jhoneybees

[jhoneybees]

My heart's goin' thump thump thump😩

Sweet Little Love

summary: Elvis and the reader, childhood best friends, realize their bond is turning into something more. During a walk through 1950s Memphis, Elvis confesses he doesn’t want to leave without her. Under their old oak tree.

Pairing: black!young!reader X 18yr!elvis

Memphis, 1953

The first thing you ever learned about Elvis Presley was that he never walked anywhere—he ran. Barefoot through the dusty streets, racing past the small houses in the neighborhood, always moving like he had somewhere important to be. You had been five years old when you first met him, sitting on the front porch of your house, swinging your legs idly while your mama shelled peas.

Elvis had skidded to a stop right in front of you, panting from whatever adventure he had just come from. His dark blond hair was a mess, his cheeks red from the Memphis heat. “You wanna come play?” he had asked, grinning so big that his blue eyes nearly disappeared under the weight of it.

You hadn’t even answered—just hopped off the porch and followed him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

That’s how it started.

For years, Elvis was your best friend, your shadow. He’d knock on your door every morning, and the two of you would spend the day running through the neighborhood, climbing trees, and sneaking into the back of Club Handy to listen to the blues musicians practice in the afternoons. He loved music even back then, would watch the performers with wide, eager eyes, tapping out rhythms on his knee.

“Gonna be just like ‘em one day,” he’d whisper to you, as if it were a secret.

You believed him.

And now, at eighteen, he wasn’t that scrappy little boy anymore. He was taller, his voice deeper, his hair styled slick, but his grin was still the same—the one that made your heart stumble in your chest.

You didn’t know when things had changed. When Elvis had stopped being just your best friend and had become something more, something that made your stomach flutter and your palms sweat. Maybe it was the way he looked at you now, like you were someone worth staring at. Or maybe it was the way your name sounded different when he said it, softer somehow, like he was holding onto it just a little longer than before.

And now, standing in your backyard, the late afternoon sun casting everything in gold, he was looking at you like that again.

“Hey, you,” he called, leaning on the fence between your houses. His voice was warm, teasing.

You smiled, setting down the laundry basket you had been carrying. “Hey, Elvis.”

He tilted his head slightly, eyes roaming over you in a way that made your cheeks heat up. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Helping Mama,” you said, brushing your hands against your dress.

He nodded, then hesitated.

“I was thinkin’,” he started, voice just a little uncertain. “You wanna take a walk? Like we used to?”

Your heart jumped. You used to walk everywhere together as kids, no destination in mind, just talking about everything and nothing.

You glanced toward the house, then back at Elvis, who was watching you expectantly, almost nervous.

“Yeah,” you said, smiling. “I’d like that.”

His grin was immediate, boyish and bright, as if he hadn’t been sure you would say yes. “Alright, c’mon then.”

You slipped through the back gate, falling into step beside him, and together, you wandered through the familiar streets of your childhood.

⸻

The neighborhood was alive with summer.

Music poured from open windows, blending together in a messy, beautiful melody of gospel, blues, and laughter. A group of kids ran past, barefoot and wild, much like you and Elvis had been all those years ago. The scent of fried catfish drifted through the air, making your stomach rumble.

Elvis noticed and chuckled. “We can stop by Gus’s later, get some,” he offered.

You nudged him playfully. “I see what you’re doin’. Tryin’ to bribe me with food.”

“Is it workin’?”

You laughed. “Maybe.”

You walked in comfortable silence for a while, the easy kind that only existed between people who had known each other forever. Every now and then, your hands would brush, sending little shocks up your arm. You weren’t sure if it was accidental or if Elvis was doing it on purpose.

As you passed Beale Street, the sounds of a blues band drifted from a nearby club. Elvis slowed down, listening intently, his fingers tapping against his thigh.

“Still wanna be just like them?” you asked.

He turned to you, his expression unreadable for a moment. “Yeah,” he said, then softer, “But I wanna be me, too.”

You understood what he meant. He didn’t just want to imitate the musicians he admired—he wanted to carve his own path, find his own sound. And you knew, deep in your bones, that he would.

“You will be,” you told him firmly.

Elvis smiled, and this time, it wasn’t just playful. It was something deeper, something that made your breath catch.

⸻

Eventually, you ended up at the old oak tree behind the neighborhood church, the place where you had spent countless afternoons as kids. Elvis flopped onto the grass, stretching out with a sigh.

You hesitated before sitting beside him, tucking your legs beneath you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The cicadas hummed in the distance, the sun casting long shadows across the ground.

Elvis turned his head, looking at you. “D’you ever think about what’s next?” he asked.

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

He exhaled, as if trying to put his thoughts into words. “Like… where we’ll be a few years from now.”

Your chest tightened. You had thought about it more than you cared to admit. Elvis had dreams bigger than Memphis, dreams that would take him far away from here. And you—you weren’t sure where you fit into that.

“Yeah,” you said quietly.

He propped himself up on one elbow, studying you. “You ever think about leavin’?”

You shrugged. “Sometimes. But Memphis is home.”

Elvis nodded, then hesitated. “What if I asked you to come with me?”

Your breath caught.

He was watching you carefully, his blue eyes searching yours for something—hope, maybe, or reassurance.

“Elvis…” You weren’t sure what to say.

“I don’t mean right now,” he rushed to add. “Just… one day.”

The weight of what he was asking settled over you. He wasn’t just talking about leaving Memphis. He was talking about you and him, about something bigger than friendship.

“Elvis,” you whispered. “Are you… do you mean—”

Before you could finish, he reached for your hand.

His fingers were warm against yours, calloused from hours of playing guitar. He held onto you like he was afraid you might slip away.

“I don’t know what’s gonna happen,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I know I don’t wanna leave without you.”

Your heart pounded so hard you were sure he could hear it.

For years, Elvis had been your best friend. But now, in this moment, he was something more. Something that made your chest ache with the weight of it.

You squeezed his hand.

“You ain’t leavin’ yet,” you reminded him, your voice shaking slightly. “So let’s not worry about that right now.”

Elvis studied you for a long moment, then nodded. “Alright,” he said softly.

And for now, that was enough.

⸻

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange, you and Elvis lay side by side beneath the old oak tree, fingers still entwined.

Neither of you spoke.

There was no need.

Because in that moment, everything that mattered was right there.

Just you and him.

And the promise of something more.

⸻

Tags 🏷️: @jhoneybees @i-r-i-n-a-a @gyratingpresley @kxnnxy @iloveelvisss @buglass @rjmartin11 @atleastpleasetelephone

[jhoneybees]

Drawing our favourite man tonight🤭😘

[jhoneybees]

can you make a cg Elvis from the 50's making lunch for the reader but she wants to eat his lunch instead and she has a favorite blanket instead of a stuffed animal? 🥺

~Lunch Time~

(50's!CG!Elvis X Little!Reader)

(Hello! Thank you for requesting! Even though it's a bit short, I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you like it!)

"Alright, li'l Bit," Elvis had started, resting his hands on his hips as he looked down at you who had currently been playing with your toys. "What'chu want for lunch, hm?" With your pacifier tucked tightly between your lips, you began to bounce in excitement before replying with a muffled, "Noodles!" He chuckled, shaking his head before kneeling down to your level. "Now that don't tell me much 'bout what ya' want, Honey! What kind o' noodles?" You thought for a moment before bouncing again, throwing your arms above your head happily, your beloved pastel Green blankie still clutched in your hand. "Wif cheese!" You exclaimed. "With cheese? Alrighty, then. It's settled. Mac n' cheese for my li'l Sweetheart." Elvis said, rising to his feet and giving your head a loving little pat. "But first, you gotta clean up your toys, li'l Miss." A pout made its way to your lips despite being securely wrapped around your pacifier, crossing your arms dramatically over your chest. "No wanna. No clean." "Aww, but ya' gotta clean, Y/n. Look at all this mess," He gestured to all of your scattered toys, his hands settling right back on his hips. "Li'l Girl, I ain't takin' no for an answer. You clean your toys up, or Daddy picks your lunch instead." Upon hearing his threat, you released a loud and rather dramatic groan before begrudgingly cleaning up your toys just as he asked you to. Why did you have to clean up your toys if you were going to play with them later anyways? It never made sense to you.

As you very slowly picked up your toys and put them back in the toy box, Elvis was in the kitchen making you your lunch. But one mistake that you made was thinking that he hadn't been paying attention. And so, you pulled out more toys to play with, plopping yourself back on the floor. "Y/n. Put those toys back." Elvis called to you, causing you to huff. How did he always know if he wasn't actively watching you?

What felt like hours had passed before you were finally finished picking up all of your toys to put them away, waddling your way to the kitchen where Elvis was plating yours and his food. "Wash your hands, Baby." He said after offering a kind smile, bringing your foods to the dining room table. Feeling a little bit too impatient to wait, you washed your hands up as fast as you could, barely even drying them off much before rushing out to the dining room and climbing in your chair. Noticing that you still had your pacifier in your mouth, he held his hand out in a wordless request that you give it to him. Acting reluctant at first, you gave him your pacifier, though you snuggled your blankie to show that he wouldn't be able to separate you from its warmth. He chuckled. "It's okay, Baby. I ain't gon' take your blankie." He reassured, sliding you your food. "Cheesy noodle! Cheesy noodle!" You chanted excitedly before starting to tuck in, your mouth already becoming coated in the cheesy goodness of your lunch.

However, something caught your attention. Elvis was eating a hamburger. And you wanted it real bad. Leaning over, you opened your mouth as big as you could to take a bite of his burger. But before your teeth could sink into the bread, he pulled it away from you. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! What'cha think you're doin' li'l Girl?? That ain't your burger!" You pouted, reaching your hand out in attempts to grab his food. "Want! Want hammy-buwgew!" You exclaimed, wiggling your legs in effort as you tried your hardest to reach for the hamburger. Elvis shook his head as he gently pushed your arm away, swallowing the food that was in his mouth. "Honeypie, you got your mac 'n cheese." He said. "No wants it no more! Want hammy-buwguw!" You replied. "No, Sweetheart. That's Daddy's food. You eat yours like a good Girl, 'kay?" "No!" he sighed, pushing his plate away before turning towards you fully, hands resting on your shoulders. "If you eat your food and not Daddy's, I'll get ya' a cookie." Ah. Bribery. Your eyes widened at the deal, your lips parting as you considered it. "I getted a cookies?" You asked. "Only if you eat your mac n' cheese." He said. Without much hesitation, you nodded, grabbing your utensil to resume eating your lunch. "Otay! I no eateds Daddy's food!" Smiling, Elvis pat your head. "That's my Girl."

Finally, his hamburger was safe.

[jhoneybees]

How many times have you watched these gifs?

Yes.

Live A Little, Love A Little (1968)

[jhoneybees]

Lovelies! You know what to do!

i'm begging any elvis girlies to send me requests for him!! i'll still be writing for "the outsiders," obviously, but elvis is the newest husband in my harem! :3

@iloveelvis2 @jhoneybees @atleastpleasetelephone

[jhoneybees]

Aww!! Thank you girl!!❤️

@twobitsblade @atleastpleasetelephone @hooked-on-elvis @theelvisprincess @thelonelyheart @halieghhh @iloveelvisss @elvisbdoll @presleyslilbaby 😚🫶 love you all

❤️🌷SEND THIS TO OTHER BLOGGERS YOU THINK ARE WONDERFUL. KEEP THE GAME GOING 🌷❤️💕

tagging my favs : @ver-lecstappen @ellieisque @adutchlover @lestappen-on-top @starrwrrld @randomwordsonpaper @morecomplicatedthancarbon @sharlsbandana @caprifiles @yappielestappie @chock-and-bates @f1writingbyme

[jhoneybees]

LOVEEEEE this😋

Hi!!! I saw your poll and I was wondering if you could write a 60s!Elvis X Reader fic, where Reader is having a hard time at work because they can't seem to keep up with everything and Elvis finds them crying outside their work place? Comforting them and asking why they can't just let him take care of them?

Take all the time you need!❤️

(hello, thank you so much for requesting this! it was slightly difficult to write since this is my first time writing smut, but i hope you all enjoy it. i’d love to see more requests featuring elvis in my inbox!)

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ MY HEART BELONGS TO DADDY !

a work of fiction written by @twobitsblade and inspired by @atleastpleasetelephone, @jhoneybees, @wanderingelvis, @lustnhim, and @theelvisprincess !

contains: smut (obviously), reader and elvis are married, elvis is a cocky know-it-all with hints of the 1960s male mindset !

you and elvis had been together for a while now; around three years of loving, fighting, and arguing, but you knew that at the end of the day he’d always be there for you. and you knew that even when you took up a new job at your aunt’s boutique—something which elvis discouraged multiple times (“oh m’baby, you ain’t needuh do these stupid ol’ jobs, m’the one providin’”)—while you were very thankful for him, your aunt desperately needed your help, and who were you to turn her down?

but it turns out that perhaps elvis was right—this job began to be a lot more than you’d signed up for. originally, the deal was you’d wear a cute dress, get your hair done all nice (for free, mind you), and greet the customers, but then more and more duties started being asked of you.

“oh dear, can you go bring the boxes from the basement?” “can you go downtown and pick up some new hair dyes? we’re all out, and the shipment won’t be on time?” “can you give her a little trim? it’s not too complicated.”

while you don’t like to think of yourself as spoilt, you’re not very used to working these types of jobs. i mean, you and elvis have been together for years, and you’d gotten used to the comfy lifestyle he provided you.

one day, it just became too much—you were turning around like a dog, fulfilling one task after the other, and it didn’t help that you barely slept last night. it’s not like you could tell elvis about this because it’d prove him right, and you can’t handle that damn cocky smirk on his face as he tells you how he knows his little one wasn’t made for such hard work.

you sigh, placing your things down—the sound a bit louder than intended, causing you to flinch. you toss off your high heels, lazily running up the stairs of graceland and into the bedroom you and elvis shared—grand, beautiful, and decorated by both of you as a visual representation of your love for the other—but now all it felt was suffocating.

you plopped down on the bed, not bothering to change out of your outdoor clothes, and laid your head facing the ceiling when suddenly you heard rustling and groaning, causing you to turn your head as you saw the back of elvis’s head. he slowly turns around to face you, clearly still half asleep.

“mmm, hey m’baby, how’s work?” he says drowsily, grabbing you by the collar of your dress and pulling you close, wrapping his leg around your waist.

“it was fine, el—fine as usual,” you say, though he wasn’t stupid; even half asleep, he could tell. he groaned, rubbed his eyes, and sat up.

he looked you up and down before smirking—god damn it—“well, what’s the matter, huh, little ’un?” you rolled your eyes and weakly shoved him, the shove barely moving him.

“i said it was nothing, didn’t i?” you groaned, but he doesn’t care.

“ah, f’god’s sakes, just let me take care of my babygirl…” he groaned, grabbing you and laying you on top of him. you tried to pull away to no avail, causing you to let out a mewl which made him chuckle—everything about him was irritating you in that moment: his baby blue eyes, his tan skin, his perfectly, oh so disgustingly perfect smile, and the softness with which he looked at you, his girl. you sighed, resting your head on his chest and stifling a sob, and he noticed, tangling his fingers in your hair, “shh, m’girl, tell daddy what happened.” you did, and even though it all came out as incomprehensible high-pitched, whiny rambles, he nodded as though he understood you—not just your words, but the language of your soul.

you eventually felt content, done venting. you sighed, wiped your tears, and looked up at him, and suddenly you chuckled. it wasn’t quite wry but not quite from happiness; you felt good—elvis always had a way of making you feel good.

and in your exhausted state, you needed him, needed him badly, and he could see that; after all, he knew you inside and out. his hand went down to your back, then to your hip, then to your butt, then to your thigh, causing you to feel slight tingles coursing through you—you hated that, you hated how easily he could get you in such a vulnerable state.

“baby, come on, you need to open up for me. how else can i keep you safe, huh, lil ’un?”—ah, the typical elvis double entendre.

you nodded slowly, turning around on his lap so he could unzip your dress, the slight friction causing him to groan, “fuckin’ tease, you are…” he said, unzipping your dress slowly but surely, “ah, m’girls wearin’ somethin’ fancy, hmm?” he said, observing your baby pink bra with lace detailing. your face heated up at his words as you expected him to unbuckle your bra, but he didn’t.

he linked his fingers underneath the clasp and pulled you backwards so that your back rested on his chest, as his hands, in a painfully slow manner, slid down from your cleavage to your ribs, to your belly, down to your pelvic bone, and under your skirt—and you arched into him, causing a giggle to escape him. “hmm, needy, ain’t ya?” he said, his fingers rubbing circles on your clothed cunt as you squirmed into his touch. he slipped one finger underneath the fabric and then inside you, causing you to let out a loud, high-pitched moan—and god knows he wasn’t going to be the one to silence those sounds—then another finger, then a third and final one, as he slowly began pumping them in and out of you. you lost yourself in his touch; incomprehensible words mixed with moans left your mouth drowned by his groans—the sounds almost pornographic.

he pulled his fingers out and wiped them on your dress, causing you to whine at the sudden emptiness you felt and at the vulgarity of the action.

he rolled around so that you were now under him, and a surge of excitement crossed you.

he removed his pants, then his boxers, his erect cock springing out from them. he grinned, “y’ready m’baby?” you nodded, preparing yourself as he aligned his tip with your entrance, your wetness working as the perfect lube, and slowly—painfully slowly—he entered you, moans leaving your mouth as your mind became dazed, hungry for the man you loved so much.

slowly, he began thrusting in and out repeatedly, causing you to let out a strange sound—a mix of a scream and a yowl—with his fingers digging into the sensitive flesh of your hips. “mm, take it for me like a good little girl.” you nodded, continuing, and as you felt your climax approaching, he nodded, a silent signal that you could release yourself, and so you did—all over him—and soon after, he followed.

you both plopped down onto the bed with a sigh. he looked at your tired frame with admiration, the sweat glistening off your body and making you look like an angel. he hugged you slowly, “m’girl, you gotta be honest with me; i’m always gonna be takin’ care of you, aight?” you nodded, letting out a gentle mix between a whimper and a sigh as his body embraced yours.

[jhoneybees]

can u pls write more dad!elvis or pregnant!reader??

Hi!!! Of course!!! This request was really nice to write, I honestly want to get pregnant now and feel this kind of love🥺 Thank you for requesting!

Not Ready

Characters: Late 60s!Elvis X Pregnant!Chubby!Reader

Warnings/triggers: Pregnancy, anxiety on child birth, doubts, pretty much all fluff to be honestttt

Tags: @atleastpleasetelephone @hooked-on-elvis @theelvisprincess @i-r-i-n-a-a @thelonelyheart @iloveelvisss @halieghhh

Author's note: Thought I'd make a chubby!reader fic😋

_____________________________________________

Sitting down on the fluffy shared bed, forming a dip at the end of the mattress. The sight of an unfamiliar body fills the mirror hanging on the wall, the weirdly comforting sound of laughing men outside of the trailer taking over the ringing in your ears. A warm, calm atmosphere surrounds your body.

Your gentle hand slides down over the swell of the heavy baby bump, simple floral sundress moulding over your soft curves.

You sigh.

…

Third trimester.

Swollen and full of child.

You honestly can’t believe there’s a human being growing inside of you and even more in disbelief that in just a matter of weeks you’re going to give birth.

It’s scary.

The more you think about it, it’s scary.

For a while you’ve been feeling like you’re not ready. Of course, you want to meet your son but you're worried things might not go as planned.

Thoughts have been circling your mind like it’s a captured sacrifice and you feel terrible about it.

You know it’s not good for the baby to be worrying but you can’t help it. You’re usually the type of person who likes to feel prepared, checking you’ve got everything sorted on the to-do list and making sure everyone is up to par to what’s happening, but the unknown feeling about something going wrong while having this child is poking at you.

What if-

“Baby?” A deep southern drawl echoes through the luxurious trailer, bringing you out of your troubling thoughts.

You breathe in.

“Yeah?”

…

“How’s Mamas doin’?”

Turning your head to look at the door frame from looking at your own reflection, you notice a figure in a white suit with a green top leaning to the side. You breathe out seeing Elvis’ cheeky grin and sparkling blue eyes, popping from his outfit being a white suit and a green top.

“Alright.”

“Hm?”

Lifting your hand to rest on top of your belly, you fidget with the ties of your dress. Sighing as your husband maneuvers to comfortably sit behind you on the bed. Elvis slithers his rough but gentle hands to the sides of your waist, caressing your stomach with his thumbs.”Been taking care of our yittle boy?”

“Mhm…”

He kisses your temple.

Carefully resting his chin on your shoulder. The both of you settling into a content silence, your eyes watch the couple in the mirror. You smile at the woman leaning her head onto the man’s, feeling immensely grateful for everything that is happening but then those thoughts crawl back in. “Do you feel ready to be a father?”

Elvis hums. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

Your eyes flick down to a rose flower on your summer dress. You hum back.

“Why ya askin’?”

Your eyes close. “I-I don’t really feel ready…”

Elvis’ eyes stare at your reflection. “... don't feel ready?”

You nod.

His arms extending around your waist, your back straightens slightly as Elvis presses his chest firmly against you. Murmuring as he kisses your cheek. “That’s okay.”

You sigh. “Elvis, I’ve organized everything, the nursery, the hospital bag, the clothes…. everything and I still don’t feel ready.” Absent-mindedly, pressing your lips together as your husband pulls your hand into his.

He hums.

“Elvis...”

Elvis breathes out a smile. “We’re gonna be fine.”

“How do you know?” You ask with narrowed eyes.

Bringing your hand to his lips, Elvis’ smile grows as he purposely adds a long pause making your pregnancy mood swings stir and scoff in frustration.

“Wanna know?”

“Yes, I want to know!”

Kissing your skin again as an apology, he laughs.

“B’cause yer a real good Mama.”

Your heart thumps.

“...Really?” Following Elvis’ mouth, kissing along your shoulder. He slips your dress’s strap off as he goes before flicking his gaze back to yours in the mirror, slowly putting the strap back when he’s finished.

“Mhm.”

Staring at each other for a moment, you raise your eyebrows earning a chuckle. Your hormonal mood swings have been going crazy for you this past week. “Baby!”

It makes him laugh every time.“Alright!...”

“You’re already a great Mama, baby, little buddy ‘ere already knows he’s got himself a great Mama. Whatever questions yer thinking of are gonna be answered, time will tell… and it’s okay to not feel ready, I mean- baby yer growin’ a literal human being inside of ya. You're doin’ a far better job than I’d ever do. I’d be runnin’ around like a headless chicken!” He reassures with a loving look in his eye.

A giggle slips past your lips.

Elvis’ cheekbones grow prominent and carefully he shifts to guide your chin to look up at him. “You’re gonna fine, I’m gonna fine…we’re gonna fine, hm? We’re workin’ together ‘ere and I am gonna be there when you give birth to our son, I’m gonna do everythin’ I can ta make sure you and our son are gonna be alright.”

Your heart flutters. “...Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Mhm…”

Elvis smiles. “Okay...”

Delicately pulling you into a loving kiss. Elvis carefully cups your cheek then when you suddenly giggle against his lips, he breaks away. “What’s so funny?”

Shaking your head, you admire his pretty blue eyes as a quiet laugh emits, softly. “I’m just happy…”

His stare softens.

“Me too…”

[jhoneybees]

You know what? Hell yeah.😫😫😫

squirting from every whole.

[jhoneybees]

Oh my goodness, I'm flattered😭 Thank you girlie @hooked-on-elvis but I'm quite happy just sharing my love for our man on here!

I'll tag others tho! @iloveelvisss @atleastpleasetelephone @elvisbdoll

Calling all Poets!

@sissylittlefeather @leopardandstuds @vintageshanny @dreamingofep @msamarican

[jhoneybees]

Attention Elvis fic writers.

There is a C.ai creator they had been stealing our fics to use to make bots on their account and I am not happy about this. I don't usually post anything like this but when it comes to stealing I ain't letting it slide.

This is them on C.ai and @epsdoll is this you? I really damn hope not because this unacceptable.

As you can see in the photo, a couple of the bots they have made is named after my fics, Sweetly drunk, Mad and upset, a lot of the other ones too

The other woman being @elvisbdoll 's fic.

A couple of these bots being @lustnhim 's fics.

Proof of them being one of my fics:

'Soulmates'

'Worried Sick'

If you don't believe me, go look at my master list and you'll find these fics.

What is going on?

[jhoneybees]

Wasn't it Elvis didn't like to wear stripes or patterned shirts because they reminded him of when he was poor? Idk but gosh LOOK HOW CUTE HE LOOKS🥹🤭

CUTE BABY NERD🤓

»»————> “I WAIT FOR YOU”<————««

〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎

[jhoneybees]

[jhoneybees]

*sniff*🥹

Slowly but Surely: A Lonnie Beale Story

A/N: I know we're all patiently waiting for the last couple chapters of If You Talk In Your Sleep, but I needed a brain break. So I wrote this idea which I've had for a very long time. This one is for Lonnie Beale from Tickle Me. If you've never seen the movie, it takes place at a weight loss ranch for women. That's pretty much all you need to know.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, regular smut (oral, p in v, creampie), but also BODY IMAGE AND THE READER HAS AN EATING DISORDER

Also, disclaimer, as a licensed therapist and ED survivor myself, I KNOW that love cannot cure eating disorders. This is FANTASY. If you need help, please find a professional! You deserve to be healthy and well!

Word count: ~4k

Your father was the one that decided you'd never find a decent husband in your current state. You're an heiress to a pretty impressive hotel fortune, but you've always been a little more on the soft side. Not exactly overweight, but not as thin as most of the girls around you either. So in order to make you worthy of the kind of man you should catch, he sends you to the Circle Z ranch to whip you into shape.

It doesn't seem to be working, though. You follow the diet and do all the exercises, but you're still not 36-24-36. When you go home for a weekend, your father comments that it's probably a waste of money and there's not much hope for you anyway. That pisses you off. If everyone else at the ranch can do it, so can you. You'll just have to work a little harder.

And that's exactly what you do. You stop eating almost completely, even the tiny portions they offer you. Between that and the extra workout classes you do, you start to see a little progress. Before you know it, your waist is down to 27” and you feel like you just might be okay. You're miserable, weak and starving, but you look pretty good.

Lonnie has been working at the ranch for a couple of months now. At first, he had the hots for the yoga instructor, but it didn't take him long to realize she doesn't have much substance, mentally or physically. And the owner of the ranch has been after him since she hired him, but the interest in her burned out pretty quickly too. He needs more, a whole woman, and unfortunately there's not many of them at the ranch. He tries to just focus on his duties: working with the horses, teaching archery, and singing periodically.

The first time he saw you, he noticed how pretty and soft you seemed, but as the time passed, you started to wither away just like the rest of the girls there. He clicked his tongue and shook his head, such a waste, but didn't think too much of it. Not until the day you pass out.

You've got the bow held up okay, the arrow pulled back, but you're shaking from the lack of food and your vision is a little fuzzy around the edges. Still, you try to do your damndest to focus on the target. You hear Lonnie as he gives instructions and sigh. For a second when you first met him, you had thought he liked you, but the conversation had tapered off. Now he's just another person that you're pretty sure you've disappointed somehow.

“Keep those arms straight, ladies.” His mellow baritone is close by, but you don't dare look. Instead, you readjust and straighten your arm, but both of your hands are shaking so much you can't hold the bow still. You're staring at the target, waiting for him to tell you to let the arrow fly when your vision starts to go dark. You let go and send the arrow flying before he says to and you hear him holler as everything blacks out and you feel yourself falling.

Lonnie turns quickly when he hears you loose the arrow and it takes him less than half a second to realize what's happened and catch you just before you hit the ground.

“Woah! Honey!” He has you in his arms when he realizes you're unconscious. Carefully holding you, he lowers to the ground with you in his lap and starts patting your cheek. “Come on, honey. Lemme see those pretty eyes. Come on.”

Eventually, your eyelashes flutter and you look up at him. He sighs and relaxes noticeably. Even he didn't realize how afraid he was until after you woke up.

“Hey, sweetheart. You scared the shit outta me. You alright?” The other girls have all gathered around the two of you where he sits with you in his arms. You can't say anything, so you just blink up at him weakly. One of the other girls scoffs enviously.

“Bet she just hasn't eaten today. She never eats.” He looks up at her, his eyebrows knit together in concern.

“What d’you mean never?” His voice is firm and quiet.

“I mean I'm not sure I've ever seen her put food in her mouth.” The girl crosses her arms, obviously annoyed that he seems to care so much. He looks back down at you, gently brushing your hair back off of your face.

“When was the last time you ate, honey?” You try to give him a small smile.

“I'm not sure.” He shakes his head, frustrated. Then he stands up, hoisting you into his arms, shocked by how little you weigh. He tells the other girls to clear out and then walks with you to the stables. You're not sure why he's bringing you there, but you're too weak to protest or ask. He sets you on a small bale of hay and then starts looking for something, muttering and cursing under his breath. You hear something about “this damn place” before he comes back to you with a jar of peanut butter and a spoon. He opens it and scoops some out for you and you wrinkle your nose. Not only is it unnecessary calories, it's in a barn.

“Don't make that face, honey. This is mine. I keep it in here as a snack while I work. Come on. It's good.” You continue to stare at him like he's trying to give you horse peanut butter, so he pops the spoon in his mouth and eats it himself. Then he gets another scoop and holds it up to you. “There. See? It's good. Please eat it.”

His mouth is sticky with his bite as he talks, but you soften and nod. Your hand shakes as you reach for the spoon and he beats you to the punch, just holding it to your lips like you're a baby. Too tired to fight any more, you open your mouth and let him feed you the spoonful of peanut butter. It's been so long since you've eaten, it tastes almost decadent and you moan softly with the pleasure of the taste.

Something about your little moan shoots straight through him and he clears his throat, trying to focus on getting more peanut butter into you. Still, as he squats next to you, his eyes glued to your lips, he feels himself harden in his too-tight pants. He ignores it, shoveling spoonfuls into your mouth as often as you'll let him. After three, you shake your head no. There's too many calories in peanut butter, too much fat. But he's not having it.

“Come on, honey. You can do a couple more. You're doin’ so good, baby. Open up.” The way he's sitting so close, his knee bumping yours, caring for you, makes you incapable of telling him no. Instead, you pop your mouth open like a baby bird and eat two more bites. You feel some of your strength coming back, but your hands still shake.

He puts the spoon in your mouth again and tries desperately not to whimper when it slides out from between your lips. He's already hard as a rock when he notices there's a little bit of peanut butter by your mouth. Without thinking, he licks his thumb and wipes it off. You let out a sharp little gasp and he freezes. He's absolutely desperate to kiss you, but it would be wrong. You're still weak and trembling. Instead, he carefully brushes his thumb across your bottom lip, so soft and slow that it's barely within his control.

And then your little tongue darts out and flicks against the tip of his thumb and he's utterly destroyed.

“Jesus, sweetheart.” He stands up and turns away quickly to hide the way his cock presses against the denim of his pants. “Fuck!”

“I-I'm sorry.” You stutter and blink, not exactly sure what you've done. He moves quickly back to your side, kneeling and shaking his head vehemently.

“No. Don't you apologize. You are perfect. I just hate what they've done to you.” You knit your eyebrows together.

“Done to me?”

“Makin’ you think you need to starve when you were perfect when you got here.” You make a face.

“I was f-”

“You were perfect.” He looks so deeply into your eyes that you get lost in the blueness of them for a bit. You don't even notice he's leaning in until he's so close that you let out a little squeak. He pulls back and stands up again, running his hand through his hair.

“God, sweetheart, I'm sorry.”

Just then, the owner of the ranch comes bustling in to make sure you're not about to sue her. She looks at you and then at Lonnie and then back at you and purses her lips.

“Come on. Up you get.” She says it in a sing-song voice like she's being kind, but really she's just as jealous as the other girls were. Lonnie tries to protest, but she puts a finger on his lips. “She's fine. Thank you Mr. Beale.”

She yanks you up by the arm and escorts you out of the barn, leaving him standing there annoyed. He watches as you leave and decides then and there that you're his to save.

******

The first time he taps on your window in the middle of the night, you think it's one of the ghosts the townspeople are always going on about. But then you look and realize it's Lonnie. You glance over at your roommate snoozing away in her bed with her eye mask on and sneak out the front door quietly. There's a little patio table and chairs on your porch and he sits there with you, setting a greasy paper bag down in front of you.

“Here you go, princess. Eat up.” He smiles widely, like he's done you the best favor ever. You look in the bag and find a cheeseburger and some french fries. They smell so good you want to cry, but you know you can't give in.

“Oh, Lonnie. You're real sweet, but I can't.” His smile falls a little and he realizes that you're not just starving because the camp isn't feeding you. You're starving by choice. His jaw clenches and he looks like he's ready to fight someone.

“Honey, why are you doin’ this?” His voice is quiet and strained, like he's holding back. You look down at your hands in your lap and swallow the lump in your throat.

“I have to. I still have 3 more inches to lose if I ever want a man to want me–”

“Lemme stop you right there, sweetheart.” He tips your chin with his finger so that you have to look him in the eye. “Any man who thinks you need to starve yourself to be worth wantin’ is not a man worth havin’.”

“Lonnie–”

“I mean it!” He says it a little louder than he means to and then lowers his voice to a whisper. “I don't know who put it in your head that you need to change to be loved, but they're lyin’. You were beautiful and soft and healthy when you got here and I–”

Your eyebrows shoot up and he stops himself. “You what?”

“I would've loved to love you.” There's a moment of silence and tension and his eyes flick down to your lips. You're beside yourself with disbelief, convinced he must be saying all this for some yet-to-be revealed reason, a joke or a bet or something. He sighs deeply and pushes the bag of food toward you again.

“You gotta be hungry, sweetheart. Please eat. For me?” You sigh and dig out a few french fries. The second the first one hits your tongue, you let out a little whimper and close your eyes. They taste so damn good.

Lonnie can't stop the grin that spreads across his face as he watches the joy with which you eat. Something about you warms him in a way he hasn't ever experienced before. He pulls the cheeseburger out and holds it up to you. You shake your head and he takes a bite.

“You sure? It's good.” He waves it in front of your face again and wiggles his eyebrows. You giggle and take a tiny bite. It is so good.

That night he manages to get you to eat a handful of fries and three bites of burger. When he goes to leave, he wants to kiss you so badly it physically hurts, but he doesn't want to mess with his goal to get you healthy again. Instead, he nods awkwardly and heads to his place.

******

Over the next month and a half, Lonnie brings you food in the night. It starts slow, every third or fourth night, but by the end of it he's coming every night. In the beginning, you nibble on what he brings you, french fries and sandwiches and pizza and milkshakes, but by the end you're eating well and smacking his hands when he steals bites.

Your ability to eat isn't the only thing that grows. The tension between the two of you is palpable as you laugh and flirt and almost kiss more times than you can count. Somewhere around week four, your roommate goes home and it's just you in your little cabin, so he barely even has to sneak anymore.

He watches the color come back into your cheeks as they round out a little and your curves start to be noticeable again. His hands almost ache with the desire to touch you and more than once he finds himself thinking of you afterwards, his grip tight and pumping as he moans your name into the gray light just before sunrise.

With every meal you become a little more yourself. Your quick wit and smart mouth come back now that your brain is getting enough calories. You might be exhausted from the lack of sleep, but you don't care. Lonnie visiting you makes you feel better than anything else ever has. Sometimes you wonder if maybe there's more between you than just friendship, but he never does anything more than kiss your cheek before he leaves.

Everything is going well until you step on the scale and realize the numbers have gone the wrong direction by a lot. You stand and look in the mirror, pinching the parts you don't like. Your stomach is soft and your thighs touch again. Disgusting. The tears burn hot in your eyes and you want to take a surgeon’s knife to your body. Who could ever love this version of you? You decide you're never eating again.

By the time Lonnie shows up with a pizza, you've worked yourself into a pretty decent rage. This is his fault. Him with his burgers and fries and false validation. He did this to you and you're not even sure why. You could kick yourself for letting him derail you.

“Hiya honey! Pizza tonight!” He walks into your little house and then turns, sensing the tension. “What's wrong?”

“What's wrong?! Lonnie, I'm as big as I was when I got here!” He stares at you trying to figure out why that's a bad thing.

“Yeah? You look–”

“Huge! I look awful, Lonnie and it's your fault!” The tears start to cut hot pathways down your cheeks. “Why did you do this to me?”

He sets the pizza on the table and walks over to you. “Honey, all I did was help you–”

“Help me get fat again?! Why?!”

“Sweetheart, I told you–”

“Don't you dare say that you like me like this. That's a lie and you know it.” His eyes flash with something dangerously close to anger.

“Is it?! You think I’ve just been bringin’ you food for fun? You think I ain’t been sittin’ on my hands every night, just dyin’ to touch you? Jesus Christ, baby!” He's yelling now, pacing the room like some kind of caged animal. He stops and turns, cupping the side of your face with his hand. “I want you so bad I can barely see straight.”

You look up at him with your eyes shiny and wet, searching his for evidence that this is all some big practical joke. But all you find there is sincerity. It confuses you and makes you doubt yourself even more. Your next words come out quiet, steady but firm.

“Prove it.”

“Prove it?” He takes a step closer so that his body is almost touching yours.

“Prove it.”

His lips crash into yours so hard it almost hurts and his hands move to your hips, pulling you so close to him you can feel his whole body where it presses against you. The kiss builds in heat and intensity as your tongues tangle and his hands roam over all of your curves. His lips move down to your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, and he lays you on your little bed softly. He starts to unbutton your pajama top and presses kisses to the soft swell of your breasts. As he does, he murmurs against your skin.

“Women are supposed to be soft. Not all angles and bones. Soft and warm and round.” His right hand slides up to cup your breast, his thumb swiping across your nipple, as he works the other one with his mouth. He lets his tongue flick over it as it hardens for him and your back arches as you moan softly.

The buttons on the rest of your pajama top don't stand a chance as he rips it open, pressing hot, open-mouth kisses onto the soft flesh of your stomach. You cringe and instinctively try to cover yourself with your hands. He pulls back and shakes his head, moving your hands firmly but gently.

“No, baby. Don't hide from me. I've been dyin’ to see you, worship you, let you know what you do to me just by existing.” He laces his fingers in between yours and then bends over again, kissing your belly softly. “You're perfect. This is perfection.”

Some small part of you starts to believe that maybe he is telling the truth as he moves his hands to your waist and sucks on a spot just above your hip. Your hands go to the back of his hair and he moans.

“I could worship this part of you forever, honey.” He kisses back to the center, just below your belly button. “But I need to taste you.”

You moan softly as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and panties and pulls them down together. But before he dives in, he spends time dragging his lips along the insides of your thighs, squeezing them with his hands as he goes. When he finally does push them apart and spread you open, he groans at the sight of you glistening for him.

“You have a beautiful body. I'll never get enough of it.” He says the last part so reverently that it's almost like he's saying a prayer. That thought is fleeting, though, as he drags his tongue up your center and settles at your clit, making slow deliberate circles. He alternates between sturdy licks and sucking on you gently and soft little flicks. You feel your release start to gather low in your abdomen and he pulls back a little. “Pretty little clit. Matches the rest of you.”

He slips two fingers up inside where you're already slick and ready for him. He pumps them in and out before tickling you, feeling your walls flutter around him. You whimper and moan and his name falls from your lips like honey.

“Lonnie… oh god…”

“Come on, beautiful. Cum for me.” He says it half as a plea and half as a command, but it works perfectly and your body shudders as it comes unraveled on his tongue. He works you through it as the blood rushes through you like lightning. You gasp and shiver and he kisses your clit one last time before he makes his way back up your body, his big hand settling on the soft curve of your stomach. “Now do you believe me?”

You don't even answer, you just tear at his clothing, undoing buttons and zippers and everything else until he's as naked as you are. He presses his thigh up between yours and groans as you rub your wet center against him, your hips rolling deeply. You feel his cock where it presses against your hip, heavy, hard, and already leaking for you.

He pauses for a second, looking down at you underneath him, laid out and soft. And there's so much more than lust. His heart pounds and his mouth goes dry and it's like he’ll lose the ability to breathe if he's not inside you soon. He exhales shakily and leans his head forward on your shoulder.

“Fuck.” He's in love with you.

“What? Lonnie, are you okay?” You ask, gently stroking the back of his hair.

“Yeah, just, I've never… fuck.”

“Never what?” You whisper, suddenly scared. He lifts his head off your shoulder and looks into your eyes.

“I love you, honey.” It comes flying out of him before he can stop it and you sit there in stunned silence for a while.

“I love you, too, Lonnie.” Your voice is soft and shaky, but you know it's true. No man has ever made you feel this wanted, this beautiful just the way you are. He looks at you like you're the most precious thing on earth and then kisses you so deeply that it's like his soul touches yours. Then, he rearranges to be between your legs and lifts one of your thighs to wrap around his waist. When he pushes inside you, every doubt and fear you've ever had about your body fades away for the moment and there is only you and him and the sensation of him opening you like you were born to be wrapped around him. He moans softly and then starts to move, slowly at first and then building up speed and intensity.

“Oh god, baby. You feel so goddamn good, taking me so well. You are perfect.” His hips snap against yours and you could cry with how good it feels when he fills you up. His breath is hot on your skin as he pounds you. “I love– fuck– I love you.”

His hand is solid on your thigh and his fingers press into your skin. He revels in the softness of you as he feels his orgasm gather at the base of his cock. You whimper and gasp and squeeze him as another climax washes over you.

“Lonnie!” His name drips from your lips like a prayer as you shudder around him. He bites his lip and grunts.

“So close, baby. Fuck!” He groans as he holds himself still while he pulses and spills his warmth inside you. Your skin is damp with sweat and you both breathe heavily in the aftershocks of pleasure. Eventually, your heart rates return to normal and he settles on your chest with your hand in his hair. You enjoy the comfortable silence for a while, just being together in blissful harmony. When he speaks, his voice is soft and filled with adoration. “You believe me now?”

He lifts his head up to look you in the eye.

“Yes.”

“No more starving?” You shake your head with tears in your eyes.

“Never again.”

“Good. Need you strong to follow me on the rodeo circuit.” You giggle and kiss his forehead.

“The rodeo circuit?” He nods sleepily.

“Mhmm. We're gettin’ the hell out of here first thing in the morning.”

“We?”

“Yeah baby. I thought you were mine to save. Turns out you're mine to love. As long as you'll have me.” You smile softly as he kisses you.

“Forever, then.”

“Forever.”

******

The End

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

Taglist:

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[jhoneybees]

I have another request!! So I stumbled across these photos a few weeks ago..

And needless to say, it’s made me a little feral to put it simply. For the request, I was thinking that him and reader are at an after party for his friends wedding, which is actually what’s going on in the photo, and he’s showing off the gun and whatnot and reader finds it reallyyy attractive. Things take a turn and well….yeah. Also, I would love if there was spice. Like.. a LOT 🌚. Like borderline depravity…

Anyways, thank you! I absolutely love your writing and I know this will be amazing💗

A/N: Thanks so much for this request! Sidenote: I am going to write the other one but this is much more immediately in my wheelhouse so I'm starting here.

I am not ashamed to say that this man gave me a gun kink, so any excuse to write something filthy with firearms. Thanks to @polksaladava for helping me come up with exactly which filthy thing, and also thanks to my partner for finding out what kind of gun this is and being my gun guru generally lol.

Big man with a gun

Pairing: Hot sexy 1970 Elvis x reader

Word count: 2K

TWs: Gun kink. Also Elvis waving the gun about indoors like a madman, little hint of him being dominant, reader calls him daddy, praise kink, dry humping, smut. Usual stuff.

***

“What d’ya think of the Drilling?” Elvis is holding the gun up, seemingly aiming at the ceiling. 

“Careful, E,” Sonny warns, concerned about the plasterwork. “Y’don’t wanna blow another hole in the ceiling.”

Elvis chuckles, racking the gun and looking through the sight at one of the fancy decorations where the wall meets the ceiling. 

“E!” Sonny exclaims, instinctively tucking Judy behind him. 

Elvis just keeps chuckling, saying something about improving the wedding decorations and aiming at a balloon now instead. Sonny tries telling him again but he just responds that it’s his house and if he wants to blow holes in it he will. Your heart is racing. There have been stories about him firing guns indoors to get people’s attention, but you always thought they were just that, stories. And anyway, when the guys had regaled you with them, they’d always said it was a gun Elvis got out of his boot, or a holster. There’s no way this gun could fit under his arm or in his shoe. You don’t know a lot about guns, but you think it must be able to do more damage than something small enough to fit in his boot. You try to swallow. Your throat has gone a little dry. 

“C’mon, E,” Sonny tries for the millionth time as people actively start trying to find places to hide in case he really does start shooting. 

There’s a moment of complete silence, and then Elvis lets out a full-on belly laugh, dropping the gun from his shoulder and making it safe. 

“Y’didn’t think I’d really start shootin’, did ya? Not at yer wedding reception.”

Sonny isn’t sure what he thought, not really, but he slaps Elvis on the back, telling him of course he knew he was joking. The other man grins, enjoying the effect of waving the firearm around, and then turns towards you, holding it in both hands like it’s a display piece. 

“Whaddya think, baby?” He asks. 

You’re the designated photographer for the reception, for some reason, so you grin and snap a few pictures. 

“It’s um… nice?” You try. You’re not exactly sure how you should describe it. Cool? Dangerous? Well-made?

“Think it’s a little more ‘an nice, baby,” he tells you, obviously a little disappointed by your response. “It’s a shotgun an’ a rifle in one. See?” He comes closer and flicks a finger over the triggers. “Two triggers. One for this bit,” his hand glides over the top two barrels, “and one for this,” sliding his palm against the underneath of the rifle part. 

You look down, suddenly fascinated by the way he’s caressing the gun and the way his rings glitter as his hands move. 

“What’s this bit?” You ask, gingerly poking a black sort of tube on the top of the shotgun part. 

“Telescopic sight. Lets ya see what yer shootin’ at.”

You nod silently, feeling your heart start to race again. “W-what’s it for?” 

“Shootin’, baby,” he replies, letting out another roaring laugh that makes everyone else in the room turn around for a moment. 

You blush and look down. “I know that,” you whisper, embarrassed. “But why’s it got so many… barrels?”

“Good fer huntin’,” he replies, gently manoeuvring you to the couch so the two of you can sit down. “Shootin’ rabbits an’ deer with the same gun.”

You try not to let your face fall at the idea of shooting cute little animals, but you’re not sure you succeed. “Oh I see,” you mumble. 

He lets out another short laugh and then the next thing you know one end of the gun is in your lap. 

“Pretty, ain’t she?” He continues, his fingers running over the decorative metalwork at the end of the stock. 

His shoulder is pressed up against you and you can feel the heat radiating off him as he takes your hand and rubs your fingers where his have just been. 

“Feel the craftsmanship on this.” He continues to guide your hand over the contours of the gun, down the hard smooth stock and then along the barrels as they lay on his lap. 

You realise you can hear your own breathing and you quickly close your mouth. Apparently it had just opened of its own accord midway through this guided tour of the gun. You have to get yourself under control. Looking quickly around the room, you try to see if anyone has noticed… what exactly? Elvis talking to you about a firearm? Making you touch it like it’s… well. Something other than an inanimate object. Your head is spinning and it takes you a while to realise you’ve just been absent-mindedly running your fingers back and forth over the smooth wood of the stock without any help from him whatsoever. You look up to see him grinning back at you. 

“Ya like her, baby?” He asks.

“Y-yeah. Good… craftsmanship,” you squeak out, face bright red. 

He lets out a low chuckle and then puts his lips to your ear. “Ya wanna take her to bed?”

Your eyes go wide and you make a sort of strange noise somewhere in your throat. Do you want to what now? You feel his breath on your ear, as he questions you again, “hm?” his arm snaking around your waist and pulling you against him. Your brain still isn’t really functioning but the warmth that’s spreading between your legs is suggesting you want to do what he’s asking. You finally manage a little whining noise and he pulls back to look at your face. 

“That a yes?”

Biting your lip as you find yourself nodding, you finally let out a strangled “yes”, making him smile. 

“Alright then. Haveta wait until this is over, mind.”

***

The next few hours are torture. It’s Sonny’s wedding reception after all, so it’s not as if Elvis can throw everyone out of his house on a whim. So you suffer through more speeches and more cake and more tedious conversations. Every so often Elvis comes over and whispers something naughty in your ear and touches you in a way that makes you ache, and more than once you find yourself standing next to the cabinet he’s put the gun on top of, stroking it. You feel like you’re going to go insane, the slickness between your legs is getting so bad you’re worried it’s going to leak through your panties onto your dress, so towards the end you even stop sitting down, just in case. You think about running off to the bathroom to solve your little problem but the combination of fear of what Elvis would do to you if he found out and excitement of what might happen later with the gun stops you. By the time the last guest leaves you actually feel a little dizzy. 

“Can we go now?” You ask, pressing yourself up against him. 

Chuckling again, he wraps an arm around you. “Eager lil thing, ain’tcha?”

You whine. You’re pretty sure this can’t be classed as being eager. You’ve been waiting for hours. “Please?”

“Well since ya begged…” he gives you a quick kiss and then lets you go, striding over to the gun and picking it up before moving to the stairs. “C’mon, baby.” He holds out his hand and you take it, trotting after him as he takes the stairs two at a time. 

Even though you watch him removing the cartridges from the gun and he makes a point of showing you that it’s completely empty and safe, it still looks dangerous in the middle of the bed. Hard and unyielding, dark in colour and purpose, in the middle of a warm soft place for sleeping and lovemaking. You swallow hard and squeeze your thighs together. You must be dripping by now. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he runs his fingers down your cheek. “Why don’tcha straddle her, baby?”

Even though you’re pretty far gone at this point, his words still shock you and all you can do is whine again. He smiles gently, leaning in to kiss you as his hand moves to your jaw. 

“Feel how smooth she is,” he continues, pulling away from the kiss, his hand encouraging yours onto the stock again. “Bet that’d feel good, honey.”

His other hand sneaks between your legs, giving a low whistle as he feels just how sodden your panties are. He starts to rub you there and you let out a moan, finally getting some contact on your aching pussy. 

“C’mon honey. I know ya wanta.”

He rubs you a little more and then removes his hand, leaving you panting and desperate and then you’re in the middle of the bed, one leg on either side of the stock, sitting down on the gun and trying to rub yourself against it. 

“Mmmmm. It doesn’t… I need…” you start to mumble, almost incoherently. The gun sinks down into the bed as soon as you put any pressure on it and you can’t get yourself off. Luckily Elvis figures it out quickly and helps you put a pillow underneath it, holding you carefully so you don’t lose your balance. 

Groaning, you start to move your hips back and forth, rubbing your clothed pussy against the smooth wood. Your eyes roll back in your head as the friction builds, one hand gripping the pillow as you explore your body with the other. You’re so lost in pleasure you don’t notice Elvis starting to touch himself, so turned on watching you like this that he can’t help himself. 

“Good girl,” he breathes, hand sliding up and down his dick. 

You can only whimper in response, grinding against the stock, smearing your arousal all over it as your panties slip to the side and there’s no barrier left between you and the gun. Somewhere in the back of your mind you can’t believe you’re doing this, can’t quite understand how you ended up in this position, you don’t even like guns… 

“Is my good girl gonna cum f’me?” His voice cuts through your thoughts and you realise that yes, you are going to, and really soon. 

“Yes, Daddy,” you pant. 

“Mmmm,” is all he can manage in response, still lost in watching you so out of control. 

Both of your hands pull at the pillow, forcing it to stay where you want it as you teeter on the edge of your orgasm, a buzz of incredible pleasure surrounding you before the bubble bursts and you’re there, screaming out his name. 

You hear him grunt and open your eyes just in time to see him cum all over himself, still staring at you and the gun, mouth hanging open loosely. He looks so beautiful like that, wanton with his lips red and his eyes wild. You can’t believe you turned him on so much. 

His eyes shift to meet yours and you both look at one another for a moment and then you start to giggle. And he starts to giggle. And then you’re both belly laughing as you crawl towards him and into his arms. Right now it seems absolutely absurd how desperate you were to rub yourself all over this goddamn gun and how desperate he was to watch you. He presses his nose against your cheek, body still shaking from laughter. 

“D-didn’t know ya l-liked guns s’much, honey.” His voice wobbles with the effort of trying to stay serious.

“I don’t!” You giggle back, turning your head and kissing him on the mouth. 

He kisses you back and you can feel him smiling against your lips. Your giggles gradually subside as you burrow into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent. Contentment washes over you. 

“Why’d ya do it then?” He mumbles in your ear. 

“You wanted me to,” you reply, moving so that you can look up at him through your lashes. “And you looked pretty damn sexy with that gun.”

“Honey! Ya kiss yer mama with that mouth?!” He teases.

“Yeah but right now I’d much rather kiss you,” you reply, tugging his head down so his lips meet yours again. 

Losing yourself again in the smell of him, the way he tastes, the feeling of him holding you like he never wants to let you go, you don’t think you’ve ever felt so good. 

Maybe you do like guns, after all. Or maybe you just like that one gun in particular…

***

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[jhoneybees]

This man is playing a VERY dangerous game😩

»»————> "мαувє ιт'ѕ тιмє тσ ѕнαттєя αωαу, ¢αυѕє ι'νє ηєνєя яєαℓℓу ƒєℓт σкαу."<————««

[jhoneybees]

😭😭😭

“How’s your WIP going?”

"Have you made any progress?”

“How close are you to being done?”