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missmaywemeetagain · 1 year ago

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A/N: Well, my loves, here's the first Scarf Universe exclusive!! 🔥🧣🔥 It is part of the Pink Scarf Universe and takes place in 1972, in the year after Something Blue. (You don’t need to read SB beforehand, but little Nicholas is mentioned briefly.)

This is 5k of utter filth. It’s pretty much porn with very little plot! I highly recommend finding a private corner where you can read this alone and uninterrupted. 😏 I usually don’t like giving things away in the warnings, but this one is naughty and needs them. If you want to be surprised, feel free to skip the TW below! 💋

TW: SEXXX, ’72 dom E, praise kink, light bondage, cussing, baby talk, fingering, p in v, anal play/fingering, surprise consent, creampie, lots of whimpering and moaning, you know the drill…

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SNEEK PEEK:

Graceland, 1972

“What are we going to do with all these scarves?”

There are just so many of them. You had no idea just how many Elvis had amassed in the past few years. Scarves in every color of the rainbow, some solid, some patterned, some short, some long. A veritable smorgasbord of silk. No wonder his closet was bursting at the seams.

You lean in, drawing in the distinctly spicy scent of him locked into the soft fabric, running your fingers through them hanging in his large closet.

“Oh, I can think of a few things we could do, darlin’,” he breathes in your ear, voice smooth and buttery as he wraps his arms around you from behind. Pulling you into him, you feel the roaring heat of him against your back, blazing through you, stoking warmth low in your belly.

“E, we’re supposed to be cleaning things out and here you are being distracting,” you attempt to scold him, but it comes out as a breathy sigh instead. He nuzzles into your neck, his pillowy lips lighting fires across your skin. A tiny gasp falls from your lips, turning into a hum when he flattens a palm over your hip—a gentle press backwards that he meets with his pelvis.

“What about Nicky?” you whisper, your hand reaching up to graze Elvis’ jaw and your body responding in an almost Pavlovian way to his touch.

Finding time for intimacy with a two-year-old toddling around could be challenging to say the least. It had certainly been an adjustment when your family grew suddenly last year, though you both always made a conscious effort to make time for each other in that way. It was nearly impossible not to. You both had so much lost time to make up for and it showed in your private (and sometimes public) moments.

“Oh, he’s fine,” he reassures you, flitting his fingers down the side of your body. “He’s outside with Patsy and Dodger and the other kids. Nothin’ to worry about. Just you and lil’ ol’ me, up here all alone.” His lip slowly quirks up into a salacious grin.

His free hand pulls one of the scarves—a fiery red one with bold, black trim—off its hanger.

Your heart flutters. This scarf sticks out in your memory because there was one time at the International when he’d worn it after a show and looked so outrageously handsome, so haughtily debonair, you’d nearly come apart just from staring at him. And if memory serves, you came apart many times that night, after all was said and done. The thought melts through you, stoking the embers in your belly.

Elvis quite deftly winds the silk over your eyes. Robbed of your sight, your lips fall open, and you are only able to get out a hushed, “What are—?” before he shushes you. His warm breath tickles the shell of your ear and sends a cascade of shivers down your spine.

There’s a grin evident in his tone when you attempt to remove the scarf that has suddenly darkened your world. “Nuh uh, no touching,” he tsks, playfully slapping at your hand.

With your sight gone, your other senses begin to go on high alert. Heat is coming off him in waves. Having showered not long ago, your nose is filled with his clean scent of Neutrogena soap and Brut cologne, but there is a sudden muskiness on his breath that unlocks something deeply primal inside you.

It sends you squirming in his arms, and you are desperate to feel his skin against yours.

Instead, he clamps his arm around yours from behind, effectively trapping you against him. “What a naughty lil’ girl,” he growls. “I guess you need some help followin’ instructions, don’tcha?”

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be-my-ally · 1 year ago

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Sobering Up

Honestly this has some p… uhhh wrong things in - like being told you’re being ‘softened up’ or ‘hysterical’ but it's all in somewhat good fun? Idk reader gets turned on by it, lets not look at the reasons why that is too hard yeah?

This spiralled out of my control very quickly from a quick oh I’m gonna do a sweet little cuddly soft hungover fic to no. They are gonna argue.

written for the prompt "Why are you doing this?"

warnings: 18+, arguing, kissing, discussions about alcohol, smut, reader refers to elvis as daddy twice but not actually while uhhh doing anything sexual.

in my head - 1972/3 elvis x fem!reader - I'm picturing blue suit msg elvis; not in the blue suit but that whole look :)

wc: 3.7k of silly little smut

hopefully, those on their deathbeds, cough @whositmcwhatsit cough survive to read this. for the girlies always @thatbanditqueen @ellie-24 @vintageshanny @missmaywemeetagain @from-memphis-with-love apologies it is, as always, late.

He’s in bed when you stumble in, giggling still about something the girls said in the car. You’d said you were just going out to dinner, meeting some of the friends you missed while you were in Vegas with him. Elvis had pouted, and sulked, but your agreement to move in with him permanently had been enough to make him reluctantly agree. Still, he’d rolled around on the bed, huffing and whining that he wanted to come too, and it wasn’t fair to be leaving him all on his lonesome, even as he’d watched you carefully apply your eyeliner, dark eye shadow weighing down your lids. He’d brushed a finger down your cheek when you’d leant over him to reach for something on the bedside table, and told you you looked beautiful before flopping back, lamenting the fact he was not coming with you. Muttering to himself that it wasn’t right for you to be going out looking like that without him. But you’d threatened him thoroughly enough that he’d sworn up down and sideways he would stay home with the boys, even if he made it clear he was regretting his agreement when the time came.

It’s later than you’d expected now though. You’d all stayed late at the restaurant, putting your seemingly limitless wad of cash he’d handed to you on your way out to good use, before, drunk on the free-flowing cocktails and champagne it had been suggested you go out dancing. It had occurred to you to call, but honestly you figured there wasn’t much difference between one and three am if Elvis was, as you had expected him to be, knocked out asleep. You fall against his bedroom door as it swings open, throwing your bag and coat towards the chair in the corner. He flinches at the thump of them hitting the floor, feet away from where you were aiming.

“You’re drunk.” He says flatly in greeting. You glance over at him, giggles catching in your throat at his tone. He’s sat up in the bed, book open on his lap, embroidered EP on the chest of his pyjamas just peeking out, he looks sleepy, and if you weren’t quite so tipsy you would have felt guilty about keeping him up waiting for you. As it was the image of him sat in bed waiting for you was enough to make you giggle even more,

“No, El, no - I’ve only had,” You pause, getting the giggles all over again, “only had a couple.” He shakes his head, kicking the coverlet off of his knees and pulling back the sheets. You can’t catch your breath and you couldn’t tell anyone what it was you were finding so funny, just that you couldn’t stop laughing.

“Not sure what’s so funny little girl.” His tone is enough to send you over the edge again, just as you were starting to calm down. You trip over your feet when you try to come closer to him and you’re annoyed enough at your ankle twisting in your shoes that it cuts through your laughter,

“Fucking goddamn heels,” You try to kick them off, suddenly furious when the strap catches on your ankle and you have to bend over on wobbly legs to fiddle with it enough to unclasp and come off. “Fuck - ow!” You don’t notice Elvis getting out of the bed until he’s grasping your arm,

“ ‘Nough of that now - your momma would be washing your mouth out if she’d heard that.” You grimace a little - she would have, but still; it hurt! “C’mon now darlin’, let’s get you sobered up a little, get you to bed.” He’s got a firm grip on the top of your arm, and you can tell he’s not altogether pleased, but he’s got a hint of amusement in his tone still. He directs you into the adjoining bathroom, you try to pull back a little but all it results in is his fingers tightening their grip.

“No - wanna, daddy, wanna - thought we could….” Even drunk you’re shy, “…want you to touch me.” He looks at you coldly, and you flinch back, “We haven’t in, in ages.” If you’d been sober you never would have dared to bring it up. He huffs, puffing his chest up, as if about to argue you with you but then he seems to deflate, as if knowing he had no defence.

“Well if you weren’t out all hours of the night we could have.” He leans forward to turn the taps in the circular shower, water immediately pulsing out; his water pressure was something you had only dreamed of. You pull away, already feeling that it’s nowhere near the temperature you would prefer but he just tuts at you, stripping you of the skimpy little dress you’d gone out in. You go dazedly where he tugs you, he rolls your eyes at your little lace underwear,

“Who’d you put these on for?” He flicks the lace at your hip as he pulls them off of you, forcing you to lift your feet when he taps your leg.

“Yo-ou! Who else?” He hums back at you, and you squirm, too drunk to really defend yourself and a little confused at what was going on. You’re normally still a little shy to be fully naked around him, but today you’re just trying to keep your eyes open, hands rubbing your eyes rather than wrapped around your middle. A moment later he’s practically shoving you under the shower head and he holds you there until your flush starts to come down a little and you’re blinking at him a little more together. The spray wasn’t cold, he wasn’t a monster, but it wasn’t hot either.

“El, Elvis, ba-by, let me out- it’s cold, I’m fine now, I swear - I’m uh, uh, not even tipsy.” He frowns for a moment, as if considering, and you wrap an arm around yourself, he rolls his eyes. He hands you a washcloth, instructing you to wash your face, and you do as he says while doing the best you can to keep your hair from getting wet.

He pulls you out, pyjama arm rolled up to his elbow to stop it from getting damp and he grasps a monogrammed towel, roughly rubbing the soft cotton over your skin. He grasps each arm to dry it, manhandling you around as he brushes the towel over your body. You’ve sobered up enough not to say anything, catching on that his silence isn’t a good sign, although you’re definitely, despite your protestations, not of completely sound mind. He leaves you stood there, after draping a robe around you, to fetch your pyjamas, and in the time that he’s gone you’re rapidly sobering enough to be teary at the thought that he’s mad at you.

He comes back, tutting at your tears, dressing you in a skimpy little babydoll set and pulling you over to the bed, pushing you under the covers. You can’t take the silence any longer, now that you’re aware of it.

“Please - Elvis, daddy, I’m sorry,” He hushes you, louder than your words.

“I ain’t discussin’ it with you now darlin’,” He glances over at the clock on the nightstand, “It’s way past your bedtime.” You frown up at him, you might have been a little bit later than usual, but you weren’t a child; you weren’t out past your curfew or bedtime. Your eyebrows scrunch together and he tuts as he smooths out the crinkle in between with a finger, “Your face’ll stay that way.” You scowl for a brief second before smoothing out your expression. You change tacts - pleading at him with your eyes and pouting. He’s having none of it though, pulling the covers over you tight. You watch him pick up the robe and towel, throwing them into the bathroom and moving your shoes so they’re not a trip hazard in the night, before climbing into bed behind you. You hear him reach for his pill bottle, and you want to ask for one yourself but you can already feel your eyes closing, before he pulls you to him. You sniffle into the pillow as his arm tightens around your waist;

“I don’t wanna hear you’ve got a headache in the morning.” He murmurs against your cheek as he leans over to press a kiss to your temple. He says it as a statement and you nod in reply even as your eyes start to tear at the tone. His hands belie such harsh words though, gently scooping you into him. Quickly you succumb to the darkness creeping around the edges of your vision and you’re fast asleep before you could even protest your innocence.

��——————

The world is spinning with each breath you take when you awaken in what you think is the morning, your heartbeat causing the edges of your vision to pulse. You feel dizzy enough that the idea of sitting up threatens vomit and you are, for once, more than a little glad that Elvis keeps his bedroom so dark and cold. You’re not alone in the bed, hangover waking you far earlier than you normally would be, Elvis still snuffling behind you. You’re in a bit of a daze as you try to wriggle out of his hold and swing your legs around, desperate for the bathroom. You go, blindly, with no concept of what time it might be not in your little oasis of dark.

When you get back he’s half-awake, palm open and pill in his hand, sat propped up a little atop his mountain of pillows. You take a second to appreciate his open face and sleep-mussed hair, regretting that you feel too awful to even really initiate a kiss. He opens his eyes when he feels you climbing back into bed, smiling as they fall shut again;

“Come on honey, here ya go, forgot to have it last night didn’t ya, wanna - need to go back to sleep for a few hours baby,” You shake your head,

“El- I don’t think, I’m still pretty blitzed, I - I’m really not sure,” You push his hand away a little, “I don’t even know what’s in it,” He huffs, eyes closed but palm still outstretched, slurring his words slightly,

“You don’t - you saying you don’t trust me hon-ey?” He frowns, “You should - should trust me, I - it’s all in, all in my PDR’s, in, in the supl’ment -I, baby, I wouldn’t risk ya.” His eyes blink blearily open before they slip closed again, shaking his hand out at you.

“Of course I trust you but, I -“ He blinks his eyes open again, tone hardening even despite the way all of his words are running together,

“Just take the damn pill. I ain’t gonna hurt you.” You look at him, before resigning yourself to it, taking and swallowing the pill, relieved that the quality of sleep might mean that when you wake up later you might be feeling better. You snuggle down into him and he wraps his arms back around you, a furnace amidst the cold bedding.

———————

He’s grumpy in the afternoon when you finally wake up, your mini argument the night before not helping his mood from where he was already furious. He storms about the room and bathroom, flinging clothes and stomping around, but clearly having not been up for long - still in his pyjamas, hair fluffy and a mess. You come around to him talking to himself,

“Fuckin’ woman, out all hours of the goddamn night with god-knows who, not listenin’ to me, not trustin’ me.” You’re immediately defensive, even as you try to deal with your dry mouth and throbbing headache.

“I do, I do trust you.” You manage to croak out. He spins around to stare at you,

“Oh, you trust me.” He laughs, and then pauses, “But you didn’t want me around last night! You just too busy wanting to show off for everyone?” You choke back tears - your head is still pounding and you hate how unsympathetic he’s being, like he’s punishing you for a night out with your friends, how he’s making you feel like you’ve done something wrong. You push yourself to be sitting fully upright, still blinking away sleep.

“Of course I’d want you there! I told you that! But, I just wanted one night, it’s tricky to go out - you know that.” You know he’ll need more reassurance later but for now you were hopeful that would be sufficient to quell his feelings for now - although as he scoffs in response you have to assume you were wrong. You quickly try to distract him again so you can concentrate on the part that was, no doubt, angering him the most. “But, I do trust you.”

He stops in his tracks, stalking back over to perch on the bed,

“You got-a funny way of showing it then little girl,”

“I just didn’t know if it was safe to mix!” He frowns, shaking his head,

“Of course it was - I was givin' it to ya wasn’t I?” You nod, but still despite the warning bells in your ear, you can’t seem to let it go.

“Well yeah - but I still didn’t know for sure it was safe.”

“Well it is. Unless you’ve got…got… psychosis.” He laughs, a little meanly, shrugging, “Although maybe you do huh, it would ‘plain a lot.” You shove the covers off of yourself, furious,

“You don’t hafta be so mean to me!” His eyes flash and the little thrill of fear it causes makes you stumble as you go to pull a dressing gown over your shoulders. He comes up behind you, his large hands resting on your shoulders, leaning over to brush his lips against your ear.

“I ain’t bein’ mean to you honey. If anything it’s the opposite - I’m just tryna to tell you it’s not, not, becoming for a pretty little girl to be out behavin’ like this. Comin’ home in a state.”

“I wasn’t out behaving like, like, anything!” You’re indignant on this point, voice raising.

“Shhh baby,” He strokes your hair, smoothing the back of it. “It’s ok now, c’mon calm down. There ain’t no need for the hysterics.” You cringe, as if that wasn’t your least favourite term to be called as a woman - you understood what it meant to call a woman hysterical, and the amount it annoys you is enough to make you see red, shrugging his hands off of you and spinning around to face him.

“Listen! If I wanna go out and have a few drinks I can, I’m a big girl and I don’t need you, or anyone else,” He frowns, “policing what I can or can’t do. I don’t know why you have such a problem with it!”

“I’ve just told ya why darlin’ - because it’s not right for a pretty little thing like yourself to be doing by yourself.” He smiles, like he’s finding your annoyance amusing now, making you screech back at him.

“I wasn’t by myself! You just mean without you!” The rest of his sentence suddenly registers in your mind, and you step back in slight incredulity, “So. If I wasn’t pretty I could get drunk whenever I wanted?”

He shakes his head, “You’re twistin’ my words, that wasn’t what I was -“ A thought suddenly occurs to you, and you interrupt him to ask,

“Anyway how’s it any different to your pills?” He splutters at you for a second, cheeks flushing red.

“Goddamn it you silly - stupid girl.” He’s stepped even closer to you and you have to look up to maintain eye contact. “They’re prescribed.” He’s glaring at you, eyes ablaze, cheeks sucked in as he chews on the inside and gritting his teeth. It emphasises his cheekbones even more and you feel the anger in your stomach start to turn to fluttering butterflies of arousal. No. Oh god, his hair is so fluffy. Focus. You’re annoyed. You remind yourself. Tilting your chin up in an effort to not to get distracted by the peek of his chest heaving under the open collar of his pyjama shirt.

“Why are you doing this E? Why are you being like this? You haven’t gotta treat me like this.” You go to push past him, he grunts as you shove his side.

“Don’t.” His voice has gotten lower, in anger or annoyance or arousal you can’t tell, but it’s deliciously gravelly. “Just listen to me for chrissake.” He grabs your arm, turning you and pulling to practically fling you back on the bed.

You wriggle around, not able to stop yourself from wanting him to catch you. He does, crawling onto the bed, caging you within his arms. You roll over, little shorts and shirt riding up, and he catches you with his hand swinging down on your exposed ass. You flinch as he smacks it a second, and then a third time - you yelp and he laughs, as you feel a handprint raising on your skin. He rolls you back as you mewl at him, forgetting your earlier resolution to be as stand-offish as possible instead holding his arm as tightly as possible. Allowing yourself to be tugged into him and tucking yourself under. He noses at your cheek, whispering into your ear,

“That’s it baby, just had to soften you up a little bit didn’t I,” You whine back at him, not wanting to agree but suddenly so turned on you couldn’t bring yourself to disagree. “That’s my good baby back now,” Elvis leans down, petting you gently, little sweeping strokes down your arm and stomach. “My little baby, huh,” He mouths at your neck and cheek and you can’t help but lean into him.

“Uh-huh,” He huffs a laugh across your skin at your loss of words and attitude,

“Gonna make it up to me? 'pologise for being so difficult earlier? For not trusting me.” It’s a question phrased like a statement and you frantically nod your agreement. He kisses down your throat and you struggle to put a hand out in an attempt to grasp at his chest,

“Let me - I’ll - I’m sorry, sorry for earlier.” He bats your hand off of him though, tilting your head with a hand on your neck, the other coming to wrap around your torso, finally kissing you properly. He grips you just right, thumb moving in little firm circles right over your pressure point.

You let yourself be devoured, hips pushed back down when they jump up in response to the actions of his tongue and lips. He pulls back, his pouty spit-slicked lips glowing in the lamplight of the bedroom. He moves his hand lower, brushing the little French knickers of your set up and to the side.

You feel your pulse jump as he barely rests his hand on your now exposed cunt, the anticipation almost too much to bear. “Let me show you all the tricks I’ve learnt as a gee-tar player honey.” You’re quick to agree, practically begging. His fingers slide over you and you can’t help but move your hips in time to his gentle roving circles. You continue to squirm when he leans back down to suck a bruise onto your collarbone, forcing a loud moan out of you. His fingers are long and slim and undoubtedly he knows exactly how to use them, teasing expertly over your clit to make your eyes fall closed.

He has, for once, only got his little pinky ring on and in some ways it feels strange to be feeling his hands without the cold metal of his rings. But there’s no doubt of whose hands they are as he coos into your ear. He uses his fingers to spread you apart, pushing the little shorts even further to the side, fingers sliding in the slick in between.

“Don’t - don’t tease me - s’not nice.” Your hips thrust closer to him as he laughs against the side of your face, breath huffing across your cheek. He lifts his hand away, hovering just over top of you.

“Thought you were ‘pologisin’ to me - thought that meant you’d let me do what I like?” His voice is lyrical in your ears, sing-songing as he teases you. He’s circling almost painstakingly gently, moving closer and closer, dancing over your skin,

“God - yes, you’re right - whatever you say - just god, Elvis. I need you.”

Finally, he dips one of his nimble fingers down into you, a second rapidly joining when you moan in pure pleasure. He presses them into you, other hand still grasping your neck while he continues to circle your clit with his thumb.

“Told you darling,” His fingers speed up, “see - now you’re seeing sense aren’t you.” Any argument has been truly fucked out of you. Your knees come up as he speeds up even more, your legs spreading further seemingly of their own accord. His hand comes down from your neck, trailing over your throat and you reach up to anchor yourself to it, clutching at his forearm - a lifeline amidst the sensations.

He crooks his fingers just right and you feel yourself start to quiver as your potential orgasm builds. You have to close your eyes entirely, although the way his face looks - focussed with absurd concentration - atop his flushed visible chest makes it harder to draw yourself away.

His other hand trails down, stopping to affectionately squeeze a nipple on the way, the slight pinch sending more arousal flooding into your stomach. He finishes you off with seemingly minimal effort and you can tell he’s growing a little smug with it. You shudder around his hand, core muscles crunching as you try to blindly, desperately, tug him down for another kiss. He gently continues to pet you through your orgasm, only pulling out and away when you start to gasp at the sheer lack of breath.

He lets you relax for a few moments, wiping his hand on your shorts and thigh. He draws you back in for another filthy kiss, open-mouthed and pressing his lips to any part of you they can reach.

“Lord, gosh - El that was…” You don’t have the words to articulate what you mean so you settle with, “Sorry, again, - about last night.” He sits up properly at those words and gestures down at himself, unbuttoning his shirt as he does.

“Come on then, show me how sorry you are baby.” He waves a hand at the bulge clearly evident in his silk bottoms, “Give him a kiss, s’ok honey, want you to - to say sorry properly for leaving us at home.”

#elvis fanfic #elvis smut #be-my-ally #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis x you #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #baby big daddy elvis #1972 supremacy #elvis presley smut #writing prompt game

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