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foreverdolly · 2 years ago

Note

Heyyyyy Sunny baby! So listen, congratulations on hitting 2.5K! I couldn’t imagine it happening to a better person.

So I have a request for mafia boss!Elvis (preferably 70s era if that’s okay with you!)

21. “Touch her and you’re dead.”

16. “You shoot anyone that comes through the door who isn’t me.”

And I would like the forbidden love trope as well!

Something about mafia boss!elvis and the forbidden love trope sounds hot to me. I love you baby! Congratulations again!

-Daisy (@powerofelvis)

𝐏𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐄 | 𝐦𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚!𝐛𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐢𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

prompts: "you shoot anyone that comes through the door who isn't me" and "touch her and you're dead." with forbidden love trope.

word count: 2.1k

song: i got a feelin' in my body - elvis presley

notes/warnings: SMUT! brief talk of violence. elvis owns you and your pussy, but he worships the ground that you walk on. you've got him majorly pussy whipped. thank you so so much, daisy! i hope you enjoy this.

You were guilty of overlooking every rotten thing that your lover had ever done- which was a lot. Your ole’ man wasn’t a very good man, but he owned you. Heart and soul, he owned you. Your existence before Elvis felt so far off- like it had been a past life. You weren’t sure how you even functioned before you had a great big man to warm your bed at night and scare away all the monsters.

The Sunset Strip used to be your stomping grounds. You made a name for yourself there, what with your good looks and submissive disposition. One day you were doing a private dance for a good looking stranger that was dressed to the nines, and the next day you were holed up in the penthouse of his luxurious hotel room, breeding like rabbits and kissing until both of your lips felt raw.

Elvis loved adorning you in diamonds and blood rubies. He made sure your hair and nails were done at all times, bought you all of the latest designer collections- you were a prize, and he treated you as such. His prize. The man, regardless of his cold exterior, belonged to you just as much as you belonged to him. You had him wrapped around your little finger. The power that you had over the boss was remarkable. All it took was a singular heated gaze from across a busy room, and in the blink of an eye he would be tugging you into the nearest bathroom, ripping at your chiffon skirt with eager hands.

Your name hung from his neck on a solid gold chain, the lettering inlaid with diamonds. He had one made for you as well- ELVIS spelled out in bulky letters. He loved to joke around and say that it was your collar. He’d often tug your face closer to his by hooking one of his long fingers underneath the chain. You loved feeling the heat of his cigar and peppermint scented breath, paired with the cold metal bite of the thick chain pressing nto your neck and he pulled you up, up, up. Elvis either fucked you like he hated you or made love to you as though you were made of silk stretched thin over porcelain.

It drove him crazy, but he loved being mean to you. Loved biting into your skin to leave claim marks deep enough to draw blood. You’d yelp and thrash, scratching at his exposed flesh, all while he’d stay deeply buried inside of you. Marking you. Claiming you. Owning you. He’d apologize afterwards with strong calloused hands stroking gently at your hips, his skilled tongue flattened against your abused pussy.

Your ole’ man was harsh and cruel. He loved striking first and getting even. He believed that pain and death were two of the greatest motivators in life. He held strong to his convictions, maintaining that certain things weren’t deserved but earned.

Life being one of them.

Elvis rarely messed up. His ideas were usually reckless- the thoughts of a mad man- but everything always worked in his favor. He was an evil genius, his mind only working in absolutes.

You were lounging on the king sized bed, your long legs stretched out behind you, your head popped up on your elbow. You enjoyed watching Elvis work. You liked the way his long fingers rubbed against the barrel of his gun as he polished his collection. You liked the deep rumble of his voice, like lightning before a storm, when he was barking orders at someone over the phone. You liked it when his blue eyes turned glacial when something didn’t go exactly his way- the murderous aura that overcame his built stature.

He was all powerful. He had a penchant for torture. He didn’t believe in “forgiving and forgetting”. He feared no one and nothing.

And he was yours.

“And what the fuck do they want?” He leaned back into the red velvet desk chair, boredly staring out the window and down at the view of the city. He owned half of it.

You watched him with heavy lidded eyes, your limbs still shaky and unstable after an hour of incessant pounding from the tops of Elvis’s muscled thighs. Usually he stayed in bed long enough to watch his cum drip out of your spent cunt, lazily scooping the warm seed up with two fingers only to shove it back inside.

Keep it where it belonged.

There was something about tonight's conversation with one of his lackeys, Lamar, that felt off to you though.

“Tell Frank that if he tries to get anywhere close to me that we’re gonna have’a problem,” A heated pause, and then Elvis was slamming his large fist down onto his oak table. “I’ll blow his fuckin’ brains out. You tell him that verbatim, got it?” He slammed the black telephone back down onto the receiver, stretching out his long legs before letting out a troubled groan.

“Baby,” He mumbled as he pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes, giving them a few exhausted rubs. “Imma need you to get dressed.” He braced his hands on his knees, letting out a small groan before he was up and moving, one of his shoulders popping when he stretched his long arms up and over his head.

You dragged yourself up to a sitting position, strands of hair falling off of your shoulder, a few flyaways falling into your face. He wanted so badly to lay you back down on the bed and hold you until you fell asleep. Maybe push himself inside of you up to the hilt, just so that you could warm his cock while you slept.

But tonight was going to be different.

Tonight he’d have to teach a few rookies a lesson before he could turn in for the night. He was getting old, and the last time he checked the clock it was nearing midnight. He was tired, and because of that he was extra grumpy.

He lit up a cigar before reaching into the large walk in closet for the closest shirt. He wasn’t shocked to find that it was a black button up- nearly everything he owned was black. He didn’t bother tucking the material into his trousers before he walked into the living room to slide on the pair of shoes that he had been wearing earlier in the night- before you had slyly cupped him through his pants the moment the both of you had gotten back to dinner.

“What's wrong?” You called out to him from the bedroom, untangling your limbs from the satin bed sheets and stumbling into the closet. You put on the nearest lacey nightgown, ripping one of your robes off its hanger to pull on as well.

“Frank and a few of his men are bein’ nice enough to pay me a visit, that’s all. Nothin’ I can’t handle.” He shrugged on the leather holster vest, tightening the belts at his chest before loading them up with guns. He slipped a few magazines into his pockets, just to be safe.

He loved watching you dress- but almost everything you did turned him on. The bullets jingled in his pockets as he leaned against the french doors that connected the living room to his private quarters. You could spit in his face and he’d be rearing and ready to teach you a lesson.

He worshiped you.

Which is exactly why he had to keep you protected.

He crossed his strong arms over his chest after he folded up the sleeves to his forearms, the tattoo of his family crest now on full display. “You’re gonna hate me for this,” He started, licking his plush lips before continuing. “But imma need you to get in the closet and close the door, honey. Whatever ya hear out here. . . don’t come out until ya hear me tell you to.”

Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head as you stared at him from across the room, your heart already thundering in your ears. “I-I can’t just stay with-”

“No!” He barked, causing you to jump in shock. He never raised his voice at you. “This is gonna be bad. "Brains smeared on the walls” sorta bad, lil one.”

You sucked in a breath, your joints locking up in panic. He could tell that you were starting to spiral, and so he took a few long strides to get to you, pressing a few quick pecks against your already kiss-swollen lips.

“There’s a couple’a guns in the closet. They’re all loaded. I want ya to shoot anyone that comes through these doors that ain’t me.”

You nodded your head, shakily turning around to face the closet door.

“Use your big girl words. I want to hear that you understand.”

“I understand, Elvis.”

The dyed brunette heard the closet door shut, and he was quick to close the french doors, only shapes and blurry colors visible behind the frosted glass windows. Almost on cue the door to the suite slammed open, the doorknob going straight through the drywall of the entryway. The man’s eye twitched, one of his guns already in his hand. He felt the cool metal- the weight of the weapon.

It was all familiar, just like going back to Memphis.

Happiness can be found in a warm gun. When his finger is on the trigger, no one can do him any harm. Elvis could shoot a hole straight through a quarter from half a mile away.

He was God with a revolver.

“What the fuck has you bargin’ into my home at midnight, Frank? Did your wife leave ya? Maybe you want to park your sorry ass on my couch.” Elvis used his free hand to push back a few strands of hair that had fallen onto his forehead.

Frank growled, flashing his clenched teeth at the younger male that stood across from him.

“I know you took it. Don’t play dumb, you hick.”

Elvis took a deep breath in through his nose to cool down the heat that was building in his chest. He acted too quickly on his anger- it was something that he was working on.

“Frankie, I ain’t got the time’a be arguin’ like this. Either tell me why you’re here or get the hell out.” He could have been balls deep in your pussy again by now if it wasn’t for the rude interruption.

“Someone stole a hundred pounds of product from one of our warehouses last night, and I know it was you.”

Elvis stood there stoically, his face completely void of any emotion as he let the other male’s words sink in. After a few seconds the corner of his lip turned up into a small smirk. Then it evolved into a grin.

Before Frank could understand what was going on, Elvis was clutching at his stomach, throwing his head back with loud laughter that echoed around the room.

“F-Frankie Boy, I had no clue you were such’a comedian.” He wiped at one of his eyes with the back of his hand, as if to rid himself of a tear. “You think that I, Elvis fuckin’ Presley, would steal a measly one hundred pounds. . . from you? I could own you and your entire family four times over. You’re nothin’ to me. Nothin’ but’a speck on a whole map’a pricks.”

Frank and the two sons at his side bristled with anger. Elvis didn’t flinch when he heard the sound of a gun’s safety being clicked off. He didn’t even bat an eye in their direction.

“Then who the fuck took it?” Frank asked through clenched teeth, the veins in his forehead bulging.

Elvis thought that the old man’s fat head might explode, especially if he kept tensing up like that.

“Maybe ya should check out the nearby gas stations. I’m sure some junkie had a field day., is all”

And Elvis was right. He hadn’t been the one to steal the product. . . but he did check out one of Frank’s warehouses. He preferred to keep an eye on his competition.

Elvis didn’t invite the homeless man into the building. . . but he hadn’t exactly locked the door back behind himself when he left.

“If you don’t start talking, Presley. . . I’ll carve that pretty littl-”

Elvis might have been an older man, but he was still far faster and stronger than most men that were fifteen years his junior. He’d been in this game a very long time. Before Frank could even finish the sentence, Elvis had one arm wrapped around his throat, his other hand holding a smoking gun.

The three men had been too shocked to have even heard the gunshot ring out in the penthouse. All they could do was blink dumbly at each other.

That was before the pain kicked in, anyway.

The shortest of Frank’s sons dropped to the floor, screaming out and clutching his shattered knee. The gun was already pointed at Frank’s other son before they could even recover from the surprise.

Elvis pressed his lips against Frank’s ear and spoke through clenched teeth, tightening his hold around his throat. The room plummeted into silence, the only sound behind the boy’s whimpers of pain and the deep sound of the mob boss’s voice.

The sound of your man’s voice.

“Touch her and you’re dead.”

taglist: @knoxvillesshoes@cosmorant@ol1viam@simply-sams-things@haim80s@gabbcabb@8hgel@slutt4him@busy-bee-angel-misska@kaitaesupremacy@dazedshoon @4rt3m1ss@cryingabtab@kittenlittle24@austinsrealgf@austinbutlersgirlfriend@clearbolts @dark-as-love@anni-secret-account-75@ab4eva@starcatchxr @julietamidala @obbsessivereader@gwuide@blurredcolour@the-little-red-haired-girl@meladollsims@poppet05@shrekstheloml@randomwriter888@idc123sworld@vane28282@mirandastuckinthe80s@girlblogger2002@rockerchick05@screechingstrawberrysong@simpforevery1@girlabirla@dre6ming@obetrolncocktails@fairyjanes@jensenswinchester@lo-bells @in-my-body-bag@fxntxsix@petrparkrslut@eliseinmemphis @lelifesaver @screaching-cookie@fantuhsise@areuirish @bcofl0ve@mslizziesblog@shynovelist@ssstrangersblog @harrysthecraic@hangmanswhore@jyvnho@mymamalife @melodydior @18lkpeters @memphis-mania @rjmartin11 @artlover8992

and the big daddy crew: @powerofelvis @ggwritesstuff @woundmetender @eliseinmemphis @polksalademma @flwrs4aust @headfullofpresley @cryingabtab @austinbutlersbaby @lindszeppelin @rosaminny

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foreverdolly · 3 years ago

Note

Hi I have a request! Can it be something were Austin and the reader are at one of his events and she gets injured? Like maybe twists her ankle, I think it will be adorable!

oopsie daisy

word count: 2,487

warnings/notes: 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, you two being couple goals, this was super sweet and comfy for me to write.

masterlist | requests are open for business !

You looked hot as hell, but felt ridiculous. The bodice of the gown you were wearing was practically suffocating you, and it didn’t help that Austin’s stylist for the event had insisted that you wear heels so that the height difference between the two of you didn’t look too polarizing in pictures. You hadn’t minded the shoes too much at first, but that was then and this? This was now. You and Austin had been walking around the event for an entire hour, posing for pictures and speaking with interviewers. You had been with the actor for a while now, so this wasn’t your first rodeo. You didn’t hate events like this. . . you just didn’t particularly like them. Austin felt the exact same way about it. He couldn’t stand being the center of attention for too long; it made him feel a bit nervous. Tonight was certainly no different for the both of you.

“I’m sure you’ve been getting this all night- but you look stunning, y/n.” The interviewer gestured towards you with the microphone, and you couldn’t help but smile. You sure as hell hoped you looked good. You felt like bambi tottering around in your heels. Austin tightened his arm around you ever so slightly, pulling you further into his side. He could tell by the look in your eyes that it was growing harder and harder for you to walk.

Austin had noticed your discomfort earlier on in the night, but just ten minutes ago had offered to find you a place to sit down for a few precious minutes when it became apparent that it was beginning to become unbearable. The two of you had been in the process of escaping the main room, just a few feet from the hallway, when an interviewer for E! Magazine had caught up to you both. “Why thank you. You’re looking pretty dapper yourself. I’m really liking the velvet tie.” You tried your hand at making some small talk, smiling nice and pretty for the camera.

The journalist was quick to place his hand over his tie, almost as though he forgot that he was even wearing one. “Well thanks! You’re the first one to actually notice it’s textured.” He chuckled softly before turning to face the blonde at your side. “So fans are taking to social media, freaking out over your upcoming release. You had to grow your hair back out for the important role. You’ve had it so many different lengths and styles over the years. How long do you prefer to keep your hair?” Austin smiled down at you for a brief moment, knowing just how you felt about his long locks, before leaning in a little closer to the mic so that he could answer. “I like keeping my hair shorter than this,” He pointed to his head, biting his lip softly as you reached up, tucking a long strand behind his ear. “But this one doesn’t mind it,” he gave your side a squeeze, his smile widening as you chuckled softly. “ So I guess that’s all that matters. It sucks having to actually do something to it every single morning though. I don’t know how most girls have done this their whole lives. It doesn’t help that I’ve been blowing through my shampoo like crazy.”

“Well before I let you two go, I just wanted to extend my congratulations along with everyone else’s over at E!. I saw the engagement photos that you two posted last week, and we’re all just so excited for you. Your love story is one of my favorites, so I’ve always made it a point to keep up with you both. That Open Door episode you two did with Architectural Digest three months ago? I watched it the second it was posted. I adore you two,” You and Austin’s smiles widened. “How’s the ‘fiance’ life been treating you two?” Austin’s cheeks, without fail, began to flush, the corners of his eyes scrunching up adorably as he grinned. This year's Grammy ceremony might as well have been one great big engagement party. You’d never been so fawned over or celebrated in your life. It never lost its shine though, and you could tell that this question in particular was Austin’s favorite one of the night to answer. “Oh it’s been amazing. I’m still pinching myself, just to make sure I’m not dreaming. You’d be surprised by how many times I’ve had to catch myself though- I’m so used to referring to y/n as my girlfriend.” He’d only done it a couple of times, and had been overly excited to correct himself. “Everyone’s been so genuinely happy to see us move on to that next stage in our lives. I can’t wait. I didn’t think that I’d be the type to get so excited over wedding planning, but it’s been really great.” The two of you were already throwing dates around, wanting to be able to get married as soon as both of your busy schedules allowed it. The two of you didn’t see the point in waiting any longer than you already had. You both didn’t need a huge, gaudy wedding. Hell, the two of you would have happily eloped if you didn’t think your friends and family might get their feelings hurt.

“Were you nervous that she could possibly say no or. . . ?” Austin raised his brow at you, and you couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction. The corner of his lip tilted up into a smirk before he tore his eyes off of you, shaking his head. “Not at all. I know that’s probably going to make me sound so cocky, but no. We would have gotten married a week after we first met if we didn’t think that our families would have killed us. After two years of dating it just felt right. It wasn’t her potentially saying no that made me nervous, but the pressure of making it special.” Unbeknownst to you, him and his best friend, Ashley, had spent weeks planning the perfect proposal. His dad had been the one to drive up from Anaheim to help his son go ring shopping. Imagining the lanky man nervously going jewelry shop to jewelry shop, trying to find the one that would best suit your tastes, warmed your heart. Especially when his father texted you the day after he popped the question, saying that they had been out for hours looking at rings.

After wrapping up with his latest project, Austin had planned a nice camping trip for the both of you. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for him, and he had played it off as just wanting to decompress after so much stress. You thought absolutely nothing of it, so it had shocked you when he had pulled the ring out of his pocket. You had always joked around with him, saying that you wouldn’t be surprised when he finally proposed. The two of you, over the last few months of your relationship, brought up marriage daily. It had never been a “what if” kind of conversation, rather a “when”. You had been shocked though. And you had also cried, which had been majorly embarrassing for you, but had resulted in him tearing up a bit as well.

“Thank you both so much.” The two of you nodded your thanks, Austin keeping his arm firmly planted on your waist. You attempted to take a step forward, but your sore ankle gave out. You didn’t have enough time to react, and so your foot twisted unnaturally to the side, pain instantly shooting through your entire leg.The room was far too loud to be able to hear anything, but you felt something pop. It took everything inside of you not to let out a small shriek in pain. Your eyes teared up though, and you were quick to bite onto your tongue, your grip on your fiance’s blazer tightening tenfold. Austin had felt your weight buckle and had reacted immediately. He kept his hold on you firm, his bicep tightening around you as he supported your weight with one arm. He was trying to not make it look obvious, and you couldn’t thank him enough. Your dress was long enough to completely hide the mishap as well, and you could only pray that the pain wasn’t too obvious on your face. Cameras were practically blinding the both of you as journalists relentlessly attempted to get pictures of the newly engaged couple.

If you had actually fallen on a night like tonight? You would have never heard the end of it. You’d be the laughing stock of every celebrity gossip website on the internet. Most of Austin’s fans adored you, but there were some of them that would absolutely love to see you bust your ass at an event like this. With the initial public humiliation avoided, all you could focus on was your pain level. . . and it was intense. Had you broken it? You wouldn’t be surprised. The heels were so incredibly high, and you weren’t used to having to walk in something like this for such a long period of time. You looked up at him with wide eyes, and his face softened, his other arm moving to hold you against his chest in an attempt to hide your face. You could hear more cameras clicking behind you like crazy and see the flashing lights on the wall behind you. “Are you hurt?” He whispered nervously into your ear, rubbing your back up and down in soothing circles. You nodded softly, blinking back tears as you tried to put weight on your foot, wanting to see if there was any way you could walk your way out of there. “Oh god.” Austin muttered as he heard your soft cry. No. . . no, there was no way you were getting out of there without any help. Before you had time to ask for any kind of assistance, Austin was already bending down, keeping one hand on your waist, and the other one moving to the back of your knees.

“Austin! Austin! Look this way for me!” “y/n! You look beautiful! Let’s see the ring!” “Adorable! Pose for us, please!” The photographers were eating it up like rabid animals, leaning forward as they all tried to get the perfect picture. Austin held you tight against his chest, carrying you through the room and out into the hall. The second that the cool air hit you, you felt like you could finally breathe. “Hospital? Do I need to take you to the hospital?” Austin was a visible mess now that there weren’t paparazzi to worry about. The panic in his voice made your eyes burn. “I don’t know. I felt something sort of pop, and I’m in a lot of pain. . . “ He was breathing hard as he carried you out the front doors, groaning softly as more photographers began to approach, flashing pictures. You buried your head into his neck, shielding your eyes from the blinding lights. “Are you leaving, Mr Butler?” You heard the valet manager ask from his spot at the podium. “Yes. Can you please grab it for me? Quickly?” Austin stood there impatiently, holding you against him as the cameras continued to flash. You could feel his heart pounding hard against his chest.

“Hey, back up! You’re getting too close!” Austin snapped suddenly, tucking you even tighter against you and taking a step back.

“Sorry, man. We just want to see the ring.”

“Well you don’t have to press against her like that! I don’t like that, so don’t do it.” Austin shot back. You could hear the sound of a car engine approaching, and Austin was quick to push his way through the crowd the best that he could.

“I’m going to put you down so that I can open the door for you, alright?” You nodded, your nose brushing against his throat as he eased you down onto the sidewalk. Austin opened the door for you and then took a step back, moving to stand behind you in order to block any of the photographers violating attempts. They only continued to try and move around him, and with a sound of obvious annoyance, Austin boxed you in with both arms, using his body as a shield until you shut the door. He was in the driver's seat in a second, driving off before he even had his seatbelt buckled. “Am I driving home or to the hospital, baby?” You could see the pulse jumping in his neck, his blue eyes wide and frantic. He used his left hand to grip the wheel, his right moving out to find your own. He intertwined your fingers together, giving your palm a soft squeeze. “I’m so proud of you for holding it together during all of that. I’m just so sorry that this happened. . . I should have gotten you out of there sooner .” You used your free hand to dig through your purse, searching desperately for your phone. If you could see the damage, maybe then you’d be able to make a decision. If it was just a sprain then you two could head back home and just try to pretend like none of this ever happened. You turned the flashlight on, shining it on your foot. You tried to twist it from side to side to get a good look, and the second you did? You nearly fainted. Austin pulled up to a red light just in time to be able to see the damage as well.

“Oh god,” You breathed, nearly dropping your phone. It was already beginning to swell, and it was very clearly not just twisted.

“Hospital! Hospital! Alright. . . okay. . . that really just happened.” Austin practically screamed, dropping your hand to place both hands on the wheel. The cars behind him laid on their horns as he switched lanes last minute, speeding down the onramp.

You had ended up breaking your fibula that night. The two of you had been ushered into a private room the second one of the nurses recognized who you both were, and you were thankful for the privacy. After the pain meds had kicked in, you actually felt like you could laugh over the ridiculous situation, what with the two of you sitting in the dingy Los Angeles hospital, both of you decked out in full blown formal-wear. Of course something like this would happen to you.

Austin had made sure to document the moment, snapping a few embarrassing photos of his own. Your personal favorite being a selfie of him, your ball gown-clad body looking ridiculous and small in the background, curled up on the hospital cot.

The best part of the night? The Uber Eats he had ordered the second the both of you got home.

That and the fact that Austin had insisted on signing your cast.

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