#Elvis Presley | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

presleyverse · 3 days ago

Text

Branding The Brat

tags: Dom!Elvis, sub!Reader, bratty!reader, spanking, power dynamics, early 1970s Elvis, over the knee, branding, punishment, mean Elvis(?), sorta angsty, BDSM

CW: for branding (mild explicitly)

Under the cut for the usual reasons

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All day long, you had been pushing Elvis' buttons—teasing him, making demands, and refusing to listen when he told you to behave. You were in the mood to be a brat, and he was all too aware of it. But when you stomped your foot and whined, "You're being so mean, Elvis!" it was the final straw.

Elvis' jaw tightened, his patience finally wearing thin. "I warned you, darlin'," he drawled, voice low and controlled, but there was an edge to it that made you shiver. Before you could protest, he swept you up into his arms and gently but firmly set you over his knee.

You gasped, eyes wide as you realized just how serious he was. "You're gonna learn what happens when you push my buttons too far," he murmured, the heat of his hand just before it landed on your backside making your breath catch.

The sting was enough to make you squirm, but the dominant way he held you in place left you unable to escape. "Now, you're gonna be a good girl and listen to me, 'cause I ain't gonna warn you again," Elvis growled, tone soft but firm.

You knew exactly what you were doing. Dressed to kill, you laughed a little too sweetly at another man’s joke, let your fingers linger just a second too long on some poor fool’s arm. Elvis was watching—of course he was. And you could feel the weight of his burning gaze from across the room. Still, you pushed.

So, when a strong arm suddenly wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against a firm chest, your breath hitched.

“Elvis,” you started, feigning innocence, but the steel in his grip shut you up quick.

His lips brushed against your ear, voice dark and smooth like Tennessee whiskey. “You just don’t learn, do ya, honey?” Your stomach flipped. The warning in his tone sent a thrill down your spine. “Gonna teach you a lesson you won’t forget,” he murmured, his fingers digging in just enough to make you shiver. “Gonna brand you, sugar. Make sure every man in this damn room knows who you belong to.”

Your mouth went dry. You were so fucked.

And the worst part? You wanted it.

For most of the party at Graceland, You tried to act normal. Tried to sip your drink, tried to laugh at conversations, tried to pretend like your heart wasn’t hammering against your ribs. But you could feel him. Elvis was watching you. Every move you made, every flutter of your lashes, every shift of your hips—his gaze followed, dark and heavy, like a hand at the back of your neck keeping you in place.

You chanced a glance at him across the room. Mistake.

He was leaning back in his chair, long legs spread wide, a glass of whiskey in hand. He looked like sin, like temptation wrapped in silk and fire. But his eyes—oh, those eyes—were locked on you, smoldering, sharp. Your stomach twisted. He wasn’t smiling.

He wasn’t playing.

A slow, knowing smirk curled at the corner of his lips when he saw you staring. You swallowed hard. And when he lifted his hand, casually tapped two fingers against his thigh—the same damn thigh he’d had you over just last night—your breath hitched.

Oh, you were fucked.

So very, very fucked. Jerry noticed. Of course, he did. Leaning in, he chuckled, taking a slow sip of his drink before murmuring, ��Alright, E, what’s got you starin’ holes through that girl?”

Elvis didn’t take his eyes off you. Didn’t even blink. He just swirled the whiskey in his glass, lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Brandin’ her,” he answered simly, low enough that only Jerry could hear.

Jerry’s brows shot up. “Jesus.”

Elvis finally glanced at him, tilting his head slightly. “She asked for it.” And with that, he went right back to watching you squirm.

Jerry blinked, then let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Brandin’, huh? Really, E?”

Elvis finally tore his eyes away from you, just long enough to shoot Jerry a slow, knowing look. “You seen her tonight?”

Jerry scoffed. “Yeah, I seen her. Workin’ every poor bastard in this room just to get a rise outta you.”

Elvis took a lazy sip of his whiskey, nodding. “Mm-hmm.”

Jerry leaned in, lowering his voice. “And your solution is to—what? Slap your name on her ass like she’s one of your damn horses?”

Elvis’ smirk deepened. “Somethin’ like that.”

Jerry sighed, running a hand down his face. “You’re outta your damn mind.” Elvis just hummed, eyes flicking back to you. “Maybe. But she’s about to be outta hers.”

You were pretending not to notice him. Acting like you couldn’t feel the weight of his stare, like every nerve in your body wasn’t buzzing with anticipation. Then you heard it—his deep, honeyed drawl right behind you. “Go upstairs.”

You tensed, breath catching as Elvis’ hand ghosted over the small of your back, warm even through the fabric of your dress. You turned your head slightly, your lips parting to say something—anything—but the look in his eyes stole the words right off your tongue.

Dark. Intense. Unyielding.

“You’re gonna go upstairs,” he repeated, voice low, meant just for you. “And you’re gonna put on those white cotton panties I like.”

Your stomach dropped. He leaned in, his breath a whisper against your ear. “Then you’re gonna wait for me.” A shiver ran down your spine, heat pooling low in your belly.

“Elvis—”

“Go.” One word. Firm. Final. Your pulse thrummed wildly as you swallowed hard, forcing your legs to move.

You didn’t dare look back as you made your way up the stairs, but you didn’t have to. You could feel his eyes on you the whole way up.

The room was quiet, save for the sound of your breath coming in slow, nervous bursts. You stood by the bed, already stripped of your dress, only the white cotton panties Elvis had requested clinging to your hips. You’d never felt so exposed, so vulnerable— yet at the same time, there was a strange thrill that made your skin tingle, an excitement that made your heart race.

But that didn't change the fact that you were still waiting. And waiting. The party was still going on downstairs. You could hear the muffled laughter and music, the clinking of glasses, but none of it mattered. Elvis had told you to wait. To be patient.

It was almost worse than if he were with you now.

You didn’t dare move, not when you knew the second you did, he would sense it, feel it. His rules. His control. Your fingers fidgeted with the edge of the sheet, the anticipation gnawing at you. Every minute that passed felt like an eternity.

You shifted on the bed, trying to find a comfortable position, but it didn’t help. The heat between your legs had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. It was all him. And you were forced to sit here, wait, and take it—knowing what would come next.

Eventually, you carefully slid the white cotton panties on, the fabric hugging your curves and leaving little to the imagination. They fit perfectly, molding to your hips and accentuating the curve of your ass.

The simple material seemed almost innocent, but you knew better. As you stood in front of the mirror, the sight made you ache with need. The panties didn’t leave much to hide, and the thought of Elvis seeing you like this—waiting, exposed—sent a rush of heat flooding through you.

You shifted uncomfortably, feeling the anticipation rise, knowing he’d be up here soon to claim you.

The hour crawled by, each passing minute stretching unbearably, but finally, the muffled sounds of the party downstairs faded. Doors closed, voices disappeared, and then—footsteps. Slow. Steady. Purposeful. Your breath hitched when the bedroom door creaked open, and there he was.

Elvis stood in the doorway, still dressed in that sharp suit, but his jacket was gone, sleeves rolled up. In his hand, he held it—the branding iron. Your stomach flipped. At the end of the metal rod, his initials—EP—gleamed in the dim light.

Your pulse pounded at the sight of it, at the knowledge of what was about to happen. He closed the door behind him, locking it with a soft click. Then, without a word, he stepped toward you, his presence swallowing the room whole.

You swallowed hard, body thrumming with nerves as he stopped just inches away, lifting the branding iron slightly, letting you take in every inch of it. Then, in that smooth, commanding drawl, he said, “Bend over the bed, darlin’.”

Heat pooled in your belly, thighs pressing together as you obeyed, hands gripping the sheets, heart pounding as you waited—knowing you were about to be his in every possible way.

Your breath hitched as you bent over the bed, pressing your palms into the sheets, your body thrumming with anticipation and fear. “Sir, please,” you whispered, voice shaking. “I—I was just playing, I didn’t mean—”

A low chuckle rumbled from behind you, dark and amused. “Oh, honey,” he drawled, dragging the branding iron’s cool, unheated tip along the curve of your ass, making you shiver. “You think beggin’s gonna get you outta this?”

You swallowed hard, fingers twisting in the sheets. “Please, sir,” you tried again, your voice softer, sweeter. “I—I’ll be good, I swear.”

Elvis hummed, considering. “Mm, see, that’s the thing, darlin’—you say that now, but I don’t reckon you mean it.” He leaned in, his free hand smoothing over your lower back before gripping your hip, holding you in place. “You been actin’ out all damn day. Knew exactly what you were doin’, didn’t ya?”

You whimpered, pressing your forehead against the mattress.

“No, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with authority. “Ain’t no mercy for bad girls like you.” The sound of metal scraping against the bedside table made your stomach drop.

Elvis was gonna teach you a lesson. And there was no getting out of it.

You nodded, a soft, desperate whimper escaping your lips. “I’ll learn, Elvis. I swear, I’ll be good.”He didn’t respond, only held you tighter, ensuring you couldn’t move.

The cold metal of the branding iron pressed against your skin, the initial chill making you flinch before the pressure increased. Elvis’ grip on your hip tightened, and without another word, he pressed the iron to your left cheek.

You gasped, the sensation strange but not unbearable—cold, sharp, like being pinched, but it didn’t sting as much as you feared.Before you could process, he moved the iron, pressing it to the other cheek. No break. Just firm, relentless.

You couldn’t stop the way your body jerked, the sensation of the cold iron pressing into your flesh making you squirm. It was a strange mix of discomfort and thrill, the burn of the pressure searing through your skin, but the chill of the metal kept it from being unbearable.

Still, your legs twitched, and you dug your fingers harder into the sheets, trying to steady yourself. Elvis didn’t allow any room for mercy. His hand gripped your hip, holding you firm as he shifted the iron, pressing it into your other cheek. The coolness was momentary before the weight of it sunk in, and you couldn't stop yourself from letting out a breathless whimper.

"Stay still," Elvis murmured, voice low and commanding. You bit your lip, trying to obey, but your body just wouldn’t cooperate. You felt like you were being marked in every way possible. You could feel your heart racing, the thrill of his dominance shooting straight through your veins.

Elvis let out a soft chuckle at your squirming, his eyes dark with satisfaction. "You feel that? You’re mine now, sugar. Ain’t no gettin’ away from it."

You nodded, voice breathy. "Yes, sir."

Elvis stood there for a moment, watching you as you caught your breath, your body trembling beneath him. He could see the faint impression of his initials—EP—on both cheeks of your ass, a dark reminder of what he’d just done.

The cold iron had left its mark, but it wasn’t permanent, not really. His gaze softened just slightly as he knelt behind you, his fingers gently running over the marks he’d made. You flinched at the touch, your body still sensitive, but he didn't stop.

Elvis carefully grabbed a damp cloth from the bedside table, the cool fabric meeting your hot skin as he began to clean the area. The tenderness of his touch, after all that had happened, made your breath catch. Your eyes filled with tears, a mix of relief, pain, and something deeper.

You weren’t sure what you were feeling anymore. You sobbed quietly, the weight of everything crashing down on you. Elvis stopped cleaning and moved closer, his hands smoothing over your back before gently lifting your face to look at him. "Hey, sugar," he murmured, his voice soft now, not the demanding tone from before. "You did so good for me." He kissed your cheek, wiping away a tear. "It’s alright. Yer safe now."

You couldn’t help it. The ache in your ass was sharp, a reminder of what had just happened, and your hands instinctively reached back to rub at the marks, trying to soothe the sting. Your fingers brushed over the impressions of his initials, and you winced, the pressure only intensifying the sensation.

But before you could apply more pressure, Elvis' strong hand stopped you, firmly gripping your wrist. "No, baby," he said, his voice low, almost a warning. "You don’t get to soothe yourself. Not after what you did."

You blinked up at him, confused and breathless. He pulled your hand away, gently, but firmly, holding it in his grasp as he tilted your head up to meet his gaze.

“Understand, sugar?” He stroked your wrist softly, his thumb rubbing circles into your skin, as if calming you from the inside out. "You’re gonna take this. You’re gonna learn from it. Ain’t no rushing through what we’ve got."

You bit your lip, nodding, trying to suppress another sob. The pain was still there, the marks a constant reminder of your disobedience, but Elvis wasn’t letting you forget it.

His grip softened on your wrist, but the authority in his eyes never wavered. "You’ll be okay, darlin’. Just breathe through it."

You lay there on your stomach, the cool sheets against your hot skin, the remnants of the branding iron still throbbing across your ass. The marks were still fresh, the EP still visible, and each time you shifted, the ache reminded you of everything that had just happened. You didn’t dare touch it again—Elvis had made sure of that.

The idea of disobeying again sent a shiver through you, the memory of his grip on your wrist still lingering. Elvis had left the room, his footsteps fading as he went downstairs and out to the stables, likely to put the cold iron away, or maybe to clear his head.

You could hear the faint creak of the door as it shut behind him, leaving you alone in the room, the silence heavy around you. The air felt still, like time had paused, and you were left to reflect on everything. The sharp sting had started to fade into a dull throb, but the emotional weight of the moment still lingered.

You closed your eyes, breathing slowly. Your body was sore, but it wasn’t the physical ache that lingered most. It was the intensity of it all—the way Elvis had marked you, the control he’d taken, and how he never let you escape it. You couldn't deny the way it had made you feel—utterly owned, and yet strangely… cared for.

Sure, He had been rough, but there had been tenderness in his touch afterward. The sound of the door opening broke your thoughts, and you could hear Elvis approaching.

The door creaked open again, and Elvis stepped back into the room. The sound of his boots on the floor made your pulse spike, but you stayed still, keeping your face pressed into the pillow. You didn’t dare move as he came closer, the warmth of his body radiating as he sat beside you on the bed.

He was silent for a moment, just watching you, his hand resting on the bed next to you. You could feel his eyes on you, his gaze soft but filled with that familiar intensity. Then, his voice broke the silence, low and soothing. "Hey, darlin’," he murmured, leaning over to brush a strand of hair from your face. "I know you’re hurtin’ right now. But I need you to listen real close."

You inhaled deeply, trying to steady your breathing, but your heart raced at the sound of his voice. "You won’t have to feel that again," Elvis continued, his tone surprisingly gentle. "Not as long as you don’t act out again. You understand?"

You nodded slowly, still not daring to look up at him, but the way he spoke—calm, reassuring—made something inside you settle, just a little. His hand moved to your back, rubbing it in slow circles, soothing the tension you hadn’t even realized was there.

"I know it’s tough, baby, but I ain't gonna put you through that unless I have to." He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. "You just gotta be good for me. I’ll take care of you, darlin’. I always will."

You blinked back a tear, still not meeting his eyes, but the weight of his words settled deep in your chest. You could feel his presence—strong, steady—like a promise. He wasn’t letting you go. Not now. Not ever.

You slowly turned your head to face Elvis, your eyes meeting his. The vulnerability in your gaze didn’t go unnoticed. Your lips parted, and without needing to say a word, Elvis understood. He could see it in the way you looked at him—soft, yearning.

He gave you a half-smile, his thumb brushing along your cheek, before leaning in, his breath warm against your lips. You held your breath as he closed the gap, and when his lips met yours, it was slow, gentle, like he was savoring the moment. The kiss was everything you’d wanted—tender and reassuring.

#elvis presley #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley x reader #elvis the king #elvis presley x you #elvis smut #elvis the pelvis #70s elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis presley fic

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wanderingelvis · 2 days ago

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

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

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

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

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

wc - 2.9k

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

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

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

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

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

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

He would give you warm milk before bed every night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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