jhoneybees

[jhoneybees]

YEEEEEEHOOOO THIS IS SO GOOD

Naive

Warning: Smut, minor dni, naive reader

Graceland felt like a place you weren’t supposed to be.

All that gold, velvet, and hush.

You were only supposed to drop something off—your aunt’s catering invoice—then go.

But the front door opened too easy. And the house was too quiet.

And then… you saw him.

Elvis Presley, in a loose silk robe, shirtless beneath it.

Chest dusted in dark hair, a gold chain catching the sunlight like it was trying to blind you.

And he looked at you like he already knew what you tasted like.

“Well hey there, baby,” he said, voice thick and Southern and full of things you hadn’t heard from a man before.

You held up the manila envelope with both hands like it could protect you.

“I’m—I’m just here to drop this off,” you stammered. “For my aunt.”

He didn’t even look at it.

“You always stutter like that, sugar, or is it just when you see me half-naked?”

Your mouth opened. Nothing came out.

Elvis laughed low, stepped forward—barefoot, robe swaying.

“You got a name, honey?”

You told him. Quietly.

He said it back slow, like he was tasting it.

Like he was already thinking about how it’d sound when you screamed it.

“You ever been kissed by someone who knows what he’s doin’?”

That knocked the breath right out of you.

“I—I haven’t…”

Elvis smiled like he’d won something.

“Didn’t think so. You got that sweet look to you. Like sugar pie just pulled from the oven. Untouched.”

You should’ve left.

You knew that.

But you didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

He took your chin in two fingers, tilted your face up.

“You wanna know how it feels?”

You nodded before you could think.

And when he kissed you—slow and deep and filthy—you felt your knees buckle.

He caught you, lifted you like nothing. Carried you right down the hallway like a man with every intention of ruining you.

And oh, baby…

He did.

The bed was bigger than anything you’d ever seen—deep red sheets, silk maybe, cool against your skin as he laid you down like something precious.

Elvis didn’t rush.

He just stood there for a moment, staring down at you like you were the most beautiful, most dangerous thing he’d ever let into his home.

“You nervous, baby?” he murmured, eyes burning low.

You nodded.

He grinned, slow and lazy.

“Good. Means it’s real.”

The robe slid off his shoulders like it had been waiting to fall.

And there he was—broad chest, toned arms, that soft trail of hair disappearing into velvet sleep pants that barely hid the thick outline pressing against them.

Your lips parted. You didn’t mean to, but you gasped.

He chuckled.

“First time seein’ a real man?”

You blushed. Bit your lip.

He crawled onto the bed, caging your body with his, arms braced on either side of your head.

His mouth hovered just above yours, breath warm.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, voice low. “Right now, sugar. If you say the word, I’ll be a gentleman.”

But you didn’t.

Couldn’t.

You just whispered, “Don’t stop.”

That was all he needed.

His mouth came down on yours, hungrier than before, tongue sliding past your lips like he owned the right.

You whimpered into it, hands clutching at his shoulders, unsure of what to do—how to move.

“You’re shakin’,” he murmured against your jaw, licking a slow line down to your neck.

“S’okay, baby. Let me show you. I’ll make it good. Real good.”

Fingers worked your blouse open, one button at a time.

You tried to hide yourself, but he stopped you with a soft growl.

“Don’t do that. Let me see. Let me have you.”

And when his lips wrapped around your nipple, warm and wet, you arched off the bed like you were on fire.

He sucked slow, deep pulls that made you cry out, his hand squeezing the other breast just firm enough to leave heat in its wake.

“You like that, huh?” he whispered, dragging his mouth lower.

“You’re real sensitive, baby. Bet your pretty little pussy’s already drippin’, ain’t it?”

You gasped, hips lifting.

He smirked.

“Thought so.”

Fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down your thighs.

He spread your legs—gentle but firm—and looked down at you like he was about to devour dessert.

“Goddamn…” he muttered, voice husky. “Look at you. All pink and wet for me.”

You hid your face in your arm, body trembling.

He kissed the inside of your thigh, slow, teasing.

Then higher.

Higher.

And finally—

His mouth found you.

Tongue licking a slow, deliberate stripe from your entrance to your clit, then back again.

You screamed.

“Elvis—!”

He held your thighs wide, humming into you like he was tasting something holy.

“Sshh… That’s it, baby girl. Let me make you cum. First time’s supposed to feel like heaven.”

And when he sucked your clit, firm and greedy, fingers sliding inside you slow and perfect—

You shattered.

Back arched.

Legs shook.

Your voice broke his name in half.

He didn’t stop.

Not until you were gasping, begging, twitching under his mouth.

Not until you were limp and ruined and soaked.

Then he pulled back, licking his lips, eyes dark as sin.

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, sugar.”

He pushed his pants down—thick, heavy cock springing free—and leaned over you, rubbing the head against your still-sensitive folds.

“Gonna fill you up now,” he breathed. “Real slow. Real deep. Make you mine.”

And you?

You opened your legs wider.

Eyes glassy.

Body begging.

“Yes… please…” you whimpered. “I want it. Want you.”

Elvis groaned low in his throat as he sank the thick head of his cock inside you.

It was slow—painfully, beautifully slow—his hips grinding forward an inch at a time.

You gasped, nails digging into his biceps, legs trembling from the stretch.

“Fuck,” he growled, forehead resting against yours. “You’re so tight, baby. Feels like heaven, swear to God…”

You tried to breathe, but he filled you too deep, too thick.

The burn made your eyes water, but it was good—so good.

You felt split open, branded.

“Elvis… I—”

He kissed you, swallowing your whimper.

“Shh, I got you, sugar. Gonna take care of you. Just let me in.”

And you did.

You gave him everything.

When he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours, you cried out—choked, needy, overwhelmed.

He held you there, buried deep, chest heaving.

Then—

He moved.

Slow at first.

Long, dragging strokes that made your body jolt with every roll of his hips.

You felt every inch, every vein, every bit of that thick cock sliding in and out like it was meant for you and no one else.

“That’s it, sweet girl,” he rasped against your neck, biting gently. “You takin’ me so good.”

Your back arched as he hit something inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes.

You moaned loud, head thrown back.

“Elvis!”

He laughed, breathless, cock twitching inside you.

“Sound so pretty when you scream my name. Say it again, baby. Louder.”

You couldn’t stop.

Your voice spilled out, all broken syllables and filthy pleas.

“Please—don’t stop—Elvis—feels so—oh God—”

He picked up the pace then.

Thrusts deep and rhythmic, his hips slamming against yours, the bed creaking under the force of it.

His hands slid under your ass, lifting you to take him even deeper.

“You feel that?” he panted. “That’s me, baby. Ruinin’ you. Fillin’ you up like nobody else ever will.”

Your walls clenched tight around him, and he groaned, cock twitching.

You were close—right on the edge.

“Elvis—I’m gonna—”

“Cum for me, baby girl,” he growled.

“Cum on my cock. Let me feel you fall apart.”

That did it.

You shattered again—body convulsing, toes curling, mouth wide in a silent scream.

Your pussy clenched so hard around him, he cursed loud and lost control.

“Shit—fuck—you’re squeezin’ me so good—”

He slammed in deep and stilled—

Buried to the hilt, cock throbbing as he spilled inside you.

Warm, thick, endless.

You felt him pulse again… and again… and again.

Both of you panting, trembling, pressed together in the heat of it.

He didn’t pull out.

Just held you, lips brushing your temple.

“Now that’s what a first time’s supposed to feel like, darlin’,” he whispered.

“And I ain’t lettin’ you go. Not after this. You’re mine now.”

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

[jhoneybees]

Omg *sniff*🥺❤️

“For daddy”

Graceland’s garden is alive with color, the air heavy with summer bloom and Southern stillness. Cicadas hum in the background, a soft rhythm that blends with the gentle swish of your dress as you walk across the lawn. Your feet are bare. The ground is warm. Your skin glows deep brown in the golden light, the kind of shade that sings of honey and molasses, kissed by the sun itself.

Your daughter dances beside you, her tiny hands trailing through tall blades of grass. She’s barefoot, too—just like you taught her. She looks up at you with a face made of you and him, all soft curls, long lashes, and cheekbones too sharp for a baby that small. She’s lighter than you, her skin like toasted caramel in the sunlight, but every bit of her belongs to you.

Her name is Zahara. You chose it yourself. It means “flowering,” “radiance,” and you knew it the moment you looked into her eyes—this child was born to bloom.

She suddenly stops, her gaze snagged by something at the edge of the flowerbed. “Mama,” she says softly, pointing. “Look at that one.”

You crouch down beside her, smiling as you follow her gaze. Nestled among the smaller blooms is a single, enormous lily—soft pink and ivory with streaks of gold, petals wide and open like arms outstretched. Zahara leans in carefully, cupping it between her tiny palms with a tenderness that makes your chest swell.

“I wanna pick it,” she says in a whisper, “and give it to Daddy.”

Your heart melts. You tuck a curl behind her ear, your fingers brushing against her soft baby hair. “Then pick it, baby,” you tell her gently. “Daddy’s gonna love that.”

With surprising delicacy, Zahara plucks the flower and cradles it like it’s fragile treasure. She holds it close to her chest, looking up at you with a proud little smile before she turns on her heel and starts toward the house.

Inside, you can hear the low buzz of laughter—the boys are back from town, Elvis holding court like always in the living room. It’s a familiar comfort: Joe’s easy chuckle, Red’s gravel voice, Sonny’s low drawl blending with Elvis’s baritone as he tells one of his wild stories. You follow Zahara to the door, but stop at the threshold, letting her have her moment.

She runs across the cool tile, curls bouncing, the hem of her dress lifting as she moves.

“Daddy!” she calls out.

The room quiets instantly.

Elvis looks up from the couch, one arm slung across the back, a glass of iced tea sweating in his other hand. When he sees her—his little girl, cheeks flushed and holding a flower bigger than her face—everything else fades.

“Well, look who it is,” he grins, setting his glass aside as he stands. “There’s my darlin’ girl.”

Zahara skids to a stop in front of him, clutching the flower with both hands. “It’s for you,” she says proudly, holding it out.

Elvis kneels down without hesitation, right there on the rug between Red’s boots and Sonny’s long legs. He presses a hand to his chest like she’s just gifted him a diamond crown. “For me? Honey, that’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Zahara beams, her whole little body glowing with joy. Elvis takes the flower, but only so he can pull her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. He buries his nose in her curls and sighs like he’s been away for a year, even though he’s only been home all morning.

“You pick this just for me?” he asks, his voice quieter now, just for her.

She nods. “Me and Mama found it. I said I wanted you to have it.”

He looks up, and his gaze finds yours.

There you are—leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, the sunlight from the porch wrapping around you like gold silk. He meets your eyes, and something soft settles in his chest. The way you look at him—like you still see the man beneath the legend—grounds him. Always has.

He presses a kiss to Zahara’s forehead and then another, just because.

“You know what?” he murmurs. “I’m gonna put this flower in a glass on the table, so everybody who walks through here knows my little girl picked it for me.”

Zahara giggles and rests her head on his shoulder.

The boys are quiet now, watching the scene with a sort of reverent fondness, their teasing set aside for once. Elvis stands, his daughter still tucked against him, and walks over to you. He leans in and kisses your cheek without a word, just a soft press of lips to skin, as if to say, thank you for her. Thank you for this.

And for a moment, time slows.

The house, the flower, the child, the man, and you—standing in the doorway of the life you built together. A life that may not be perfect, but in this exact second, is everything you ever wanted.

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

[jhoneybees]

“Money, Power and Glory”

You met him under the heat of red lights and camera flashes, somewhere between rehearsal and reinvention. Elvis Presley—resurrected in black leather and swagger, too aware of the image he’d sculpted for himself, yet still searching for something real underneath the rhinestones and resurrection.

And you? You were never supposed to be there.

Just a studio assistant. Another shadow behind the scenes, handing off microphones and collecting cables. But he noticed you. The way your eyes followed him, not with awe, but with quiet defiance. You didn’t care about the legend. You wanted the man. The raw, pulsing ache behind his smile.

“Hey, darlin’,” he said that first night, leaning too close, voice thick with honey and bourbon. “You always look at people like that? Like you know how they’ll end up?”

You didn’t flinch. “Only the ones who want too much.”

He smirked. “Then you’re lookin’ at the right man.”

————

The affair began with secrets—locked doors, whispered promises, your name barely spoken outside the hush of hotel rooms. He’d bring you gifts like apologies—gold bracelets, fur-lined jackets, bills folded into the pages of books you never asked for. You told him you didn’t need anything. He said that was why he wanted to give you everything.

But you knew the truth.

He wanted to own you like a kingdom.

“Elvis,” you’d whisper into his throat, curled in satin sheets and Southern heat, “why me?”

He’d grip your waist like it was the last honest thing he could hold. “Because you don’t want the crown, baby. That’s how I know you deserve it.”

But even then, you felt the weight coming. The slow tilt of his world, where love meant possession and desire always tasted like control.

————

You watched him onstage—sweat shining on his brow, voice burning with desperation. Every girl in the audience screamed for salvation. He sang for sin. And when he looked your way, it wasn’t tenderness in his eyes. It was hunger. Like you were the last thing he hadn’t conquered yet.

“I want money, power, and glory,” he’d hum sometimes, pressing his lips to your shoulder in the dark. “And I’ll take it from you if I have to.”

You kissed him harder when he said that. Maybe part of you wanted to be taken. To feel what it meant to be desired by a man who could have anyone—but kept coming back to you.

————

Still, the world outside never softened. They whispered your name like scandal. Told you to run before he ruined you. But you didn’t run.

You wanted the fire.

You wanted the chaos.

You wanted to see how far he’d go to make you stay.

And Elvis—he fed off that. He loved you like a battlefield, every kiss another power play, every fight a song he hadn’t written yet.

———-

So when he said, “Come with me to Vegas, I’ll make you my queen,” you smiled, lips painted the color of blood and secrets.

“You can’t buy me, Presley.”

He tilted his head, gaze dark and dangerous. “No, but I can make you worship me.”

And maybe he did.

But only because you let him.

Vegas made him bigger.

Brighter.

Louder.

But it made you sharper.

In the gold-drenched halls of the International Hotel, he was the sun. And everyone else, including you, was expected to orbit. The women, the sycophants, the men in suits. They bowed, smiled, clapped, and devoured him with their eyes like a god wrapped in rhinestones.

But you? You sat in the back, legs crossed, silk dress hugging every inch of your body like you belonged on that throne beside him. Watching. Calculating. Remembering the way he once begged for your silence, your touch, your fire.

And now? He expected you to disappear behind the curtain of his spotlight.

But baby, you weren’t built for the shadows.

————

“You’ve changed,” he muttered one night, drunk on applause and champagne. “You used to be softer. Now all I see is glass.”

You smiled, slow and dangerous. “Maybe I got tired of bleeding for a man who doesn’t know how to hold something without crushing it.”

He grabbed your wrist. Not hard, not soft. A warning. “I made you.”

You leaned in, lips brushing his ear like a curse:

“No. You bought me. But you can’t afford me anymore.”

————-

It started slow. You stopped waiting backstage. Stopped answering calls after midnight. When he sent gifts, you returned them. When he summoned you, you made him wait.

You wore red. You laughed louder. You danced with strangers in front of him, hips swaying like sin under chandeliers. You knew how it made him feel—that mixture of lust and rage, that fear that maybe this time, you wouldn’t crawl back into his bed.

And when he finally snapped—cornered you in a velvet hallway with that feral look in his eyes—you didn’t flinch.

“You think I won’t leave?” you whispered, voice low like smoke. “You think you’re still the man I wanted?”

He grabbed your chin, forced you to look at him. “You loved me.”

You laughed. “I loved the idea of you. But I’ve met the real thing now, and baby… he’s small.”

————

Elvis tried to cage you in diamonds, dress you in power like it was something he could loan out. But you were done playing muse.

You were done being the thing he flaunted to feel alive.

Now you were the one with the eyes watching.

You were the one they whispered about.

And he? He became just another man addicted to the memory of a woman he could never quite control.

——-

Some nights, you still hear his voice.

Begging.

Pleading.

Cursing.

Loving.

But you don’t answer.

Because power doesn’t beg.

And you finally know what it tastes like.

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

[jhoneybees]

God... It is actually incredible how you write like this🥺

Like, the details...the imagery, the dialogue, the emotions. I'm genuinely amazed.

Whatever haters that could possibly be criticizing your fics would have no chance of bringing this magic down because these fics are so damn good.

Graceland, 1974 — A rainy midnight

The storm outside was loud, but not louder than your heart. Rain tapped on the windows like impatient fingers, thunder groaning far off in the Memphis sky. You stood at the foot of the stairs in nothing but one of his shirts—long enough to cover the tops of your thighs, short enough to remind him exactly how close last night had brought you.

Elvis was across the room, his silhouette lit only by the flickering blue of the TV. He hadn’t spoken in ten minutes. You counted them in your head while your heart tried to stay whole.

Then he said it.

“You’re too young for me, honey.”

Soft. Final. A sentence wrapped in silk and guilt.

You blinked at him from across the living room. “So now I’m too young?”

Elvis sighed, rubbed a hand down his face. He was barefoot, shirtless, his pajama bottoms low on his hips. “You are. And I shoulda never touched you. Shoulda never let it get this far.”

“But you did,” you say, voice breaking. “You did. And you meant it. I felt it.”

He finally looked at you then, and damn if that didn’t hurt worse. Because his eyes held nothing but torment, like a man about to cut off his own arm just to stop the bleeding. “That’s the problem. I did mean it.”

You crossed the room slowly, the hem of his shirt brushing your thighs, your pulse roaring in your ears. You stopped in front of him, close enough to feel the warmth of his skin, the tension humming off him like an electric current.

“Elvis…” your voice quivers, barely a whisper. “Don’t do this. Don’t push me away now.”

His hands hovered near your waist, unsure. “You got your whole life ahead of you, baby. I’m just… I’m too old. Too damn tired. I ain’t the dream you think I am.”

You reached for him. First, your fingers brushed his cheek, then curled into his hair, tugging gently, guiding him down. He resisted, but not enough. Not really.

You kissed him. Just once. Soft. Pleading.

Then again. And again. His cheek. His jaw. His throat. Your voice cracked with every word as the tears came, hot and quiet.

“Please, I promise I’ll be good… don’t leave, Elvis… please.”

You kissed the words into his skin like prayers. Desperate. Raw.

Your arms slid around his neck, pulling him closer, anchoring yourself to the only thing that made sense anymore. “I’ll do whatever you want. I won’t ask for anything. Just… just stay.”

He groaned, his hands finally grabbing your waist, holding you like he was afraid you’d vanish. “You don’t know what you’re asking for, baby.”

“I do,” you whispered. “I do. I want you.”

Elvis leaned his forehead against yours, eyes closed, breathing heavy. “You’ll hate me one day. For takin’ your youth. For stealin’ this from you.”

“I’ll never hate you,” you said, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, slow and aching. “I’ll only hate you if you walk away.”

His lips trembled beneath yours, and then he kissed you back—like a man starving. One hand slid up your back, into your hair, the other pulling you flush against him.

There was no more talk after that.

Only the sound of rain against the windows, the faint hum of the TV, and the ragged breathing of two people holding on to a moment they knew they shouldn’t have had—but couldn’t let go of either.

And somewhere in the dark, Graceland held its breath. Because love—real love—doesn’t always come easy. Sometimes, it comes in the form of a storm. And you had both walked straight into it.

His kiss deepened, slow and hungry, like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, the taste of your breath. His hands were in your hair, sliding down your back, clutching you tighter than he should. You weren’t supposed to mean this much to him. But you did.

“God, you don’t even know what you do to me,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and wrecked. “You got no idea.”

“I do,” you whispered back, your fingers trailing down his chest, feeling the heat of his skin. “I feel it every time you look at me like that. Like I’m the only thing in the room.”

“You are,” he said. “You always are.”

He led you to the couch without letting go, one hand still on your waist, the other caressing your jaw. His thumb brushed away the tear you hadn’t realized was still there. You settled onto his lap, straddling him as he leaned back, eyes locked on yours like he couldn’t bear to blink.

You kissed him again, slower now. The kind of kiss that said I’m not just a girl, I’m yours. The kind that begged him to believe you.

“Elvis,” you whispered into the curve of his throat, your lips ghosting over his skin. “I’m not afraid of you. Or this.”

“You should be,” he replied, voice hoarse. “I ain’t no good for you, baby. I ain’t gentle. I ain’t soft.”

“You don’t have to be gentle,” you said, pressing another kiss beneath his ear. “Just don’t be gone.”

He let out a shaky breath, arms tightening around you like he wanted to pull you inside him, keep you safe from the storm he carried in his soul. His lips found yours again, rougher this time, like all the guilt and fear and need had burned into a single moment he couldn’t control anymore.

“I’m already yours,” you told him.

He swallowed hard. “Then God help you.”

You curled against his chest, your ear to his heartbeat, and for the first time that night, it slowed. Steady. Real. He ran his fingers through your hair and kissed the top of your head like he was terrified of losing something he hadn’t even let himself admit he wanted.

Outside, the storm raged on.

But inside Graceland, it was quiet—two souls tangled in borrowed time, holding on like the night could save them.

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

[jhoneybees]

LOVEEEEEEE this🫦🫦🫦

Manners

A/N: So I saw something in a museum when I was on holiday about curtseying and then like the weirdo I am my brain turned that into a fic. Enjoy!

Pairing: 73!Elvis x wife!reader

Word count: 2.4K

TWs: Reader calls Elvis Daddy and Sir, sub/dom themes, Elvis is teacherish, the cane makes an appearance, praise kink, Elvis talks reader through it, smut including a bit of a rough blowjob.

You stand nervously in front of him, fiddling with the hem of your skirt. You know he doesn't like it when you fiddle but you can't help it. He's been sitting on the couch, reading and ignoring you ever since he called you into the room what has to be at least five minutes ago, although it seems like twenty, and it's making you feel kinda awkward. Part of you wants to mumble your excuses and go back to what you were doing, but the rest knows that wouldn't be a good idea. He did call you in after all, so he must want something. You've always struggled to stand still though, no matter how hard you try, shifting your weight from foot to foot as your fingers caress the very edge of your dress. Impatient, that's what he always calls you. An impatient little girl. But you can't help it if waiting in silence for him to finish reading an unknowable amount of book is boring. You hate being bored. It baffles you how often he subjects you to it, actually. Considering you're absolutely certain that you mentioned it at least ten times. 

“Baby, ya've gotta stand still. Yer causin’ a distraction.”

He hasn't even looked up, his eyes still fixed on the page. Or you think they are anyway, the shades make it hard to tell. You're sure this head hasn't moved though. 

You bite your lip, hard, and let go of your dress. “Yes, Daddy,” you reply, trying to use the sharp pang of pain to focus your mind. You can stand there without shuffling. It's got to be possible. Those guards at Buckingham Palace don't move for hours, so a little girl from Kentucky should be able to manage a few minutes. 

After what genuinely seems like forever, he closes his book, sets it to one side and moves his attention to you. You can feel yourself colouring as he looks you up and down, studying every inch of you. It goes on for far too long, and you start to worry about your hair and whether the humidity has made it frizzy, and then whether your dress has creases from where you've bunched it up to get it out of the way when you were scrubbing the floor earlier. Maybe your eyeliner is smudged, the bow in your hair is crooked, your nail polish is chipped. A million worries go through your head as he continues his silent observations. You wipe your slightly sweaty palms on your skirt and toss your head a little in the hopes of rearranging your hair. He chuckles. 

“Can't keep still, can ya? Impatient lil thing.”

Clearing your throat awkwardly, you wet your lips with your tongue as you try to endure the intensity of his gaze without any more shuffling about. 

“Sorry, Daddy.”

Looking down, your eyes alight on his black boots, shining from the polish you'd given them the other day. The memory of the way you'd done it makes your cheeks burn with shame, it's certainly not how your mother had taught you to polish shoes, and you briefly wonder what she'd think if she knew what your life was really like here. Just a nice country girl, thinking her daughter had married well, into fame and fortune and the Presley family. Having no idea the sorts of things he asked you to do on a daily basis. The sorts of things you enjoyed doing. 

“Baby, I've been readin’ somethin’ that might interest ya.”

His smooth baritone interrupts your thoughts and your head whips up, eyes meeting the shadow of his behind the shades. 

“Really?” 

Another low chuckle. “Really. Book ‘bout manners.”

You look at him, wide-eyed, as he continues. 

“Young ladies used ta curtsey fer their masters.”

Your stomach drops at the word master, and you can feel tingling between your legs. 

“They did?” You breathe. 

A grin spreads lazily across his face. “They sure did, honey. Thought ya might like ta learn how.” He's leaning back against the couch in that self-assured way he has, hands resting on his spread thighs. 

“Yessir,” you reply, sensing the slight change in atmosphere. 

His grin gets somehow wider at the use of the honorific, and he opens the book back to the page he’d just been looking at, holding it up for you to see. 

“Alright then. Feet out ta the sides like this, baby.” Tapping the picture in the middle of the page with his index finger. 

You shift your feet out as far as you can, then put your hands behind your back as he tells you. He nods his approval, reaching for his cane, which you somehow hadn’t noticed had been propped up against the couch this whole time. You’d been too busy looking at him. You might’ve been bored, but his attention was all you wanted.

“Bend yer knees,” he continues, tapping one with the end of the cane. “That’s it. Keep bendin’ ‘em honey. Keep goin’. Very nice. Now straighten up again.”

You do as you’re told, springing back to an upright position with your legs straight. His teeth seem to gleam as he grins again. 

“Very good. Again.”

You weren’t really expecting to have to do it again, but you repeat the movement as he gets up from the couch to stand in front of you, watching you bob down and back up. 

“Don’t stop, honey.”

Slightly flustered, you curtsey again, trying not to move your head to follow him as he starts to walk around you, looking at you from all angles. 

“Straighten up, honey.” A tap to your lower back with the head of the cane. “Keep yer chin up.” His fingers under your chin, pushing firmly. “No stickin’ that lil bottom of yours out, now. Keep goin’ straight up an’ down.” He taps your ass with the cane, just hard enough to make you flinch. To make you remember other times he’s tapped you not quite so lightly. 

Your quads are starting to ache from the movement, and you feel the start of sweat beading on your brow too. His warm breath on the back of your neck as he talks you through what he wants you to do, praising you when you’re getting it right, the smell of him… it’s driving you crazy, wanting his lips pressed up against yours, his tongue in your mouth. You feel something hard nudge your hip as he leans closer, whispering that you should be looking straight ahead as you dip down for what seems like the hundredth time. A sharp little exhale gives away your discomfort and he smiles to himself as he asks you for just one more, one more perfect one for Daddy. 

“Yessir.” Your voice is hoarse, lust-filled. 

“Oh that’s my good girl,” he coos. “Ya can stop now.”

Your legs tremble as you stand there, watching him move back to the couch, his legs splayed and his obvious hard-on on display for you. The idea that you’ve got him so excited makes you giddy. 

“Well, I think ya got it down, baby,” he tells you, with a wink as he removes his shades. “Think ya deserve a reward. Whaddya want?”

You can barely tear your eyes away from that big bulge in his pants and you can’t think of anything else but how much you want his dick in your mouth right now. 

“Can I suck you?” 

He blinks, that’s not the answer he was expecting at all, but surprise is soon followed by delight. What a good girl you are. “Such a fuckin’ good girl,” he murmurs, undoing his belt. “So good fer me.” He gestures for you to kneel between his legs. “Don’t deserve ya, baby.” Unzipping his pants and freeing his aching dick. “C’mere.”

You shuffle closer, opening your mouth obediently, feeling it water at the sight of him. He gently eases the tip between your lips, pumping it slowly as you run your tongue around the head, enjoying the sound of him moaning softly. As you start to take more of him, you look up to see him reaching for a cigar and lighting it, taking a long drag. His hand cups your cheek and he softly encourages you until his whole dick has disappeared inside your mouth, puffs of cigar smoke enveloping you both. His fingers continue to caress your cheek, murmurs of praise and encouragement falling from his lips as he grips the cigar between his teeth and adds his other hand to your face, holding you oh-so-gently while his hips start to thrust upwards, the end of his dick nudging the back of your throat and making you gag. 

Your eyes water, and feeling your stomach clench you shift to get a better angle, one that gives him a clearer route to fuck your throat, hands demurely resting behind your back. Groaning at the sight of you and the feeling of tightness all around him, his fingers knit into your hair, hips snapping now, trying to hold back so as to avoid hurting his princess, but failing a little more with every movement. 

“Yer so goddamn perfect, baby,” he mumbles around the cigar, still trapped between his teeth. “Gonna cum right in that perfect little mouth a yours.”

Your watery eyes look up at him, lost in pleasure, you can tell he’s only a few strokes away from completion. You love watching him like this, out of control because of you. The final thrust forces him further down your throat than he’s ever been before, and you cough and your eyes stream, but you swallow it all down anyway. You don’t want to waste a single drop. 

“Lemme see,” he instructs, lazily, putting the cigar into the ashtray as you pull off him, saliva trailing out of your mouth. He grins as you stick your tongue out to show him you’ve swallowed. “Good girl.” Putting himself away with trembling hands, he pats his thighs. “Come sit in Daddy’s lap.”

You wipe your wet lips with the back of your hand and shakily get up off your knees, letting him help you sit sideways in his lap. One arm is around your body, holding you to him, as the other runs up your leg, feeling the bumps on your skin from kneeling on the carpet for so long. 

“So good ta me,” he murmurs, kissing your face, then your lips. 

You moan into the kiss, the place between your legs is so hot and swollen and so needy for him. His big arms make you feel safe and warm and that rich, woody smell that surrounds him makes you melt into his kisses. His hand carries on its journey, sliding under your skirt now, the coldness of his rings and the roughness of his palms just adding to the sensations. 

“Not even askin’ fer anything, after bein’ so good,” he coos, fingers deftly moving your panties to the side. “Can’t leave yer pussy like this though, can we?”

His fingers slide through the slickness he finds between your legs, making it very hard to think, let alone speak. 

“Hm?” He encourages, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, his nose tickling the end of yours. 

“N-no Sir…” you finally manage. 

He smiles. “She’s all wantin’ an’ needy…” he slides his fingers down to your entrance. “Can’t leave her like that… all empty…” he pushes one finger in, and then another quickly follows. You gasp. “Not after all ya’ve done fer me.” His thumb brushes your clit as he starts to pump his fingers in and out, lubricated by your arousal, his eyes flicking over your face to watch your reaction. You whimper at the feeling, pushing your face into his chest. “Pretty, selfless little girl didn’t even ask ta cum… so goddamn patient…” he whispers in your ear, fingers still working you in the way he knows will make you come undone. “Best girl I ever had…” he continues, praise so intense it’s making you blush, pleasure filling your body. It feels like he’s holding you right on the edge of orgasm and it’s starting to make you crazy. 

“Uhhhhh.” Muffled into his shirt.

You hear that tell-tale low chuckle of his at the noise you just made, knowing he’s fucking you stupid only using his fingers, knowing he doesn’t need anything else. Sometimes you think he could make you cum just by talking to you. 

“That’s it, baby,” he coos, back to encouragement again, feather-light kisses on every inch of skin he can reach, pressed into your hair. “Cum all over Daddy’s hand. You can do it. Fer me. Reward fer bein’ so patient…”

You feel it start to build then, his fingers brushing against that place inside of you as he increases the pressure with his thumb. All those years of guitar playing… people said he wasn’t any good, could only do basic rhythm parts, but he’s playing you like a damn virtuoso… your attempts at being demure fly completely out of the window when it finally hits, fingers grasping desperately at his shirt, head tipped back, back arching as you moan low and dirty, looking like the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

“Yes… fuck…” he mutters, holding you as he gently finger-fucks you through it until you’re flopped against him, breathing heavily. 

Watching you as you lean your head on his chest, eyes closed, your make-up a mess from the blowjob earlier and your breasts heaving, he wants to hold you like this and never let you go. He slides his fingers out and presses a kiss to your temple. Gradually you start to come back down to earth, eyelashes fluttering as you open your eyes to see him watching you. His cute, lopsided smile makes you smile too, a hand reaching to touch his cheek. 

“Thank you, Daddy,” you tell him. 

“You deserve it, baby.”

Still smiling, you feel warmth spreading through you at his words. And then you remember what you were doing earlier.

“Though I should probably curtsey, shouldn’t I?” You giggle.

Elvis chuckles too. “Ya should. But I won’t make ya.” 

Giggling together, you nestle closer into him, and he picks up his book again, flicking through a few pages ahead and then moving so you can see. The next chapter is called "the Texas dip” and there’s a photo of a girl doing it. Her arms are out to the side and one of her legs is bent behind the other. She’s bent over so far at the waist that her head is almost on the floor. You giggle. It looks kind of ridiculous. 

“Whatchu gigglin’ for?” Elvis teases, elbowing you playfully in the side. “This is tomorrow’s lesson, little girl.”

***

Taglist:

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed:

@arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @epletsplayhouse @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas @pocketfulofpresley @dkayfixates @iloveelvisss @kxnnxy @presleyhearted @lvrdollep @nebulamorada @iloveelvis2 @18lkpeters @elvisbdoll

[jhoneybees]

HE'S SO GOOFY UGH���

He’s so batshit crazy sometimes damn I love him

[jhoneybees]

Can't forget to watch a bit of Elvis while on your solo trip🤭

I watch Elvis at EVERY hotel room omg-

[jhoneybees]

GREGGYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY🧚

[jhoneybees]

YAYYY! Take ALL the time you need. We will surely be here, waiting patiently for you!❤️🤭

Might abandon tumblr.

Go gently into that good night and just pretend this all never happened.

[jhoneybees]

Real😃

i want elvis so bad

[jhoneybees]

Fun Love.

Hello! Here's a cute little fic I managed to write tonight, hope you enjoy it!😩❤️

Inspired by this songggg:

Characters: Early 70s!Elvis X Wife!reader

Warnings/triggers: None :)

Tags: @atleastpleasetelephone @hooked-on-elvis @theelvisprincess @thelonelyheart @iloveelvisss @polksaladava @halieghhh

_____________________________________________

Elvis really loves you.

You're beautiful, funny, kind, caring, generous, the list goes on. He's amazed how he managed to put a ring on that pretty little finger of yours.

He is so damn grateful to have you in his life. You're literally the sunshine and rainbow after every storm in his life.

Somehow, you can put a smile on his face whenever he's having a rough day, week, month, or year. Saying your little inside jokes or poking fun with him and the Memphis guys or singing loudly around the house, no matter what day of the week, what time of day, what season in the year, you always manage to get him to smile from ear to ear.

Like today, as he arrived home from finally finishing a tour and tiredly made his way up the steps to Graceland's front door dragging his feet inside with a loud sigh, he took his sunglasses off to pinch the bridge of his nose. Not quite noticing you were standing there with your head tilted to the side and a loving smile on your pretty lips until you spoke.

“Well, hello there.”

He looked at you and breathed out a small weak smile. “Hey, darlin'.”

“My, it's been a long, long time…” You sighed, letting out a breath as your feet padded along the carpet to push the front door shut behind him.

His eyebrows twitched for a moment. Chuckling low. “Sure has been.”

Your hands then slid over the shape of his shoulders and then made Elvis lift his arm a little, earning a slightly confused “Hm?”

You duck under to stand in front of him with your palms resting on his chest. Smiling calmly.

A comfortable silence fell over the two of you but it didn't last long as you began to pucker your lips a little, silently wishing a kiss from Elvis which he never dared to not fulfil. And just as his big, firm hand went to go and cup your cheek you suddenly pulled away and twirled around like a ballerina, singing out of nowhere.

“How am I doin'? Well, I guess I'm doing fine~”

Elvis stared in confusion for a moment but when you sing the instrumental, he realised what song you're singing and realised you're playing around, making him start to smile again but brighter. “Baby, what are you-”

“IT'S been so long now and it seems that — It was only yesterday…MMM, AIN'T IT FUNNY HOW TIME SLIPS AWAY~” Spinning around in a dramatic manner with your arms moving around elegantly as you sweetly sing the music.

Elvis chuckles. “Honey-”

“How's your new love~” You suddenly cupped his face, acting like an upset actress. “I hope that she's doing fine~”

Sighing loudly as the back of your hand laid over your forehead, softly.

His chuckles slowly turned into that hearty laugh you adore so much. “Yer so silly.”

“HEARD you told her…yes, baby~” Mimicking his deep voice. Starting to hear a snort.

“Baby- Oh my god…”

You run to the stairs and lean back against the railing like a damsel in distress. “That you'd love her til the end of time~”

“Well, you know that's the same thing~” Shifting to kneel on your knees in front of him, grabbing his hands to shake them vigorously with an overly sad expression on your face. “That’s the same thing that you told me~”

“Baby-” He wheezed.

You kiss the back of his hands, rubbing them with your thumbs as you look up at him with a surprisingly straight face. “Well, it seems like just the other day~ Yeah, ain't it funny how time~”

Slowly, getting back up onto your feet as you sing the last few words. “Slips…away~”

Elvis' laughs died down into small giggles and as your voice faded away, melodically into a pleasant hum. His eyes began to soften as that calm silence from earlier came back feeling lighter, he was smiling and he didn't feel as exhausted as before, he felt content.

Content because you're there to make him smile during his toughest days.

“I love you so much…”

[jhoneybees]

Hi!

This is quite a random post lol but I feel like I should post this.

I can't stop thinking about how you lovelies who MIGHT be wondering about when I'm going to start writing fics consistently again and the answer to that is I don't really know.

I really REALLY love to write but lately it's been difficult to put my concentration onto my fics. Whenever I get a fun idea from listening to music or tiktok and think of or trying to write it, I start doubting if you lovelies would like it.

I see your requests and I am wanting to write them and get them up for you to read but it's getting harder to start an introduction. I've probably got a bigger writer's block than last time which isn't a huge deal to panic over but I am bummed. There is a possibility that I might wipe my inbox completely and start over, to clear my writer's mind but I feel bad for those who requested and have been waiting for so long for your idea to come to life(in a form of a story pfftt)

So I want to apologise for this long long wait on these requests and my new chapters for my serieses and just my fics in general. You're probably not fussed about this at all but I will try my best, for you my lovelies and for our gorgeous man...

Elvis❤️

[jhoneybees]

I can’t get enough of your writing! I love it so much! 💖

Could you maybe do something where one of the Memphis mafia guys girlfriend or something is mean to little reader when they’re alone, but is nice when others are around. Reader doesn’t say anything because she doesn’t want to get anyone in trouble because she’s so sweet but one day it gets too much and she tells Elvis and he gets protective.

Sorry it’s so long I hope you have a nice day! 🎀💝

eeeeek! i'm back after a lil while away and thank you for requesting

my masterlist of all my elvis writing request an elvis fic here, i'm always lookin' for inspo

wc - 2.9k

warnings - ddlg dynamic, if u don't like that i would advise not reading

You knock softly at Elvis' office door, waiting patiently until Elvis calls you in.

You're Elvis' long term girlfriend and you're just the sweetest little thing. You're so polite and you're as quiet as a mouse, even with Elvis still, you're just naturally very timid.

But Elvis loves you all the more for it. He likes having someone to control, to protect, to use. It's the innocent and timid nature that he adores the most, that he wants to preserve at all costs.

It wasn't too long ago that he'd introduced you to the Little lifestyle, now, you were certainly apprehensive about it, you were just a little bundle of nerves, weren't you? Elvis made sure to take it slowly, but Elvis kept you at Graceland, living under his rules so it was easy for him to help you succumb to the lifestyle when he made the whole environment push you further and further into a smaller headspace.

There were things he put in place that would help you slip.

He would give you warm milk before bed every night.

He bought you toys that would help clear your head and allow you to be Little, such as coloring books, or the most beautiful dolls house that you'd ever seen that you just couldn't resist playing with it as the Memphis Mafia would stand above you and watch as they sipped their beer with Elvis and you played with your toys on the floor.

He instructed anyone that looked after you to treat you as if you were only a little thing, whether it was the cook, one of the Memphis Mafia, their girlfriends or the gardener.

But not everyone had always been that nice to you, including Ramona, Red's girlfriend. She was a relatively new girlfriend, and unbeknownst to you, she was simply dating Red to try to get to Elvis, so she utterly despised you.

She, like all the other girlfriends, had been told about the way in which you were to be treated -- gently and softly, not to treat you like an adult whether you liked it or not.

But she used this to her advantage and would constantly make your life miserable. She'd pinched you, pulled your hair when brushing it, called you all sorts of horrible names, broken a few of your toys and ripped up some of your drawings that you'd made. She didn't try to hide it from you, she knew you wouldn't say anything, she knew you were too timid and shy and that whatever warped lifestyle Elvis had submitted you to, had too much of a hold over you to tell anyone what she was doing.

You were scared of Ramona, and you'd watch from your play area as she'd make Elvis laugh during parties, and you'd chew your lip nervously, realising that you couldn't say anything.

But she was coming over yet again, for a cook-out in the yard with all of the Memphis Mafia and their girlfriends and wives and you could feel the nerves growing in your tummy as you walked into Elvis' office.

Elvis looked up from the paperwork he was working on and offered you a smile, you were just so precious.

"Hey honey, y'okay baby?" Elvis said cooly, getting up from his desk and walking over to you as you stood nervously at the entrance of the office, looking around at his desk, noticing all the work.

"Did I disturb you?" You asked softly, picking at your fingers.

Elvis chuckled softly, "No honey, just finishing up some work s'all. What's on your mind Little One?" Elvis cooed gently, rubbing your shoulders and upper arms.

"Um, um," You say softly and quietly, avoiding the gaze of Elvis. "The party is nearly starting, um..." You say gently, not really being all that sure what you're even trying to say, which Elvis understands.

Elvis nods, he can tell that you're feeling smaller but resisting it. But that's what he's there for, to help you.

"And don't you look pretty huh baby?" Elvis smirks, taking in the pretty pink babydoll dress you have on and the ribbon in your hair that he had laid out for you earlier that the maid, Miriam, had put in for you. You can't help but blush at the comment and begin to chew on your lip. Despite being with Elvis for a couple of years, you're still such a reserved little baby. "How's about you go pick some of them flowers in the garden for the party huh? Y'know the ones you grew with Miriam's help and you were such a good girl, takin' such good care of 'em?" Elvis suggested, referring to your flower bed in the garden.

You'd become such a little green thumb recently, you loved flowers, you thought they were just so pretty, and you loved wildlife and nature. You'd always potter around the garden with the little tools that Elvis had bought you with your little sun hat on, showing Elvis all the pretty flowers you'd carefully planted.

You nod softly. "Flowers..." You repeat softly with a nod, processing the request.

"That sound good, Little One?" Elvis said, gauging your headspace, he can tell you're slipping.

You nod again, quietly listening and responding as the big man that you call Daddy kisses the top of your head. "Good girl, go get some pretty flowers f'me, 'kay?" Elvis said and you nod and set off to the lavish garden to your flower bed.

You love all your flowers so dearly, you're proud of every single one like the good little baby that you are, you make sure you water all of them at the right time, and you giggle softly every time Elvis compliments your hard work when he looks at them with you.

You have lots of flowers and it's a little overwhelming for you to decide which ones might be best to pick, but you're worried that you might pick the wrong ones. You always want to do a good job for your Daddy, he works so hard and he takes such good care of you that you just want to do a good job in return at whatever he asks for you. You absolutely hate the idea of ever being a bother to him.

You chew on your lip nervously as you sit on the grass and look at all your flowers, it's only when a shadow appears above you that you turn around and see Ramona.

You instantly become a little shelf of yourself, quiet as anything and a little fidgety, looking away from her stare and trying to concentrate on your flowers.

"Elvis said you were here pickin' flowers you've grown..." Ramona said, her tone less than friendly which made you feel tense, but you tried as hard as you possibly could to ignore that feeling.

All you can manage is a gentle nod, you're so shy around Ramona, you can't help it, she terrifies you.

"You grew these?" She asked, smoking her cigarette as she stood above you.

All you do is nod yet again but you can't help but think that maybe she likes them, maybe she's impressed and she finally likes something you've done.

"Let me help you pick some then huh?" She says sharply before pulling at all the flowers in the flowerbed, tearing them harshly and breaking their stems, pulling out so many so quickly that you don't know what to do.

"N-No, no, my flowers-" You say, trying to be loud but failing miserably, you just sound so timid and soft and little, but distraught nevertheless.

"Honey, m'just helpin' ya get the weeds out." She laughed, ruining your entire flowerbed before your eyes, the flowerbed you worked so hard on for so long. "Looks much better, dontcha think, Y/N?" She scoffed, trying her cigarette on one of the crushed peonies before walking away.

You can't help but feel tears coming to your eyes, you crawl to the flowerbed, practically getting in it to try and salvage some of the flowers and plants you'd so lovingly grown.

You don't know why she's so mean to you, why she would do this to your pretty flowers, everything from the roses to the tulips completely ruined and muddied.

Tears begin to trickle down your cheeks as you desperately try to fix what Ramona had done, your knees, legs, dress, hands, everything getting muddy and your hands getting cut from thorns as you tearfully try to make all the flowers better but to no avail.

"Oh no? Did the baby fall in her flowerbed huh?" Ramona feigns concern looking at you, getting Reds attention who immediately hollers at Elvis to come outside.

"Baby, hey baby, hey, hey, it's okay..." Red hushes as he reaches you first, crouching down on the grass next to you.

You immediately look to your lap as you sit in the flowerbed, ashamed and embarrassed that you look all tearful and muddy at the big garden party. "Daddy..." You say ever so quietly but enough for Red to hear it.

"Oh honey, Daddy's comin', here is, see? He's coming darlin', easy now, don't want you to get hurt on them thorns anymore baby." Red says gently, as you continue to avoid eye contact.

"What the hell happened?" You can hear your Daddy's voice say to Red as he observes the scene of his little baby girl, surrounded by destroyed flowers and covered in dirt.

"Ramona said she fell in her flowerbed, EP." Red says and you don't dare to correct him, you're far too shy of a baby for that.

Elvis can't really believe what he's seeing, even when you're in a Little headspace, you're never this clumsy - and you're so careful with your flowers all the time, he knows just how much you love them.

"Red, give us some damn space." Elvis muttered, gesturing for Red to return back to the house before Elvis crouched by you. "Baby, what's happened here, princess?" Elvis asked calmly.

"My flowers..." You sniffled, tears falling from your cheeks and hitting your pink dress.

"Did yer take a tumble huh?" Elvis asked gently.

You sniffle but you don't move or say anything and that's instantly a signal to Elvis that something has gone on, but it's clear you're not saying anything now and you're still sat in the flowerbed.

"Okay baby, m'gon getchu outta this flowerbed, 'kay? Just let Daddy take control 'kay? Don't want you makin' no sudden movements or nothin' and getting scratched again baby." Elvis said calmly, before grabbing you from under your arms and easily lifting you out of the flower bed and onto his hip.

You've always been smaller than him, easily pliable and manhandled. You continue to cry weepily, instantly resting your head on his shoulder and cuddling into him closely.

"There we go, that's it baby, s'okay, Daddy's gotchu." Elvis soothed, rocking you in his arms and hushing you. "Let's go put you in the tub and get y'all clean again baby, how's about that?" Elvis said softly kissing your forehead before taking you inside.

The pair of you walk past everyone and you instantly bury your face in Elvis' shoulder, determined not to be seen by anybody and Elvis can't help but find it just damn adorable. But you particularly don't want to see Ramona, you're too shy and too embarrassed to face anyone but your Daddy and even that's a challenge.

Elvis praises every small thing you do once you both reach the master bathroom alone, from letting him take off your dress, to accepting the pacifier that Elvis offered you to help you calm down and soothe you whilst you were in the tub.

"Good girl, you look so sweet with that pacifier, ain't that right honey?" Elvis chuckled, wiping the dirt away from your naked body as he lets you soak in all the bubbles. "Y'know y'being such a good little girl for Daddy huh? Lettin' Daddy wash you and clean you up."

"I messed my dress Daddy." You say softly around your pacifier, feeling bad for ruining the pretty pink dress had arranged for you to wear today.

Elvis clicked his tongue, tsking at you. "Uh-uh baby, it's just a dress sweetheart. Y'not in trouble baby." Elvis assures you, knowing there's something you're not telling him, he can read you like a book, he knows every cue, every emotion every expression of yours.

Once you were all clean, Elvis took you out of the tub and dried you, being careful not to be too harsh on the little cuts and scrapes you had acquired. He let you snuggle in the big kingsize bed that the two of you shared in your fluffy baby dressing gown as he picked out some clothes for you to wear for the rest of the day, settling on a soft cotton cream long sleeve top, a pretty pink tulle skirt and white tights.

You were just the softest and sweetest little baby he could ever dream for. Always so polite, kind and gentle.

"Ready to go back to our guests pretty girl?" Elvis asked gently, gauging your reaction.

"Please, um, please, um," You stumbled on your words, still feeling overwhelmed and nervous, but Elvis never rushes you - never. He always lets you take your time when you're overwhelmed, he knows you'll get there, you just take a little longer than most people. "Please, um, wanna, um, stay with you only Daddy." You said gently. "If that's okay..." You say quietly.

Elvis' expression softens at your vulnerable requests. "Oh darlin', you ain't gon' leave my side, baby." Elvis says gently, picking you up again to take you downstairs.

You're well into your smaller headspace now, and you instinctively pop your fingers into your mouth to chew on anxiously as you rested your head on Elvis' shoulder.

You stayed nestled by Elvis' side throughout the rest of the day, barely speaking, avoiding looking at anyone and becoming noticeably clingier than usual, something Elvis took note of.

Once everyone had finally departed, you were exhausted, you just wanted to sleep and Elvis knew you should've had a nap, you're too little to be up at this time, but he was too concerned about what had happened earlier, it was too out of character.

"Someone's sleepy, huh?" Elvis softly said, stroking your hair as you nestled into his side, your face resting on his chest.

You nodded sweetly, blinking heavily as the weariness took you over, which Elvis knew was his cue to push your limits and take advantage of your sleepy state.

"Baby, you gotta tell me somethin' before you start havin' your sweet dreams, huh Little One?" Elvis said gently, tracing circles into your shoulder as he wrapped his arm around you.

All you could manage was a soft hum. "Okay, I need'ta know what happened with all your lil flowers, baby girl. Daddy knows you ain't that clumsy Dolly, you're such a careful little girl, I know somethin' else happened, and when you tell me, you know you gotta be honest, you know Daddy ain't gon' tolerate any lyin'." Elvis said sternly and you wearily pushed yourself up from resting on your Daddy's body to sit up straight on the couch.

You began to chew on your lip again, puffing it up and rubbed your eyes.

"I'll get in trouble Daddy..." You said softly, looking down at your lap.

Elvis frowned, concerned at what you'd just said. He couldn't imagine a scenario where you'd be in trouble, you're too obedient for that.

"You ain't gettin' in no trouble baby, as long as y'tell Daddy the truth."

There's a long pause, Elvis letting the thick tension add pressure to you before you weakly say, "It's Ramona."

"Ramona? Red's Ramona?" Elvis said with confusion in his tone.

All you do is nod, leading Elvis to probe further. "What about Ramona, huh kid?" Elvis says tenderly.

"She, she, um, she-" You falter but Elvis just listens intently. "She ruined all the flowers, she ripped them Daddy and hurt them... she hurts me Daddy." You confessed, your nerves sky high, your eyes trained firmly on your lap.

Elvis immediately feels anger boil up inside of him. You're the most honest little girl he's ever known, he knows that you wouldn't lie - you can't lie in fact. To hear that someone has been hurting you, well, that just sets something off inside the big, bad man.

You end up telling your Daddy everything as he cradles you like his little baby, reassuring you that you're being such a good little girl for telling him. Reassuring you that Ramona ain't ever going to be near you ever again. Reassuring you that your beloved flowerbed is going to be alright.

"Darlin', you been such a good girl, tellin' Daddy what's been goin' on. You know that baby?" Elvis says, holding your chin so he can look at you and you nod softly. "You gon' tell Daddy if anyone ever hurts my little girl ever again, straight away, y'hear me baby?" Elvis says firmly and you nod, swallowing the lump in your throat.

"Good." Elvis said before kissing your forehead. "Let's get this sleepy baby to her bed, hm? Gon' get your pacifier and your teddy and get y'all soft and sleepy ain't we?" Elvis hushed.

You nodded gently, still just as timid as the day you both first met and Elvis carried you upstairs to your bedroom but you fell asleep in his arms before you even got tucked in by your Daddy, all your worries gone, all thanks to Elvis, who swore to never let anyone touch you ever again.

[jhoneybees]

I've been craving cuddles and girlie, I'm joining, I want Presley bear cuddles too😩

Cutie.

[jhoneybees]

please please please please reblog if you’re a writer and have at some point felt like your writing is getting worse. I need to know if I’m the only one who’s struggling with these thoughts

[jhoneybees]

These photos are giving me... ideas👀🤭

Okay I'm collecting Elvis is holding panties photos for, um, reasons. Please help. Tysm.

[jhoneybees]

Someone has probably said this before but phones, this Tumblr community. I just think he'd find our posts so interesting and just downright hilarious😩 ESPECIALLY our fanfics 😭

@iloveelvisss @elvisbdoll @halieghhh @presleyslilbaby

Just a fun little idea I had - what thing that Elvis missed out on, dying in the late 70s, would you like to tell him about? It can be anything - an invention, a genre of music, reality TV, whatever.

Mine is bath bombs lol. I just think that man would have loved a pink glittery bath and I'm gutted he never had one 😭

No pressure tags:

@eapep @jhoneybees @polksaladava @joons @from-memphis-with-love @ladelinee