#Alpha!Elvis x omega!reader

[justjams2003]

Over-ripe 2

Summary: After an exhausting night, overwhelmed by the crowd and meds, Elvis stumbles onto the wrong floor. Where he finds an omega, innocent, sweet like over-ripe fruit, ready to be plucked.

Pairing: Alpha!Big Daddy Elvis x Omega!Innocent!reader

Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat. Omegaverse, grooming (kind of), reader just barely 18, talk of: heats, ruts, scent glands, rutting, scenting, fated mates. Over-protective, obsessive. Innocent reader. Toxic/abusive father, gambling addiction. Alcohol, drugs. Talk of divorce, mentioning Priscilla. Smut!! Tell me if I missed any.

Word count: 4,4k+ unedited

Dividers by:@mmadeinheavenn and @crylynnluv

tags: @indiatuck @gatheraheart @that-hotdog @missywinchester15 @netherklutz

“You need to calm down, baby. I need you to calm down sweet thing.” His voice whispers in your ear. You can feel his big hand wrapped around the back of your neck just to hold you upright. Your legs feel weak and everything is spinning. There is a loud ringing noise, so that all you can hear is Elvis whispering to you as his hands keep you from collapsing. 

A stutter falls over the girl’s lips when she finally looks up at Elvis. He can feel his control slip when all he can see is these wide doe eyes. Sweat dripping from her forehead down to her cheeks. She blinks, her mouth opening and then swallowing, trying to cool off. “Wh-what’s happenin’ to me?” Her timid scared voice asks and he can only stutter. 

“I-I think it’s just a bit too much excitement for a yittle thing like you.” He mutters, but he knows what’s really happening. He can smell what’s coming. He curses himself, he should’ve known. But how could he have? Usually a forced heat by scent takes at least a week. This is something more, it has to be. 

Elvis turns to his bodyguards, nodding his head for them to follow him and his lady. They’re all quick to jump to action. Elvis is holding the little omega, practically carrying her since her legs can’t keep up as they make their way to the nearest elevator. Each of the bodyguards have to fight their instincts to not take the delicious smelling omega inside of this tiny elevator. 

Everything is sort of just this sweaty, hot, haze. You can’t hear, see or feel anything but Elvis. By you, with you, around you. And the very expensive silk sheets feel like knifes on your skin when he so gently places you down on the bed. All comfort you can find is the leather and lemon scent that surrounds you. And the pillow that somehow finds itself between your legs. 

A sound that you didn’t know you could make escapes you.  Your hands cling to his clothes, to him. And his touch is so gently when he pries your hands away. “I’ll be right back, doll. I promise.” His voice soothes you all over. And everything feels so heavy like you’re walking through a humid cloud when he leaves. 

Only when you feel his touch again does it dissipate again. You hiss when you feel the cold water soak your clothes and then your body. But you can finally breathe again once you start cooling down. Your vision slowly returns and all you see his Elvis’ panicked blue eyes filled with an emotion a naive thing like you doesn’t know the name for. 

Sweat plops down from his temples and makes a drip sound as it falls into the tub. His dark black hair clings to his forehead, and his eyebrows and pulled together in worry. You only now notice his whole outfit is wet since his hands are still cradling your body until the icy water. His breathing is quick and shallow and his eyes seem glazed over. 

“Are you alright?” Your hand is still boiling hot against his cheek. Elvis has to stifle a laugh. “Am I alright?” He repeats the question, you’re the one suffering right now. You start to feel all hot again when he gives you that smile of his. “I feel hot.” Is all explanation you have for him. 

You can see him take a huge breath through his nose and the sigh, his eyes closed. “Am I sick?” She asks him and now he bites his tongue. How does he explain this to her? Without bursting this bubble that he wants to keep her in. “Yeah...somthin’ like that.” Her long hair is wet in the water and creates this halo around her. Even when she tilts her head like a confused puppy. 

“Yah remember when I told yah, that I needed to teach you some things?” He starts, licking his lips, trying to think faster than he can talk. She nods her head, still floating in the water. “This...this is one of those things.” Her hand slowly goes back to her side. Fiddling with the dress. “Yeah?” She utters, not sure what else to say. 

He can’t help but smile. She’s so eager to hear him. “Well, like I said earlier, you’re something called an Omega. And I’m an Alpha. It’s uh...uh a part of your body that’s different than mine.” For just a split second her eyes fall to his very clear bulge and her brows furrow, trying to put things together. 

Elvis chuckles, “Somethin’ like that. But it’s different for every person. Not just man an’ woman.” Her breath hitches when he mentions something like that. Her thighs clench together, but she doesn’t say anything, just nods. “An’ uh, yah see, an Omega has this thing we call a heat. It happens once a month. And an Omega’s body gets all hot, like how you feel now.” 

Again, she just nods, listening to every word he says. “And produces a slick...right...here...” He says, his hands slowly spreading her thighs apart. The slick clings to her body since the water is still standing, not strong enough to wash it away. Elvis coats his hand in your slick and then pulls his hand out of the water. His other hand keeping your head above the water. 

His fingers spread apart and the slick stretches like raw egg whites. Her cheeks flush pink and her hands come up to hide her face. A low rumble of a chuckle escapes Elvis, seeing just how shy she’s suddenly become. “No need to hide, doll face. It’s natural, nothing to be ashamed of.” 

She lowers her hands just enough for him to see her beautiful doe eyes peak out. And to behold the blush that creeps onto her cheeks all the way to her ears. “An’ yah see, when an Omega goes into heat, there ain’t nothing that can help. You’ll have to wait it out.” He lies to her, wanting for her to really need him before he does anything. 

The most delectable sound escapes her. The neediest whine accompanied by her thighs closing again. Her body knows that he is lying to her, but her pretty little head doesn’t. Her hand ever grabs onto his forearm. As if wanting to keep him right where he is. 

“I’m sorry, little one. I know, I know.” He soothes her, caressing her cheek and wiping the hair from her face. “Now, my little one, we gotta get you out of this tub.” Another whine escapes her. She shakes her head, her eyes clamped shut, now trying to remember the feeling of the icy cold water on her skin. 

His hands now each slide under her shoulders and the other around her legs. His old joints groan when he slowly picks her up, bridal style, from the tub. While she is a wee thing, he’s well into his forties and things don’t really work as well as they used to. But he refuses to let that affect his mission of caring for his little omega. 

She clings to his body, like how a moss grows on a tree. And again the luxury sheets burn like hot coals. The only part keeping a somewhat normal temperature is where his cold, wet hands meet your body. Your hands clench around his clothes, refusing to let him go. 

“I gotta go, baby, I gotta go do my show.” Your small fingers wrap around his when given the chance. A cooling sensation where his lips meet each of your knuckles. “I’m sorry, darlin’. So so very sorry.” He repeats between kisses. His hot breath fans your cheek when he places his pouty lips against your soft skin. Forehead, nose, cheeks and just barely missing your lips. 

“Come on, baby, give me just a few more hours. I promise, I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He whispers, tucking your hair behind your ear. Gently cooing, the alpha in him furious that he’s leaving the needy omega. But he has other duties that he needs to complete before he can truly have her all too himself. 

“Make sure she doesn’t go out. And no one, and I mean no one, but me, goes in there. I swear if I find any of you even so much as standing too close to that door when I get back, I will rip every one of you apart with my fucking teeth. Do you understand?” Elvis’ alpha voice makes the other alphas, he’s appointed as your bodyguards, bow their heads and bare their necks. Showing that they get the idea. 

Tossing and turning, unexperienced hands not know what to do to force away this burning hot feeling between your thighs. And that slick that that he had been talking about is all over your thighs now. There is a slight bit of relief from his leathery scent all over the sheets. Yet at the same time it makes the heat between your thighs so much worse. 

It’s almost as if you can hear his voice all over. Echoing in the halls and walls of the hotel. Your eyes keep clamped shut, the sight of the room being empty without him being just too much to bare. Everything is just all too overwhelming, especially for someone like you who isn’t use to any of this. 

And by this meaning the outside world. The rich scent of an Alpha, especially one as prominent as Elvis. The busy lights of Vegas peering through the window and you’re so glad for the dim mood lights in here. And the air conditioner that’s doing it’s very best to cool down the room with your hot body here. 

But at the same time you despise it for blowing away his scent. It’s all so confusing to your unknowing mind. Noises that you’ve never made before and your tongue dances in your mouth and finds that your teeth feel almost sharper. And your lips feel sensitive, hell, everything feels sensitive, but your bad habit of biting your lip is brought to an end. Making it so that you can’t stop the noises falling from your mouth. 

There can’t possibly be no fix for this. There has to be something. There’s no way other omegas go through this and nobody has made any sort of fix for this. Did people really care that little? Was her father right in keeping her from a world that doesn’t care about her? Would he have let this happen, are you really safe with Elvis? 

It’s as if he can hear your thoughts, hear your doubts. Feel the tears sliding down your cheeks as you sob his name begging for relief. Because just when you start to question if you truly belong with him, there he is. Hands cooling your burning skin. Wiping off the tears that are rolling down her cheeks. And her head spins again when there is only him to be found. 

“My poor baby. Poor little omega~” Deep voice, soothing your heated insides. “What’s wrong, yittle one?” But all words seem to have gone from her brain. Her body now having full control. This sort of...instinct that she hasn’t exactly felt before overcoming her mind. Her head empty from all thoughts and her body driven by action. 

She crawls into his lap, like a pug eager to sit in it’s master’s lap. And like a dog, an animal, in heat she grinds down against huge thigh. Finding the seam of his jumpsuit and pressing her sensitive nerves onto it. Her slick covers Elvis’ iconic suit, making it damp with her warmth. He takes a deep breathe in and there it is again. 

Honey straight from the honey comb. The bees still surrounding you, attacking for taking their precious food, but you don’t care. There’s no way anyone wouldn’t take a few bee stings for this delicious honey. Kings fight and place their whole kingdom and knighthood on the line to import something even nearly as delectable as this scent wafting from between her thighs. 

“Oh, baby,” even his voice goes up a few octaves. Grasping her hips to keep her still and he’s met with a hiss from her. “Is it all uh yittle too much for yah, huh, darlin’?” He knows full well just how badly she needs him. He could smell it the moment he stepped his foot on this floor. He’s never in his life rushes a show, except today. 

Elvis just had to get to her. She’s in an even worse state than he thought she’d be. Crying and sobbing his name. Attacking a pillow with her little cunt. She doesn’t even what she’s doing, her body moving on it’s own accord, fighting for some semblance of relief. But he knows only he can provide what she really needs. 

Immense eyes that seem to hit Elvis right in the gut looks up at him. Red and full of these fat tears. Her nose red following over her cheeks and to her ears. Both from the heat coming from her and how much she’s been crying. Her wet lashes clump together and her lips are plump and abused from her sharp canines coming out. 

“’S too much, too hot.” She mumbles, her bottom lip quivering. Like a needy pup she lowers herself, her cheeks rub against his neck, his scent gland. Needing more of him and his smell and his touch. Her hips jerking forward, closer to him, she needs to be closer. But what’s closer than sitting in someone’s lap? 

Elvis can see the sweat drops going from her forehead, down her temples and onto her cheeks. It’s like he can see her vaporing away. The alpha in him is howling and screaming at him to fill her, mark her, claim her. Adhere to her neediness and fix it. The only way that it can be fixed. But his human mind feels that she isn’t quite ready for it. 

That is just barely not needy enough for him. Elvis feels she needs to begging for him. Like a dog, on her knees, begging. He knows that she probably doesn’t even know what to beg for. But that just makes it all the better. He has the key to her ultimate relief and her pretty little head doesn’t even know it...but her body does. 

She winces and hisses at him, baring her canines as if the little omega can warn him not to lay her down. He can only chuckle at her. “I’m sorry, yittle one. So sorry.” He mutters against her ear. Kissing away the droplets of sweat. Everything moves so quick for you. One moment you’re soothing yourself in his arms, the next he’s laid you down and is pressing a cold rag against your forehead. 

Her thighs clamp together and she squirms, rolling around the sheets. She twists in every position, trying to will her body to stop this onslaught of heat. He huffs, grabbing her hips and holding her still. And again, just for a second, that part where he keeps her in place is the only part that cools. 

“Now, darlin’ this usually last about a week. Yah papa said I could take care of yah this week. Do yah mind?” Her head swings and his voice bounces around. That’s the last thing she cares about now. “N-no,” she mutters, even speaking seems to take so much energy from her. Even a simple word like ‘no’ feels impossible to say. 

Three hours, she lasted, Elvis sat and watched, rock hard meanwhile, as she wriggled. Fighting her heat. He almost has to chain himself up. Especially when she looks at him with these eyes full of lust, half lidded, speaking his name over and over. 

His knees groan as he kneels down next to the bed. Every few minutes he rinses the rag with cold water. Pressing it against your hot body. He swears he can even hear a hiss when he cools you down like that. At this point though, even he is sweating from fighting his alpha instincts. She needs to break soon or else he’ll have to give in- 

A loud grunt escapes her. 

She flies up, her body shaking as she sobs. Crying as her body shudders. “Nothing’s helping,” she cries out in between sobs. He can see the slick dripping down all the way to her knees. She looks so desperate, so needy. She claws at her body and he just can’t stand it anymore. 

“Well...there is something I can do that might help...” Her eyes snap open, she crawls over to the edge of the bed where he kneels. “Please, anything!” She begs, grasping at his upper arms. He has yet to even change out of his stage jumpsuit. Refusing to be away from her even a second. He bites his pillowy lips, thinking it over. 

Then, to your utter dismay and hell, even anger due to frustration, he shakes his head. He cups your burning cheek. “You’re not ready for it, yittle one. Yah papa won’t be very happy wit’ me if I do help yah. Since yah really only still such a small yittle girl.” She lets out another loud groan, from deep inside her empty belly. 

“Please, I don’ care what my papa says. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t. Alpha, please, yah need tah help me.” She sobs and when she uses the word ‘alpha’ Elvis knows she’s ready. Because her pretty little head doesn’t know that is the proper way to address someone of his status...but her body does. Her body craves and is beginning to realize exactly what she needs... 

There is this split moment, where Elvis pretends to think about it. The pretty girl’s eyes flutter down to where his pink tongue reaches out and swipes over his soft pink lips. For a few seconds, all you hear is his breathe. You hang onto it. Waiting for the moment where the breathing stops and he speaks. 

“Ah-Alright, baby, it’s alright.” He groans as he stands up. His old knees cracking as he does stand up. His big arm envelops her shoulder, slowly pushing her down onto the pillows. “Just lie down now, I’ll help yah, baby, I’ll help yah.” He repeats, soothing her with his touch and his voice and his smell. He scents her with every touch. With the rub of his wrists against her skin. 

The prettiest noises fall from his lips when his hands rub up and down her waist. “Now, yah gotta promise me, baby, that yah won’t run off. The way this is fixed is a little...strange. Yah might get scared, baby, but yah don’t need tah. Remember, I’m jus’ tryin’ tah help yah. Alright, darlin’?” He coaches her, knowing her little mind is going to struggle with this part. 

“I don’ care. I don’ care. Please, Alpha, please, yah need tah fix this.” He has to hold back his own grin. “Okay, okay, darlin’. I see. I see.” He whispers, his much bigger hands slowly lift you up by your back. Slipping down the zipper. “Let’s get rid of this stuffy dress, huh? Makin’ yah feel much too hot, huh?” His big hands, covered in rings, then slip the dress off. 

She lets out a whine, her hands covering up her perfect pink nipples. The animalistic side of him lets out a growl. “No, yittle one, don’t hide, then it won’t work, baby.” A slight huff escapes her, because right now she’s so desperate to relive this hot, hot feeling. Now she’s only in her little pink panties. 

They’re soaking, completely see through at this point. So easy to slide off too. Pink, puffy folds, covered and utterly wet with slick. He’s been making her wait so long that he doubts there’s much preparation needed. But he just can’t help himself when he teases her. A thick digit sliding against her sensitive nub. A wild grin covers his face when her back arches and she whimpers. “See, doesn’t that already feel better?” She can’t answer, only hitch her breath. 

He chuckles every so slightly. “Poor omega, can’t even speak.” He coos, he’s enjoying this far too much. And he so easily slides a digit into her. Her back arches and a loud gasp escapes her. Her body so easily grabs onto him. Pulling him deeper in and he groans just imagining how you’ll feel around him. 

Elvis shoves off his jumpsuit. His bulging member slaps against his fat stomach. He pulls you closer by the leg. Her hair dragging behind her on the bed. “Just look at you. So eager, so ready for me already.” He grins, lifting her pelvis up by the hips, aligning himself with her. 

He gently caresses her face. “This is gon’ hurt now, but I promise you’ll feel much better soon enough, darlin’.” Her tiny hands grip onto his forearms. Preparing herself for whatever it is that may hurt. And she can already feel him poking at her entrance. Her cheeks are bright, from the heat, crying and now shame. 

Her father warned her of this so many times. Not to let a man anywhere near her special place, as he called it. But she can’t handle the heat anymore. The throbbing pain like lava being poured over her. The constant haze where she feels dizzy, eyes open or closed. And more intensely, the throbbing ache between her thighs. 

So when he shoves himself deep inside her, it’s almost an immediate relief for her. More than that... a new sensation she’s never experienced before. Like a little bubble that grows bigger when he begins pumping in and out of her. His soft belly resting on the curve of her pelvic bone. 

She feels so full, especially when he leans forward. Trapping her between the sheets and his squishy belly. Heavy, stealing her oxygen with his weight. But for some strange reason, she loves it. It makes the bubble in her tummy feel so much bigger. 

And it’s easy to say, even more so to someone as unexperienced as you, that Elvis most definitely does have, the most biggest of them all. But then you come to this point where you feel like you’re gasping for air. Everything feels so tight and so full. And that’s when his nose his the scent gland of the poor little omega. 

“I can feel, sweet thing, you’re so close, baby. I’m gonna mark yah, hun. I’ll be your alpha and you’ll be my little omega.” He sweetens her up for the sharp canines threatening the skin covering the scent gland. And she too feels with her tongue how sharp her teeth suddenly are. This strangle urge, instinct, grazing this spot between his neck and his shoulder that seems to be the root of leather and lemon. 

“That’s it, baby, that’s it. You can mark me too. I wouldn’t mind, darlin’.” He coaxes her to follow her instincts. “Just do what I do, yittle one. You’re gon’ feel real good just now and then you just follow my lead, alright?” He guides her as she feels the waves rocking through her body. 

Suddenly, a feeling combined with the pain. Sharp, shooting, piercing into her shoulder. She can feel lips and tongue and teeth. It’s teeth that have dug themselves into her flesh. That just seems to make things so clear for her. So crystal clear. Her own little canines bite down on that spot she’s chosen. 

Tiny jaw fighting to pierce the skin but she does. Her pink tongue contrasts the red as she licks the blood dripping from his shoulder. Without warning, the pleasure and release seems to double. As if she’s feeling the emotions of two. Rolling over her as her body spasms, uncontrollable pleasure making it’s way from top to bottom. 

Gasping, chest heaving in unison for they now share one soul. Coaxing and cooing her down from the immense amount of pleasure that’s just now gone through your little body. “You’re okay, darlin’, you’re okay.” Everything just feels much lighter. Much easier to cope. 

The incredibly unstoppable and raging heat that had been going through seems now less, much less. Almost not even there anymore. It all feels that much clearer now to you too, almost too clear. When you feel it, your immediate reaction is to rush away, but Elvis is quick to grab your hip and keep you in place. 

“Don’t move, little one. You’re taking my knot, like the good omega you are. If you move it’ll hurt, yittle one.” He commands, his hand gripping your hips. The omega’s brows furrow, “Knot?” And Elvis has to remind himself of just how little you know. 

“My, uh, seed. It comes from me, as an Alpha. It’s the only thing that soothes the heat, remember I told yah? That you’re goin’ through right now. It acts fast doesn’ it?” He smiles, seeing you finally able to relax a little. Your body going limp as it’s being pumped full of his hot cum. 

He chuckles, his thumbs making soft soothing circles on your hips. “The seed needs to be given, just like this, just like I’m doin’ now, to keep all those nasty sweats and pains away. Every day-” he lies about that part, but who wouldn’t with a pretty girl like you. “-every day, when yah start to feel all hot and flustered like yah were. Yah understand, little one?” He coaxed her, molding her into his. 

Her teeth, no longer so sharp, capture her plump bottom lip as she nods, submissively. Instinctively giving into her alpha, her mate. He grins, running his large hand over her pink cheeks. “Now, yah gotta hold still until this is done, sweet thing. Or else it won’t work and you’ll be in pain all over again.” 

Nothing more than a shy nod, returned by him with a grin. “Such a good yittle girl, aren’t you? My good yittle girl now. Yah papa said I could keep you-” he lies, he didn’t even talk to the old man. Not htat he veer plans on it. That man will never see his daughter again. Hell, he’ll never step foot in the same state as him or his little mate ever again.  

The End?

[iloveaustinelvisandmannymore]

The Art of obsession.

Pairing: Austin!Elvis x reader

Summary: When you decided to be a preschool teacher you didn't know you would be teaching the famous Alpha Celebrity Elvis Presley's daughter Lisa Marie Presley. What you didn't know was that it would take a twisted turn when you got to know the 'Alpha' himself more and soon start to think you shouldn't have met him in the first place. (@galaxygirl453 )

Warnings: Manipulation, Gas lighting, Guilt tripping, Forced marriage, Drugging, Delusional/Obsessed Austin!Elvis, Baby trapping, Breeding kink, Forced marking, Creampie, dinner room sex, At school sex, Dirty talk, Housewife kink, Praise, Cock warming, Bullying, Pregnancy, and Pregnancy sex, Gorely murder.

A/n: So the anon who requested this, I hope you like it.

Elvis only could hear the clicking of his dress shoes against the preschool's tile, his thoughts grow wild. While he was at home, practicing with some of the Memphis Mafia in The Jungle Room, he got a call from the principal that Lias Marie had gotten into a fight, his Lisa? He knew it was hard for Lisa Marie to go through the change of having divorce parents but she wouldn't fight another kid, would she? No, she wouldn't. Elvis closed his eyes and took a calming breath in and opened the door.

"Ah! Mr. Presley, there you are." the principal exclaimed mockingly, a sarcastic smile on his wrinkled, chubby face "What happened?" Elvis asked as he sat beside a sniffling Lisa, putting a hand on her tiny back, quietly comforting her "Lisa Marie attacked a little boy, while they were playing. If I were you I'd discipline her better." the old white-haired man practically snarled, Elvis could feel his blood boil, his wolf growling and ready to protect his little pup. Elvis opened his mouth to reply when the door swing open and the scent so luring filled his sense of smell, Rose & honey with a hint of firewood, his ocean orbs snapped to the source.

"Miss. (L/N)!" The principal called out but you ignored him, and simply squatted down in front of Lisa "Are you, okay sweetheart? I heard what happened." you gently cooed to Lisa wiping away her tears, Elvis's heartbeat quickened as he stared at you in awe, his body heat raised and ringing filed his ear, it was getting hard to breathe, everything in his body screamed to be yours, your omega but you wasn't an alpha, you couldn't be, you don't act like one, plus he worked so hard to be an 'Alpha' to lose it. Elvis breathed in and thanked God for his dark shades that helped conceive his emotion. "Miss. (L/n) this is a private meeting." you stood and turned to your boss, with a warm smile that didn't reach your eyes " With all due respect, sir, We both know Bobby Field likes to push around others, it's quite boggling to me that little Lisa Marie is here instead of him" the elder man opened his mouth to speak, but you continued "I get that you might be jealous of Mr. Presley's effect on your new 'wife' but we should not take it on the children Mr. Dryier." The beta man in question looked away in shame "Leave me." the beta waved his hand dismissing him, Lisa, and Miss.(L/n). They wasted no time leaving the stuffy office and into the hallway.

"You alright little Marie?" Miss (L/n) asked bending down and smiling down at his daughter "'m alright." Lisa nodded to you and wiped her puffy face from the tears in her eyes, wearing a cute tiny pout that made her teacher giggle softly, to Elvis it was like the sound of Angels singing and joyful bells ringing, his heartbeat once again raced just a little. You stood up, turning to him with your warm and soft smile, and he swear his heart skipped a beat, his body heat raised hotter than before, suddenly his throat felt dry and he felt like he was hardly breathing, his wolf begging and whimpering for his Alpha "Thank you, for doin' that." Elvis managed to spit out, with a fax confidence smirk even though a raging storm of emotion waved its course within him, "Your welcome. I just hate when adults are petty and mistreat children." you huffed before a smile was back on your face " I'm (Y/N) (L/n), it's a pleasure to meet THE Elvis Presley." you held out your hand that he gladly took, electricity ride up his spine and a groan tried to force it's way out his lips, he suddenly needed to fuck, to breed you, the want became almost unbearable. Elvis gulped before speaking "Pleasure all mine, darlin'" You shake his hand "Well it's time for me and Marie to head to class, recess is over." you said taking his little girl's hand, waved at him, and walked off.

Once you were out of sight, Elvis rushed out of the school and drove to Graceland, with the pain going through his veins, body screaming for release. His back laid against his comfortable mattress, clothes on the floor, and his cock in his hand, pumping fast, pre-cum leaking out and over his hand, his hips jerking into his fist, wishing it was your pussy, He cummed with a whimper and whine.

That was the best orgasm, Elvis had ever experienced, he didn't cum that hard even with Priscilla.

He wanted you, wanted you to be his, by God, you will be, whether you want that or not, he decided you'd be his alpha, no matter the costs. He didn't put his plan into action until a month later, he convinced the principal to have you tutor Lisa at Graceland when you had the time, after all every man had a price. It was a Tuesday when he acted, it was a sunny day and you came exactly the same time you always have, a bright smile and warmth in your eyes as he opened the door "How are you today Mr. Presley?" you asked walking into the beautiful mansion "Doin' just fine." Elvis smiled back and locked the door behind him, actually, he was more than fine, he was excited, he got off his suppressants and stopped wearing his mask scents, and he was going into heat, no alpha couldn't resist an omega in heat, not a sweet little alpha like you. "So where is little Marie?" you questioned looking for her, normal the little girl would come running to greet you, "Goddamn, I forget to tell ya she's at her mother's. I'm sorry darlin'," he said "It's okay I can just go." "You sure? The drive here is at least 2 hours, would ya like a drink?" Elvis asked, gently guiding you to the dining room "I could go for some coke." you smile softly as you sat in a chair at the large dining table "Great, just relax darlin' I'll get yar coke."

Elvis walked into the kitchen, grabbed two coke bottles, and pulled out a set of different quickly, tasteless dissolving drugs, one to enhance your instinct and one to trigger his heat, dropping each drug in your respective drinks, he brought and sat your coke in front of you, before sitting across of you, taking a sip of his coke "So how was school?" Elvis asked leaning back in his seat, "It was okay, the kids were a little—" you trailed off, once a temping scent filled the air, The smell of fresh morning due and lavender sage, your eyes meet Elvis's when a pained whimper left the omega, wait omega? He usually smelled like another alpha, that of Sandalwood and vanilla, he was a beautiful sight, his normal ocean orbs were hard to see, his pupils so dilated he was breathing heavily and sweat begin to make his skin shine. A strong want for, no need to have this omega, ride him until he begs you to stop, your eyes dilated as you stood up and walked to him "Get up." you order and like a good boy he did what he was told "Such good omega" you cooed " your reward." you said before pulling the godly of a man into dominating and passionate kiss, tongues swirling each other and your hands worked on removing his black half unbutton blouse. You both parted Breathing heavily as you remove his blouse and he was working to remove his pants "Such a gorgeous Alpha and gonna take care of me? Huh, darlin'?" he teased, kissing your neck before taking off his pants and lifted himself onto the table, his cock stood tall, your mouth watering and your pussy became slick. You crawled over him and lined his cock with your weeping core and slowly descended upon him, and immediately started to ride him it's been so long since you had sex nevertheless, you couldn't believe your luck a male Omega they're is so rare as Alpha females, you throw your head back, and rolled your hips sharply causing a pretty gasp and moan from the men below you.

His large hands quickly gripped your hips, moans, and whines left his pink lips, his Raven hair stuck to his forehead, and his eyes lidded, desperate, you bounced faster and leaned down to kiss him, not once stopping. His scent filled your nose and lungs like a drug, your kisses strayed from his lips to his neck, and a sudden desire, temptation, want, set your body ablaze, a want to mark, claim this man, his hand held your head to his neck, and his arm throw over your waist, holding you as you bounce. His scent became deliciously overwhelming and you bit down on his neck, staking your claim. Elvis gasped, it worked! He flipped you both, your back on the warm smooth wood as you licked up the blood and the bite with your healing saliva, Elvis pounded into you with a strong punishing rhythm, each thrust from his skilled hips, would push your hips against the table and his cock reached your sweet spot like no, Alpha or beta never had, the sexy growls and huffs leave the rock and roll king brought you closer to your climax "T-That's it! Cum, cum on this cock lil Darlin'! Goddamn, I'm close!" Elvis panted, his already fast thrusting turn frantic, and with a rub against your little nub, you came with a scream, Elvis not far after, with a groan he came, painting your walls and womb white with his seed. it took you a minute to realize what happened, you forcefully claimed him, and your widen eyes snapped to Elvis who was tracing the mark with shock and terror on his face "I'm so sorry I didn't mean to.." you trailed off as guilt set heavily into your chest "I'm ruined.." Elvis whispered, pacing in front of you "What can I do?" you begged "There's nothing you can do." he said, his back turned to you, a sinister smirk on his lips, it really was working, you were going to his. "Please there must be something?" you plead more desperately "Move in here and marry me, people will think it was consensual and you will be able to keep your job. We'll say we kept our relationship secret" Elvis turned to look at you, his eyes holding a strange gleam but you were too much in turmoil to notice "O-Oh Okay." you shakily nodded.

You sighed as you struggle to get out of bed with your 8 months baby bump, your husband sound asleep, it was a rare sight to see, he laid on his stomach, his head on his arm, his lips parted in silent snores, his jet black a mess on his forehead, he was it was gorgeous even if he was asleep, 'no fair' you chuckled and bend down as best as you could, kissed his forehead and walked into the bathroom and got ready for work, it had been a year since that, and it wasn't bad being married to the rock star, sure he had his moments, but he treated you well and you have grown to even love the man. Though you could go without the bursts of anger and possessiveness, it was worse when your ex came around which happened more often than not, he works at the same school you did, and now that you think about Elvis acted more than an alpha than you did sometimes, You yawned as stretched your arms, it was lunch time so the little pups went to the cafeteria. you were about to reach for your lunch when a knock on your classroom door made you sharply inhale, feeling irritation enter your system you took a calm breath then smiled "Come in." you spoke calmly and your husband strutted in with a small smile "How're my girls?" Elvis asked taking off his famous shades and hooking them on his belt "We're doing alright." your smile turned genuine "What are you doing here?" you asked as he leaned against your desk, looking at you with the same loving and devoted look in his eyes when never he looked at you, his smile tugged into a smirk at your question, his orbs was overcome with lust. "I came to check on you and the babies. God..you smell so good."

'Oh' you thought as heat rushed into your body, it had got clearer, the closer you got into your pregnancy, you hungered for sex more, and seeing the predatory lust-driven glint didn't help, you could feel the Alpha purr inside of you, she was pleased, happy to have such a doting omega to take care of her and your needs. Elvis rushed to sweep everything off your desk and helped you upon it, lips locked in a passionate kiss as you slowly leaned down onto the light brown desk, Elvis's fingers hooked onto your underwear and slide them off from under your sundress, your core already slick ready to take your omega he fumbled with unbuckled his belt and unzipping his pants, letting out small whimpers of want. "Shh it's okay omega, your Alpha is here" you purred, eyes blew out as he slowly slid into your pussy despite everything in him wanting to slam into you, his thrusts were slow but precise at first, trying so hard to be gentle, in control but it was slipping as he pounded faster, the poor old desk creaked under the pressure. The classroom echoes your lewd moans and the arousing sound of skin smacking against the skin, and your wet pussy taking a beating.

You whined as Elvis whispered sweet nothing, his pubic bone smacking against your clit, your eyes drifted into the small rectangle window of your classroom door, a set of brown tearful orbs looked back at yours; your ex Joseph a hurt expression plastered on his face but you couldn't find it in you to care while you were being fucked dumb, you grabbed Elvis's face and pulled him into a kiss of swirling tongues, your hips bucking upwards to your husbands hammering, the band in your stomach coming closer to snapping a sharp thrust had you coming, you left out a satisfied sigh as he finished inside. Your eyes looked to the window once again, Joseph was gone and a tiny feeling of guilt wash over you.

Elvis helped you down, helped cleaned up, and organize your desk, he stayed with you for the rest of your break, and the room was filled with laughter and talking. He left as the bell ranged not before leaving with a kiss and that was the last time he really spend time with you.

You were on your 9th month and at home, Elvis and you had agreed you were too close to your due date to work, so you just cooked and cleaned around the house. He was as always at his Studio, hanging out and recording songs with the Memphis Mafia when he got home he would just kiss you on the lips and Lisa Marie on her cheeks before doing his own thing. Today you decided to clean some of the rooms downstairs, you just finished one and were heading to the other when something catch your eye, the door that was normally locked was open just a slit, like a cat that was killed by curiosity, you completely open the door and a set of stairs lead down into the poorly lit room. You grip the metal rails as you take cautious steps can you pause once you smell stench so horrible like something was rotting? You watched as your feet bit the bottom step and when you finally looked up a gasp of pure horror left you. Dried blood splattered everywhere, bits and pieces of Flesh ran across the floors and walls as if an animal ripped apart its prey not caring where the pieces landed, and a ripped leg enters your vision, your eyes traced up, and what you saw would haunt you as bile rises up your throat. A man's body slumps against the back wall, his left arm cut off, and laying beside his thigh, his jaw hangs open, some teeth missing and his other leg gone, what you assume it was the bits of rotting flesh scattered around. A familiar scent entered your nose beneath the rotting corpse, Seabreeze vanilla, and coconut... Joseph. A chill climbed its way up your spine and tears build up in your orbs then another scent enters your nose and your blood runs ice cold.

"Tsk, such a bad alpha." a voice mocked you in the Stillness of this horror, your head snaps up at the top of the stairs, and your 'innocent' husband looks down at you coldly, eyes glowing blue as he leans against the doorframe

Taglist; @reddie-freddie, @father-of-2cats, @yynneessmons, @trinityscarlett173, @mnessasstuff, @galaxygirl453, @xxmadhatter39xx, @pennyroyalcreep, @elvisalltheway101 ,@plasticfantasticl0ver, @kendralavon7, @crash-and-cure, @flwersgarden. @airyx0x0.

"You're afraid? Good, you should be."

(@galaxygirl453)

[crash-and-cure]

Burnin’ a Hole Where I Lay (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader) (Omegaverse)

Gif by @troubleinapinksuit

Summary: In which you long ago decided that the standard Alpha and Omega Relationship wasn’t for you, but your best friend Elvis had other plans.

A/N: This is a backup post I made because I absolutely refuse to let this be a case of this one not ending up in the tags again. Based on this request. Semi-Relevant, as i’ve been writing, in my head I’ve been ranking each reader as to how likely they are to bite, and undoubtedly this is my most feral creation, too bad she exists in a world where it may as well be a whole ass love language. So as a quick note as to the dynamics of this Omegaverse, relationshipss are primarily judged on their ability to Breed so A/O are the preferred/seen as the standard, wtih B/O and B/B being seen as acceptable, as a result an A/B relationship is seen as unacceptable. Also Alpha Presentation is marked when they gain their unusually elongated canines, and later go into a rut, Omegas go into their first heat, and Betas essentially present by not presenting whatsoever. Knotting is a bit of a secret in this world, as it only occurs under pretty rare circumstances. Probably some other rules I’m spacing on right now, so feel free to ask if any questions arise. Also I fully acknowledge that there is no way they would be watching The Twilight Zone, but for the purposes of this story let’s pretend.

Warnings: First and foremost this is a Yandere!Elvis so expect themes of delusional and manipulative behavior. VERY dubious consent, (in which reader is a slave to their own desires of consciously not wanting, but their body uncosciously does want it). Set in an Omegaverse so expect the usual. Implied birth control tampering. Bit of a breeding kink implied. Sexual harassment masked as being especially touchy. Smut depicted, that includes penetrative sex (m/f), knotting, cockwarming, cumplay, marking, and a bit of blood play. Also depictions of Parental abandonment and neglect towards reader. Reader is not in a good place y’all and as a result has humor as an unhealthy coping mechanisms and self-depreciative attitude. Instances of reader being yelled at both by Elvis and another character. Best friends to lovers (albeit reluctantly) Please do not interact if you are under 18 years old.

Word Count: 21k (I need to be stopped)

My Masterlist

Denim jeans were a mistake, you think to yourself trying your best not to fan yourself in a very indecent place as you and your group walked back to the rest of the motorcade sitting idle on some backwoods route somewhere in the Florida panhandle. It was a nice cool 102 degrees this morning when the lot of you had taken off so by noon it was hotter than hades, which had been the perfect time for Hank Snow’s car to all but combust, forcing the entire convoy to a screeching halt. The Louisiana Hayride apparently operated the same as the Military: No man left behind.

You and your naturally-run-hot-thighs were having a wonderful time, walking down this stretch of road, along with the other non-talent people who were roped into making a snack and refreshments run at the nearest service station about a half-mile back. You dab yourself, praying you haven’t sweat the last of your face off, as that is the last thing you need right now. The last leg of the hayride tour was proving to be the most arduous as now home felt so close yet still so far off. And this hiccup further proved your theory that hell is to be found on tour.

Though upon seeing them not too far away from you now, your group does admittedly make this far more bearable. You’re not about to let them know that though. So before your thoughts get too chummy about them you set the brown bag from the service station down onto the grass and grab a hold of one of the bottles before you silently stalk forward. Some of them see you and are all too willing to comply when you hold a finger up to your lips in order to better sneak up on your mark. Your prey none the wiser to your dastardly scheme, gleefully tells the tale of seeing Big Boy Crudup as a boy, before it’s interrupted by a yelp and then a subsequent long string of curses as he’s taken by surprise by the cool kiss of the bottle to the back of his neck.

He whips around ready to unleash his fury on the poor soul who dared interrupt him, until you watch in real time as the fire in his eyes dissipate and turn softer upon seeing you giggling up a storm. “Goddamn Y/N, what was that for?” Elvis says exasperated, but doing a piss poor job of hiding his amusement as he wipes the now cool sweat off the back of his neck.

“Felt like it,” you shrug, handing him the bottle before you turn around to retrieve your bag where you had left it, and return bearing gifts.

“Say lil’ lady, you got anythin’ in that bag for some talented musicians?” Scotty asks.

Quick as a whip, you reply, “Sure do. Ya know any?” as you set the bag down on the hood of the car.

Elvis gives a full belly laugh at you, and a beat later, do the others follow suit.

“Did they only have orange soda?” Red remarks as he’s digging through the brown bag.

“No, but one of you mooks, and you know who you are,” you say, pointing to the lot of them. “Have not eaten a single goddamn fruit or vegetable since Texas, and this was the only way I figured I could get y’all to not die from scurvy.”

“Don’t be stupid Y/N,” Billy asserted, nervously trying to hide that he was the one you were talking about. “You only get that when you're out on the sea.”

“I thought you get it when you eat too much salt,” Scotty questions, unsure as to your words.

“No you get it from bad fish,” Red asserts, all the confidence of a man who has never been out to sea.

“You’re all wrong,” you say as you look through your bag trying to find a bottle opener. “You get it when you don’t listen to the Pharmacist’s daughter and eat a goddamn orange every once in a while. Now drink.”

You can see it clear as day as, simultaneously, all of their hackles raise at the thought of being ordered around by a Beta, so they do what they usually do when you do this: they look to Elvis.

Elvis, who has been able to open his own drink with his keys, stops drinking for a moment only to state, “You heard her.” And without a second thought they all sigh in defeat as they each grab a bottle for themselves.

“That’s what I thought,” you state, triumphantly, as you fail to locate anything close to a bottle opener. “You mind,” you say to Elvis, holding your bottle up to him. He gives a little smirk as he brings the still capped bottle up to his mouth.

As he uses his teeth as a makeshift bottle opener, you catch a glimpse at his pronounced canines, and you can’t help but absentmindedly swipe your tongue on that errant tooth in your own mouth. The one that tricked you into believing that you would present as an Alpha only to disappoint nearly everyone in your life.

You’d like to believe you’re past your admittedly childish envy of his status as an Alpha, still that does little to quell that funny feeling you get in the pit of your belly when you see him pop the cap off the bottle with ease.

“I meant use the keys dummy,” you say exasperatedly, swiping the orange drink out of his grasp. “You’re gonna crack a tooth like that one a these days.”

“Aww you do care,” he half-sings to you, and you can only roll your eyes and tell him to shush. He nonetheless listens and uses the keys for his second bottle.

While you languidly sip on the orange drink, that word circles your brain for a bit. Caring is not something you’re exactly used to being called. Years ago you were called protective or watchful, when the entire world was sure as to how you would present. Nowadays in spite of the fact that you doubt you’ve changed too much over the years, you’re called nurturing or motherly.

It’s actually part of the reason you even went on tour with them. You had initially refused Elvis’ invitation to join him on tour, figuring that now was as good as any to move out of the Lauderdale courts. He begged you to go with him and be his makeup assistant on tour as you had been for every show he’d performed up until then. You were reluctant to go due to not wanting to leave the good thing you had going with your job at the Cathouse salon but then Gladys had convinced you to go in order to prevent the boys from getting too buckwild on the road. After all her years of hospitality and refusing your rent payment, you figured this was the least you could do to compensate for your extended stay in her home.

The irony of which was not lost on you as there were many nights after the two of you had your nightly phone calls with her where you would have to kick Elvis out of your motel room to go “talk” to some little chicky that would be skulking around his room (More like you slapped him on the ass and told him ‘go get em tiger’... because you absolutely did do that a few times). You did this mostly to get him out of your hair for the night, but also because in those days you had no idea how long any of this would last and you wanted him to make the most of it. You knew better than most that all things are temporary, but that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the ride.

Your musings are interrupted by The Colonel’s speaker car announcing the issue had been fixed and everybody better be ready to leave in less than a minute because “Time is money.” Your group quickly packs up, making a beeline back into your respective vehicles.

You quickly check your makeup in the mirror (wouldn’t do for THE Elvis Presley’s makeup girl to look anything less than immaculate, even in this abominable heat, though he’s not exactly a THE yet) as Elvis gets behind the wheel making sure Scotty and Billy got into their car, while Red scurries into the backseat (he lost all privileges to shotgun after a legendary loss to you at a bowling alley back in Baton Rouge). And just like that you’re off to hightail it to the next venue, though not before you catch a particularly nasty side-eye from Hank as he passes your car. With all his huffing and puffing every time Elvis performed, you figured it would only be inevitable the Alpha would eventually burst and blow the lot of you all the way back to Memphis. Especially as his Beta boy kept glancing your way.

So imagine your surprise when by the end of the night Hank ended up leaving and Elvis had news that that Colonel fellow wanted to go into a partnership with him. You’re gone for all of five minutes to get funnel cake and suddenly Elvis is officially on the up and up, with a new manager and everything.

Elvis trusted everybody and you trusted nobody: it made you two the perfect team. It was your natural suspicion of others that had you look over The Colonel’s initial contract and when some of the wording wasn’t sitting right with you, you called in a favor with your former boss, Kitty, who was in turn owed a favor by a Lawyer friend of hers. Even with the favor in place, he ended up taking a good chunk of your savings, which in your book was fine, as it was mostly made up of the rent that the Presley’s refused to accept from you for the past few years. Your intervention would actually prevent Elvis from going 50/50 with The Colonel, and unknowingly save him from so many headaches later down the line.

The Beta Man didn’t quite make your skin crawl, but just about, and he made it no secret how little he cared for you or how much Elvis valued your opinion. Were it not for Elvis’ insistence that you’re the only make-up artist in the world that could achieve the right look for him, you think The Colonel would have elbowed you out early into his career.  

And much to his chagrin you go everywhere with him; shows, movie sets, tv appearances, you name it. Those weeks when you had back to back shows with him and just as many public appearances to keep the momentum of his career going, those were the days where you found yourself longing for the far simpler days.

You honest to god miss 8th grade year. When the world made about as much sense as it could to a twelve year old. The days when you were called the Boldest Little Girl this side of Memphis you were called after you brazenly told your music teacher to shut up when she told the stuttering new kid that he had no future in music in front of the entire class.

After a long lecture on respect and Mrs. Whatsherface made sure your knuckles had a meeting with her ruler, you left her classroom only to be met with that same kid you defended turned around and talking to himself in an empty hallway. He still somehow managed to stutter even when no one was there.

"Th-th-thank y-you," he would say before taking a long steadying breath, before squaring his narrow shoulders and looking as though he were preparing for war.

"Who ya talkin' to?" you would say over his shoulder, and instead of words he would let out a very undignified shriek. "Sorry 'bout that. I'm Y/N."

"El-Elvis," he would say, looking down at his shoes. He’s all sandy hair and knobby knees, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen a boy with such long eyelashes before. He was just a bit shorter than you, and with the growth spurt you had recently your mama was hopeful that you would present soon.

"So Elvis… you new to Memphis?" you would say, after a painfully long pause, waiting for him to say something else.

"Ye-ye-yes," he said, still trying to find the secrets to the universe in his shoes. You can’t exactly pinpoint why but in that moment, he reminded you of a wet puppy. One that's just pathetic enough that you want to pick it up and take it home to dry it off and give it a snack.

So that's exactly what you do and you throw an arm around his shoulder, “C’mon, Elvis,” you say as the sandy-haired boy blushes up a storm. “I’m gonna show you around these parts.”

You end up taking him to some of your favorite places around your neck of the woods, and finish this little impromptu trip with a stop off at the neighborhood drugstore, where you ask him what his favorite soda is, and he nearly has a heart attack when you grab one from the cooler and walk out without even attempting to pay for it. Annoyed but willing to humor the boy, you walk up to the counter and tell your daddy you were taking them for you and your friend. You could see the bit of pride in his eyes as you took rather than asking for what you wanted. Elvis meanwhile seemed to be in awe of you. Though he quickly goes beet red when you show him how to open a bottle with your teeth and hand it to him.

“Y’know you don’t stutter when you sing,” you say as the two of you were making your way to his place in the lauderdale courts. “Why’s that?”

“I-I-I don’t know,” he said solemnly, sipping on the Pepsi you gave him. “I gu-guess, it’s cuz I-I-I’m good at it… or I th-thought I wa-was.” he says sadly.

“You do sound good,” you say matter-of-factly, and it makes you feel warm as he lights up at the compliment. “Not everyone’s gonna think so, but you do.”

“But some of ‘em are gonna hate it?” he blanches at the thought.

“Yeah, but that’s just  the way a things ain’t it?”

“I-I guess…”

“Elvis trust me on this,” you state, more sure of yourself than any twelve year old has a right to be. “If people don’t like how you sound, it’s on them to not listen, because there are plenty more people who will love it.” Simple piece of advice really, and not applicable to all situations you recognize now, but with the way you watched him hunching in on himself to look smaller only for him to walk straighter into his home, it looked like it’s what he needed to hear.

Elvis would return to music class the next day with his own guitar in hand and sing his little heart out in front of the entire class. Mrs. Whatsherface still didn’t approve, stating how she “didn’t like how he sounded.” But he in turn looked her right in the eye and told her what you had told him, and you had never been more proud of another person in your entire life.

“Well Mrs. Wilson, you don’t gotta listen.” he asserts, more confidence in him than you’ve seen in all the time you’ve known him.

Your friendship however was really solidified after that jerk that sat behind you in class, Leon, cut Elvis guitar strings as a “joke” he claimed. Seeing Elvis' heartbroken expression and knowing his family’s financial status, awoke some latent protective streak within you that had you dip into your meager savings for a record player to buy two things that night: guitar strings and gum.

The next day you would give Elvis the replacement strings before school would start as well as an ominous suggestion to watch you during study hall. And he would watch as you proceeded to stick a wad of gum in your own hair and proceed to flip over the table behind you and try to knock Leon’s lights out. Nobody ever really made that connection that it had anything to do with what he did to Elvis’ guitar. No, all anybody ever knew was just that Leon sat behind you and someone had put gum in your hair, and you swung first and asked questions later.

Elvis would watch in utter awe of you as the teacher escorted you and Leon out of the class by your ears, and you would wink at him as you passed by, but you think the sentiment of it was lost considering the eye you used was the one already swelling shut. Unbeknownst to you at the time, Elvis would return home that night and let his Mama know he found the girl he was gonna marry.

You saved Elvis the embarrassment of having to be defended by a girl, and the focus was solely on how Leon had gotten beaten up by one. You would even cleverly and cruelly dub him “The Cowardly Leon,” for the rest of the year, and only let it die out after you needed to start flying under the radar once you had presented.

You cared a lot about justice back then because that’s what your father instilled in you. In fact the first thing he said to you when he came to pick you up, was asking whether or not you won. God he was so proud of you for standing up for yourself, and he ended up taking you out for ice cream. In retrospect not the best thing to teach a kid, to handle conflict with physical violence. Back then it was seen as blooming Alpha behavior of play-acting at being territorial and rough-housing. But once you presented as a “Beta” that same behavior that was seen as charming, became deviant or atypical of how a proper beta should act.

That year was the last one of simplicity you would ever experience, as you were comfortable in what your future would look like. Your daddy's side of the family came from a long, unbroken line of Alphas, both male and female. And it only felt inevitable that you would present as one, and one day you would inherit your family drug store, you would settle down with a nice omega partner, have a couple kids, who would also be Alphas, pass it on to them, so on and so forth.  With his ever present, yet endearing stutter and his unabashed love for his mama, you had thought Elvis would be such a partner. And the way you sometimes caught him looking at you at times, you didn't think he would be entirely opposed to it either.

You were an only child and your daddy did his best to teach you long before you were even close to presenting how an Alpha acts. Lessons to always be bold and aggressive. To take what you want and how to fight for what is yours. The benefits of remaining stoic, and relying only on yourself. How to essentially be the perfect Alpha.

Lessons that would ultimately be wasted on you, you would learn that summer after 8th grade. It was just supposed to be a nice ordinary trip to visit Nana up in Nashville. First day, you would be slightly uncomfortable and very tired, nothing cool refreshments and a nap couldn’t help. Day two you felt a lot warmer that wasn’t the least bit helped by Nana’s brand new Air Conditioner. Day three you would spend covering the windows with blankets in order to better curl up into a corner on your bed with pieces of clothing you had taken from your parents. Day four there was no more denying what was happening as you cried into mama’s lap, feeling oddly betrayed by your own body as you waited for all of it to pass.

Your daddy put you on suppressants the second you were all finished and were back in Memphis. He was the only one whose disappointment in your presentation matched your own. Mama tried her best to convince you it wasn’t so bad to be an Omega, but the words feel hollow as you overhear her insistence to daddy that she wasn’t too old to try and get it “right” this time with another baby.

Nothing felt real those summer days, and by the time newly presented Alpha, Elvis Presley, strolled into the store, you officially accepted that you were in some sort of upside down world. You didn’t even really see him at first, you were so used to seeing him at less than eye-level to you, that it didn’t register to you to look up, and find the previously waifish Elvis Presely having been replaced by a taller, broader -and dare you say it, handsome- young man before you.

Of all the people you knew, you thought Elvis would be the one that you would be able to tell, but as the light softly glints off his newly descended canines you knew that could never be.

There’s a part of you that wants to tell him. To admit to someone, who will undoubtedly accept you as you are, but you catch sight of your parents staying on opposite sides of the store. A painful reminder that nothing is ever a sure thing.  

“My what big teeth you have,” you instead remark as you lean against the counter.

“Heya sweetheart,” he says, propping an elbow on to the counter, though not without some awkwardness as he catches your magazine and slides forward a little before catching himself.

“Sweetheart? What is that about?” You ask, acting dumb and hoping you’re wrong.

He grins even wider at that

“Oh yeah,” you say, trying to be as non-chalant as you possibly could be. You hook your pinky into the corner of your mouth to show him the normal canine you have. He perks up ever so slightly as he sees it, only to deflate once he hears your muffled “Beta.”

“O-oh… oh, ummm…” he stutters, unsure of what to say to you.

“Disappointed? So’s my daddy,” you say flippantly.

“N-no it ain’t that,” he stutters. “It’s just I-I… well I…”

“Was expecting something else?” you finish for him. “You and me both buddy,”

“...Y-yeah umm….” he says glancing down between you and the floor as though waiting for the sike.

“C’mon, don’t be upset for my sake, you’re an Alpha now, cream of the crop and all that,” you say, hoping you don’t sound too jealous. You hand him a Pepsi on the house and call for the next customer knowing you’re gonna have to be on inventory later so you’re daddy won’t notice it missing.

In short order by the start of your freshman year you would learn three awful things. First, that while the state of Tennessee’s single bond and marriage laws were still in place, they do make an exception for Alpha business owners who wish to pass down their legacy to an Alpha Child. Secondly, that your daddy was aware of this exception because he had done it once before, as you and your mama were his second attempt at an alpha child, after his first born son presented as an omega. Third, the reason you had a babysitter until you were fourteen, was because your daddy apparently needed a backup for his backup.

That is how you found yourself moving all of your belongings into the Lauderdale Courts, where you would find a familiar face. He was surprised to see you there, especially with the load of boxes behind you, but he wasn’t about to let your surly demeanor get in the way of him rolling out the welcome wagon for you and your Mama.

Elvis is not one to be ignored, and you find it amusing that he was now the one that more or less bullied you into doing things. And as loath as you are to admit it he more or less did become somewhat of a protector to you when Leon tried to get his licks back. It is a strange reversal, but not a wholly unwelcome one. You do at least try to find the comedy that is the tragedy of your life now.

Your mama was with you, but you could hardly say she was present anymore. The days she wasn’t drinking herself into a stupor, were the days she was cursing your father’s name and long-winded rants about how he stole the best years of her life. For all the passion and fury in her words, they were hollow, as instead of getting on suppressants to combat her heats, she instead went back to him every single time to take care of her. There would be times you would come home from school only to find your place empty, cash in an envelope on the table, nary a note in sight, and you would spend the week with a neighbor.

You try to justify it in your head with the fact that Mated Omegas could die if they go into heat without their Alpha, but that was exactly what suppressants were made for. They weren’t true mates so there should be no problem for her alone to break the bond, and yet like clockwork every three months she would be gone for the entire week, and wouldn’t be able to look you in the eyes for about the next two weeks following that.

You hated those days when you would come back to the apartment only to find her missing, that ominous pink dot on the calendar, and some money left in an envelope for you to take care of yourself for the week. Gladys Presley didn’t even hesitate in offering you a place to stay so you wouldn’t be alone, but as welcoming and kind as the Presley’s were to you during those weeks you felt humiliated not only for having to rely on their hospitality, but also the reason why.

You knew where exactly she went. Everyone in the Lauderdale Courts- hell, everyone in Memphis- knew where she went, as those were the same weeks that your father and his new wife would disappear off the face of the Earth. All those pitiful looks and derisive snorts when you walked by felt the same, they said “oh look, there’s the little unwanted girl.” Your mother went from wife to glorified mistress in a matter of months, and people shaped their own opinions on you solely around that.

You got by though, especially after you were able to get a part time job in Sophmore year. Kitty LeBlanc is perhaps the most feared Alphas this side of Memphis. She and her wife, Jeanie, have been running the Cathouse Beauty Salon, for the last twenty or so years, the place to go when you’re looking to get done up for a date night or a divorce. It’s well known in these parts that any Omegas having trouble with their Alphas need only come to Kitty to get them to start doing right by them. So suffice to say, she was furious at what your daddy did to you, and the only thing stopping her from launching a full scale whisper campaign against your daddy’s store, is that you and your mama were still financially dependent on him and so didn’t want to leave him completely destitute.

But you also had the underlying reason that you needed him to stay open so you could still get the suppressants you needed. They were created way back when during war times, to prevent mated omegas from dying due to their Alphas being gone so long, and nowadays they are only prescribed to mated Omegas under the most extreme of circumstances. Legally you’re not supposed to be on them whatsoever, but while normally your father being a pharmacist had few perks, this was absolutely one of them.

It’s bad enough he’s known for having more or less abandoned an Omega Partner, but it would have absolutely devastated him, socially and legally, if it had gotten out that he had abandoned not one but two Omega children of his. So rather than having that be his reputation he made everyone believe that you in fact were a Beta. And you’re fine with this, because you already push it by acting like an Alpha when you’re known as a Beta, you doubt you’ll be tolerated anymore if it comes out that you’re an Omega.

Kitty would respect your choice and instead offered you a job, mostly sweeping the floors and taking out the trash after school, for a little extra cash on the side. That’s where your interest in makeup first began, seeing how someone could be having the worst day of their lives, but their appearance exhibiting none of that.

“Think of it like a mask,” Kitty would explain to you as you attempted eyeliner for the first time. “You’re only showing the world what you want them to see.”

High school was a bit of a blur, and before you know it you’re in your Senior year. Prom was something you had been looking forward to. You had saved up all your money from the Cathouse to buy a beautiful red dress, had been asked out by a nice Beta boy from your art class, and Kitty promised you the full salon treatment for such a special occasion. Really everything was looking up with the only hitch being how weird Elvis had gotten when you told him about your plans for the evening.

After the talent show (where you almost resorted to pushing him onto the stage), Elvis certainly wasn’t without options, but he still insisted on going Stag with you and the rest of your friends for Prom. Those plans didn’t change with your news but he clearly seemed to have become grumpier as of late.

But you didn’t pay it any mind, as afterall the shit you’d been through up until that point, was one night really too much to ask for. Evidently it was, because as you were getting into David’s car, you realized you had forgotten the evening gloves your mama was letting you borrow, and you ran back into the building only to be met with your mother with a suitcase in hand as she set down an envelope on the small dining table.

You vividly remember how she would look up at you with only the slightest hint of guilt in her eyes, before her expression steels itself with a calm demeanor, as she gives you a cool smile, places the envelope in your hand with a friendly pat, and then she walked out the door without even a glance back.

You would never see her again.

To My Darling Daughter,

I’m sorry for what I have to do, but you must understand that while this is a choice, it’s not an easy one.

If you can take comfort in anything, know that it is your strength and resiliency and seeing you as bold as you are for what you are has inspired me to take control of my own life. I’ve met a Beta man who has promised me a better life away from this place. My only regret is that I can’t bring you with me.

But I know for a fact that you, unlike me, can and will survive on your own.

I Love You So Much,

Mama

You had to read her letter several times, not fully believing the words before you. You recognize that there was a part of you that had wanted this for years. For her to run far and fast from your father, but you had just always assumed she would’ve taken you as well.

You hardly have time to process that as you hear David’s horn honking out at the front. No, instead of sitting with your feelings about the matter, you fix your makeup, grab the gloves, and walk out to the powder blue chevy. After David offers whatever was in the flask he swiped from his daddy, the entire dance turns into a haze, with the only evidence that you were even there being the commemorative photo and the blisters you feel forming on your feet.

“Say Y/N, my folks are outta town this weekend.” David says idly as you’re walking out of the school gymnasium.

“That’s nice,” you slur, not really having heard a word he said, trying hard not to fall on your face as you stumble in your kitten heels.

“So why don’t we head back to my place?” He asks practically buzzing with anticipation.

“Sure fine,” you sigh apathetically, understanding what he’s implying, and going mostly because the prospect of going back to an empty apartment is far more terrifying to you.

You can see the excitement on the Beta boy's face grow until he looks past you and you watch as the blood-drains from his face. “There you are Y/N,” you hear from a strained yet distinct voice behind you. You turn around only to see Elvis’ icy blue eyes somehow burning holes into your date, as he says through gritted teeth. “Your mama made me promise to get you home early.”

You can hardly be faulted for your almost knee-jerk reaction at Elvis’ blatant- well to you-lie: you burst into a near hysterical fit of laughter, to the point tears are streaming down your face. You laugh a little too hard and a little too long at a joke neither boy seems to understand, that David, by the time you’re mostly done, is long gone. It doesn’t matter though, because in your drunken state your thoughts turn to how embarrassed Elvis is going to be when he takes you home and realizes he got caught in a lie, because you don’t have a Mama anymore.

As you’re stumbling to Elvis’ car, he stops you in your tracks, “Y/N, you alright there?” he breathes and you see his nose flares for a moment, no doubt smelling whatever the hell was in that flask. “What did he do?” He hisses, with murder in his eyes.

“Oh dontcha worry about ole’ Davey over there,” you dismiss, as you grip onto one of his forearms to keep yourself standing (when did they get so big?). “How ‘boutchu take me back home because… I. Gotta. Surprise. For. You.” You say, punctuating your last few words, tapping his nose each time. You can see his eyes widen and his adam's apple bob up and down as he swallows nervously, before he quietly agrees.

He gets you back into his daddy’s car seemingly content to have gotten you away from your date, until you’re on the road, and in a fit of… grief… madness… something, you open the window and let one of the evening gloves your mother had let you borrow fly out into the night.

“Ain’t those your mama’s?” He asks, slightly perturbed at your seeming indifference, when you’re usually so careful with your clothes.

“Mmm-hmm,” you hum as you let its twin also fly out. The rest of the ride back to the Lauderdale Courts was filled with a thick silence, as you were upset, and Elvis could tell you were upset, yet neither one of you knew how to address it, so you both remained quiet.

Elvis gets you into the building and in repayment for his act of chivalry, you didn’t vomit all over his rented suit. No, instead you bolt into your apartment, that you had left unlocked for your mama without another word. After brushing the taste of bile and fruit punch out of your mouth, you would find him sitting on your couch with that damn letter in his hands.

It is at that moment where you enter and you see the heartbreak and pity in his eyes for you, did you finally recognize that this wasn’t as funny as you thought it would be. No, in fact it leaves you with a hollow feeling inside of you, seeing him that way, but instead of dealing with that you choose to laugh at the situation.

You laugh because otherwise you’ll cry.

“Tell me Presley,” you joke with him. “You make it a habit of reading through other people’s mail?”

“Y/N, I-I’m so sorry, I had no idea,” he would say, tears welling in his eyes for you.

“Well we got that in common,” you say, wishing to be numb to the whole world by this point.

“I-I just don’t understand wh-why she would do somethin’ like this,” he states, genuinely unbelieving that a mother could do something like this. You’re confused for a different reason, as you can’t quite find the logic in leaving you behind when she was so close to being able to do so legally after you had graduated.

Guess she just wanted out that bad.

“Oh I know why,” you stated as you threw off your shoes and tossed your legs over his lap. “I’m unlovable,” you say flippantly, while shrugging your shoulders. You weren’t seeking his pity nor his comfort. In your mind you were simply stating a fact. The same way you would state that the sky is blue or that water is wet, Y/N is unlovable. How could you not be, as both people that were all but hard-wired to do so, want nothing to do with you?

You see so many emotions pass through his face at your statement. Until he throws his arms around you and brings you as close as possible to him. “You’re not unlovable,” he declares.

“No I am,” you say, resolved to your fate. “I just need to accept that.”

“You’re not unlovable, Y/N,” he blubbers a bit, tears in his eyes, holding your face in his hands. “Because I lo-”

You quickly slap your hand over his mouth, shushing him, truly not wanting to hear the next words to come out. You’re not an idiot, you remember the way he would look at you before either of you presented, it’s the same way he looks at you now, when he thinks you’re not paying attention. But you know, as did he you suspect, that if either one of you were to ever verbally acknowledge it, everything would be ruined.

It’s not like you haven’t thought about it before. Nothing would be wrong considering you are actually an Omega, and anybody would tell you being close friends with an Alpha would eventually lead to this. But one thing throws a wrench into this idea: the fact that the thought of being bonded to an Alpha, even Elvis, terrifies you to your core.

You’ve seen how wrong those relationships could go, what happens to the omega and how the Alpha could get out scott free. You know yourself well enough to recognize that you are far too willful and bold to make for a good wife for an Alpha when most would prefer a more demure, submissive mate. Add in how apparently easy you are to leave behind, you doubt your odds of having the ideal life for an Omega look too good.

In your quieter moments you would wonder who you were supposed to be. If you hadn’t been raised with the expectation that you were going to be an Alpha would you have actually exhibited the traits that go with being an Omega. Or would you have still ended up the same way? Neither scenario fills you with comfort.

You try not to dwell on these thoughts too long, as afterall, as far as Elvis knows, being with you like that is impossible. Besides you and Elvis have a good thing going on right now and the last thing you want to do is mess it up.

You’ll later blame the alcohol for what had happened next, as you sat next to him, doing your best to stop crying, in spite of your feelings of being unwanted and unloved. But you’re somewhat comforted by Elvis being so close to you, and you liken your next actions as some latent part of your omega brain trying to compensate for your crippling loneliness that night by trying to start something with the nearest Alpha, who just so happened to be your best friend.

Your face buried in his neck, you could feel yourself steady the longer you breathed in his heady scent of leather and rose water, disparate yet no less intoxicating, all tied to something uniquely him. Something you had never really noticed before, given that the suppressants did a good job of dampening your smell capabilities, but being so close to him now, you begin to understand why the other omegas would get giddy moments before he walked into a room.

You remember just every breath filling you with a sense of comfort and warmth, and simply wanting to be as close to its source as possible. His scent reminded you of burrowing yourself in warm blankets on a cold morning or taking the first sip of hot cocoa on a frigid night, that feeling of being so comfortable in your discomfort that you don’t even recognize what it was until you felt the slightest bit of relief from it.

Wanting to further immerse yourself in that scent, you find yourself quickly going from leaning on him, to full-on straddling him, all so that you could better nuzzle your face into his neck. Though from the rumbling in his chest he didn’t seem to mind your invasion of his space too much. In fact he had followed suit by wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his nose into your neck.

Though his discontented snarls tell you he’s apparently having a hard time. As a “Beta” you hardly even register as an option for him, the suppressants apparently making your scent so subtle, you’re about as appealing as a houseplant to him. You on the other hand were practically getting drunk on what little scent was making its way through to you.

So drunk were you in fact that you didn’t realize what you were doing with your hips until he let out a strained groan that reverberated back onto your neck. You don’t exactly know where your head was at, you just remember that he smelled so good and felt even better against your burning core, which is why you felt little shame as you continued to grind into him, the salacious act being hidden from your view by your skirt.

Your eyes meet his and you’re not exactly sure who leans in first, just that somebody did. But almost like magic, that tentative and nervous brushing of your lips against his, broke you from your spell, and made you realize what exactly you were doing.

You tear yourself away from him, nearly cracking your head on the low table as you land on your rear in front of the couch. Horrifyingly you’re now put at eye-level with his legs where you see something tenting the front of his pants. You take advantage of his utterly bell-rung state as you would pathetically crawl away from him and into your own tiny bedroom, to get away from this confusing and frankly terrifying situation.

There’s no lock to speak of so you block the door with your own body, crying into your hands, praying that he sees himself out, though like usual your wishes go unheard.

“Y/N?” You hear from the last person you want to deal with, knock at your door. His voice quivering as though he’s close to tears.

You sob harder.

“Y/N, I’m beggin’ ya here. Please talk to me,” he says, sounding genuinely distraught.

“Go away, Elvis!” You beg through your blubbering. This back and forth continues for a while until your stubborn nature prevails, and you’re left alone.

And all is right in the world.

You would wake up with a god-awful crick in your neck, and feeling unpleasantly feverish beyond belief. You quickly take your suppressants as you have done religiously since you had started on them, and you would spend the day barricaded in your room waiting for your fever to cool down.

Come Monday, Elvis wouldn’t be in school, and in spite of the fact he was the last person you wanted to see, you were given the task of passing along his school work to him. You were no stranger within the Presley household, oftentimes spending the weeks your mother was in heat with them, as Gladys couldn’t stand the thought of you all alone in that apartment. So it was surprising to say the least when she was the one to bar you from entering the door.

“Sweetheart,” she sighs, looking tiredly between you and the apartment behind her. “Elvis is umm… a bit… sick, and he won’t be fit for seein’ for… a few more days.” The blush on her face and the embarrassment in her voice tell you exactly what exactly is happening to him. You quickly dismiss yourself back to your empty apartment.

Well that at least explained why he let you do… that. He was a young Alpha going into his first Rut, he probably would have done the same with a box of cracker jacks if it promised him a good time. It meant nothing, so you were going to treat it like that.

It made more sense than the alternative of your “mini-heat” sending him into a rut. Afterall everybody knows that only true mates are capable of doing that. Most mated couples take a few cycles in order to sync up properly, while in contrast true mates can almost immediately trigger the other's time just by being in the same vicinity while going through theirs. You’ve also heard rumors of something else happening with those couples, but you’ve never bothered to dive too deep into that, and all you know is that it had something to do with how they almost always get pregnant during their first cycle.

True Mates are just rare enough to be special, but happen frequently enough that everybody at least knows one pair. It felt like every single Omega you met dreamed of finding their true mate regardless of how unlikely it is to happen. It also had all the hallmarks of being devastatingly romantic, with the idea that these are the only bonds that are truly unbreakable and that both parties could potentially die without the other, rather than just the Omega.

In theory it should sate your worries about being left by an Alpha, but it does little to help, as the idea scares the shit out of you. The idea that regardless of your own wishes to never be mated to an alpha, some force has apparently fated you to be with someone. Add to the fact that they have yet to make suppressants sufficiently strong enough to quell an omega with a true mate because apparently the bond is that strong, and all you see is a disaster waiting to happen.

You spend the next week trying to figure out the logistics of living on your own. You know Graduation is roughly a month away and without your mother to renew the lease or your father not willing to pay past his legal obligation, you’re going to be homeless. You can chance it with the foster system you suppose if you declare yourself an unaccompanied Omega, but more than likely they’ll send you back with your father, and he’ll more than likely hock you off to the first Alpha that gives you a second glance.

By the end of the week you’ve accepted that your best option for the time being is hoping that Kitty is kind enough to allow you to stay in the storage closet while you get your full salon training. If you sell everything in the apartment and by the time you're making full salary you may just be able to afford a room in a girl’s boarding house. That is until Gladys Presley, after three days of you dancing around the question of “Where’s your Mama, sweetheart?” finally sat you down and refused to hear any more excuses, and you had to quietly admit how you didn’t know.

Gladys is surely a force to be reckoned with as within an hour of your solemn confession she has you at her table with a warm meal, her couch already set up, and the landlord agreeing to forward you the last two months of payment your father is supposed to pay for rent. But what she can’t fix is the fact that you are suspiciously not making eye contact with Elvis.

You had insisted on making yourself useful and helped Gladys clean up afterwards, but once she and Vernon called it a night, you knew there was no getting around it anymore. At around midnight do you hear Elvis shuffle into the living room, clearly hesitant to have this conversation as well.

“You up?”

“No.”

That gets a short huff out of him before he plants himself on the opposite side of the couch as you, essentially sitting on your feet. The room is too dark to really see him, but the slight shaking in his leg and constant shifting tell you he’s just as uncomfortable as you are.

“Elvis about Prom ni-”

“Are you really a Beta?” he cuts you off.

In spite of the darkness within the room, you still try to school your expression to one of confusion rather than shock. “What kind of question is that?” you say, managing to sound tiredly exasperated with him, while your heart is going a mile a minute. “Of course I’m a Beta, why’d ya think I wasn’t?”

“It’s just…” he pauses. “That night-”

“The night nothing happened.”

“Y/N,” he says severely, a tone he has never in his life used with you. “I need an honest answer here.”

You think about your next words carefully. As far as you know Alpha’s can’t literally sniff out lies, nor do you have any reason to believe he can hear some sort of minute difference between a lie and a truth.

For a brief moment you contemplate being totally honest with him, but you quickly dismiss that notion when you shift slightly and feel the hard edge of the couch armrest. Your situation is far too precarious to risk it on a gamble that he may want you, when if anything this past month has proven how unwanted you are.

“Elvis… you’re my best friend,” you state, as this much is true. “Do you really think I would lie to you about something like this?” you say, too cowardly to lie through your teeth and say no, instead you put it on him as to whether he believes you would do such a thing to your best friend.

He sighs in defeat, believing you wouldn’t invoke your relationship on a lie this big. “No… No, you’re right,” though you can hear the slightest quiver in his voice. “It-it’s just bad luck, that all that happened in the same night.”

“Exactly,” you say relieved that he came to the same conclusion that you did about that night. “E, I-I didn’t get a chance to say this yet but… thank you.”

“For what?”

“For taking me in,” you sigh, not a fan of the coy act.

“It was nothin’ Darlin’,” he says though you can hear him relax a bit at that. “Mama wasn’t ‘bouta let that stand.”

“Well then thanks for nothing Presley,” you say with a grin.

He laughs at that, and says “C’mere you,” as he brings you in close for a hug. You do notice as he buries his nose in the crook of your neck, and pointedly takes an extra long whiff of your neck. He’s undoubtedly trying one last ditch effort to prove his theory right only to find nothing.

“But I hope you can accept that I’m your mama’s favorite now,” you say as seriously as you could to break the tension, in an effort to ignore what he just did.

He pauses at that before pushing your face back into the pillow and saying around a smile, “alright, go back to sleep, you.”

Those months following your graduation, there was something so simple about those days, almost idyllic, in an odd way. You would be the first up in the household, so it was on you to push Elvis out of bed, take care of breakfast and lunch for the both of you. He would drive you to work in his company truck listening to the early morning radio and you would muse that it would only be a matter of time before the two of you would be hearing him. He would always get red in the ears at that and drop you off at the salon. He would occasionally drop in for lunch and afterwards the two of you would hit up Beale street for a while before heading home. Have dinner with his folks, go to bed, repeat all of that the next day.

You would often practice your makeup skills on him when Gladys was unavailable, giving you a better understanding as to how to not only put makeup on someone else, but how to also highlight a person’s best features. And working so close on him, did you realize that Elvis had many. In return for your “experimentation,” you would go to every single performance of his as support which evolved into doing makeup for him. Oftentimes you’re the last person he talks to before he gets on stage, as you would often help him clean himself up when he got too in his head about the whole thing, but also the first one to greet him once he got off the stage.

Though as the years went on and performing became more routine, and you find yourself in the midst of show business alongside him. Traveling the country and working on movie sets are never things you ever expected to happen, even in the days when you had your life set out before you.

Those days seem so far away now, as though they were a dream of a different life. But now you were in a new era, the “New Elvis” era, which would be one of the worst you ever had the displeasure of witnessing. It was like watching a Peacock be plucked and be told to still be just as eye-catching, and you let the Colonel know as much. You thought it was bad enough having to see him dressed in tails, but you knew the disaster that was headed your way the moment you saw that damn dog being rolled on stage with him.

When they moved into Graceland, the Presley’s took you along with them, and even tried to offer you a room on the top floor, the one specifically designated for family. It was one of the few times you and the Colonel were on the same page about… anything really, as you were vehemently against the initial room he offered you and instead took a moderately sized room on the first floor.  You did this as you know that keeping some distance between you and them will make it hurt a lot less when they inevitably drop you.

Elvis Presley being in your bed is not an unusual experience, something you had gotten used to way back when your bed was the Presley’s couch, and he made it a habit of letting himself in as he pleased in your room at Graceland. So you hardly blink when you wake up to him laying next to you in the middle of the night. Or rather you do several times in order to get all the sleep out of your eyes and try to get a grip of your bearings as you suddenly awaken to a bed full of rockstar.

You had watched him storm out earlier, all passion and fury at the world that wants different and contradictory things from him all at once. Now all that fire has seemingly been extinguished as he lies next to you hands on his stomach, voice quiet and unsure of himself as he asks “You awake Y/N?” imperceptible through the non-existent lighting in the room.

“No.”

He huffs at you, and you can almost hear the smile on his lips, before the room turns solemn once more. And you give a big tear-welling yawn, but you’re still willing to help him through his identity crisis.

“Sweetheart, be honest with me,” he says into the inky darkness. “This ‘New Elvis” thing… ya’ think it’s a mistake?”

“Yes” you answer without missing a beat. You were never one to mince words for him and you’re not about to start now. “Now answer me this: is your name Frank?”

“No,” he answers confused.

“Is your name Bill?”

“No.”

“Is your name Buddy?”

“Y/N, what the hell are ya gettin’ at?”

“What I’m getting at is if they wanted a old crooner in a boring suit, they woulda gotten Frank Sinatra. They wanted clean sanitized rock n’ roll, they woulda gotten Bill Haley. If they had wanted someone popular but not so controversial, they woulda gotten Buddy Holly.” You say, impassioned as you are sleepy, hoping you’re making even a lick of sense to him. “They didn’t get any of them. But you know who they asked to be there?”

“Me?”

“Who?”

He chuckles before saying, “Elvis Presley.”

“That’s right,” you say, poking his chest. “They want you E, controversy and all, because you know what, ain’t nobody better at getting asses in seats and panties on the floor.”

“Y/N!” he exclaims, scandalized and, you can just imagine, red in the face.  

“It’s true though,” you continue. “Being controversial these days hardly makes a difference anymore.”

“How’d ya figure that?”

“Elvis…” you say solemnly. “To my face people shake their heads and click their tongues as to what my daddy did to me and my mama. That doesn’t stop them from patronizing his store and giving him their money to better support his new family.” You feel him give a comforting rub on your shoulder. “Look what I’m trying to say is that, when what you give is good enough, people will overlook just about everything else. And trust me what you sell… sells.” You pause when you feel something hard beside your feet. “Are you wearing your shoes in my bed?”

“...maybe?”

“Get outta here weirdo,” you huff annoyed at his antics, and use all of your might to push him out.

“Alright, alright,” he says, acquiescing and getting out of your bed. “Guess I’ll head to that diner you love all by myself.” You can almost hear the smirk when his statement gets the pause he was looking for.

“You’re a cruel, cruel man Elvis Presley,” you declare. “Give me 20 minutes.”

The next day at Russwood Park, you’re putting the final touches on him before he gets on stage. You can still see the tiniest bit of conflict still on his face so you tickle his nose with your makeup brush to get his attention. “Remember. They don’t like how it sounds…” you trail off.

“They don’t gotta listen.” he finishes, apparently remembering your bit of 12 year old wisdom. Once he got on stage, he would take your advice, but the next time he would crawl back into your bed would be the night he got his draft notice.

None of you were exactly surprised, as everybody had known to expect it sooner rather than later, especially given that Elvis had slowly and steadily become one of the most controversial singers in the country. However the days immediately following it were some of the bleakest you’ve ever experienced.

With The Colonel’s whole rebranding spiel, and how much trouble he got in after Russwood Park, the fresh start idea isn’t terrible at this point, but you wish you could have gotten out easier. As cold as it sounds to say, you now saw the writing on the wall. You’re fully aware of the fact that, of his crew, his make-up girl is on the lowest of priorities. Regardless of how fond he is of you, he is undoubtedly about to be put under a microscope and whether he realizes it or not, he’s about to embark on a new chapter of his life, a chapter that more than likely doesn’t include you.

You want to do your best to put on a brave face for him, the last thing you want to do is add to his stress. And besides it isn’t like you ever truly believed that this was in any way permanent. As life had taught you that nothing is permanent, so why would living with the Presley’s be any different?

It’s just a hard fact of your life that people inevitably get tired of you, and you get left behind for something better. As fun as it’s been with Elvis and his family, never once did you trick yourself into believing that this is how it would be forever. Maybe in those simpler days of practicing makeup on him in the bathroom and lunches in the bed of his company pick up truck… maybe. But as Elvis’ star burned brighter, you were snapped back to reality at how temporary and tenuous your situation was. The same way Elvis outgrew Lauderdale courts, he would outgrow you.

What would he even need his make-up girl for while he’s deployed? The Colonel made it clear he’s not to perform while he’s enlisted, and you doubt wearing makeup will do him any favors in the barracks. And besides, Omegas are unable to even get a passport in Tennessee without explicit permission from their designated Alpha, who in your case, would still be your father.

The father whom you interact with very little these days, the last time being almost a year ago and that was simply to stock up on a year's worth of suppressants. Your father whose business is not seeing as many customers these days because as far as Kitty knows, you don’t need anything from him any more.

Bright side of this is that at the very least you’re not without options this time around. Kitty had made it loud and clear that you’ll always have a place at the Cathouse, and hell you have enough savings to see you through the next few years in Memphis if you simply wanted to wait out his time in the army. But neither seemed appealing to you, as either way your future would still rely on others' good will.

When Elvis had started making movies, of course he dragged you along for the ride up there. You were still the only one he trusted to do his makeup and as a result the studio ended up giving you a crash course as to how to do movie makeup, which you learned was a completely different beast to stage makeup, as you now had to toe the fine line of subtlety. Regardless of all that you did end up making a pretty important discovery, in regard to potential future prospects for yourself. You learned that in the movie making business, Betas are like gold in Hollywood especially for the more practical and technical parts of movie making. This is all due in part to the fact of their overall lack of appeal to Alpha actors, as well as not being as distracting for Omega ones either, not to mention they are far more reliable as they don’t have to worry about pesky heats or ruts.

You also learned that up in Hollywood, you could get access to suppressants about as easily as you could get your hands on a packet of M&M’s, as unlike in Tennessee you didn’t need to be mated in order to gain access to them. As a result, you discovered there were more than a few behind the scenes hands who were also Omegas that masqueraded as Betas in order to get work on the sets, doing wonders to make you feel less out of place there.

Janet, the head of the make-up department Paramount, was initially reluctant to have you aboard but was nonetheless impressed with your ability to pick up the craft as quickly as you did. You had kept her phone number from way back when and decided that now would be a good time to take her up on that job offer. She was ecstatic to bring you onboard but the hiring process being what it is you still technically need to be recommended by former employers.

“You sure I can’t sway you to come back here,” Kitty says as she’s signing the bottom of the letter. The sentimental part of yourself that you had believed you had smothered long ago is screaming yes in your head, not wanting to leave everything you ever knew in Memphis, but the pragmatic part of you knew that your days here are numbered.

You want to be able to bury yourself in her chest and tell her how she’s been like a parent to you all these years. To thank her for all the years she’s cared for you in whatever way she could, taught you your trade that has proven invaluable, steered you in the right direction. But all of that feels too final for your liking, and instead you remark “Unless you got a rich Beta man in the back, then no dice,” all the while giving a casual shrug.  

“Well at least you ain’t followin’ that good for nothin’ boy across the world,” she sighs in relief. Kitty was not a fan of Elvis, she made no secret about it, less so when you turned in your resignation to be his makeup assistant for the Louisiana Hayride. Your best guess as to the animosity is how eerily similar they are when you really pay attention. The same way Kitty could give a single look to any fellow Alpha she had ever met, and make them act right, Elvis could do the same, except make them act however he liked. They’re the type of people that just magnetically attract those around them.

But you also think that it is also on the principle that she dislikes any and all partners her children bring around… Which is ridiculous because everybody knows it’s impossible.

You decide not to waste the trip into town and start heading toward your least favorite place in Memphis. You only make this trip once a year anymore, and you’re hoping to make this as quick and painless as possible. But as the little shop below your old home comes into view, do you recognize what a tall order that is.

“What in the hell is this?” your father seethes as you approach the counter, throwing down a newspaper before you. You see yourself wide-eyed looking into a camera with Elvis leading you by the hand into the car after Russwood Park. The draft notice had left the paper's tongues wagging and apparently of all the photos of him that have been printed, it was just your luck that this one was apparently the one most worthy of being reprinted.

Rather than react with the same guilt or shame that any normal Omega would have when confronted by their father as to why they were seen with perhaps the most controversial Alpha in America, you idly pick up and open a candy bar that was sitting at the front.

“A newspaper,” you say with a mouthful of Baby Ruth. “Can I have what I came here for now?” He throws the pages at you, but if you learned anything from him, it is that flinching earns you nothing but letting the other person know you’re scared of them.  

“Don’t be cute with me girl,” he spits that last part as though you were a stranger and not his daughter. “Why the hell do I find out like this you’re living with that boy?”

“You didn’t care a single goddamn bit where I was livin’ before, why’s it matter now?”

“It matters because what you’ve been doin’ makes me look like a bad father lettin’ my own daughter run around with that… that…” he says snapping his fingers, searching for the right word.

“Degenerate?” you finish for him, as it is the most common insult you’ve lobbed Elvis’ way.

“Don’t interrupt me,” he seethes, a rumble emanating from his chest, but after being surrounded by the likes of Elvis and Kitty, this does absolutely nothing for you, and you wonder how anybody has ever been intimidated by this man.

“Well good news, the only reason you look like a bad father, is because you are a bad father,” you tell him with a smile on your face. “No one thinks of you enough to bother telling lies about you.”

“Outta the kindness of my heart, I been footin’ the bill for these,” he holds up the bag for emphasis. “Only to find out you've been holdin’ out on me.”

“Mmm-hmm, of course that’s what this is about,” a smirk on your face, figuring ou what has got him so worked up. “Why you so worried about money? Saving up for your next attempt at an Alpha kid that’s not gonna happen?”

“Don’t think I don’t know about you and that vicious bitch of a woman, you been costin’ me more money than what these pills are worth for years,” he spits.

“Pills you put me on,” you accuse. The argument ceases almost immediately when you hear the tell-tale ring of the bell at the front of the shop.

“You gonna pay me what I’m owed, or no?”

You want to refuse on principle alone, but you’re so close to being free from all of it, so you don't want to risk it so soon. But you know the kind of trouble something like that could dredge up for you specifically. So it’s with a heavy heart that you agree to pay for them once you get paid for the next movie.

But if your father is good at one thing, it’s believing in his own myth of being the big tough, and in charge Alpha. That you as an Omega will have no choice but to obey his will, even as he hands over the very tool that negates his influence over you.

You have no intention of ever paying him a single goddamn cent of any of it. You’re only on them because of him, and if he wants to scream and holler about how you owe him money, but he won’t be able to do a damn thing, lest he out himself as well.

Besides, you'll be long gone by the time he wises up to the fact that you won’t be paying.

Now there’s only one more letter you need, and it’s not as easy as you would have hoped for. After getting your medicine, you take a few days to really pluck up the courage to do so. He’s been a lot testier these last few days, as was to be expected considering the circumstances.

If all goes well you’ll be able to work on this final movie together with him, before you part ways, and leave with the crew back to California. If not… well you’ll probably just start making your trip far earlier than expected.

You find him in the upstairs office, looking through mail, a stony expression on his face, but it lightens considerably when he sees you with the food Gladys has sent you up with. Well, more like you insisted on taking it up as you’ve been hoping to catch him in a good mood, as there are few things on this Earth that put him in a better one than his mama’s cooking.

“Sorry to bother you E,”

“Ain’t no bother,” he insists, moving some papers out of view to make way for the dish. “I’m tryin’ to get a head count for how big a house I need on base in Texas.”

“How many you at now?”

“Including you? 7,” he says casually, taking a bite out of his food.

“Why would you include me?” You say genuinely confused.

He pauses at that, positively shocked by your response, until a grins splits his face and he gives a short huff of a laugh. “You almost had me there, Y/N,” he chuckles at your apparent antics, settling back into his affable disposition.

You swallow nervously at that, “That’s actually kinda what I came to talk to you about. I-I got offered a job from Paramount out west to work for them, but they’re saying I nee-”

“Jokes over,” he declares, his smile dropping a little, bypassing what you were trying to say. “You got me, alright?”

“... Not alright, Elvis,” you state trying to get your point across. “I’m trying to tell you I’m getting another jo-”

“Y/N,” he says, cutting off your plea, the look in his eyes familiar, but you’ve never had the misfortune of it being directed at you. “Quit the jokin’ now,” he says, his tone severe which you do not care for one bit, but you have to tread lightly if you want to get his sign off.  

“I’m serious Elvis… this… this probably isn’t the best time,” you sigh, for once in your life trying to be careful with your words. “Th-the studio needs letters from former bosses to know that I can do the job, an-and I was hoping you could write one for me.”

The tension hangs thick between the two of you once you are finally able to make your point. You swallow nervously but you don’t sway and inch as he stands from his desk.

“If this is a ploy to get a raise,” he said coldly. “You win Y/N, I’ll pay ye’ whatcha want?”

“No Elvis…” you sigh, trying to keep a cap on your frustration. “You’re not listening. I’ve got a new job lined up in Hollywood, I just need you to write a letter for them telling you I can..” you trail off seeing the expression of fury in his face.

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me right now Y/N!?!?”

“I think we’ve established that I’m not joking right now,” you say bitingly, your hatred of being yelled at overriding all other things.

“So what… you’re gonna leave me high and dry when I need ya’ the most!?” He says, something akin to heartbreak painting his features.

“Why do you gotta say it like that? Like I’m breaking up with you?” you argue, not liking how he’s making this a bigger deal than it is. “It ain’t like you’re gonna need a make-up girl while you’re doing drills.”

“But I’m gonna need you!” He asserts, placing his hands on your shoulders.

“Oh don’t be like that,” you tell him, literally shrugging him off. “It’s not like I’m gonna be able to live on base with you.

“Then we don’t gotta live on base.” he waves away, as though it were that simple.

“Elvis… I don’t wanna go with you,” you say simply leaving it at that leaving no room for him to argue the logistics of it. It hurts but you know you gotta get out now while the getting is good, because if you wait any longer, he’ll be the one that leaves first and that will be all the worse. For the first time in your life, you want to be the one that walks away on your own terms. “E, I-I gotta go where the work is,” you try to justify.

“So that’s it ain’t it,” he says, his pursed lips turning into a frown. “this was all just a job to you and you’re leaving cuz there ain’t one no more?” he shakes his head at you, disappointment evident on his face.

That… that cuts deep. That he can reduce not only his role in your life like that without guilt, as though you’ve been playing the longest con in history, when you first decided to defend a scrawny 12 year old from his nay-saying music teacher.

“Yes Elvis, if that’s what you want to hear,” you say without a hint of hesitation, willing your tears not to fall now of all times. “This has all just one big job for me, has been since the very beginning. Now there ain’t no job to have and I gotta fucking move on with my life because I don’t fucking need you anymore!” It doesn’t feel great as it leaves your mouth, and the angry tears streaming down your face prove it.

Nor does it get any better when you watch him stagger a bit at that, as though he had just been shot, even taking a hold of the corner of his desk for full effect. A million emotions pass through his face in seconds until he eventually lands on pure unadulterated fury. “Get out! I don’t wanna fuckin’ look at you right now!” he shouts dismissing you, his hands shaking as though itching to wring your neck.

“You got it Boss,” you say bitingly while giving a sarcastic curtsey, to which you turn around and walk out of the room, paying no mind to the destructive sounds coming from behind you. In spite of the biting cold outside your rage is keeping you warm as you pace back and forth along the back patio, trying to figure out your next move.

You’ve had your fights with Elvis before, but you don’t think you’ve ever seen so upset past the point of not wanting to talk with you. Even the biggest blow out between the two of you was exactly that, when he had walked in on you with that Beta who served cotton candy.  

“Well now you know what I’d do for cotton candy,” you tried to joke after they had left, but Elvis proceeded to scream in your face, asking how dare you do something like this to him. You’d seen his territorial side before, as you’re not stupid enough to actually believe there isn’t anything behind all the times he’d casually pick you up and take you away when you happened to be talking to some Beta. But you did not care for being screamed at whatsoever, so you packed your things and proceeded to walk to the nearest bus station. You proved yourself to be far more stubborn than him, as you walked down the road, ignoring his demands that you get into the car as it crawled at a near snail’s pace to keep up with you, and talk you out of going back to Memphis.

As the cars lined up and started honking, you refused him still, even his threats to throw you into the trunk if need be, you didn’t falter. It wouldn’t be any sweat for him to do so, what with that crazy alpha strength of his, but you both knew that would hardly be the end of it if he resorted to that. Finally as the bus terminal got within view did he finally crack and promised to never yell at you like that again.

“You drive me up the goddamn wall, Y/N,” he says, rubbing his eyes.

“You love it,” you declared, glad to finally be able to rest your feet, having picked the worst shoes to walk in.

“Yeah… I do,” he sighs and looks over at you from the driver's side. There is a bit of an awkward pause as you find your faces much closer than you remembered and he glances down at your lips.

“God, I’m starving. I don’t know about you,” you quickly say, turning your torso fully around to look out your window, trying to break the tension. “But I could go for a bite and I think I saw a diner up ahead.”

You hear him clear his throat, as he hoarsely replies with a simple “Yeah.” By the time the two of you returned to the motel, you’re the best of friends once more, and neither of you ever mentioned that awkward bit again.

You had hoped after all this time he would’ve let go of that weird possessiveness he has over you. With all the girls that he could have, why do you matter to him so much? You know you’re good with makeup, but you know so are many other girls. And he is capable of opening up to them as he does with you if only he ever got his head out of his ass.

Christmas Eve, Gladys spends the day cooking up a storm, roping in you and Dodger, determined to make this the best Christmas yet. Elvis is still not talking to you but you do find him when you’re looking for your purse, and you watch briefly as he stares deeply into the fireplace, something he’s been doing a lot since your fight.

But he’s got another thing coming if he thinks that you have anything to apologize for. You’ll be leaving with or without his permission… which you absolutely do not need either way. And if he chooses to end your friendship like this, then so be it.

Hell if need be you’ll go over his head and ask the Colonel for a letter. You have no doubt that if it means getting you away from Elvis, the Colonel will write nothing short of a glowing review and personally hand deliver it to Paramount.

Christmas day comes and everyone and their mother is over to celebrate. Everybody is living it up and trying their best to not acknowledge the big ole’ elephant in the room. Elvis seemed to be in higher spirits though as he proceeded to act like nothing was amiss, trying to make this a good Christmas for all. It’s almost as though the weather itself knew his plans for a perfect Christmas with the fresh blanket of snow that covered the outside.

Everyone tries to follow suit with keeping up the festive denial, though it doesn’t take long of the both of you obviously avoiding each other for seemingly everyone to notice something is wrong. Some point blank ask what happened between the two of you.

Some of the guys, weirdly enough, ask if you’re feeling sick, which is an odd experience considering that their eyes tend to slide right over you most days. You find yourself compulsively checking yourself in any available surface over and over again, trying to figure out what had them questioning your state. Nothing is out of place, your makeup is flawless and your outfit is perfectly coordinated and festive.

You look beautiful and nothing is wrong. You’re hoping if you repeat that enough times you’ll start to believe that.

You eventually call it a night after a few hours though not before presents are exchanged and you get the pleasure of seeing Elvis' eyes go a bit glassy once he puts on the new coat you got for him only to find the pockets filled with Gum and Guitar strings, because as upset as you are with him you’re not about to break tradition.

By the time you make it back to your room you all but pass out fully dressed on top of your sheets, and you feel the slightest twinge of guilt when you wake up wrapped in Elvis' old Crown Electric Jacket. You don’t really get a chance to dwell on that too much though as after taking your suppressant, do you notice the noise- or better yet the lack thereof.  

Graceland is many things but it is definitely never quiet, you learned that early on into moving in. There was always something happening, someone visiting, and something new to do, with the occasional errant chicken running around the house, so it takes not even an hour that first day for you to notice the silence.

It’s almost like a ghost town on the floor below, with the only soul to be found, being the head of this household idling away at the piano. You’re about to head back to your room, wanting absolutely none of this until you hear a “Y/N?” from the piano room. You silently curse his uncanny knack for sniffing you out when others couldn’t, while simultaneously breathing an internal sigh of relief that he no longer sounds angry at you.

“Yeah it’s me E,” you state as you walk into the room, resolved to whatever fate you had signed yourself up for.

He turns around to see you see his face flushed and his eyes puffy, no doubt he’s been having trouble sleeping again.

“Y/N… we’re close right,” he asks genuinely, and you know that that boss comment hurt him deeply.

“We’ve both seen each other without makeup, absolutely nothing is closer than that.” you answer.

That gets a chuckle out of him at least, and it’s almost a relief to hear it after going without it for so long. “How many years we been knowin’ each other?” he asks solemnly, as you sit next to him on the piano bench.

It’s as you're saying 8 do you actually realize how long it’s been. “Time is one sneaky sonuvabitch,” you say, your eyes still wide at the revelation.

He laughs a bit at your reaction, “It sure is,” he says. The next look you can’t quite read as he says, “That's 8 years of believing in my dream longer than even I did at some points.” His eyes wide and his face soft.

You’re very uncomfortable at the amount of vulnerability being shown right now and you quickly course correct by lightly moving his chin with your fist and saying, “Hey now don't chu go gettin’ soft on me Presley,” you say, laughing to mask your nervousness.

He takes your hand in his as he says “What I’m tryin’ ta say Y/N, is th-that it’s been 8 years of you supportin’ me in whatever way I needed.” He gives a sad smile at this, before he continues, “I figure it’s ‘bout time I pay that back. I’ll write whatcha need darlin’.”

You’re stunned at this, truly having believed you would be the first to crack. But here he is, subverting expectations as usual. You’re not the most physically affectionate person, you’ll admit, but you can’t help the overwhelming urge to hug him. Not the obligatory side hugs you give on occasion, nor the awkwardly stiff stance when someone hugs you. This is a full on arms-behind his neck bury your face in his neck kind of hug, as you squeal you thank yous over and over to him.

You remember yourself, you pull away slightly once you feel his hands on your lower back tenderly holding you to him, and with your hands on his chest you look at him directly in the face. His eyes gazing up at you, a soft smile on his plush lips, his breathing steady and strong, as opposed to yours which hitches in your throat.

You clear your throat, “Say where is everybody?” you ask casually releasing yourself from his grip and turning your attention toward the window, which showcased the freshly fallen untouched snow of December.

He approaches you from behind and idly places a warm hand on your shoulder, before saying“I let everyone know I need some alone time and I didn’t really wanna see anyone, till we hear back ‘bout the deferment.”

“Shit sorry,” you say, quickly trying to get up. “I’lll get outta your hair,” you say, only for his grip on your shoulder to slip down to your waist.

“You’re not just anyone to me Y/N,” he drawls, his face far closer than necessary.

"Okay weirdo," you say, turning away hoping your face isn’t radiating how warm you’re feeling. You focus your attention on the snow covered lawn before you declare, "But if this ends up like the Donner's, I'm eating you first."

That gives him pause and you see as he purses his lips, clearly trying to hide a smile before he leans in real close to your ear. You don’t fully understand why your heart seemingly skips a beat as he says in a husky drawl, "Not if I don't eat you first."

There was the briefest of moments when you feel your face heat up at his tone until you roll your eyes at him and move him and his stupid little lip bite away from you. You turn around and try to leave the room, content that your little orphan angry ass isn’t going to be thrown out into the snow just yet. But before you can do so, you feel him grab a hold of your wrist, “ain’tcha cold like that darlin’?”

You look down only to be reminded that you had not in fact dressed for the weather today and your short-sleeve blouse and light skirt reflect that. Though oddly you don’t feel the least bit cold, and you feel mildly perturbed as to how in fact you are feeling very comfortable like this. Though of course you hide your concern by saying “You forget, I’m cold-blooded Presley.”  

“Of course you lil’ lizard you,” he says with a smile on his face, as he’s taking off his own jacket. “But mama would have my hide if she found out I let you walk around like that and get sick,” and he drapes the warm material around your shoulders, and then chucks you under your chin to look at him. In spite of your supposedly “cold-blood” you feel uncharacteristically warm as he looks at you.

You quickly make your way back to your room, to open up that secret compartment of your purse to find your suppressants. You take them religiously and know exactly how many you should have left by this point, and you’re relieved to find the correct amount left. You quickly think back to everything that you’ve eaten in the last few days, and nothing sticks out to you that would have affected them and you don’t drink whatsoever so it couldn’t be any of that.

Finally you’re left with no choice but to chalk it up as nothing but you being paranoid. You decide to read on the couch, and somehow between the warmth of his jacket and the soft notes he’s playing, you find yourself in a hypnotic trance and you give into the heavy feeling of your eyelids.

You’re later startled awake when you feel something hit you squarely in the face, confused until the snow begins to melt on you and you feel the cool burn of the cold water on your chest. Elvis is laughing his ass off seeing you like this and nimbly dodges when you throw one of your house slippers at him.

“There were easier ways of wakin’ me up,” you remark through your exasperation.

“Ain’t one of ‘em as funny though,” he says slyly, and you roll your eyes, but your sigh tells him you can’t help but agree. “‘Sides that Twilight show’s ‘bouta start, and I knew you woulda done worse if I let you miss it.”

You’re surprised at that, and as you look out to the dreary looking sky you see that it has in fact been more than a few hours since you’ve been asleep. But it hardly feels like any time has passed between now and then as you still feel like you could sleep for another few hours or even days. You quickly disregard these thoughts though as he tells you it’s only a matter of time before your favorite shows starts.

You take a seat next to him just in time to catch the beginning of Twilight Zone, placing the popcorn between the two of you. You have always loved scary stories like this, and Elvis loved scaring you when you got too wrapped up in the stories. Low and behold as you’re anxiously waiting for Inger Stevens to come across the hitchhiker once again, you feel his cool hands grasp at your side making you all but jump out of your skin.

“I hate you,” you say mulishly as he continues to laugh. Though he doesn’t remove his arm from around your waist which takes your full focus off of the screen, as you look down at his hand curled around your side. You move slightly away from him only for his grip to tighten and you’re pulled even further into him until you're all but sitting on his lap. You’re viscerally reminded of Prom and wonder briefly if he even remembers that night anymore, or if it’s become lost in the shuffle amongst all of the other girls he’s had over the years, and an ugly feeling of jealousy shoots through you in that moment.

“Oh there’s the popcorn,” you say, as you use your whole body to stand up and get off of his lap. You grab it and rather than get back on the couch, you sit yourself on the floor, clutching the bowl in front of yourself as though it were a shield, as Perry Mason was just about to start. You’re hesitant to look at him right now, until he reaches down and grabs a handful of popcorn from the bowl.

“Wait I know how this one ends,” Elvis says, with a cheeky grin. “Perry Mason wins.”

He’s just a naturally touchy person, you justify to yourself, don’t read too much into it. “It’s not about if, it’s how goddamnit,” you assert, with a smile on your face. As the show continues you hardly notice when Elvis makes his way to the floor or when he casually throws an arm around your shoulder, though that’s mostly due to the fact that by the half-way mark of the episode, you were struggling to keep your eyes open. Even finding yourself leaning on him more and more, and if you weren’t so tired you would wonder why, considering that you spent most of the day napping.

No, you just find yourself silently grateful for that crazy Alpha strength of his to carry you to bed, your bed feeling more comfortable than you can ever remember it as you settle in.

Waking up to find Elvis in your bed is not unusual. Waking up to him under the sheets with you holding you around your waist is rare but occasionally does happen.  Waking up to find that you’re in his bed as he nuzzles his nose into your neck with a handful of your ass while… something… pokes your belly, absolutely unheard of.

You try to peel his hand off and carefully remove yourself from his grip, only for him to roll over fully on top of you and bury himself between your breasts. You stop breathing entirely for a moment, too worried that any sort of chest-heaving may wake him and make this whole situation all the more uncomfortable. Part of you wishes to go back to sleep and hope that this was simply a bad dream, but as he shifts you feel his thigh place itself firmly by your core, the action so sudden and shocking that you audibly gasp.

You feel him stir at that and your face is burning, embarrassed by this whole ordeal, but it’s nothing compared to the feeling you get as he plants a sleepy kiss on your neck and removes himself from you. You think you’ve reached new heights of humiliation, until you find him between your thighs and feel one of his hands start to travel up your skirt.

This has got to be a dream, you think.

“Ok, you’ve had your fun,” you say, trying not to make your skittishness so apparent. “You can quit it now,” but then his other hand travels further up and you’re almost too distracted to notice its twin hook on to your panties and begin to drag them down. And before you can make any noise of protest, it turns into a surprised squeak as you feel his hot breath waft over your now naked cunt. You’re frozen in place as to what the hell is going on, both fearful and hopeful as to what he’s about to do next.  

Those seconds seem to drag on for hours, there’s nothing stopping you from closing your legs or even covering yourself with your hands, but neither of these occur to you. Instead you lay there paralyzed as he further parts your thighs and using his tongue lightly trace up the seam of your cunt.

That sends you into overdrive and removes any possibility that this is a dream, as he languidly tongues your core. Your hips almost immediately buck up but he keeps you down with a forearm across your lower belly, as he tenderly nurses at your clit.

You grab at his hair but that only seems to further invigorate him, as his groans seem to reverberate off of your walls and he goes from focusing on that bundle of nerves, to delving lower and lower to that seldom explored entrance of your cunt. You restlessly try to push his head away from you, but your thighs apparently have a mind of their own as they box him in when you feel the tip of tongue lightly trace the rim of your fluttering hole.

His tongue, you are learning, has talents well beyond singing as you feel that wicked muscle eagerly delve into what little access you have (reluctantly?) granted him. The pleased hums he’s making, demonstrating how much he’s enjoying the act don’t help either.

Eventually you find your hands running through the hair that you, probably more than anyone in the world, are most intimately familiar with, even seeing the hint of his light roots that you’ve neglected to touch up in the last few days. You’re at the very least glad that the two of you are alone in the house, because you doubt you would have been able to muffle the downright filthy sounds coming out of your mouth.

The noises you’re making seem to only spur him further, as his thumb goes from an unhurried pace to a far more goal-oriented motions as his tongue goes rigid and plunges as deep as it could go and then, almost playfully, wiggles within you.

You’re left seeing stars, your pussy clamping down around his tongue, though he removes it almost immediately in order to prolong your euphoria by sucking on that little button of yours.

Even after all of that, you still held out hope that this was some weird sleepwalking episode and somehow feeling another warm body, he was going off of instincts until he removes himself from your pussy, nonchalantly wiping his mouth with his thumb, and looks you right in the eye with a look that tells you he has an appetite that has only been mildly wetted.

“Guess I ate ya’ first darlin’,” he remarks with a very sweet kiss to your lips, as though he didn’t just make you have the best orgasm of your life. God you’re so familiar with these lips, yet it still takes you by surprise as to how soft they feel against your own. You’re only human so lord forgive if you wish to indulge in the fantasy of perhaps every teenage omega in the country. But quickly you gain your bearings, remembering that as far as he’s concerned, you’re a Beta through, and through.

It kills you a little to remove yourself, breathing raggedly as you try to come to grips with what is happening. His eyes are blown out entirely, and he licks his lips as though you’re a meal waiting to be devoured, but even then you instinctively know he’s seeing you as you are.

This trance you’re both in is broken by the shrill ring of the phone from the upstairs office. He gives a soft curse, before he rolls out of bed and casually walks out of the room. You’re left leaning against the pillows. Looking up at the ceiling, utterly shell-shocked, mindlessly fixing your skirt to cover up your bare pussy as you try to figure out what the hell just happened.

But it’s as you’re doing that does an unbearable fire come upon you. A terrible fever emanating from your lower belly overwhelms you and as you helplessly inch out of his bed every instinct within you is screaming how bad of an idea that actually is. Every step away from that bed is agony, as though you’re wading through lava, away from any safe haven you may have found. Even trying to move your panties back into place feels scalding and you’re left with no choice but to remove them completely, leaving you completely accessible. You shiver at the thought, and not from the cold.

Briefly you wonder if maybe Elvis had something to do with this sickness you’re experiencing, but as you feel a throbbing emptiness from deep within you, do you realize that this is in fact a long ignored part of yourself that is simply roaring back to life. You finally recognize what exactly this is and recognize what sort of trouble you’re in.

You skittishly look out the door and, finding the office door closed with his voice behind it, you make a quick beeline to the staircase, and from there dash to your room, where you quickly barricade yourself in with your vanity table. And in the mirror are you forced to face what you are. Your eyes blown out, your clothes wrinkled and disheveled, the makeup you neglected to take off before bed smudged, sweat running from the warmth emanating from within you, and your whole body trembling under the effort to not flip over the table and run directly back to him. Not to mention the slippery feeling of your thighs as your slick runs freely, unhindered by any. You look at the very image of the idyllic debauched Omega and you finally recognize something is very wrong.

You have never in your life neglected to take your suppressant a day in your life, and quickly counting them, you find no extras, so that’s clearly not the case. It is as you are doing a double count do you realize something off about them. Looking directly at your suppressants underneath the light, they looked off. They were a slightly more yellowish white than they usually are and picking one up to inspect it, your nail catches the edge of it and it crumbles a bit. Neither of these things bode well for you. You desperately look for your extra doses of suppressants only to find them missing.

That’s when it goes from less than ideal to utter nightmare territory. You don’t know how nor do you know why, but your suppressants are no longer effective and you may very well be hurdling full force into heat, alone in a home with an unmated, virile Alpha. You immediately get to packing what you can, trying to figure out your best means of escape.

You try to assess your options as to where you can go for the next few days, but with all your options being either Alphas or out of town, you have no choice but to go back to your father. But your most pressing issue as of right now is how you’re going to get out of this room. Your windows are sealed shut, so you’re left with no choice but to venture out back into the house and pray he’s still upstairs.

You’ve done your best to ignore the steady stream of slick that has been running between your thighs, but the idea that he’s out there somewhere, causes a new rush of it to burst out, and you know it’s only a matter of time before you lose all restraint and give in to what your biology is demanding of you.

You made a beeline for the front door, your mind determined to make it out of Graceland but it was upon actually getting to the front door do you find your hands hesitating for a second. Some latent part of yourself really questions if it would be so bad to be his, questions why you have to fight it when he’s been nothing but good to you.

But it was your moment of hesitation that gave enough time for a familiar ringed hand to slam the door shut on you. “Baby, there you are,” despite the door now shutting out the cold, you can’t help the shiver that runs down your spine.

“Elvis I-I-I,” you swallow, his scent so heady and powerful you can almost taste him on the back of your tongue. “I need to leave.”

“I just got the good news,” he states, completely blowing past what you just said. “They granted me the deferment for the movie.”

“Elvis, I’m begging you,” you plead, as a bruising grip on your wrist forces you to let go of your packed bag. You’ve only ever cried once in your life in front of him, but now the tears flow freely down your face.

“Don'tchu worry your pretty little head ‘bout anythin’ darlin’,” he coos, wiping the tears from your cheek. “You go where I go, ain’t nothin’ gonna change ‘bout that.”

Even after all the time that had passed, you can still vaguely taste yourself on him, not an unpleasant taste, but your thoughts quickly turn to wondering how he would taste, or better yet how the both of you would taste together. The kiss becomes heavier and deeper as you wrap your arms around him and boldly run your tongue over those sharp canines of his, some masochistic part of you demanding to press harder.

Your chest is heaving, needing more oxygen than you personally think is necessary, and yet you find yourself giving pathetic little whimpers as he leaves your lips in favor of marking a trail of kisses down your body.

He kneels down before you, burying his face in the crevice between your thighs, the only barrier between you and him, being the thin material of your skirt. It was only then did you notice the brief relief from the fever you felt, all due to his close proximity. “You smell ripe for the pickin’ sweetheart,” he breathes out in a raspy tone, looking up at you as though he were in prayer, as his hand drags the zipper of your skirt down. It slips down fully with only the slightest of tugs, and your left trembling, bare from the waist down in front of him, as your thighs shift uneasily the slick that’s gathered making it all the easier.

You try not to look down at him, as though that will stop what’s happening right now. His tongue is now collecting every trace of your wetness it could find and just barely missing where you feel you need him most, to which you’re not afraid to voice your disapproval of.

“Don’t mind if I take the first bite,” he whispers, the tip of a canine barely scraping the smooth skin of your thigh. It’s that contact that reminds you what exactly is at stake here. Without warning you do your best to push him to the ground. He’s caught off guard but manages to catch himself before he lands on his ass, but the momentary surprise gives you just enough room to slip out.

You are about to sprint all the way back to your room, hoping to lock yourself in, until you feel an iron-like grip on your ankle. You’re barely able to catch yourself with your hands, but you're quickly dragged backwards. You desperately claw at the carpets, trying to find some kind of purchase only for him to grab a hold of both your wrists in one hand.

And that’s that. You’re thoroughly wrangled, no means of escape and no one coming to save you. You recognize how thoroughly fucked you are (or ar going to be) and that really no point in fighting it anymore, but you can’t even trust yourself enough to say that it wasn’t intentional on some level.

Let it never be said you’re not stubborn until the very end.

“Now I didn’t appreciate that one bit,” he hisses at you, and you hear the tell the shifting of fabric as he moves his pants down his hips, still holding your wrists down.

“Please Elvis,” you say desperately, only managing to wiggle your hips slightly which doesn’t help your case whatsoever. His hand is now splayed along your lower belly, as he lifts your hips into a new position to you, your cheek still stuck to the carpet. “You don’t want to do this,” you sob hoping he’s not too far gone, though with the way he groans at the feeling of your warm ass on the underside of his cock, even you understand there’s nothing that’s going to stop this from happening.

“What I want is ta tan your hide, for denyin’ me this sweet little pussy a yours for all these years,” he growls hungrily next to your ear, and those words shouldn’t have you keening and writhing like you were, but they do and you are. “But we’ll save that when it won’t be so pleasant for you. ‘Sides your cunt is achey enough already, ain’t it?” he purrs, the head of him prodding at your core, barely catching the rim of your entrance.

“Yes, oohh yes Elvis,” you whine, pathetically. “Please-”

You can’t say for certain whether or not you were gonna continue to deny him, all you can say is that all thoughts or hesitations seem to melt away as you feel him push himself in. Your eyes threaten to roll back all the way into your head, it felt so good. You're practically dripping wet at this point, but even still the girth is still something to contend with, as you’ve never had to handle equipment this big before, and at the angle you’re at you can’t quite make-out how much more of this you’ll have to take.

Elvis though is about as patient as he could be under the circumstances. He’s like steel wrapped in velvet, silky yet unyielding, as he sinks into you like hot butter, until finally his hips meet your ass. His heavy member has found a home in your cunt, and with the patience of a goddamn saint, he waits until your moans and groans aren't so ambiguous, and has the sound of a woman enjoying herself.

You’re low groan when he moves out, turns into a high-pitched shriek when he slams back into you. You sympathized with him when the papers started calling him The Pelvis but now being here underneath him , you can’t think period, let alone think of a more fitting nickname considering how well he’s wielding his to go at a harsh yet tender pace behind you.

In his rutting frenzy, he’s seemingly forgotten his hold on your wrists, but you in turn have abandoned your initial fervor to get away from him. You find yourself pushing backwards, desperate to keep him inside as best you can, frantically rubbing tight little circles on your clit with a single-mindedly chasing release, while you push off your other hand and try to meet his thrusts.

But he hasn’t quite gotten over that sadistic streak of his as he stops mid thrust and holds your waist preventing you from moving any further. You want to cry, you were so close, but the part of you that wants to be good and obey him wins out over the willful side of you, and you bury your forehead into the carpet. And as still as you can manage, you wait with bated breath for his next move.

“I tried bein’ nice ‘bout it, let you come to me,” he whispers in your ear as he moves the collar of your shirt out of the way, kissing the newly exposed skin. “But you gotta be so goddamn stubborn ‘bout everything,'' He hisses and you feel his warm breath waft on the back of your neck, and you know what’s coming next. You’ve dreaded this happening for years, but it’s so much worse than you ever could have imagined, because it’s coming from the last person you expected. You feel his lips curl into a small smile against your skin, and you feel the light scrape of one of his canines against your skin. “But I ain’t about ta have you any other way.” And without wasting another moment, he sinks his teeth into your neck marking you as his until the end of your days.

The sheer amount of pleasure and pain surging through your body makes you feel everything and nothing at all. All that registers really is the euphoric feeling as to where the two of you are joined together -at long last- so you didn’t miss a single moment as you feel the base of his cock start to swell. You're so startled that you try to pathetically crawl away only for him to take a hold of your still sore hips and bring you flush against him, as he seemingly grows and grows within you, well past what you ever thought could have fit up there.

You briefly black out for a moment not so much reaching your peak, but being rocketed to heights beyond what you could have ever imagined. Longer and more intense than you’ve ever been able to achieve, with a partner or otherwise, you’re a shivering pile of flesh, no longer tied to another worldly want other than the man behind you.

His moans are pure ecstasy, his hands undoubtedly leaving bruises on your hips, and his member resting heavy inside of you. Even though, on some level, you know it’s a fool's errand, you nonetheless try to separate yourself from him only to be given a painful reminder why this thing was often described as being “locked in.” You could feel yourself already stretched past your limit, refusing to let go of him, and you hear him groan from the new sensation, as tears flow down your cheeks from the pain.

What’s worse is that when you finally give up and snap back into place do you both shudder at the sensation as he reaches some part deep inside of you. You black out for a moment from going from intense pain to immense pleasure almost immediately can do that to you only to now find yourself on your side with Elvis behind lazily rocking his hips into yours as he leaves blistering kisses where he can and scorching trails everywhere else he could reach.

You’re left with no choice but to stay put and try not to enjoy every roll of his hips against yours, though you stubbornly bite your own lip to prevent yourself from making any noises, approving or otherwise. But this plan quickly falls apart as your mulish defiance of him and his wants are nothing compared to the swift slap on your pussy that causes you to bite down hard on your own lip. Your stupid protruding canine gets your lip, and upon your instinctual cry and release of your lip do you begin to taste the coppery flavor of your own blood. You attempt to hide your face only for him to grab a hold of your jaw, only to lick up the small trail of blood to your chin. You’re way past being able to be shocked by him anymore, and simply choose to relish in this sinful act, with a man who has been trying to clean up his image for the past few months.

If you had to guess, you’re like that for roughly an hour, until finally he’s at a size where you're finally able to remove yourself from him without discomfort, other than the veritable flood that comes gushing out of you without his cock to keep all of it in. Towards the end, he had shifted you so that you were back on your knees, your head resting on your forearms, with your ass in the air and you could only watch mesmerized as a small stream of his milky white seed runs down your thigh only to stop where your knee meets the floor where it proceeds to disappear into the ivory carpet beneath you.

You hear him purr behind you, apparently just as captivated by the show your pussy is giving him. In one swift motion you find yourself on your back and as he follows the path his cum had trailed down your leg, back to its source. You gasp as you feel him dip his fingers back into you and he hooks some of the seed out of your cunt only to use your now open mouth to stick them in there.

It’s almost like a switch goes off in your head with that first real taste of him. You no longer try to fight with yourself, not even choosing to give in really, because with the way you're feeling right now it’s not even really a choice anymore.

“Anything that ain’t goin’ into your pretty pussy is goin’ in that smart mouth a yours, you understand lil’ mama?” he purrs, satisfied as your tongue splits his fingers trying to get every single drop of him you could. “We don’t wanna let any of this go to waste now do we?”

“No,” you cry desperately, truly ashamed as to what you’re becoming. But you have no time for those thoughts as he surprises you by returning back down to your pussy.

“Keep your mouth open,” he orders between your thighs, words slightly muffled as they are against your lower lips. You're confused as to what he’s doing until he gives a light press on your lower belly and his cum gushes out of your poor abused hole and into his waiting mouth. He takes what comes out before he crawls back up to you to get a hold of your jaw, a dangerous look set in his eyes.

You dutifully do as he says and open up. Once that hot, heady flavor of your combined fluids hits your tongue you’re gone, without ego and fully submitting yourself not only to him but the primitive Omega brain that wants nothing more than to be his. You even wrap your arms around his neck to bring his lips to yours, so that the two of you could fully share this obscene cocktail that you both have managed to create.

“Aww baby,” he breathes, his lips brushing against yours. “We wasted so much goddamn time not doin’ this.” In your state of mind you can’t help but agree.

He takes you on just about every available surface of the house, and you truly believe that the only reason he didn’t venture outward was due to how cold it was. If you had the capacity to think beyond seeking your next release you would feel ashamed as to what everybody will undoubtedly smell when they return. But all you could really focus on at any given moment was how good he felt inside you, or tasted on your tongue.

As frantic as he was to keep as much cum inside of you as possible, he also seemed to gain a specific kind of pleasure seeing you drip with his seed and having you swallow it in penance. You can’t get enough of any part of him and he makes good on his promise as to where his cum would go (where it belongs,) and for a solid week you are sustained almost solely on that save for whatever Elvis can scrounge from the kitchen. There’s almost a soft melancholy when you swallow him, as though he’s truly saddened over the lost potential of that particular load, as though he’s not stuffing you full of it seemingly every hour.

But in your haze you were all too happy to take what he could give you, you cunt greedy for all that he can give you.

And it’s underneath him that you learn about Alpha anatomy. Knotting, as you learn it’s officially called, is something Elvis can only do two to three times a day before he has to rest. Doesn’t stop him from trying every single time, nor does it stop him from having you

It becomes easier and easier each time, until you find yourself after each peak desperately grinding on to him, hoping that his knot would make a reappearance and make you feel whole. By the third day you even find yourself falling asleep with it within you, finding the fullness comforting, as though reassuring you that he won’t disappear on you in such a vulnerable state. The few times he’s left the bed you’re left a helpless, writhing mess desperate for him, even when he’s promised you he would be gone only for a few minutes. Part of you thinks he leaves more often than strictly necessary, considering the smug look he gives seeing you so needy for him and practically begging for his cock as you fruitlessly tried to replicate that sense of fullness only he could give.

“Empty,” you mewl, at this point incapable of full sentences.

He’s decided to torture you a bit rubbing the head of his cock on your clit. The hand splayed on your soft stomach prevents you from moving too much, wanting to take his time with you. Your whimpering begging for what you want desperate

“You ain’t ever gonna feel that way again,” he whispers through his kisses along the mark he left. “I’m gonna fill you up so good, ain’t no way you won’t be carryin’ my baby. Ain’t that whatchu want sweetheart.”

“Yes,” you cry desperately, willing to agree to anything, if he would only give you what you wanted, perhaps marking one of the few times he’s won a battle of wills against you.

You’re more animal than woman that week, a slave to her desires, a creature whose sole purpose is to be fucked and have his babies, if Elvis’ whisperings during this time are to be believed. You worry as to whether or not this more primitive side is due to your lack of experience with being in heat or if this is what to expect from every heat going forward. You feel as though someone else has taken the reins to your body and you’re simply meant to enjoy the ride.

Elvis on the other hand stays aware, and he takes care of you throughout it all, making sure you eat enough and drink water, makes sure your lips don’t dry out, licks at your wounds to help speed up the healing process, etc. You’ve never felt so needy, and you’re barely coherent enough to form complete sentences, and so you show your appreciation by being both as vocal and as obedient as possible.

He usually spends recovery periods licking you clean, though not necessarily where you initially thought he would’ve. You can’t help but conclude his love affair with the taste of your blood considering how much time he spends on the small wounds he’s made all over your body.  In his initial eagerness to explore your body in those first few hours, he had “accidentally” nicked you every so often, the sole exception being the twin crescent marks you can feel on your neck and on your ass, which was clearly nothing less than intentional. Though your state and his efforts have significantly sped up the healing process, you know by the end of this you will be left with a constellation of scars.

“This one” he said lightly running his fingers along the marred skin of your neck. “That one’s for the world baby,” he coos, as he gives it a light kiss, making the slap that lands perfectly on top of the mark on your bottom, all the more surprising. “That one’s just for me and you. So you best not forget who that belongs to.”

“Never,” you sigh happily.

It’s almost funny when you think about it, how the world demands a clean-cut, sexless teen heart-throb, as though a majority of them aren’t also beholden to this primitive state of theirs. Looking at him now above you, his teeth sharp and bared, his grunts and groans echoing throughout the house, the bruises and scratches you’ve been able to leave on his torso, even the stubble you’ve felt more than you’ve seen, all paint a very primal portrait of him. He’s something wild, untameable even, someone who isn’t afraid to show how he is beholden to his own desires and instincts as the rest of the world hid from them, and tried to act like they don’t exist.

If it weren’t for the knot you would be hard-pressed to find much of a difference between this Elvis and the standard one.

By the end of your heat, you’re thoroughly exhausted, you don’t even have the energy to be mad at him anymore. You’ve just resolved yourself to your fate that will forever be tied to the boy you once thought you knew. You don’t even have the luxury of knowing whether these thoughts are your own, and not some long suppressed Omega part of you that simply wants to enjoy the way his calloused guitar hands gently rub the soft part of your lower belly.

But if this week has been about satisfying long-standing desires you’re not about to hold back on your desire for knowledge. Specifically how he discovered your secret.

“I wasn’t ‘bout a let you go without a fight baby,” he whispers, comfortable in not needing to hide anything from you anymore, as you’re thoroughly ensnared. “I was cookin’ up some not so nice plans to keep you by me no matter what. Only for a goddamn Christmas miracle to drop into my lap.” he says, allowing you to make your own pace at which to ride him.

“Your daddy sent me a bill in the mail, and I think you know what he was charging you for, dontcha?” he purrs, lazily thumbing at your clit and watching as your breasts bounced in rhythm with your frantic bucking.

“Bein’ the good mate I am, I let him know that you weren’t gon’ need any of that shit no more,” he says, giving a firm slap on your ass seemingly just because he felt like it. “And I some interestin’ things about them pills. You know what stops them pills from workin’ right?” he asks, lazily rutting into you.

“What?”

“You add a lil’ heat,” he growls, and suddenly his obsession with the fireplace these last few days makes perfect sense.

He spoke to you of how he’s been dreaming of this for years, and how he’s known that you were it for him, even when he thought nothing physical could happen between the two of you.

But even as he spoke, there was an ever present air of inevitability when he spoke to you as to how he envisioned your future together as though this was always meant to happen. And it was only a matter of you catching up to him. Afterall you were the one who taught him to ignore what he didn’t want to hear. And he didn’t want to hear no from you.

Taglist

@venus-haze @djsjs13949 @ilovehobi101 @butlerslut @richardslady121 @giabelia @sydneyyyya @meetme0614 @tacozebra051 @myradiaz  @thelifes-world @maythesunshineagain @rakitirakiti @lostteenagetale @j-v-9-2  @eliseinmemphis @dkayfixates  @immi547 @thatbanditqueen   @marriedtoeddie @cuteejeno @itlover8000 ​ @isthlsfate ​ @mgparker ​ @thatbanditqueen ​ ​ @softsatnin ​ ​​@literally-just-elvis-fics

[munano-theprophet]

Hello I never had asked/requested anything before I am not sure if this is how it begins? and I am so so sorry if this comes off rude and if it does come off as rude I am sorry please ignore this, but can you maybe do an Alpha and Omega with yandere Alpha Austin Elvis x Omega Fem Reader? If you are comfortable, It can be anything from being his make up artist who is immune to his charms and just thinks he is being nice and funny not really seeing his true intentions until Elvis had enough being ignored and gets the reader to visit him in his suite and have a celebration drink after one of his late night performances and tricks the reader into drinking a drink that kick starts her heat where he bonds with her permanently biting her neck claiming her as his

Omg, so sorry for the LATE reply. I don't really use Tumblr all that well and didn't even receive a notification for this. You definitely did NOT come off as rude at all! I love this concept and I can definitely work on this while I wait for more votes on my poll for dark Rafe content!

[ofmermaidstories]

I’m sorry if this is written somewhere and I’ve missed it but purely out of interest - what is in your queue / what do you plan on writing next? 🐸

*cracks knuckles* ok u ready anon? We won’t count the current active WIPs, like something or the sun god’s bride. we’ll keep it to one-shots or two-parters, since the shouto fic is guaranteed andddd we’ll be optimistic and say that these are fics I’d like to do within the first half of 2022 (I wish I was faster at writing, I’m really not though). We’re not including the Sero fic OR the Mineta fic I’ve been threatening, simply because they don’t have solid plots yet!

in (rough) release order —

The Haunting of Todoroki Manor

Todoroki x Reader, vague Bakugou x Reader implications

The ancient, crumbling manor of the Todoroki estate is awaiting you, when you finally arrive after the wedding.

(a Victorian/Gothic Romance AU, one-shot — with ghosts)

Burnin’ Love

Bakugou x Reader, one-sided Mirio x Reader

You very nearly don’t wake up, when the fire rips through your apartment block.

(fireman AU, one-shot, in which you’re the server at a tiny, eclectic Elvis-themed cafe; Mirio is the perfect vision of a heroic Fireman and Bakugou is the one who saved you, the night your place went up in flames)

Rapture

Deku x Reader, Bakugou x Reader

The sky is a high, warm blue, the day the newcomers ride into town.

(cowboy AU, two-parter, in which Midoriya and Bakugou are Rapture’s new Mayor and Sheriff, respectively — and we are the school teacher caught between them).

The Stars Between Us

Bakugou x Reader

When the local, long-abandoned military base is coopted by the JAXA and your tiny, coastal town is flooded with scientists and astronauts-in-training, you inadvertently end up connecting with one of their rising stars: grumpy, watchful pilot Bakugou Katsuki.

But Bakugou has a world-ending secret; one that he and the others of the space program are trying to keep under wraps. A secret that means your time together is running out, threatening not just the tentative connection you are making, but also all life on Earth.

(ELE/Armageddon AU, one-shot, in which Bakugou has come to town to prepare for the launch of humanity’s last ditch effort against the meteorite hurtling towards the planet—and meets you)

UNTITLED

Bakugou x Reader

Your soul clings to Katsuki���s, the first time you meet.

(His Dark Materials/Daemon Soul AU, one-shot, in which we have a daemon that won’t settle shape—and Katsuki has always known what his soul would be)

UNTITLED

Bakugou x Reader [A/B/O]

Bakugou Katsuki — Pro Hero Dynamight, and the world’s most infamous Alpha — has just busted an Omega trafficking ring, rescuing dozens and stopping an infamous cartel.

You’re a Beta shelter worker he shouldn’t even notice, there to help the Omegan victims find some semblance of normalcy in the wake of the trauma.

[justjams2003]

Over-ripe

I fear...people are going to be a bit upset with me for starting a new story and not updating any of my other ones... But I have to go where the old man obsession takes me! And I fear this time it's bad...those who follow my second blog know...

So, here is my vision. You've heard of Big Daddy Elvis (BDE). And you've heard of vampire!Elvis. So please all imagine for me, Alpha!Big Daddy Elvis.... I fear the brainrot has me...

Summary: After an exhausting night, overwhelmed by the crowd and meds, Elvis stumbles onto the wrong floor. Where he finds an omega, innocent, sweet like over-ripe fruit, ready to be plucked.

Pairing: Alpha!Big Daddy Elvis x Omega!Innocent!reader

Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat. Omegaverse, grooming (kind of), reader just barely 18, talk of: heats, ruts, scent glands, rutting, scenting, fated mates. Over-protective, obsessive. Innocent reader. Toxic/abusive father, gambling addiction. Alcohol, drugs. Talk of divorce, mentioning Priscilla. Tell me if I missed any.

Word count: 4,4k+ unedited

Dividers by:@mmadeinheavenn and @crylynnluv

Everything is spinning like one of those damn globes on a stand. The music, it all just sort of becomes one big blur of a ringing sort of noise. The pheromones of a million horny teenage omega is just the thing to send an alpha like him into overdrive. The sweat drips in his eyes and as the people cheer his name but, he can only curse the name of one. 

That damned so-called Doctor Nick got the dose wrong again or something. Because this feels like a migraine had a love child with a hungover and birthed the damned throbbing sensation in his head.

Doctor Nick was supposed to suppress his senses and now it only feels heightened by a million. What only makes it worse is the people begging for his attention after the show. Clinging to him more than the sweat clings to his hairy stomach. 

"Sonny, God damn it, would yah leave me alone. All of yah!" His temper flares as a thick Southern rumble comes from him. His entourage all jump back, realising that the charming smile he gave on stage was as fake as it could come today.

He has no control over his alpha voice and everyone around him preens, baring their neck in submission. Not that he didn't love when people begged for his attention, except only when it didn't feel like someone was dead set on killing him. 

His feet drag across the carpet floor and in his messy haze he chooses 3 instead of 30. The white LED lights match the colour of the rows and rows of doors. And right now, he couldn't give a damn if he was on some random floor he didn't entirely recognise. Instead, he just sort of slumps down against the wall. His stage outfit feels entirely too tight, and he claws around his bulge hoping for some sort of relief. 

His head hangs in between his knees as chest heaves. Like his heart is going to explode. How long he sits there, he has no clue. But only when his hearing comes back it's sharply interrupted with a loud frustrated yell. And then the harsh slamming of the door. He doesn't bother to raise is head as his voice rumbles out. 

"Would you stop it with that damn hollering!" But it's more a command than anything, and his words are met with a sharp inhale. His head very slowly and carefully raises, he expected some sort of fight back for his command. Or at least some sort of faffing about his name.

But his heart is quickly grabbed and twisted right out of his socket when his eyes meet with ones so big and watery. 

A scent of an omega, so sickly sweet he hasn't smelled anything like it before. Like an over-ripe mango in the middle of summer. Nice and cold from the fridge, cooling your insides from the summer eat. The type you have to eat like the sloppy animal you are. Your teeth ripping into the soft flesh. The juices cover your mouth and drip-drip-drip down to your sweaty chest. Your hands a vibrant orange colour from the sweet nectar. And even days later when you lick your lips you can taste mango and nothing else. 

And suddenly the ringing fades away as he feels guilt stab through him for yelling at something so fragile looking. A girl, but a little thing compared to him, sort of slumps down against the door, same as he had. She pulls her knees up against her chest and then fiddles with the hem of her much too short dress.

"I-I'm sorry sir, I didn't know- I didn't think of- um-" She sort of stutters out an apology. Along with the honey covered fruit smell, she reeks of a beta. All around her like someone pissed on her feet to mark their scent.  

But he just can't seem to find himself to care all too much about the weak response. "What's got you all fussy?" The alpha in him instantly wanting to coddle the little omega.

He leans his back against the wall as he rests his hands on his wide spread legs. Almost as if he's making himself bigger for the little girl to either be scared of him, or trust him, he doesn't entirely know yet. His chest puffs out and he licks his sharp teeth. She might reek of another man but he's quick to notice no mating mark.  

"My papa, he's being a big... meanie." He almost had to stifle a laugh, that was most definitely not the response he was expecting. This 'papa' must be the one protecting or, or at least trying to, with his gasoline scent. "And why's that, little one?" Elvis asks, fighting off his iconic side smirk as he truly takes her in. As cute as a button, but with the body of a woman and yet dressed in something clearly not age appropriate. 

"That's just the thing. I ain't so little no more. I just turned 18, I'm a big girl. He brings me to Vegas. I thought that meant I could do yah know, what grown ups do." Her voice rambles, still playing with the hem of her too short dress. He can see her cute little pink panties showing but she doesn't seem to realise it. Or at least if she does, she doesn't seem to know it's a bad thing. He spreads his legs wider, hoping for some relief. 

"And what would that be?" Elvis can see when he just opens his mouth, a light dusting of pink falls on her cheeks before falling away again. "Yah know..." She mumbles, but it's clear that she isn't entirely all too sure. "No I don't, you'll have to tell me." His voice is coated with a condescending tone however it doesn't register with her. Instead she just sort of leans her neck to the side, already submitting to him. Such a weak little thing. No fight either.  

Her front two teeth capture her bottom lip before letting it go with a pop. He can see her small little canines and his subconscious mind immediately thinks of how tiny her mark would look on his shoulder.

 "Yah know... Talking about grown up stuff and dancing, all in pretty, fancy clothes." Elvis supposed that it could definitely be seen like that to someone like her. He however doesn't really want to break this bubble that she lives in and just nods, showing her to continue. 

"But he won't let me. Just tells me that he's got himself into trouble with dangerous men and that I can't go out. What's that gotta do wit' me?" Things seem to slowly fall in place for the famous rock star. A gambling addict, in debt to one of the many mafia that seem to run this place. Trying to keep such a frigid omega safe. But clearly, this little one needs an alpha like him. To mark her, let the whole world know she’s his. "He's right. Vegas ain't all that they make it out to be." 

She huffs, clearly not liking this answer and her tongue moves again. "How would you know? You ain't Elvis Presley." Now... now he really can't stop himself from smiling. "How would yah know, little girl?" Again, like before, she gets all wide-eyed when he uses a pet name like that. "My papa tells me Elvis is...is...a delinquent. Whatever that is... And a, uh, sexual deviant. And well, I don't really know what either o' those mean but I know yah ain't either of them." 

An earthy deep rumble laugh escapes him. "Aren't yah just something?" He mumbles, shaking his head. Usually he'd be pissed off that someone would go around saying stuff like that about him. But the way she stumbles over the big words that don't register in her mind can only make him laugh. She so needs someone to take care of her. "And why would somethin' like yah want to go out in Vegas? Doin' all these adult thangs?" 

She looks down, slightly embarrassed by his laugh. But also entirely unsure about this hot feeling that tickles her stomach when he laughs like that, or talks like that, or looks at her like that. Or this sticky substance that she feels coating her thighs.

"I like dancin'. But Papa don't like the way I dance, he don't like me dancin'. Says I'll end up becoming just like that Elvis fellow if I dance. But, a big girl like me should be able to do what she wants." 

She sounds so sure of herself and now Elvis really has to see this dancing she's talking about. "Well, I suppose so. But if a sweet thing like you goes around doin' what she wants in a big girl place likes this, she'd get taken advantage of." Just like he's about to do now. But he just can't resist bringing this little thing out and seeing the look on her face as he corrupts her. Safe her for himself, make her see the way he wants. She’s so easily could be moulded into his. 

She tilts her head to the side, like a confused puppy. Damn this damn costume really is too tight now. He stands, trying to adjust himself without her noticing.

"How about this, little girl. If your Papa leaves you all on your own again, you find the nearest elevator, m'kay?" Elvis speaks, a commanding, dominant, alpha tone in his voice as he points to her where to go. He knows the best gambling times are right before and during his shows, there are less people in there then. The Colonel is always gone at these times too... 

Like an obedient dog she nods her head, looking up at him. Wide eyes swimming with the sweetness her scent carries. "Then you gon' press the button for the very highest floor. Once you're there, don't get scared when a big lookin' guy asks what yah lookin for. Just tell 'em that Aron is lookin' for his little lamb. Alright? He should show you 'round then. Alright?" She quickly scrambles to her feet. 

She nods her head frantically, wiping her sweaty palms on her little dress, since everything suddenly just feels so hot. Elvis is quick to see the way her thighs rub together, a smirk falls on his lips and it takes everything in him not to groan. To not fuck her right here on the hotel floor and mark her as his.

What’s going on? He didn’t even mark Priscilla. He never felt this impossibly crazy, like a real fucking animalistic need to make her his...this just has to be something more. 

"Okay Sir. And that's your name then? Aron?" Elvis winces slightly. He doesn't like people calling him that. Sounds like his mama is scolding him all over again. But he also, really, for now, doesn't want her to know who he really is. She’d sigh away, hearing what her father said about him. "It's uh my second name, I don't want you quite knowing my name yet, dollface. I gotta go now though. But you'll be a big girl and do as I ask?" 

Her teeth find her bottom lip again as she fights off the whimper that threatens to escape her when he says something like that. Her pink lips become even pinker when her wet tongue grazes it. She leans against the door handle, needing some sort of support to keep herself up, as she nods, showing she'll listen. He gives his iconic smile. "Alright, good girl. See yah then."  

The girl gently slides open the door. The smell of alcohol is strong in this little rented hotel room. But she doesn't care. She leans against the door, a big smile forms on her face and she lets out a dreamy sigh.

Her thighs clench together when she thinks about that southern drawl of his again. And she just can't help but wonder if it was fated for her to meet this beautiful big man. 

He'll be damned. He didn't think that there was anyone left who didn't know what he looked like. Much less what he sounded like. His voice is just about everywhere these days and if she didn't recognise him at all it means he has discovered a gem he's been searching for. Someone who didn't treat him like the great Elvis Presley, but instead like some man. 

And even if he is just some man to her, she looks up at him like he's got some way to grab the sun an the moon down for her. Even if they've only just met. And then, right on time exactly as he had thought he smells her before he hears a faint knock in the door. Shy and gentle, almost afraid the wood of the door might hurt her. He calls for her, his voice is like raw honey. Deep baritone alpha that he is. 

He sees her head just barely peak out into the very dimly lit room. He can't help but let a lob sided smirk fall on his face. Just seeing her wide eyes, worried that everything about this might just be wrong. He holds out his arm, resting it on the backrest of the sofa.

"C'mere darlin'." She slowly closes the door and like a little mouse crawling towards a piece of cheese she steps towards him. He's quick to grab onto her tiny little dress, pulling her closer to him until her thigh is pressed against the outside of his leg. 

She's already hot, he can feel it. He can't help but wonder when her next heat would be. Or if she's ever even had one, surrounded by her beta father all the time. And even if she had, he knows the sudden exposure to his smell is sure to bring it on soon enough. He gives it give or take a week, if he has to guess. 

He's leaning back, his legs wide spread like the man he is. He's already in his stage outfit, just like she saw him last time. Her hair is tangled and he's sure if he were to check, the label of her dress would read "14-15 years." His hands trail up and rest on her hip, just wanting to keep her here. Keep her close. He could do so much for her. Make her so happy. 

"I wanna show yah somthin', but yah gotta promise not to be mad, darlin'." Her face contorts and her head tilts to the side like a confused puppy. "Why would I get mad?" He lets out a slight sigh and then readjusts his pants. She's just too damn adorable for her own good. He wants to grab her into his arms and kiss her until she's squealing his name.  

But he doesn't. Instead he licks his lips and speaks again. "You'll see, baby, you'll see." She hides her bottom lip in her front two teeth making her look like a little bunny. "Now, you wanna go like this or you want me to find yah somethin' else?" Then she let's go of her bottom lip and pushes it out in a pout.

She looks down, fiddling with the hem. "What's wrong with this?" Again he just sort of sighs, looking at how the dress is full of holes and sits just barely below her round bottom. 

"Well, don't get me wrong, sweet thing, I really don't mind this look on yah. And I'll give the dress back to yah. But I gotta take care of yah, since your papa is away. An' I don't want men looking at this body of yers. Your Papa would be very upset." She bites her lip again, tearing away at the plump skin. He just can't help himself but take her chin and pull the lip out from he violent teeth. 

Then slowly she nods her head, her head tilts to the side. "You talked to my Papa?" She asks, at least she has some sense of defence. "Oh yeah," Elvis lies, taking her delicate little hands in his. So mini, just like everything else of her. Softly squishing the small pads right below each finger on her palm. Slowly tracing higher on her wrist. His fingertips letting out as much of his scent as he can. That intoxicating sugary smell fills his nostrils.  

"He said he wanted me to take care of yah, while he's busy." Her doe eyes follow his fingers, fully entranced. He can’t help but bring her wrist to his lips. Soft, so soft.  She doesn't even question when he talked to his father, or what he’s doing, just sort of nods.

"A-alright. Gotta listen to yah." A smile prickles his cheeks when she says that. "Yes, exactly, sweet pea, now you understand." And his grin grows even wider when she preens for him. 

Elvis smiles and nods, slowly standing up and walking to his closet. He gives her a once over, hell, he'll have to find some of 'Cilla's old clothes, give it a better scent that Priscilla’s overwhelming Iris smell that still lingers all these years. In any case, that might be all he can find that would fit her. He rummages through and suddenly takes a sharp breath when he finds it. A wide smile across his face as he holds it up for her to see.  

Frilly pink dress from when 'Cilla was your age. And the moment this little girl sees it, she gets sparkles in her eyes. She bounces on her feet and he can see her hands are eager to grab at it. "Yah like it, little one?" Too excited to say anything, she just rapidly nods. She’s holding herself back as much as she can. 

Elvis hands the dress to her, she's so so careful with it. And he knows his scent is all over it, he's likely rutted into that dress a few times. After he tries to comfort himself after the divorce. Savour all of the flowery smell he’s now all too glad to get rid of. So he just smiles when she raises the dress to her nose, taking soft breaths.

He sees the sweat bead on her forehead and she stutters, not understanding what's happening to her. He frowns, that shouldn’t be happening yet. 

He then points to the bathroom, "Go on, put it on." It's almost as if she jumps into the bathroom. A low wolf whistle escapes him when she steps out in the pink frilly dress. She blushes like a sweet little strawberry made just for him to feast on. Rip into with his sharp canines.  

"My, my, little thing...I'm gonna have to fight off the other men." He chuckles, his hands slowly finding her arms, his thumbs rubbing up and down. Somehow she becomes even pinker and it takes everything in Elvis not to lock her away right now.

"Now c'mere, let me brush yer hair." This time she doesn't ask questions, just nods and follows as he puts her down on the soft matted floor in front of a bed. He takes his brush and begins slowly brushing.  

"I never did catch your name, little one." He mumbels, his hands slowly parting your hair in different sections. Making sure to 'accidently' graze your scent gland. Making sure his leather scent will stay. He loves the way your whole body shivers. And the name you give him too, sweet as the a honeysuckle. But he'll likely still prefer a cute nickname, how else will he get you all fussy? "An' you're an omega, right?" 

Elvis is caught completely off guard when she tilts her head to the side. "What's that?" Bless the moon goddess above, Elvis shifts his hips forward. Almost resting his knee on your shoulder, loving the way you take deeper breaths.

He bites down on his lip and looks up at the mirrored ceiling. Trying to keep himself from taking her right now. And the damn suit is too tight again. "Yah don't know...?" She blushes and fiddles with the ruffles of her new dress.  

"Papa homeschooled me. I don't know much of much." She says, quite ashamed of this but Elvis can only smirk. "An' where did yah grow up?" Elvis sees the way she tries to remember the name. "Something Mem...mem..." He chuckles, continueing to brush the knots out of her hair. "Memphis?" She nods, but just barely as to not bother his progress. 

"Why, baby I'm from Memphis. How come I ain't never seen you b'fore?" Again she blushes, "Papa didn't let me out too often." That's an understatement, seeing how she's wearing children's clothes and doesn't even know what a second gender is. "You're killin' me here, baby." She seems terrified of the thought, "O-oh no, I don't want that-" 

He chuckles, placing his large hand on her shoulder. He lets her now brushed out hair fall down. So long, never been cut before. "Don't worry, little omega, I'll teach you." She leans her head back, looking up at him upside down. "Yah will?" She asks, clearly so very hopeful. He nods, caressing her soft round cheeks. "Of course, your Papa asked me too." He lies. 

"Now... everyone... I have a very special guest with me today," Elvis has the mic in hand standing in front of his various band members that keep this show going. They all wait in anticipation for his next word. He moves the mic to the side and turns to you. His arm reaches out as he gently guides you in front of him. "C'mere, little one." 

You squeek, suddenly being at the attention of quite a few people. They all ooh and aah, looking over eachother at the tiny omega with the intoxicating smell. They can tell, Elvis has already scented as much of you as he could without you noticing. The little girl blushes even more when they all peak at her like some pet.

"Now, this little one tells me she likes dancin'." He says, the mic back up to his lips again. "Let's make some music she can dance to." He suggest to them and they holler and cheer at the thought. 

Again he whispers to you. "Don't get all shy in me now. Show me that dancin' you were talkin' 'bout." Elvis speaks, his hand still in your arm. Needing to be touching you somehow at all times. You just nod, taking a gulp already feeling shy. But something in his voice almost forces your body to comply. An overwhelming, demanding need to do whatever he says. 

"Alright, Glen, you gon' start us off." Elvis begins scatting into the microphone, letting the piano player follow his notes. "Get the bass up." They follow his command like he controls them.

"That's alright. That's alright. Any way you do~." The moment he begins singing it's like something comes over him. His legs and hips shaking as he feels the music. And as sure as hell, the same seems to happen to you. 

"Ah, ah, ah, ah," he repeats into the microphone, feeling the groove. "That's alright Mama, that's alright wit' you, that's alright Mama, any way you do~" He directs his words to the sweet little omega he found. Who is moving her hips like she was born to do so. And he's certain if his Mama were here to see it, she'd be crazy about you. 

He can't help but take your hand, spinning you so that your back is against his chest. He grabs your hips and presses it against his. "That's alright, that's alright now mama, any way you do," the way he grabs his southern drawl from the very depth of his stomach makes your gut clench and that stickiness forms around your thighs again. You bite down, really not wanting to ruin your new dress. 

"Now mama she done told me, papa told me too, son that gal' you foolin' with ain't no good for you." His hips jerk in movement with yours and he feels just about 20 years younger in that moment.

Your two bodies move like you've planned this whole thing beforehand. His large hand on your waist, gripping you as your hips move together. As if all his years of fighting for his right to dance on stage has paid off in the form of this cute little omega who moves like she'd been made for him. 

You feel his pudge rest just above the curve of your ass. Something hard pressing against your back and you chase this sort of giddy feeling forming in the bottom part of your body. Like adrenaline is forming in your stomach. And these butterflies that cause your thighs to press together. His smell, you've never smelt anything like it before. Leather, lemon and sandalwood.  

It all comes from this hot and heavy sweat that makes him look so shiny. It bewitches you and makes your vision hazy. Makes you want to press your face in his dripping hairy chest where before you'd cringe at the thought. The urge to lick it up like a dehydrated animal burns under in your belly. You have to bite your tongue to stop yourself. What’s happening? What are these strange thoughts you’re having? 

It’s as if he's burning down all your defences, making you feel things you've never felt before. See things you've never seen them before. Chase after things you never thought to chase before. What is this you're feeling? So hot, so so hot. Burning. His scent is burning you up and the only place that feels cool is where he touches you. 

Elvis notices it immediately. The way your eyes glaze over when you look at him, your breast perk up as if your body is trying to sell itself. And your sickly sweet fruit scent develops into that of intoxicating alcohol.

A sweet gin that you could so easily drink straight from the bottle. No need for tonic. He doesn’t even like alcohol but he needs to taste more. It makes his head swirl and he grips your waist tighter and bends down. 

He presses his nose down into your scent gland. His canines grow, he licks the crook of your neck. No omega or beta or even a weak alpha could notice the change so slightly. But he does, it's like he's gotten the manual to your body and has dedicated his life to studying it. "Come on, baby, give me just a few more hours. Can’t you wait just a bit longer?” 

Elvis begs and pleads and you’re entirely sure what for. Or if you can give him what he wants this time... 

I don't know if I'm going to write a second part, but if I do, comment to be added to that taglist!

[iloveaustinelvisandmannymore]

Hi 👋 I love your fics!

I know this request may sound weird but I was wondering if you could maybe do an omegaverse yandere Austin!Elvis x reader fic where Elvis is an omega pretending to be an alpha and the reader is an alpha that often gets mistaken for an omega because of how tender-hearted she is until she gets passionate about something and then her alpha nature comes out.

I have a few ideas:

1. Maybe they meet in Vegas either in the hotel where she is a guest or she works there? Or maybe in Memphis at Lisa Marie's Preschool? Or in Beale Street?

2. Elvis is in heat or is sent into heat because of the reader, he is drawn to her and instantly becomes obsessed because of how kind she is, her scent, her personality everything about her even though he's only just met her or seen her.

3. Becomes jealous and delusional because she is always surrounded by a lot of people and presentations.

4. Either triggers her rut by forcing himself into heat or drugs her into a strong early rut and tricks her into marking, claiming him whilst making her think she forced herself on him or that she has to take responsibility.

5. Due to her tender-hearted nature she does everything he says out of guilt or responsibility. Effectively forever binding them together.

6. Reader begins to have suspicions about what happened and Elvis's behaviour.

7. Maybe baby trapping? To get her suspicions off and focus on something else, effectively trapping her forever?

I hope you consider taking on my request, it's ok if you don't 😊

Thank you 💗, love your fics 😊😁

This is amazing! I have been wanting to do something with omegaveres so this is just perfect. Thank you so much for coming to me!

I will get to it soon as I can, it might take a little bit because I'm working on quite the few stories (like 6 at once, I need help 😅 lol) but I promise you'll love it. I'm so glad and grateful that you like my stories, hearing that makes keeps me motivated, I needed that.

[crash-and-cure]

Hi 👋 I love your yandere elvis fics! I know this request may sound weird but I was wondering if you could maybe do a yandere austin!elvis x reader fic where Elvis is an omega pretending to be an alpha and the reader is an alpha that often gets mistaken for an omega because of how tender-hearted she is until she gets passionate about something and then her alpha nature comes out.

Maybe they meet in Vegas either in the hotel where she is a guest or she works there? Or maybe in Memphis at Lisa Marie's Preschool? Or in Beale Street?

I don't know it's up to you if you decide to take up the request. I'd really love to read it if you decide to take up this request 😊

Thank you for your time, once again I love your fics 💗

Gonna be completely honest here, I was initially gonna reject this one because I couldn't really imagine where this one could potentially go especially since you were asking for yandere!Elvis... but then you sent me that follow up ask with your ideas and I totally see the vision now. The idea of putting the blame on reader for claiming him and using that as a tool of keeping her hostage to some extent is definitely interesting.

SO as of right now not a hard yes, I want to think about it more. If you want to request it out to someone else feel free to. I want to think about it some more before I agree to it 100%.