your panties at the same time.

Maybe it was intentional, maybe it wasn’t. But it had you gasping softly, the magazine which had been clenching in your hands dropping to the floor.

“Elvis, n-no,” You grab his wrist when you feel his fingertips sliding down your slit, parting your lips for him so he could feel if you were wet or not.

You were, but definitely not enough to get fingered on the backseat of your parents’ car.

He pulls his hand out of your shorts and out from underneath the blanket, holding his fingers in front of your mouth. “Make ‘em wet.”

You look at him, eyes widening as your cheeks flush. Your eyes shift over to Vernon again, who wasn’t suspecting a thing, but your paranoia was growing. Shaking your head at the older male next to you, you keep your lips firmly shut.

“Lick my fingers or I’ll move this blanket away. Now, Y/N.”

It wasn’t a question, nor a suggestion. It sounded a god awful lot like an order.

Scared that he would actually follow up on his threat, you slowly part your lips as you look at him, a warmth spreading throughout your belly as you wrapped your lips around his digits and suck on them. He grins as he presses them against your tongue a little, before the wet muscle swirls around his fingers for a few seconds.

He’s quick to restract his fingers out of your mouth and move his hand under the blanket again, slipping into your shorts and panties once more. He raises an eyebrow as he glides his fingers down your slit, opening you up again and feeling you’d grown a little more wet.

The way his fingers were exploring you so shamelessly yet so sneakily in the enclosed space of the family car had your heart thumping wildly in your chest. Yet, you couldn’t stop yourself from growing wetter and wetter.

You were aware of how wrong this was, yet you did absolutely nothing to stop it. And neither did Elvis – if anything, he seems to be enjoying himself thoroughly.

“You like this?” He whispers as he looks at you, grinning smugly at the way you’re trying to keep your face neutral, lips pressed firmly into a thin line, brows slightly frowned. “Havin’ your brother feel you up in the backseat?”

You huff out a little sigh of air, trying to clamp your thighs together but every time he feels you’re doing it, he pinches your thigh until his other hand finds home on your left thigh, keeping your legs spread enough for his liking. “You’re n-not.. my.. b-brother..”

He laughs softly, making sure his father doesn’t hear it and tilts his head a little as he looks at you. Without warning, he slips his middle finger inside of your cunt, making you let out a quiet gasp. You clench around him instantly, and he smirks. “I think I am. Nah, I know I am and so do you, honey.”

Your eyes nearly roll back at the pet name and you truly hate yourself for being this weak. For liking this, having his finger push into you knuckle deep.

You couldn’t answer him as he started pumping his digit into you, movements still somewhat restricted because of your shorts. But that didn’t bother nor stop him for a second.

As if your body had a mind on its own, you were pulling your legs up a little, feet pressed against the edge of the seat. Clawing at his arm, not knowing if it was to get him to stop or to just have something to hold onto it. You didn’t know, didn’t know anything anymore as your brain was growing fuzzy.

You weren’t all that experienced when it came to sex – only ever having been felt up by a boy you liked during summer vacation last year and he didn’t exactly put it inside you.

Neither his finger, or his cock.

The only thing that’s ever been inside of you had been your own finger and even your own slender digit had been a stretch, not able to fit fully. You were a virgin and here you were, getting fingered by your brother. Stepbrother, you forcefully reminded yourself.

Your virginity was not something you were planning to tell Elvis about – he’d tease the hell out of you for it. At least, that’s what you thought he would do. Either way, you weren’t going to say anything.

His finger stretching you open wider than you’d experienced before was just something you were going to soldier yourself through.

“So goddamn tight,” Elvis grunted lowly next to you, allowing you to hide your face in his chest a little, making it seem as if you were catching up on some sleep. “Think ya can take ‘nother finger?”

No. Definitely not.

“Y-Yes..” You muffle in his chest, biting down on the fabric of his shirt as he shoves his ring finger inside of you as well, making your eyes roll back.

God, you couldn’t believe you were doing this. Allowing this to happen. If Vernon decided to look through the rearview mirror or your mother woke up, the both of you would be disowned.

Surely.

You didn’t have much time to worry about it though, because the slight sting of Elvis’ fingers stretching you out has you softly panting in his chest. You were clenching around him visciously so and it has him cursing under his breath.

Neither of you were paying attention to anything else, but as the car pulled up into a parking lot just as the sting was disappearing and you were relaxing a little more around Elvis’ fingers, the two of you were rudely interrupted by a neon light shining into the car as Vernon parked under it.

Elvis moves quick – pulling his fingers out of you and out of your clothing, he creates more space between the two of you and gives you most of the blanket to cover yourself with. He looks at you as he smirks, bringing his fingers to his mouth to suck your slick off of the digits, shooting you a wink as Vernon announces this is the motel they’d be staying at for the night.

If your cheeks weren’t flushed already, they deepened in shade even further and the image of him licking his fingers clean stayed imprinted on your brain as you got out of the car and your parents booked the rooms.

As if God was playing an awful joke on you, Vernon and your mother decided you and Elvis could share a hotel room together.

“To bond. I’m sick of you two fighting.”

Those had been your mother’s exact words – if only she knew what had happened between the two of you when she was sleeping in the passenger seat.

You should’ve known that being alone in a motel room with your stepbrother wasn’t going grant you the privilege of sleep.

Having never seen a cock in your life, other than from seeing it in pictures and getting a general description of it from your girlfriends, you had nothing to compare it to.

But the one that belonged to Elvis was pretty.

Big too, which scared the hell out of you, but you figured as long as you’d keep playing with it with your hands and mouth, he wouldn’t be in a rush to take things a step further.

Laying completely naked on your stomach in between Elvis’ legs, because he’d pretty much tore your clothes off of you as soon as the door closed behind you, your little jerk off session was interrupted by his own hand wrapping around his girth. He looks down at you with a little smirk on his face, guiding his tip across your lips.

You were nervous and turned on at the same time. Nervous because you were afraid you weren’t going to be good at this, but your lips parted nonetheless. Looking up at him, you liked seeing his reaction when your tongue hesitantly licked at the soft skin of his tip when he pulled his foreskin down – gasping softly, his eyes fluttering shut.

He keeps his hand wrapped around himself until you wrap your lips around his tip, frowning a little at the foreign taste of his precum on your tongue but you forced yourself to continue. You squeezed your eyes shut as you concetrated on the task of taking him in deeper, immediately gagging as he took his hand away and you felt his tip caressing the back of your throat.

As soon as you went to pull back, he placed a hand on the back of your head and looks down at you with a teasing, nearly mean, chuckle when he saw your eyes shooting open and widening. “Keep goin’, sis.”

You whine around his cock as his fingers tangle in your hair, keeping you right where you were, and your throat spasms frantically as he keeps you pushed down, not allowing you to move. Tears blurred your vision as they formed on your lash line, unable to stop yourself from gagging.

You couldn’t breathe.

He was choking you with his cock.

Panic settles in your chest and you place your hands on his thighs, trying to push yourself off and create distance, but his grip was stronger. And he wasn’t letting up.

“Breathe,” he cooes, his voice sounding sickeningly sweet but you didn’t miss the taunting tone in it. “Through y’er little nose. Breathe.”

You try to do as he says and he watches you struggle for a little while, the sight of tears rolling down your cheeks and your flushed cheeks making his cock twitch on your tongue. But he decides to go at least a little easy on you and tugs on your hair, pulling you off of his cock.

You immediately gasp desperately for air, a string of saliva connected from your tongue to his cock. You looked at him through the tears, your head tilted back because he was still tugging on your hair.

“Look at that, droolin’ all over my cock.” He smirks as he watches you lick your glistening, swollen lips.

You were even more wet than you were in the car. So damn wet. Rubbing your thighs together to create some kind of friction, you barely recognized yourself as you realised you were actually liking this.

“A-Again..”

“Again?” Elvis raises an eyebrow, letting out a laugh. You nodded, not caring about how eager you seemed.

He slowly lets go of your hair and with a shit eating grin on his face, he puts his arms under his head and gets comfortable against the pillows. “Be my guest.”

It was truly pathetic how fast you’d taken his cock back in your mouth, slobbering all over it like a bitch in heat. But you were so horny that you couldn’t get yourself to stop, even if you wanted to.

This time, you were deepthroating him on your own. Taking him in so deep that your nose was pressed into his pubes, cockhead assaulting the back of your throat. The whole time you practiced breathing through your nose but you failed at times because the way Elvis was grunting and groaning had you moaning around him, which forced you to have to pull up again to get in a breath of air.

Elvis wasn’t complaining. Far from it.

He had you right where he wanted to have you for the longest time now. The whole annoying brother act was just because he’d wanted to fuck the hell out of you from the second he laid eyes on you. The fact that you were his family now sure as hell wasn’t going to stop him.

Even though you were surprisingly enjoying yourself sucking him off, practicing your skills, Elvis had you pinned down on the bed before he’d cum down your throat. Something he did not want, because he was planning on filling you up in other ways.

Him sliding his cock through your folds, spreading your slick around and rubbing his tip against your clit had you moaning and whimpering – but as soon as you felt him lingering at your entrance, the nerves were flooding back.

Placing a hand on his chest, you tried to close your legs but it was impossible because he was right there in between them, preventing you from doing so. You widened your eyes as you shook your head, writhing underneath him a little, your untouched hole clenching nearly shut as he tries to push himself in.

“N-No, no, Elvis. ’S Not gonna fit..”

“It will.”

“It’s t-too b-big..”

“Jesus,” he huffs out, grabbing your wrist and peeling your hand off of his chest. He put both your hands above your head and trapped your wrists together with his hand, his other hand moving in between your bodies to guide himself back to your entrance. “I will make it fit. Now shut the fuck up and let me in.”

You try to free your hands out of his grip, but it’s useless. He’s too strong.

Tears form in your eyes all over again as you whimper, breathing erratically as he pushes the tip inside of you. Even that was already stretching you further open, and you're clenching so hard that you were pushing him out again.

Elvis groaned in annoyance, moody eyes shooting you a a warning glare. “Goddamnit, Y/N. Relax.”

“I can’t! I c-can’t!”

“Fine,” he growls as he places his hand on your hip, forcing you to keep still as he roughly pushes fully into you. “Then don’t.”

A sharp pain shot through your body, making you cry out in panic. Despite the fact that you were absolutely soaking, the stretch was unbearable.

“I’ve never.. I’m not.. Never have-“

“Never been fucked before? I know.” He growls deeply as he bottoms out, holding still. At least he was granting you that. “But you’ll like it, baby, believe me.”

You were naive. Stupid, even. Because even though you felt like he was painfully splitting you open right now, you truly did believe him.

It was going to feel better. It had to.

Still holding onto your hands because he didn’t quite trust you enough to know you wouldn’t push him off, he pulled back a little only to slam into you again. He growls a little louder as he feels more wetness engulfing him, slipping out of you and onto him.

As he looks down, he notices a little bit of blood on his cock when he pulls back again. He smirks as he sees you looking down too, his eyes meeting yours. “I popped y’er little cherry,” he hums as he leans his face closer to yours, lips ghosting along yours. “You know what that means, sis?”

Cheeks flushed in embarrassement for bleeding on him, you whimper softly as you stare into his eyes with your own teary ones, finding yourself chasing his lips, wanting to kiss him but he wasn’t giving it to you yet.

“You’re mine now.”

The way he whispers those words against your lips has you letting out a soft sob, crying as he kisses you feverishly.

He starts thrusting into you, hard enough for his balls to slap against your skin every time his hips snap forward, but not hard enough for him to cum yet. Because you were tight, so incredibly snug, he had to force himself to not fill you up prematurely.

He wanted to enjoy it for a little longer.

Letting go of your wrists and hip, he places his hand flat on either side of your head and breaks the kiss, looking down at you as he rams you into the mattress. The headboard was slamming against the wall, probably alerting your parents in the next room to what was happening but he was too far gone.

And so were you.

All you could think about was Elvis and how he was railing you into tomorrow, drunk on his cock.

The sting was still there, but the intensity was wearing off, making way for pleasure.

Pure, raw pleasure.

Heat overwhelmed you, an unfamiliar feeling coiling in the pit of your tummy and you knew enough of your friends’ stories that your orgasm was nearing.

“Elvis!” You moaned out loudly, your nails running down his back, clinging onto him. “I’m g-gonna cum!”

It felt strange saying those words, but your brain was too cloudy to think or worry about it.

“Fuck. Me too, baby,” he growls as he presses his forehead against yours, staring into your eyes. “Gonna fuckin’ fill you up until you feel it all the way in your tummy.”

You had no idea if that was even possible, but it sounded hot.

You wanted it.

Wanted all of him.

With your spread legs in the air, your toes curl as your nails dig into his shoulder blades. Your back arched and Elvis’ hips stuttered, both of you exploding at the same time.

You milked him for all he’s worth and he paints your insides white, thick strings of warm cum filling you up to the brim. A weird sensation spread throughout your stomach and you wondered if it was because of what he said.

He collapses on top of you with his face hiding in your neck, panting heavily against your skin. You could feel his cum spilling out of you as he pulls his softening cock out and you whimper, shivering underneath him because of your first orgasm you’ve just experienced.

“N-Need to p-pee.” You whisper in a shaky voice, trying to get your breathing back to normal.

He rolls off of you but instead of letting you get up, he wraps his arm around your waist and spoons you. His hand moves in between your legs, cupping your sensitive pussy. “No,” he simply tells you, grinning as he softly bites your shoulder, moving his other arm underneath your head and wrapping it around your throat without too much pressure, pressing your back against his chest firmly. “Keep it inside ‘f ya for a little longer. Don’t be ungrateful, baby.”

You squirm against him a little and gasp as he shoves two fingers inside of your cunt, pushing his cum deeper inside of you and keeping it there.

He was right. Spilling the load he’d worked so hard to release right away would be ungrateful… and that’s something that you weren’t.

You were a good girl, a good daughter.

And a perfect sister to fuck.

⊱ taglist: @notstefaniepresley @powerofelvis @peaceloveelvis @ccab @jkdaddy01 @atrophyingaphrodite @ladelinee

[undying-love]

Paul on the last time he saw John

Paul was answering fan questions on Reddit about 3 years ago, and somebody asked him when was really the last time he saw John. And It's odd to not remember the last time you saw your best friend before death.

For some reason, I always get the feeling that Paul doesn't want to admit he saw a lot more of John throughout the 70s than what the public thinks. One time an interviewer told him "You saw a lot more of John in the years leading up to his death than people assume, didn't you?" Paul didn't answer directly, and just replied, "I was very lucky we settled our differences". And in the interview with Sean a couple of years ago, Sean tells Paul "I’ve seen interviews with him around the time when he’s about to go and see you and he seems really genuinely happy that he’s about to see you. I think he says like, ‘Well actually I’m about to have a meeting with him, Paul, I’m on my way’, or something and he kind of jokes, but he sounds happy that he’s going to see you." Oddly, Paul does not even aknowledge what Sean says and starts talking about something else. His exact reply was, "I think so much of what he did just, obviously Imagine and Instant Karma is great and the nice thing was, when I listen to the records, I can imagine him in the studio and go, ‘Oh ok, I know what he’s done. He’s just said to the engineer, “Gimme some Elvis echo.. Bog echo.”

WTF Paul

[hooked-on-elvis]

The Green Scrapbook 📗

Why is Elvis a legend? Simple answer: HARD, HARD WORK... on and off stage.

That's the most interesting thing I've learned about Elvis lately.

This fanzine was out… it is called "Elvis Answers Back!", printed by Sound Publishing Corp in 1956 (view photo 8 and video 1 further on). In its pages, Elvis answer questions about his career and personal life in that genuine way we love so much about his interviews. There's very interesting answers in those pages (I'll share more in this blog in a while) but this one got me in awe. What we're about to read Elvis did in the 50s, while he was in the peak of his success as a young artist, specifically in the year of 1956, it's a demonstration of his courage, down-to-earth spirit, and a passionate level of dedication to his craft that few artists, or normal people for that matter, have.

Some of the pictures printed in the Elvis Answers Back! magazine: August 18, 1956. Elvis at the Knickerbocker Hotel, Hollywood, CA. Photograph by Ed Braslaff.

The magazine article is in topics. This one is entitled "THE GREEN SCRAPBOOK", and here's what Elvis had to say about this "rumor":

"Yes, it’s true that I keep me a scrapbook of a lot of the stuff that’s printed about me. But you know something? I don’t save the articles or stories that tell nice things about me. My scrapbook only has stuff in it that isn’t very friendly. I’ll tell you why this is. "When I first started out, my momma wanted to save all the programs and pictures and things that everyone put in the papers and magazines. I wasn’t much interested in doing this, because I was so busy singing and working and learning that I just didn’t want to take the time to sit down every so often in the middle of something and start cutting out pictures and things. Momma bought her a big green scrapbook, though, and asked me to send her stuff whenever I got the chance. For the first year or so, I didn’t send her a thing, and the scrapbook was empty, except for a couple of clippings she got out of the Memphis papers.

Some of the pictures printed in the Elvis Answers Back! magazine: (1) June 30, 1956 in Richmond, VA. Elvis drinking water after having a bowl of chili, sitting at the Jefferson Hotel lunch counter; (2) Elvis at the RCA's Studio One in NY, for a recording session on July 2, 1956, when he recorded "Hound Dog" and "Don't Be Cruel." Both photographs by Alfred Wertheimer.

"Then one day I saw this article about me not being a very good singer. I cut that out and send it to momma and she wrote back and told me I didn’t want to fill my scrapbook with things like that. But I wrote back and told her, 'Momma, anyone can fill a scrapbook with good things. But what good does it do? I’d like to know the things people don’t particularly like and study them and try to make myself better if I can.' "So that’s how The Green Scrapbook got started. I’ve got a lot of pages filled, and a lot of them are still empty, but I’ll tell you this. Every time I go home to Memphis, I take down that scrapbook and study it. I know most of the things in it by heart, and I’m always going to do my best to improve whenever and wherever I can." — Elvis Presley, 1956 interview.

Cover of Elvis Answers Back! magazine, published on August 28, 1956 | Source: elvis100percent.com

SEE THE CONTENT IN THE PAGES OF THAT 1956 ELVIS MAGAZINE (this is an US limited edition reproduction of the 1956 original magazine):

Thanks "Collecting King Elvis Interviews and Memobilia" Youtube channel for sharing this gem.

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

UPDATE

I just crossed an interview of Elvis for the Hy Gardner Show ("Hy Gardner Calling") on July 1, 1956 (right after Elvis' performance on the Steve Allen Show). Hy Gardner asked Elvis if he reads the reviews on his concerts and he answers it with "Not if I can help it". Then Gardner goes on in the same matter and asks him further, "Do you keep a scrapbook at all?" -- Elvis' answer to this: "Only of the good stuff." -- We can figure, although Elvis had the Green Scrapbook probably since 1954, considering he said 'When I first started out, my momma wanted to save all the programs and pictures (...)', it was around mid 1956 that Elvis consciously decided to face his detractors more often and make a good use of their critics to help him improving his act. Fascinating. It's fascinating for a young man as talented, handsome and successful as he was, to pause the rush of excitement going on within himself just so he could think things through. Elvis was enjoying a tremendous amount of success already, so it would be more convenient to just have fun and let it happen while it lasted. 1956 was THE year when everything he ever dreamed about was happening at once in his life and he couldn't be more excited and thrilling with the attention he was getting from all over, yet that young man had the maturity to understand he had to keep working hard so he truly could have something worth sharing with the world, something better to offer to the people who seemed be starving for more of him. Fascinating.

WATCH THE FULL HY GARDNER INTERVIEW WITH ELVIS (July 1, 1956):

[marzipanandminutiae]

i just reblogged that post about saying nice things abt prev but i wanna send an ask too, so: thank you for being one of the only people to be correct about the winchester mystery house and sarah herself!! so many people spread the stories of her being weird/crazy/whatever when she was just. a woman who suffered some tragedies and liked architecture.

i went on a tour of graceland recently and was intrigued by how they barely talked about elvis as a person, whereas winchester tours are basically a trap where you think you're getting to explore a weird fucked up house but actually you're going to hear about how wonderful sarah winchester was for an hour and if you say anything mean about her design skills one of the tour guides will push you out the door to nowhere.

i go through your winchester tag sometimes when i'm nostalgic and missing the house (i got laid off during quarantine) and it's just nice to see that even people who didn't devote years of their lives to the house can genuinely understand and appreciate it.

I'm so glad it's gotten better! Someone once anonymously told me the guides had to sign a contract saying they would only stick to the story made up by that ridiculous carnie family that bought her house in the 1920s, and even though it was an anon and therefore unverifiable...I believe it, sadly. For Profits often are more about...well, profit. As opposed to history. But it's good to know the guides care about getting the truth out there.

In Sarah Winchester I see a woman whose character assassination for being different(tm) has carried on after death. It's not that she was perfect- far be it from me to lay perfection at the feet of a white 19th-century gun fortune heiress -but she seems like a genuinely caring person in many ways, about her workers and her community. She was an unattached woman of means with an unconventional hobby (architecture), though, and that seems to have made wagging tongues nervous. During her lifetime that meant claiming she thought she'd live forever if construction never ceased (it did, several times), and after- well. The tale of the mad widow fleeing from invisible ghosts has come to prevail.

It feels unfair to me that she should forever be remembered by what her detractors said about her, instead of her own triumphs and setbacks, merits and flaws. And that her beautiful house, where she poured so much love and attention, should be so misrepresented. I'm glad people are trying to fix the narrative.

[lovincherries]

can you maybe do an older!elvis x reader with a daddy kink. Maybe he sees you flirting with another guy and pulls you into another room and has angry sex with you

That’s Alright Mama

a/n: I’m thinking comeback special Elvis? Loved him in that scene. Not proofread. Feel free to leave a tip if you’re able ❤️

warnings: dubious consent, breeding kink, all of the above basically.

Elvis had made you mad to put it simply. You saw the way he looked at girls and you saw the way those girls looked at him. It left you with a bad feeling in your gut and a horrendous taste in your mouth. He was much older than you, you knew he was much more experienced and you could leave him wanting things sometimes. You were trying though, actually trying to be what he wanted. He knew you were innocent when you met, that no other man had laid their hands on you until him. Truth be told, that was part of what attracted him so deeply to you. You were something for him to posses, to own. Something no one had before and no one would have again.

Elvis was 32 and you were just 18, fresh out of high school. You had known each other your whole lives and you always thought Elvis was so cute, and when his career started taking off it was just a wasted dream. You never imagined when you went to visit him with your dad in Memphis he would be absolutely enamored by you. Your dad sensed that attraction between you and Elvis, and he was not happy about it. But, there was nothing he could do. Elvis was the most famous man in the world and there was no way to say no to him. That night, He demanded that your father let you stay longer, said he would give you a ride home. Well, Elvis never took you home and you never went back home either. You had been with him since that day, it was only two months ago but if felt like a lifetime. You were in love, absolutely in love with this man.

But, at this very moment, you were angry with him. He had just bought you a new, nice dress and he was taking you out on a date. Said his baby had to look nice for him, just had to show you off. You were at the restaurant when this woman began to talk his head off, he was too involved in his conversation to notice that you had left and went to the bathroom.

On your way back, a man who had been watching you all night came up to you and began flirting with you. You looked over at your table and saw that she was still there, looking at him with those fuck me eyes. The jealously was like a pit in your stomach, causing you to do something you would’ve never, ever normally done.

“Hey love,” the man walked over to you. He was not bad looking, tall with blonde hair and brown eyes. But, he wasn’t Elvis. You glanced back over to your very handsome boyfriend, and he still seemed to not even notice you were gone.

You smiled sweetly at the blonde in front of you, “hi cutie,” you put on your sweet, southern charm. You knew guys loved that, just couldn’t get enough of it.

“So, what are you doing all alone?” He asked, trying to make conversation with you. You internally rolled your eyes, what did he think? He just saw you coming from the bathroom. You weren’t going to say that though.

“Oh, you know, just walking back to my seat,” you said sweetly, trying to play it dumb. You were hoping that Elvis was watching you now, but you weren’t going to bother turning your head to glance at him.

“You’re here with your dad tonight?” He asked. And it was genuine too, if you had water in your mouth you would’ve spit it out. The question was hilarious and you couldn’t help but let out a laugh.

“I guess you could say that,” you snickered in response, already done with the conversation now. The man’s eyes looked scared, but you didn’t think twice of it as you turned around.

But, you were met with Elvis’ very firm chest. You looked up and saw the anger on his face, he had heard what you just said. You couldn’t even bother yourself to care, strutting right past him. That’s what he gets, he knew how jealous of a person you were and it felt good to make him green for once. You were angry at him, livid even. You had been gone for twenty minutes and he just now noticed. It wouldn’t have been a problem if that stupid women wasn’t so goddamn attractive. She was more his age, more appropriate for him to be with due to the press.

He attempted to grab your arm to stop you from walking away from him, “Y/N,” he said in warning. But you weren’t having it, nope not one bit. He had no right to be angry at you when he was blatantly flirting with that girl, unintentionally. At least you were doing it out of spite, not because you actually liked the guy. You walked to the car and he was storming after you, right on your heels. You were just as stubborn as he was and he knew it too.

“Y/N!” He shouted as you finally made it to the car, it felt like an eternity.

“What Elvis? Huh?” You asked angrily.

“What Elvis?” He scoffed in response, “you know damn well what Y/N. Callin’ me your dad? That’s just fuckin’ embarrassing.” He spoke angrily, but he was still as handsome as ever. “Not to mention you were flirtin’ with the guy as if I don’t even exist.”

“Ha,” it was your turn to scoff in response. “You know what’s fucking embarrassing Elvis? Sitting right next your boyfriend while he practically eye fucks a woman, that’s embarrassing.”

“I was not eye fucking her Y/N,” he retorted. “Get in the fucking car.”

“My pleasure, take me home while you’re at it. And I mean my home,” you said, and as soon as you said those words you regretted them. You saw the anger and the sadness on his face.

“You’re not going home Y/N,” he said in response, he wouldn’t take you. Not even if you begged and pleaded, you were his. “You’re going to our home and you’re gonna apologize for being such a brat.”

“Me? Apologize ?” You rhetorically asked, looking over at him. The anger was evident in his deep blue eyes, his tan skin had a red hue. It was like his anger was evident through his skin. “I want an apology Elvis, I did what I did to make you mad. Hell, you acted like I wasn’t even there.”

“Well, Y/N that’s business and you’re gonna have to learn it. You knew what you were getting into when you started dating me,” he said, while driving. You were on your way home to Graceland and his eyes never seemed to look at you. Like he was disgusted with you. “You did what you did to make me mad, and by God you did it. You wanna tell people I’m your dad? Well I’m gonna act like it.”

You had never seen him this mad before, and while it frightened you it also left you feeling excited. You couldn’t wait to see what was going to happen. You kept your mouth shut the rest of the way home, not wanting to add fuel to the fire. You had a mouth on you, both you and Elvis knew it. Normally, he wouldn’t react to it. He was always very level headed, able to keep calm even when you weren’t able to.

You pulled into the house and he parked outside the front, he shut the car off but he didn’t say a word. He didn’t even look over at you. As your anger leveled off, you felt a pit of nervousness form in your stomach. Maybe he was done with you for good now, you weren’t old enough, mature enough, or level headed enough.

“Get out,” he spoke lowly, “go upstairs, sit on the bed, and wait for me.”

You were no longer excited now. Your breaths quickened, your nerves getting the best of you. You couldn’t even find the words to say yes, so you just did exactly what he asked and got out of the car. You closed the door softly, hoping not to provoke him even more. Your hands were shaking, you wished you didn’t have such a big mouth sometimes. It always messed stuff up. You walked in the house and in a daze found yourself going up the stairs into your shared bedroom.

You sat on the satin sheets, your legs crossed expectantly. Your anger always got the best of you, but when it came down to it you were just a guarded person who didn’t know how to react to situations that left you uncomfortable.

You soon heard his footsteps coming up the stairs, pounding like your heart in your chest. You looked down in your lap, only seeing him out of the peripheral of your vision. You were too scared to look him in the eye. You felt him sit next to you, but you refused to look up and acknowledge him.

“Take your panties off,” he said gruffly. You looked up at him in shock, watching him undo his belt. “Did I stutter?”

You shook your head no and took them off just like he asked. In the back of your head, you knew it would be best for you if you just listened to what he said. He held his belt in his hand and it left fear wracking through your body.

“Bend over the bed, and don’t look at me,” he said in a demanding tone, and you did just what he asked. He walked over to you, massaging your ass as you were bent over. You tried to look back, but his hand was placed at the nape of your neck forcing you to look forward.

"You call me your dad? Huh? I'm gonna punish you like one," he spoke, leaning over you. Your breaths trembled, feeling the fear in your lungs. "Gonna spank you girl, say yes daddy," he demanded, his tone putting fear into you.

"Y-yes, daddy," your voice came out as shaky as you felt. His belt came down on your ass as soon as the affirmative left your mouth, you let out a squeal in response to the pain.

"Think you can humiliate me like that? Tell people I'm your dad? That shit's embarrassing Y/N," he said, smoothing over the welt that was sure to be made.

"S-sorry," you cried out, you had a bad feeling in your gut.

"Sorry what?" He asked, but he knew the response. He knew what he wanted you to stay.

"Sorry daddy," you said softly and then he smacked your ass with the belt again. It was almost as if he was punishing you for saying what he wanted you to say.

He smacked your ass three more times in succession, five times altogether. Tears were falling down your face from the pain, but you knew you deserved it after the stunt you pulled today.

He backed away from you, letting you turn your face to look at him now. You watched as he unbuttoned his shirt, a darkness in his eyes that you had never seen before.

"Here's what's gonna happen Y/N," he spoke as he unbuttoned his pants and pulled down his boxers, exposing everything to you. You let out a small gasp, the air barely reaching your lungs. He seemed harder and thicker than ever before. He walked over to you, that dark glint still in your eyes. "I'm gonna fuck you and you're not gonna say a word, heard too much out of that fucking mouth tonight," he degraded you. You should've been mad, but it only left a pool of heat collecting in your panties.

You just nodded your head in agreeance, but even if you said no you were sure he would’ve still gone about his business. he lifted you fully on the bed but you were still on your hands and knees. You could feel him rubbing his tip up and down your folds, it left your back shuttering in response. He rammed into you before you could process anything else.

You both gasped as he bottomed out in you, a slight hint of pain as he stretched you. Your eyes were still watery from the belt. It was an overwhelming feeling to be so completely full of someone like this.

“So tight Y/N, made just for me,” he said as he began to slowly thrust in and out.

“So wet for me Y/N, who knew you could be such a slut,” he said confidently. You moaned as his hand reached under you to play with your clit. The pleasure was mind numbing, to be used as a fuck toy like this. It left you feeling in awe of him.

You only managed to let out grunts and moans as Elvis continued to fuck into you, occasionally smacking your ass leaving tears streaming down your face.

“Gonna fuck a baby into you, finally make me a daddy,” he said grunting. His hands pushing your upper body down, forcing you ass higher in the air. The new angle caused you to see stars, he was so deep that you completely forgot about the words he grunted. His hips smacking into yours made the air leave your lungs. Your breaths disrupted your moans. Your face was pressed into the sheets, leaving no room for oxygen to enter your lungs.

You looked back at him, his hands firmly pressed into your back. It was a glorious sight to see him like this, his hair messed up. Him so care free as he fucked you.

“You’re mine Y/N, gonna make you so full of me everyone knows it too,” he said as his hips stuttered into yours. You were close and so was he, it was hard not to finish fast like this. Everything was so hard and fast about this, but in a way it was filled with love. It was everything love was about, jealousy and passion.

“Daddy,” you moaned, disobeying him for the first time since he commanded the order. He was too into you to even care, too into reaching you and him to that point. Too into finishing in you and reaching his goal.

“Gonna make you a mama,” he said, reaching under you to play with your clit again and you couldn’t help but gasp and buck your hips into him. The ball seemed to pop in your stomach and you completely let go, your body completely going limp as he continued to fuck into you. He raised your hips up with his hands as he continued his assault.

He thrusted, hard, going the deepest he had ever before. And that’s where he came. You both moaned at the feeling as he collapsed into you, you didn’t even think twice about the repercussions of his actions. You would be anything he wanted you to be, and if one of those things were to be a mother, you would be.

You stayed connected like this for a few minutes, and then he pulled out of you to see the damage he had done. The belt had already left your skin raised, puffy and red. Soon, it would bruise. His fingers lightly traced the marks and you winced in reaction.

“I’m sorry mama,” he whispered, his anger overtook him and he was entirely too hard on you. It left a bad feeling in his gut.

“It’s okay,” you assured him. He saw the cum fall out of you, and he reached his finger and picked it up and shoved it back into you.

“Gotta keep it all, Y/N,” he mumbled under his breath. You repeated the events of that night over and over, fucking his love into you and making sure it would stick. He wanted everyone to know who you belonged to. You wanted it too.

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[sargeant-bxrnes]

all yours, always was. [austin!elvis x reader.]

summary: where you and elvis are past the friendship point by plenty of nights together and kisses shared, but not quite in the lovers stage yet. one day, you decide to push too far, and elvis snaps. turns out, that’s was what you wanted all along.

warnings: friends with benefits, possessiveness, jealousy, elvis being a condescending jerk, tbh. | SMUT: dirty talk, oral (fem receiving), fingering, orgasm denial, unprotected & semi-rough sex. [this is nasty, and i’m not even sorry]

word count: 4.9K [went overboard w this, oops.]

my masterlist!

my requests are open!

What began as nothing but a one-night stand after a successful concert, turned into a friend with benefits situation over a few months.

Elvis couldn’t get enough of you, and he’d turned you into quite the insatiable little thing since the first time he had you.

It was all secret, though. To the public and his fans, Elvis was single and ready to give an opportunity to a lucky fan.

Safe to say, (because it always happens in situations like this one)… over time, things between Elvis and you had started to get messier and much more difficult to handle.

You had started to look away whenever Elvis got closer to the crowd to flirt with random fans, not enjoying the sight — and Elvis had begun to notice the way his fist tightened unconsciously whenever any man dared to approach you, even when he was around.

That’s when it all clicked, fans expected flattery and men flirted with you because of a simple reason… you two were a secret. No one had a clue of what happened behind closed doors.

And the worst part? Elvis and you were just friends, right? So why get mad whenever someone else attempted to make an advance? Didn’t make an ounce of sense, and you both knew it.

Elvis had been getting ready for that day’s concert when he saw you, he’d been humming a tune but immediately stopped when his eyes landed on you and the summer dress you wore, the material fitting your body in all the right places, making you look truly dashing, just as he imagined you’d look when he bought the dress for you. You were breathtaking.

On the other hand, you were distracted looking around the stage, the place was huge and you couldn’t help but feel proud of Elvis, the place had sold out entirely, not a single seat had been left available. People truly loved him and his crazy ass dance moves.

Feeling eyes on you, you turned around. It took you a couple of seconds to find him, but eventually you spotted Elvis’ face peaking next to the curtain, not wanting to be seen by anyone else but you, even if the fans weren’t there yet, he wanted to be discreet.

He smirked at you, his eyes shamelessly trailing over your body before returning his gaze to meet yours, his intentions clear behind those beautiful blue eyes of his as he bit his lip.

He liked the dress. He really liked it. But not as much as he liked the woman wearing it.

You licked your lips and sighed, he made a come hither motion with his fingers, and now that the intention had been set, you perceived the lust lacing his smile.

With half your mind on it, you began walking amongst the growing crowd towards the backstage door, his guards recognized you by now.

You only took a couple of steps before you felt someone touching your arm softly, to get your attention, though.

Turning around, you met a soft-looking man, warm brown eyes, curly hair, boyish smile. You didn’t know him, but something about his presence made you feel at ease, he seemed sweet.

“Sorry if I scared you,” he apologized, a nervous sigh escaping his lips. “I just saw that dress and… god, you’re really pretty, I had to talk to you.”

“Aw, thank you!” you said with a genuine smile, your hand falling to his arm. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

You knew what you were doing, of course you did. But it was time to test the waters, to see how far and deep you could go before Elvis snapped and either dragged you back to shore, or let you drown in your stupid actions.

Truth is, you were done with being his fuck-buddy, you wanted so much more, and if he wasn’t willing to bring the matter up by himself, you’d give him a little push, then.

Knowing that you were within his range of view, you kept the conversation and managed to give it a flirty twist, knowing fully well that Elvis was watching closely, and oh, he was hating every single second of it.

Elvis felt a warm, burning feeling invading his insides, it began in his stomach and spread all over his chest, leaving an uncomfortable feeling, making him dig his fingernails into his palm and his jaw tick.

He didn’t like what he was seeing. He wasn’t happy with the way you were smiling up at the man, or how he was looking at you, and God, he hated to see your hand on the man’s arm, fingers slightly squeezing his bicep.

It was too much to take, so before doing something stupid that could ruin his career and push you away, Elvis walked away from where he was standing.

“Gotta get back before my sister realizes I sneaked in without her,” the man, whose name was Alex, chuckled. “I’ll call you later, though.”

“Sure!” you said with an amused smile, although you weren’t sure what amused you more, his timid attitude or the fact that you probably wouldn’t be available later. “See ya, Alex.”

The man walked away, looking back at you at least twice before he made it to the exit and back to the hundreds of fans lining up to enter the arena.

With a satisfied smile in your lips, you turned around and made your way to were Elvis had been standing, he wasn’t there anymore, though.

You had no issues making it to the backstage area, and soon enough, you found yourself in front of his dressing room door.

“Come in,” Elvis’ deep voice welcomed you as soon as you knocked the door three times, letting him know it was you.

When you walked in, you were greeted by the glorious sight of him wearing his full concert attire, his hair styled as always, some strands falling to his forehead as the sides remained slicked back.

He looked really handsome, you couldn’t lie. The color of his suit brought out his gorgeous blue eyes, and the cologne that invaded your senses made your knees weak.

You probably would’ve knelt for him if he asked you to.

“Who was that?” he asked nonchalantly, focusing his attention on combing his hair in front of the mirror.

“Who?” you asked, genuinely confused for a couple of seconds before you caught up. “Oh, Alex?”

“So he has a name, then.”

Oh.

“I just met him,” you hurried to attempt to explain yourself, even though you had no reason to. “He liked my dress and—“

“Bet he liked it,” Elvis scoffed, looking at you through the mirror reflection. “He’d have to be blind not to, baby.”

“Elvis…”

“You can’t go ‘round, talkin’ to strangers.”

“What?” you grimaced at him, not getting his argument. He was being senseless.

“We ain’t sure of his intentions,” he explained, though the way he clenched his jaw was a sign that he didn’t feel like explaining his reasons to you. “He could be dangerous.”

You scoffed at his words, and the gesture didn’t go unnoticed by him, for he turned around to face you, his jaw set and a single eyebrow raised, silently questioning you.

“He was nice, you know? And kind too,” you said with a simple shrug, acting innocent to his accusations. “He asked where I bought my dress, just that.”

“You told him I bought it for ya’?” he questioned, voice demanding an answer. “that I bought it for you jus’so I could rip it off your body whenever I wanted?”

“Of course not.”

“‘Course not,” he echoed your words, slowly wetting his lips as he looked down at his shoes before raising his head again, holding now a new composure.

“It would’ve ruined the conversation.”

“Why is that?” he ironically asked and didn’t even let you speak before he continued. “Oh right, ‘cause you were flirtin’ with him.”

Despite the soft tone and smile that decorated Elvis features, you could see past that and notice the annoyance he truly felt, he wasn’t happy with you, or what you’d done.

“So what if I was?” for the first time in all the time you’ve known the man, you talked back without a drop of hesitation.

Elvis was speechless, and it showed in the way both his eyebrows raised as he opened his mouth to say something, except that nothing came out. He thought he had the situation under control, that he had you right where he wanted— but then you went and said that.

“What do you mean ‘so what’?” he was about to go on a rant, but you interrupted him before he could even get started.

“I’m not yours, Elvis.”

Elvis stared at you silently, and that was more dangerous than anything he could’ve said. He was glaring at you, but within the waves of anger, you perceived swirls of lust deep in his blue eyes. He nodded his head slowly as he looked away, clicking his tongue as his eyes fell back on you, looking at you one last time before turning around.

You had poked the wrong tiger.

“Get out.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” he rasps, his back fully turned to you. “The show is ‘bout to start, I can’t think straight with ya’ in here.”

“I- okay.“ you knew better than to argue with him.

“But you better be here by the time I get back.”

You nodded your head and silently made your way out, planning on sneaking into the crowd as soon as possible.

Elvis, on the other hand, was set on showing you just how wrong you were.

Elvis tried to not let what happened get to him. He tried to act normal. — The fans carried no guilt, right? So why should he behave any differently with them?

That was his thought process during the first 15 minutes of the show, he acted as his usual self, smiling, singing, swaying his hips at the beat of the music and sending ocasional flirty looks at random women on the audience to make them scream and blush.

He was trying his hardest to avoid looking at you, which you noticed.

He was doing a great work at pretending you weren’t there, but it was a genuine struggle. Elvis was so used to seeing you in the crowd, to finding your eyes with his, that it felt wrong to pretend you didn’t exist.

So, he acted mature and looked at where you stood.

And, remember when he was being decent? All those thoughts of decency got thrown out the window when he saw that fucking guy, Alex, standing next to you and whispering something into your ear— right in the middle of HIS concert.

From there on, there was no way for him to deny his sour mood.

The rest of the concert he spent dancing almost aggressively, singing certain songs with spite, and joking around, though it’s worth to mention his jokes were condescending, sarcastic even.

Anyone who knew him well enough could tell he was mad. And of course, you were the first one to notice. — Hard not to, considering he glared your way several times along the show.

Once the show was half a song from being over, you sneaked away from Alex’s presence and made your way discreetly to the backstage, to where Elvis expected you to be.

You only had to wait for 10 minutes before he walked through the door, sweaty, with heavy breathing, reddened cheeks and messy hair.

He was truly a sight to behold.

His eyes fell on you once, and that was more than enough to coax a smile out of your lips. A satisfied smile, at that. And boy, didn’t that piss him off even further.

He clicked his tongue and silently walked to the door, placing his big hand around the handle to close it shut, to get the privacy you’d certainly need.

“We gotta leave in 5!” A voice called down the hallway, right when Elvis was about to close the door.

Elvis audibly groaned and rolled his head around, closing his eyes and lowering his head as he exhaled heavily. What he wanted to do would definitely take more than 5 minutes.

Right when you were about to ask if he was okay, Elvis spun around to face you, a determined look in his eyes as he took a step closer to where you sat, offering you his hand.

“Let’s go,” he said angrily, not even looking at you but keeping his hand extended to you.

He was being a walking contradiction, and it’s safe to say you were slightly thrown off due to how he was handling the situation, but you knew that the best thing would be to listen to him.

You accepted his hand by taking it, he pulled you up with enough strength to make your body bump against his. He let go of your hand seconds after, but made sure to place it on your lower back as he walked you both to the exit.

People rushed left and right to pick up the scenario utilities, some of them stopped to take a glance at Elvis, but kept to themselves when they took notice of the way the singer’s bad mood— the way he pushed you around being proof of it.

You wanted to at least say goodbye, but Elvis couldn’t have cared less, when he felt you stopping and noticed the group of people in front, he huffed and applied more pressure on your lower back, forcing you to move.

“Goodbye, Elvis!” someone called, it was hard to tell who.

“Yeah.” he grumbled, walking to a chauffeur standing by the exit of the arena. “Could ya’ give me my keys? The Cadillac ones.”

You’d be leaving in his personal car.

The man seemed confused by the change of plans, but handed him his keys with a nod. Elvis grabbed the keys and hurried you both to the parking space where his car was parked.

Once you were there, Elvis opened the passenger’s door for you, offering you his hand to help you get in, you accepted the gesture while looking at him, but Elvis didn’t spare a glance your way.

When you were inside, he shut the door and walked around the car, getting inside and immediately turning on the car, remaining speechless and not staring at you, acting as if you weren’t there.

That’s when you knew you’d screwed up for real. He was MAD, not even playful mad, just plain out mad.

The drive to the hotel would’ve been peaceful under any other circumstances. But at that moment? The tension could be felt in the air, it emanated from Elvis as intensely as his cologne did.

His grip on your thigh was almost a bit too harsh, and you wondered if the tight grip he kept around the steering wheel didn't hurt his fingers— as his knuckles were white from the strain.

Elvis had always been a very talkative person with you, he always had something to say, an anecdote to tell or an idea to share with you. For that very reason, he knew damn well how crazy his silence was driving you.

But you deserved it.

“Elvis.” you finally said, staring at him as he drove silently.

No answer came from him, and if it weren't for the way his jaw clenched, you would have thought he didn't hear you.

“You know I didn’t mean to upset you, right?” your voice was soft and delicate, small even, devoid of the playful nature you’d had earlier. “I was just messing around.”

“Hm.”

“I didn’t mean—“ you continued, or at least attempted to before he interrupted you curtly.

“Ya’ never mean a thing, do ya’ baby?” he rasped out, an ironic tone bleeding through his voice.

Oh, fuck.

“Your hand just happened to land on his arm,” he kept talking, his grip around the wheel getting impossibly tighter. “Must ‘ave been a gust of wind, that made it land there.”

“I—“

“And that little smirk appeared on your lips, heavens know how, ‘cause ya’ didn’t mean any of it, right?” He was being sarcastic, but his voice and tense frame exuded anger.

“I- I don’t,” suddenly you were feeling very nervous, unable to get a proper hold of your words. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Hm.”

You weren’t sure of what worried you more, his short ‘hm’ or just how angry he sounded whenever he spoke.

But even through his act, you could see the real emotion he felt. He was jealous. And despite the situation, it was a good sign. It meant that the cared about you, that he actually gave a damn whether other people were interested in you or not, that the idea of losing you wasn’t of his liking.

Once at his place, the path to his bedroom was familiar to you, so much so that there was no need to speak or even look at each other, this was destined to end in one place, and one place only.

In his bedroom, Elvis latched the door shut, and still with his back to you, pressed his forehead against the door, and sighed heavily, as if he was trying to relax.

The thought that he might feel sick crossed your mind, after all, the amounts of adrenaline he dealt with after concerts were immense.

And as if he had read your mind, Elvis straightened up and turned to you, looking at you as if you were the only thing in the universe. You felt small under his gaze, and rightfully so.

“I’m so done with this lil game of yours, mama,” he assured you, both hands on his hips to enhance his attitude. “I ain’t playin’ no more.”

“What?” you questioned, genuinely concerned. What if he decided that enough is enough and decided to break things up?

“Get on that bed, right now.” he barked the order at you, nodding his head to the king side bed behind you.

He didn’t have to tell you twice, with your eyes still on him, you took a couple of steps back and took a seat on the edge of the bed. “Now what?”

“Imma show you how I’ve owned ya’ since the first time I had ya’.”

He sounded completely sure of his words, the dark look in his eyes was all you needed to know he meant it. Without noticing, you pressed your thighs together, trying to ease the tension.

It only took a couple of long steps for Elvis to be in front of you. Without another word, he leaned in and pressed his lips against yours, it wasn't a caress or a sweet gesture, his lips moved against yours with desperation, both of his hands were placed at your sides, trapping you between the bed and his body.

With one arm around your torso, Elvis moved you higher on the bed, his body following yours immediately, his lips still against yours.

His hands balled up your dress, trying to get it out of the way without having to separate from you, eventually, he got fed up and ripped the fabric off your body, tearing apart the dress that had started it all.

He slid his tongue inside your mouth, as he opened the clasp of your bra (which was located between your breasts), and threw the clothing piece away.

You fell back to the bed, and he followed suit. Immediately, you felt him hard against your thigh and thought you’d have it your way, however, his lips began to move down to your neck, to your breasts where he sucked and licked till you begged him to do something else, and continued going down and down, sliding your underwear down your legs on his way down, until his head was between your thighs, his face inches away from your pussy.

"I wanna taste ya’." he said, his fingers teasing the sensitive area, brushing against your clit and caressing near your entrance.

"Fuck Elvis, please," you begged and he huffed. "Just fuck me already."

That was tempting enough, but now that he had the upper hand of the teasing game, Elvis found it hard to let go.

"I want to eat you out," he said, caressing your thighs softly to relax you. "you're not gonna turn down what I give you, are you? You’re smarter than that.”

Fuck, that got you.

You opened your legs even more so he'd have better access, and you felt his smirk against your skin, as he placed a little kiss in the inside of your thigh.

"That’s what I thought." he teased, always with his need to have the last word.

He wrapped both arms around your thighs to keep them open and lowered his head, doing his thing.

His lips concentrated on your clit, sucking and circling it with his tongue, making you let out a moan you were ashamed of, because of how ridiculously loud it had been.

He let go one of your legs and placed it over his shoulder, using his free hand to slide it in between your legs and all the way inside you, while keeping his relentless pace with his tongue.

His fingers buried inside you rhythmically, they curled against your sweet spot right when he sucked harshly on your clit, and his tongue would twirl around as his fingers reached deep.

The sounds you let out, the way you pulled on his hair and clenched around his fingers were clear signals that you were about to cum, so what if he just...

He pulled out his fingers and removed his head from between your thighs, having the perfect view of your face, realizing that he'd denied you an orgasm.

"Elvis!"

"What is it, doll?" he asked innocently, licking his fingers, making your eyes roll to the back of your head in both annoyance and need.

"Just take me..."

“Hm,” he pretended to think about it, before plunging two fingers back inside you, continuing with his ministrations as if he hadn’t stopped at all.

He was doing everything he knew drove you insane. He curled his fingers in the right spot, kept the perfect speed and went so deep that his knuckles would disappear, his fingers coated in your wetness easing the work for him.

“See how well I know ya’?” he questioned, an undeniable cocky tone in his voice, his eyes drinking up on the sight of you, moaning desperately, arching your back as you tried your best to ride his fingers, but to no avail.

You could barely understand what he was saying, so lost in the pleasure, the ecstasy being almost a little too much.

“I know that if I curl my fingers here,” he emphasized his words by curling his fingers inside your pussy, the tips of his fingers pressing on your spot. “and keep ‘em there, you’ll be cumming all over my hand.”

He wasn’t wrong. You felt your release getting closer with every second that passed, and his cocky attitude was only riling you up.

“Please.” you begged, voice raspy after moaning so much.

“Now you’re being nice,” he had a shit-eating smile plastered on his face, a shame you were to fucked out to see it. “ain’t that cute?”

“Please, Elvis,” you begged, saying his name in the perfect pitch to make his dick twitch inside his pants. “I’m gonna cum.”

“Nah, that ain’t gonna happen.” he shook his head, stilling his fingers inside you.

“What?” your eyes widened as you looked at him in disbelief.

“The only way you’re gettin’ off tonite is around my cock,” he assured, pulling his fingers out of your wet pussy with ease. “Do you deserve it, tho?”

“Elvis, I’m sorry… I—“ you didn’t know what else to say, the absence of his fingers inside you being almost painful. “Please.”

He couldn't help but smirk, he had you completely under his control, had you begging and pleading for him, and that made him harder than he already was.

He began to unbuckle his belt slowly, letting the buckle rattle as it opened, slowly pulling the belt out of the loops as he stared at you, devouring your naked body with his gaze.

“Ya’ should consider yourself lucky I won’t have it any other way,” Elvis sighed, pulling down his pants and freeing his dick, which slapped his lower abdomen right after. “It’s my cock or nothing.”

That was a way to ask for permission, he wanted to make sure you wanted this to happen, because despite of how turned on he was, he wanted to be certain you desired him.

You nodded your head repeatedly, spreading your legs open for him, an open invitation for him to delve in. So he did.

A relieved moan left your lips when Elvis buried himself inside you, slipping in easily but still managing to stretch you out deliciously, as if it were the first time.

“You wanna be a good girl for me?” he asked right into your ear, giving you some seconds to adjust to his size.

“Yes, yes, just for you.”

“Then you’re gonna cum when I tell ya’ to.”

For a solid two seconds, you thought you would be able to meet the challenge - however, Elvis started to thrust and all your composure went to shit.

His eyes found yours as he took on a fast, hard, deep pace, the eye contact made you shudder, and a satisfied grin formed on his lips as his hips moved against yours- he felt and looked so good… you tightened your walls around him, causing him to let out an almost feral sound.

His arms caged you against the bed, his lips pressed against the skin of your neck and his pace fastened, your legs were over his thighs, so all he had to do to get a new angle, was to wrap your legs around his waist and push up.

Despite the fact that it was supposed to be some sort of punishment for you, Elvis was doing every single thing he knew drove you insane, getting his own pleasure by bringing yours to your body with every thrust of his hips.

“Such pretty noises you're making for me… am I making ya’ feel good?” Elvis didn't know where he got the control to keep teasing you, since his cock was so deep inside you that its outline surely bulged in your stomach.

“Y-yes, fuck, Elvis, ah-“ you couldn’t even speak properly.

“That’s right, right there, isn’t it?” he said with a satisfied smirk, as his hips thrust at a certain angle that made the tip of his dick make contact with your g-spot. “I am, only I can make ya feel this way, baby.”

“Oh my- yeah, yeah.” you nodded clumsily, probably not listening to a single word he said. And while it was an ego-booster to know he was fucking you so damn good you could barely speak, Elvis wanted you, needed you, to listen.

“Oh, you're enjoying this, aren't ya’?” he slowed his thrusts down to almost nothing, he wanted you to answer properly. “You like when I’m jealous?”

“If you keep fucking me like this,” you mumble, voice raspy as Elvis slows down to a stop. “I’m gonna love it.”

He wanted to be mad. You were making him jealous on purpose, even though you knew how much he hated it— yet couldn't deny your brattiness made him so horny, he wanted to fuck it out of you.

So he did, picking up his pace again, making your eyes roll to the back of your head, his lips sucking on the skin below your ear, before kissing your jaw and finally your lips.

“You’re mine, all fuckin mine,” he mumbled over your lips, his cock fucking you like never before, going deeper than ever. “My Y/N.”

“All yours,” you manage to say, your eyes snapping shut as your walls begin to clench around his cock, tighter every time. “always was.”

That’s all he needed to hear.

His pace changed, now his hips moved with a sole purpose. Making you come.

Not too long after, Elvis felt you clenching around him again, your walls tightening around his dick repeatedly, your moans had gotten high-pitched, and he was pretty sure he could feel your nails scratching the hell out of his back.

Knowing you wouldn't be able to resist much longer, Elvis cupped your face in his hand, turning your face so he could look you directly in the eye as he said it.

“Cum for me angel, c’mon.”

And as if your body was trained to listen to his commands, your orgasm came instantly, the wave of pleasure being so intense that your eyes rolled, your back arched and your thighs pressed against his body, your heels pushing against his lower back to drive him deeper inside you, if possible.

Being so deep inside you while you climaxed did it for him, and he shortly followed, spilling inside you as his hips stuttered in between thrusts.

To say you were exhausted was to underestimate the situation, Elvis fell on top of you, as you both caught your breath. He wanted to stay there forever, but it wasn't hygienic.

You were still too lost in the after high to notice he had stood up and walked to the bathroom, and it wasn't until you felt the damp towel between your legs that you reacted with a little hiss, the material of the soft towel making contact with your sensitive pussy.

Neither of you said anything. You were falling asleep, while Elvis thought about how to structure his statement without causing another fight.

Once you were clean, Elvis discarded the towel and walked back to bed, lying down next to you, the sheets felt warm and slightly damp with sweat, but he ignored it, he had more important things to concentrate on.

Your breathing was slowing down, he knew that if he wanted to say something, he would have to say it fast, so he forced himself to speak before it was too late.

“You do know this is so much more than just sex for me, don’t ya?” his voice, unusually small, asked as his eyes focused on the dark ceiling.

“I hope so,” You yawned, rolling your body on the bed to get closer to him, your head pressed against his arm, finding a way to cuddle against it. “Because it sure is for me.”

You were so sleepy, it was hard to know if you were even aware of what you were saying— regardless, Elvis was happy, he couldn’t stop the smile that took over his lips.

“Good,” he grunted and wrapped his arm around you, pulling your body closer so you could rest your head on his chest. “‘Cause I ain’t letting you go.”

[blainesebastian]

i got you (ccg universe)

words: 2,757 ship: austin butler x reader summary: (anon request): would loooove to read your take on reader x protective austin. notes: this is part of the ‘coffee cart girl’ universe but can be read alone. masterlist on my sidebar! :)  warnings: some uncomfortable situations  tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff

Despite the Elvis filming ending, that does not mean life completely settles down. There are interviews, events, dinners, things Austin is automatically invited to and included on and…by being his girlfriend, it makes you his continuous plus-one. And while that’s definitely something to get used to, you don’t exactly hate the vibe that the title carries whatsoever. You don’t go to everything but it’s nice to be included? Thought of—seen. There’s a space slowly being carved in Austin’s life where you can definitely fit. Especially with this whole movie script thing happening for yourself, you’re both figuring out how to manage your lives again, things are exploding in a good way…but it doesn’t mean it’s not a bit chaotic.

Leaving an audition building, you take in a deep breath as you pull your phone out of your coat pocket, your text message thread with Austin still open. You tap on his profile picture to call him, walking slowly down the street as the line trills. A soft smile tugs the corners of your mouth as he answers,

“’Lo?”

Your face pulls together in a wince, you didn’t realize how late it was, “Shit did I wake you?”

He clears his throat and you can picture him shaking his head with that boyish look he has, half asleep, scrubbing his fingers through his hair. It’s adorable to think about for sure,

“No, I was just dozin’.” And that’s a complete lie but okay, “How’d it go?”

You hum, your head tipping back slightly towards the sky as your boots click on the pavement, “It was incredible—I mean, nerve wracking at the same time? You’re essentially finding a person to represent your thoughts and words and just…everything you’ve put into characters and their development together,”

You shake your head because you’re rambling. Austin’s obviously been through the interview process before and the auditions that come after that. He knows exactly what you’re talking about…and yet, it’s so different coming from your end. Writing a script, watching people actually want to fill the role. You’ve got a great producer who loves your work, an even better boyfriend who believes in you—it’s just hard to imagine that it’s all coming down to actually happening.

A movie of your script. Never would have thought that when you decided to run coffee on the set of Elvis. You know you’re lucky and that Austin helped a lot when it came to editing the script and reaching out to someone you could share your work with but…you’re also trying to lean into something he’s told you countless times: you deserve it.

“It’s surreal,” You finish with a laugh and Austin hums in response, you can hear the smile in the tone of his voice without even having to see him.

“M’proud of you.”

You smile, your stomach fluttering at the sentiment. You can’t wait to come home to him, crawl into bed, allowing him to draw you close and into a kiss. Perfect way to end a wonderful day. “Thank you.” It’s almost a whisper, something so genuine and intimate that it’s difficult to share outloud over the phone.

“I’ll be there in about ten, okay?”

Frowning and slowly coming to a stop, you shake your head, “Austin, I’m practically to the subway—you don’t have to pick me up.”

“Well walk back,” There’s some shuffling on his end of the phone, most likely making sure he has everything including a wallet and car keys, “It’s late Y/N, I don’t want you takin’ the subway.”

There’s this double-edged sword in which you want to tell Austin you’ve been taking the subway since you were a teenager and that it’s not a big deal—by the time he makes it down here to pick you up, you’d be home already. At the same time, your heart warms at the protective gesture.

Sighing dramatically, you turn to face the direction you just came from. “You want me to walk back?”

You can hear the ghost of a smile in his voice, “I want you to walk back,” He confirms, “We can find an ice cream shop still open on the way home—or grab a late-night pizza, whatever you want.”

Raising your eyebrows, you begin wandering back towards the audition building, switching your phone from one ear to the other, “Are you bribing me?”

“Definitely.”

A soft, amused laugh leaves your lips, “See you soon.” Before you end the call.

Regardless that it’s been a long day and you just want to be home, you’re touched by the fact that even though you woke Austin up and he has an equally busy day tomorrow to get rest for, he wants to make sure you’re safe. A smile tugs the corners of your mouth, shaking your head as you look down at your phone and tap the ‘Find a Friend’ app—he’s already on his way. And okay, you definitely wouldn’t say no to pizza, he knows you.

It doesn’t take long before you’re lingering outside the audition building, tipping your head back to look up at the structure. You still can’t believe all of this is happening—the fact that you not only wrote something that other people are compelled by but that it’s going to be filmed. And honestly? you’re not expecting some sort of box-office hit, you’re just honored that it’ll be in theaters and seen.

Austin’s support has been everything. That’s what really matters to you.

You tug on the handle of the building but it’s locked, which you assumed, so you lean against the brick and check your phone again. Eight minutes out. Humming to yourself, you look through social media (briefly, that’s still not something you’re used to) before putting your phone away. The street is pretty empty for the most part, except there’s this guy walking down across the way. Business suit, tall, blonde. Something inside of you makes you avert your eyes, one of those innate things women sometimes learn automatically when it’s dark and you’re alone in public. The only thing that makes you look up is the sound of footsteps getting closer.

This guy is crossing the street. You swallow, straightening your shoulders, trying not to look directly at him but he’s approaching you,

“Excuse me, you know where Grand Street is?”

Clearing your throat, you lean up off the building slightly, “Uh, I think it’s down two blocks.” You motion with your arm in the other direction, where he’s come from, which…doesn’t make you feel any easier.

He hums and nods, looking down the street and then back at you. His eyes definitely sweep over your form. “Waiting for an Uber?”

There’s this chill that dips into your stomach from the question alone, “Boyfriend. He’ll be here any minute.”

He smiles and there’s this moment where you think he might back off but he takes a step into your personal space, which causes you to take a step back right into the audition building. “I could wait with you; this isn’t the best area to be alone.”

You have no idea what possesses people to think like this and you can’t help but wonder what kind of man he is—does he have a family? Siblings? Did he happen upon you and see you alone and figured he could get away with something? Or was he out scoping the area just looking for someone he could harass? Either way, panic surges in your bloodstream. You attempt to get your phone out and walk away,

“He’s actually around the corner, goodnight.”

Before you can even take a step in the other direction, he grabs your shoulder, hard, and forces you against the brick which digs into your back. Your phone fumbles right out of your hand and clatters to the sidewalk. The thing is, you’ve taken self-defense classes before—you know how to kick, to throw a punch, what to do if someone pins you, and yet you feel utterly defenseless. Everything you’ve learned right out the window.

“You know, I was nothing but nice.” This guy snaps, suddenly all the supposed charm washed away from his voice.

There’s an attempt to push him away but he’s taller, stronger, can more easily manipulate your body against the brick wall. A strangled cry leaves your throat and all you can think about is the fact that he hasn’t hit you yet because one punch will knock you out, you know it. And Austin, he floods your senses in such a way that you almost cry out for him.

“Stop!” You screech, pulling at his suit and manage to rip a button off.

“You bitch, that was expensive.” He squeezes your arms so hard, definitely will be bruises, a choked cry escaping your throat as his leg slips in-between yours, forcing your knees apart.

His hand is moving and you panic, start clawing at him, anything you can—

A screech of car tires, suddenly the weight is gone, he’s pulled back from you. You can barely see through your teary blurred vision even though instinctively you know exactly who it is. Austin throws a punch, something hard that cracks, and the guy in the suit stumbles to the pavement.

“Get the fuck out of here.” Austin snaps, “Now.”

There’s a brief moment where the guy considers the opposite but he takes one look at you, spits blood from his mouth onto the pavement, and turns to briskly walk away.

Austin is quick to turn towards you, his complete demeanor changing as he gently touches your shoulders, “Hey look at me,” He cups your chin, running his thumb along your cheek, “You okay?”

The question is so simple and yet when you look up into those blue eyes of his you just burst into tears, the dam breaks wide open. There are the remnants of fear there but also just complete relief that he’s here, that you’re okay. Austin wraps his arms around you, drawing you into his chest and holding you as tight as he can without hurting you. The force of you clutching onto him almost knocks him a step back and he takes a deep breath in through his nose.

“Shh,” He whispers, stroking through your hair, “C’mon, let’s get you home.”

Pressing a kiss to your hairline, he draws back just enough to help you walk to the car.

--

The car ride and walk into the apartment is quiet, Austin doesn’t try to ask questions or pry, just allowing you to soak into your thoughts and feel whatever you’re feeling. You appreciate it but at the same time, you almost wish he’d distract you. You know you’re teetering this line of…feeling so ridiculous and ashamed for allowing this thing to happen to you, especially since you’d almost boasted about being able to take the subway without any issues, and on the other hand—it could have been so much worse? So why are you so shaken up?

Yet at the same time, you understand that…stupid and pointless shit like this happens to women all the time and you can own your emotions—that you’re scared, still trembling, trying not to cry anymore. You shed your shoes and your jacket, feet padding against the tile as you make your way to the bathroom. There’s a large part of you that wants to close the door, hide, shut Austin out but you don’t. Can’t. Running a hand over your face, you glance at yourself in the mirror—a mess, bloodshot eyes, cheeks flushed, hair a little mussed. Grabbing a washcloth, you run it under warm water before washing your face, Austin leaning against the bathroom doorjamb, soft eyes on you.

“I don’t need to hear ‘I told you so’.” You mumble, sniffling. You toss the washcloth to the side where the hamper is and you can feel rather than see Austin tense up because,

“Y/N, you know I’d never say that.” He gently reaches for your arm, fingers wrapping around your wrist. You hate that you wince, a kneejerk reaction moreso than pain.

Swallowing you turn towards him, not quite looking into his eyes, instead reaching for the fabric of his shirt to play with between your fingers. A grounding point for yourself—you’re unsure if you want to shower or just…crawl directly into bed and not get out for a little while. Maybe both.

Austin runs his hands along your arms, carefully, moving to tug your shirt over your head. You don’t protest, allowing him to set the fabric aside on the sink. You’re not looking in the mirror, but instead at your boyfriend’s face, and you can tell with the hardness like ice in the blue of his eyes and the tightness of his jaw that you must be beginning to bruise.

“Doesn’t hurt too bad,” You lie and Austin shakes his head, looking like he could hit that guy all over again.

Speaking of, you pick up one of his hands and run your thumb along the knuckles, pressing a kiss right above them. Nothing a warm washcloth won’t fix and then an icepack overnight. You have a feeling that his knuckles are the least of Austin’s concerns.

There are a few silent moments shared here, Austin picking up another washcloth and soaking it in cool water to ghost over the red marks on your arms and you decide a shower can come tomorrow, you just want to sleep. The whole late-night pizza thing kinda got derailed anyways and your stomach is in knots.

Putting lotion on afterwards, Austin brings you in one of his t-shirts to change into from the bedroom, lingering in a way that’s comforting. You change your clothes, taking your bra off and sliding the soft material of the shirt up and over your head. You swallow, pulling your hair out from underneath the fabric before rubbing the back of your neck.

“I just stood there.” You blurt out and his eyebrows draw together.

“Hmm?”

“Like I—” You shake your head, eyes flickering up to Austin’s, “I’ve taken self-defense classes and if you hadn’t been there,” Or had been five minutes later, “I just stood there.”

“Hey,” Austin’s voice is concerned and warm, reaching for you with it along with his hands, “It’s not your fault, alright?” A choked sound leaves your lips that sounds a little bit like a laugh because how can you not feel responsible for that? Even though deep down you know Austin’s right. Those classes are never quite like the real thing happening to you.

Austin breathes out, his hands moving to cup your cheeks. He runs his thumbs along your cheekbones, leaning down to press several kisses along your face—jawline, nose, forehead, cheeks, before pulling you close. His arms wrap around your shoulders, creating a cage against his body. You can’t help but close your eyes, breathing in the comforting scent you associate with him—sandalwood and something distinctly Austin.

“I got you,” He says against the shell of your ear, pressing another kiss directly below.

You nod your head, squeezing him, allowing yourself to slip into the warm safety of his embrace.

--

When nightmares visit you that night, and they’re worse than you can possibly imagine, Austin utters the same thing. You’re pulling at the sheets as you twist and turn, a small whimper leaving your lips as Austin wakes up and gently touches your side—

Jerking awake, you squirm away from his touch, breathing heavily in the dark, fingers dragging the sheets into your fists,

“Y/N, just a nightmare,” He murmurs, voice caked with sleep. There’s a distant feeling of guilt from waking him but right now you’re just trying to get your heartbeat to stop hammering in your ears. Running your hands over your face, you turn to face him, Austin’s hands running through your hair to pull it away from your skin.

“Just a nightmare.” Austin whispers, drawing you close with a squeeze of your hip.

Swallowing you nod, wiping underneath your right eye where one tear falls. You allow yourself to be drawn closer, fitting against his chest, under his chin. Your eyes fall closed with a sniffle, arm stretching around his slim waist and breathing him in, settling yourself.

“I got you.” He assures again, drawing circles into your back, breath warm along the shell of your ear. You memorize the calm pattern of his breathing, helping you with your own.

You believe him and it eventually lulls you back to sleep.

--

If ya’ll can’t tell by now, I  really love writing hurt/comfort lmao hope you enjoyed! :) thanks for reading.

[zilabee]

- Ringo teasing Glyn about not getting to bed last night <3

George: Do you know about that? They collect all nice-looking things and make a garden around where they are, just with all the groovy things they find. It's great.

- George literally checking if Ringo even knows what an octopus's garden is. I love that he does a bit of work on it, and then immediately tries to get it to resolve! Everything must resolve. Even octopuses. It's such a beautiful happiness of a song. I love George M coming to smile at it. I love John wandering in in his sailor's hat. <3

- Oh my god everyone is so lovely with Heather today, maybe it would be actually nice if they just went to live in a commune and raised children together. Somewhere sunshine and easy.

- I love that John wants Paul to do 'that old gospel ending that Elvis did', and gets moody that Paul ignores him, and then sings it softly right up and at him.

- Paul on drums while Ringo's sitting right there next to him... We don't get to see how that came about so I'm going to assume it was fine.

- I hope Heather's little wrinkled face is a genuine reaction shot to Yoko's singing, because I think it's lovely how interested and confused by it she looks. I love that a bit later she goes and sits with John and Yoko because they're on the floor, and then does some Yoko style singing with them. I think it's so freeing and beautiful for her, and I just think all girls should see women make noise that way. And John incorporating her into the song, and this face when she sees someone watching:

- EVERYTHING SHOULD BE SONGVID. FOR ALWAYS EVER MORE. PLEASE THANK YOU.

- John and Yoko dancing, GM with a maraca, Paul chucking Heather at the ceiling, Mal having a little dance! SO LOVELY.

Heather: Mr Sock... Mr Sock? Mr Sock? Glyn: Er yes, Mrs Sock.

- GM trying to make them rehearse new songs. Beatles thinking they maybe just won't though.

- I love when Paul says he might add strings to Long and Winding Road, and GM teases them about how they've been on about doing things SIMPLE and in ONE TAKE and then John's constantly 'we can just cheat there' and Paul's constantly 'well we'll add orchestras obviously!'

- Paul feeling every bit of Billy's playing. - Billy feeling every bit of Paul's delight.

John: Very strong dream. We both dreamt about it... Amazing. Different dreams, you know. I thought you must have been there. I mean, I was touching you. George: Was it sexually oriented? Paul: Oh, you know, John, don't worry about it. John: There's nothing to worry about.

ANSWER THE QUESTION, JOHN.

[bcofl0ve]

on nail biting and multiverse theory

austin x priscilla actress!reader | can be read as part of my series but it doesn’t have to be! | TW: infidelity, slight daddy kink dynamics if you squint, sexual overtones/implications. and it is implied that reader is at one point in an abusive relationship (NOT!!! with austin). no graphic abuse is described in detail, but the implication of some physical violence is there. fic is not worth your mental health, pls put that first ❤️

the first time austin noticed it he didn’t say anything. the second time you were sitting next to him in bed- moreso curled into his side than sitting really.

you trusted him more than anyone, but that didn’t mean you were immune to feeling like you’d been hit by a truck after a particularly churlish scene in bed. on this particular night the come down was making you lightheaded- even as austin cooed into your ear about how good you were for him, stroking through your hair.

“sorry, sorry,” you mumbled, hating that you sounded so choked up. this hormone drop really was something.

“sorry, sorry,” you mumbled, hating that you sounded so choked up. this hormone drop really was something.

austin only shook his head, bringing your hand up to press his lips to your knuckles. “nothing to be sorry about sweetie- just don’t want you messing up your pretty nails. want you to talk to me if something’s makin’ you anxious,”

the elvis drawl was thick- but it was a drawl you’d found comforting since you started. well. whatever this was.

and if you purposely let yourself cave to the impulse bite your nails around him because of how soft his voice was as he took your hand in his… that was your own secret.

- - -

but time can change so much and change it did. filming ended, you broke up- for a few reasons, austin found kaia. and 5 months later right before cannes you found one of the memphis mafia extras that was tagging along for press since his sister was a producer.

he had almost 15 years on you, more than double the age gap with austin. but you were a big girl- an adult after all. and he was attractive, a sweet talker.

a less than sweet person genuinely, you learned a little too late.

-

things went from bad to worse before you could run, so you didn’t. you remained firmly planted at his side, and were standing there when your nails found the gap between your teeth for the first time in a few months.

you barley slept the night before, and your boyfriend (a label that he tacked on rather quickly- 4 days to be exact), gave you something with your morning coffee that was supposed to perk you up. but it wasn’t working yet.

“hey, quit it.” came at the same time as his hand knocked into your wrist, grabbing it roughly away before dropping your arm unceremoniously at your side. “are you three years old?”

it wasn't the first time he'd put his hands on you, but it was the first time he'd done with it other people around- everyone milling in the lobby as you waited to have pre-press junket morning brief with baz.

your chest tightened as you glanced around to see if anyone had noticed. and austin was occupied with kaia, but when your eyes fell to luke bracey he was squinting, looking between you and the man standing at your side skeptically.

you looked away.

-

completely avoiding austin was objectively impossible. you did interviews together and it was fun, a nice distraction from the boyfriend- until he started to watch them back under a microscope.

"that's how austin looks at everyone- he has a girlfriend, incase you somehow managed to miss them shoving their tongues down each other's throats every hour of the day." you bit back after a partically snide comment. something you regretted just as quickly as the words left your mouth.

but you tempered your demeanor during the interviews anyways. and if austin noticed he didn’t bring it up. not that you were really talking much outside of ‘work’ anyways. not until memphis.

-

your stomach was in knots from the second the jet touched down- something about being in tennessee just feeling wrong.

you overheard austin and baz talking as you filed off onto the tarmac to the cars- austin making a quip about how he had a feeling being at graceland was going to make his head spin. and that he was a little glad kaia didn't tag along for this press stop because explaining all the “complicated shit” he was feeling about memphis to her would make him sound like he'd lost his mind.

you didn't think he was losing it though, not when you felt the same way.

baz had said once as the movie was wrapping up that you and austin were always going to know each other, understand each other, in a way no one else did. the remark something he said when you were tucked into his side at a 'we're almost done with this thing' cast party. remembering it now, the remark and when things were so different between the two of you, made you nauseous.

that nausea, unfortunately, lingered as the day went on.

the presley family was welcoming, and most everyone had brought family members to memphis what with the bbq get together. so there were kids weaving between people's legs, there was laughter in the air, and you almost felt guilty for feeling so out of order.

you set out to find a bathroom to take a breather in, hearing austin's voice as you crossed through the main hall.

"i broke up with my wife on these steps,"

he was kidding, kinda, but baz seemed to see through it the same way you did. you clocked a little shake of his head as he looked at austin gently. "it's just acting aust,"

if either of them saw you crossing through they didn't say anything and you found the single occupancy bathroom you'd been looking for, taking a breath as you shut the door behind you- realizing absentmindedly you hadn't had a moment alone to catch your breath for the entire press tour thus far.

not when the thorn in your side that was your boyfriend barley let you out of his sight. you'd only managed to sneak off like you did because he was thoroughly distracted by chasing his nephew around the yard. and you couldn't watch it- couldn't let yourself be jealous of a three year old watching his uncle be kinder to him that he ever was to you.

lost in your thoughts, you nearly screamed when you felt yourself being jolted by the door you had your back against swinging open, realizing a few minutes too late you'd forgotten to lock it.

your breath caught in your throat when you turned around and saw who it was. austin.

"shit, 'm sorry,"

his face was flushed as he spoke, tongue swiping over his bottom lip like it had a way of doing when he was nervous.

you took a few steps back, glancing behind austin- your heart hammering half expecting your boyfriend to be right behind him.

he wasn't.

"my fault, i didn't lock it," you supplied, biting the inside of your cheek. "and this really could've been more awkward all things considered- i just came in here to get away from all the-"

"chaos?" austin cut in mid ramble, a light chuckle leaving him. "i was actually coming to do the same thing, feel bad for not having fun but it's just so, weird feels harsh. but i don't know."

the rational part of your mind was screaming at you to give a little laugh, duck past him and end this before someone came around the corner and saw the two of you in the bathroom together.

but you couldn't remember the last time you'd talked without mics clipped to your shirts. and you’d missed him, terribly. you could admit that much too yourself.

"close the door?" flew out of your mouth before you could think better of it, and austin raised an eyebrow- but listened without hesitation, shutting it slowly and turning the lock as he stepped further into the room.

the room felt smaller with the door closed, the concern in austin's eyes as he got a good luck at you making your stomach sink.

"how are you doin'?" he asked slowly, and you blinked at the ceiling.

"you mean with being in memphis?"

it was a question you already knew the answer to, but acting a little oblivious was worth a shot anyways, you thought.

"you've been biting your nails again. noticed when we were doin’ the interviews outside." austin said, gesturing a little at where your arms were folded across your body. "remember you tellin' me it was an anxious tic.”

of course he remembered, you thought, trying to will away the feeling of your eyes stinging with tears.

"i've never done a press tour like this,"

"or had a piece of shit boyfriend like the one you have now?"

to austin's credit he looked like he regretted that within seconds of it flying out, and your eyes widening.

you found the fact that he had noticed something was wrong comforting, and yet it made your gut twist all the same.

"he's a hothead, but he's working on it." you said slowly. which earned you an empathetic "c’mon, y/n."

you could see austin's hands fidgeting as you looked at your feet, like he wanted to reach for you but was holding back,

"if you tell baz what's going on ya’ never have to deal with that prick again. you deserve better, a lot better, if you needed to hear that."

forcing your chin up to look at him, you tried to force yourself to believe the words coming out of his mouth. you wanted to- you wanted to think you deserved better than your current situation.

but at one point you thought you deserved austin, and you'd evidently been wrong about that.

it was a thought that made your chest hurt to process when he was looking at you with so much love in concern. austin was a fixer, something he likened to his parents divorce after a few too many drinks once in queensland.

but he couldn't fix this. something he appeared to be unhappy with.

"i did," you said quietly, not realizing how choked you really were until you heard how watery your voice sounded. when you hiccupped you felt a few tears rolling down your cheeks, sucking in a breath when you felt the pad of austin's thumb wiping them away.

he was holding your face so tenderly, mumbling something about he hated seeing you upset, about how it was hard for him not to just go to baz himself about what was going on. that luke had mentioned it to him in passing but they both knew they couldn't.

and it was comforting, until your vision focused enough to realize just how close austin was to your face, his hand still cupping your cheek.

"austin," you swallowed- and the way his eyes crossed over your face to your mouth should've sent you reeling backwards.

but it didn't, and you tilted your head at the same time he angled his down, your mouths colliding in the middle.

the way austin kissed you was far removed from the way you'd been kissed for the past few weeks, and almost exactly the way remembered. almost because he was being excessively gentler than he was back then.

the care in that choice wasn't lost on you.

nor was the fact that while his girlfriend was across the country, your boyfriend was probably going to be looking for you any second now. but here in the bathroom you had him, you had some sense of convoluted security, and stepping back out into real life was something you found yourself wanting to delay for as long as you could.

there was an apology on austin's tongue when he yanked back and you shook your head in his hand that he still hadn't pulled away. his thumb rubbed circles on your jaw, and your bit the inside of your cheek before you spoke.

"five minutes," you said, trying not to let your voice shake. "five minutes, and we can just pretend this never happened.”

austin seemed surprised by the sentiment, but gave you a little nod as he leaned back in.

he only pulled back after a a minute to glance between you and the bathroom sink counter behind you, waiting until your arms found their way around his neck to hoist you up onto it.

the gentleness continued to wade into being excessive, not that you minded. not when it was austin. austin cooing over how much he missed you as he slid a hand up your dress at snail pace, making sure you were okay about every eight seconds. austin kissing the side of your head when you whined into his neck, feeling a little embarrassed over how tightly you were clinging to him. austin whispering “i gotcha honey,”- making you feel like maybe you were deserving of being treated kindly. that you weren’t undeserving of that because you’d screwed up royally in a past life or something.

but there was no way to make five minutes any longer than 300 seconds. or avoid the guilt you saw lingering in his expression as he helped you pull your dress down, trying to smooth the wrinkles out of his own clothes.

“aus,” you said and he looked at you hesitantly, fidgeting with his rings. “this didn’t happen, okay?”

“i meant what i said.“ he spat out, inhaling. “you deserve better and i uh,” he continued, tripping over his words as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “i wish better could be me. really y/n, i do.”

it was his turn to sound choked up, and you found your eyes falling away from his- unable to bear the possibility you’d see tears there.

“i know,” you said, swallowing the lump in your throat as you rolled your shoulders back and lifted your gaze just a little. “but maybe in another life, huh?”

“wouldn’t that be nice.”

xxx

[sagesolsticewrites]

Drawl | Austin Butler x reader

Austin needs some help getting back to himself after Elvis. Luckily, his best friend is here to help him out!

Request from Anonymous: Hi! Love your writing. I was wondering if I could get an Austin story. He said he had an identity crisis after wrapping Elvis, and you can still hear Elvis when he talks even now. I was wondering if you could write something cute about a childhood friend helping him find himself again and in the process he realizes how much she loves him and that he loves her too.

a/n: so sorry I haven’t posted much y’all! I’m in college and my summer class started last week so I’ve been a little busy, but I promise I’m working on requests! Hopefully this and Reunion Part Two tomorrow will be enough to hold you over while I get more writing done!

Word count: 2k

Warnings: a couple swear words, inaccuracies about California, I think that's it? As always, please let me know if I missed anything!

Hugest of shoutouts to @austin-butlers-gf for helping me with this 🤍

Please like/rb if you enjoyed! 🤍

“A grande latte, and could I get that with oatmilk please?” Austin drawls as he places his order directly after you. It had been about a month since his return from the Elvis press run and you were out for your regular coffee-and-catch-up session. It was fun seeing your childhood friend become a superstar, but it was nice to have a little time to yourselves now that he was back home.

Your mouth twitches up in an attempt to hide your laugh as he places his order, and he raises an eyebrow as you make your way over to a table.

“What?” he asks with a smile.

“Nothin’, Mr. Presley,” you tease as you slide into your usual spot by the window.

He groans, sounding genuinely upset as he slides into the seat across from you, “It happened again, didn’t it?”

Your teasing smile slowly morphs into a concerned frown as you see his reaction.

“Hey, I was just teasing—“

He shakes his head, “No, I know it’s just… I pretty much lived and breathed as Elvis for over two years, and I was hoping to just get back to being Austin once it was over, but,” he sighs, running his hand over his face, “it’s not as easy as I thought it’d be.”

“Aus, you devoted so much of yourself to that role— and it shows in your performance, obviously, you were incredible— but you’re not gonna be able to snap back to being Austin just like that.”

You grin as a plan starts forming in your head.

“Uh oh,” Austin jokes, “that smile’s never a good sign.”

“I have an idea for how we can…” you search for the right words, “speed up the process of getting you back to being you.”

“Oh?” he asks with an intrigued smile, “And what would that be? It’s not gonna be like that plan you had to sneak a cat into your room because your mom wouldn’t let you have one, is it? Because if I remember correctly, that didn’t exactly end well.”

“Excuse me, that plan would’ve gone perfectly if I’d been able to keep Mittens quiet for longer than two minutes,” you say with a mock-offended gasp. “Besides, this is much better than that one.” You smile, “We’re gonna do all the things we did as kids. Disneyland, Knott’s Berry Farm, going to that one spot in the woods that you forced me to go to all the time so I could listen to you read the Pulp Fiction script out loud which, by the way, was an amazingly inappropriate script to read—“

“Oh come on,” he interrupts, “It might’ve been inappropriate but that script was crucial to molding my acting skills. And look at where it got me.” he teases with a self-satisfied smile.

“There he is,” you grin, “I knew Austin was still in there somewhere. The plan’s working already!”

“Alright, let’s see how this goes then,” he says with a laugh.

The two of you plan for a Disneyland trip the next Sunday, and spend the day in your finest Disney apparel. You wander around taking pictures with all of the characters you can, making a point to get pictures with Rapunzel and Stitch.

“Come on, I’m a little old for this, don’t you think?” Austin says with an eyebrow raise as you lead him over to where Stitch is supposed to be waiting.

You give a mock-offended gasp, “How dare you! You’re never too old for Disney, Aus!”

He raises his hands in surrender, “I’m just saying!”

“Besides,” you continue to drag him along, “this is about getting back to yourself. What’s more Austin than Stitch? I remember you had that movie playing constantly when we were kids.”

He laughs, allowing you to drag him around for pictures, and eventually it turns into Austin dragging you around to go on some rides.

You freeze as he pulls you towards Space Mountain. “Aus, what are you doing?”

He turns back, “C’mon, Y/N, you’re not still scared of rollercoasters, are you?”

“No, I just… don’t feel like going on a ride right now,” you say, not even convincing yourself.

“Y/N… we really don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” he says, a concerned look on his face.

You shake yourself, “No, I’ll… I’ll be okay. I promise.” You give him a small smile.

“I’ll be right next to you the whole time, okay?” He smiles, squeezing your hand before pulling you along to get in line.

You decide that focusing on the far-too-fast ride is infinitely preferable to thinking about how your hand tingled when Austin squeezed it and how his concern for you made butterflies go haywire in your stomach, and how the toe-curlingly dizzy feeling you’re experiencing might not be from the ride, but from Austin holding your hand throughout it.

The next weekend you spent the day at Knott’s Berry Farm, running around all the rides you had gone on as kids— well, it was more Austin dragging you around to all the rides again. You still hated rollercoasters, but you knew this was what he needed so you pushed through, and the little hand squeeze he gave you as you got on, promising in a whisper that he’d be right next to you the whole time definitely didn’t hurt.

After Disneyland and Knott’s, you spent the next few days wandering around Anaheim reminiscing at all the places you had hung out together when you were kids. You tried to ignore the sparks you felt when your hands brushed as you walked beside him and the weird blushy feeling you got when you thought you caught him staring at you, and instead tried to pin all your focus on helping your friend. Who you definitely weren’t developing a crush on, nope, your feelings were totally platonic.

At least that’s what you told yourself until you got home that night and couldn’t stop thinking about him. After several hours of tossing and turning with his stupidly handsome face swirling around in your head, you decided to get up. You needed to do something besides lay there and think about his gorgeous blond waves, adorable freckles, charming smile, the adorable way he fidgeted with his hands or rings or the chain around his neck when he talked, or— you cut off that train of thought with a sigh. You stopped as you passed the mirror in your hall, staring into your reflection’s eyes. Maybe it was because it was 2am, maybe you were finally tired of denying it… whatever the reason, you looked at yourself in the mirror and accepted that over the course of the past couple weeks you had developed a giant crush on your best friend. No, not just a crush. You were completely and totally in love with him. Well, you thought with a sigh, this definitely won’t make things awkward.

Austin had decided that your “Austin Finds Himself” journey should come to an end by going to the clearing in the woods near his house where he had dragged you to help him prepare for auditions.

“This is where it all started,” he had explained “and it feels fitting that I should end this whole journey where I started it, with my best friend.” He had smiled, and it had taken all of your strength to keep your returning smile steady as your heart cracked a bit at the words “best friend”.

The two of you hike to the clearing, Austin laughing at your complaints the whole way there.

“My knees should not be making that sound!” you whine as you finally arrive in the clearing, making your way over to the bench where Austin had rehearsed for many an audition with you.

“We were like twelve the last time we came here, we’re old now!” he teases, plopping down next to you and drinking in his surroundings. You’re struck by how the sun hits him like a spotlight, his hair shining, blue eyes practically glowing, looking completely at home. After a moment of taking it all in, he turns to you with a sincere smile.

“I can’t thank you enough for helping me with this,” he gestures vaguely to the air around him, “whole thing, I… I really needed this.”

You force a smile, “Of course, you’re my best friend, Aus. I’m always gonna help you, no matter what.”

You’re so wrapped up in stamping down your own feelings, you don’t see how his smile falters when you confirm your current just-friends status. Lucky for you, he decides to speak up.

“Y/N, the past couple weeks have been absolutely amazing, I really can’t thank you enough. I missed getting to spend time with you, and this was honestly exactly what I needed after the past few years,” he says with a shy smile. “And I have something I wanna tell you. I know that if I don’t do it now, I probably never will, and I can’t sit around here wondering ‘what if’, so…” he trails off, taking a deep breath.

He grasps your hand and looks into your eyes. Your breath catches at how sincere he looks. “Y/N, I… I really like you. Really, really like you. You’re smart, funny, so incredibly talented, and so, so kind. Most people would’ve just told me it’ll take time to find myself again, but you… you came up with a plan, actively tried to help me. That means so, so much to me. You’ve been by my side for longer than I can remember, and I don’t know how it took me this long to realize it, but… I love you. I have for a while now.” He worries his lip between his teeth, and without waiting for a response, says hurriedly, “And I absolutely understand if you don’t feel the same, and I’m so, so sorry if I just ruined everything—“

You crash your lips into his, cutting off his apology. He freezes, and you fear for a moment that it was too much before he pulls you closer, deepening the kiss. Your arms wrap around his neck before he pulls away just an inch, looking into your eyes as his forehead rests against yours.

“Y/N…” his hand comes up to caress your cheek, his other resting comfortably against your hip, “ I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything,” you say softly, leaning into his hand, “can we just stay like this?”

“Of course we can,” he smiles, “you look absolutely beautiful right now. I could stare at you forever.”

He leans in ,his lips just barely brushing yours before he pulls away again, whispering, “Do you realize that all of my problems went away from that kiss?”

“Hush it, I needed this too.” you say with a playful grin, moving to tuck your head into the crook of his neck. “Austin?”

“Yes bubs?” he replies, using the old nickname the two of you came up with back in elementary school.

No turning back now. “Fuck it,” you mumble before finally looking up at him and saying “I’m in love with you, and I know that it’s such a cliché to say ‘I love you’s’ at the beginning of something new but damn it, I’m so in love with you Austin and I’m not ashamed to admit it.”

In lieu of a response, he pulls you in for another kiss, smiling against your lips.

The two of you spend most of the day there, and Austin walks you home afterward, the two of you hand-in-hand as you stroll through Anaheim.

“So, does this count as our first date?” you ask with a playful grin as you arrive at your apartment.

“I guess it does,” he says with a smile. “But I’d really like to take you out properly sometime, if that’s alright,” he says, fiddling with the rings on his fingers.

“I'd really like that,” you say, “we could go to that Italian place down the street?”

“That sounds good. Are you busy on Saturday?”

He grins as you shake your head, lifting your hand to press a kiss to the back of it, “It’s a date.”

You lean in to press one last kiss to his lips before you enter your apartment, giving him a small wave. “It’s a date.” you beam before closing the door, the happiness of the day crashing over you like a wave as you make your way to bed.

Taglist: @queenslandlover-93 @anangelwhodidntfall @yourselenite @austin-butlers-gf @luke-my-skywalker @kittenlittle24 @tubble-wubble @butlersluvbot @justjacesstuff @yourselenite @beauvibaby @sweetheartlizzie07

[faegoddessog]

Seventy Two Hours of Bliss Ch. 1/41

Chapter 1: Hey, It's only dinner

Chapter Warnings: none

Series Masterlist

Series Summary:

You are neighbors with Austin Butler on the Gold Coast of Australia just prior to shooting Elvis. You become just friends because he is taken. However, after he is single again, you both find out just how attracted you are to one another and things get unrelentingly hot.

SERIES WARNING: Explicitly mature content, 18+ only,  here there be lemons.

Authors Notes: I started writing this while remodeling my kitchen, so that informed the slightly quirky narrative. It starts slow, but once it heats up, it is on fire. I have tried to pull facts from RL as much as I could, but obviously there are some assumptions and flat out dreamy wishes wishes involved here. Naughty stuff begins about Chapter 4 so stay tuned!

Chapter 1: "Hey, it's only dinner"

You are sitting on the Gold Coast of Australia, sketching ideas for the remodel you are about to start. The flat is nearby and belongs to your Uncle. You look up and notice a handsome young man walking by, black hair swept up 50’s style, head down, coffee in his hand. He seems to be listening intently to his earphones. As he walks by he is mumbling in a low deep voice, almost like he is repeating whatever he is listening to. As he passes by you hear “I don’t think I’m doing anything wrong. Wrong. Wrroooong.” He sounds a bit like Elvis. You watch as he walks away, appreciating his finely shaped ass.

Later that week, you are overloaded with construction supplies in a ’one trip or bust’ moment trying to get into the elevator. As the doors open, a package starts to fall. “Whoa!” A deep sonorous voice says. Before it hits the floor it is caught by the man in the elevator. You look up into the most gorgeous blue eyes. It’s the guy from the beach.

“Would you like some help?” He says with a stunning smile.

“Thank you, that would be great," you say gratefully. You try to keep cool and suddenly wish you had thought to put on mascara, at least. But here you are, no makeup, in jean shorts, work boots and a questionable t-shirt, hair in a frizzy pony tail face to face with this handsome, dark haired, beautiful man. You get into the elevator with him. “I’m Austin by the way” His fingers touch your hands as he transfers a few items from your arms to his. “Which floor?” Handsome and kind.

You introduce yourself and tell him your floor. “Well, I don’t know what you are doing in about an hour, but if you are up for some heavier lifting, I have a few more things coming later and I could use some help.”

Ever since you started remodeling places abroad, this is the secret to your success. You make friends in the area, usually by asking for help.

“Yeah, I would be happy to help, I was just going to go get coffee, but that can wait,” he seems genuinely willing.

“I was about to make coffee, if you are good with french press, ” you offer as the elevator dings and the doors slide open.

“I wouldn’t want to put you out,” he says a bit shyly.

“Nonsense, I insist! Plus I just got some amazing smelling beans and I need to thank you for your help.” You stop at your door.

“All right, hey we are next door neighbors!” He exclaims, pointing to the next door down.

He carries his armload into the apartment behind you and as he sets things down on the table he finally notices the kind of packages he is carrying. “Looks like you are going to do a project of some kind," he says.

As you make coffee, you explain how this is your uncle's second home and he hired you to remodel it.

“It’s kind of a thing I’ve been doing for the past few years. I have a goal to live on every continent."

“Really? How many have you made it to so far?” he inquires.

“Let’s see, US is home, Hong Kong, Bueno Aries, now here, and I did a stint for the peace corps in Ghana” you tick off your fingers, “ so  out five of seven!”

“Nice!” he says, then thinks for a second, “how do you plan on doing Antarctica?”

“Well, I am in the process of applying to research stations as a maintenance worker. Hopefully I’ll get to go in November!” you cross your fingers.

“Wow, that’s amazing, you really are committed. What made you want to do that?”

You pour him a cup as you shrug, “I was in a pretty brutal accident in my early twenties. It really made me rethink how I wanted to live life. I loved to travel and I had already started flipping houses. I have been doing second properties. It has worked out so far."

“Whoa, Do you mind me asking what happened to you?” he inquires between sips, listening intently.

“It was bicycle vs car. A drunk driver hit me and I went off the road and into a ravine. Broken bones, internal organ damage, No spine or brain injury, thankfully. I was pretty broken for most of my 23rd year.”

“Oh wow. I’m sorry that happened to you,” the kindness in his eyes kind of melts you.

“Thanks Austin. After lots of therapy both physical and mental. I’m good now,” you smile reassuringly.

“I, uh, yeah 23 was hard” he says softly, obviously touching on his own memories, “ I mean, it wasn’t anything like that, but I lost my Mom. She was my biggest supporter and my best friend. It made me rethink my life too.” He talks a bit about his mom and how supportive she was of his budding acting career and how much he misses her.

You reach out and touch his hand, “Oh Austin, I am so sorry," you just want to hug him.

“Thank you,” he says looking into his coffee mug. He takes a big breath, trying to shake off the sudden melancholy. “Actually, I think my mom had a hand in getting me the part I am working on now," he admits. He tells you all about how he is making a movie about Elvis.

“Ah, that explains the hair,” you nod and smile.

“Yeah I’m naturally blonde, just like Elvis” He says, running his fingers through his hair. He explains how singing ‘Unchained Melody' to his mom is what made the director pick him, “that and Denzel put in a good word for me,” he smiles.

“Wait, Denzel? Denzel Washington?! No!” You say unbelievingly.

“Yeah, I got to work with him in the play Iceman Cometh in New York, he is amazing.�� He pulls up a selfie of himself, Denzel, and other cast members on stage.

“Oh so you are a fancy pants actor, casually throwing out ‘ me and Denzel’, not just some guy trying to be impressive,” you say teasingly.

“No, no, I’m not fancy," he laughs, “I’m just a regular guy who loves to tell stories. I love the work, the delving into a character and figuring out their humanity, what makes them tick.” He explains. “But like there is SO much information on Elvis, it’s overwhelming.”

“My mom loves Elvis. When I was little, we used to listen to his records while she was working. I was on the balcony yesterday, and I am guessing it was you that had him on. It brought back so many memories!” You remember sitting at the little table in her workroom singing to Jailhouse rock and Blue Suede Shoes.

“I’m glad my practicing was enjoyable, I’m still working on his voice.” Austin says.

“ Wait, were YOU singing?” you realize just how good it sounded.

“Yeah, And playing guitar,” he admits.

“Holy crap Austin, I thought that was a recording. Damn you are good hun!” you say, amazed. He looks down shyly.

“Thank you,” he says with a smile. Shy is really cute on him.

The conversation continues. You talk about acting and jobs and experiences. You vaguely remember there was a live action “The Shannara Chronicles” because you read the book, but you haven’t seen anything else he was in.

“That’s probably for the best, most of that stuff when I was younger was… well, I was young. But it was a place to start,” he says a little sheepishly.

The more you get to know him, the more you feel that spark of attraction. When the delivery comes, you head down together and heft boxes of supplies onto the dolly the delivery driver brought. You can’t help but notice the ease of how Austin’s body moves. The muscles that pop on his arms when he lifts. How he doesn’t shy away from hard work. You think you see him eyeing you too, but don't really catch him at it. After everything is unloaded and stacked in the corner of the living room, you turn to him and say “Austin, I would love to thank you with dinner, I’m a passable cook. Are you free tomorrow night?”

“Well, I would really like that, you are just so easy to talk to. But I do want to be transparent, I have a girlfriend back in L.A..” He informs you.

You put your hands up. “Hey, It’s just dinner with a friendly neighbor. I appreciate the honesty though. You tell me what time.” Yeah, you are a bit bummed, but you aren’t staying more than a few months here.

You agree to 8 the next day. He brings a bottle of wine and you guys talk and laugh and eat.

This starts a trend of having dinner together a couple nights a week at your place. You end up making your signature continent dishes for him. He is kind, a good listener, polite, and his deep voiced southern Elvis drawl that he floats in and out of is delightful.

You talk about everything. Growing up, losing loved ones, relationships, favorite trips, wishes, dreams, religion, god. He can’t help but bring Elvis into every conversation. You actually like learning all the things about Elvis.

Yeah, you are still quite attracted to him. Those high cheekbones and chiseled jaw, gorgeous blue eyes against the black hair make him stunningly handsome, while the freckles on his left cheek give him just enough of an approachable boyish quality.

As you get to know him, you find he is warm, kind, honest, real and present, these qualities are what make him truly attractive to you. You try hard not to flirt outwardly, just be a friend. You don’t dress up for him or hug/touch him unnecessarily . You refuse to be “the other woman.” But dammit if you don't end every dinner wishing he was available.

[hooked-on-elvis]

[FAN STORY] "Those five or six minutes that will stay in my heart forever" — Excerpt: "ELVIS: Live at the International" by Kieran Davis (2011)

February 18, 1970: Elvis backstage with fan, Judy Cherry. Judy is an England "super fan" of Elvis, who met him in 1970, at the International Hotel in Las Vegas, NV.

Here's Judy's recollections of that moment:

"... The first thing I said when he came out was just a whispered 'Elvis!' He put his arms around me and gave me a nice warm hug. I told him I had waited fourteen years for this and he said 'Have you? That's a long time to wait, isn't it honey?' Then gave Jamie (the girl with me) a nice hug and said, 'Did you come all the way from England?' She said, 'Yes' He said, 'Thank you, hon.'

I said, 'Elvis, do you have time for a couple of pictures?' His answer was a warm, 'Sure.' So while Jamie was getting my camera out, I showed him a copy of the Elvis Presley story, that I had brought with me, and told him I had had it since 1957. He seemed genuinely amazed. He came across this one real old picture and said, 'This really is old, man. I was 21 years old here!'

Note: Possibly, Judy is refereeing to a magazine called "ELVIS PRESLEY: THE INTIMATE STORY MAGAZINE" (Published in 1957)

IMPORTANT UPDATE -- March 2024: I won't erase what I published orignally because there are friends who reblogged it already and I feel this can look confusing, but one minor correction is needed. This magazine above is definitely NOT the one Judy Cherry was holding for Elvis to sign. @whositmcwhatsit posted the actual book on her blog which is "The Elvis Presley Story edited by James Gregory, introduction by Dick Clark". I apologize for the wrong assumption I made, friends. I had never saw the actual book cover (until now), thus when researching the name "the Elvis Presley story", as Judy mentioned in her recollection, it only got me to think the magazine I shared on my original post [the one above] could be a the one she was referring to. My bad. Well, it's corrected thanks to our wonderful Jade. ♥ I hope you don't mind, dear, if I use the picture of your copy to illustrate this post.

Photo by the copy our friend Jade [@whositmcwhatsit] bought. Lucky girl! Precious!🥹🩷

[Continuing the story...]

"In between these dribbles of conversation we had taken one picture (shown at the beginning of this post), had some trouble with the flashcube and now we're taking another picture... then he turned to Jamie and said, 'Now we are gonna get one with you, aren't we honey?' I got the picture, he said goodbye to Jamie and came over and gave me a hug. I said, 'Goodbye, Elvis, I'll see you tomorrow night... whether you see me or not: cause I'll be going to the show every night for the rest of the time.' He seemed really surprised at this and said 'Eleven times! Thank you so much, sweetheart. I just wish I could meet everyone of you!'

"He kissed me goodbye and he was gone but the 5 or 6 minutes will stay in my heart forever."

♥

One of the things I love the most about EP (and what turned me into a passionate fan of his) is how loving he was with his fans, he really listened to them. He treated them like people, not numbers or simply "admirers". He cared about giving them the time of their lives once they were there to watch him performing or even if they were just around to ask for his autograph or pictures. Elvis was truly genuine when interacting with them — actually this word "genuine" is used by many of the fortunate fans who got to meet and talk to him, to describe EP's interactions with them.

He cared so much about his fans that it's said he could remember the frequent ones by their names, all of them, the die hard fans, and even asked about some of them to his other fans whenever they were uncommonly not around for a few days (specifically talking about the fans that hanged around at his homes gates now).

EP was a great guy. He deserved all the success he conquered. The best performer ever! It's always said the good ones are always taken from us too soon. Well, that seems to be the truth, tragically. How we wish we could see and talk to him today, having such great memories like Judy's, while EP would be at his 88 year-young of a well-lived life. Imagine the conversations with this guy! The stories he could share with us. Anyway, we'll forever cherish you, EP.⚡♥

[vintagepresley]

As a fellow Taurus ♉️ can you do like a Taurus personality type thingy I don’t know but somehow do it to relate to elvis

AH, okay, I've been waiting all day to answer this. It's very easy to relate the Taurus personality to Elvis because Gladys was a Taurus. Which makes so much sense when it comes to her personality. When reading Elvis & Gladys I felt I could relate to a lot of her personality being a taurus myself. Now I know not ALL Taurus' are alike. But in my personal experience I've always come across others who are similar in personality and I feel like Gladys was the same.

So, first.. I feel like with Taurus' we are always misunderstood because people always assume we're mean or unapproachable because we are either quiet or usually don't interact first. But that's not always the case. We are very nice people but we aren't always trusting and it takes time for us to work up to get to know you before you can get us to open up. I feel like Gladys was the same when anyone new came around her, Elvis and just their family in general. But then she'd eventually open up and really grow to like the person and let them see more inside of her and who she was and I feel like this was true for the girlfriends who got to meet Gladys and always end up loving her. I feel like that's another thing about us like once you get to know a taurus people usually really like us a lot. Even other people I meet who are a different sign, they always say they love Taurus' or get along with them. Because we are nice and chill people you just have to give us time to get comfortable.

Another thing that I relate to when it comes to Gladys and being a taurus is her automatically knowing who is a bad person/person you can't trust. She knew right away that the Colonel wasn't shit. She just knew that he was bad news. That leads me to my next point.. We always know when someone is full of shit. I can't tell you how many times I've met someone and I knew I wouldn't like them just something about their vibe and aura. This happens to me a lot and I'm always right like 98% of time. My own friends when they meet someone new bring them around me because they know I'll be able to tell that something isn't right about them. It's so damn freaky. But like a lot of time if I'm quiet around someone new it's because I'm getting a read on you and your vibe. I just feel like Gladys was the same way and we're even more on high alert when it's for people we care about..

Which brings me to my next point.. WE ARE LOYAL AS FUCK. If we care about you we will ride or die for you. But don't think you can play us though. I feel like Gladys was that kind of person. She just wasn't one you played with especially when it came to someone she cared about and loved. I 100% believe had she lived Elvis' life wouldn't of went down the path that it did. Unlike Vernon she wouldn't allow Elvis to walk all over her. He knew better than to disrespect her the way he disrespected Vernon sometimes. I think that goes for most taurus. People around always said "Oh, you couldn't tell him what to do." Nah.. If I had a time machine and I came face to face with him I don't care what he said I was going to help him or get him help or force him to rest. It takes a certain kind of person to get through to someone like Elvis. His mother was definitely the only one who could probably do it. Not only because she was his mother and they had had a bond that was closer than what he had with Vernon, but also because of the kind of person she was.

To conclude this I'll just leave a few personality traits of a taurus:

Emotional, ambitious, reliable, loyal, emotionally strong (sometimes), independent, introverted (I've noticed this a lot lol), artistic, genuine, dormant temper (we don't always come right out and say how we feel and we let it build until it just comes out at the wrong time. I'm guilty of this 🙃), sometimes, not all the time can be the "mother" of the zodiac like we just have motherly instincts because we're very caring and loving and have a calming influence which is SO Gladys when it comes to Elvis.

But yeah, sorry this was so long and I hope this is what you meant!