#Elvis one shot

[be-my-ally]

A Little More Action Please

woah it's been a while. I won't pretend this is anything more than simple smutty fic - it's not the same universe, but not dissimilar to my suspicious minds one-shots - stand alone p without plot one-shots.

Here's a 1969-70 Elvis fic about the opening night parties for Nancy Sinatra's shows - either occasion can be imagined here but I've placed it within the '69 party. OC reader - 'you' x Elvis in an established relationship.

warnings: afab reader x elvis, p in v sex, fingering, slightly cringy arguments.

wc: 4103

I've used my last taglist from the last fic I posted, but since that was literally months (a year???) ago it may be way outdated now! - I deleted any that seemed to be deactivated - idk how much I'll be posting but if you desperately want to be tagged whenever I upload lmk.

Las Vegas 1969 

Elvis’ been stressed lately. It didn’t come out at you, so much as it seemed to just come out all the damn time, and it was made worse by the fact he wouldn’t share what it was that was so displeasing him; hurried talks with his father and the Colonel that didn’t ever seem to be shared. He’d had a lot on his plate, the rehearsals for his own show, the last minute concerns about how his serious film would be received.  Yet despite the rough edge to him he’d been more like how you remember him being described before you knew him - self-confident and assured. He was worried about how the film or show would be received - sure, but not how he would be. Totally unlike the nerves that have been festering in the background of the past few years.  Even though tonight has literally nothing to do with him he’s somehow made it feel like a celebration; a culmination of the week, of the month, of the reintroduction of Elvis at his most confident. His own performances have been a glorious success, those first few audiences lapping up the palpable relief in the atmosphere, a giddying sort of joy found in everyone - and most of all, him.

You watch him working the room, effortlessly it seems, and you wonder how he does it; he’s so good at it, naturally too - there’s nothing false or forced about it. He laughs just the right amount, even when it’s clear the joke isn’t funny, knows exactly when to interject, when to move on. It spins your head watching him and you’re envious of his ease. It’s not as easy for you - it’s still a fairly new environment; you’d barely been out of Tennessee before this month and with it comes all the nerves and anxiety of the first time. It reminds you of the first time you’d been invited into Graceland, being so very unsure of what to do - what the protocol was, and yet thrust in - excitement fluttering in your stomach dancing with the nerves. The last few nights had been fun, he’d barely left your side and it had all felt so romantic, so exciting, as he took you to the other shows, showing you Vegas, showing you off to what felt like the whole world. 

You glance over at him again across the room, where his palm still rests on her back, her delicate laughter echoing across to you. She looks like a fairy in white, bright blonde hair dazzling in the light. His thumb moves on her back, and you can feel it as if he’s touched you himself. You blink, considering the situation. Perhaps you can blame the alcohol, you don’t normally drink this much. Maybe there’s no need to blame anything. Maybe it’s just understandable that with your boyfriend ignoring you you’d take the opportunity to talk to interesting people without him hovering over you. Yet as you loudly laugh again at her father, drink spilling out of your champagne flute, you feel the slightest tendril of guilt take hold around your chest. 

Elvis turns, as if sensing you, with that look of mild distaste that you’ve grown accustomed to making your stomach twist even though it’s not normally aimed at you. Eyes narrowing even as the smile remains on his face. Your giggles subside, and you regretfully remove your hand from where it was daintily resting on Frank’s elbow. You act as if you didn’t notice or feel his glare, smoothing the soft cling of your dress down and politely excusing yourself. 

The bathroom, as always at these kinds of events, is not the place of solitude you would like it to be, girls patting their already poreless pale faces with more pale powder, and gossiping to one another, lips sticky from touch-ups pressing kisses onto coupe glasses. Yet, eventually, they file out and with a pointed look and nod from you, and a tiny bit of cash, the bathroom attendant follows - shutting the door behind herself. You lock the door. 

You look at yourself in the mirror, heavy makeup under strangely bright lights for a powder room making you look like a child that had stolen their mother’s make-up. It was all far, far more than you’d usually apply. Your fingers grip the edge of the sink as you tremble, biting your lip - desperate not to cry and ruin it more than the sweat already has. You don’t even know why you’re so stressed - nothing had been said, you’d not made a fool of yourself but it was like all the days and nights out of your comfort zone were catching up at once as you stood there. 

“Get a grip,” You sing-whisper to yourself, “he won’t invite you next time, if you don’t get a goddamn grip,” as you lazily splash cold water onto your wrists. Wondering if you pretended to be nonchalant for long enough that you might actually become it. The doorknob rattles and you pause, still as a statue - like the prey of a predator, as though the intruder could see you through the door unless you stood still enough. 

You breathe a sigh of relief when it stops before an insistent knock takes it place. You stay silent, hoping they’d just go away. It wasn’t like there wasn’t another bathroom option just down the hallway.  That fails and after another aggressive knock your voice shakes when you shout back that you’ll be right out. 

“It’s me.” You feel your eyebrows rise in surprise at him coming to find you, had you really been that long? You struggle to think if he’s ever come to find you if you separated away from the main crowd at a gathering. 

“I’ll - I’ll be out in a second.” 

“Just let me in - quick, ‘fore someone sees.” The last half of the sentence is muffled, as if Elvis has placed his face to the door, keen not to be overheard. The panic his whisper inspires was enough for you to unthinkingly throw open the door, even though a rational part of your brain was telling you there was no need to stress, and wondering what the issue would be with someone seeing him waiting in a hallway. He saunters in as if he was never worried anyway, peering around like he was curious to see the inside.

“What’re you doin’ all holed up in here?” He frowns, looking at you like you were a child who’d wandered off.  You laugh, attempting to mimic her delicate way - like something bouncing off glass, but it falls flat and you internally flinch.  

“Noth-nothing, I was just, it was just a bit overwhelming s’all. I needed a break for a minute. I was just on my way out again.” You feel the redness creeping up your chest to your cheeks; you don’t even really understand why you’re so embarrassed but you are. He shakes his head, clicking his tongue, and it annoys you enough that somehow you become brave enough to stutter out the rest of your thoughts, “I don’t much like you lookin’ at me like that though.” 

He shuts the door behind him, locking it again, “What’dya mean?” He says in a tone that means he knows exactly what you mean, “I’ve not been in here, why would I be lookin’ at you like anything?” 

“You know what you’re doing.” He has the same face that you were just describing, a kind of patronising bemusement. “You’re looking at me, and making me feel like I’ve done something wrong when I haven’t.” You repeat yourself when he doesn’t respond,”I haven’t!” He hums ignoring you, and steps forward to examine his own face in the mirror. He shakes out his collar, straightening it back against his neck. “Elvis, I’m serious! You’re not, you’re not being nice - it’s not fair to make me feel like I’m in the wrong!” He sighs, turning to look at you rather than at your reflections, tugging you towards him with a grip on your wrist. He looks down at the counter while his thumb strokes your pulse-point like a little boy scuffing his shoe across the floor. 

“Y’were laughing.”  You feel like laughing now, it’s all so predictable - that’s what he was glaring about?

“Elvis, that’s…that’s ridiculous. I thought you were way past this - this weird hang up you have with him.” He scoffs, 

“What?” You hope he acts better than this in his new film, “I don’t care who! But, jus’, you never laugh with me at the moment.” You roll your eyes at his very obvious lie, 

“Oh my lord Elvis, he’s… he’s very charming - you know that! But he’s, he’s, I don’t know,  fifty or something!” He pulls you in closer, 

“Y’sayin’ you don’t like old men baby? Forgettin’ how old I am?” Elvis rubs both of his hands up your arms, making you sink into the sensation even as you internally laugh at his predictability. 

“You’re barely thirty Elvis. Don’t be silly.” 

“ ‘m thirty-four baby.” You roll your eyes, used to his over exaggeration of his age. 

“Exactly.” 

“Well, yeah, but you’re just a young lil thing ain’t ya?” His fingers crawled up your arms, to tickle under your chin, “Just a little bitty baby. Lil’ bitty baby girl.” 

You can feel yourself melting into the baby talk, exactly as he intended it, can sense the unlikely but underlying apology. But, he’s riled you up enough that you don’t want to just accept it. You tut, shaking your head away from his hand. 

“Well sure, but so’s Nancy. You weren’t wasting time ‘catching up’ with her were you?” He’s stunned for a second, blinking at you, and if you were going to back-track, now is your last chance. 

“Now hold on a moment,” He shakes his head, tone hardening, “It is her party, baby. I gotta be pol-” 

“I mean, the whole time you’re there with Nancy - I’m there with Frank, being polite. It’s a double standard El!” He leans back, 

“No, no, no, because she invite-“ 

“You oughta be thanking me! Keeping him distracted from having to watch you sniffing around her! And God, fuckin’ Tina too! and who knows who else!” He steps back, dropping your arms completely. 

“You gonna talk to me like that?” 

“If the goddamn shoe fits Elvis.” 

“I’m just doin’ what I gotta do, and you have no right,” He’s talking through gritted teeth, hissing it at you, “No fuckin’ right to tell me what I can or can’t do. I knew you couldn’t handle it - knew this would all be too much for you out here. But you insisted! You promised you’d come out here and behave for me.” He shakes his head, “I swear - I’ll fuckin’ send you back home to Memphis,” You roll your eyes and he jabs a finger at you, “I swear to god you needta stop being so, so - fucking naive.” He’s really getting going now, “I swear, you’re just -” You cut him off before he can say anything else, muttering, 

“Yeah well - maybe I want to go.” 

“If you’re gonna talk like that to me, you can at least be brave ‘nough to make sure I can hear you -“

“I said! Maybe it ain’t a threat if I wanna go.” He sucks a breath through his teeth,  “Maybe I’m sick and tired of you gettin’ all the fucking fun” He flinches - hates it when you swear, “Tired of watching you gettin’ to fool around and now I want my turn? You ever consider that?” You think about stopping for a brief second, sensing his quiet wasn’t because he was calming down, but now that you’re having it out you really can’t help wanting to push that tiny bit further now. “Maybe I was flirting with Frank fucking Sinatra. Maybe! Maybe I was doing it to make someone else jealous - you ever consider that El?” He opens his mouth and you speed up talking, the rest of the words tumbling out of your mouth at record speed before he can interrupt you, “That maybe that wasn’t even you. Maybe there was someone other than you lookin’ at me.” 

You jump as his fist makes contact with the countertop. You manage to gain enough control of yourself despite your jackhammering heartbeat to watch impassively as his fingers rapidly begin to swell up from the dense tile. “Now look what you’ve done.”

“Goddamn, look what I’ve done?” He’s roaring at you, and you wince at the finger jabbing into your chest. “You- you stand there, humiliatin’ me, lookin’ like that and I swear to god above baby, I’ll kill whoever was lookin’ at you I swear to god, we go out there and you point ‘em out to me, and I’ll fuckin’ kill them.” You don’t point out the irony that he had dressed you for this evening, he’s rubbing his swelling fingers as seems to lose steam “And, and - I’ll, I swear -  you thinkin’ about leavin’ me?” You think about keeping it up a little longer, and really you know you should be considering it more seriously, but you also don’t want to leave him. 

“No.” He nods, self-satisfied, fingers still caressing his bruised knuckles. He takes a breath in. 

“See - exactly. You’re just tryin’ get a rise outta me. ‘S not nice. That’s not - nice girls don’t do that baby, they don’t do that.” You hum, 

“Maybe I’m not nice.” He snorts, 

“Nah, you’re not bad jus’, jus’ all riled up,” He turns you with a grip on your upper arm to be leaning against the counter, pushing you to the edge until you get the message and hop up onto it. His hands knead your legs, and the metal of the bands around his fingers brushes you, his sleeve tickling the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. “Getting me all riled up, s’not nice.” He huffs it as he leans into you, gripping the back of your neck to pull your lips onto his. It’s intense and hungry, and you can’t remember the last time you felt desperation like this, craving more of him. Your hands come up to finger into his hair, clutching at the slippery-soft strands as he takes total and absolute control of the kiss, of your mind and body. Your head falls back when he pulls away, breathless. 

He’s grinning at you when he leans back - that smug little smile on his face that makes you want to storm off or smack him, but instead you give in to your other urge. Gripping the pointy edge of his collar in one hand, your other comes up to clutch at him, freshly trimmed sideburns tickling your palm.

 He lets you kiss him, pressing kisses onto his chin, his cheek, his lips. You can’t seem to get close enough to satisfy yourself, and your legs wrap around his waist, the skirt of your dress rising up. Elvis’ fingers press into your thighs as he holds you down onto the counter, and you squirm as the heat builds. He huffs a little laugh even as he leads the kiss again, biting down on the edge of too hard on your bottom lip. You slide back with the force of it until you’re leaning, head against the mirror, and he leans against you while he unbuttons his jacket - roughly throwing it open as much as possible, and you try to lean forward, to shove it down his arms - get it off now. But you’re distracted by the way it pulls his already unbuttoned shirt lower down, and by him moving to rapidly finger open another several buttons, his chest unveiling itself. He’s tan and lean, and you can’t do anything but stare for a second. There’s a thin layer of hair leading lower and you find your hands moving of their own accord. They explore his chest and you feel it move with each inhale and exhale of breath he takes, feel how his intake stutters for a second when you twist his nipple. 

Your hands get in the way of him taking anything off further, and he has to shove you off of him to hastily unbuckle his belt and untuck his silky shirt. He doesn’t bother to take it off - leaving it hanging off of him. Elvis leans back, bitten lips slightly puffy, lipstick smudged across his cheeks and you can’t imagine what your own face looks like or how he’ll go back to the party, but most of the red seems to smear across your own skin as he brings his head back down to your chest, sucking a bruise that you already know your thin halter dress, that’s currently been so carelessly pushed to one side, won’t cover. 

Elvis’ hands roam over you, long fingers of one hand gripping your neck to hold you steady, the other shifting to brush against your skin until his fingertips are dancing over your breast. He sinks down further, light kisses pressing onto you - past his own hand to your lower sternum, before leaning back for a moment.  You gasp as he suddenly tugs you to be barely balanced on the edge of the counter, his hands holding you up as much as they hold you down. Your own hands have to fly back to support yourself to be upright enough to watch him, resting on your elbows. He bends down and you can’t help the whine coming from your mouth at his fingertips inching closer to your inner thigh, how he shoves your dress even further up and out of the way. Elvis moves lower, crouching further down until he’s eye level with your spread legs. 

“Gotta be quiet, honey,” He mutters it against your thigh, his breath tickling as he mouths at your sensitive skin there, “Keep quiet baby, you can do it, that’s it, that’s right -” You can feel him grinning at you, at the way your leg twitches and your attempts at stifling the noises coming out of your mouth, 

“That -oh fuck, Jesus - that tickles - god Elvis,” He shakes his head, knocking against your knees, 

“Gotta watch that mouth, honey, … haveta wash it out if you keep that up.” You can feel him grinning against you and you groan, swearing again, “The mouth on you baby,” You roll your eyes at the irony considering where his was currently nibbling at the crease of your inner thigh, cheek against the lace of your underwear. He leans back for a brief second and you find the words to respond, 

“The mouth - El - the mouth on me?” He chuckles, and he moves forward, head disappearing between your thighs and you tense as you anticipate his lips, his tongue, his breath, anything, on you. You tremble, relaxing and tensing again in quick succession, hips moving at the damp feeling of his hot breath against the fabric, waiting for him to touch. But it never comes. “Elvis!” He moves his hand further up to nestle in the fold of your hip as he stands himself upright again. 

“Don’t have time for that, honey, not right now, gotta - we gotta get a move on,” You nod, resigned, about to stand up yourself, “Where d’ya think you’re going?” You blink, a little dazed and confused - heart pounding. 

“Y-you said we hadta -”

“I can’t go out there like this,” He gestures down at himself, his shirt undone, belt unbuckled, and his trousers straining to hold the bulk of him.  He makes it sound so obvious, and then delicately, like a tease, “But we can’t stay here all night -“ You shake your head, playing along;

“So - So, what should we do?” Elvis doesn’t respond with words, but he moves closer again, spreading your legs further apart to accommodate the bulk of him between them. 

Finally, finally, his fingers slip up to the apex of your thighs. He presses against the damp fabric of your underwear, pressing the sticky lace against you, there’s a slight irritation as it catches on your hair and you squirm at the sensation. At the feeling of the slide and the stickiness. 

“Fuck baby, you’re… fuck, s’that what…thats what he’s done to you?” You shake your head, even as his eyes twinkle at you, 

“No, no, it’s, god - it’s you El, Elvis, it’s - I’ve never felt like this for anyone else.” 

“That right, huh,” He’s slimmer than one, or two years ago, and it’s weird that you can feel the difference in his fingers, but he’s sure of himself oh so sure of himself as he uses a single finger to stroke down the centre of your labia.  He presses his finger against your folds, his thumb rapidly moving higher up and your hips jerk with it, grounding circles though you can’t move far with his grip on your thigh and you whine as he shoves your underwear to the side, undoubtedly stretching them beyond repair and slides his pointer and middle finger in to you, bending them just so.

He pulls away and you pant, but at last he’s unbuttoning his trousers, the last button holding his body from yours, and there’s nothing delicate about it anymore as Elvis slams into you. Your eyes close in anticipation as you expect to bump your head on the mirror, the force of him pushing you to slip across the smooth tile of the counter, but his hands pull you back to him, rocking you back and forth onto him. You’re embarrassingly close, and a swipe of his fingers, along with a slight change of angle is enough to make you shudder satisfactorily if not overwhelmingly. 

He’s evidently close too as he jack-hammers into you, and your hands, now knowing you don’t need to support yourself, clutch at his shoulders, watching the dim lighting bounce across his glistening bronzed chest and face - mouth open as he finishes. He stays curled over you for a moment as he catches his breath. 

Elvis pulls away, grabbing the hand towel from the side and wiping himself off. He does it so matter of factly that it’s almost humiliating, making your tummy flip. 

He rinses his hands, shaking them out before buttoning and buckling himself back up. 

“Yer being foolish out there. Makin’ a scene.”  He gathers himself further, slicking his hand with a little running water and pushing back his edges. Other than his bitten lips and hint of red high on his cheekbones he looks astonishingly put together again but you’re still in a daze on the counter, your legs spread next to him, panties aside. He looks over at you. 

“I’m goin’ back out.” You nod shakily, 

“I’ll, I’ll be out in a minute.” 

Elvis’ face hardens, lips pressed tightly together again. He shakes his head, “You’re going to bed.” You’re outraged, legs slamming shut as you sit upright. 

“Well yes sir,” you salute sarcastically, “You can’t just declare that I have to do something and I have to jump to d -” He smirks, eyebrow raising and you can feel the heat rising again up your face in annoyance at his patronising expression, “I’m not a child - you can’t send me to my room like a child Elvis.” You make it a statement as if that will stop him from debating it further. His whole facial expression changes, clearly no longer finding your dissidence amusing. 

“I fuckin’ can. You ain’t goin’ back out there lookin’ like that - so you can either go to bed, or you can go straighta the airport.” He roughly pulls you off the counter, turning you to stare in the mirror and you have to take in the image of yourself, bruises bitten onto the skin above your neckline, skirt hitched and thighs marked, your eyeliner running, lipstick smeared. 

“I’ll..I’ll go to bed.” He nods satisfied, slapping your ass, 

“That’s fuckin’ right.” He pulls you into his arms, “I’ll be up soon, you just hang tight till then right?” You nod back at him, and he takes a handkerchief from his pocket, dabbing at your cheeks. “Just, just gotta - there. Try not to be seen?” You nod in agreement again, having seen yourself you had no interest in a photo being taken of your current state even if you dread him going back out there alone, the inevitable photos of him laughing, looking at someone else. 

taglist: @lookingforrainbows @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen  @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny, @doll-elvis @18lkpeters @prompted-wordsmith @richardslady121 @meetmeatyourworst @marriedtopresley @elvisabutler @eliseinmemphis @literally-just-elvis-fics @livelaughlove-talia @angelborn1 @amydarcimarie @peskybedtime @shakerattlescroll @i-r-i-n-a-a @saintomie @missmaywemeetagain @ooihcnoiwlerh @from-memphis-with-love @dkayfixates

[youaintnothinbuta]

Lunch with his family — Elvis Presley x reader

Summary: Elvis invites you to his house for lunch because his family is having lots of their friends and family over.

Pairing: Elvis or Austin!Elvis x fem!reader

Word count: 586

Warnings: none!! Fluff, cute lil one shot

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across your bedroom as you finished tidying up. Just as you were about to head downstairs, the jingle of your telephone broke the quiet stillness of the house. Rushing to answer it, you recognised Elvis' voice on the other end.

“Hey, honey, you free today?” Elvis' smooth drawl filled the line. You couldn't help but smile. “Why, do you want me to be?” You teased, a playful tone in your voice.

“I'll pick you up in half an hour,” he declared, his words making your heart skip a beat. “Mama's having a big lunch in the yard, the whole family's coming round,” he continued.

With a flutter of excitement, you agreed, hanging up the phone and hurrying to get ready. Before you knew it, there was a knock on your front door. Straightening your skirt and smoothing down your hair, you rushed to answer it, greeted by the sight of Elvis' handsome smile.

Arriving at his Audubon drive house, you were enveloped by the tantalizing aroma of his mama’s home-cooked recipes and the sound of laughter carrying through from the backyard. Elvis' mama greeted you, bustling around, fussing over you with a motherly warmth. Elvis took you through to the table in the garden, where everyone soon got settled to begin eating. His mama couldn’t contain her curiosity about the date Elvis took you on. She bombarded you with questions about where he took you, what you ate, was he gentlemanly, and whether you enjoyed yourself.

Elvis, ever protective, stepped in, gently chiding his mama for overwhelming me with questions. “Mama, ease up a bit, you're making her nervous,” he said with a chuckle, shooting you an apologetic smile.

“It’s okay, Elvis.” You assured him, cheekily taking the bite of tomato fritter off his fork.

“Thank you so much for lunch, Mrs. Presley,” You said, after finishing off your plate, turning to Elvis’s mama with a warm smile.

She waved off your thanks with a gentle smile. “Oh, honey, no need to thank me. You know you’re welcome here any time,” she said kindly, her eyes twinkling with warmth.

Before you could respond, she turned to Elvis with a mischievous glint in her eye. “I made a chocolate mousse for you and your sweetheart to share for a little dessert if you wanted,” she said, her voice tinged with playful teasing.

Elvis stood next to you, his hand soothingly rubbing your back, he could tell you needed a bit of alone time away from all the excitement of all the guests over.

“Thank you, Mama,” he said with a charming smile, coming up with an excuse. “We might go sit inside the house and eat. It’s getting a bit warm out.”

With his arm around your shoulder, you made your way inside the house, leaving behind the chatter and laughter of the outdoor gathering. Once you were settled on the couch, Elvis retrieved the chocolate mousse from the fridge, along with two spoons.

As you indulged in the creamy dessert, the rich chocolate melting on your tongues, Elvis wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close.

Between mouthfuls, Elvis spoke softly, his voice filled with tenderness. “So, for our next date, should I surprise you, or do you want to tell me where to take you?”

You smiled, “Surprise me.”

With a grin, Elvis squeezed your hand gently, his eyes sparkling. “You won’t be disappointed,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving yours.

[therealslimshakespeare]

Gigi -the unbaked thots:

• Bath •

Summary: I’ve had so many requests for this universe (including a bath time which this includes) and I appreciate all of y’all’s patience. I find this universe the hardest to write for and create entire scenes and fics out of so in order to keep it from dying out I intend to loosen up a little and start throwing out headcanons for y’all to enjoy in the meantime, you can watch for them with this header above. For now enjoy a trash bit of nastiness I wrote in under an hour in the middle of the night last night -kudos to the minxs @eliseinmemphis and @stylespresleyhearted

Warnings: Explicit! 18+ Bath sexy times, grinding, fingering, praying during sex, age gap, slight degradation, voluntarily drinking bath water containing cum. Yup.

Era: September 1977

Well here they are. On the dreaded tour.

But for now -there are bubbles. So many bubbles. And the heavy rumble of the bath’s jets and the golden glow of the dimmed bathroom lights in the hotel suite and the slippery bulk of Elvis as he grumbles beneath Gigi while she writhes amidst the foam of his rinsed shampoo.

“Sloppiest lil rider I ever-“ his face is shining in a heated glow, he is awash in pink cheeked arousal and Gigi persists, wearing herself out for his little gasps and the twitches of an eyebrow here and there. Bouncing adamantly atop his thick thighs in the swirling water and trying her avid best to slip his fat length inside her. She’s been trying since day one and every time it’s

-“not yet, Gigi, not yet, s’posed to be special and you’re special baby girl, not somethin’ to rush with someone special like you, see, I uh, i-i-it’s special-“

Gigi thinks having his rock solid cock inside her would be special enough.

“ ‘member the other night,

daddy?” She asks him in a huff, winded from the exertion as she pins his throbbing length against himself and grinds her clit against the hairs on his rounded belly, full of desperation born of youthful overexubernace, “remember how -how - when you were teasing me -and you pressed against my little hole?”

Elvis lets out a long groan in reply, slapping his hands against the sides of the tub in sexual frustration, causing his rings to clank and his bracelets to jangle against the porcelain. He can feel himself swell even more, the ache in his balls nearly unbearable at the proximity to snug tightness that he’s been denying himself for a myriad of reasons that are making less and less sense now, the more Gigi’s glossy wet tits slap his face silly.

“Oooh, oh I feel you-“ she gasps, as that redundant piece of meat between his thighs gives a hearty little twitch at the memory of her tiny hole and it’s fluttering need.

“You son of a bitch,” Elvis hisses to his traitorous little friend who’s acting very stalwart in his determination to find nothing but a tight cunt sufficient stimulation for release -it was easier back when little Elvis was a limp and useless dong: “this is the one time i’m asking you not to work. C’mon, don’t fail me now I-I- hell… O-o-our father. Who art in heaven-“

Gigi buries her face into the steamy crease where his cheeks meet his throat and licks at the salt there that not even the bath can remove. His hands fly to grip her hips and he yanks her up and down, grinding harshly against her raw little center as her breasts smash against his broad chest.

He regularly complained to the boys about her voraciousness and got no sympathy, not even when they saw it for themselves with the way he could barely get his seat in the limo, have his water handed to him and a towel before she was taking off his belt, unzipping his jumpsuit and inevitably giving lil Elvis some strong mouth suction. The boys had gotten used to ignoring him dumping a load down this little girl’s throat in the blurry blaze of street lamp lit nights and cranking up the radio to hide her moans every jet flight. Nothing about it was fitting and it wasn’t even to his tastes -so Elvis insisted- but it was real nice to be so wanted, even if the voraciousness of it was all a little alarming and out of hand.

Yet, God knows Elvis wanted Gigi badly. It half scared him sometimes and the rest of the time it kept him alive.

As did Lisa in an entirely different way and between the two girls tearing up his sedate plans for self mortification and permanent hermitage, Elvis found some zest for life returning to his soul as August became September and tabloids went from calling Gigi “the new girl” to calling her his whore and the colonel went from not answering his phone to leaving a perpetual red light on the message box and it went from kisses and snuggles in his Graceland bed to frantic grinding like this after every show that had her caterwauling in his arms begging to be torn open by his cock and him grunting like a bear in heat as he spurted against her belly and smashed the button for the tub jets to stop.

Wouldn’t do to circulate superstar spunk in a Cincinnati hotel jacuzzi.

“Mmm, that feel good daddy?” her sweet voice asks as the singing angels dim and the sense of time and space and his spent cock bring him back into consciousness.

“Uhuh. Feels real good.” he admitted sheepishly and felt her plump lips pressing to his bashful grin.

He returns it, pouring his love into her with the cradling of her head in his hands and the flick of his tongue against hers and the languid massaging of lips.

Gigi swirls the milky strands of his spend in the bath water between them, giggly and invigorated. She gets this way after climaxing and Elvis can only blearily smile and indulge the way she drags him around and makes him stand and get out of the tub, how she pats him down with towels like he’s a boy child and chitters to him about backstage gossip, praises for his performance of the night and Tammy’s latest tips for making Jerry’s life a living orgasmic hell. All while pressing kisses to every single part of his body as she goes along.

She’s found goosey places on Elvis that he didn’t even know existed.

Gigi is drying his shoulders when she sees the last remnants of the tub water cycloning in a swirl towards the drain, precious pearly strings cavorting like ribbons in the eddy.

Her conversational chatter ceases abruptly with a regretful -“oh no!“

She drops the sodden towel.

He watches her kneel, crouched and bent and glorious in a soft line of naked beauty from the back. Thought his maidenly idyl is shattered as she faces away from him and in what seems to be an impulsive moment of adoration, Gigi leans over the tub, hard porcelain lip digging into her sternum as she ducks her head and dips her mouth to the tepid bathwater.

He can hear her slurping.

Her graceful bracing in position and the greedy working of her throat suggest competency at this vile practice that makes his stomach lurch and spent cock swell thickly against his thigh. Without autonomy he hears himself grunt appreciatively.

“Fuuuuck me.” he drawls in disbelief, shuffling closer to watch the whole of it, the working of her sweet mouth sucking up his diluted seman and the arch of her back showcasing pink little pussy lips glistening from the back.

It’s sick and he’s terribly in love.

“That’s my good baby girl,” he finds himself praising this heinous degradation, hand coming to rest on the dip of her lower back, “not lettin’ m’lil contrition go to waste.”

It makes her strain to get as deep in the tub as she can, legs taut and face red from the blood rushing downwards to her cheeks as she chases gravity against the flow of the drain, his hand heavy and encouraging as it palms her ass, the pinch of his rings and the grunting, savage, male appreciation for her wantonness making her squeeze her thighs together in hopeless dissatisfaction.

A sting jolts her as his hand collides in an approving slap across her plush backside. The desire to make him proud eggs her on and she crawls further over the ledge, hair dragging in the drain.

Elvis’ hand once groping her butt moves until he’s peeling her apart and sliding in the long lengths of his middle and ring finger into her tight heat, meanly stabbing inside her as she’s bent double, tonguing at the drain for the last of his essence.

“You done this before.” Elvis’ voice is low, without a shred of questioning.

“Yes.” she moans, rosy cheek pressed to the wet floor of the now empty tub. “I always do this when you leave some left over, daddy.”

Elvis watches his fingers sink into pink plushness again and again, rings acting like stoppers at each culmination, spearing her until Gigi is sobbing and spasming over the tub edge, mouth wide open screaming for him with a tongue white from his spend, as broken as he is over the need to fuck her.

Sore and puffy, he assumes he’s learned her a lesson.

Standing her back up tenderly with all gentlemanly grace, Elvis wipes at her slimy cheek with his hands, pleased to find her smile as irrepressible as ever, the only thing on this godforsaken tour that hasn’t disappointed him yet.

“When is soon?” she whines into his kisses as he presses against her, bath quite redundant with the way he has her pinned between the door and his weeping cock, freshly spluttering his devotion against her bare pubic mound like he’s twenty years younger and fit to be such a minx’s lover.

“What?” He questions, murmuring in happy confusion.

“You said you’d make love to me soon.” she insists like a child reminding their senile parent of promises for ice cream after a trip to the dentist. “When is soon?”

Elvis grins through his grunt as he slides against her puffy clit, effortless from her slick and close to coming from images of her drinking his bath- “Soon, little baby,” he pronounces with all the gravity of a wiseman and the authority of a deadly opponent who his hand engulfing her fragile jaw, “-means soon.”

🏷🏷🏷🏷🏷🏷🏷🏷

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[marinas-drafts]

Road Head

A Sarge & lil Mama scene

Summary: Elaine plays the loving spouse, the avid groupie, the shy novice -all in the time it takes to please her husband while pondering exactly what her life has become in the Amphetamine blur of their third nation-wide tour.

Warnings: 18+ rough oral sex (m. receiving) drug mentions, mentions of drinking, angst, role play of a sort (pretending the wife isn’t his wife), some obvious marital dissatisfaction, some disassociation, slight degradation and cum on the face -I swear this isn’t fully miserable but please proceed with caution, this is rather universe a-typical with its smut, not much tender loving care except faintly at the end, if you get my drift

Fully Co-Authored with @elvisabutler in a single, angst-fueled evening

Masterlist

Date: 1974, somewhere on Tour

It was right about now that Elaine realized she’d succeeded in reinventing herself just a little too well.

It was the look of recognition or lack of recognition that led her to that realization. The man above her was Elvis Presley but the woman where she knelt was not Elaine Presley. She wasn’t even Laney or Tink, she was just another girl on her knees looking up between overdone eyelashes and perfectly coiffed hair at the man with hips and lips to kill for. She felt shame then, at that realization, but odder still was the relief that flooded next. Here was no standard of behavior to reach, no image to match up to, no history weighing her down, there was only the heat then and now the musky smell of his stage sweat and the unrelenting grip of his hand on the back of her neck, keeping the rhythm he wanted without a second thought to what might suit her.

How was he to know?

She was a stranger, and strangers haven’t got tastes that men like Elvis Presley would deign to cater to. Moreover even if they did, even if men like Elvis Presley did deign to cater to them, it would be at the expense of doing something for him. It would be at the expense of catering to a whim or a mythical fancy that his drug-addled mind had dreamed up.

No, this was better, Elaine can become the lips he wants stretched across his cock. Elaine can- Elaine can play the virgin who doesn’t know how to take an uncut cock between her perfectly done lipstick. Elaine can play the experienced road girl who hasn’t ever had an uncut cock but oh Elvis, I can do it, I’ll make you feel good. Elaine can be everything but little Elaine Presley who wants to nuzzle at the patch of hair at the base of his cock like she had when they were first married.

Elaine would like to think that the little Mrs. Presley of days gone by wouldn’t recognize this tour hardened woman with spit and precum coating her throat and chest in a glistening film, messy in a deplorable, filthy, back alley sort of way that only the basest of masculine desires could appreciate -but she knows she would. Always so eager to keep his eye on her even back then, anything for Elvis, anything at all. Anything to keep the man who was so obsessed with her that he pushed her against her father’s door and asked her to marry him. Promised to give her everything she ever wanted. Anything to keep the man who she thought she lost forever after she lost Jo, the man she’d thought she’d won back with Marie.

But do ya love me, Elvis? Me?

This is what that little Mrs. Presley had led her to: a life of pleasing and chasing after a man who’s supposed to just be hers. It’s as pathetic as some of the papers would make it seem and yet it’s not. It’s worse because this wasn’t how everything was supposed to go. She should be happy and round with another baby. She should be riding him in the bus and reminding everyone to get out so she can enjoy her husband, with him laughing at how ‘y’all heard Laney’.

Instead her knees are on the floor and her tongue plays with the slit of his cock as her hand plays with his balls lazily inhaling every bit of his sweat soaked musk as she can. Taking comfort in the burning gag of him pushing too deep too fast, perking up at every “fuck yeah” he groans, contenting herself with making that left leg of his shimmy -it’s still him, slight belly paunching above her, and at least it’s still her and her stupidly hopeful heart when he hisses fast and frantic,

“I’m gonna, I’m gonna-“ tapping her cheek hurriedly because she knows this routine well enough to not be so foolish as to keep him in her mouth for this, her willingness to swallow yet again wasted on a man of such peculiar tastes.

Instead she makes sure her eyes are smiling along with her mouth, not too stiff and not too knowing, just the right sorta cheerful blankness he can tug the last bit of his pleasure to before coating her hair like a teenaged boy.

The first few times there was a twitch to her eye as the warmth of his release started to slide down to her forehead. The sensation making her gag more than his cock ever had but now this has become an old hat, a parlor trick she could show off.

See? This is how you keep a man like Elvis Presley.

You let him come in your hair after you sucked him within an inch of his life and you let him maybe take care of you, talk like one of the boys and mention how your beaver needs attention. Or maybe it’s just how she keeps him, pretending she isn’t his wife who wants more kids and who asks for them only to be brushed off. Pretending she isn’t his wife who hurls an insult or five at him when the champagne courses through her.

Of course, it’s got its comedic side, every tragedy does, and it fuels her grin as she waits patiently on her knees for his eyes to focus and his voice to rasp the inevitable, “c’mon let’s get ya up honey, let’s take care of that widdle pussy”. Because the joke is only a wife of nearly two decades would know which uppers he took based off of the time it took for him to blast off. No backstage girl could make a mental note that it was the New York doctor’s blend if he didn’t last longer than ten, and the Californian’s if they were creeping up nearer to forty. Her jaw aches tonight. Valuable as this information is she wishes idly as his cum stings her eye that she could somehow apply it to his general health. His boners seem to be doing fine, and it comforts her ego, but it’s his heart she frets over more and more each day.

She’s gotten wonderfully good at that -fretting. Elaine does it at all hours of the day and night, can multitask with another endeavor and keep at it like a champ. There’s a couple hundred photos of her on this tour smiling her best wifely smile and all the while her mind is awhirl with worry. She assures Elvis it annoys her even worse that it annoys him, this worrying she does. When she’s tipsier than she would like to admit she sometimes lets out a sneered “someone has to.”

Because even while she’s on her knees she worries for Daisy, worries her daughter is making a life similar to this Amphetamine blur she herself lives in, somewhere on the rock n’ roll Highway but not with a man who’s promised her what Elvis has promised Elaine. Her daughter would probably scoff at Elvis’ promises. Most of their children might by now and she wishes that kept him up at night alongside her.

Maybe that’s why the pills are necessary after all.

It’s only after the uppers start to wear off and her champagne runs her down that she’s curled beside him, hair and face devoid of his release and as clean as the day she was born that he seems to remember who she is. He seems to remember who she is and whispers against her hair. “Ya a‘right, Tink?”

To his credit he asks, he always asks and the answer should be easy, she should say she doesn’t know. She should say the truth that sits on the top of her tongue but she’s his wife and she wants him to be happy. “I’m alright, Naughty.”

Maybe if they say it enough, maybe if she believes it enough she can make it true. Until then the lies will do.

Hope y’all enjoyed! Your “bugging” and “screaming” is music to my ears, fuel to my fire and keeps me writing, please never hold back -this is a safe space for feral little Elvis loving rodents…like you and me.

If you’d like to be tagged in this particular series please drop a note below. I’ll admit I’m disorganized and have trouble keeping all the requests sorted when they’re scattered, what I do check regularly are the requests in the notes for chapters -and I do manage to get those added. So, if you’ve put in a request and I’ve failed ya, or if you’re new and would like to be added, please pop a note below. Xoxo 💋

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[asshlyyyy]

Christmas

Fic Warnings: Mentions of possible miscarriage. Pregnancy, swearing I'm pretty sure...? If not, disregard this warning. Mentions of being sick, being sick, vomiting. There may be spelling and grammatical errors. Author's note at the end. Please let me know if I missed any warnings! Thank you!

Note: This could be read as a stand alone or as a part two to Thanksgiving!

Masterlist | Previous Part

You walked up to the front door and turned the handle opening up the door. You two never really bothered to lock the door since you were behind the gates. You only really locked it at night. You placed your car keys off to the side, away from Elvis’ cause lord knows he doesn’t know which key belongs to which car. You closed the door behind you and started to take off your coat. 

“Mama!” Your son’s voice filled your ears.

“Hi my sweet son,” You smiled and hung the coat up. You walked over to him and picked him up from the floor, Elvis was just sitting a few feet away from you. 

You had just come back from your doctor’s appointment to check on the baby. Elvis wanted to come with, but someone had to watch Theodore. You also couldn’t bring him because he doesn’t do the best in new places.

“How’d it go?” Elvis asked as he got up and made his way over to you. 

“It went well, he just told me to be careful.” You responded with a smile as you looked up at him. 

“So nothing bad?” He questioned as he placed his arm around you. You let out a hum and shook your head. 

“No, he just thinks it might be stress because of the holidays.” You responded as you kissed your son's head, holding him close to your chest. 

“Okay,” Elvis nodded and kissed the side of your head, offering to take your purse. Which you happily gave him. You sat down on the couch and just held your son close. You looked down at your belly and frowned lightly. 

For how far along you were, you were growing big. With Theo, you carried him small, but it looks like this baby wants more room. You knew that with each pregnancy you were bound to grow weight, it’s natural. Not only because of the baby but also because of how our body works. You were good at keeping control of it. 

“What are we doing for Christmas?” You asked as you looked over towards Elvis who was picking up the toys off the ground. 

“I think we were going to host again?” Elvis looked at you with a questioning expression. 

“We can, we would just have to go to the store. We just don't have ham or anything.” You explained to him as you rubbed Theo’s back gently.

“I can send someone out. The stores are probably crazy right now.” You nodded lightly at his response. Your heart felt… sad. It felt empty almost.

“Can you put him down for his nap?” You asked as you looked at the sleepy boy on your chest. 

“Yeah of course,” Elvis said as he took Theodore out of your arms. You mumbled a thank you and watched as he walked away. Elvis knew something was wrong the moment you walked inside. He just didn’t know how much truth you told him. 

You lay down on the couch and pulled the blanket down onto your body. You cuddled into the blanket and reached for the book that was on the coffee table. It was one of your sons, but it was a story either way. It was the story of How the Grinch Stole Christmas. Did it give your son a light scare at first? Yes, but once he learned that the Grinch doesn’t come unless you are extra bad, he was okay. 

You actually had a lot of Dr. Suess books. In fact, you got Theodore the two that came out this year for his present. How you opted to do Christmas was that Santa gave the essentials, the ‘boring’ stuff some may call. He may give a toy here and there, but the fun stuff comes from the parents. You didn’t want him to see you guys as boring. To some kids, books may be a boring gift, but he loves to look at the pictures. He was still too young to read, but he liked to point at everything and ask, wha?

You heard Elvis as he began to walk down the stairs. His shoes hit rough against the carpeted stairs. Which bothered you to no extent. You wanted to keep a clean house. He would then argue that it was the maid’s job to vacuum and clean the floors. Some nonsense really.

“He’s all put down and- you’re reading one of his books?” Elvis questioned as he placed the white baby monitor down on the coffee table.

“It was the only thing nearby,” you replied simply. However, just on the opposite end near the lamp sat a copy of the holy bible. Maybe you were just in your feels and didn’t want a hard book to read. Nonetheless, something was wrong.

“All right, tell me what happened,” Elvis spoke as he appeared back into the living room. You tore your eyes away from the book and looked over at him. 

“I told you what happened.” You said, returning your gaze back to the book. Not really wanting to have this conversation. 

“And I know that there is more than what you told me.” Elvis came to the couch. He moved your legs out of the way and quickly sat down, resting your legs on his lap. You let out a sigh and looked over at him. You closed the book and laid it down in your lap.

“He said if I’m not careful I can lose the baby,” you spoke softly. You didn’t even wanna say those words out loud. It would just make it feel more real, and you felt your eyes start to water up. 

“Hey hey,” Elvis’ tone softened. “What? Why would he say that?”

“You know how I went because of a pain? That I felt… really sick.” You brought up as you wiped away your slight tears before things got too crazy.

“Yeah,” he nodded.

“He says it isn’t normal to be really sick during pregnancy. Sure morning sickness is normal but… with the sickness and overworking myself. He basically bedridden me.” You explained to him, humming to the feeling of Elvis rubbing his hand up and down your leg. 

“We’ll get through this together okay?” He tried to reassure you, but you both knew deep down the Colonel would pull him away to film some random movie. The two of you repositioned yourselves and your back laid against his chest. His hand rested on your small bump and rubbed slight circles against it.

You played the rest of the day safe. Once your son woke up from his nap you played some games with him before one of the maids started dinner. You felt bad keeping them from their family, but you sent most of them home already. Only two decided to stay and you were thankful. 

Everyone was tucked away in bed before you knew it. Of course not until after you left out milk and cookies for Santa, which Elvis was gonna have to eat and drink later. Along with putting the carrots back in the fridge. He also had you write Santa a little note. Asking for some last-minute items, even though you told him it was too late. Theo argued his case and won.

Christmas Day came sooner than you expected. Well, three in the morning kind of soon. You sat on the floor near the toilet. Everything you had eaten at dinner down the drain of the toilet. It wasn’t just morning sickness anymore. This baby was just… taking everything out of you. So, you sat there until you were able to push yourself up.

Elvis was still sound asleep. He had these moments where he would be either a heavy sleeper or a really light sleeper. Today was one of those heavy nights. You rinsed your mouth out with some water and popped a mint before heading back to bed. You didn’t expect him to wake up every single time. Someone needed rest to watch after Theodore, and Elvis was just more capable of that.

Despite not being able to do much, you knew damn well that you were going to dress up for the holidays. So, as you walked down the grand white staircase, you heard laughter and voices coming from the living room. You steadied yourself on the railing and put on your bravest smile. 

Truth be told, you woke up and just didn’t want to move. And this is after the hour you had awake between three and four. Maybe you shouldn’t have ever moved since your doctor bedridden you. To say the least, you were grateful for your maids was an understatement. They would be the ones cooking and cleaning until this baby comes. Without them, you didn’t know how your baby would survive, not off of Elvis’ cooking that’s for damn sure.

You reached the bottom of the stairs and heard your baby boy’s voice announcing your arrival. “Mama!” He squealed in happiness. He got up on his feet and made his way over to you.

“Hi my sweet boy,” you said and reached down picking him up. You pressed multiple kisses on his cheek and made your way into the living room. “Look how beautiful you look, Y/n,” your mother complimented you.

“Thank you, mama,” you said with a smile. Though, you doubted you even looked that beautiful. No amount of makeup or pretty dresses will hide the fact that you weren’t feeling well.

Elvis got up from his place on the couch and offered you his seat, which you gladly accepted. “So honey, is there a reason you’re not cooking today?” Your mother questioned.

“Oh, I’m just not feeling that well today, so Janice is holding down the kitchen,” you said with a small smile.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that dear,” your mother responded. You replied with a smile node and reached over for Elvis’s hand. 

“I believe we were gonna open up presents before dinner, right darlin’?” Elvis looked over at you, seeing if that was still the schedule.

“Yes,” you nodded. “With everything planned out after dinner, Theo should fall asleep at his normal time.” You further explained looking over at your family. 

“What about your father, Elvis? Isn’t he joining us?” Your mother asked with her sweet-toned southern accent. 

“Unfortunately not, that b-“ Elvis quickly coughed to cover up what he almost accidentally said. “That wife of his has him over at their place celebrating. I think she’s still mad about Thanksgiving.” 

“Ah, I’m sorry to hear that son,” your father said. Elvis smiled softly at him as a way to express gratitude. 

“Shall we exchange gifts then? I know Theo must be dying to rip them open,” she let out a chuckle. Everyone joined in with her. You tickled Theo’s stomach and watched as he erupted in a fit of giggles. 

“Let’s have him pick?” Elvis suggested, though it sounded like he was asking for permission. He wanted to be careful with what he said, he didn’t want to cause you any stress. 

“Of course,” you responded and placed Theo down on the floor. At first, Theo just sat down, but with some encouragement from his family. He made his way over to the tree. 

You had to arrange some things around, but you placed the tree where the grand white piano is. You, more like you had Elvis, move the piano back so that you could fit the tree. You always thought it looked nicest there. 

Theo looked around trying to figure out what to grab first. Should he go for something big or something small? You just thought he was lost and confused about what to do. He was only two after all. Elvis kneeled down and placed his hand on your son’s back.

“How about we check the stockings? See if Santa filled them with some candy and toys,” your fiancé encouraged the young boy. Theo nodded excitedly at the sound of Santa, toys, and candy. 

You watched your boys make their way over to the fireplace and Elvis pulled down the stocking. He wanted it to Theo and you watched as he started to pull things out one by one. You hummed softly and leaned back, and nuzzled into the blanket that was thrown around you. 

Gifts took… an awfully long time. It was just, that every time Theo opened something he had to play with it right away. It would take anywhere from a minute, to five to get him to open up another present. Not to mention the tears he would shed because he couldn’t play with his toy. It was… a very emotional roller coaster.  

“I actually have one more gift to give,” your father spoke up as he stood up. “I think you’ll be very happy with it.” He looked at you as he said it. You looked at him confused and pulled yourself away from Elvis’ shoulder. 

“I found it the other day when I was cleaning out the attic,” your father explained as he pulled up a box that was hidden from your eyesight. 

“What is it?” You questioned as he placed the box in your hands. 

“Open it and you’ll see.” You rolled your eyes playfully at him and opened the box. You froze when you saw the old ragged, yet somehow in perfect condition, stuffed bunny staring up at you.

You lifted the bunny carefully and continued to stare at it. “Is this Miffy?” You asked as you looked over at your father. 

“It is, I thought… maybe you could pass her down to your baby once they are born.” You smiled softly at his answer and nodded. 

You got Miffy when you were a young girl. You would wear your pretty dresses and run around the yard. She slept by your side every night. Then she became a decoration on your dresser, and then soon she was placed in the attic. You never thought you would see her again, let alone in such great condition.

“I cleaned and fixed her up,” your mother spoke to you. 

“Thank you, this… this means a lot to me.” You started to tear up. You and your goddamn pregnancy emotions. You were quick to wipe your eyes and soon picked up your boy from the ground. 

The fear of losing your baby just kept coming back to you. You didn’t mean to think about it, but… seeing Miffy, and your dad suggesting giving her to your baby once they’re born. It brought that fear that if you are not careful enough, they’ll die. 

You held Theodore close and excused yourself from your family. You pulled on your coat and boots and walked outside. “Mama, oday?” Theodore looked at you worried as he snuggled closer under your coat. 

“Yes, mama is okay.” You replied softly and kissed the top of his head. 

Don’t stress over this.

The more stress, the more likely you’ll have a miscarriage.

Happy thoughts, Y/n, happy thoughts.

“Hey baby, everything okay?” You heard your mother’s voice. You turned your head and spotted her behind her fluffy coat. 

“Yeah, just got a bit emotional, is all,” you gave her a sad smile.

“May I offer some advice?” She asked gently. You nodded slowly and looked at her, your hand rubbing your son’s back. 

“You’re gonna face rough pregnancies every so often. At the end of the day, when you are holding your baby close to your chest… that is when it all matters. It may seem rough, and like your life is over, but at the end of the tunnel is God’s greatest gift. A newborn baby.” She spoke as she looked at you, never for a second leaving your eyes. 

“Do you think he sees us as sinners?” You asked with a sad expression. You may have not been heavily influenced by God, but he played a role in your life. Just as he did with your fiancé. 

“Just because you two aren’t married? Perhaps, but he knows that you two are down that road of getting married. He knows Elvis has a crazy schedule. I believe he made an exception just for you two.”

“How do you always know what to say?” You questioned. 

“I’m your mother, I’m supposed to.” She smiled and pulled you into a hug, being careful of the toddler against your chest. You leaned into her hug, not being able to properly hug back.

“Thank you.”

The three of you went back inside and waited for dinner to happen. The maids made a beautiful and tasteful dinner. The main course being the Ham. You didn’t understand the reasoning behind holiday meats. Thanksgiving was always served with Turkey, maybe a ham, but Christmas was served with ham. 

Your plate was full to the brim, hopefully, you’ll be able to keep it all down. You hardly had much to eat during the day. A bowl of oatmeal and fresh-cut fruit in the morning, and then dinner now. After everyone finished up their plate, everyone slowly but surely left. Your parents, your brother… Vernon made sure to stop by to drop off presents and say hi. 

Other than that, the maids cleaned up, you got Theo in the bath. Then you got him all ready to go to bed, with the help of Elvis. You then got in the bath yourself, figuring that would be the best way to destress. Before you knew it, you were in your pajamas and getting in bed.

You hummed softly as you pulled back the bed covers. You weren’t one to lie and say that the silk covers kept you warm during these cold months. Nonetheless, it made Elvis happy, and if Elvis was happy; you were happy. But- there was no way in hell you were gonna suffer while pregnant during the winter.

“Elvis,” you called out to him as you got into bed, slipping your legs under the covers.

“Yeah, darlin’?~~” You hum at his voice. You don’t know how, but he just sounded more southern at night. Maybe it was because he was getting sleepy. His voice was getting more raspy, the whole nine yards.

“We’re switching covers tomorrow.” You stated, not bothering to ask. You wanted your fleece sheets, not freezing silk.

“Hold on now-“ he came in from the bathroom, a toothbrush loosely hanging from his mouth. “What’s wrong with these?”

“Cold,” you answered simply, “and the baby doesn’t want to be cold. Mama doesn’t want to be cold.” You gave him that look. It was that very same look that said a million unspoken words. 

Elvis had a lot of say what got done in his house. Despite it being considered as both of yours. At the end of the day, it was Elvis’ name on the deed. He was the one to purchase it. He was the one who got to design and plan out the rooms. Then of course your son got a say in what went on in his bedroom. Despite the mess, he would make every single day. All you were asking was for a simple change of the sheets. 

“Fine fine,” he muttered under his breath as he returned to the bathroom. You choose to ignore it just this once. 

Does the bedroom bother you? Yes, it absolutely does. Compared to the rest of the house, it was dark and moody. It almost screamed vampire. You were more than happy with the blackout curtains, but you wanted it to look more lively. To match the rest of the house. Then again, you think it would kill Elvis if you put any sense of color in his bedroom. 

You reached over to your side table and picked up the book you were reading earlier. Joy in the Morning by Betty Smith. While Elvis was more into books that related closely to the lord, you were more of a romance fan. You liked your little romance novels because deep down you wanted your romance to be like them. 

That isn’t to say that the relationship you have sucks. You have your rough moments just like every other couple. In these stories though… it feels as if nothing ever goes wrong for them. That is what you wanted. A perfect life, a perfect relationship, a perfect… everything. Yet every night before you two signed off, you would read together a verse in the bible. One chosen at random. 

You would open the book, and go through the pages, stop at one random, run your finger along the page, and stop it at random. You two liked to take it as… a reading. Thought most of the time the verses don’t lead you on a path of anything. They are more or less… well, they are verses. Not fortune tellings, but you two still liked to take them as such.

The bathroom soon became dark and Elvis emerged from the doorframe. He made his way over to the bed and slid in next to you. Well, more like got in… then scooted over to you. He pressed a kiss to your head and pulled you into his warm embrace. You let out a light giggle and made sure to quickly save your space in the book. 

“You know, I haven’t given you your gift yet.” He spoke softly. You hummed softly and turned your head upwards to look at him.

“You’re giving me a baby, Elvis.” You spoke gently as you brought your hand up to his jaw. 

“I can give you one of those any time. This is a special gift.”

“And what does it have that the other special gifts don’t?” You raised your eyebrow. 

“I-,” Elvis didn’t know how to respond. He generally just needed the excuse of Christmas to give you more gifts. “God told me to.”

“Did he now? And what did he tell you to get me?” You played along with his statement.

“Well, that’s for you to find out,” he pulled out a neatly wrapped long box. You could already guess that it was some type of jewelry because of the box. Not a ring or earrings, could be a bracelet, necklace, or even a watch. The possibilities were endless. 

You took it out of his hands and ran your palm against it. “Let’s see if God chose correctly then.” You pulled the wrapped paper off and revealed a black velvet box. The words of a jewelry company posted on top. You opened it and saw a beautiful gold necklace with an oval, and an E engraved on it. 

You opened the necklace and smiled at the pictures already in them. A picture of you and Elvis, a picture of Theodore, and two more spaces to be filled. You looked over at Elvis and started to tear up. “Elvis,” you whispered. 

“Once our baby gets born we can add their picture… then we can do a family picture as well.”

“It’s perfect, I love it.” You threw your arms around him and pressed multiple kisses on his face. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he rubbed your back gently. “Merry Christmas, my darlin’,” He pressed a kiss to your forehead and held his hand on your bump.

It may have started off as a rough day, but the ending was most worth it. Much like other things. The beginning may suck, but if you truck through to the end you will be rewarded. 

“I love you,” you whispered against his lips as you kissed him.

“I love you, and I love our baby.”

“I love them too,” you smiled alongside with him. Just think, next year you’ll have two kids for Christmas. It may be chaotic, but you were ready for this chapter. 

Special Taglist: @darlinboypresley @austinstyles

Author's note: I started writing this after the first part went up. But it took me all the day till the 19th to finish. I am not completely a hundred percent happy with this, but I think I want to turn this into a holiday fic. I don't think there will be one for New Years. I can see an Easter one happening, a 4th of July one, Halloween, loop back around I might do Veteran's day instead of Thanksgiving for next year. Then ending it again with Christmas. Of course the newborn being there.

In the original fic, the reader actually suffered a miscarriage, and I wasn't completely sure if I wanted to copy that over. So, I placed the idea in this fic, it does not mean it will happen, but it leaves the doors open for that possibility, though I kind of just said what would happen.

Next fic will be posted on Christmas Day. I hope to have it done much quicker then I did this fic. I hope everyone is having a wonderful holidays!

[aconflagrationofmyown]

but then…Gigi

An Elvis fanfic -chapter 3

Notes: finally a little update! There’s more coming up behind it I just needed to break it up a bit. Thank y’all for all the asks and the continued enthusiasm! Hope y’all enjoy! 💗

18+ content, sexual content, age gap and poor self esteem, parental neglect

Chapter Three

It’s stuffy inside the Stutz, humid air trapped inside it and in the garage; even Elvis Presley’s garage smells like mildew on this oppressive, stormy summer day. Her perspiration gluing her bare legs to his leather seats, Gigi tries in vain to pace her gasping breaths in the thick air.

Raising a jittery hand from its place balled in a fist on her thigh, she touches her lips in an effort either to relive or soothe the memory -she doesn’t know.

Elvis had kissed her.

Acting on her dare, he had kissed her. And it was no solitary peck or showy tongue plunge, it was a kiss so wanting and yearning and adoring as to make her feel it in her toes. Even now they were still tingling and her blood was roaring in her ears and if she wasn’t so overwhelmed with sensation and emotion, she might have found it in herself to touch herself to some completion just to make this pounding want for him moderate itself before the man himself appeared. Each passing second tore her between fretting over the unpleasant scenes that must be occurring inside the house and unadulterated glee over the thought of him finally helping himself to a portion of her.

She liked him a little selfish. It made her feel wanted, and it was a woozy, drippy, woolen headed feeling to be wanted by a real, red blooded man. Gigi hadn’t much experience with that, with the barrel chested, raspy voiced, brandy tempered men in their 40’s. Like a shot of whiskey after so many fruit drinks, his seasoned appraisals were flattering and dizzying all at once.

Her pulse roars and her thighs smack against each other with each shift against leather and helplessly Gigi closes her eyes and relives the feeling of his hands buried in her hair, cradling her face, thumbs anchored at her jaw, bending her to his kisses as his weight crushes her to the floor.

He’d been so large, so sturdy, so sure, ungiving yet plush all in the right mix. And she had felt him hanging low and prodding. The memory zaps her right where she had felt him thick and firm in his soft track bottoms and with a gasp tumbling from bitten lips she sneaks a hand beneath the hem of his jacket and into her sodden panties. As the time wears on she has some strange presentment that he’ll have lost the mood they were in and it’s out of a sort of despair that she chafes her slippery little hood in a quick bid for relief. She thinks about those thighs of his, sturdy and toned and furred as she’d seen them when in his swim shorts, she thinks about rubbing herself raw on them.

Her feet make a squeaking noise where they’re propped up against the glove box, her legs trembling from the sparks, widening as the feeling mounts. A quick squeak of friction and she catches herself and sucks on her lip, repositions those long legs to a sturdier stance and speeds up her hand in her knickers as the sweat pours down her neck, wets the back of her hair where it drapes down her back and his seats. Suffocated she yanks the zipper away from her neck, undoing the jacket down the glistening hollow of her navel. She flaps the edges to get a breeze.

Almost there, almost there.

What Elvis had not anticipated to find waiting for him in his Stutz after a predictably miserable finale with Ginger and Co. was the leggy beauty of his deepest, darkest, most far fetched daydreams fingering herself with unabashed gusto in the passenger seat.

Childlike in her concentration, with eyes closed and legs splayed so wide the entire windshield was like a projector for the damn show happening beneath a tiny nylon scrap, Gigi all bowed up under his unzipped jacket like a bowstring, teetering towards a damn good crescendo by the looks of her vibrating legs.

It was obscene.

Made more so by those fat titties of hers barely covered by his unzipped jacket, glistening with every heaving breath. All in stark constant to that angelic face. It was infuriating.

Something akin to jealousy animated Elvis enough to send him stumbling down the remaining step to land his bejeweled hands heavily enough on the car’s door frame to cause a clatter and frighten the daylights outta his lil nymphomaniac.

He’s not sure who’s blushing worse when those blue eyes fly open and she gasps,

“Elvis.”

in acknowledgement of his presence while doing nothing to remove the offending hand from between her legs. He had been able to hear the sopping wet mess between them and it takes him aback a little, this tangible proof of her carnal interest. He’d been doing a damned good job with Ginger, settling in for the quiet life of reading and tennis, no heady first encounters and only his stupid bouts of yearning causing him to commission stupidly erotic tokens of bygone potency like that welded belt with his name on it. A burdensome gift for an unwilling recipient.

Guess he’s gonna have to run by the jeweler and cancel that trinket, Ginger hasn’t any use for it now. But this, this is better than any of that. This is old fashioned and nasty, this way of Gigi’s cunt makin’ a sound like stirring Macaroni and Cheese between her legs. It’s both flattering and terrifying and his blood rushes to meet the challenge just as it had when he first found a woman lying in wait for him in his car after the hayride in ‘56. She’d had a husband, that lady, and a wet snatch that had dripped down to her very calves watching him put on a show. Elvis had put his whole fist up there and got fondled real nice for it before ending up with a busted face.

It’s been awhile since anyone laid in wait for him.

Finding such raw need for him oughta make him smile. Instead he finds it makes him pause, hand on the door handle. He didn’t think she was this sort.

“Lord forgive ya, you enjoyin’ yourself lil girl?” he mumbles with an edge to his tone as Gigi just sits there and shakes, teetering on the edge and not even ashamed, although her hand has stilled. He hates it, for one fierce second he’s irreparably cross with this virginal little harpy for having deceived him, for being so randy when he’d been so sure she needed protection and guidance.

He’s sick of being wrong about women, sick to death of it.

“Yessir, I am -was.” she whispers back to him, eyes wide and guileless, “I’m so glad you’re here.” she says with such obvious relief in her breathy voice and faith in his good intentions to satisfy her that he’s reminded suddenly what a baby she is, like a punch to the gut and kick to the conscience. He’s still leaning on the doorframe when she takes her hand outta those panties and he wants to be relieved until she stretches it towards him with all the pleading grace of a damsel in great distress, “I need you real bad.” she explains plaintively and all that well entrenched nonsense about how ladies oughta behave themselves when in public spaces like garages or pools, suddenly gets a little murky in Elvis’ head. Sorta floaty and fuzzy when met with the sticky, perfect, nectarine sweet smell of her want for him glistening on the tips of her fingers.

“The hell are ya, the serpent himself?” he grumbles even as he wrenches open the car door and heaves himself in alongside her, his belly wedged behind the wheel in a regretfully inelegant bulge. “Get that fuckin’ temptation outta my face, we’ve buisness to discuss. We ain’t primates, we’re adults and we’ll dee-s-cuss the various matters at hand like adults.”

Elvis slaps her hand away from his nose as he says this and Gigi clutches it to her chest as if his sharp words had scorched the soft flesh of it. He tries to ignore the way the whole car smells of thunderstorm trapped pussy musk. The way her eyes are brimming with tears over his refusal to suck the sticky strings of her horniness off her digits. And the way he feels so pressed to keep things sedate between them initially, simply because he knows “adults” is a kind word for them both.

He’s a dirty old man with what he wants and will eventually get around to doing with this fawnish young thing if she lets him. And holy lord!

- ‘Adults’-

it ain’t a lie in respect to her, they’re both adults, but it’s rather reaffirming of how shoddy that excuse is when he has to say it a million times to comfort himself and this over excitable girl who has her legs wide open and her thighs shiny from fingering herself to the memory of a make out session.

God, what he could do with such sensitivity…

“Alright, listen here, lil one-” He makes an effort to clear his throat and in a bid to make her eyes stop watering with unshed tears from his tone, Elvis tries to lighten the mood by aiming a little slap at the offending place between her still splayed legs.

It has a slightly more stimulating effect than he anticipated.

Gigi’s eyes fly wide in cerulean disks of joy at the ringing pain of his rings smacking against her petals, right before her body goes rigid and his hand gets trapped between two spasming thighs as an unmistakable little peak rips it’s way through her, taking its sweet time to zap her and compress her lungs. The sight is heavenly and it gives him a little prelude of what it would be like to make her lose her mind.

His irritation fades away at the sight of her trusting pleasure and the melted look of loneliness that flashes across her face as she endures it with ample room between them on the seats, no embrace to catch the slumping after effects. He’s a cruel man and his hand defends himself by rubbing at her soothingly, asking for forgiveness with fumbling swipes of the pads of his fingers along her inner thigh. His hand is drenched when he yanks it out and grabs at a knee, hauling her over across the bench seat, scraping her thighs over sticky leather, nearer to him.

She looks like she needs a hug after what he just did to her.

What had he done? Fucked if he knows, he had pussy slapped her…err, ok he made out with her on his floor…no, he led her on before that but it was all in good fun…he’d held her in the pool…no law against that…he’d made her a burger as any hopeless romanti-

-as any good host would do.

He takes out his confusion on the hapless gear shift, tucking this suggestively foldable girl into his side and reaching round her shoulders to yank at the jewel studded stick, desperate to get outta this garage before someone witnesses him losing his mind in there.

He gets the gear shift tacky from her traces on his hand. He should've guessed that, strings of slick connecting them still even as she calms down from the feel of him against her in the seat, just as he suspected, hoped, needed. No words as the car revs out and into the drive, just her little moans still bubbling up as the car moves and her legs jostle her.

“Baby, tuck yourself down beside me,” he pleads, “don’t want no one to see your precious self.”

Gigi wastes no time in getting offended over his secrecy. Instead she somehow folds further, head nearly between her legs and face smushed into the crease where his belly meets his thigh. It’s not what he meant, it’s not what he wanted. The bottom of the steering wheel is liable to knock her little nose with each spin. And his fat gut is folded against her forehead.

It’s not what he’d wanted.

But today seems to be going that sorta way. The screwed up, make a fool outta his hopes sorta day.

He still manages to be polite to his boy in the gate shack and it’s gratifying that there are a few folks outside the gate, loitering mostly but they animate when he drives out, happy and waving and caring whether he lives or dies or never drives outta there again. Gratifying, it’s real gratifying. He protectively lays his hand on Gigi’s head to keep her low, to keep her steady in her curled up position as the voices of his fans rise outside the automobile and the car spins out into the boulevard with enough force to send a frailer girl straight to the floor boards.

Instead Gigi just clutches at his leg and throws a tanned leg out to catch herself against the console, takes the turn like a champ and stays down as he asked. Her hand warms him like some forbidden shit coursing lava-like through his veins, pounding in that artery under her palm, there beneath his squishy inner thigh, so close to where he can feel himself getting heavy -if not hard- right there in the baggy tracksuit. He thinks he must be dreaming, that it’s just an action of readjustment, but no.

No.

God it can’t be, no but, he could swear she was nuzzling that crease of his. The one that used to be lean and cut during his army days, chiseled and contoured in the movies and always at least a little defined even as a boy but now -now it’s a soft roll of flesh dropping onto bulky thighs and she’s -

Fuck. She’s definitely nuzzling it.

Gigi’s head is foggy and fuzzy with the old terror of having messed up somehow and somewhere and not knowing what it was. It makes her pulse race and her eyes burn in that old crybaby way until she thinks she can’t take it anymore and just might pass out like an overwrought little maiden -until she feels him tuck her into the security of his warm side, until she hears his pleading command to hunker down, until his hand cradles her head as he presses her lower into the bulk of his soft belly: and then she is warm and safe.

Fuzzy and foggy then in a way only her silliest daydreams have ever promised her. The ones where she’s loved and permitted to be a little too soft for it all. One where her forehead is pressed against warm flesh beneath a tracksuit, her lips puckered out to feel the material glide against them, straining for the feel of his wiry curls beneath. She feels compelled to cradle herself in every nook and cleft of him, her arms winding around him as he takes a turn and her hand anchoring to his thigh, her cheek atop it. Her nose buried in that scrumptious fold of his that is as burnin’ hot and sticky to her senses as a Tupelo hothouse in august.

It makes her moan, a hot and puffy gust of appreciation, her thighs still smashed together. She could cry this time from gratitude at how close he is to her, how commanding the weight of his hand is on her head. She’d happily let him push her face into his crotch in payment for having messed up all his arrangements today. She’s never given a blowjob before, not properly at least, and maybe he’d be a little angry about it but she thinks she could take it. She wouldn’t like him angry but as long as she was near him and he was down her throat and gripping her jaw and pulling her hair -well, he’d have to touch her to do all that and she wanted that. She needed that. That would be ok. It would be kinda hot. She just needed him to stay close. Forever.

She’d never felt so safe as she did now, tucked under his arm with his hand spanning her whole skull and likely driving straight to a speedy deflowering. Nothing about that gave her pause. She was sure she could love him to some sort of compromise -one involving her being his pet and he her daddy for ever and a day. It was simple really. So simple it felt like it had already begun and that silly adult conversation he needed to have with her had been worked out and now they were off into the sunset.

Gigi feels a wash of contentment at this. Simple really, she thinks again to herself and acts on it as she feels him suck in his stomach in response to her nosing at his fold. It had made the hem of his jacket gape and she takes full advantage of that by discreetly sticking her whole face up in that musky little tent and peppering his soft belly with heartfelt smooches. His belly is still wet, maybe from his shower after the pool.

Kiss, kiss, just a little peppering of pecks.

She licks her lips. It’s salty. She pecks at him again. This time open mouthed. Definitely salty.

Kiss kiss kiss. Just little kisses. Little thank you’s.

Each one saying “we’re gonna be so happy.” It was simple really. They could make each other happy. Isn’t that how kids form their friendships? You make me laugh, you share your toys, you like my food. Let’s love each other.

Kiss kiss kiss.

The brakes squeal and the wheel bonks her head and maybe she wasn’t being as subtle as she intended with her affections but those were all minor distractions. They were gonna be happy together.

“Sweet merciful baby Jesus on the cross—“ she hears Elvis saying above her instead, muffled by his jacket and a few pounds of prime memphian beefcake.

“What is it?” she asks, yanking her head out from under his jacket to get some perspective on why they’ve stopped, all she can see is at endearing little extra bit of fleshy padding under his chin and the curve of his lips and maybe beyond that there appears to be an awning outside the window, like at a gas station. They must be low on fuel.

“What is it?” he mimics with a lifted eyebrow and a silly expression that just enhances his adorable double chin, a goofy little move she recognizes from his movies but likes it better from this vantage point. “The “it” is you, lil girl, as usual,” he laughs in disbelief, “and the “what” is that you’re gonna give this ole man a heart attack goin on like that while he’s navigatin’ a public roadway. Ain’t safe, ain’t sensible.”

“Oh, sorry ‘bout that.” she says and it’s so honest and accepting he melts right away at it. That and the fact she’s still laying down all shiny and golden across his lap with her hair pooling in the V of his legs and her smile lookin’ so fond at what she must consider a portly, middle-aged fussbudget.

Since when did he start soundin’ like fuckin’ Gingerbread? Whinin’ bout safety when he coulda been spurtin’ down an untried throat.

“You’re just so cuddly, Elvis, wanted to snuggle right in. Way you were drivin’ I figured I needed an airbag if things went wrong.” She explains teasingly and there goes that smile again and he’s so confused and so in love… “We low on fuel, Elvis?” she asks without missing a beat.

“Wha-?” he glances around and realizes he has peeled the car up next to a Seven Eleven’s dingy pumps. “No, I’s just tryin’ to get away from a lil snail that burrowed under my damn jacket.”

Gigi giggles at that and so he does too. Goes so far as to take his hand off the idle wheel and cup the sharp underside of her chin. He feels it again, that thrumming, electric, shocking and sedating connection all at once, everything that oughta be felt when you touch another’s soul, everything full of good intentions.

“I just wanted to kiss on ya some more.” she explains herself so very softly to him as her eyes flutter shut from his touches and her legs draw up and together unconsciously on the bench seat. “I do know givin’ road head’s illegal.” she says next with a laugh and it jars him, “And you’re a cop!” she feigns a little horror. “But since you’ve got us parked…” she trails off before opening those glittery eyes again and lifting her head just a little as she turns back on her side, intimating some intention to make good on her jokes.

Elvis would rather go to hell than face fuck so sweet an Angel, much as his leg twitches from want for it. Her face is so close, so, so close. He’d rather go to hell.

She ducks her head and her hair covers the revolting scene as he feels rather than sees Gigi nuzzle beneath his belly and press a wide open kiss to his (pretty neglected of late) ball sack, aiming at random, he thinks, from the way she just open-mouth-smooches him. His toes curl from it.

That’s all the reaction she’s gonna get from his useless body, those pills he took for the migraine this morning are gonna keep him as limp as those goddamn seaweed noodles Ginger tried to feed him in Hawaii. Just a couple of years ago he coulda easily choked this little thing to death with his firm meat but now she’s gonna find out he can’t even twitch when he’s this sedated. Ballsack smmotching and pussy slaps, regardless.

He’d rather go to hell.

“Don’t be crass, lil girl, that sorta act ain’t becomin’ on you.” he says it as gently as he can, in a fatherly way if he thinks about it, weaving his hand into her hair and savoring that visual ecstasy for just a moment before he pulls her head the opposite direction his body really wants, pulls her up and away from him. She’s surprised and saddened enough by the rejection that she jerks her head up faster than he’s guiding it and it bonks into the steering wheel again.

The blast of the car horn makes them both yelp.

She scrambles to sit up, doubly wounded.

There’s those tears forming again.

She’s frustrating in that way but he can’t manage to let it out on her, and that’s puzzling as only Yissa has ever elicited this amount of indulgence from him and he feels exhausted at that implication. He involuntarily shuts his eyes and he sighs and reaches over to pat her leg assuringly.

“You’re tired.” she deduces and there’s not a hint of judgment or disappointment in that voice.

“Yeah, and I gotta think.” he says, “All my thinkin’ spots are currently takin’ up by assholes.” he realizes, “And we’re gonna get caught out in the open here.”

She hums understandingly and he keeps petting that silky smooth leg, relishing how muscular those calves are, fingers itching to play with that anklet. He rubs his palm higher to get away from the dangly temptation, higher and in between her legs. He might as well give in a little. He rubs over the wet crotch of her panties and she sighs happily, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. Same position he’s in, mirroring him, as he keeps his eyes closed and rubs. He spreads his index and middle finger, catches those outer lips and traps them together, rubs her that way with her wet petals gliding together and her moans go up a notch. They just breathe and he rubs, the sound of the car idling a heavy bass to her breathy percussion.

“I’m sorry everybody is taking up your space.” Gigi makes conversation while he’s at it, and somehow it just feels right to chat while he pets her.

In the dark of his closed eyelids Elvis has regained a little peace and he lets his fingers drift to her pantyline, flirting with the idea of going under the fabric. “S’alright. ‘M’used to it.” he slurs, “Where d’ya go when you gotta get away?”

Gigi hasn’t got any fans or a legion of family members but somehow he knows, just knows she’s like him and has to get away. Someone’s always got something to get away from, or least the sensitive ones do.

“I've usually got the track.” she answers

“Hmm.”

“But they don’t bother me. They might bother you.”

“Yeah, s’no to the track. Though I’d like to watch ya run sometime.”

“Really?!”

“Don’t be silly, ‘course I would.”

“I haven’t had anyone come watch me run before.”

“I doubt that, honey.”

“No! Really!”

“Bleachers cleared out whenever you’re up?”

“No! No I mean anyone I know, besides the footballers.”

“Yeah, I bet they show. That’s shitty though, baby. I’m sorry for ya.”

“It’s alright.” she is the one who says it this time, “It’ll be like nothing at all if you really come! Please, please!”

“I done said I would. I will!”

“Aww thank you!”

“Honey, I wanna.” he insists, it’s very important she understand that if her folks haven’t ever once made her feel special like that. Even if he’ll be more like the footballers, come to watch her jugs and tight lil ass bounce down the track. Unlike them though, he’ll make sure to make her know he’s proud of her. He'll reward her real good for it afterwards, too.

His fingers slip under the panty seam. Calloused fingertips swiping along bare and slimy skin, she’s pooling and her slick’s working against gravity she’s so hungry for him. But that ain’t the troubling bit.

“Lord baby, where’s your hair?” he asks her in concern, finding a perfectly bald mound the more he rummages in her drawers. “You not grown any yet?”

Gigi laughs so hard he can feel her belly sucking in with each giggle beneath his forearm. “I shave it, silly. Isn’t it nice?”

“Baby you oughta have hair.” he insists, his hand quite stalled from this development. “Just damn weird for a woman to be posin’ like a lil girl.” Maybe that’s his conscience over the age gap talkin’ but he’s really a bit flustered by it.

“I’ll grow it out for you.” she whimpers, stung again by his rejections and -he really can’t seem to stop hurting her feelings, can he?

“Ok.” he says softly, going back to rubbing her and seeing that it has the intended comforting effect on her, “I’d preee-fer that, Gigi.”

“Ok.”

“Good girl.” Her eyes open at that and if his were too he’d see how happy he just made her, telling her something he’d like, something she can give him, guiding her. It’s new and soothing and thrilling to her all at once and she whines as she starts to thrust her hips up to meet his hand, quickly getting worked up.

“Can we go to your place?” he asks her softly and realizes it's been absolute ages since he had to ask someone that. Usually he’s always got a place to take them, usually they’re inviting him to theirs right away after the initial chit chat about names and weather. That feeling of being young and normal takes over again and it’s saddening how foreign it is.

“Yeah, yeah of course, Tammy’s out too, so we’ll be alone.” Gigi explains through heaving breaths as she doesn’t stop riding his hand as best she can with her leverage disadvantage.

He wants to see her place, he wants to see those records of his that Tammy says she’s got littering her room. He wants to see what Gigi does with a space when it’s hers. He wants to devour her stupid little bald beaver on her college dorm bed.

“Alrigh’ let’s go to yours.”

Tags:

@prompted-wordsmith

@parodsal000

@ab4eva

@stylespresleyhearted

@presleyenterprise

@kendralavon7

@coolgirl462

@colahola

@lillypink

@stephthestallion

@vintageshanny

@landmermaid12

@ashtag2887

@notstefaniepresley

@butlersluvbot

@steph-speaks

@eliseinmemphis

@lookingforrainbows

@dkayfixates

@ellie-24

@memphisflash1935-1977

@marriedtopresley

@powerofelvis

@thatbanditqueen

@elvisabutler

@butlersxbirdy

@heartbrake-hotel

@fav-fanficssss

@austinbutlersbaby

@freudianslumber

@kxnnxy

@kingdomforapony

@be-my-ally

@crazymadpassionatelove

@that-hotdog

@missmaywemeetagain

@fallinlovewithurlove

@richardslady121

@lilycherries123

@18lkpeters

@xenaspace3-blog

@lil-mamas-obsessions

@father-of-2cats

@returntopresley

[aliypop]

Good Luck Charm

Word count: 461

Prompt: Elvis and Cecelia are having a quiet night winding the twins down when Jesse has another idea.

Warning: None

Taglist:

@darkmoviesquotespizza

@sissylittlefeather

@richardslady121

@thegettingbyp2

@presleyenterprise

@dkayfixates

@rjmartin11

@thetaoofzoe

@your-nanas-house

@zayurir

@60svintage

@sillybookmarks

@leapresley

@everythingelvispresley

@dreamondina94

@elvismylove04

@pocketfulofpresley

@elvispresley1956

@poeandmoonknightgirl

Memphis 1961

"Look at your little tummy wummies!" Cecelia cooed, bathing the twins as Elvis sat by Cecelia, eyes full of adoration, "You're a great mama, you know." He smiled, cleaning up spit from Jesse's mouth, "And you're a great daddy," She kissed his nose, hearing Jesse and Elaine babble, "Hey! Can't your daddy get some kisses," He chuckled as she smiled. It had only been three weeks since she had the twins, but they'd been adjusting the best they could,

"Bawbababwa!!" Elaine said, sticking her tongue out. Elvis gasped as he looked at his brown-eyed cutie of a daughter, "Baaah to you too!" Cecelia chuckled, the two going back and forth as she took her out of the tub, "Seems you two are in a heated debate, huh?"

"Naw, she said Mama should give her more milk." He teased, still washing up Jesse, "Well, Elaine, if your brother didn't have your daddy's appetite, you'd get more." She teased, walking Elaine to her nursery. She dried off the baby and powered her down,

"There we go. Now it's time for your sockie wockies." Elaine fought as she didn't want them on her feet, but the poor thing had no choice,

"Alright, now for your jammy wammys."

"AW HELL JESSE PEED ON ME!" Was all Cecelia heard. Holding back her laughter, Elvis came in as he held a twice-wet Jesse, his blue eyes looking at his own father's blue eyes with mischief,

"Well... you know what they say?"

"What's that?"

"It's a good luck charm... uh-huh-huh." She chuckled, handing Elvis a diaper and Jesse's pajamas, "Very funny honey, "He kissed her cheeks, and Cecelia blushed as she looked at him,

"Alright Jesse, be good to your daddy an put your foot in this sock."

"Wubbbaw."

"Mhmm." Elvis nodded,

"Bwabba!"

"I know!" He slid the material on his feet as he kissed his forehead, the couple then rocked them to sleep with a lullaby,

"Say, Elvis..."

"Hmm?"

"Why don't you be my little good luck charm tonight?" Cecelia looked at him,

"Ain't nothing little about this charm." He teased scooping her up in his arms. Maybe moments like this were why they called babies bundles of joy.

[codalysssssworld]

HELPP!!!

Where can I request For an Elvis One shot!!

I have a little idea and need someone that just can bring the vision to life 😭😭😭

[everythingpresley]

My Secret Ken-Doll (epilogue)

summary: Elvis has a little secret named Kennedy Jackson. Epilogue!

word count: 1.7k

Author's Note: I can't seem to stop writing about Kennedy and Elvis so I decided to write an Epilogue 🤗

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

My Secret Ken-Doll (epilogue)

5 years later 

Kennedy walked out of the kitchen to the pool, dressed in her own little two piece, she was finally back to her original figure and was enjoying being back. She sipped her cool drink and leaned against the door frame of the backdoor, watching Elvis toss the kids in the pool.

They now had a total of 4 kids, Kennedy had gotten pregnant back to back and Elvis enjoyed impregnating her for sure. Her pregnancies had gotten a tad better than her first one with Jude but it was still horrible especially the first trimester. However, she did not have to go into work while she was pregnant because she wasn’t working anymore. She was by Elvis’ side all the time. 

The littlest one who was 1, Gracie, was in the shade playing with her toys. Jude was currently on Elvis’ shoulders trying to dunk him in. Charlotte who was now 3 was splashing her dad, they were all ganging up on him. And directly after Jude was Danny, he’s currently 4 and he was getting ready to jump from the diving board. 

Elvis quickly pulled Jude off of his shoulders and threw her in the pool as she shrieked then he grabbed Charlotte as she tried to quickly swim away but he was able to pick her up and toss her in the water. 

Danny jumped in splashing all of them. 

“Hey mama! You wanna join us over here?” Elvis grinned, looking at Kennedy as she walked towards Grace in the shade. 

“If you’re gonna be rough housing then I would rather not.” Kennedy replied, plopping down in the shade.

 Elvis jumped out of the pool, but kept his eyes on the kids. They all got lessons in swimming when they were very small but it was still very dangerous. Kennedy and Elvis only let the kids be in the pool if they were with them, never alone.

“Come on, everyone out of the pool!” Elvis shouted. They all started to moan about not wanting to get out “Come on, only for 5 minutes, take a juice break or something.”

“5 minutes! I’m timing you Daddy!” Danny yelled, getting out of the pool and running towards the kitchen to grab himself a juice box while the girls wrapped themselves in their towels. 

“Dry off Daniel!” Kennedy yelled “You’re gonna slip in the kitchen!” 

“I’ll be careful.” Danny replied but as he passed Elvis on his way to the kitchen, Elvis wrapped his arms around Danny from the back and lifted him up.

“Listen to your mama and dry off.” Elvis replied grabbing a towel from the chair, he placed Danny back on his feet, wrapping the towel around his shoulders. Danny pouted and dried himself off. 

Elvis then walked to Kennedy, and leaned down, planting a kiss on Grace’s head before kissing Kennedy. Elvis pushed Kennedy back on the grass, kissing her more passionately while fully being on top of her. 

Kennedy grinned and kissed him back “I hate it when you kiss me like that in front of the kids.” She said pulling away from Elvis.

“Why?” Elvis grinned “We’re just showing them what real love looks like.” 

Kennedy shook her head at him with a smile on her face and ran her fingers through Elvis’ dripping wet hair “I hate it because I’m now thinking about you in our bed.” she whispered even though only Grace was next to them and she was too engrossed in her toys to pay attention to them, the rest of the kids were still in the kitchen.  

“Oh.” Elvis grinned “Does my wife want some lovin’?” 

Kennedy blushed slightly and nodded. 

Elvis’ grin widened even more as he leaned down and captured her lips, Kennedy could feel his bulge poking her thigh as he continued to kiss her “You want me to put one of those in you mama?” He asked her pointing at Grace.

Kennedy pushed him back jokingly “No!”

Elvis rolled off of her and laid down on his back on the grass as he burst out laughing. 

“No more.” Kennedy added.

“1 more.” Elvis pouted, giving her the biggest puppy eyes. 

Kennedy narrowed her eyes at him and sat up. Her expression softened as she watched her other three kids hurtling out of the kitchen in their little towels. She loved them with all her heart. Kennedy turned her head back towards Elvis, her expression softening “Maybe a few years from now.”

Elvis threw his fist up in the air in celebration “Yes!” 

Elvis sat up and wrapped his arm around Kennedy’s waist, dragging her into his lap. He kissed her shoulder and placed his chin on top of her shoulder “I’m just kidding. We don’t need to have more kids. Don’t get me wrong, I would love to have more but I know how tough pregnancies are for you and I know we were extremely reckless and ended up getting pregnant with 4 kids back to back which was tough for you.” Kennedy stopped taking her birth control pills due to them causing her to feel very down and depressed and Elvis was sometimes too lazy to wear a condom and sometimes didn’t pull out on time.

“It was worth it though.” Kennedy replied and leaned back against Elvis, she wouldn’t change a thing.

Elvis and Kennedy’s relationship has only gotten stronger after Jude, they were completely in love and obsessed with one another. Elvis has never looked happier, according to the Mafia, Dodger and Vernon.

4 years and 9 months ago

Kennedy was 3 months postpartum, living with Elvis as a married couple but with no ring on her finger. Elvis had wanted to propose to her a long time ago, before their break up and ever since they got back together he’s been antsy and waiting for the perfect opportunity to propose. He wanted to make a big gesture and big proposal but he slowly realized Kennedy hated big, she loved her space so he decided to propose to her in the most simplistic way.

It was when the three of them (Elvis, Kennedy and Judith) they were all relaxing in the living room, sitting on the floor and watching TV. Judith was on the carpeted ground on top of her blanket having a little tummy time when she started to get fussy. 

“Oh, it’s okay. You don’t want any more tummy time?” Elvis cooed, picking Judith up and resting her in his lap. She quieted down as she sucked on her pacifier, enamored with the colors on the TV. 

Kennedy leaned her head back and continued to watch TV.

“Oh look mama, Jude has a gift for you.” Elvis said.

Kennedy turned her head and saw an open ring box with a huge diamond ring inside sitting on Jude’s little stomach. Kennedy’s eyes shot up to Elvis’ face in confusion. 

“Will you marry me, Kenny?” Elvis whispered.

“You wanna marry me?” Kennedy asked, in shock mostly. 

“Honey, I would give anything to be able to call you my wife.” Elvis replied, getting choked up. 

“Honey.” Kennedy also started to get choked up “Of course I’ll marry you.”

Elvis grinned “Come over here and kiss me, Jude fell asleep, I don’t wanna move and wake her up.” 

Kennedy giggled and crawled over to him, capturing his lips with hers.

“Mrs. Presley.” Elvis chuckled as Kennedy started planting kisses all over Elvis’ face “Let me put that damn ring on your finger.” 

Kennedy giggled and stopped attacking Elvis with kisses. Elvis held Kennedy’s hand and slid the ring on her finger. 

“Let’s put her to bed and celebrate.” Kennedy said, wiggling her eyebrows at Elvis.

Elvis grinned and stood up, making sure not to wake Judith up.

Safe to say that was the day Danny was conceived. 

Present Day 

“Daddy! The 5 minutes are up!” Jude yelled, her, Charlotte and Danny were all standing at the edge of the pool practically bouncing on their toes to jump in, waiting for the go ahead from their Dad. 

“Come on Daddy! Stop making out with Mommy!” Danny groaned.

“Hey! We’re not making out!” Kennedy replied, she was literally only sitting on his lap. 

“You were a second ago.” Jude replied with a raised brow. 

“Oh my god, that was a Kennedy facial expression.” Elvis whispered in Kennedy’s ear. 

“Oh god, I’m passing down my horrible sass to my kids.” Kennedy whispered back. 

“It’s a good thing!” Elvis laughed.

“How?” Kennedy asked.

“No one will ever walk all over our kids.” Elvis replied and kissed Kennedy’s cheek. Kennedy smiled for a second before she gasped when Elvis stood up, she slid down his lap. He then picked her up as she shrieked.

“Elvis don’t!” Kennedy giggled and tightly wrapped her arms around Elvis’ neck. 

“Throw her in the pool!” The kids chanted.

Elvis then tossed Kennedy into the pool before they all jumped in together. 

“You are so dead Presley.” Kennedy said after she emerged from the water.

Elvis laughed and both of them turned to the kids making sure all three had their heads out of the water.

Elvis gasped watching Kennedy get out of the pool “You’re leaving? What the heck doll.” 

“I’m just getting Gracie, relax.” Kennedy chuckled.

“No! Then dad won't let us splash in the pool.” Danny pouted. 

“Hey! Your sister is joining us.” Elvis said and splashed Danny making Danny grin mischievously and splash Elvis back. 

Kennedy handed Grace to Elvis and he held her, the older kids had learned how to swim by her age and they were getting ready to put her in private swimming classes as well. 

The kids started to play a game together while Kennedy swam back in. Grace was kicking and splashing the water while giggling, still in Elvis’ arms.

Kennedy smiled softly, never pictured her life would be this perfect. 

“Why are you smiling like that baby?”Elvis asked, matching her soft smile. 

“I just love you.” Kennedy replied.

Elvis’ smile widened “I love you more baby. Now come here and give me a kiss.”

Kennedy chuckled and swam over to where he was standing and kissed him. 

Taglist: @iuv0ana @girlblogger2002 @butlersluvbot @iheqrtaustin @dramaticpandabear @godlypresley @amiets2 @felis-haxb16 @marie73ep @scarlettlight06 @whatstruthgottodowithit @sassanoe @thatbanditqueen @18lkpeters @rjmartin11 @elvispresleyisfit12 @n0vaj3an @richardslady121 @elvispresleyxoxo @xstrengthxinxtragedyx @amydarcimarie @minaxcarter @unsaidjaelinrose

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[presleyhearted]

Hello!

First of all, thank you for the amazing stories, especially yours truly! I'm a fan of your creations and looking forward to reading a new one🫶🏻

Is it okay to ask a short fic or imagine for Elvis & female reader?

Elvis and reader are in the relationship and they're planning to celebrate their 1 year anniversary soon. They both think what would be the best gifts for each other for the anniversary and they are asking their friends for help😚

There are so many gift ideas like flowers, matching jewellery, new clothes, photo albums(including photos they took when they went out for fair/amusement park idk cute ones), etc.. You can think of anything really!

Then Elvis and reader are giving gifts to each other on their anniversary day. They enjoy their gifts but most importantly they're happy being together🥺 How about this idea in a fluff, cute fics? I don't have a particular favourite era of Elvis(love all eras!) so you can choose, bestie I want your ideas💗

A Year With You.

pairing: 70s!e x female reader genre: fluff, established relationship. warnings: strong language, brief hint to sexual allusions, mentions of nightmares. An insanely happy lovey-dovey couple (aha). wc: 1.8k notes: Hi bestie! This is a long-awaited request, I apologise for that. I am too much of a perfectionist, which is not a great combination with the world of writer's block. Nonetheless, I really did want to write this. I hope that it has met your expectations!

 You consider yourself a pretty humble person, but you do pride yourself as a great gift-giver. It is always such a wondrous feeling to see the smile of glee from your friends and family, as you gift them exactly what they wanted. Even if they don’t straight up tell you what they want, or they don’t know what they want - you somehow always ace it when it comes to gift giving. Whether that be Christmas or birthdays. . . 

But now, well, you are actually stuck. The gift-giving this time round is for neither occasion, and the receiver is not family or friends. Specifically, your boyfriend. 

“My brain is empty. Nothing.” You admit, with your elbow propped up on the table of the booth as you rested your chin in your palm. 

As per usual, at least once a week, you find yourself seated across from one of your close friends - Vivian. At your usual spot for lunch, which is the local diner in your small town. You’d normally 

catch up about anything and everything going on, and the subject of conversation this time round? Seeking advice from something you normally found relatively easy. 

Vivian takes a sip from her milkshake, “Oh, I don’t think so.” 

Your furrow your eyebrows, “No, Viv, I’m serious - I can’t think of anything.” 

“Well, what about… I dunno, a really nice scarf? With his initials embroidered?” She suggests, in obvious hopes to ease your worry, but the uncertainty in her voice is far too clear. 

You give her a look. 

“What?” Vivian questions, “It is practical! and sentimental.” She shrugs, as a matter of fact. 

Bless her heart, she’s only trying to help. But you can’t find yourself agreeing with that gift idea. It is practical, but still. . . It feels so random. There has to be something else out there. 

“I can’t just give him a scarf,” You sighed as you took a bite out of the fry. 

“Why not?” 

“It feels a little random. I don’t know.” 

Vivian tilts her head and gestures dramatically at the window beside the booth, “Y/N, I hardly believe it’d be random.” As a matter of fact, the outside was blanketed by pristine white snow, as people passed by clutching tightly onto their winter attires. 

You nod, “Yes. But it doesn’t really scream ‘Happy Anniversary’!” You emphasized. 

“I want it to be practical, definitely. Yeah. But I want it to be something memorable too.” You explain, letting out a heavy sigh, as you subconsciously tap your fingers on the table. 

Vivian clicks her fingers with a smirk on her face, “Aha!” 

“What?” 

“I know just thee perfect gift.” She boasts. 

She leans over and gestures for you to lean in, as she cups her hand to whisper. 

“Winter wear is not the only thing that can keep him warm this season.” She says, a smirk prominent on her face. 

Your eyes go wide at her words, as a gasp leaves you. You feel your face grow rapidly warm, no doubt the obvious blush taking space on your cheeks. 

“Viv!” 

She calmly leaned back on her seat and shrugged casually, “What? It fits the criteria of practical and memorable.” Vivian can’t help but let out a laugh at your reaction. 

You find yourself laughing, as you shake your head, “You are terrible. Oh my goodness.” 

You manage to calm yourself down, “In all seriousness though, what in the world do I get a guy who has everything?” 

“I doubt he has everything, Y/N.” 

“Well, you know what I mean. Majority of everything ever.” 

Your lunch meet-up with Vivian comes to a close after two hours of chatting, mostly about your current predicament. Unfortunately, the lunch concluded with you still not knowing what to give him. But Vivian is quick to assure that ‘the world’s best gift giver’ won’t back down for this one. 

You hope she’s right. 

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

“Whatcha’ think of a pair of earrings?” Elvis asks, as he leans against the wall of the living room, the sound of the faint crackling of the fireplace in the background. 

“I’d say that’s a great gift, E.” Charlie replies, as he scribbles down notes beside the list of songs on the paper Elvis handed him. 

Elvis sighs and shakes his head, “I-well, I-I dunno man.” 

“Sorry to interrupt, E. We doing Johnny B. Goode?” Charlie asks, looking up at him and awaiting his answer. 

“Yeah, yeah. Add it in.” 

Charlie swiftly nods and goes back to reviewing the list, “Alright, go on.” He encourages, despite his eyes being trained on the sheet of paper on the carpeted floor in front of him. 

“I- well, like I said… I dunno ‘bout getting her jewelry.” 

“Does she not like it? Girls are usually all over ‘em.” Charlie shrugs, not quite understanding Elvis’ dilemma. 

Elvis crosses his arms over his chest, “She likes it.  But I-I-I feel that’s what I always get her. And ya know me, man, I hate boring shit.” He sighs, shaking his head. 

Charlie looks up at his friend, after hearing the distressed tone in his voice. It was a strange situation, for he didn’t think he could recall a time that Elvis hit a brick wall when it came to gift ideas for a girlfriend. He sure did not have trouble in his previous relationships. 

“Hmm… I know!” Charlie muses, in Elvis eagerly awaits his answer. 

“Try not to get her boring shit, then.” Charlie laughs. 

Elvis’ face relaxes and breathes a laugh, “Oh, you unhelpful fucker! Shit friend you are.” He said, throwing a cushion, which Charlie catches in time. Both are laughing. 

Charlie puts both his hands up in mock defense, “I say this with all honesty; I don’t think Y/N cares much ‘bout what you give her, E. She sees you and that girl is as happy as Goddamn sunshine and rainbows. All there is to it.” He said, voice serious as he explained to his friend that finding material perfection isn’t the core of the anniversary. That, really, you already radiate happiness whenever you are close to him. Whenever Elvis is with you. 

It’s in this that Elvis finds himself breaking out into a smile. A smile so huge that he has to adjust the sunglasses framing his face, as they slip down just a little bit. 

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

“Happy Anniversary, baby.” You say, kissing him on the cheek, as you hand the carefully wrapped present to him. 

You find yourself biting on your bottom lip, nervous as hell. He unravels it quite quickly and his silence certainly doesn’t put your nerves at bay. 

“A journal.” He says, a voice in wonder and surprise. His fingers dance across the leather-bound, particularly his embroidered initials. 

“Yeah. It’s um, I know it’s a little random. But, I, just see you so lost in your mind sometimes. Many times. And I, uh, I know you talk to me. But sometimes when you don’t feel like talking to anyone, not even me- just write down what you feel. It might help. It’s not healthy to have a thousand thoughts running around in your head. I, um, like I don’t know if you like it. If you don’t that’s-“ Your nervous ramblings are cut off by his hand wrapped around your waist, pushing you forward to him as his lips meet yours. 

You are taken completely off guard by the unexpected kiss, but he is who he is, as unpredictable as ever. The kiss is passionate and soft, oh so soft that you can’t help but wrap your arms around his neck. 

You break apart, in which he rests his forehead yours. 

“I love it, honey. I love it so damn much. You are so good to me, so good to me.” He says softly, eyes glassy with tears. 

Your thumb strokes his cheek, “Really?” Your heart sighs in relief. 

He nods his head, “Mm-hmm. It’s everything. You’re everything.” 

He pulls away a little and you mistake this for meaning you should pull away as well, but instead, Elvis is quick to wrap his arms around your waist. He then brings you forward more, till you are sitting in his lap with your legs on either side of him. 

“Where did ya think you were goin’ baby?” He grins, his bottom lip between his teeth. 

You find yourself chuckling at him, “Nowhere it seems.” 

“Good.”

Elvis smoothly reaches to the right side of where he’s sat, and hands you a nearly wrapped small box. You guess that it is jewelry, which wouldn’t be surprising considering the previous times Elvis bought you a gift. You know how generous he is with gifting you items of luxury, and you are grateful, but it is not something you necessarily need. Being with him is enough, in all honesty. 

You remove the wrapping, and you gasp in surprise at the contents of the box. 

“It’s a dreamcatcher.” It was a delicate dreamcatcher, a silver color, and was smaller than normal ones. You examine it further and see that there seem to be words engraved on it ‘For you, my heart. To always have good dreams only.’ E.P. 

“Whatcha’ think, honey? I-I-I know you have bad dreams sometimes, and I hate that I can’t control it. But they say a dreamcatcher helps with that. I don’t want you getting no nightmares again. Is it…is it what you-“

Tears stream down your face as you wrap your arms tightly around him, “Thank you, thank you.” You whisper, overcome with emotion. 

It’s true. You’ve been prone to getting bad dreams lately, and you’ve heard about dreamcatchers before. But you always forget to find one for yourself. 

“I’m happy you like it, Y/N.” 

You slowly pull away from him, “Of course I do. You are so so thoughtful, E. It’s just what I needed, really. “

“I love you, darlin.’.” Elvis says, looking at you in wonder as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“I love you so much.” You say as you find yourself tracing his features with your finger delicately. 

“Are you happy, baby?” Elvis asks.

“I am. I don’t care much about what gift you give me, having you here is already so much for me.” You say, truthfully with a wide smile, “Are you happy, Elvis?”

“I have the most beautiful girl with me, and her heart is so big and true. I-I’m one lucky son of a bitch.” He grins, and you laugh at this. 

You pull each other into a kiss, which turns into one of the many kisses that you would share that night. It was an anniversary that exceeded everything you could have ever hoped for. You mentally slapped yourself on why you worried so much about what to get him when really, that was never the thing that mattered most. 

@literally-just-elvis-fics

[melancholicbutterflies]

Taglist

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[therealslimshakespeare]

Hop to it Tink

Pairing: Thumper & Tink

Summary: As the mid 60’s consume Elvis with his ever more arduous film schedule and immersive hobby pursuits, Elaine crafts a friend out of a rival. For either spouse it’s not the ideal of way to cope with a lost child and estrangement, but the confusion that can occur from dumping any old thing into a wound to close it up is enough to bewilder the most grounded person. Much less a young girl like Elaine Presley who finds herself scrambling for a hint of girlhood as her five children and husband rely on her to keep it all afloat. Just as she’s going under, a pretty painted hand lifts her up.

Dedicated: to Ashley and Christi who both begged for this to be written and added so many details themselves that enriched it. Credit is also due to @prompted-wordsmith for the wicked suggestion of Benetint being used herein.

Warnings: sensuality, 18+, no outright smut but many mentioned offscreen acts, suggestiveness, this can be read as two girl friends or a little more, I tried to keep it nebulous as I imagine it would feel for Elaine herself in her exploration. a rather alarming emphasis on feet, pampering and painting toes and Elvis being overly into that, phone teasing, Larry being a little too psycho analytical over why Elvis and Elaine are having trouble after Jo, mentions of a stillborn, mentions of marital dissatisfaction, hinted male infidelity, hinted Polaroids and homemade spicy films, Elvis turning shit into being erotic that isn’t? That’s men for ya. And then just fun fluffy stuff with the kids but that’s no warning. I didn’t edit this really, I’m too tired, my apologies for any errors.

Requested: yes ✔️

Circa: 63-67

“Hey Tink?” Ann’s voice, always enviously soft even while sounding mischievous, asks abruptly in the middle of an hour long chat.

“Oh what now?” Elaine giggles into the gold phone Elvis has stashed on his nightstand, feeling silly to be sat on her bed in the middle of the afternoon, frittering it away with chatting and giggling to a friend.

That’s rather proof that Elaine needs it. Too much ‘strictly business’ in her life these days and Elaine knows if Elvis were here he’d be poking her forehead and making her fall back and put her feet up. She taps them on the floor instead, tap tap tapping her heeled boudoir slippers on the bed frame in a giddy tick as she waits for her friend to spring whatever wickedness is behind that tone of voice.

Her friend.

Elaine had hoped Ann would like her, be willing to be a buddy to THE Mrs. Presley but what they’ve got now is something she didn’t even think girls could have. It makes her view Elvis and his buddies more tolerantly, the stupid and goofy comradery she was starved for without even knowing it has slowly had its way with her in the form of Thumper and bike riding with Thumper and chatting with Thumper and kissing Thumper while Elvis writhed beneath them…so maybe it’s not like his mafia boys at all, but somehow it’s deeper despite the unorthodox beginnings and carnal undertones that seep in and out of it at whim.

“Whatcha got going on tomorrow night?” Ann asks at last, sounding altogether too nonchalant.

Elaine's heart pounds and she purses her lips, sensing a game here. She’s so like Elvis, this friend of hers, maybe that’s why Elaine gets butterflies in her belly at the chance to see and enjoy Ann, or when the telephone rings and it’s her sweet self sounding like she’s actually had to pace herself from calling Graceland when she knows full well Elvis isn’t home. She calls for Elaine, and something about that makes Elaine bite her nails and kick her feet.

“Oh not much, Jack and Jesse are trying the scuba gear in the pool right now,” Elaine sighs, “and if they don’t die tonight I suppose I’ll be here tomorrow making sure they’re still breathing and fixing sandwiches and seeing to it that Ella’s got her puppy ready for the show.” she waits a beat and adds, “You know full well he isn’t gonna be home.”

“Who?” Ann asks with overacted ditziness.

“Him.” Elaine rolls her eyes, “At least another five days away, stupid Arizonan weather has decided to rain and there has to be reshoots.”

She can hear Thumper humm on the other line with something that’s more contemplative than compassionate for Elaine’s empty bed. “How’re your toes?” she asks.

Elaine peers over the fluffy slipper tops and the profusion of lime green feathers adorning the slippers, “Decent, but they’ll need to be redone before he gets back.”

“Red?”

“French tip.”

“Hmm, Pink next, I think?” Thumper says.

“Yeah alright.” Elaine bites her lip and makes herself stop or else they’ll start peeling and need more Vaseline.

“I have to be in LA day after tomorrow. And I have a flight tomorrow morning. It stops in Memphis.”

“How nice.” Elaine murmurs, pulling on her lip now, slightly better than biting, she supposes, and it hides her grin from the gal a thousand miles away in New York.

“Yes, I thought so.” Ann agrees.

“And it’s such a long flight, New York to LA.” Elaine coos, “You’d get cramp if you didn’t break it up, can’t have you holed up like that, unable to walk out the shakes.”

“No, you wouldn’t want it for me, would you?” Ann babifies her tone and Elaine does fall back into the covers grinning stupidly up at Elvis’ ugly harem lamp above her.

“No, no I wouldn’t dream of it.” Elaine swears, “You just come by Graceland, stay the night, stretch your legs a bit, fill your belly, let me curl your hair.”

“And we can talk about boys.” Thumper agrees, like that’s her return currency for good southern hospitality…and it sorta is.

These nights when she stays, they’re something sweet and young and silly like Elaine hasn’t had in years. Never once herself in full since she married, losing all friends who knew her before Elvis, collecting folks who knew Elvis long before her, and a snazzy supply of darling children whose most stimulating conversations are about tricycles and losing a new tooth -Elaine is a little starved.

And Elvis -well, as Tink, she's his best friend, without doubt, and he is hers. But she’s also his wife, his woman and his home and his ballast and his doll and his lover and his mama and his ideal. So many roles. What she can’t talk to Elvis about is only relegated to one topic.

Elvis himself.

And such a man, a force more than a man at times, oh it needs an outlet and somehow the Mafia wives and even Betsy Blue Eyes Harrison with her discreet goodness and friendship can’t speak of what Elaine wants to speak about. A body can only go so long without bragging a little about what they’ve got, and when what you’ve got is a national heartthrob and the most famous man on earth -secrets about earth shaking ardor that rivals cataclysmic tempers, well, sometimes Elaine wants to speak of it. Or, rather, about the parts that make her love it, look forward to another day full of it. The little things that she can’t trust anyone else to know or love or see kindly.

Except for Thumper. Thumper -who has already admitted to loving him the same way, seeing him the same, living for him similarly. It’s the oddest consolation, and stranger still that his wandering eye gave it to her, but Elaine will take it.

“Yes, we could talk about boys.” Elaine agrees with Thumper, both knowing that when they say boys, they mean boys such as Naughty, Widdle Fella, Elvis Presley and The Memphis Flash.

Tomorrow comes and her sons are alive and hardly stripped out of their swimsuits to sleep before getting back in them and plunging to the depths of the swimming pool with metal tanks on their back and masks on their faces. She can’t bear to watch, looks like a perfect way to die at home, and so she stays inside and helps Ella groom her puppy for the pageant and Rosalee has an embroidered collar that needs help with fastening the buckle -she did the stitching herself- and although she hasn’t seen Daisy in hours, that wasn’t unusual.

In the afternoon she sends a car to the airport, Marty grins at her wildly and she gives him the old eyebrow before taking herself to her bedroom as the hour nears and going through a rather worn routine that still pleases her like when it was new.

The sound of the big door suctioning through the house can be heard upstairs, as can the chorus of children screaming “Aunt Tamale!” and Elaine knows it’s time to make an appearance.

Ann braces to a squat with her bag dropped beside her as a tidal wave of Presley children launch themselves at her over the foyer floor, tackling and clinging and squeezing vehemently with grinning, beautiful faces. Three are wiry, chlorinated and shirtless. It takes a moment for Ann to realize one is Daisy and that no, they’ve not made a third son since she saw them last. Jack’s golden hair has gotten darker and that’s heartbreaking but at least his dimples are deeper than ever and Jesse is just as sweet and courteously loving as always with Ella tagged behind with a wet doggie that Ann takes in her arms and let’s lick her face and Rosalee had a sketch to show her of what looked like a deformed couch but was most likely intended to be her beloved daddy’s profile and -

Oh Elaine.

Always one to make an entrance, to set the tone of a good game. She looks perfectly at home leaning against an upper bannister while observing the hubbub from above, with sheer navy cascading around her like a thundercloud and her hair tousled to perfection. Young Elvis’ portrait yearns behind her on the wall and Ann smiles at the rightness of it.

She waits till her children loosen the gambit just a little before wafting down the stairs in a tulle blur of long limbs and soft focused curves and she throws her arms around Ann and her sensible, tweed traveling suit.

“Thumper, I’ve missed you!” She’s no icy Madame in her own home, sweet Elaine, her porcelain face and macabre loungewear aside, she is warm and glowing in the rays of a waning day’s sun and Ann clings a little longer, arms around her neck and giving flesh beneath her hands, feeling oddly at home in this foyer.

“Missed you, too.”

The sleepovers always start with evenings like this. There’s playing with the kids and dinner, they may end up in the pool, they may end up watching home movies to show her what she’s missed since last visit. Perhaps there’s a new golf cart to try to flip on its top. But when bedtime comes, Thumper is a loving taskmaster, insisting everyone get to their respective rooms, starting the process thirty minutes early so that there can be as much dithering and “one more chapter” as can be and still get the kids conked out at a decent hour. Rosalee is allowed to stay and use the phone to talk to Elvis till 10:30 and in the meantime Thumper conducts tooth brushing competitions and Elaine sorts out breakfast plans with Mary.

And then it’s time for bedtime, and where Elaine might waiver about being so selfish as to deny her kids the little tiny bit of girlhood she’s carved for herself this evening, Ann has no qualms guarding that for her and summarily cleans out the big king bed of progeny.

Only little Jack is occasionally allowed to stay.

Weaned, or so Elaine swears but Anna has doubts, the kid is golden and soft and lanky like all little five year olds should be, and blessed with an unerring accuracy in beaming and scowling at the right times to get exactly what he wants. In short, he is Elvis come again in a tiny, button nosed, rosebud lipped cherub with sweaty curls begging to be pushed off his forehead by a loving hand and of course it’s half the delight to let the little fella stay and camp on the bed when they read their tabloids to each other, watching him laughing maniacally along with them at rumors about themselves that Jack doesn’t even understand.

Jack is also excellently skilled at wedging the foam pads between their toes when it’s pedicure time, allowing Elaine and Ann to bask back in matching boudoir chairs with their feet propped up on the matching stools Elvis got. Pink stain pouring over little round stools for when he wants to haul one up and chat to his wife while she applies her lashes. Jack insists on wedging the foam between their toes himself and sometimes tries his hand at painting with varying catastrophic results.

“Heyar, i’s wight heyer.” Jack’s little drawl still butchers Elaine’s diligent elocution lessons but both women fawn over him regardless when he passes them a roller they had planned on using later -not anymore- they drop the sectioned hair in process and start again with the one he gives them.

“He’s really precious, isn’t he?” Ann sighs once, staring down at him where he finally passed out between them, soft, chubby knees he got from his daddy bent askew and long fingered hands for a child tucked beneath a milk fat cheek.

“I don’t think I’d have made it without him.” Elaine admitted once and when Thumper gave her a searching look she went on, “Before there was you, there was just him. And when everyone else was ready to be happy again after Jo, he never minded when I’d take him to a room to nurse him and -“ she trail off, face lit warm by the harem lamp’s multi gemmed glow and the golden bedding around them, dark hair pinned up in rollers to show how young her face really is without paint and artifice, “-I even remember once being in Elvis’ trailer on set, right after and it was like every kid who cried around me-my body would respond and let down more and I-I didn’t have a baby for it. Except for baby Jack, and I remember sitting in that hot trailer on the lot while all the kids were out with Elvis touring the set and I was…crying.”

“Of course you were.” Ann snuggles closer, reaches over Jack’s little form to squeeze Elaine’s arm.

“I was sobbing my eyes out, actually.” Elaine admits with a shy turn of her head towards the padded headboard, “While he nursed. And then I felt his chubby little hand, all clumsy and sweaty, wiping them off without ever breaking his latch on the nipple. Wiping the tears off my cheeks.” She clarifies, “I didn’t know a baby could be so loving in the way I needed, and I’ve been close before, Jesse was my world I swear, and Ella is like watching myself again. But -his dimples pop when he gives that crooked grin and he won’t even let go of the latch, just a little…” she mimics his grin with her thumb in her mouth Ann laughs at the sight.

She laughs at the things Elaine finds funny and and she gets why Elaine loves what she loves. And night after sleepover night, Elaine finds herself admitting more and more and gets back an earful in return. It makes her giddy and makes her kick her feet when she picks up the ringing phone and hears her friend on the other line.

“I think I need to freshen up my hair.” Elaine will sigh into the receiver.

“I like how you’re growing it out, less structured, it’s younger!” Ann will agree before adding just as emphatically, “Just needs a little trim and some styling. I can come Thursday.”

One such Thursday in ‘64 Tink came out of the bathroom with tin foil in her hair and scared giddiness in her smile.

“I’ve got a surprise for ya,when you get back, Naughty.” Elaine told Elvis on the phone, forcing herself not to bite her nail in anticipation and ruin the new coat of polish.

The surprise had been an auburn haired wife.

Elvis noticed the effects of the sleepovers himself, beyond the wild sight of auburn hair, even as he looked at them askew and with a confused belligerence about fun being had without him, and many a demand regarding “what sorta fun are ya having? You’re my wife, dammit!”

His logic that ‘it don’t count if its two girls’ when excusing a night of the three of them rolling in Ann's rough cotton sheets as soon as Viva Las Vegas wrapped, didn’t hold up now. Now it very much did count that they were two little girls. Two unsupervised little girls and he was relieved when Jack stayed with them, but less so when he heard from Jack that they painted their piggies and arm wrestled in their nighties.

Elaine legitimately enjoyed grappling on the fluffy white carpet of the music room floor after ice cream had been served and wiped from childrens’ chins. It was something she tried with Elvis and never managed to win except by clinging to his back like a limpet, and even then he’d win by crushing her into the pile with his weight.

But with Ann she could tussle and strain and keep up some of that old verve that had once had her nailing softball practice in high school and currently crushing Vernon at tennis. No one in the Memphis mafia was allowed to tackle her or ought else when games were played on the lawn and no amount of flattery convinced Elaine of competency she had not exercised in years. Thumper provided just such a foil and Elaine found herself winning and losing with a clean conscience and sore body time after time, children applauding at either result.

She felt a little wild, like she had when Elvis brought the three of them together that first night, pacifying her qualms about the rightness of it as only he and his unfailing logic could do. But these days she was less and less burdened by rules or even expectation, it was her own house, her own life and if Elvis Presley had cracked open the door on hotel sheets, then Elaine saw little blame to be garnered from stepping over the threshold and creating a little world for herself that made her feel more than used up and unsellable. A “fact” Colonel Parker and the family Enterprise winced over daily. She could shut herself up in Graceland or Palm Springs and see to it that her children got an education, her husband's favored meals were served when he deigned to come home and her sanity was somewhat in place for it all by any means possible.

Elvis, for his own part, knew damn well he’d invited in whatever wild spirit of independent merrymaking Elaine now partook of. He also trusted her implicitly to keep it under wraps within the halls of their house, to indulge respectably and set a good example for his children.

It was undeniable, since her friendship with Ann began, she was looking younger, happier and more content than he’d seen her since before the tragedy, before Jo.

And Elvis cared mostly about that.

And in the way of those who do not know how to comfort others regarding a tragedy that they themselves have not recovered from, he found himself making concessions and negotiations, a bit of “so long as I can keep this, you can have that” sort of bargaining.

The ‘this’ and ‘that’ were never quite verbalized, but it was understood in that miserable harmony of married couples that he’d keep his women and his crowd of unedifying friends and employees so long as she might have household stability and a certain license to be a nutcase. Perhaps it would buy him and Larry time to figure out whatever fucked up Retrograde or inner chakra was keeping him from being able to bodily make love to his wife in the traditional way.

Larry swore he was only scared to make another child and lose it, hence why his wife remained hypothetically attractive but he could not complete his attraction carnally.

Elvis thought Larry should stick his head in the wood chipper for such a simple answer, there’s no way in hell that’s all there is to it and yet it likely was and Elvis couldn’t quite manage to accept that. Accept that he was still grieving. It wasn’t an option really. Not with everything else going on, all the different ways he was needed and wanted elsewhere, and not with the way Elaine swore she was fine until he could figure it out, so long as he loved her and was there for their kids.

Which he is. And when he’s not, Ann’s there. And Dodger. Or Marlon -on Daisy’s insistence. Or the whole damn nation.

So, much as the current order of things rankled Elvis, perhaps out of some suppressed awareness of his own role in it, ultimately having his Happy Tink back was his greatest wish.

And if it made Thumper happy as well? -goodness, it was a better end than most dalliances could boast.

But it was hard being a little sidelined, and when Charlie pointed out that Elaine must feel similarly about his flings and his fellas, Elvis wasn’t sure what the hell he was on about as Elaine was very much incorporated in both, as much as she liked to be. She just liked to be less and less and that was on her. Charlie still suggested he tell her how he felt about it.

But then Tink beat him to it.

He was laying there in bed, at Graceland, at some pitch black early morning hour one time, with five sleeping children scattered in their bed, when she told him she didn’t mean to make him feel lonely. It was all Elvis needed to hear. That she knew she was doing that, and if she knew it, then he knew that before long she’d find a remedy. He just needed to be a little more patient.

Which wasn’t his forte but Tink was quick and ingenious and once she’d come up with how to help, he just about wished she never had. The cure was as cruel as it was mouthwatering.

Elvis was in his trailer one day, on a movie set as Elvis was most days this year, and had spared some time from shooting due to another department needing to sort something out. The something didn’t matter, what did matter was that he got to sit in his trailer with his friends earlier than usual for an evening, put on his helmet and watch the game. And then his team won. Which, in the raucous, bottle clinking, cigar lighting jubilation of celebrating such a win, had him almost missing the ringing of the telephone he had wired in.

Only the Colonel and Graceland and little blonde Shirley from last movie set had his number and so Elvis scrambled over his red sofa cushions, threw off his helmet and leaned over to pick the phone up, hollering, “H’allo?” into the receiver while chopping at his throat with his hand in a demand for silence from his boys.

“Naughty?”

“Why, if it ain’t my pwecious baby wife.” he cooed with a sappy grin on his face, happily flipping on his back in the cushions, all being right with the world with his girl’s voice in his ear and his team in the playoffs.

“How’re you doin’ baby?” she asked him sweetly, and he could hear her settling into the sheets, the rustle couldn’t be from the kitchen.

He kicked his feet up above his head and propped them against the wall, “Pretty damn good, you watch the game?”

“Jesse and Thumper gave me a play by play.” she informed him.

“What were you cookin’?”

“Dumplings. Couldn’t step away.”

“Aww.” he knew it had to be something precious and easily burned to keep her from watching. “And now?”

“Now I’m petting Whiskers.” she informed him.

Their cat. “I trust Annie ain’t pettin’ any kitties of mine, is she?” he mumbled in a discreet little growl, cupping the phone to his mouth.

Joe glanced over anyway. Elvis found the toe of his boot tapping a jittery rhythm against the trailer wall and as annoying as he found it himself, he couldn’t stop. He felt nervous, oddly, like when he used to call Elaine from Germany, way back when before she’d joined him. Back when he wasn’t sure he knew her fully. She kept him on his toes and he liked that, it made his blood rush and satiated his natural eagerness for newness -but oh how he wondered sometimes how she always dredged up this newness. If he knew her, really knew her would -would she keep being so surprising?

Fuck. Maybe Larry was right, maybe he needed to pop a pill like an old fart and get it on with her, get it outta his system.

Where were they? Oh, cats. And Ann.

“Elvis, c’mon, really.” Elaine chided with a giggle, “Ann is setting up the pedicures.”

“Oh.” Elvis sucked in a breath at the way such a reassurance sent the blood from his panicked brain to his jealous heart and then melting down like molten desire right between his legs. He flexed his belly and gnawed on his thumbnail. “Oh yeah?” he tried again and sounded so damn wrecked that every friend in the place looked at him as if he’d just put on a porno. “Y’all paintin’ your piggies? Mmm? Pink, yeah? Fuck’meee.”

“Mhmm, well, she hasn’t gotten to painting yet.” Elaine expounded with a sigh, “She’s oiling them up, I’ve had to endure a fifteen minute sermon on dry cuticles, Elvis, and now she’s squeezing and rubbing my poor piggies till they’re tingly-“

“Laney!“ he hollered as if she dropped a 2x4 on his own toes and the guys crowded in, a mixture of mockery and interest on their faces. Elvis spread a hand out on his chest to regulate his breathing and cursed at the realization that his wife wasn’t the slightest bit clueless as to what she was doing. “Oh Laney, what -what’s she usin’ to oil ya?” he begged to know, his nose breathing deeply as if he could guess it a thousand miles away.

“Baby oil, Elvis,” Elaine sounds so earnest in his ear, “I told her you don’t let me use nothin’ else on them.”

“Good girl.” he growled after realizing she couldn’t see his decisive nod of approval at her obedience.

“Oooh” he hears her breathe in his ear and startles up from the couch in a little flail that has no destination save that he heard his wife moan and it requires some expenditure of energy from him or he’ll go nuts laying here imagining her in her babydoll nighty, her pretty little bare toes getting oiled up by Annie.

“Tink, what she doin’ to yous, Tink?” he demands urgently, and the guys crowd closer, Elvis tugs at his pant leg and knows it’s futile, his rock hard dick is trapped in Edith’s well tailored trousers and all he can do is bring his feet off the wall and spread as much as he can.

“S-she’s rubbing my arch.” Elaine tells him, “I was wearing those pretty little white heels all days, the white ones you got me.” she reminds him and he smiles at the visual of her clicking through their home.

“She makin’ ya feel good?” he prompts his eyes glossy and far away from his gaudy trailer and the smell of cigar smoke. “Rubbin’ the sore right out?”

“Yeah, yeah feels good.” She slurs.

He can just picture her all puddled and lax and slippery- “Hers all gooey?” he hopes, running a hand over his belly that keeps flexing and quivering like little Elvis is deep in cunt.

Elaine on the other end of the line smirks at the shift in his tone, gone entirely from jealousy to fanciful imaginings that are far, far beyond anything she’s indulging in but somehow it’s terribly exciting to know what he’s thinking, to lure him in and have only his own, nasty, boyish mind to blame for the misfire. She winks down at Thumper who truly is doing a remarkable job on those sore arches and gives another little moan. “Yeah, yeah I could fall outta bed I’m so gooey.”

She hears the shuddering breath he takes and can imagine him, crisp slacks and ruffled pompadour, laying on his back against velvet red cushions, legs splayed in a pantomime of dying and his lackeys gathered around like a sleazy last supper.

“I think we’ve really got his motor thrumming, Thumper.” she feels safe enough to giggle and hears Elvis give only a heart rending:

“Goddamn, whyyyy!” over the phone in reply.

“Need a defibrillator, boss?” she can hear Marty ask him and hears only petulant moaning about needing a wife in reply.

It did the trick, or at least, part of the trick. The trick of making the Presley’s feel connected to each other again and Larry agreed that it was good, a good step towards normality even if it was a little polyamorous and crowded for a typical marriage. Such phone calls made Elvis feel included and Elaine nearly re-besotted with a man who, when on the other end of a phone line and thousands of miles away, sounded desperate and devoted, something her wifely self hadn't felt from him in a little while.

Elvis brought home amongst his many gifts a couple of new cameras, and having taught Jesse how to use the still one, paid his son five dollars for each documented arm wrestle and diving contest. How he paid his wife for each documented lingerie try-on and manicure session was never revealed but her shoe box of pastel gauzy Polaroids suggested the compensation was ample incentive. How Tink paid Thumper was anyone's guess and no one’s knowledge. Maybe it was that Cartier diamond set she wore to a premiere the following week.

It was a natural graduation of events that Elvis should, being at home during one of Thumper’s convenient memphian layovers, be a camera wielding witness to one of these night time pamperings. They politely ignored him and his bright lights that beamed on their little haven in front of the dresser, pink satin chairs aglow and their faces almost angelically washed out on the film. That night, Elaine’s hair was restored to a deep chocolate color, Ann’s outfit for her next premiere was chosen and the silk pajama’s Elvis donned for the evening had to be discarded.

The camera wielding didn’t stop there, when Thumper was brought down to Circle G Ranch, an entire production was made, the only picture film Elvis Presley ever fully produced and directed and costumed in the 1960’s -and it was full of subtext, straw, piglets, bare skin and harmed vegetables. But it occurred over an slippery, sweaty, pungent afternoon and was not a sleepover and so has no place being detailed in this chapter.

What does deserve a place here is the great Tink and Thumper adventure with Benetint that happened about a year into this charming, girlish, sleepover habit.

They’d bought matching nighties you see, sheer with a gingham print. Yet, when going to photograph their charming selves in them, they found the rosiness lacking -or at least, Thumper thought it could be improved. The printed fabric was to blame for the faded-nipple effect but was too adorably bucolic to be abandoned entirely. So, after a foray into the smokey backstages of some Vegas showrooms, Ann arrived one day in Palm Springs with her sundry gifts for the children, and tucked into her purse, was an uninspiring little bottle of something that could easily have been mistaken for nail polish.

Sitting cross legged on the vanity, Elaine soon learned it was anything but.

It was too quiet in the bathroom, just their huffed breaths and the squeak of the lid unscrewing. Even before the icy chill flicked over her skin she felt her arms break out in gooseflesh and she sucked in a breath, bracing for the tickle. Elvis had done this, to her belly, that first time she’d grown his children and her belly rent apart with a lightning bolt down its middle.

It had felt loving then, kindhearted and boyish.

Ann crouching to bosom level, flicking the little brush with its smelly mixture across her pert nipples, breath ghosting against the red blush of Elaine’s breast, silk pooling useless off her shoulders -this was different, oddly so. Somehow more intimate than when a man, or what Elaine knew of men, did it. Here was no pleasurable usage to brace for, only girlish admiration and a charming lack of regard for ought else but this, this single, charged, shivering moment.

Elaine could see Ann’s dark roots from up above. She wanted to pull that thin bottom lip of hers and snap it back against her teeth. Feeling useless sitting getting adorned so soberly, Elaine swiped the hair falling into her friend’s eyes, up and off her brow and into the buoyant coif that chasing the children had already half dismantled.

It made Ann drop her brush. “I wasn’t expecting-“ she fumbled.

She went back to it, such warmth so close and Elaine watched with a confused heart as Ann swirled the icy slick once more over the outer ring of a babe abused areola, taking her bleeding little rosebuds and making them into dark cherries.

“How do they look?” Elaine asked Thumper as Ann stood at a little distance in the large bathroom, eyeing up her art with her absurd little brush raised, a consummate artist and a distracted friend.

“You look like I imagined.” Ann replied as if without thinking before her face colored the shade of the pink rug and she must roll her eyes in an effort to sabotage the escaped sentiment.

“Imagined when?” Elaine asked, leaning forward on the counter, not bothering to cover up as it would only smear, perhaps some part of her knew without consulting the mirror the image that she made.

A dark haired vixen with the body of an ivory cello, leaning forward with those creamy mounds topped like Shirley Temples with their little ornaments.

-knowing yet curious, hungry yet soft.

Ann swallowed hard and thought about the end of all this that Elaine had once predicted in the beginning, an end that was all wedding veils and bouquets and everlasting vows with some fella Ann was supposed to find and love since Elvis wasn’t available. Elaine swore it would come and Ann had hoped she’d been right. The idea sickens her lately, thinking of somehow there being some other best friend, someone else to flick bath water at and ogle in their silk pajamas, someone else to have her heart lurch over when the children crawl atop them and the motorbikes thrum beneath them. The more successful she got the more she wanted this.

Just this.

“When he used to talk about you.” she admits her imaginings had been detailed and flattering for the wife of the man she once lay beside. Not even in dreams of wildest jealousy and unfair slight could Elaine be anything but something Ann craved to know and be known by. “I-I dreamed of being stabbed by you.”

Ann had woken up flaming with desire from those nightmares. Pretty Elaine Presley coming alive from the front of a newspapers and screaming “traitor!” hacking at Ann’s broken little heart with a pie server. Only for Elaine to end up being kind, lonely and a bit of a tease.

“Why’re you crying?” Elaine asked softly, finally slipping off her marble perch and taking Ann’s chin in her hand firmly.

“I’m going to miss this.” she muttered miserably in realization of the overseas tours next year and the boys she entertained but didn’t like enough to trust with a single secret and the way Marlon was around here too often lately. “And you know too much of me.” she hit Elaine’s arm playfully.

The grip on her chin jerked in retaliation. “I’ve been worried. You’re getting famous.” Elaine admitted, and the way she referenced fame was if it was a cancer.

“But I can come here, right?”

“Always.”

“Even if I’m married?”

Elaine looked a little surprised and questioning and when Ann shook her head in the negative to being currently engaged she lightened again, “Especially if you’re married. Married women go mad without some woman to talk to about being married.”

“You’re some woman.” Ann purred because Elaine Presley was stood too near with her pale soft breasts brushing Ann’s arm.

“You could be too, if you’d let me paint you.” Elaine dug the bottle out of Ann’s chilled fingers and went back to the sink, her reflection showing the heightened color crawling down her neck. “Get over here Thumper.” she snapped her fingers and Ann slinked up on the counter like a condescending house cat. “Am I to paint over chiffon?” Elaine stared at the still tied nightdress unimpressed until Ann was forced to fling it open - to her credit, not without adding much pizzaz to the whole thing with a high kick that only barely missed Elaine's face and a haughty toss of her head.

Her act petered out with a shy chuckle that faded into fully nothing.

“You’re very pretty.” Elaine whispered as she stood frozen in front of her in a ready stance, bottle clutched and tiny brush brandished, looking like a juvenile boy trying to recall his father’s tips on how to flatter. “But, then - you know that, I suppose.”

“I’m cold.” Ann whispered, her eyes darting to the side.

“Oh, yes,” Elaine was suddenly in motion, stepping nearer with clear eyes, “this makes it worse. Trust me. I’ll be fast, I swear.”

“It’s fine.” Ann breathed and then promptly forgot how.

As if in slow motion she watched Elaine crouching to better see her work, and her pretty hand burdened with all of Elvis’ shiny spherical gifts descended until it made contact on her bare nipple.

“Oh Elaine.” Ann enunciated through a gasp, her hands that had been listlessly sitting on the countertop curled over the edge of the marble, gripping tight.

“Cold isn’t it?” Elaine murmured again, her hand coming to rest beside her work in direct opposition to the cold paint. Firm, steadying, warm flesh on her sternum made Ann tremble, she watched Elaine‘s eyes flick up to meet hers, an odd sort of edge and command in them she’d never seen before.

Or. Rather, she had, but only ever with Elvis, only ever directing that look to him.

“He did this to me once.” Elaine told her, voice gone deep and then another stroke of the brush. “Not my nipples -it was my belly.”

“Captain Marvel.” Ann huffed a laugh, recalling the way he’d made her trace the bolt on his wife their first night, eager as a boy who’d discovered magic.

“Captain Marvel is telling you to hold still, missy.” Elaine chided her wiggling friend and Ann felt a flush all over.

“I’m just breathing.”

“Hard.” Elaine snarked, staring down at Ann’s heaving chest with a sardonic brow.

The intensity of that gaze was too much.

“It’s too much.” Ann said it in defense and Elaine’s eyes fluttered up to meet hers, her whole body straightening.

“For you too?” Elaine begged tremulously and Ann felt a rush of connection at her vulnerability.

“For me too.” she nodded.

“Gosh.” Elaine exclaimed, startled but making no move to flee, she just stayed there, hemming Ann in on the countertop and studying her face like it was the dearest thing.

“This isn’t making it better.” Ann whined as she felt that beautiful face near hers -the thunk of Elaine’s forehead against her own soon followed.

She felt her hands hold her waist gently like a dozen lovers had before and none felt as tender as this.

“You know the thing about fame is,” spearmint wafted over Ann’s face and she closed her eyes to listen to Elaine’s soft, pondering drawl, “it's held up all those years as the thing that’ll make everything all right. When the only thing that makes things even slightly bearable is a friend who knows what you're talking about. If you ever get tired, Annie, of being known for all the wrong reasons, you just come on back. We’ll always find something of us here, I know it.”

Elaine’s thumbs played across freckled skin like dainty wipers on Ann’s cheeks, swiping off one tear after another into her dyed hairline and one mere jut of Ann’s set chin brought the lower half of their faces together.

plush, warm, minty, sticky, glossy, brushing, lilting

-turn aside.

“Do you wanna -the camera, Tink?”

“No.” Mrs. Presley answered honestly as she stepped back, a little tremble in her voice, “Not tonight. I think -perhaps I, perhaps we, should call Elvis.” Elaine stared off into the adjoining bedroom with swimming eyes, their little project once undertaken for his gaze had suddenly become too intimate to be shared, even with him, even as dried ink on a glossy Polaroid weeks from now, “And maybe bring in Jack, he looked restless.”

“Oh yes.” Ann cheered and it was weak, snotty, hoarse little lie. But it was for Elaine. Anything for Elaine. “Let’s.” she agreed.

—Yes. Bring in Jack, why don’t you? And Elvis and Marlon and your charities and your causes and when it gets too crowded with just us two, bring in the whole nation!—

Ann willed the puddling tears away from the rim of her eyes, it wasn’t fair how a woman so immune to jealousy as Elaine Presley could spark so much in others.

“I bet Jack will be up to my shoulder by the time I get back from tour.” Ann joked as they crept down the hall to their boy’s bedroom, “And Jesse will break my heart with your face on a teenager's runty little body.”

It was a promise. To be back.

And come back in good spirits and with good intent. To take as much as was offered, be happy with it. Just as she knew if she herself showed up tomorrow with a husband, Elaine would be as ecstatic as if it were her own dream come true.

Some friends really do just love you enough that way. And that had to be enough.

Tags, if you’d like to be added just drop a comment to that effect below. I don’t bite and I do adore feedback, I run off of even the slightest scream from you. I appreciate you all and hope you enjoyed this. Xoxo marina

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[foreverdolly]

ೃ࿔FOREVERDOLLY'S AUSTIN BUTLER MASTERLIST

"𝙞 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚. 𝙨𝙤𝙛𝙩 𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙨, 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩. . . "

✶ TATTOOED HEART ONESHOT (BIKER!AUSTIN X READER)

austin is the club president of a local outlaw biker gang- a one percenter. he lies, he kills and he doesn't apologize for it. he was one weakness- you. when he gets a distressed late night call from you he's quick to come to your rescue. the only problem? your own father was in the same motorcycle club that austin now runs, and after his death you cut all contact. when you two see each other again emotions run high and things get. . . a little out of control.

total word count: 12.1k

✶ BABY BUTLER MASTERLIST (DAD! AUSTIN X MOM!READER) COMPLETED

you get pregnant while in australia, your husband still in the process of filming for the elvis biopic. this series follows you and austin as you both navigate being first-time parents whilst in the public eye.

total word count: 8.7k

✶ BABY LOVE ONESHOT (DOM!AUSTIN X SELF CONSCIOUS!READER)

you've gained some “relationship” weight since you and austin first started dating, and you find yourself growing more and more self conscious as time goes on. austin takes his time letting you know just how beautiful he finds you.

total word count: 3.6k

✶ OOPSIE DAISY ONESHOT (AUSTIN X INJURED!READER)

austin tries to protect you from journalists and paparazzi. he get's big time mad when one of them get's a little too close to you.

total word count: 2.4k

✶ ARE YOU MINE ONESHOT (EX'S BEST FRIEND!AUSTIN X READER)

after a bad breakup with your cheating ex, the last thing you’re expecting is for his best friend to side with you. at his insistence, you decide to let him accompany you to the arctic monkey concert in las vegas. what happens in las vegas doesn’t always stay in las vegas.

total word count: 13.1k

✶ FAKE DATING MASTERLIST (BOSS!AUSTIN X EMPLOYEE!READER)

you absolutely can't stand your boss. after one bad run in with him, you decide that he's office enemy number one. so when your mother breaks the news that your ex boyfriend is bringing his new fiancé to your sister's wedding as his plus one, you lie and tell her you'll be bringing your very own boyfriend along with you to greece. the problem? you don't actually have a boyfriend. so when austin butler, your arch nemesis of a boss, offers to be your fake boyfriend, you have to take him up on it. greece is a beautiful place to fall in love, no?

total word count: 21.5k

✶ TEAR YOU APART (BIKER!AUSTIN X READER)

"I want it to hurt" and "quit being such a brat"

total word count: 1.8k

✶ I JUST RIDE MASTERLIST (80's MECHANIC! AUSTIN X BEST FRIEND! READER)

it's starting to look like he might never make it out of the friend zone. austin has been in love with you for as long as he can remember, and he's terrified that you'll never see him as anything more than a best friend and protector. with the fear of you one day outgrowing him fresh on his mind, he's now hell bent on getting you to view him in a different light. madly in love and terrified to lose you, austin butler is playing for keeps.

total word count: 8.5k

✶ SHOTGUN WEDDING ONESHOT (AUSTIN!TEX WATSON X KIDNAPPED!READER)

the year is 1969 and you find yourself lucky enough to live up in the hollywood hills, spending your days dancing away to your favorite rock n’ roll vinyls in an old farmhouse and looking after your wild roommates. the only problem? you’ve caught the eye of tex watson. how does he spend his days? making moves towards finally getting everything that he could ever want. you.

total word count: 16.5k

✶ DASHBOARD JESUS ONESHOT (AUSTIN!TEX WATSON X READER)

"I can't. . .please. . . I can't take it anymore." and "good boy."

total word count: 2.5k

wanna be notified any time i post austin butler content? go ahead and like/comment on this post to stay connected !

← go back to the masterlist guide

"𝙖𝙨 𝙞 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙧 𝙞𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙚𝙖𝙧 ' 𝙞 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙛𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙣' 𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 '. . . "

[dietcokedaydream]

May I Have This Dance?

Sirius Black x Fem!Reader

Reader (no use of Y/N) is in denial about the possibility that she's pregnant, and Sirius, ever the incredible (yet teasing) partner, is there to help her through it.

Warnings: discussion of periods/pregnancy, mention of pee, mention of the war. It's mentioned once that the reader is a Gryffindor. Let me know if I missed anything!

Notes: Yes, I did borrow the ending from Friends. No, I'm not sorry. I had fun writing this one. I might make this part of a series, I don't know. Enjoy!

Kneeling on the cold tile floor of the bathroom, you can’t help but let out a groan as the front door of your flat swings open, the rattle of keys hitting the table telling you your boyfriend has just returned from the store. 

“Love? Where are you? I got us some of those freaky pointy tropical fruits to try- they cost an arm and a leg, but I figured-” Sirius stops short when he sees you in the bathroom, flushing the toilet and pushing to your feet. 

“Were you sick again?” he asks, concern evident in his expression, the overflowing paper bags forgotten on the counter as he scans your face for any sign of distress.

The answer, of course, was yes. You have been throwing up randomly for a little over a week now. Sirius has insisted you see a healer, and you have insisted it’s just stress, leading to a number of arguments between the two of you. 

“It’s nothing, I promise,” you say, rinsing your mouth at the sink and joining him in the kitchen, placing a kiss on his cheek before starting to unpack the bags. 

“It’s not nothing, that’s, what, the fourth time this week? And it’s only Wednesday,” Sirius says, gently pushing your hands away from the groceries, grabbing your shoulders, and looking into your eyes. 

You let out a sigh, rubbing your face. You had an idea what might be causing it; your period was late. Originally, you wrote it off as a side effect of the emotional and physical pressure you were under fighting for the order. But now, with the nausea, and still no period, well. It wasn’t looking good. 

Of course, you haven’t brought this up to Sirius yet. What great timing would that be? ‘Hey, I know we and all of our loved ones are kind of busy fighting a war against a genocidal maniac, but do you think you could help me put together this glider?’ 

You are torn away from your thoughts when Sirius says something, pulling your hands down from your face. 

“What?” you ask, looking at him again, earning a chuckle and that award-winning crooked grin you fell in love with back in school. 

“Do you think you should take a test?” Sirius asks again. 

“A test?” you ask “Like-”

“Like a pregnancy test. You know, it’s a stick, you pee on it…” 

You let out a laugh, though it sounds more forced than you intend, turning back to unpack the groceries, placing the odd fruit Sirius had bought in the bowl on the kitchen table. 

“I’m not pregnant,” you say, more like you are telling yourself than Sirius “that would be-” You shake your head, unable to finish your thought “I’m not pregnant.” 

Sirius leans against the counter, watching you continue to unpack the groceries with an amused smirk on his face. “And what makes you so sure?”  

“Because, I’m not,” I say, matter of factly, continuing to unpack the bags.

“Well then, what could a test hurt, eh? Just to confirm what you already know if nothing else.” Sirius says, still looking infuriatingly handsome while he watches you anxiously move about the kitchen. 

“I don’t want to go to the drugstore just to-” 

“Ah ah,” Sirius cuts you off, tapping the nearly-empty bag “I’m one step ahead of you” he reaches in and retrieves a blue box, holding it out in front of him. 

You stand there for a moment, looking between him and the box a few times before saying a petulant “nu uh” and folding the empty paper bags, carrying them to the basket by the fireplace.

Sirius, never one to be deterred, follows you to the living room with a small chuckle “Love, c’mon, you’re sick, you’re late-” 

“How do you know I’m late?” You say, turning around with a furrow in your brow and a sharpness in your tone that Sirius knows is only due to nerves. 

“Oh, come on, I’ve been friends with Moony for nine years, I’ve learned to track all kinds of cycles” he tries to joke, but when you don’t laugh, he steps forward, discarding the box on the coffee table, and cups your face in both hands. 

“Darling, we have to know if you are.” He says softly. 

“I don’t want to know” you answer, voice barely above a whisper. 

Sirius chuckles “Well, that’s a hell of a thing to want to be in the dark about” 

You sigh, closing your eyes for a moment, before saying “If I am, everything will change, and I like our life. I like us, and this apartment, and- merlin, and we have enough to worry about already right now, we don’t need-” 

Sirius shakes his head, cutting off your rambling. “We’re never going to change,” he says softly “You’re stuck with me, regardless. And I rather like this apartment too, you know. I doubt an infant will take up so much space we have to upgrade from a two-bedroom flat to a villa in the country.” Sirius says, his tone somehow both comforting and teasing as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Don’t you want kids?” he asks. 

“You know I do, I just always figured it would be after the war, when we were older and ready, and it was the right time.” 

“We don’t tend to go the traditional route though, now do we?” Sirius asked with a grin, though his expression had a soft quality to it now. “I would be so bloody excited to have a kid with you, regardless of the timing. And maybe this is a false alarm, and we will get to wait until the perfect time, but please, love, just take the test,” he says, all while rubbing gentle circles on your cheek with his thumb. 

Staring into his grey eyes, you find yourself nodding. “Alright. Fine,” you turn and grab the box from the table, heading straight for the bathroom, surprised when you turn to close the door to see Sirius walking in behind you, sitting on the edge of the tub, looking up at you with kind and expectant eyes. 

With a chuckle, you lean against the sink. “Are you seriously going to watch me pee?” 

Without a trace of humor, Sirius nods, his expression still soft and affectionate. You laugh lightly again, rolling your eyes as you open the box and read the instructions, trying hard not to focus on the way your hands are shaking. 

Just like he said, Sirius sits on the tub the whole time, and once you have washed your hands and set the test face-down on the edge of the sink, you sit next to him, bouncing your leg anxiously and chewing on your thumbnail. 

“How long do we wait?” Sirius asks. 

“Three minutes” you answer, still staring blankly at the little stick sitting on the white countertop. 

“Perfect,” Sirius says, standing and grabbing your arm to drag you up with him, out to the living room. 

“What on earth are you doing?” you ask through a surprised chuckle as Sirius leaves your side to drop the needle on the record player, not even bothering to check what it was the two of you had left on the turntable last night before bed. 

“Three minutes, the perfect amount of time for a dance,” he says, grabbing your hand and taking a dramatic bow as the static from the vinyl fades into the first notes of “Can’t Help Falling In Love,” making you laugh despite yourself as Sirius cringes. 

“You and your bloody Elvis” Sirius mumbles, no true ire in his voice, before he kisses your knuckles, looking up into your eyes. “May I have this dance?” 

You nod, still laughing softly as Sirius stands back to his full height, pulling you against his chest as he sways the two of you back and forth slowly to the music. After a few seconds, you fully relax into him, nearly forgetting about the test developing one room over. Sirius hums along to the music, the vibrations rumbling against your cheek as you close your eyes and allow yourself to get lost in him. 

When the song fades out, there is a moment of silence, the two of you just swaying gently in the living room before the next track- Rock-A-Hula Baby- starts, causing the both of you to erupt into a fit of laughter, your face buried into Sirius’s black t-shirt while the two of you crack up. 

When the laughter dies down, Sirius gently grips your chin and tilts your head up. “It’s been three minutes,” he says softly. 

“I know,” you say just as quietly. 

When you don’t move, Sirius chuckles, kissing your forehead before letting go and walking to the bathroom, you following behind him, the two of you stopping and looking down at the little, pathetic plastic stick sitting on the sink, waiting to be flipped over, capable of changing your lives entirely in a millisecond. 

You look up at Sirius for a moment. “I love you, more than anything, no matter what,” you say, anxiety evident in your tone. 

Sirius chuckles, smiling at you and kissing your forehead again, and when he speaks, there is a quiver in it that is distinctly uncharacteristic. “I love you too. So so much, always.” 

“Alright,” you nod, looking down at the test and taking a deep breath, poising to flip it before shaking your head, “Nope, you’ve gotta do it,” you say, taking a step back. 

Sirius chuckles, shaking his head “So much for Gryffindor bravery” he teases as he flips the test, eyes flicking from the test to your eyes and back to the test a few times before you finally exclaim “Well?!” 

“It’s uh- it’s negative,” Sirius says with a shrug, infuriatingly nonchalant. 

“What? Neg- are you serious?”

“Always” he replies with a grin, wincing away exaggeratedly as you make to slap his upper arm “Yes, yes, it’s negative,” he says, rubbing his shoulder where you had landed a smack. 

“Well, that’s… that’s good then, isn’t it?” you say, sitting on the edge of the tub, looking at the pattern of the tile on the floor. “I mean, a war isn’t a time to be having a baby anyway, and we’re still so young…” you say, knowing the words are true. But if it wasn’t the right time, why were you so sad to hear the test was negative? One of your hands involuntarily finds its way to your stomach before you look up at Sirius again, asking “Negative? Really?” 

“No, it’s positive,” he says, a grin playing at his lips- the one he wears after a particularly good prank. 

“What? Are you sure?” you shoot to your feet, reaching for the test which he holds out readily “Well, yeah, I lied before,” he says with a chuckle, earning another smack on the arm as you look at the test in your hands, displaying a very prominent plus sign.

One of your hands flies up to cover your mouth, happy tears pricking your eyes as you look up at him “We’re going to have a baby?” 

Sirius nods, his mischievous grin fully replaced by a smile of pure elation “We’re going to have a baby,” he confirms, catching you with a huff as you throw your arms around him and pull him into a bone-crushing hug. 

Maybe this will be alright after all. 

[aconflagrationofmyown]

A Whole Man is Hard to Find -chapter sixteen

Notes: my many thanks to my friends and my readers, all of you so dear and good to me, for the support and ideas and interest that you’ve continued for this story. It’s so dear to my heart and it’s plot and heart has become more clear yet sprawling than I could ever have imagined when I first began. Thanks for your patience, I intend to see this through. Your feedback means the world to me

Warnings: 18+, all the canon and period typical warnings apply, although this chapter is far softer than most of the previous, still the current themes remain as does smut

Last chapter link since it was ages ago when I last updated

Just once, Rosey would like to have woken before him, the singular time she had was fueled by panic when she found him not breathing after that night spent in Helena. Just once she’d like to roll over and find him asleep beside her, a perfect face to study and to adore as he did her own most mornings.

Just once would be nice but she could hardly blame herself on this occasion, coming out of the stupor of sleep felt similar to being hauled out of a quagmire, soupy and thickheaded with leaded limbs and a pounding heart too strong to be ignored and to sluggish to be of use. It was dismal waking up this morning except for the feel of him cradling the side of her face in one of his large, work worn hands, shaking her head upon the pillow with more and more emphatic jerks. His hand was warm and large enough to span the height of her skull, his calloused thumb had anchored itself on her cheek and she got a powerful yearning to suck on it before coffee or orange juice even entered her thoughts. But he was tapping her cheek with it and shaking her head,

“C’mon now, I don’t pay ya to sleep, I’d like to stay too but lord knows it's gonna be dawn a’fore ya know it, c’mon now, I didn’t give ya that much for pity’s sake, you just open those pretty lil eyes f’me, babydoll….”

It was worth keeping them closed with her neck lax and her legs inert just to hear him babble to her, every bit as patient and teasing and inexorable as when he knew her to be conscious. A consistent man in all his dealings with her, even though he was consistent only in his mercurialness.

Rosey realized that this morning she had not startled awake, nor did she play asleep in order to gauge her surroundings, those were the behaviors of a hunted thing. This morning she lay abed with the feel of her naked beloved stretched beside her and half atop her as he thumbed at her face, jostled her bruised breasts and squeezed her neck to coax her to awaken. She lay unresponsive in order to savor it, nothing more complicated in her heart than that. Just playing at it a little longer as he jostled and sweet talked to her, nearly breaking her act with a unbidden smile at that strange behavior of his to chat to one anatomical part of her and then another, the sidetracked weighing of assets so unstudied and boyish it tickled her worse than his breath on her nipples.

It was delicious to feel him so near and so gentle and so large and warm and eager for her company. She could melt back into this bed for a few centuries at least with such attentions being lavished on her. Or maybe it was all due to that metal taste that still clung to her mouth.

What did you do to me, you scoundrel? -she thought with drowsy ire.

Suddenly his babble made more sense, but drawing from his lack alarm she assumed there was no real danger of her being drugged beyond capacity and he seemed neither to regret nor blame it for her inertia and so she chose to follow his example.

Comfortable and secure she might be in her morning rituals with him but there was still the matter of deciding which battles were worth fighting each morning. Each day could have an allotment of two to three spats, depending on size and significance, and Rosey found that his blithe use of tonics might be concerning but it was hardly so significant a battle to waste her fights this early in the day. She had a feeling that she would need each of her favors and each of her fights on this trip and she shouldn’t start spending them like a spendthrift.

The thought exhausted her once more and she burrowed further into her pillow and the dip of the ratty cot mattress that buckled under their combined weight. It was simple here, laying beside him, it was simple.

“I saw that sliver of eyeball, you can’t fool me, you’re awake, c’mon now. Never have met someone who liked sleepin’ so damn much…” his grumbles had no heat to them and Rosey thought that was a rich sentiment coming from a man who’d blown his boat’s roof off in his exhausted state and temperamental need for a nap.

“If you felt what I feel at this moment you’d never wanna leave this bed.” she mumbled, eyes still screwed shut and savoring that last unconscious moment where only her skin and her ears told her he was spread atop her, smooth and heated, weighted and anticipatory.

“Bed? More like a plank with some cotton on it.” he bitched in reply and suddenly she realized that the bright sunlight streaming through his shutters that she’d been squinting her eyes to keep out was not there to pierce the gloom. Rosey’s eyes fluttered open suddenly at that, all safety having flown from her breast at the familiar surroundings being gone but then it occurred to her, they were down in the hold, with the horses and the boilers and Cal and the gator door, and in this tiny cubby of a room there with no windows to tell her the time of day. “Shh, shh.” he soothed into her ear, somehow attuned to her calculations and concerns. “We’re down in the hold, ‘member?” he prodded, gravelly and gentle in her ear and he turned her face with his hand, the better to pepper her cheek with sloppy, lazy, scruffy kisses.

“I’d forgotten where we were.” she admitted in a scratchy voice although she had been right in her assumptions about his posture, he was indeed lying half atop her and half on that sliver of cot not occupied by her body, between her and the wall, propped up on one forearm with the other hand massaging her scalp into hypotonic complaisance. Above them still swung the dimly glowing gaslamp, creaking and unsteady as a lantern on a barn beam, and Rosey’s blood ran cold at the realization they’d never doused it while they slumbered. The hay bales stored not ten feet away came helpfully to mind and her body shivered, the cold dread of memories wrestling with the delicious scritches of his morning stubble against her throat.

He’d never watched as folks were burned alive in the distance, caught in a frenzied conflagration, the shrieks of barn animals and humans indistinguishable in their agony. She’d never wish it on her worst enemy, and yet she wished she could impress upon him how badly she wanted to make certain the lights were doused each night. It was a bad habit of his she had noticed and while the steady gas lamp fixtures of upstairs gave her some comfort, these creaky lanterns terrified her down below. The Captain might not understand but he’d be willing she was sure of it -and almost as soon as she thought it she realized she’d been a fool. He very likely had seen what she had, he’d been to war after all. He’d been to sea, and that’s how they kill you there, drowning or burning or slow decay are the trifecta of ways to die. Sometimes she forgot he’d had a life between picking cotton and showboating on the Mississippi. He’d fought a war between, and nothing was spoken of it except for the bulletproof shutters in his room. There was so much she didn’t know about him, a strange thing to admit about someone who made her feel safer than anything else in all her life. How’d he get taken prisoner anyway? Was there fire then?

“We never doused the light.” she decided to voice that observation and that alone, hoping he’d pick up on her tone.

“Yeah, damn foolish, m’sorry.” He paused in his nuzzling to wait for her to add a condemnation of the heavy slumber he’d put them both into but it never came, she could feel him relax as the moments of silence ticked by after his initial bracing for her nagging. It confirmed her decision to let the subject lie for the time being. “Won’t happen again, I swear, darlin’.” his voice was rich and deep in her ear as he relaxed again and the promise of another time, of his agreeing to be down here with her whenever he could, soothed all else and she turned her face to press a kiss of her own to his cheek.

He was still here, after her lies and her prudery and her demands, he was still here, in the dark of an early morning, trying to please her. He was a wonder, that’s what he was, a wonder of a fathomless heart, deep and uncharted in its capability for love. It made her own heart swell in gratitude and she returned his nuzzles and pecks with ferocity, kneading the shoulder nearest her and trying to pour out her gratitude through her touches.

“Honey, honey dear, y-you’re cryin’.” he pointed out with soft concern before she even registered her own emotions had carried her so far.

“Just happy.” she swore, really trying to just enjoy the feel of him thumbing at her tear tracks and looking down on her so tenderly her heart could burst from it, “Just very happy you’re still here with me.” that was the meat of the matter, she figured, it’s what she could define as best she could, “Just grateful.” she supposed, because this was more than transient joy, she wanted to jump up and thank someone for him, worship someone for being so good and faithful and forgiving to her. It was an entirely new emotion and it made her eyes weep even as the rest of her remained calm and lulled by his touch.

She saw that look of barely restrained adoration mirrored in his own beautiful face as he hovered above her. “Let’s go thank the Lord for another day together.” Elvis suggested eagerly and she should have guessed that was coming, that this new emotion was an old one for him, one he poured out to a God that Rosey had never been convinced was all that merciful. Not until she’d met him. Not until she’d tasted a bit of it through Elvis’ love.

“Yes, let’s.” she laid in bed for a moment longer, not that she didn’t wish to match his vigor but it was rather more delightful to lay at that vantage point and watch him boyish and pretty above her, digging about the small room for clothing and refreshments, bare as god had made him. He bent in half with ease to pet a sleeping Sweet Pea on her velvet cushion under the rickety chair before dressing himself with that pleased precision of a man well aware of the impact of a good appearance.

Rosey found something to be thankful for in the sight. As she did with his chosen wardrobe that was in no way the fashionable dandy of the past months but instead a working man’s attire, worn leather overcoat and buffed out denim trousers, even his shirt a homespun butternut. Only his kerchief, lazily looped around and hanging limply against his unshaven throat spoke of some wealth and elevated taste, bright orange and shiny in the gaslight.

“Now there’s the man who bought me.” she observed, the difference between “Captain” and Showboating Peacock glaringly obvious now she thought back.

He just gave her a bashful grin of acknowledgment of his fashion amendments, “I oughta get Cal sorted, too. Dress the part if he’s gonna try his hand at bein’ crew. Last thing we need is one of those horse soldiers mistakin’ someone for a goddamn fairy.”

“You’re worried for him.” she realized and the way he spooked when she said it aloud told her it resonated even as he was quick to deny it.

“Nah, nah just, just want him -want him -I don’t want nothin’ to take him unawares.” he decided upon his motivation after much stuttering and a fidgety hand jangling his watch chain in his trouser pocket.

“Does the presence of so many soldiers concern you?” she figured she’d ask and he looked at her with surprised exasperation, as if he couldn’t believe she hadn’t understood all his complaints about the cavalry coming aboard. Untill he saw her true meaning in her face.

It was odd still, and he wasn’t convinced it wasn’t a little wrong too, to confide such things in a woman. T’weren’t right to be talked about aloud no matter what, no matter what she’d heard Scotty say just the night before. “Not much.” he replied truthfully after some fight with his conscience as to wether or not he meant it, but it was the truth by the time he managed to say it, “Not much, reckon it’ll be like ole times in the navy, buncha fellas shootin’ the shit waitin’ to get from one place to the next. Harmless. I’m good at that.” he pondered aloud and then at her inquiring expression explained a little bashfully, “Fosterin’ camaraderie.” he smiled, “That’s what captain Phillips said. Said I was good at that and I must be -one time I got a sing along goin’ in the Memphis jail while waiting for the sentencin’. That’s where I met Jerrah, actually.”

“Of course it was.” she marveled and he turned pink and cleared his throat self consciously.

“Nah, m’not worried.” He reaffirmed, “Hell, they’re likely all splendid fellas, s’just that it -it only takes one bad sort.” those blue eyes took a journey before focusing back on the wood paneling, Elvis then laughed as if something funny had occurred to him, “Hellish bein’ a father, ain’t it? I mean, look at me turnin’ all fretful and shit. Daddy never acted like this.” he scoffed at himself but Rosey hardly thought Vernon Presley a stellar example to follow.

“Your mama did.” was all she added, sat on the bed in her most demure frock and watching the spectacle of his emotions like a play, and that reminder was enough for them both to share a look of understanding.

“I’m glad for the break from preformin’ and schmoozin’.” he suddenly went on in a burst of candor directed at the door frame, “S’just a little, a little -reminiscent, I’sppose.” and with that heavy admittance mumbled so inconsequentially, the subject was closed for the time being and worship was engaged in for the next hour, amidst the ruins of the rearranged hold and with the remaining dwindled crew.

“What am I to do while you’re up above all day?” Rosey asked him the question burdening her as they made their way back to the little room, to deposit her therin before he went up above and met the General who’d be taking over his boat for the foreseeable future.

“I dunno cricket, whatever ladies do when we menfolk let ‘em alone.”

“I’ve never had time for being a lady before.” she felt like whimpering it, so strongly did she dislike the idea of peace and boredom, it was foreign and suggested time to reflect and she wished for nothing less.

“Etta used to practice witchcraft in betwee- when I let her alone.” He offered helpfully.

Rosey, ever thirsty for any divulged scrap as to his past perked up, “In between what?”

“You know what.” he scowled at her, unable to understand such an open lack of jealousy.

“She ever use witchcraft on you?”

“God, I hope not.” he seemed to actually ponder it for a moment which suggested he wasn’t positive she hadn’t.

Rosey stood in the doorway of the little room and glared at the cramped space and windowless walls and piled boxes. “I just might take it up.” she pretended to seeth.

“Do that, if it pleases ya.” he snarked unapologetically, “But you ain’t comin’ above decks. That’s final.”

Rosey felt secure enough in his affections after all his doting this morning to huff a little and throw herself upon their cot like a petulant child. -Or a fine lady, face first in the unmade sheets, the picture of desolation.

“Now what’s this?” his sigh morphed into a giggle the longer she lay there.

“I’m being a fine lady.” came from the pillows.

“Ohh, s’that right? Pardon me ma’am, didn’t recognize the signs with your backside exposed like that.”

Rosey’s face jerked up from the bedding and craned behind her to realize her skirts had flown up indecorously in her playful fit. She set it to rights with a genuine blush and a frantic patting of her backside that made him envy her little hand.

“Aww hell, I was enjoyin’ that.” he fussed, lounging against the doorway and looking so very masculine in this new garb -or was it old?- that a shot of respectful appreciation for his size and strength shot through her as if they were strangers again. “Maybe you’ll be back at bein’ a lady when I come back.” his leer suggested something of a game and she swallowed in panicked excitement.

“I’ll always be a lady,” she replied in measured correction, “just as you’ll always be a mudborn hick no matter your clothes…captain.”

She saw him blink. Twice, thrice, half a dozen times, and then that long tanned throat worked up and down with a thick swallow. His hand twitched beside his thigh and that little friend of hers, tucked down the left side of his pant leg perked. Rosey held her breath in hopes she’d succeeded, hoping he’d give in for just a minute and do something to her before he went above. Insulting him in play was a gamble but it had worked physically, all that was left was for his mind to bend as well.

Elvis knew she wasn’t being mean, not really, not in earnest now that he knew she was made of the same bog-sodden earth as him. If Miss Beaumont had said it he’d have felt like striking her -but she didn’t, it was Cricket playing and if he could just drown out the echo chamber in his mind of other women, other clients, other folks who had eagerly wanted to be coupled with something they thought lower than themselves: well then he’d have been able to finish this game he himself started right here and now. But it weren’t fair to fuck sweet Rosey with a thousand other voices in his head, it wasn’t his fault he responded to jeers; that had once been a craft for him. And that’s all there was to it.

“This ‘mudborn hick’ owns your ass.” he teased instead, feeling secure enough in her security to remind her of the 2,000 greenbacks spent on her infuriating self.

“You make very little use of me for such an investment.” she whispered so softly an average man wouldn’t catch it.

“Oh Ho! Careful what you wish for, lil girl.”he warned with a wagging finger and a thunderbolt of a grin before turning on his heel and jogging up the three flights of stairs from the hold onto the top deck.

It was still cold as balls outside on deck. Figured, with winter setting in but sometimes one could harbor hope that autumn would last longer than a couple of weeks. Captain Presley tried to console himself with recent recollections of horseback rides in the golden sun and balmy nights on the wheel deck with that crisp autumn breeze slicing the muggy river air. Fall was short but it was prettiest on the river, and he’d have to recall that and count his blessings on e the river turned into a goddamn ice block before December even hit. He was torn from these reflections by a troop of cavalry men dismounting at the foot of the gangway and clomping their way up it to meet him, booted and spurred with a peculiar display of red kerchiefs poking out their dark blue uniforms. The sight of Yankees still made his fists curl after all these years, it took a studied nonchalance to neither fight or flee at the sight of government men.

“Gentleman.” he greeted with a tip of his hat, there were less than ten of them and the one wearing the most distinguished insignia looked peculiarly familiar-“General?-“

“-Sherman.” the officer provided stoically but with the aspect of a man expecting recognition.

“No shi-eeet.” Elvis balked with a chortle of disbelief, staring at the man who single handedly fucked the South up the ass back in ‘64…metaphorically of course. Arson was the real weapon.

“Let me guess, I burned your house awhile back.” General Sherman had a dry sorta charm to him, Elvis had to admit, even when making light of war crimes.

Elvis could appreciate such humor, though he feared a certain little girl of his would recall such war crimes more personally and object to harboring so ignominious a man. Couldn’t get helped. “Nah, reckon my shack was one of the few ya spared. You’da had a real lark in Tennessee pullin’ that shit, wood’s so wet half the time you can’t burn a place unless you powdered it with turpentine beforehand.”

“Yes, well, blame God for drought if you want to.”

“That what decides a just war, sir?” the Captain perused with amusement, “Draught?”

“You a religious man?”

“Of a sort.”

“Then you tell me.”

“Now you’re off for more of the same?”

“Orders are orders. Law and order is the same anywhere, south or west.”

“D’you read orders to burn a buncha Lakota, General, like the rest of us read the paper over eggs?”

“Something like that.” General Sherman was probably smiling though it looked more like a gash across his weathered face.

“Right, well, I told them I ain’t a transport but they wouldn’t hear otherwise.” Captain Presley explained, “I’ll do my best to get y’all boys up there, you have your men behave and keep from harassin’ my staff and I’ll drop y’all off quick like, and we’ll have no issues. Straight up the river and drop, simple, shouldn’t take more than two weeks.”

“We’re not goin’ upriver, young man.” General Sherman adjusted the toothpick he had cradled in the corner of his straight mouth like most would a cigar, “You’ll be taking us up the Missouri. We’re going west till we get to the Dakotas. I’ve got no time to waste waiting on railroads to be patched up from Saint Paul’s westward. We’ve got a river. We’ve got a captain. We’ll do it the old way. Those are your orders, Captain Presley. We depart at noon.”

“Now hang on!” Elvis flung out his hand, “I ain’t ever been off onto the Missouri, see, there’s Mississippi captains and then there’s tributary captains and I ain’t one. Hell sir, they got special flatboats for the Missouri it’s so damn shallow and fickle, we’ll run aground in this lug. She’s built for a mighty river, I can get you to Saint Paul’s but we won’t make it a hundred miles down the Missouri ‘fore we hit a sandbank, tear my hill to shreds. I’m tellin ya sir.”

“And I’m telling you, captain, orders are orders.”

“You want an inexperienced pilot to take a boat too big down a river too small to get to some fuckin’ territories nobody cares about ‘cause you don’t trust trains? Have I got that right?”

“Yes, and I’d like to leave by noon. No time to waste.” The general was still smiling that grimace of a smile, “I imagine you’ve made the adjustments for billeting my men?”

“Yeah, yeah I have.” Elvis nodded with his pretty mouth twisted in a impotent snarl.

“By noon then, captain.” The general tipped his own hat and moved forward through the glass doors into ballroom, decamping inside on the abandoned billiard tables, turning them into desks.

“General Fuckin’ Sherman.” Elvis grumbled and after a moment of disconsolate rage for his burnt country and his inconvenienced self, resigned himself to the unchangeable and, seeking comfort and knowledge, found himself hustling back down below to Rosey, bent on satisfying a craving he felt coming on.

He needed maps of the west. And he needed…her, he supposed. So he went right back down to her.

Rosey was still abed when he came in, lying on her back with her frock’s skirts crumpled around her and her legs crossed as she held a book up for perusal. Morton’s Guide for Nautical Engineering. He hadn’t unearthed that dull tome out of his trunks since the war.

She perked up when he opened the door, like a prisoner when their meal arrives, and he strode straight up to stand over her after closing it behind him.

“Still layin’ here?” he observed, petting the hair off her forehead.

“As I was told to.” she replied accusingly.

“Mm, obedient little investment.” He teased, stealing a kiss that she nipped into a little too much for his taste.

He was no longer in the mood for banter and wanted more. Cunt, to be honest.

The juicy, fragile, pungent perfection of hers might wipe out the memory of his orders for ten minutes or more and he wanted that. “Came down here to make use of ya, as you offered.” he tried to jest.

“Is this what I am to do?” she bemoaned playfully, “Languish in ennui until you choose to come and make use of your purchase? What a life. Beetles have more independence.”

“If that elevates the experience for ya, go right ahead, consider yourself a purchase. Or a beetle. Now let me at ya.” he knelt down at the edge of the little cot and grabbing her hips pulled her round till she was crumpled against the wall in a petulant slump with her bum hanging off the cot and legs flung over his shoulders. “I’ve just been told by general Fuckin’ Sherman himself that I gotta take him all the way to the dakotas.” he elaborated on his peckishness as he hiked up her skirts and parted her pantaloon split, “Just like Clemens suspected, n’I hate it. It’s bullshit -oooh god are you always so wet? just born soppin’? I’m not complaining I jus-“

“THE general sherman?” Rosey rose right up from her slump and dug at her skirts to uncover his face as he licked at her damp thighs, his day old stubble chafing her a little.

“Yup.”

“No!”

“Yeah.”

“No, not that bastard! Elvis you can’t!-“

“Honey, there ain’t no can or can’t, just orders. It’s just orders. Now spread your legs, I’m cramped in here.”

“But he’s-“

“Just be thankful he’s not on his way to burn your house. Somebody else’s nightmare this time. C’mon now I can’t get to ya like that.” he was near whining right now and hated himself for it. So he barked, “Spread ‘em, girl!”

“Oh, sorry. There.”

“Mmm, better.”

“That bastard.” she mused again. “I just might, dunno, but if I ran into him I just might- ow!!”

Elvis had bitten her little rosebud before returning to the lazy, aimless licking he was indulging in before. “No murder.” he mumbled into her wetness and went back to it.

Rosey leant back on her hands and anchored her heels to his shoulders, puzzling at this mood of his, serene in some aspects but utterly without context or prefix. Like he’d just come down for this. Like it was some tradition she ought to know about. Like worship service or the dinner bell. Something about his sweet entitlement to bury his face in her most vulnerable parts turned her belly to goo. She had not anticipated him being back down here in the hold for hours yet and even then there had been this imposed chastity of sorts between them.

Now there was…this.

This tasting of her like one would partake of a nap or a tonic, something more restorative rather than erotic. He was crouched to reach her on the low cot and his back bent beneath his leather jacket and the room was growing warm, her breathing and temperature not unaffected by the lavishing of his tongue. His hands lay listlessly beside her thighs as if he wanted all sensation to be directed through his face and she sat herself fully against the wall so that she might free her own hands from her weight and entwine them with his.

She could feel his cheeks bunch in a smile against her slick.

He squeezed her hands again and again and she took to watching his methodical enjoyment of it, his slurping tongue making some progress on her for all that she was taken by surprise. Some slick had gone up to his brow bone, so thoroughly had he burrowed, and his eyelashes clumped together with her dew.

“I’m sorry about your boat.” she murmured, rubbing her heel against his ribs in a gesture she intended as soothing.

“We’re gonna die goin’ out there.” he pulled away to declare in a bored tone of resignation, disentangling one hand to plunge his fingers into her tight channel without warning, jostling her cunt impatiently like trying to get the last drops from an empty keg. It made Rosey yelp in pain and shock at the demanding pleasure it sent through her, “Or else we’ll die on the way back. Nobody just fucks off to the Dakotas and comes back all dandy. Otherwise the tables would be full of insufferable idiots tellin’ bout their lil adventure.”

“You’ve come back from worse.” she pacified him even as she hissed at his rough handfucking and tried, and failed, to slow his frenzied forearm with her halting little hand. He was a man determined and after a couple dozen jabs of his coupled fingers he struck the spot he’d found before and her abdomen dommed in response, clenching violently.

“There's a reason I haven’t gone out west.” he shook his head as he continued, mercilessly bored with this part compared to the oral aspect, “Got no curiosity about gettin’ scalped and now I gotta go buy me some maps before we leave at noon. It’s bullshi-Ah, Ah Ah there we go, that’s it c’mon, coat my hand baby, wanna have to wring my sleeve out after this, c’mon, spew. Gimme something real to taste. Give it to me, that’s it, that’s it, don’t push my hand away I ain’t done, I say when we’re done -I want somethin’ to taste, you gimme somethin’.”

“Please god please enoug— ELVIS!”

“Alright, alright, calm down, I’ll clean ya up, don’t gotta be so cross about it.”

Rosey panted and pressed her palm to her poor womb to still its last, frantic clenches of pleasure, feeling like she had gotten spanked from the inside by a couple of calloused fingertips, so roughly and hard had she come undone. Contented with the gush of satisfaction she had let out for him, Captain Presley ducked his head again and resumed his leisurely supping, smacking and licking at her sensitive petals while contentedly grasping hold of her hand again with his now sticky fingers. She spread her legs wide and tried to breathe, tried to let him have this -whatever this was. His eyes were closed again and he had that peaceful look on his face that she’d happily kill to ensure, all the more willing was she to sit there with legs cramping and hold his hand while he got his fix.

Unused to him engaging in this activity without the use of his talented hands, she found herself spreading her legs as much as possible to help him burrow his face deeper and received a happy hum in acknowledgment, bucking up to meet his licks since it seemed to please him. When he had thoroughly slurped her down and coated his face with her essence he seemed to finally fatigue after awhile, or else accomplished what he wanted, and he stayed knelt there with his cheek against her tacky thigh and his breath coming out in slow drafts.

“I’ve never seen you reach for a map.” she realized, keeping her tone soft and running her thumb along his knuckles soothingly, “Not even for going far north.”

“Cause we were goin’ vertical, damn it.” he knew she would know his tone wasn’t meant to hurt her, if he could hurt general Sherman with his tone he’d do it and in the meantime he growled it into the thick plushness of a good woman’s thigh. “I know the damn Mississippi like the freckles on your face, could lick ‘em blindfolded and have navigated this wild ole stream when blind drunk and - well, I know it. Never even been on the goddamn Missouri. Nothin’ but a fuckin’ piss trickle of a river that oughta be called a creek ‘cept the rapids get so bad in a couple places they’ve killed enough folks so it gets called it a river. Politics, Nothin’ but river politics. Shit shit shit.”

Rosey regretted working him up from the soothed daze of his unorthodox snack. “Shh, shh please just, let me take care of you?” she pleaded, running her hand down his chest as far as she could reach with him laying fast first in her lap.

“I’m calm, I’m calm.”

“No I meant- let me taste you.” she puzzled that he didn't get it.

“Oh.” he raised his face up from the swampy delight of that little oasis and smiled softly at her flushed face, still a little surprised, maybe even doubtful, that she enjoyed pleasuring him that way. “I-I don’t need it, sweetheart, and we haven’t got the time. We’ve gotta go to the bookstore, get those maps.”

“But- but it’s not fair, me gettin’ treated so sweet and you left without tending to.”

“But I got what I wanted.”

“You didn’t get any relief.” She pressed and tried again to reach somewhere lower than his belly.

“I got to lick cunt,” he laughed at her shocked expression, “that’s exactly what I wanted and thanks for that, my sweet lil possession. Now does my baby-honey-pie-sweet-cakes wanna get outta her widdle prison and buy some maps w’me or is hers gonna lay here and sulk?”

“I’m coming with you!” she bounded out of the bed at lightening speed to find her boots and clutched at her belly as she did so, “Lord you rubbed right though me, Elvis! Feels like someone knifed me in there!”

“How the hell can you be sore from some lickin’?” he scoffed, rolling his eyes as he stood up himself, wiping his shiny face off in the elbow crook of his jacket.

“It was all that jabbing you did with your fingers!” she accused in a low moan, mimicking the jackknifing motion of his wrist as she wobbled back to the cot to lace up her boots.

“Couple fingers up there and you act like you done had a child.” he shook his head at her and gripped a pale leg and hauled it up to his waist so that he might help her shove on a boot.

“You were very rough!”

“You weren’t cummin’ fast enough.”

“Wh- it was very rough.”

“You sure acted like you didn’t mind it, we’ll have to change the sheets you soiled yourself so much.”

“Cause you made me!”

“Sure did.” he sucked on his bottom lip in smug remincience.

“I’m just sayin’ you were mighty rough about it and that’s why I’m sore.” she patiently repeated while standing up and smoothing out her skirts.

“Uhuh, alright,” he opened the rickety door for her like a true gentleman before adding with calculated roguishness, “well if a couple fingers got ya bitchin’ bout soreness you can kiss goodbye to any goddamn consummation.”

“Oh Elvis, no!” she cried aghast, wheeling around to face him, pleading like her life depended on it and he nearly lost it at the woe so clearly stamped on her face at the threat of never getting bedded. “Please I-“

“I’m a damn sight thicker than that, and you’re obviously a delicate lil flower that can’t even take a puff of breath witho-“

“Oh Elvis please, it’s not so bad, I swear I was just kidding!” she begged him all the way to the sequestered stables where poor Beans and the other crew’s horses had been corralled.

“I dunno, you were awful adamant that I was rough.” he bit down his laughs and kept on as he went about saddling good, patient, silent Beans.

“You were -I’m sure it was transient. Just in the moment I-“ Rosey cast about the place for a better excuse, “It was just at the moment I was a little surprised. I’m fine now, entirely fine! See!” And she hopped about as if that was proof of anything.

“If you think that was rough, lil girl, you’ll go join your grandmother in the great beyond on a day when I’m really hungry.”

“I-I- didn’t mean it, Elvis, I’ve already said that.” Rosey went so far as to lay her hand beggingly on his arm as he tightened the saddle’s girth and he nearly wheezed from holding in his laugh. “Please, please I’ll not complain,” she dropped her voice significantly as Charlie passed close by and another worker shifting the feed sacks, still she was desperate enough to keep on even in this low tone, “I can take you, I’m sure of it. All of you, to the very root, I will. I promise I’ll not even wince!”

“Hell woman,” Elvis cut his palm on the buckle upon hearing that promise so beggingly whispered, hot and submissive in his ear, yet he straightened up and pretended to chide her as he turned to her and picked her up to sit her on top of Beans, looking up at her with consternation, “where’s all that decorum gone to? Hellfire, to think if you -YOU!- beggin’ for cock in public. What would your mama say? What would my mama say?”

Too late she realized he had been goading her into this little display of infatuated wantonness.

“Ooooh I could kick you, Elvis Presley!” she cried out in the prettiest little rage he’d ever seen. “Evil, evil man.”

Fully laughing now Elvis backed away from her one legged kicks as he bent double to indulge in one of his belly clutching fits of amusement. Still snickering he mounted up behind her and she could hear how much he’d been crying in merriment from the stuffiness of his nose when he said next,

“Oh honey you shoulda seen how earnest you looked, like the mama pleadin’ for her baby’s life from King Solomon in the good book.”

“Yes well, if given the chance I’ll not plead a damn thing for you in future-“ she couldn’t think of anything quite humiliating enough to punish him with so she left it ambiguous as Elvis, still wheezing behind her, steered Beans out the low gator door and down onto the wharf that abutted the boat’s lower levels.

St Louis in the daylight was less impressive than it had been the previous evenings she’d been out amongst its street and citizens, in the bright light it was lines of brick houses with patched streets and a desperate prevention towards something more than trading post. St Louis had its judges and its lawyers and its haberdashers and they proclaimed themselves loudly as if begging to be recognized as a real and realized city, like a flat chested girl swearing at ripe maturity. They had book shops too, and second only to the saloon and tailor -alright that made it a third,- Captain Presley was a frequenter of Kinsley’s Books at the corner of Monroe and Market streets. St Louis might also pride itself on being a big, ill organized mess of a city and it was a goodly ride from the docks to the shop.

“Whadda ya think of St Louie?” he asked her, jarring her out of her reverie of trying to soak in her last minutes of freedom and finding them ironically dull.

“It’s nothing like New Orleans.” she ventured.

“Well, no,” he laughed, “but that ain’t it’s fault. No comparison there.”

“I prefer Memphis.” she decided.

“What’s it like now?” he asked in a tone so forcefully neutral it made her cringe at his pain. “-Memphis.” he said it like the homesick.

“Memphis is -busy, in a martial law sorta way.”

“Still?”

“Three months ago, still was.”

“Ah.”

“Why’d you leave?” she asked him and after hearing Elvis grunt as if hurt she’d forgotten Scotty’s confession last night, she quickly amended: “Why’d you join the navy? During the war, I mean. Thought you always wanted to be in the cavalry. You loved horses so, I thought you’d have gone for that.”

“Too poor to own a horse.” he reminded.

“Then why not join the local boys, for soldiering? You’d have kept been nearby.”

Near her, she meant, near his mama, near that child he’d thought he’d begotten -and he knew it.

“I built a damn submarine in old Beaumont’s cornfield, Cricket.” he huffed, “They thought me a whiz. Sank of course, but it worked for a couple missions. Ever after that they wouldn’t keep me on land. Shame, really.”

“Hold up,” she tried to crane her neck to look him in the face as Bean’s gait jostled them, “you built a submarine in a cornfield?”

“Yeah.”

“And it worked?”

“Yeah for a few runs.”

“Wh- why? Oh good Lord, you’re full of surprises, sir!”

“Yankee gunboats were shellin’ the hell outta us, the confederacy had all the ships sent to protect Vicksburg, just let Memphis get wrecked, I’d had enough.”

“Simple as that.” she marveled, “Elvis Presley got tired of his ears hurting so he built a submarine. In a cornfield.”

“I guess you were too young to recall, Mama hadn't slept in a month, kids were dyin’ , just starvin’ from their nerves bein’ shredded” he muttered, “you yourself were a lil scarecrow. I’d always been quick with those engineering books. T’weren’t hard.”

“Ha.” she scoffed in admiration, “And what do you mean by a few runs? Runs down the Mississippi? Did you actually launch the thing?”

“Yeah, me and Scotty and Bill and a couple others.”

“That’s horrifying.”

“You’ve no idea, felt like getting nailed into a metal coffin when they screwed us in.”

“Well did it do any good?”

“We took down an ironclad. It blew us to hell, too. But we sank some Yankees.”

“Oh hurrah, that’s marvelous.” Rosey cheered, entirely forgetting the war was quite over, “Please be sure to tell General Sherman this story over cards. No wonder they wanted you for the navy!”

“I was sixteen, Rosey. The hell was I gonna do for the navy?”

“Elvis!”

“Well, really! I was an engineer if anything, all I did was putter around in a lil tube in a river and they thought I was a sailor. Broke mama's heart takin’ me away.”

“Oh, yes, it did, didn’t it.”

“Yeah it did.”

“Mine, too.” she whispered.

“Mine three.” he shrugged and poked her side.

Maddy’s heart, perhaps the most obvious and endangered of any, was conspicuously unuttered. Rosey wasn’t sure she found that soothing or ominous, had he forgotten or did he simply neglect his attachment so as not to imperil their own, current, precarious arrangement?

“Is this what you were tryin’ to learn? Reading my old books?” he asked with amusement.

“I was just trying to get a taste for what you like.”

“Oh well, that one ain’t for pleasure, doll.” he sounded quite droll, “Put the dullest man to sleep. You know what I like, we’ve been readin’ enough together.”

“We’ve completed one book.”

“So? I liked it. Dicken’s is-a-helluva writer.”

“So you like novels?”

“So what if do!”

“I’m just asking!”

“Yeah, I like novels. How bout you then, hmm?”

“I haven’t had the time.” she confessed, “Being a fine lady, as you called it, kept me shockingly busy morning till night at a plow or else the accounts.”

“Then why’re your bitchin’ bout having a month long lie-in? I’d do anything for that.” he teased.

“It’s far less enjoyable alone in the bed.” she realized it as she said it, cupping her hand to her mouth in sudden bashfulness.

As usual such modesty had a fond effect on him and he rested his chin on her shoulder cozily as Bean’s gait rocked them in the saddle, “It’s new f’me too, baby.” he whispered like he was scared to realize it himself and only confessed it to put her at ease.

Kinsley’s Books sold far more than just books and in the dim ,dusty and charming maze of the place Rosey could have found maps and stationary and inks and chalks and stamps and pressed flowers to her heart's content. It was perhaps more thrilling than having herself outfitted at the finest of lady’s emporiums.

She was running her hand admiringly over a rhinoceros skull when she heard Elvis strike up a conversation and a voice she knew take up the banter.

“You were right Clemens,” Elvis was saying and, peering through a gap in the books, Rosey spied the wizened old journalist of yesterday’s courthouse wedding -Samuel Clemens, “my orders were for the Dakota’s. All the way, it’s the Missouri for us. You sure you still want that damned adventure? Hell of a risk for a lark and some newsprint.”

“Somehow I feel the story will be worth it with you cast in a leading role.” Clemens replied with dry affection.

“No sirree I’ll be strictly captaining.” Elvis protested any ambitions toward excitement, “And poorly at that.”

“Ah, the river’s not so bad. Not with what you're used to.”

“But that’s the difference,” the captain became grave, “it’s entirely a matter of used to a’not. I ain’t used to it and I- lord I pause before sharin’ this but- well, you’re still a pilot ain’t ya? Got your license still?”

“I do.” Mr. Clemens drug out his syllables in the way those fearing entrapment do.

“Then -look I’m beggin’ ya, I ain’t joshin’ -I’m beggin’ ya to take it off me, hmm?”

“Flattered but -no.”

“You won’t do it or you’re scared too?” Elvis sneered but there was no venom in it.

“Frankly terrified of how dull it would be to let you off the hook.” Clemens chuckled, “Why’re you so scared yourself?”

“I-I dunno.”

“That hogwash, ‘course you know. Tell me, son.”

“Well,” it was the Captain’s turn to draw it out, “you’re a river man…”

“Mhmm.”

“So I can -I can sound off my rocker and you’ll, you’ll under- you’ll not fault me?”

“Course not.” Clemens grunted, “Tell me you’re scared of the mermaids in the muddy Missouri and I’ll find you credible but just don’t tell me you don’t have designs on ‘em, cause know you would.”

Elvis whooped a laugh before settling into his confession with more ease than before, “You know how it is sir, rivers, they give ya what you put into ‘em. I been good and I was respectful -even in my wildest days I was respectful- of the old mississippi and she’s been good to me when she’s dashed other, she’s been good to me and I been good to her and I- makes me damn uneasy goin’ onto another river I ain’t ever paid respects to and doin’ it to carry men up her so they can commit slaughter. If that river don’t claim my boat it’ll be -it’ll be a mercy of God, that’s what. Divine intervention and nothin’ short.”

Mr. Clemens hummed contemplatively and then gave a shrug as he himself saw the merits of this argument. “Have you got a choice?” he asked the million dollar question.

“None at all.” The captain bemoaned.

“Well then,” Clemens smiled, “I suggest you bring along a good map, the best brandy you can get your hands on, a generous woman to soothe you and a writer to tell the tale. Haven’t you heard? The author never dies in the tragedy”

“I’ve got all but the map.” Rosey could see that Elvis was grinning then, before she had to duck as he caught sight of her spying.

It was Mr. Clemens who sought her out as she weaves her way deeper into the shop.

“You searching for something in particular?” he asked her, and it was the genuine interest in his tone that placated her once more into trusting him. He seemed to have the same effect on Elvis and for once she was not wary or spiteful of what must’ve been a decent judgment of human character. She had never before seen it used so benevolently.

“I was looking for a gift.”

“Oh? Found it?” he smiled at her little lost expression. There was a gentle timidity about her when she felt herself out of her element that suited her so well it Clemens sympathetic to Captain Presley’s ravenous admiration for his fleshy little creature.

“No, I am torn.” she admitted and after seeing the inviting sparkle in his eye went on in a low voice, “I wished to find something to alleviate the captain's preoccupations between shifts. He likes to read, he likes me to read to hi- well, he likes it and so much so he hasn’t any books left that he hasn’t read. He likes novels.” she tried to relay this as if she hadn’t learned it herself within that hour.

“Novels, hmm?” Clemens pondered, “And you? Do you like them? Or are you more of a woman of prose?”

“I- we read Charles Dickens together, it was my first.”

“First?-“

“First novel, sir.” the young lady was more scarlet than cream at this admission and he found such furious frustration with her perceived inadequacy most endearing.

“Yes, well, those worn hands haven’t been holding books, now have they, my dear?” and he said it so admiringly, he who was an author and man of letters, that Rosey’s heart melted with his acceptance of her circumstances.

“I’d take your recommendation most gratefully, sir.” she hinted.

“Tragedy or adventure?”

“Oh nothing too maudlin, I don’t think we could take it just now.“ She laughed merrily as if over a good joke but Clemens was sure that it was truer than either would like to believe. “Adventure, preferably with some ingenious margin for error. If I’ve learned one thing it’s that he’s made for the impossible.”

“In that case,” Mr. Clemens gently steered her by the shoulders till she was staring at a glossy row of gold embossed titles on shiny green leather, “it’s something of Mr. Verne’s you’re after. Hell, he’s insisting we can go to the moon or ‘least camp out in the bowels of earth in his novels. Makes a trip to the Dakotas look tame.”

“That should do it.” Rosey mumbled, still a little enamored with the sleek bindings and ominous titles: Journey to the Center of the Earth, 2,000 Leagues Under the Sea, From Earth to the Moon, Around the World in 80 Days.

The titles alone suggested a reality so outlandish and daring that she felt dizzy by it, the horizons of Memphis expanding somewhere far far far more brave that she would have imagined. Was this the thrill Elvis felt tinkering around with such inventions as he had made?

Rosey made her purchase and parted from Mr. Clemens with a meek smile of thanks. Elvis found her pondering the selection of Penny Dreadful’s whose titles were equally promising as Verne’s but in an entirely sordid sort of way.

“Bandit and the Countess” may have been conservative in name but in illustration it was not, boasting a cover piece depicting a young woman in the throes of ravishment by a swarthy rogue of dark features and rich lips. For one glaring moment Rosey saw how she herself, her situation and her captivity, might be perceived by others. A pang of sympathy for Elvis’ precautions regarding their being seen together struck her. It was a wicked book and she snapped the book closed guiltily at his tap on her shoulder.

He had his left eyebrow up in judgment of her taste before recalling why he had sought her out in the first place:

“Rosey darlin’, there’s reporters out front, got wind of me bein’ here and they won’t leave without givin’ ‘em a word. We can’t have the colonel seein’ you’re still with me, least not ‘till we are well on our way. You understand.”

Smiling bitterly in recent enlightenment, she agreed nonetheless. “I understand.”

“I propose you go out the back, take Beans yourself and get straight on back to the boat now, they won’t know ya, you just get on back. I’ll get a coach or else walk. I could use to walk.”

“Right right right,” Rosey soothed and stood a’tiptoes to kiss his cheek, he leant sideways to aid her in this attempt, “straight back to the boat I shall go, and down I will go and down I will stay and -you’ll come see me, when you need to rest, you’ll come down too?”

“I will.” he promised, “I’m gonna try’n get us through the Missouri’s mouth a’least hy nightfall. I’ll be late.” but he didn’t mean it as an excuse. He’d promised.

Beans was no testy young stallion, seasoned and more than a little used to being holed up, he enjoyed the change of rider and pace and gave Rosey little grief over being in charge instead of his beloved master. The fact she let him go at full canter through the streets of St Louis and back onto the dock may have helped his mood. He was huffing and puffing as much as his red cheeked and glimmering eyed rider by the time Charlie grabbed the bridle and made them slow, six feet deep inside the hold.

“Foolish child.” he cried without any real heat, shaking his head as if she reminded him of someone.

There were soldiers down there, billeting their own horses and working with the crew on accommodating them all. She hadn't expected that, doubted Elvis had either or else he might’ve cautioned her.

As it was there was nothing to do but dismount and toss Cal the reins with a word of thanks before slinking away down the narrow hall to squirrel herself away in their inner room with his trunks and his books. She thought she might try to find something to wrap her little present in, an old shirt or some lace. She was pondering this and angry at herself for not thinking to buy parchment when she laid hold of the door knob and turned it.

No one was supposed to be within but when she went to open the door, it felt obstructed and while at first she thought maybe a trunk had fallen before it, or in their hasty departure some coat was caught in the jam, the startled, rustling noise behind suggested an occupant. One who was as surprised and panicked to be found inside as Rosey was to discover them. Crouching down to grab her pistol from her boot, Rosey slowly turned the knob again, imperceptibly until it was fully unlatched and then threw her weight against the old oak as forcefully as possible, conquering the latch. The door flew open.

Down the barrel of her pistol Rosey saw the manically glaring, disfigured beauty of Ada Overton’s onyx eyes, and her arms buried a full two feet in the captain's trunks.

Rummaging.

And not for jewels or watches, as the many discarded items of the same would suggest. Not for books as they were discarded with not a care for bindings. Not for letters as the few ribboned starches he kept were not addressed to her, Rosey has snooped enough to know that. No, something else that Rosey had either not found as yet, or else did not as yet know enough to consider important. That dreadful feeling of dread that had been so put to flight today returned and it wasn’t just those hideous eyes turning cold and acknowledging in the face of Rosey’s glare, it was that familiar terror that Captain Presley had a lot more to tell her than he’d ever want to. With her own lies put to rest, it seemed like his own remaining ones were all the more burdensome in the light stepped happiness of her honesty. Aida Overton, from what she could tell, was some remaining and hideous portal to a time she should not pry into, yet it seemed to her starved curiosity that she deserved to know a bit of the times and particulars that might yet sink them all on their return. These long hours to be spent in the hold might prove not be so boring after all.

With this in mind Rosey chose to ask, “What is it you're after, Miss Aida?” over the metallic click of pulling back the pistol’s hammer.

The boat’s bell rang a quarter to noon.

Historical Note: as stated before, the only fun for this AU to take place in the 1870’s is if I bend the timeline and cram in as many 1870’s happenings as pleases me. So as a result we’ve got Tina Turner as a boat Captain and General William Sherman committing crimes against indigenous people in the Dakotas instead of Kansas. Don’t learn your history from here, though I’d be happy to clarify the fudges. ;) Also, Samuel Clemens’ (pen name Mark Twain) authoring has been pushed back as well for reasons later revealed in the narrative. He’s just a journalist as of yet in this story.

One more thing. A boy from North Carolina did indeed build a prototype submarine in a cornfield to defend his hometown during the civil war. And yes, it worked. For a bit. And if that ain’t 1800’s style superhero/comic book material then I dunno what is

Hope y’all enjoyed! I seem to have lost my Whole Man taglist and so I did the unthinkable this time and used Sarge’s as there’s a lot of overlap. If you’d like to be tagged specifically in this one or omitted from it, please pop a note down below.

@paradsol000

@eliseinmemphis

@prompted-wordsmith

@ab4eva

@foreverdolly

@powerofelvis

@butlersxbirdy

@crash-and-cure

@elvisabutler

@heartbrake-hotel

@stylespresleyhearted

@thatbanditqueen

@crazymadpassionatelove

@myradiaz

@ash-omalley

@whatstruthgottadowithit

@arianatheangelgirl

@steph-speaks

@burningloverdoll

@angelface-555

@lookingforrainbows

@missmaywemeetagain

@coolgirl462

@kingdomforapony

@18lkpeters

@richardslady121

@from-memphis-with-love

@lillypink

@artlover8992

@pennyroyalcreep

@notstefaniepresley

@ellie-24

@renaissingle

@waiting4brucewayne2adoptme

@presleyenterprise

@marriedtopresley

@ashtag2887

@dkayfixates

@prompted-wordsmith

@parodsal000

@ab4eva

@stylespresleyhearted

@presleyenterprise

@kendralavon7

@coolgirl462

@colahola

@lillypink

@stephthestallion

@vintageshanny

@landmermaid12

@ashtag2887

@notstefaniepresley

@butlersluvbot

@steph-speaks

@eliseinmemphis

@lookingforrainbows

@dkayfixates

@ellie-24

@memphisflash1935-1977

@marriedtopresley

@powerofelvis

@thatbanditqueen

@elvisabutler

@butlersxbirdy

@heartbrake-hotel

@fav-fanficssss

@austinbutlersbaby

@freudianslumber

@kxnnxy

@kingdomforapony

@be-my-ally

@crazymadpassionatelove

@that-hotdog

@missmaywemeetagain

@fallinlovewithurlove

@richardslady121

@lilycherries123

@18lkpeters

@xenaspace3-blog

@lil-mamas-obsessions

@father-of-2cats

@returntopresley

[aliypop]

Hi Ally! 💕

Could you use the second pic to write a fic where Elvis does Cecilia's makeup?

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚

Baby Let's Play House

Wordcount: 461

Request by: @sillybookmarks

Prompt: Elvis does Cecelia's makeup

Warning: None

Taglist:

@darkmoviesquotespizza

@sissylittlefeather

@richardslady121

@thegettingbyp2

@presleyenterprise

@dkayfixates

@rjmartin11

@thetaoofzoe

@your-nanas-house

@zayurir

@60svintage

@sillybookmarks

@leapresley

@everythingelvispresley

@dreamondina94

@elvismylove04

@pocketfulofpresley

@elvispresley1956

@poeandmoonknightgirl

1957

"No, use a brush!" Cecelia chuckled, feeling Elvis's finger rub against her eyelid, "Well, that's how I apply my stuff on my eyes..." He responded, " It's called eyeshadow honey..." Cecelia smiled as Elvis rolled his eyes. "Oh..." He blushed as she opened her eyes. Elvis playfully swatted at her, for he wanted her to be surprised by his "Art" work. "At least use the brush." She sighed, feeling his fingers still poking and rubbing. Reaching for the brush on the table, he took a soft sigh,

"Fine...Now tell me how do I use this thing..." 

"Circles." She responded. He was gentle as his wrist went into a circular motion, "Like that, there you go."Elvis liked the praise he was getting, but he was getting bored with doing her eyeshadow, so he decided to dip another brush into her black eyeshadow, smearing into what he thought would achieve the cat eye look,

 "El..."

"Hmm..."

"Are you smearing lip gloss on my eye..."

"I was wonderin' why your eyelid was shiny..."

"If you're trying to do my wing, it's the eyeliner pot." She mentioned as he scrambled a bit to find it. Feeling the cool liquid on her eyelids, she could tell Elvis was having fun doing her makeup. After all, there was no harm in it. With a dreary day in Memphis and no gigs, they figured why not, "Okay... So I did your eyes an..." He began to think, "Lips or cheeks..." He looked at her blush, then her lipstick,

 "Which brush for the blush?"

"It's big and fluffy."

"Got it... I think?" He was about to apply it to her cheek. He then began until something reminded him that he'd never even seen her wear that stuff, so he put it back, reaching for her lipstick, Cruel Red, 

"Cece..."

"What I like to keep you on my lips..."

"I could think of other ways to do that..."

"Oh, you hound dog!" She began to laugh as he quickly kissed her, "Barkin all the time..." He smiled applying her lipstick on her lips, the one thing he got right, 

"Okay now for the eyeliner," Cecelia opened her eyes as she looked into his, Elvis could barely concentrate, taking the pencil he did her eyeliner similar to his own, "Cece..."

"Hmm..."

"Has anyone told ya, you're beautiful lately?"

"Well... Just this one pretty boy with blue eyes," 

"Is that so?"

"Mhmm..."

"Well... you ready to see what I've created?" 

"Of course," Turning her towards the mirror, Cecelia looked at his art work. 

"Well..."

"I love it." She grinned,

"You sure?"

"Of course, " She peppered his soft skin with kisses, 

"El... Cece you two hun..." Gladys walked in seeing her face as Elvis was holding a brush,

 "Lord have mercy..." 

For more requests check out the picture prompt list!