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dreamingofep · 2 months ago

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Sinned Awakening: Reimagined pt. 1🩸

An AU Elvis fic

(Vampire!Elvis/ Vampire Austin! Elvis x reader)

Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Prompt: Elvis is fighting his need for blood, making him weaker by the day. Then you walk into his life, making you the perfect target for his next meal. But an unknown force is making this more difficult than he expected... [Elvis' Perspective]

TW: Cussing, heavy mentions of blood

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: Hello everyone! Happy October 1st! As much as I dislike fall, I LOVE spooky season. 🤭We're kicking off the month with Vampire Elvis in a new reimagined story. I'm very excited to be writing this and has been on my mind for quite some time! I love how the story turned out but this was another path I played with for a while. It's a different view and there will be interesting twists coming soon! Please enjoy!

If you'd like to start from the beginning, start here or Ao3! Hope you enjoy and message and comment what you think.

February, 1973 🩸

His eyes burned with pain and his throat felt on fire from thirst. He hadn’t fed in a few days of being back in Las Vegas and he was really feeling the ramifications of it. He knew he needed to take better care of himself. It was doing him no good starving himself for long periods of time. It just made him thirstier and more of a risk to be around any humans.

His lack of control posed many threats to the people around him and his career. Singing in front of thousands of people every night, all of them smelling more tempting than the last, made him easily distracted. He loved performing, that’s what he was made to do, but if all he can think of was blood, he couldn’t perform the way he should.

This place was a never ending distraction for Elvis and he secretly liked it. He liked he could feed as much as he wanted and not get obscure attention for it. People loved him, he was thankful for that, but here people came for miles to see him and wanted to get as close as possible to him. He hadn’t been performing in the 60s and his fans missed him. He welcomed it and it just gave him an easier way to feed.

Everyone wanted to be invited to an Elvis party. That was the best thing anyone could hope for. For Elvis, it was his favorite time to feed. He’d sit in his normal chair that would be in the corner of the suite and like clockwork, people would come by one by one hoping to meet Elvis. The suite would normally be so packed that no one would see him take a bite from anyone. His men would normally block off most of the crowd so no one would see what he was doing in the corner. They controlled the people who wanted to see him and not let any wandering eyes see him feed.

Compelling them was the easiest way to get someone close to him but the girls, oh the girls wanted to be as close to him as possible without needing to be compelled. It was less work for him which he liked. They wanted his attention desperately and he could sense how they were wanting him sexually. He was too hungry to focus on something like that usually. Every once in a while he would please them but not before feeding from them first.

He got word that a new housekeeper would start tomorrow and he grew anxious. He had the same housekeeper the last four years and she was never an issue. She kept to herself, didn’t ask too many questions, and sometimes, he’d feed off of her. Right at three, she’d normally come up, clean for a bit before he compelled her to come to him and let him feed. It was the perfect routine. She was never scared of him forgot all about it by the end of her shift.

Now he’d have to start all over again with you. He’d have to earn your trust a bit so he can get close to you with out scaring you off. But he was quite apprehensive about that. His control was limited and having to meet a new person that would be around for hours on end was going to be tough.

It was a minute before three and Elvis paced his bedroom nervously. He couldn’t do this. He was so starved and wasn’t sure if he could stop himself from feeding on a human. He tried to drink some blood from a blood bag but it was no use. It tasted like water compared to something fresh. He tried to calm himself down, he couldn’t freak you out the second you walked into the room.

The sound of your nervous heartbeat made his eyes flash open. Just the sound of your heart has him drooling. You were apprehensive too and he liked that you were feeling the same way. It meant he could savor the sound of your heart as you stood before him and he wouldn’t have to do any extra work. He puts on his jacket and takes a look at himself in the mirror. He ran his hand through his hair and straightened out his tucked in shirt. His eyes were always the most telling thing when he was hungry. They haven’t been that illustrious blue he was born with. Lately they’re dark pools of a tumultuous sea. They were almost leaning black in dark lighting which made it more obvious he was not human. He picks up his gold sunglasses off the side table and puts them on. He had been making this a habit the last few years and thankfully no one questioned his fashion choice.

He hears the front door open and the sound of your heart beating loudly and uncontrollably. It enticed him and he needs to take a few deep breaths before walking out there to see you. He finally finds the strength to calmly leave the bedroom and greet you. The door opens and your scent hits him like a train, he has to hold his breath so his fangs won’t descend. Oh God this wasn’t good. He didn’t expect to be so taken back by your scent. He snaps himself out of his thirst driven thoughts and straightens his posture before speaking. You had your back turn to him, taking in the whole suite and what a disaster it is after last night’s party.

“About time you showed up,” he says gruffly.

You turn around quickly and he feels his heart shudder in his chest. You were beautiful. You were probably the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes on. You weren’t plain like most humans, no, you were exceptionally beautiful. You had that immortal perfection that only came with being turned. He listens to your heart beat again, checking if you are indeed human. It dances away as you look at him and witness him for the first time.

“I’m very sorry to keep you waiting Mr. Presley. My name is y/n, I’m your new housekeeper.” You say timidly, placing out your hand in front of you to shake his.

He can’t touch you, he doesn’t trust himself to feel your warm skin on his before pulling you in and sinking his teeth into you. He just stares at your hand reached out and doesn’t move an inch. You get nervous and quickly put it down.

“Umm, where would you like me to start cleaning?” You ask, your voice upbeat and trying to hide the fact of feeling like this is rejection in some form.

“Where do you think,” he snaps coldly. He winces at himself for being so abrasive toward you but it was the only way for him to keep a hold on his raging thirst. It was extremely difficult to be this close to you. He had never had such an issue with a human before. Sure, the smell of their blood made him hungry but this was much worse. You smelled sweet like honey and he was dying to know what you tasted like, slowly running through his veins when he fed.

“Okay, no problem. Do you mind if I open the drapes so I can see what I’m cleaning?” You ask with a smile.

“I don’t care, just get it done,” he says coldly. He walks away from you and he tries to slow his breathing. Each breath in was excruciating for him. The entirety of your presence was making him feel intoxicated and ravenous. He sits down in his usual chair and watches you open the heavy curtains. The sunshine fills the room and makes him wince a bit. He was used to the way the sun felt on his skin but it still wasn’t the most comfortable feeling in the world. It shone on his entire body and singed his chest and face. At least it made him a bit distracted for now and didn’t have him obsessing about your scent.

He watches you look at him with a desperation. You couldn’t help but love the sight before you. He grimly smirks to himself, he knew his looks drew people in and there was nothing he wanted more than to pull you in closer. He wanted you here on his lap with his teeth sunk into your warm neck. He bites his lip, trying to not think about that scenario too long or his fangs would show.

But it was no use, you were so tempting to him. He must be so starved that he can’t even think straight. He’s hardly breathing as each breath he takes makes it more excruciating than the last. His mouth watered at just the sight of you. Elvis followed you to every room you cleaned partly because he didn’t want to be away from your thunderous heart but also he was trying to map out where he should bite you.

There were too many options for him to choose from. He can just turn you around and bite you as you were sure to scream. No, that wouldn’t be as enjoyable. He knew he had to compel you to get closer to him. He needed to gain that trust and quickly. You were nervous as you noticed him following your every step. He would stay abnormally close behind you which only made you feel more on edge.

Going back out to the living room, he can feel his mouth water and his heart hammer away at the thought of feasting on you. He needed to hurry up and decide how and where he was going to bite you. Something about holding you in his arms seemed pleasing and the ideal way to feed on you. He wanted to feel your heart beat close to his. Maybe he can take you into the bedroom, tease you for a bit to get your heart racing even more. No he didn’t have the patience for that tonight. He needed you now. No charades or stalling. He needed to compel you now, get you on his lap and feed until his heart was content.

You were still too antsy and wouldn’t stay still. He has to this quickly and efficiently.

“There’s a bottle underneath the piano,” he grumbles.

You quickly make it to the piano and set the bench aside, kneeling down on your knees to crawl underneath.

Now, its time to feed off of her or you might just die, he thinks to himself.

He watches you scan for the bottle but there isn’t one. He sits on the piano bench and waits for you to crawl back out. His chest heaves in anticipation and feels his mind haze over in a feeding frenzy. He feels his eyes start to shift and the black veins start to crack across his face. He winces as he tries to hold back this monster inside of him who craves blood so much but its no use. He opens his eyes and can feel the burning red heat of them. His canine teeth sharpen into long fangs, both top and bottom and he starts to tremble.

You stand back up and he grabs your hand. You gasp when you see his face.

“Sit down honey, don’t panic,” he compels you. Your eyes blow open, scared out of your mind.

“Oh my God!…W-what the hell,” you quiver, your heart galloping uncontrollably.

Elvis is a bit baffled you didn’t listen to his command. Maybe he was so starved he couldn’t compel anyone that easily. It couldn’t be though, he had found himself in a lot of situations where he was starved but always was able to compel and feed off of someone with ease. He won’t give up this easily, he needed to feed.

“I said sit down honey, I need you close,” he says smoothly, trying to compel you again. You shake and nod your head at him, carefully taking a seat next to him.

“Don’t hurt me please,” you beg.

How is she fighting me? How is this possible?

His patience was running dry. The drunken haze of your blood being so close to him has him not thinking clearly any more. He needed to bite you.

“You won’t remember this I promise,” he says gruffly.

He pulls you close, wrapping his hand gently around your neck and bares it to him. You cry out for help, scared out of your mind. He growls contently as he lets his hunger take over. He sinks his teeth into your neck and his eyes roll back when he tastes you. God he had never tasted something to delectable and savory. Each drink he took was better than the last. He gulps your blood greedily and pulls you onto his lap. He needed you closer. He wanted to feel your heart beat against his. You whimper because of this and pull at the lapel of his jacket. You liked being this close to him even though his bite was excruciating and he keeps drinking. You gasp for breath as pain rocketed through your entire body.

Elvis didn’t want to stop feeding, you were too delicious and he had never felt so fulfilled. He makes soft, pleased groans as his hands slither down your back and tries to comfort you through the pain. He liked how you felt in his arms, it was a new experience for Elvis. He could sense how much you liked his touch through this all even though his bite made you uncomfortable. His mind starts to wander and think if he should make love to you. He didn’t like causing you pain and wanted you to feel something good after all of this.

He squeezes his eyes shut, dismissing such an idea. He needed to focus on getting his strength up. It was working though, he felt his strength rise and felt so much more alive. He needed to stop feeding soon or else his venom would enter your body, changing you into a vampire. Your body began to feel weak in his arms, whimpering for him to stop biting you. You gasp for breath as he takes the last few mouthfuls of your blood. Everything inside of him told him to keep biting you but he fought those instincts as hard as he could.

He carefully takes his fangs out of you and gasps for breath. He felt like he was in a euphoric haze, so completely drunk on you. You lift your head back to look at his terrifying eyes. You were frightened beyond belief and shoved at his chest to get away from him. You fall back and hit the ground, scooting away from him as quickly as you can.

“What are you?! Oh my god what did you do to me?!” You scream at him, bringing your hand to the open wound on your neck. Tears started to fall down your cheeks as you panic over what he did to you. Your blood still flowed out of your neck and made Elvis still feel ravenous by the sight.

Elvis stares astonished at you. How were you still not compelled? It couldn’t be possible! He grew frustrated and needed to get you out of here and forget all about this afternoon. He gets up and wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist. He felt as strong as he has ever been. It was a huge change and he liked how he felt.

“I didn’t bite you, you’re not going to remember the pain or any of this, go home now,” he compels. He felt incredibly strong and was sure you’d obey this time.

You stare at him stunned and don’t move.

“What! No! What did you do to me?” You scream.

Panic begins to set in and he goes to you and picks you up off the floor. He looks into your eyes, anger starting to take over him. Why weren’t you listening? He could make anyone obey him without even trying normally.

“What is wrong with you? Why won’t you listen? Why won’t you forget,” he growls. You shriek in fear looking into his soulless red eyes and his sharp fangs close to your face again.

“What’s wrong with me?! What the hell is wrong with you?! You’re a-, you’re a vampire!” You scream at the top of your lungs and twist out of his grasp.

You quickly run to the door, needing to get out of here as quickly as possible and get help.

“Help! Help me!’ You scream.

In a blink of an eye, Elvis runs to the front door blocking your way. You scream again completely shocked, not expecting him to be so quick. His brain scrambles what to do about you. It’s the biggest rule of being a vampire; don’t let your existence be known to humans. It should be pretty simple. He never fed out in public and always did it secluded to ensure his privacy. But for whatever reason, you could not be compelled. He was at his peak strength at nothing was working on you.

“Let me go!” You yell at him.

He shakes his head at you, “I-I can’t. I can’t let you leave,” he says nervously.

“What are you going to do to me?” You ask anxiously.

“That’s something I need to figure out,” he says darkly.

Tagging:

@neptuneismysister @velvetelvis @ccab @presleyenterprise @theresalwaysep

@prompted-wordsmith @sillybookmarks @dkayfixates @ellie-24 @rktismylife-blog

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@austinswhitewolf @eliseinmemphis

@everythingelvispresley @chasingwildflowers @idontwanttoputanything. @ohjustpeachy_

@elvisalltheway101 @austinsmutler @kingdomforapony.

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@returntopresley. @iloveelvis @rimartin11@that-hotdog.

@louisejoy86 @misspresley @cattcb @annapresley8

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#elvis presley #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis x reader #elvis x you #elvis imagine #elvis x y/n #elvis au #vampire elvis #70s elvis #elvis smut #elvis presely smut

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vintagepresley · 2 years ago

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Hold The Camera, Baby.

Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader

Word Count: 4,615 words

Warnings: 18+ SMUTSMUTSMUT Daddy kink, rough sex, oral (f and m receiving), face riding, squirting, dirty talk, praise, shit just gets nasty, dominate elvis, tiny bit of degrading?? submissive reader, elvis brings out the camera, typical elvis stuff.

Author's Notes: Oh lord, this is something. Reader is the camerawoman filming Elvis On Tour and getting the best shots, heh. This shit gets nasty, dirty, and so hot. I just wanna thank my baby @erutluve for helping with this fic a random idea that came about. I hope you guys enjoy! Possible spelling errors.

You had been hired to work as the camerawoman on a new music documentary called Elvis On Tour, you practically jumped at the chance to work on this project being a huge Elvis fan yourself. You were over the moon that your skills with a camera got you noticed for this film. Before the start of his tour had begun you were introduced to Elvis who was even more charming in person. He was very sweet and super flirty with you calling you little nicknames like "honey, baby, or darlin'" It was hard to keep your composure about him sometimes. He wasn't use to a woman directing him and telling how things should be. But he always seemed to gain back the control from you, but telling you what he expected from you and sometimes telling you how he wanted you to dress. If you were going to work with him he liked his women to look a certain way, that included pretty little dresses, though it made it difficult to do your job in but you humored him and wore them anyway. But when all was said and done he would become very professional and suggest the best camera angles he felt worked best for him, but he allowed you to take some of your own liberties when it came to filming some of the shows. You did your best to try to not only filmed the way he wanted but also staying true to your own unique ideas.

It had been a few weeks since the tour had started and you had gotten some good footage with Elvis of course wanting to see everything you film and happily approving of it all. You had landed in San Antonio, Tx for the next show, and you were helping some of the film set up. You were excited because Elvis was going to be wearing one of your favorite jumpsuits the white pinwheel suit with a matching red scarf. For many reasons you loved the way this suit looked on him, the way the color pattern suited him, how his chest was on display. There was no denying that sometimes when you filmed him that you got a bit turned on and felt like one of the women in the crowd. He just had that control over everyone, no matter who you were. You were more than excited to film tonight's show. Things were getting crazier the closer the show was beginning to start and the crowds began to draw into the arena. You had one of the other cameramen film a lot of the backstage stuff of Elvis, which was always as interesting as his performance.

The show had finally begun and as he got through a few numbers like 'I Can't Stop Loving You' and 'Love Me Tender' he had transitioned into singing 'Suspicious Minds' which was always a treat because he never performed this song the same at his shows and he was always doing something off the wall or interacting with the crowds. You held your camera steady as you captured him as this almost godlike figure before you, getting close ups and different angles. He suddenly dropped to one knee on the stage and you stood right beneath him, pointing the camera at his crotch and then slowly zooming in closer as you captured him as he sang and wiped the sweat from his face with the towel, which caused you to nearly forget you were doing your job and he suddenly glanced down and was interrupted mid song by the sight of you beneath him, filming him in such an intimate angle. He made a face and tried to laugh it off as he got up and continued on with the song, but little did you know he was actually furious with you for getting an angle like that.

As the show went on you continued to get some good shots of him, once the show eventually came to an end and Elvis had been escorted out and the crowds began to dissipate you started packing up some of your equipment when you were suddenly approached by Joe Esposito. "Hey, Y/N, Elvis would like to speak with you for a moment." he said, knowing that Elvis was not happy. You raised an eyebrow at him. "Right now? I need to finish putting my stuff away." you answered. "He needs to speak with you right away. Come on." Joe says sternly. You furrowed your brow at his words. "Oh.. Oh okay.." you said softly, wondering what could be going on and you began to follow him back to Elvis' dressing room a bit nervous. Once he led you to the room Elvis was standing there with a pensive look on his face and you turned to watch Joe shutting the door to give the two of you privacy. You stared at Elvis who was still in his jumpsuit and dripping in sweat, you swallowed harshly at the sight of him.

"What's going on, Elvis? Did you wanna see some of the shots?" you asked curiously. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked angrily. "W-What do you mean?" you answered. "That damn angle you filmed of me during Suspicious Minds!" he yelled. "Oh, I-I thought it was a good shot.." you said softly, he'd never spoken to you like this before despite what creative differences you both sometimes had. "A good shot for who? You?! You got awfully close to my crotch.." he said as his voice grew a bit calmer, he was mad, but not as mad as you thought he was. "I.. I wasn't.. I didn't.." you stumbled over your words unsure of what to say and you felt your face go flush, he noticed this immedately. "If you wanted to film me in provocative positions you could've just asked..." he teased. "I... What? I would never!" you said defensively. He smirked at you. "Don't think I haven't noticed a few similar shots like that in your work. Y'know, I'm pretty good with a camera myself. I film just the things you seem to want.." he said with a grin.

You furrowed your brow trying to understand what he was hinting at. "I don't know what you mean, Elvis.." you said quietly. He chuckled softly and shook his head as he walked over to his things fishing out the camera that he aways brought with him and a few photos he had taken of a few girls. "C'mere, maybe this will help you understand." he said with a grin. You slowly walked over to him and he laid out a few pictures of naked women that he took personally. You raised an eyebrow at him, not knowing what to say. "I've got some videos too." he said quietly. "Elvis, I.. I don't film stuff like this, you've got me all wrong." you mumbled. "Hm, I can't help but feel like you're lyin' to me, baby. Don't tell me you haven't thought about it.." he murmured, reaching over to tuck some of your hair behind your ear. You got shy again, blushing from his words and his touch. "I won't tell if you have.. I think it's hot.." he grinned. You stared back up at him as you were silent for a moment. "I mean... I guess, I have.. You're a good looking guy." you said with a shrug.

"Hm, well why don't we have some fun? I'll give ya something to really be proud of." he teased as he walked over to the couch that sat in his room and plopped down onto it his legs spreading wide open as he stared at you with those sleepy blue eyes of his that stared into your soul. You stood there staring at him not knowing how to respond. "W-What do you want me to do?" you asked. "I want you to film me.. Film me fucking you senseless." he said so forward with a smirk. Your eyes widen at his words, though you had daydreams of what it would be like to fuck Elvis, you'd never thought it would happen and you didn't know how to respond. "I..." you gulped. "Get over here, Y/N." he demanded. You blinked and slowly stepped toward him until you were stand before him. "Don't give me that innocent act, honey. I know you want this.. Now strip." he barked.

The way he barked orders at you turned you on and you didn't want to deny him, this was rare opportunity to be with Elvis in this way, you never thought it'd happen to you. You nodded at his words and slowly began to unzip the side of your dress and carefully pulling it down your body, he watched with delight as his eyes gazed over your body. Once your dress hit the floor you stood there in your bra and panties nervously. "Did I say stop?" he questioned, gesturing for you to take everything off. He sat his camera on the arm of the couch as he reached down to unzip the front of his suit to give his cock some room to breath as he grew hard watching you slowly unhooking your bra and letting it fall, revealing your breasts to him and you felt a chill run down your spine from the cold air of the room hitting your nipples that harden right before him. He licked over his lips as he slide his hand down his suit, grasping his cock in his hand and stroking it slowly as his eyes stared at your panties that you shimmed out of and now you were completely exposed to him, covering yourself a bit.

"Fuck.. You're beautiful. I've been imagining what you looked like without clothes on." he said with a wink as he pulled his fully hard cock out and your eyes widen at the sight of him, causing you to chew at the inside of your cheek. You blushed as you continued to try to cover yourself, a bit shy in front of him now. "C'mere.." he mumbled, patting his lap and then he picked the camera back up. You stepped closer to him, climbing onto his lap carefully your thighs resting on either side of him as you settled yourself down onto his lap, feeling his throbbing cock pressed right up against your pussy that ached and became wet at the very feeling of him, a soft groan escaping from the back of his throat. He held the camera toward you. "Hold the camera, baby.. You're gonna be daddy's little filmmaker for this.." he hummed. You nodded at his words, carefully taking his camera into your hands, pressing the on button and watching the solid green light glow. He placed his hands over yours, showing you how he wanted you to hold it and then switching the record button on for you and now the green light turned to red and blinked slowly indicating that it was now recording.

He leaned forward pressing his soft pouty lips to your collarbone, you held the camera pointed toward him, getting a close up shot of him kissing your neck and sucking on your dewy skin and then kissing up to your lips, kissing you deeply and he stared at the camera from the corner of his eye making sure you were getting all close up shots. A soft noise emitting from your lips against his when you felt his hands squeezing, groping and kneading your breasts, his fingertips play with your sensitive nipples and he grabbed your hand that held the camera and pointed it down so you captured the way he played with your breasts, that was slowly was pushing you over the edge and he pulled back from your lips, pressing his tongue firmly against your neck and dragging his tongue down to your breasts, moving over to take your left breast into his mouth, wrapping his lips around your nipple and sucking so greedily on the sensitive bud, dragging his tongue back and forth. A small gasp escaping your lips at the desirable feeling. His mouth was so wet and warm that as he sucked his saliva dripped down your breast and he finally popped it out of his mouth and moved over to the right.

Taking your harden nipple deep into his mouth and he sucked so harshly on it that it caused you to hiss at the wild feeling, his suckling sounds growing louder as his mouth tugged at your nipple all the while you filmed it all, trying to keep your hand steady as you moaned quietly. When he released your nipple both of your breasts were glistening in his saliva, you chewed on your bottom lip whimpering softly, wanting more now. He smirked at you and he grabbed your hand making you get shots of your breasts that he nearly sucked raw. "Mm, ready for the next scene, darlin'?" you mumbled. "Y-Yes.." you mewled. He suddenly was switching positions and he grabbed your waist as he lifted you up with him and he laid down on the couch with you right on top of him, feeling his cock press firmly against your pussy again and you angled the camera down on him and he leaned up pressing soft and wet kisses against your abdomen before he laid back again, staring up at you.

You stared down at his beautiful sweaty face and a smirk danced across his lips. "Get up and sit on my face, baby.." he demanded. You felt your pussy ache and clench at his very words, you nodded eagerly and climbed up his body until your thighs were resting on either side of his face and your pussy dripping in your slick hovered right over his face, he beamed at the beautiful sight before, so hungry to taste you, the camera getting it all. You carefully lowered yourself onto his face and you could feel his sweat smearing onto your inner thighs, he let out a soft groan as you buried him in your pussy, your body trembled above him and your breathing growing heavy. You felt his tongue drag across your slit, lapping up the soppy mess that formed between your legs, then he parted your lips with his tongue burrowing it between your folds and firmly pressing it against your swollen and sensitive clit, flicking his tongue against it playfully, which only caused your body to jolt from the feeling.

You almost dropped the camera on him before quickly steading your hand and grasping onto the arm of the couch with the other as you felt his tongue glide back down and circle around your tight little hole, he then plunged his tongue deep inside of you, feeling your walls tight around him and he grabbed your hips, pressing you down against him so he could bury his tongue deep inside your pussy as he began to fuck it, slowly moving your hips against him, making your ride his face, the sweet nectar that leaked out of you coating his face and mixing with his sweat. You moaned loudly, throwing your head back in pleasure as you did the best you could to continue to film, your hand clutching tighter onto the couch, the vibration of his groans against you only furthered the intense pleasure you felt. Your thighs tightening around his head. His hands gripping your ass tight in his big strong, ring covered hands, the coldness from the metal stinging your ass as you began to take some control and riding his tongue and grinding your pussy firmly against him, he loved it as he forced you down even more wanting you to suffocate him.

As you rode his face you began to film yourself grabbing and squeeze at your own breasts and getting close up shots of you moaning into the camera, giving him quite the show for when he goes back to watch it. His hands moved down to grip your thighs and gave them a rough slap and you squealed softly between your loud moans. You began to whine softly as your clit brushed up against his nose each time you humped his face, it felt so good that you were sure to cum if he kept this up. He steadied your movements as he started to bounce you on his face, his tongue sliding in and out each time you came crashing down onto his face, your eyes rolling back as you heaved and panted. "El..." you mewled, unable to form words. "Da... Daddy.. Y-You're gonna make me cum..." you cried. The sound of your words delighted him so much so that he continued with his little game and he bounced you faster on his face, forcing his tongue in deep, sliding one of his hands back over your ass and giving it rough spanks, his rings making it painful, but it pushed you further into your orgasm that grew closer and then he forced you to sit still on his face, his tongue in deep as he wiggled it around inside of you, his nose hitting against your clit hard.

That's when you couldn't hold on any longer, all the pleasure that had built up was just too much to handle that your panting grew louder that it almost sounded like hisses as it escaped between your crying whimpers and your body jolted above him as you orgasmed and you cum came pouring onto his face, he groaned loudly trying to lap it lap it up like a man starved of hunger, your body twitching above him as you whimpered his name, riding out your orgasm on his face as droplets of your cum continued to leak onto his face until he finally lifted you up in his arms and now he was switching positions again, throwing you against the cushions of the couch so that you were lying on your back, the camera held tightly in your hands. You were still shaken up from your orgasm and you stared up at his messy face that dripped in your sweet juices and he licked up most it off his lips and then took the scarf that was still wrapped around his neck and wiped some of his face clean. "Goddamn that pussy tastes amazing.." he said softly with a smirk.

He suddenly snatched the camera from your hands as he flipped you over onto your stomach roughly and you squealed from his roughness, he grabbed your hips arching them up so that your ass was in the air, and he forced your upper body down, keeping your face pressed against the couch as he spanked your already sore ass once again, filming the exposed position you were in as his hand gently ran over your ass and he smirked to himself as he brought the camera down to capture your dripping pussy on film, running two of his fingers between your folds and opening you up to show to the camera, you moaned softly, wanting to close your thighs around his hand but he forced your legs opened wider for him as he filmed close up of your pussy, his fingers playing in your slick and cum that leaked from you, you whimpered desperately, feeling so empty. "Fuck.. This pussy is so beautiful.. It's so wet and messy for daddy.. Just touching you is getting you wetter." he mewled.

His fingers burrowed deep in your soppy cunt, he loved the way it responded to him. "Mm, I bet it's just achin' to have my cock inside.. isn't it, little one?" he cooed. You whimpered cutely. "Yes... P-Please, daddy..." you begged. He grinned at your words, slapping his fingers against your pussy, watching it tremble before him. "Let's see if pounding this pussy will make ya cum again..." he whispered. Holding the camera firmly in his right hand as he grabbed your hips with his left keeping you steady as he then reached down to grasp his cock and he glided it across your messy little pussy, getting it nice and wet with your juices and then without warning, he shoved every inch of his cock deep inside of your sensitive, throbbing tight hole, feeling you tighten around him as you sucked him in. You cried out his name feeling your body shake beneath him as you clawed at the cushions beneath you. He groaned softly watching how your pussy took his cock so well and to loosen you up around him he forcefully began to thrust himself inside you, filming his cock sliding in and out of you and watching how his cock glistened in your nectar.

"Fu-Fuck.. Daddy.." you moaned out loudly, his hips slapping against your ass as he fucked you, gripping onto your waist with his left hand as he forced you back against him, moving you in rhythm with his movements, the both of you moaning loudly together and his name leaving your lips like they were your mantra as his thrust became more rough, almost violent, his cock slamming against your walls, that tears flowed from your eyes, but you loved every minute of the way he used you, fucked you, all the while capturing every dirty little moment on film. Your pussy was making such a mess on his suit as you bounced back and forth on his cock, he made you so wet that your slick dripped down your thighs. He was determined to fuck you until there was nothing left. You couldn't stop the tears that streamed down your face, you were so overstimulated and in need of cumming once again that your body couldn't handle it because of how sensitive he made you, but his swift rough movements didn't stop, the slapping sounds growing louder as he plunged deeper inside of you. The pain was so pleasurable that his name left your lips in a crying whimper.

"Mm.. El... E-Elvis.. Y-You're gonna make me cum a-again.. it h-hurts.." you cried out. He was satisfied with the way he broke you down and had you begging, crying, moaning for him, and seeing how desperate you were to cum once again. "Cum all over daddy's cock, little girl.." he mewled, he too was growing close to cumming but he was doing everything he could to hold back because he had other plans for how you would receive his cum. The sound of his words pushed you over the edge and you shut your eyes tight, your moans shaky and whiny as they left your mouth and your body numb and twitching beneath him as your pussy clenched tight around his cock and your second orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave completely shocking your body as you not only came on his but you squirted as well, which was a shock for him, he grinned happily at the messy sight you made on him, the couch and yourself.

He thought for a moment that he would lose his composure and cum inside of you, but he pulled his cock out before allowing that to happen and the moment he pulled out your exhausted used body collapsed onto the couch, you could hardly move from the way he just made you feel, you tried to catch your breath as you felt him get up and he grabbed a hold of your arm roughly, dragging you off the couch and pulling you with him as he went to sit in the chair that sat opposite of the couch, you whined from his roughness, pouting a bit. Once he was sat down he pushed you onto the cold dirty floor and you stared up at him as you watched his legs spread open and he beckoned you, wanting you to suck his cock. You sat up on your knees for him. "Open that pretty mouth for me, baby." he hummed. You obeyed opening your mouth and he grasped his cock in his hand, shoving it right into your mouth, you gagged softly when he hit the back of your throat, he grabbed a handful of your hair, bobbing your head up and down as he thrusted his hips forward, fucking your mouth, saliva already pooling out of your mouth, but his cock was only in your mouth for a brief moment as his moans came out airy, he was so close to cumming that he had popped his cock out of your mouth, exhaling sharply and he handed the camera to you. You grasped it in your shaky little hands.

"You love this angle so much now you can film me jerking off for ya from it." he said with a smirk. You nodded your head slowly at his words. "Y-Yes, daddy.." you whispered. He grinned at your obedience and he suddenly lifted one of his legs ups and you felt the bottom of his shoe pressed firmly against your right thigh, nudging you with it. "Lay down." he said sternly. You swallowed harshly, nodding and as you went to lay on your stomach, holding the camera up and it got close up on his throbbing cock that was aching to be drained. You watched through the camera as he started to stroke and pump his slippery cock that was a mess with all your fluids, the squelching sounds loud each stroke he made, it only turned you on as you watched with delight beneath him as his big, strong hand grasped his veiny wet cock, pumping it faster and you could hear his moans growing gradually louder and his breathing heavy, his hips twitching and stirring as his orgasm was approaching, his eyes staring down at your naked body as it laid on the cold concrete floor, the sight only turning him on more and his body tensed as his orgasm washed over him and one last loud groan escaping from the back of his throat. Your eyes widen as you watched his cock twitch and you watched as his cum came spirting out and landing on the lens of the camera, your face.

It had been some time since he had sex so he had so much cum to give you that the lens of the camera was now painted white and your face was a mess and you licked your lips tasting the saltiness of his cum happily. Once he was finished he collapsed against the chair, catching his breath as he stared down at you. "You look even more beautiful covered in my cum.." he teased and then he reached down for the camera. Your body numb and wobbly as you sat up handing it to him. He shut it off and sat it on the table beside him, his cum leaking from the expensive equipment. "C'mere, baby." he mumbled as he tried his best to help you up, you climbed into his lap, sitting down on his twitching cock and his soaked jumpsuit. The two of you a filthy mess from each other's bodily fluids. He pulled you near him, his lips crashing against your cum covered lips, kissing your deeply, sloppily, the both of you tasting his cum as you kissed and his face now being covered in his own fluids that dripped from your face.

"Mm... We may just have to make this a routine thing after the shows." he mumbled on your lips with a soft chuckle. You bit down on your bottom lip, letting out a soft giggle. "Oh, you think I may have the talent to film your dirty little films?" you laughed. He smirked at your words. "As long as I'm your star, baby.." he whispered as his lips crashed back against your own.

Tagging: @erutluve @idk3453 @powerofelvis @peaceloveelvis @feverkitten @infatuatedharleys @lanadelreyismyonlyreligion @ilovehobi101 @galaxygirl453 @apprilpie @samfangirls @notstefaniepresley @dkayfixates @pennyroyalcreep @elvisgirl35 @ccab @re3kin @vintageshanny @beatlebabe1996 @lindszeppelin @godlypresley @elvisdoll @presleyturner @presleybewbie @prayerstopresley @zephyrahh @literally-just-elvis-fics

Sorry if I missed anyone!!

#elvis presley #elvis x reader #elvis x you #elvis x y/n #elvis smut #elvis imagine #elvis on tour #suspicious minds #elvis fanfiction

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jscameron · 1 year ago

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warnings: fluff, female reader x jesse katsopolis, this one is really sweet compared to my other one. let me know what you think! 🩵

jesse katsopolis. THE jesse katsopolis! he was actually playing on stage with his band at the smash club! you knew he owned the place, but never really saw him perform.

“gosh. he sounds like an angel.”, you swoon and say to your friend, Kati, that came to the concert with you. “girl, you and these band guys. i tell ya.”, she says to you. “yeah, what can i say? don’t you agree he sounds like an angel?”, you ask. “…suuuuure. if you’re an elvis fanatic.”, she teases. “hah hah. i’m going to go get a drink. you want anything?”, you ask Kati. “nah girl. i’m good! thanks though!”, she says.

you walk over to the drink counter and ask server for a water. you notice jesse is shouting something to the crowd.

“alright! we are jesse and the rippers! we will take a short intermission. i need some water.”

oh God. OH GOD. he needs water?! right when you’re here at the counter?! oh no. oh no. no no no. you think to yourself. you turn and see he is walking right towards you. “hey, beauty!”, he greets you. “m-me?”, you ask. he nods his head and winks to you. “well, thank you, Jesse.”, you blush, tucking some hair behind your ear. “you guys sounded awesome on stage! i love your band, and of course, you.”, you say to him shyly. “thank you! we appreciate fans like you. what’re you doing after the show?”, he asks. “probably just gonna go home and relax.”, you say. “awe. that’s too bad. i was hoping to spend more time with you. if you change your mind, meet me right here after our show.”, he says. “okay! thanks, jesse. i’ll definitely be thinking about it!”, you say.

you walk back to the front of the stage where you were. you see Kati standing where you left her. “KATI!!! you will NEVER guess what just happened!!”, you say. “what girl?!”, she asks. “i met jesse!!! he wants to spend more time with me after the show. what should i do?!”, you ask. “if it were me, girl, i’d stay after the show and see him! just think about it. they’re about to come back on.”, she says. she’s right, you know?, you thought to yourself.

the show has ended and everyone is parting from the smash club. “kati, i’m going to go ahead and wait for him. i’ll call you and tell you all about everything when i can!”, you say. “good luck, girl! love you! have fun tonight!”, she says. with that, you head to the drink counter and she follows the crowd out.

a familiar voice comes from behind you. “well, if it isn’t the beautiful woman i met earlier. you know, i never did get your name earlier, having to go back on stage and all.”, he smirks. “oh. yes. my name is y/n.”, you say shyly.

“y/n, beautiful. matches your face perfectly. it suits you.”, he says with a wink. “well, darling, wanna grab a bite? we can eat here or we can go somewhere else, if you’d like.”, he offers.

“s-sure, jesse. um. can we actually go to waffle house? i don’t want your staff to have to work overtime because of me. and also, i’m craving a chocolate chip waffle real bad.”, you say. “sounds like a plan, babe. let’s walk and talk. i want to get to know you.”, he says, grabbing your hand and leading the way.

on your walk there, you discover common interests between the two of you. you both love the rock n’ roll scene, as well as the fashion. you’re both really into music, and you’re both fans of holding each other’s hands while walking to waffle house. neither one of you can stop smiling as you’re talking and listening to one another.

you finally get seated in the restaurant and get your food quickly. the chocolate chip waffles are always your favorite. jesse loves them, too.

as you’re leaving the restaurant, you feel him hesitant about letting go of your hand. “y/n, this is the best time i’ve had in a long time. gosh, i want more of this. i don’t want this night to end.”, he says, pulling you close to him, holding you onto his chest. “me too, jesse. i’ve really enjoyed our little date. maybe we can do this more often?”, you suggest. not wanting to let go of him either. you look up into his beautiful eyes and you look towards his luscious lips. “kiss me, jesse katsopolis. that’s an order, handsome.”, you say with a wink. “have mercy.”, he says, and doesn’t give it a second thought before passionately kissing you. 💛

#fanfic #fluff #full house #jesse katsopolis #cute #writing #tv shows #love #character concept #writeblr #not sure how to tag this

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ab4eva · 2 years ago

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‘Gold Rush’

Summary: You and Elvis have a bit of fun after one of his Vegas shows. (Written with Big Daddy Elvis in mind but could also be any 70s Elvis, pick your poison)

Warnings: NSFW 18+ only. Smut, daddy kink, oral (m. receiving), p in v, angst, fluff, language, established relationship

Word count: 3k

Author’s note: Thanks to @jelliedonut for telling me to write this fic after I texted her pictures of 70s Elvis and went on and on about what I would do to him in one of those jumpsuits 😏 And thank you to my Lovely Ladies of Graceland - @aconflagrationofmyown @elvisabutler & @butlersxbirdy - for the workshopping, support, being sounding boards in general and especially to Birdy for the pics that started this whole thing off.

But I don't like a gold rush, gold rush

I don't like anticipating my face in a red flush

I don't like that anyone would die to feel your touch

Everybody wants you

Everybody wonders what it would be like to love you

Walk past, quick brush

I don't like slow motion double vision in rose blush

I don't like that falling feels like flying 'til the bone crush

Everybody wants you

But I don't like a gold rush

Gold Rush - Taylor Swift

“Daddy?” you call out tentatively, stepping into the gold-gilded and opulent hotel room in the penthouse of the International Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas, Nevada. Your pink satin kitten heels sink into the plush emerald carpet as you cross the threshold into Elvis’s suite, still finding him nowhere in sight. You puzzle your eyebrows together as your mouth quirks up in question. Your curious eyes survey the room as you spin in a slow circle. “Daddy?” You call out again, placing your hands on your hips. Jerry said he was already in here, and you had ridden up the elevator together, so you know he can’t be far. Then it hits you, like a lightbulb going off. Oh. He was in one of those moods. That surprises you, given the circumstances. The man was full-grown but he still held onto his childish nature and sense of playfulness, something that never ceased to amaze you.

“Oh, Elvis…..” you say in a song-song voice, and slowly start to pace around the room. “Come out, come out, wherever you are…” You hear a quiet snort of laughter from the other side of the room. Your lips curl into a smile - you had him now. Quietly you stalk towards the part of the room the laughter came from, slipping off your heels as you do so. There’s a corner of the window, hidden behind heavy curtains and guarded by the piano, that’s his favorite hiding spot, and you approach on tiptoe, ready to pounce. You lightly grasp the curtains and give them a fast tug.

“A-ha!” You crow gleefully. Your mind is momentarily confused at finding the window empty until you hear Elvis roar behind you, “Gotcha!” as he grabs you around the waist. You shriek and then start giggling as his strong arms tighten around you from behind. You feel his laugher more than hear it, it rumbles through your body and you both gasp for breath as you finally still in the quiet of the room. “Don’t scare me like that, Elvis!” You playfully swat at his arm and he grabs your hand and holds it in his.

“Come on now honey, you know I can’t resist a chance to make you squeal,” he says with a devilish tone in his voice. You see yourself and Elvis reflected in the hotel room window, 30 stories high, the lights of Las Vegas sparkling like a blanket of stars laid out at your feet. He’s still wearing the jumpsuit from the show he just finished, the softest creamy white embroidered with a brilliant gold and gemstone sunburst on the chest, looking ever so much like an Egyptian sun king brought back to life just for you. His black hair is mussed and sticking slightly to his forehead, the sweat on his skin now cooling in the air-conditioned suite. His lips turn up in a smile as his eyes meet yours in the glass and he nuzzles into your cheek, rough sideburns scratching you pleasantly and sending a spark of desire through your core. He places a large, warm palm over your heart, the cool metal of his rings make you jolt and the thin strap of your dress falls down your shoulder as he strokes your skin reverently. He’s pressing at your back and you lean into him, relishing the feel of his body wrapped so tightly against yours.

“Look at us, baby,” he whispers against your ear and you shiver a little in his arms. Six months ago when you stepped off the bus in Los Angeles, California, you would never have guessed you’d be here, in Elvis Presley’s arms. It must have been fate that brought you together - as corny as that sounded. You’d been caught in the rain - a torrential downpour was more like it - dragging your suitcase behind you, trying desperately to find a cab. You were wary when the black Cadillac pulled up next to you, window rolling down smoothly to reveal the King of Rock and Roll himself, hair perfectly coiffed and oversized shades tipped down his nose, revealing the bluest eyes you’d ever seen. You must have looked a mess, soaked through and shell-shocked. Elvis would never admit that’s what drew him to you in the first place as he cruised down Sunset Blvd. and saw you looking so lost and forlorn, like you hadn’t a friend in the world. He promised you then and there that he would take care of you, that you’d never be lost again. He had found you, and he intended to keep you.

Now his sparkling eyes reflecting in the window still hold a hint of playfulness from before and his hands begin to slowly move towards your hips. Your mouth parts in readiness, your nipples already beginning to harden under his lidded gaze. Until he tweaks you in your ticklish spot and you squeal, immediately curling away from him. His hands grip you harder, fingers digging into the sensitive flesh of your side as you giggle and gasp for breath.

“Daddy, please!” You manage to choke out through your laughter. His deft fingers, usually used in more pleasurable ways, continued their relentless onslaught, now reaching for the backs of your knees. You screech and manage to break free, running towards couch like your life depended on it. Elvis follows at a slower pace before stopping to lean on the couch and catch his breath, shaking with laughter and eyes filled with mirth.

“OK honey, OK,” he says, raising his hands up in the air. “I surrender. Pretty little baby’s too quick for Daddy.” You give him a triumphant grin and sit down on the couch, pulling your long legs up under you and patting the seat next to you. “Come let me take care of my sweet man,” you say. He makes no objection as he drops down beside you with a heavy grunt and leans his head back, a deep sigh escaping his pink lips. You rake your fingers through his dark hair, gently scratching his scalp as you do. He shivers a little and his eyes flutter closed, impossibly long eyelashes coming to rest on tan cheeks. You move to straddle him, itching for a better angle to tend to him, hiking your slip dress up around your thighs as you swing your leg over his body and settle in his lap. His mouth curves into a lopsided smile at the feel of your weight descending onto him but his eyes remain closed. He groans as your cool hands massage his head, thumbs circling his temples rhythmically, making him practically purr like a little kitten. Your big, strong man is putty in your hands and it sends a flush of pride through you. You can’t help but nibble a soft kiss on his inviting jaw, his pulse quickening under your touch. You see it beating wildly beneath flesh and bone and blood and place your mouth to the spot, feeling his steady thrum under your plush lips. You open your mouth and lick, ever so slowly, tasting salt and sweat and his own particular flavor, feeling his heartbeat pulse on your tongue. His hands move to your bare arms just below your shoulders, warm fingers gripping soft flesh and he begins to lazily stroke your skin, fingers dancing lightly, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

“You’re so soft baby, never wanna let you go. Just wanna keep you right here in my lap, where you belong,” he murmurs against your hair and you feel so loved, so wanted you think your heart will burst wide open. He always knows exactly what you need to hear, the way you need to be touched.

Elvis’s breathing slows and he lifts his head a moment - eyes unfocused and slightly dazed - and you let out a little huff of pleasure as he relaxes again, his head heavy in your hands as your lips find his. You’ll never get over the feeling of kissing him - the way his mouth feels under yours, soft and pliant, the way his breath comes out in shallow little spurts, the way his plush bottom lip fits perfectly in-between yours. You toy with the zipper of his jumpsuit before slowly pulling it down little by little, revealing inch after inch of dark, swirling chest hair. You open it up just enough so that you can wiggle one of your arms inside and around his waist, his flesh hot and tacky to the touch. Laying your head on his chest and running your other hand through his chest hair, your elbow rests on the soft swell of his belly as you curl little tendrils around your finger and you snuggle your head underneath his chin as his fingers continue to graze you sweetly. His steady heartbeat lulls you for a minute until you feel a twitch beneath you, his already hardening cock straining against his jumpsuit and the thin cotton of your panties, damp with desire. You feel him raise his head and he looks at you then, eyes flashing the deepest navy, a look of intense desire burning inside. You know what he wants, what he needs, in this moment. He doesn’t have to ask, he doesn’t have to say a goddamn word. You just know.

You slither out of his lap with a smirk and sink to the floor where you kneel between his spread legs, never breaking eye contact. You place one hand on his chest as you grasp the zipper of his jumpsuit once again and bite your lip as you begin to slowly pull it further down. At last it’s open far enough for you to reach in and grab his steadily growing cock and he lets out a groan, placing his large hand over yours. He begins to move your hand with his, stroking up and down his shaft at a leisurely pace, the velvety skin dragging and pulling lightly with each tug. He squeezes your hand, forcing your fingers to contract around his girth and he lets out a quiet hiss.

“Just like that, little girl,” he breaths as the calloused fingers of his other hand slip the strap of your dress down your shoulder, the silk falling easily below your breast. He grasps your taut nipple, rolling it between his fingers, pressing lightly as he does. A shockwave runs through you, a whimper escapes your lips and your hand on his cock goes slack but it doesn’t stop moving, he doesn’t let it. His hand is still wrapped around yours, and he guides your fingers to his foreskin. You gently grip it and start to massage, his leaking head peeking through every now and again as the skin retracts. You caress it lovingly, looking up at him for approval. He nods, in a daze, “Feels so good baby, you’re making Daddy feel so good.” Your hand keeps up a steady pace but you’re growing impatient, wanting to feel his hot and heavy length in your mouth.

“What do you want me to do now, Daddy,” you say innocently, slipping your hand out from under his and off his throbbing member. You place your hands on his inner thighs, stroking up and down with the softest touch. His hips involuntarily buck up, his red, straining cock pressed against his stomach. His eyes shine with love and lust and hunger. His lip curls up into his signature smirk and it makes your insides flutter.

“You know what I want, darlin’,” he growls, and you can’t help but chuckle a little. Teasing Elvis is one of life’s little pleasures and you’re not about to rush through it. You need to hear the noises he makes when you’ve got him on the edge, and then over it. You crave the way his face looks as he finds his release, you’re jealous and selfish and want to keep it all for yourself. You bat your doe eyes at him and lower your mouth to his belly button, the coarse hair tickling your nose as you kiss and lick your way down his stomach. His hands tangle in your hair and the moment your mouth finally closes around his length, he grips your strands so tight you think he might actually pull some out. You work him lovingly, slowly, just how he likes it. Despite being sexually experienced when you met him, there are things Elvis has taught you, things you never would have known if he hadn’t taken the time to instruct you. You put it all to good use now, knowing he needs to relax after the headiness of his show, the absolute rocket ship that takes him to the moon and back, every night - twice.

“Darlin’,” he gasps as he pulls your mouth off of him, “Wait, I wanna…I need to come inside you. Don’t wanna do it alone, not tonight. Need to take care of you, too.”

“You’re so good to me, my love,” you whisper, reaching up to cup his cheek, scratching his sideburns a little with your nails, touched that he is thinking of you, even now, when his own pleasure is so close. You stand and reach for his hands, pulling him up. “Where do you want me, Daddy?” His hands circle your waist and he maneuvers you backwards, around the couch and towards back of of it. He spins you around easily so that you’re facing the couch, and he bends you over it, lifting your silky dress slowly, his fingers brushing your thighs as he does. It sets you quivering, already anticipating the feel of him inside you. He lifts your dress further and uses a fist to gather it at your back, as his other hand pulls your panties down and you step out of them dutifully. You lean over further, arms spanning the back of the couch, and you push your ass back against his pelvis, desperate for him. You hear him chuckle breathlessly as he pushes into you without warning, sliding home easily, the familiar feel of him grounding you. You groan as he begins to thrust, leaning over you and taking what he needs.

You feel his breath on your neck, feel his lips placing little kisses all along your shoulder before one of his arms crosses your chest and grasps your breast as he brings you up and holds you flush against him. You whimper and lean your head back on his shoulder as the fingers of his other hand finds your clit. “You close, little girl?”

“So close….I need…Elvis” you gasp at a particularly sharp thrust, “wanna to see your face.” He stutters to a stop, breathing heavily and slightly shaking with effort, before pulling out and spinning you around quickly to face him. He hooks one of your legs over his arm and rests it on the couch as he enters you again. You wrap your arms around his neck, and concentrate on his face, watching as his eyes droop in ecstasy and he bites down on his lower lip. High-pitched whines escape your lips as his movements jolt you forcefully against the couch. You can tell he’s getting close and a pain squeezes in your chest.

“Look at me,” you whisper, grabbing a handful of his hair, forcing his eyes to meet yours, and when they do there are tears in them. “Go ahead, baby. Fall apart for me…one last time. It’s ok.” The unshed tears spill down his cheeks and his eyes he tell you all of the things he cannot speak out loud. How he loves you so much it physically hurts. How he wishes you two could stay in this place forever, high above the stars on the 30th floor. How damn much he’s going to miss you. How sad he is that by this time next week he’ll be fucking a new girl right here, on this couch, and thinking of you and how you smell and taste and make him feel. He doesn’t say any of this, but that doesn’t matter. His heart tells yours all of these things and you hear every last one.

“I love you, Elvis Presley. You are good and kind and the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I don’t know how I got so lucky,” you say through your own tears, and you feel him tremble as his warmth fills you deep inside and you watch his face for the last time. You feel jealous and happy and devastated all at once. You did this to him, and the thought that someone else will see him this way soon shatters your heart into a thousand pieces. He kisses you then, deep and slow, the salt from your mingled tears fresh on your tongues as he slows his movements and you clench around him and come harder than you ever have before. It leaves you gasping. And then you’re sobbing, unable to hold it in any longer. You’ve been so strong for him tonight, like he needed you to be. He draws you tight against his chest, strong and sturdy, and you feel him crying, too.

Later, much later, as you’re lying awake in his arms, unable to sleep, wanting to cherish every fleeting moment you have with him, you feel him stir. You lift your head and rest it on his shoulder, and he looks over at you, the glint of his eyes flashing in the darkness and he lets out an amused snort.

“I was just thinkin, little girl…you think they’ll let lil ol’ me come to your big, fancy movie premiere?”

“I think that depends, Daddy,” you say playfully.

“On what, darlin’?”

“Well, on if the lead actress puts you on the list, of course!” You giggle and tickle him under the chin.

He growls and hugs you fiercely, pressing his cheek to your head and tears threaten your eyes again.

“You’ll always be on my list, Elvis,” you manage to whisper, “I’ll be lost without you.”

@eliseinmemphis @powerofelvis @burninlovebutler

#elvis #elvis presley #elvis fanfic #elvis fanfiction #austin elvis imagine #austin elvis x reader #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #elvis presley x reader #elvis smut #gold rush #70s elvis #big daddy elvis #written by ab4eva

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crash-and-cure · 2 years ago

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If I Were You Part 4 (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: Elvis is here. Elvis is here and you have to deal with the tight rope that will be navigating his presence in your life both inside and outside of the party.

Note: Fun fact, this party was orignally meant to be a retirement party for reader’s dad, though in a certain part I couldn’t figure out a way to make it not seem as though Elvis wasn’t confessing his love for reader’s dad, so I switched it to an anniversary party (My original outline was insane, at one point there was an Elvis impersonator that was scrapped within the hour of me putting that idea in my notes). I know this one came out a lot earlier than the last one but that was because I was working on both of them at the same time with the intention of posting them as one. But then I went off the deep end and so they became 2 big parts rather than 1 insanely large part. That being said don’t expect the next part to be out for a while at least, becuase yes there will be at least one other chapter (please note I said the exact same thing two chapters ago). So please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist for the final chapter(s?) of this story and the upcoming one shots.

Word Count: 14.5K

Warnings: Oh boy get ready for this one. Yandere!Elvis so expect themes of obsessive, manipulative, jealous, and delusional behavior as well as some heavy allusions to blackmail, emotional and otherwise, here too. Dubious consent in some areas. Inappropriate relationship with Therapist (Which should go without saying). Explicit sexual content depicted that includes Penetrative sex (m/f), Daddy Kink, Praise kink, cum eating, and oral sex (m. recieving). Also brief depictions of choking and a nightmare sequence featuring implied drowning. Depictions parental abuse that include parentification, favoritism, as well as emotional neglect and abandonment. Also mentions of Elvis' mommy issues, and more exploration readers daddy issues. Period typical misogyny depicted. Finally depictions of a toxic relationship that include power imbalances, emotional manipulation, uses of coercion, grabbing that leads to bruising and verbal mistreament. Please do not interact if you are under 18.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5

My Masterlist

He of course has the gall to look amazing right before he ruins your life, his suit almost entirely black which only serves to highlight the bold red scarf that draws your greedy eyes to his open shirt. The scarf itself you’re horrified to recognize, not because you’ve seen it on him before but because it’s almost the exact shade of red you’re currently wearing. His eyes give you a once over before his face breaks into that devastating grin of his, and the dress that previously made you feel dowdy now leaves you feeling exposed.

As he approaches you make an attempt to back away only to be halted by bodies that obstruct any escape. You can feel the beginning of a panic attack as he advances, the crowd parting as though he were Moses himself. You genuinely fear that your heart will leap out your chest as he gets within spitting distance and he spreads his arms while loudly declaring “Now if it ain’t my favorite Doctor.”

Before you can fully pass out from the lack of oxygen going to your brain, you finally see that he’s not looking at you. No… he’s looking past you. “And if it ain’t my favorite patient,” you hear your father say from behind you, all but shoving you out of the way to grasp Elvis’ hand and shake it vigorously. “So glad to see you could make it.”

“Other plans fell through, and I wasn't about to let the night go to waste. That reminds me though,” he looks back to one of the Mafia members who hands him a bottle of wine. “Now I know you said no more gifts, but I ain’t ever ‘bouta show up to a party empty handed,” he said handing off the bottle to you father. You catch a glimpse at the label, and you’re just barely able to suppress your gasp once you recognize it. Your father apparently takes it as his cue to make introductions.

“You remember my boy over here,” he said, patting your brother on the shoulder. “And my beautiful wife, and this,” nudging you forward, causing you to stumble slightly. “This is my lovely daughter, Y/N.”

“Um… Hello…” you say trying not to meet his eyes, so that he won’t know how rattled you truly are. “Pleasure to meet you um… Elvis,” you stick out your trembling hand. Your hope that he wouldn’t see how truly shaken up you were over his presence is quickly dashed when you seemingly jump ten feet in the air upon feeling his lips at the back of your hand.

“Pleasures all mine Ms. Y/N,” he says and you feel his lips brush against your hand.

You’re unsure whether he’s this committed to pretending he doesn't know you or if he’s purposefully baiting you, but as you all but rip your hand out of his, you can’t help your next response. “Actually it’s Dr. Y/N,” you say in your most self-assured tone that you could muster at the moment.

You feel the eyes of the party turn from Elvis to you as though everyone is prepared for god to strike you down for having the audacity to correct him. Your mother especially has told you off for how gauche it was to correct people on your title, as though she herself doesn’t correct people when they use the wrong title for your father and Danny. You can feel all of their gazes, your family’s especially, and you truly believe you’re going to suffocate under all the looks, and you wonder how Elvis can not only stand it but build a career off of it.

You’re only saved from this scrutiny by Elvis’ boisterous laugh, and suddenly your impudence toward the king of rock and roll went from blasphemous to downright charming as everyone within earshot followed suit. “A whole family a doctors,” he states while looking at your father. “You must be so proud, Doc.”

Your father is quick to recover from the apparent shock to his system and wraps his arm around your shoulders, though his tight fist tells you that he hasn’t forgotten how rude you just were to Elvis. “Like you wouldn’t believe,” he said, bringing you closer to him. “Proudest moment of my life was seeing both of them get their degrees. This one especially” he says while ruffling your hair. “You don’t see a lot of girls becomin’ doctors, and I’m so proud that my little princess here did the impossible and became one of ‘em.”

This is news to you.

“I gotta daughter myself. Can’t say I don’t love the sound of a Dr. Presley,” he says unabashedly, looking straight at you.

That is also news to you.

You feel your heart leap into your throat at that comment. You’re contemplating letting yourself collapse to escape this situation, you wouldn’t be the first woman to do that in his presence and you’re about 60% sure that at least one of your family members would watch over you in such an event and Elvis wouldn’t be able to spirit you away. But you are already pushing your luck with that earlier comment, and the last thing you want to do is be the cause of another scene tonight. So you instead take the next best course of action, and you decide to run.

“Oh excuse me, can you hold that thought for a moment. I think I see my date over there,” you point to nowhere in particular, “I’ll be right back.” You don’t wait for any sort of dismissal as you make a quick exit from this conversation. Once you feel that you are away from watching eyes you pick up the pace, and once you’re out the front door you all but sprint to your car.

You can’t do this anymore. You have to get away otherwise, you're liable to explode from the sheer stress this entire situation is causing you. You’re leaving, and damn whatever consequences may come.

That fire within you is quickly stamped out when you turn the key in the ignition determined to leave, only to be met with silence. You test it a few more times again only to be met with the same result. Finally you give up and rest your head against the steering wheel while you scream in frustration. You have to fight back tears, as now going back inside is inevitable, and you do not want to have anyone seeing you now when you look as much of a mess you are on the outside as you are on the inside. You nearly jump out your skin when you hear a knock coming from your window, and you look over only to see a familiar blonde.

“Do I even need to ask?” you say tiredly, after opening your car door, part to talk to him, mostly in the hopes the cool night air will steady you somewhat before you go back inside. Jerry offers you a cigarette, and with the way he looks at you, it truly feels like the last offering before the firing line.

“He… he sent me out here to make sure you don’t do something stupid.” he says, which while an answer is far from comforting.

“Do they know?” you ask and he only gives you a questioning look. “The rest of you guys, I mean. About how I met him?”

“Hell most of ‘em don’t even know he was still in therapy after San Diego.”

“Tell me something. Was it one of you or him personally?” you say, but as you see his hesitation in raising a cigarette to his mouth, you back track. You doubt either answer will make you feel better.

“Look Doc,” he says, solemnly lighting up. “You gotta understand this ‘bout us. We all love him, but before Priscilla convinced him to go to rehab, we spent years just watchin’ him die. And now we can’t really say no to him, no matter how off the walls it looks from the outside, ‘cuz we gotta make it up to him somehow.”

“But why?” you ask. “If you saw how he was hurting himself, why didn’t you step in earlier? You do realize that more than likely it was the fact that nobody was saying no to him that kept enabling him?”

“You don’t think we tried?” he says bitingly, smoke seeping out his mouth. “That’s the thing about Elvis, even when you say no, that just means he’s gonna look for someone else to say yes. ‘Till you came along.” he says, using the cigarette to point at you.

“Oh yes, he’s really respecting my refusal,” you say sarcastically, thrusting your hand toward your childhood home as Elvis is no doubt laughing and mingling with the family you never wanted him to meet.

He goes quiet after that, letting a heavy silence fall between the two of you, and you feel somewhat vindicated by his clear discomfort at this whole thing.

“Would it really be so bad, Y/N? I mean most women would kill to be where you are right now,” he says after some time.

“Most women don’t have as much to lose to be with him.”

“Maybe, but I know that you’re good for him,” he says pleadingly. “And I think he could be good for you if you let him.”

“What the hell do you even know about me?” you say venomously.

“Doc listen… I don’t agree with how he’s going about this,” Jerry says, his hands thrown up defensively. “But I’ve known him for years and I’ve never seen him so… so…”

“Focused?” you finish.

“Exactly.”

Being the object of his focus is an intense thing to experience, and it’s something you didn’t fully appreciate until now. When you first started working with him, it was just the two of you alone together in your office and you had nothing to compare it to. The two of you were there for him and to help him get better. And then when you started to become further immersed in his world the focus was still on him, but back there he made it clear: He’s here for you and only for you.

You look down at your feet at this point and you notice the bruise he left on your inner thigh just barely peeking out from the hem of your dress, “What’s he planning Jerry?” you barely manage to whisper.

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Either.”

“I’m serious Jerry,” you say with no doubt a crazed look in your eyes. “What the hell am I up against? Proposal? Asking me out in front of everybody? Exposing the relationship here and now? What?”

Jerry takes a long apathetic drag off of his cigarette, before taking an equally long smoky sigh. “I can’t speak for those other things, but I do know that all in all he’s pretty private, so I doubt it’s the last one.”

“...but not impossible?”

“Is anything impossible for him?” he says as he lets the cigarette fall before stomping it out and turning around to head back inside. And you’re once again left alone with your thoughts.

Elvis Presley truly does live on another planet than the rest. That not only he can live in this fantasy but bring people in as well. That’s what truly disturbs you about him. You’ve learned that even the most rational seeming people can fall prey to the likes of him and even your awareness hasn’t been able to shield you entirely from being just as affected by him.

And even knowing this doesn’t stop you from making your way back into the house, back into his orbit.

When you return to the foyer, you don’t need to try too hard to figure out where Elvis is in the house, as you can see many partygoers hovering around the den trying and failing to not look like they're waiting for an opening as Red and Sonny act as bouncers to the door. You speed walk past that entrance resolved to make yourself scarce until the end of the party. Evidently you’re not fast enough as Elvis calls your name, and you hope that people mistake your expression as being starstruck instead of being terrified.

“Why don’t you come in here? From the sounds of things, you probably got some interestin’ stories to tell,” Elvis says.

“Oh, I don’t know about that?” You say, looking around and praying for something that will get you out of here.

“Nonsense. Come sit over here,” he says, patting the coffee table in front of him. You glance at your parents, expecting some type of protest on their part. But nothing comes, if anything they are all too eager to follow his lead, so you concede and make your way into the room. You walk in with the same eagerness as you would walking into a lion’s den, and you take stock as to who was deemed worthy enough to sit with the King. You can make out most of the Memphis Mafia members and your immediate family alongside some of the more prominent friends of your father, all of which has you on edge.

You sit down in front of him, while he sits comfortably in your fathers armchair. The same armchair where your fathers episodes typically take place and where you used to sit with him for hours at a time in your youth. Your father has always been overly protective of that chair and hated when anyone took it, so to not only see Elvis sit in it with ease, but to see your father stand beside and even look glad that he is there is mind-boggling to you. Admittedly the image of him in your fathers spot, is making it a little harder to breathe.

To your horror Elvis notices, “Aaahhh, you don’t gotta be like that lil’ one, I’m just a man like any other.” His tone is comforting, but you can see a mischievous glint in his eyes, telling you how much he is enjoying your humiliation. “Here drink this,” offering his own wine glass. “It’ll help you simmer down.” With all eyes in the room on you, you shakily accept the all too familiar wine.

As you drink, he looks toward your parents and askes with an amused huff if you’re a fan. Your mother jumps at the opportunity, “Oh the biggest. This one was always beggin’ us to let her go to your shows when she was real young. I even remember her crying when you got drafted.” This causes you to do a double-take. You’re not sure if she’s knowingly lying in an effort to add something to the conversation, if she’s conflating you with your brother who was the fan or if she genuinely doesn’t know you that well. You share a look with Danny, who undoubtedly has the same thought as you, but gives an expression telling you not to contradict your mother.

It is at this point that you realize that the odd energy surrounding the two of you is not going unnoticed by the rest. You almost have to admire how bold it is to make a grand entrance to someone else’s party, and then proceed to shamelessly flirt with the host’s daughter. No doubt that is how the rest of the party is interpreting this interaction. Elvis, clearly aware of the audience and the part he’s playing in all of this, leans forward, and says teasingly “So I guess this is a dream come true for you.”

A nightmare really. “Yes,” you say looking down, humiliation burning your face, and desperately wishing you were anywhere else right now. “Speaking of drafted” you squeak out in an attempt to shift focus away from you. “I don’t think you’ve heard my dad’s stories from the war.”

If there’s one thing you can rely on is your father’s willingness to tell war stories. He can go on and on for hours about the men he saved during the war, you suspect so he doesn't have to focus on the men he couldn’t. It has the desired effect and your father begins to regale those around you to the tale of one soldier who everybody thought was beyond saving but he refused to give up on him, and how in the end he was able to save that man. As you think about the fact that you’ve no doubt heard this same story more than a hundred times all through your life, you glance at Elvis, you see he’s been keeping his eyes firmly on you. The unease you feel due to his gaze and the revelation of where you got your fervent need to save him, has you refilling your glass more than once.

When your father finished his story, you hear beside you, “Oh Y/N, where’s your friend Mark?” Your mother asks this innocently as you take a sip, and you try to refrain from choking on the wine. You’re not so shocked at the question itself but the fact that your mother is calling him your friend, when typically she’s the one to insist on referring to him as your boyfriend, despite all of your protests. The fact that she surreptitiously takes a glance at Elvis, is all the confirmation you need to tell you that it was by design.

“Oh yes umm… I thought I saw him, but it was somebody else.” You say trying to act as dismissively as possible, even though you feel so humiliated.

“Oh that’s too bad,” she says, clearly not feeling bad at all. “Well I'm sure he’ll be here soon.” You give a tight lip smile to your mother, as you steal a glance at Elvis who is trying to hide his grin behind his glass.

“Yes, it’s a real shame,” you say.

“Well it’s his loss, I sure as hell wouldn’t want to be anywhere but here.” Elvis pipes in, his gaze focused on you alone. You look away in apparent shyness, though in reality you’re trying to figure out who to bring in to steer the conversation away once again. That is until Elvis says “So tell me Y/N, where’s the prettiest girl in all of Memphis been hiding this whole time?” and you choke.

“Oh this one, when she doesn’t have her nose buried in books, she’s working at her own practice,” your father pipes in. “You’d never know it, but she’s one of the hardest workers I’ve ever known. She got her degrees early and opened up her practice only two years out of school. And she insisted on doing it all by herself.”

That’s not true, you think to yourself. Your father refused to pay for your last two years of undergrad, and you had to practically beg on your knees for the funds they had set aside for a hypothetical wedding of yours to fund your practice. Despite the feeling of being more akin to a lamb being offered up for slaughter, and the backhandedness at the comment itself, you're happy, as that was the nicest thing your father has said about you in years.

Though to be fair it’s one of the only things he said about you in years, you tell yourself which immediately brings your mood back down.

“Sounds like she takes care of business.” Elvis says, leaving everyone in the room practically in stitches, but he does see your somber expression, and in his only act of mercy this whole night he changes the subject. “So Mrs. Y/L/N how’d ya’ like the spa today?”

How did he- Of course he did.

“Oh. My. Goodness. It was wonderful, I’ve never felt better in my life,” your mother gushes. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“Oh don’t worry ‘bout it. Ain’t nothin’ but a phone call to get you spots. Who’d you end up takin’ anyway?'' he asks.

“Oh Y/N, of course,” she says. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“Aaahhh, shoulda known for myself,” he says, reaching over to lift your chin up. “You’re practically glowin’.”

“Um yes, thank you,” you feel your face burn, and he grins at your discomfort.

That’s how the rest of the night proceeds, he would blatantly flirt with you, you would bashfully recoil, everyone would titter at the scene, and you would change the subject. When he figured out what you were doing, he ended up shifting gears and asking questions about you to your parents right in front of you, which only made you burn. What irked you the most was when he referred to your father as Doc, not because your automatic response to that was to look at him, not even at the sly look he gave when he noticed. No. It was that slight pang of something, you refuse to call jealousy, that you felt in the briefest of moments as though it were a pet name he was using on somebody else.

You know that you don’t have to put up with this and that nothing is keeping you in this room, so you could leave at any time. But you’re too afraid of what he might say when you’re out of earshot. There’s also no guarantee he wouldn’t follow you, and from the way everyone is still so enraptured by him, it’s almost certain that they would all accompany.

The only one who seems to have gotten over Elvis’ presence appears to be your brother. You can’t exactly blame him as he had grown up without your father for most of his childhood and upon his return, he very much craved the attention of the stranger that returned. Growing up the two of you had seemingly always had a designated time and place where one of you would receive your fathers love and attention. For you it was privately where you were more akin to an emotional crutch, and that was only when you were younger, whereas for your brother it was publicly where he could be shown off and bragged about like a trophy. Now intentionally or unintentionally, Elvis has seemingly usurped his place as your father only had praise and admiration to sing for him.

At some point in the night your sister-in-law asks you to hold your baby nephew while she runs to the bathroom, and you're left at a loss. Not because you’re inexperienced with babies, but because of how Elvis looks at you as you hold the infant. This is truly the moment that you pray everyone misses in this night, the way he goes a bit slack-jawed at the image of you right now only to be swiftly replaced with a look of hunger in his eyes. This, coupled with that Dr. Presley comment earlier, has you worried beyond belief of your hopes for his affection to wane.

You had hoped that eventually the novelty of having you would wear off, especially given the prospect of the upcoming world tour, and as terribly as it made you feel, you secretly wished this energy would ultimately find a new target. Now you realize, if anything, having you has only reinforced his feelings toward you.

Danny interrupts your inner spiral as he stands at the center of the room and clinks his glass. He picks up his son from your arms and makes a speech about your parents relationship and how wonderful and beautiful it is. He especially takes the time to thank your father for teaching him all the ways to be a successful man and how he’s going to impart all that he learned from your father on to his own son. You hope for your nephew’s sake that he doesn’t. Eventually he wraps up his speech and passes it on to you to continue the toast.

You had maybe recited the speech you were going to make for your parents ten times yesterday, but your muddled thoughts aren’t letting you concentrate, not to mention all the wine you’d been downing since Elvis had arrived. Maybe a sentence or two in do you realize that you’re going to have to compress your speech as the only thing worse than a slurring, erratic speech is a long one. So you end it by thanking your parents for giving you the kind of fairytale love and life to aspire to, and how you wish to find yours someday, and you purposefully avoid looking at Elvis. While everyone decides to kindly ignore your faux pas and politely clap to your words, your father is having none of that and quickly “suggests” you go lay down upstairs for the time being. Before you can get defensive and tell him that you’re not a child that can be sent to her room because he said so, you hear clinking glass from across the room.

You close your eyes, as you know exactly who it is before he even opens his mouth.

“If y’all don’t mind, I’d like to say a few words ‘bout the happy couple,” he said, grinning when he’s met with sounds of approval. “Now I only been knowin’ Dr. Y/L/N here for the last few months now. But goddamn 40 years… that tells you all ya’ need to know about ‘em. Love is a beautiful thing,” he pauses to look directly at you by this point. “But it’s also work. Like Y/N said, love is what makes life worth livin’ at the end of the day. So when ya’ find it, you gotta grab it, and hold onto it with both hands.”

You feel as though you’re going to suffocate at this point, with all the eyes moving back and forth between you and him. Typically you’re able to talk yourself down from the idea that people know about the two of you, but now you’re petrified as you can see the gears in some peoples heads turning as he’s no longer even trying to hide who exactly he’s looking at.

“The fact that these two, been able to make it work this long is truly inspirin’ to me. The life and beautiful family they made together is a dream most people could only wish for, but the fact they made it happen is absolutely wonderful. I always believed that there was such a thing as soulmates, and I truly believe we’re in the presence of some tonight,” his are eyes only on you by now, no longer entertaining the rest of the crowd with his attention. “Now I wanna raise a toast for these two, to the past forty years,” he says, lifting his glass upwards, with every single person following suit. “And…” he pauses, his eyes boring into yours, making sure you’re watching. “The next forty years to come.”

You’re going to be sick, the wine you gulped down not enough to settle your stomach. Everyone is so quick to fawn over Elvis or your parents, you’re able to slip past everyone undetected and make your way upstairs. Wanting to be as far from the party as possible, you find yourself in the upstairs master bathroom, where you proceed to empty the contents of your stomach into the toilet.

Dolly, your dad’s beautiful black labrador, was apparently locked in here so as not to disturb the guests downstairs. You appreciate her efforts in comforting you by laying her head in your lap and nipping at your hands in an effort to get you to pet her, however this inner turmoil you feel is not something that can be eased with playing with a dog. Eventually she gives up and wanders out, and that makes you cry even harder because how fucked up do you have to be that an emotional support dog gives up on you?

Why you? Why is he doing this to you? Months? Months!? He’s been your fathers patient and you only learn this now. Why would he hold onto this for so long other than to spring it on you at the worst time? Does he take it as a challenge everytime you push back, to further ingrain himself in your life?

You had opened yourself up to him, letting him in on the complicated dynamic between you and your father, because of all that you knew about him and his mother. Now he’s weaponized that knowledge to further entangle himself in your life. What scared you most was the fact that this was undoubtedly meticulously planned on his part. You could excuse that first week as more taking advantage of the opportunity with the chaos that followed that session, but now there’s no denying how capable he is of thinking things through. You never doubted his intelligence, but you never could have imagined how it would shine through.

And for what? What does he gain from this? To show you how he has your parents' approval? To corner you into a situation where you couldn’t be as closed off as you normally are due to an audience? To demonstrate to you how he is seemingly a viable option for you as a surrogate father figure? In one fell swoop he was somehow able to accomplish all of this.

You sit there and weep for a while, truly believing that you’ve hit rock bottom. But as you start to settle down you hear a very distinct voice coming from your parents bedroom, and you realize that rock bottom has a basement. As you rinse out your mouth, you can only hope that he at least gave enough time between the two of you coming up here.

You find him sitting in your parents bed furiously petting and praising Dolly, not even acknowledging you, which affects you more than you would like to admit. You whistle to get Dolly’s attention and when you point to the bathroom she obediently walks back in.

“You know that rope was there for a reason,” you say bitterly, still facing the door.

“What’s the point a bein’ famous if you can’t cross some lines?” he says with the most self-satisfied smirk you’ve ever seen.

You thump your head on the bathroom door, “Ok, I walked into that one.” And he only responds with a deep chuckle at your frustration as you hear him coming closer to you.

“What did you do to Mark?”

“Oh you know how cars can be sometimes,” he says dismissively, though you can hear that slight edge in his tone as he boxes you into the door. The hands roaming your body and the kisses on your neck make it evident why he truly came up here. “Something as simple as a pulled wire and it don’t start.” He uses one hand to move your head to look directly at him. “Sometimes it’s somethin’ big, like all four tires bein’ slashed.”

It’s odd, he no longer tries to mask his downright terrifying behavior to you. It’s because he’s so sure that you can do nothing about it, you think furiously.

As he begins to gently pull down the zipper on your dress, you’re painfully reminded of the party downstairs as you hear someone’s laugh down below. You decide to just give in and hope that you’ll be able to satisfy him before anyone can come looking for either of you. “Now I answered your question,” he says, dragging the red material down before his fingers lightly trail back up your abdomen and pull your bra above your breasts. “You gotta answer mine,” you shiver at his raspy baritone as well as the cool night air hitting your nipples.

That pleasure is almost immediately replaced by fear as you feel his large hand take a firm hold of your neck and he gives a small squeeze for emphasis. “Why the fuck did you lie to me ‘bout where you were gonna be tonight?” he all but growls, and for as frightened as you are, you can’t help the shot of pleasure that races to your core.

“I…I,” you stutter, fear stealing your words. “I didn’t want them to meet you.” Your honesty is evidently unappreciated as you feel the ever so subtle increase in his grip, briefly cutting off your air. You want to say that you don’t think he would kill you, but if he’s proven anything tonight, it’s that you don’t know him as well as you would like to believe.

“And why is that?” he hisses in your ear, loosening his hold slightly.

“Because…because…” your mind scrambles for what has the potential to be your last words, trying to figure out what could possibly save you through the lack of oxygen. You fear that this may be the end until you see a photo on your parents wall; that of them and your brother at his graduation ceremony, all of them with grins that actually reached their eyes for once. All at once you have an answer that is not entirely untrue. “You… you saw how my parents were. I was afraid that they would try to take advantage of you. I’m so sorry Elvis.” your apology punctuated by your tears streaming down your face.

He takes in your words, and you’re terrified that it wasn’t a good enough answer until he finally releases his grip on your throat, and you’re finally able to take a shaky breath in relief. “Still tryin’ ta look out for me,” he purrs into your ear as he’s turning you around and planting a filthy kiss on you. Still unsteady on your feet you wrap your arms around his head as he guides the two of you backwards until his knees hit the bed. “Baby, you gotta come talk and talk to me ‘bout these things. You told me once that communication is key and all that.”

“I’m sorry daddy,” you mumble into his chest, and you feel him rumble in approval at your words.

“Well,” he says as he unbuckles his belt. “Show daddy how sorry you are.”

Your mouth goes dry as you look down and see he’s already standing at full mast. You doubt you’ll never not have this reaction every time you see how big he is, and you don’t need to be told twice as you drop to your knees. Though you do give yourself pause as you glance back over at the door, worried that anyone could walk in at any moment, but then you feel a hand underneath your chin and his ocean blue eyes draw you out once more as he tells you not to worry about the outside world, only him.

You gather as much spit as you can muster before you ease him into your mouth. You immediately start bobbing your head up and down his cock, praying he finishes quickly so that he can go back down without raising too much suspicion.

“Take your time darlin’, I ain’t goin’ nowhere” he purrs, putting his hand on your head as he’s still deep in your throat. “I need to know how sorry you really are.” As much as you want to make this quick in order to avoid anybody walking in, you oblige and continue at a more languid pace. You’ve done this enough to know just how to tease him and prolong this but also as a sort of punishment for how achingly empty you feel without him.

You try to justify your next action as you being efficient and wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible, and not because you actually enjoy this. But as your fingers circle around your clit while you have a mouthful of his cock, even you realize how hollow those words sound.

“Hands where I can see ‘em darlin. I’m still upset with you.” he says, and you quickly pull your hand out of your panties and place it back on his thigh. You’re humiliated that he had noticed, but that is promptly replaced by longing as he takes your still glistening fingers and places them in his mouth giving a slight groan as he tastes you. “God I missed that taste,” he rasps. He brushes some of your fly aways out of your face, “I ain’t ever going that long without it again,” he promises.

You can’t help the moan that comes out of you at his words, nor the way your thighs clench together in an attempt to keep yourself from dripping everywhere. He evidently appreciates your enthusiasm as he forces your head all the way down and you're finally given that salty taste you’ve been seeking.

You swallow every bit of him, you say to avoid leaving evidence, definitely not because you enjoy the salty taste of him. Nor because you enjoy that purr he always gives after you show him you’re now empty mouth.

“Come up here and show your daddy some love,” he says in that deep baritone of his and your wine and cum addled brain has no choice but to comply. You should be more worried at the prospect of being caught and make this quick but as you crawl onto the bed with him and you see the way his eyes roll back into his head at the feeling of your wet panties brush against his sensitive cock. You feel powerful in a way you haven’t felt in months, so as you move the offending material away to fully sink down onto him, you put your hands over his mouth to hold in his groans. He merely quirks an eyebrow as he looks at you and you feel him bite his lip, apparently willing to listen to you.

You hate to admit this but you missed this feeling of being so full of him. You should never have experienced this in the first place, but now that you have, you wonder how you ever lived without it before. You take a moment to fully enjoy this feeling of being so complete, before you continue to grind down on him.

In the months since you’ve been with him, you’ve learned he has a particular love for your nipples, and rather than overanalyze it you choose to relish in it as he takes one in his mouth. You throw your head back but you have to bite down on your lip as some pathetic little whimpers escape from you as you do your best to not broadcast to everyone downstairs what the two of you are doing.

“Ahh look how good you take me baby,” he says, lifting the hem of your dress up to get a better look at the two of you joined together. And the sight is too much for you as you pick up your pace and essentially bounce on top of him, mesmerized as you watch him disappear into you. And before too long you finally cum, and your forced bite down hard on his shoulder to hold back what would have undoubtedly been a scream.

You relish in him as well as he snaps his hips upward, determined to finish once again, making the lingering aftershocks all the more powerful. And finally he lets out a strained groan and you feel him painting your walls. You bring him as close as you can manage in that moment, and you find yourself lost once again his fantasy that this could be the way things always could be.

“I love you so much Y/N.” you hear him mumble against your skin.

Your eyes snap at that and you’re pulled back into reality upon hearing his words. This is the first time he’s ever said that and you're frozen, barely able to breath in that moment let alone speak. But that’s ultimately for the better, for as much as you want to respond you know you can’t without saying the worst possible thing.

“Mama you gotta say it back.”

You do love him. You love him and you shouldn’t and you hate yourself for that. And you hate him just as much for forcing these feelings on you.

“Please Y/N, I need to hear you say it,” he begs, and you hear the slight quiver in his voice.

It’s those words that break you and you're now fully weeping, frustrated that he’s offering his love, but you’re burdened with the knowledge of how misplaced that love is. You remove yourself from him as you sob, guilt making it hard to look at him let alone touch him.

“Elvis I can’t love you,” you’re finally able to choke through your tears.

“Can’t?” he says with a hint of a crazed smile on his lips.

“What?”

“You said can’t not that you don’t.”

“Because it’s wrong Elvis!”

“If it’s about your job you don’t gotta worry about that, you can quit and I’ll take care of you. You don’t gotta worry mama.” he says trying to kiss away your tears. “You said it yourself, that there ain’t nothin’ wrong with how we feel, and that we should feel comfortable in expressin’ them.”

You hate it. You hate when he quotes you on something you said just to turn it around on you. This frustration alongside your uncertainty and humiliation is what finally breaks you, and you’re no longer thinking about tact anymore. He’s in your house, he’s in your head, he’s in your heart. You cannot let this go on any longer. “It’s wrong because you don’t actually love me!” you all but shout, “You just miss your mother.” When you realize what you had just said you slap your hands to cover your mouth as though that will take back what you had said. So scared you are of his reaction, you close your eyes and wait for the inevitable blow-up.

“And what about it?”

That truly takes you aback, as you were prepared for any other reaction from him besides seeming acceptance.

“Ain’t it normal? That our folks shape what we look for in who we wanna be with.” he said, taking your face in his hand. “Baby, you asked me once what I missed most ‘bout my mama. And I found all that and more in you.”

“Elvis, do you even realize how fucked up that sounds?” you say ripping his hands away from you.

“You wanna talk to me ‘bout fucked up?” he says with a derisive snort, before taking your jaw and forcing you to look at him for what he had to say next. “I ain’t the one that just sucked a man off in her own daddy’s bed.”

Your eyes widen at that statement, and you feel all the blood drain out of your face. He lets go, and you feel yourself fall back onto your parents bed, your knees suddenly unable to support you. He just looks at you with the slightest smirk on his face knowing he’s well and truly rocked you to your core.

You hurt him beyond belief with your refusal to admit say that you love him, and he paid you back in kind.

“Baby, either we’re both fucked up or neither of us are,” he says in an unsettlingly calm tenor, as he readjusts your dress for you. “I’ll see you monday mama,” he whispers against your cheek, before taking off and you feel yourself sink onto the mattress truly numb to the tears that fall down your face.

You don’t know how long you lay there curled in a fetal position in your parents bed before they arrive. You feel like a child seeking comfort after a nightmare, only this is one you can’t easily wake up from. Your mother seeing you in clear distress acts immediately and goes to your side, but your eyes follow your father. He was never one who knew how to handle any of your negative emotions, and as a result he quickly strides to the bathroom, opens the door for Dolly and just as quickly leaves you alone with your mother. You’re thankful for the small mercy you were given. What Elvis said, it definitely struck a sensitive nerve you didn’t even realize was there. You can’t even bear the thought of having to face your father so soon after hearing that.

“Oh sweetie,” your mother says cloyingly, while rubbing your back. “I understand why you’re upset.”

No you don’t. “You do?”

“Of course,” she said so sure of herself. “I know I would be upset if my date stood me up, especially for an important event like tonight.”

Despite her flaws and her inability to protect you from becoming your fathers emotional crutch for most of your childhood, you empathize with her to an extent. You’re hardly qualified to deal with your father’s condition as you are right now, you could hardly expect a young woman who spent most of her married life away from her husband to be able to handle this. In any case you at the very least appreciate her concern and her willingness to jump into what she believes to be a simple situation.

“Yeah, he… he really hurt me tonight,” you say in a small voice. For what feels like the first time tonight, you’re not lying to her, and you’re overcome by all your emotions at once.

“Oh I know sweetheart,” using her baby voice with you, wiping your tears away. You try to even out your ragged breathing, as best as you could as she continues. “Though I can think of one good thing to come from tonight,” a small mischievous smile adorns her face.

“What?”

“I think Elvis likes you~” she whispers in your ear, as though you were both schoolgirls.

“Ma,” you say in protest.

“No. No. I’m serious,” she says, trying to stifle her grin. “You shoulda seen how that man kept looking over at you. And now don’t be mad, but I may have let it slip that you ain’t that serious ‘bout Mark.”

“Mama you shouldn't have done that,” you say exhaustedly.

“Oh hush you,” she answers, swatting at the air. “He was the one askin’, and I’m not ‘bout to be rude to a guest askin’ questions.”

“You know your daddy and I only want what’s best for you,” she says while raking her nails down your back. “From what I've been hearin’ he’s got a type now, and you fit the bill perfectly. Hell, maybe your daddy can slip him your number. Who knows, maybe he’s in mighty need of a therapist.”

You have no idea. “Ma, don’t even joke about that,” you say in what you think to be a severe tone. You’re caught between wanting to laugh or wanting to cry over the fact that even your own mother didn’t recognize you when you were with him. Who are you becoming?

She only laughs at you. “Alright. Alright. You’re still sad about Mark.” she says while pulling you into a hug. She holds you there for a while and despite your limp state you still relish in it all the same. Eventually she kisses your forehead and says, “Tell you what though, why don’t you go sleep it off in your room. And in the morning I'll make your favorite.”

You already know you’ve extended your welcome in this room, so you eventually stumble your way to the door. “Might even extend an invitation over to Graceland while I’m at it,” she teases when you’re at the door.

You simply close the door behind you, not responding. You blindly make your way to your childhood bedroom and collapse on to the bed relishing the silky feel of your pillowcase on your face. You just want tonight to come to an end and you’re far too drained emotionally to even contemplate what you’re going to do moving forward. You feel a small smile arise when you breathe in the soothing, vaguely citrusy, scent of your pillow, and your eyes snap open, as you remember you didn’t have silk sheets in this house. You don’t even need to turn on the light to figure out what it is, and you simply bunch up the scarf and throw it on to the nightstand, now more irate than conflicted over his antics.

And what do you do about it? You ask yourself. He’s done this so many times, and your only response is to compromise. Despite how upset you are with him, you’re somehow able to fall asleep with his scent lingering on your pillow.

You’re not someone who ever put much stock into the concept of dreaming beyond a reflection of a person’s subconscious emotional state. So it’s not too surprising that your nightmares would do just that as well. You find yourself standing in front of a pitch black body of water you’ve never seen before and you hear a child screaming for help. You’re lucid enough to recognize this for what it is, and that in and of itself is your own personal hell. The feeling of knowing there is a trap before you but also knowing there is no way forward than through there.

You know this is a trap the moment you feel your feet touch the lake and you're barely able to lift it to take the next step in the viscous substance. But you keep going determined that if you can get that kid out then this will all be over. The closer you get the less frantic he starts sounding but you can’t stop yourself from trekking forward determined to see this through to the end at this point.

And at a certain point he starts singing and you know already that you’re not being called: You’re being lured.

Suddenly his voice stops all together and you fear the worst. Until the voice returns just behind your ear alongside strong arms that wrap around you. Before you can even scream, your mouth fills with oil and you’re unable to make noise anymore.

You know you should try something. Anything really; writhe, kick, thrash, hell even bite something to fight your way back to the surface. But somehow you don’t, and not even because your muscles won’t respond to you.

No.

You simply don’t want to.

And you know why.

Because in spite of the fact that you can feel the liquid entering your ears, you still, clear as a bell, hear his melodic voice.

And as you feel your breath leave your lungs, you simply reach behind you to bring him closer.

It is that very real lull in your breathing that wrenches you back to the land of the waking, as you fight for oxygen because clearly not enough is going to your head.

You’re horrified at the dream, but more so at your very physical reaction to it. You’re gasping for breath, tears stream down your face, and sweat beads at your brow. But most worryingly is that feeling you get when you shift your legs ever so slightly.

You didn’t wake up in a cold sweat.

You woke up wet.

It’s not the first time you’ve had this dream in the last few months, but it is the first time you’ve responded like this. Once you settle your breathing somewhat you finally take note of the fact that the sun is nowhere in sight meaning you at best got a few hours of sleep. Despite your resolve to do so you can’t fall back asleep. Still that ache between your legs is not something you can easily ignore.

You give in but try to think of anything besides him, though all that does is make the act feel cold and almost clinical, leaving you only more frustrated. Eventually you look over to the nightstand, and see his scarf in the minimal light of the morning. Its mere presence taunts you, until you take a hold of it and breathe in his heady masculine scent, and that’s when you finally accept what you need.

That’s how you find yourself biting down on the scarf to muffle your whines, relishing in his essence as one hand rubs the ends of the cool fabric on your sensitive nipples and the other desperately rubs your clit. You don’t even bother with penetration because you know you can’t fill yourself as well as he can. It’s on that thought you finally peak, your hips involuntarily rising and falling, and you can almost feel your entrance intermittently clench, still desperate for someone who’s not here.

As you come down from your high, your euphoria is quickly replaced by worry, not so much over the act itself, but over the fact that you physically couldn’t come without him in mind. There is no getting around this anymore. You are addicted to him, just as much as he is addicted to you.

How stupid could you be that you really thought you could try to teach him what a healthy relationship looks like by being in one with him. He’s hurt you. He’s actively causing you stress and grief over your career. And yet that doesn’t do anything to quell the ache in your chest at the prospect that you have to end this.

The fact that you’re hurting him just as much by being with him doesn’t help either. And that only further feeds your guilt over being so emotionally invested into his well being in spite of all he’s done to hurt you. And so on and so forth do you stew in a seemingly endless cycle of grief, rage, and shame all surrounding Elvis, until your mother knocks on your door a few hours later.

True to her word, your mother does make your favorite breakfast, and you're roped into helping clean up. You don’t fault her as it looks like a lot of work and your father has, thankfully, made himself scarce. You stick close to her while you clean up and she patters on and on about family drama and church gossip that you missed the night before. You meanwhile spend that time in your head just reflecting on the night before and having an internal spiral.

What Elvis said couldn’t be possible, could it? Because if that’s true, what does that say about you? Did you come into this field as some sort of voyeur that wished to gawk at the lives of people like you under a professional veneer and pacify yourself at the thought that you’re not as bad as them?

Or worse. Did you come into this job searching for a suitable father figure? Subconsciously looking for one that would attach himself to you, and by sheer chance that happened to be Elvis?

Are you even good at your job? You ignored much of Elvis’ alarming behavior long before the relationship turned sexual. Did you have blinders on only in regards to him, or did you do this with all of your patients? Some patients did on occasion cross boundaries, but you were always able to remain firm with them.

It’s these thoughts that have you eventually leaving your parents home and driving like a mad woman to one place.

“Am I bad for my job?”

“...Well hello to you as well, Y/N.” Mark says dryly as he opens his front door.

“Sorry… um hi.”

“That’s better.” he sighs. “I have no business being snippy with you right now. I’m so sorry about missing last night, but my tires got slashed and I had to handle it,” you internally cringe at that knowing the reason why, and you feel that in some twisted way it was all your fault. “Would you like to come inside, and discuss what’s got you so worked up?” He says stepping back and gesturing for you to come inside.

You walk in and silently seat yourself on the sofa, while he disappears into his kitchen and you can hear him shuffling around until he returns with two mugs. He places one in front of you before sitting opposite of you and taking a sip.

“What’s this about Y/N? Is this about seeing your parents again?” So he’s apparently decided to get right into it.

“No… Yes… Kinda, I don’t know.” you say defeated. “It’s just something one of my patients said to me recently. I…” you let out a long sigh, before taking a drink of the coffee in front of you. “I fear I myself have a codependent personality, and I… I don’t know subconsciously specialized in this very topic as some sick form of denial or normalization. That no matter how bad I may personally be, I could take comfort in the fact that I was not as bad as them. And I don’t know, something about seeing my father yesterday somehow reinforced those doubts that I’m some kind of hypocritical gawker of my patients.”

Even though you know that this isn’t a session, you find it odd to be on the other side of this. You know without giving him the full context he won’t be able to properly help you, but you know you can’t without facing serious repercussions.

“Your… contentious relationship with your father is something that I believe does affect your relationships. But not in the way you fear. When we were together I felt that you were distant emotionally, and you were very reluctant to be vulnerable with me. But in contrast you did want me to be as open as possible, which was hard to do without that reciprocity.”

“...Why am I just hearing this now?”

“I’m gonna be honest, I wanted to bring it up. But I felt like the last thing you wanted to hear from your colleague, let alone your ex, was that you needed to see someone about your issues. Especially considering it’s hard to frame that in a way that doesn’t make it sound so… Freudian.”

You want to argue, but instead you sigh in defeat. Objectively you know he’s right, as he’s one of your closest friends and confidantes, yet even you can admit one of the things that made you incompatible with him, was how tight-lipped you were about your feelings. Hell, he didn’t even know about your issues with your father, until about a year after the two of you had broken up for the last time. Which makes it all the more striking that you’ve been so open with Elvis in comparison.

“Now… about this patient.” he starts, snapping you back to the conversation at hand.

“I’m not here to discuss them.”

“Yes you are,” he says, putting down his mug. “Y/N, I’ve known you for years, and you’re not one to so easily be shaken. So forgive me if I find it hard to believe that one thing a single patient had said would affect you to this point.”

“I…” you start, but quickly deflate as what was the point of even coming here if you weren’t going to be honest with him, if not yourself? “I fear in this case, I’ve become a little too emotionally… invested in this particular patient,” which is as vague as you can get while still describing the situation. “And due to that I’ve most definitely crossed some ethical boundaries that I shouldn't have.”

He gapes at your confession before clearing his throat. “Y/N, this… this happens to the best of us. Some patients may have similar experiences and so we uninten-”

“You don’t understand Mark,” you nearly sob, “What I’ve done, it warrants nothing less than my license being revoked and… and…” you begin to hyperventilate at what possibly awaits in your future. It’s not as though you haven’t imagined the worst case scenario, but this is the first time you’ve had to verbalize that possibility. And even still you're not able to fully express what you fear, because your greatest fear isn’t just that you’ll lose your job, or that he'll get bored and let you go eventually. It’s that he won’t.

You bury your head between your knees as you try to calm yourself. Mark crosses over and rubs a comforting hand on your back, which only makes you weep, because all you can think about is how you wish Elvis was the one to comfort you right now. All your resentment, both for Elvis and yourself, your frustration and your anguish comes out all at once and you cry for at least twenty minutes. What a pathetic image you must make right now, sobbing your eyes out over a man, on the precipice of being unemployed due to your own actions in your ex-boyfriends house.

Eventually when you’re able to pull yourself together enough, Mark finally says something. “I’m not gonna ask what this boundary crossing entailed, but here’s the thing Y/N. Whatever ethical boundaries you crossed with this patient, I think you’ve built up the possible punishment as being worse than it actually would be.” This gives you pause as he continues, “The secret you’ve been trying to keep, it’s not worth the emotional turmoil it’s causing you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean Y/N, I’ve heard enough cases where the therapist in question should have definitely had their license removed. However they were able to appeal to the board and simply got slapped with a probationary period so long as the accusations didn’t delve into criminal territory and they cut all ties with the patient in question. Not to mention these were all men, so more than likely the board is going to go easier on you because you’re a woman.” He throws his hands up defensively at that statement. “I’m not saying I necessarily agree with them, I’m just pointing out the reality of the situation.”

“...These men in question, what did they do that you feel warranted their licenses being removed.” You suspect what he may be hinting at, but no matter how much you don’t want to hear it you have to confirm for yourself.

“I’m talking full on sexual relationships with patients. Which yes typically would call for immediate license removal, but these men were able to get away with it due to the fact that they reported themselves, which at the very least did display some level of remorse. Even if it was as a means of getting ahead of the patients reporting them.” He looks at you solemnly, “If it’s a matter of reputation you’re worried about, these cases tend to be handled as quietly as possible, names rarely even being used if no criminal charges are filed.”

As he says those words, the tightness in your chest that has been a near constant presence for months begins to alleviate somewhat. How… how did you miss this? If what he’s saying is true then you can walk. You can walk away and not have to lose everything. There is the small chance of him going public in an effort to ruin you, but with his pride, you doubt he would want any of this being known. You have a way out now, and when you realize that it makes you… sad.

Shame and guilt washes through you, because you know what you are doing is wrong and the fact that you feel distressed that you won’t be able to continue to do the bad thing, is definitive proof as to how terrible a person. You know that you have to end the conversation now because if he’s already bringing up those types of therapists, you fear that he may already have an inkling as to how involved you are with Elvis. You hang your head not wanting to see if he’s figured it out or not, and you gaze into your now cold coffee, just barely able to make out your own reflection. But even with a clear picture you doubt you would be able to recognize yourself.

“Look Y/N, I don’t deal with patients as consistently as you do. But I do know that in this field, attachment is not as uncommon as we would like. Especially with the type of patients you specialize in. That being said, the very nature of our field makes it hard for us to not become attached to some degree. But it’s the level of that connection that defines how well we are able to do our job. If you have become so attached to this particular patient that something they say will affect you this much, you won’t be able to treat them properly, and you definitely won’t be able to treat your other patients properly.”

You nod solemnly at that before letting out a long sigh. “Thank you Mark, I-I really needed to hear that. You’ve… you’ve definitely given me a lot to think about,” you sigh, putting down your coffee with unsteady hands.

“Of course.” He smiles, before a pensive look comes over his face and he catches your shoulder. “Out of respect for our friendship, I’m not gonna report this, but understand that this is the last I want to personally hear about this situation until you’ve taken proper action.”

“Meaning until I’ve reported myself and cut ties with the patient.” you question, completely drained from the madness that has been the last two days.

“Meaning until you’ve done what you think you can live with, whatever that may be.” he says while pulling you into a hug. For all that you had to hold back, you feel some pressure lift from your shoulders now that someone knows to some extent what has been making you act the way you have been.

You can reflect on why you essentially needed Mark’s permission to break it off with him at a later time, but right now you’re going to use the momentum in order to officially purge Elvis from your life.

Once you’re back in your apartment, you immediately get to work removing any and all physical evidence of his influence in your life. You pack up all the clothes, all the jewelry, all the records, and every other gift you can find, you even go so far as to remove a lightbulb he had replaced for you. In the end you’re left with a gutted apartment and a painful visual reminder as to how much of an impact he’s left in your life in such a short amount of time.

You’re almost grateful at the sound of your phone ringing, as it pulled you out of your thoughts before you could dwell on that observation for too long. As you lift the receiver off the hook you realize how late it is and that the chances of this being a normal phone call are slim. Hesitant though you may be, you still commit to answering.

“You’re a remarkably hard woman to get a hold of Ms. Y/L/N,” a voice answers in an accent you can’t quite place, though the man sounds vaguely European. You’re completely caught off guard by the man's use of your last name, as you don’t recognize the voice and you hope against all logic that for once, this not be Elvis related. But you’re not that lucky and you know it.

“Dr.”

“What?”

“It’s actually Dr. Y/L/N. And may I ask who this is?”

“You’re speaking to the man that gave the world Elvis Presley of course.”

You realize all at once who you’re talking to. How could you not? He’s not only been the villain of the media but he’s been the proverbial boogeyman in your office. You had never met the man, nor heard him speak, but you’ve heard the very worst about him from Elvis himself, so you already don’t have a favorable opinion. But you can’t act on those feelings without giving yourself away as having some connection to him.

“Uhm… Ok. I-I don’t know what that has to do with why you’re calling me?” You say, willing your voice not to betray how shaken he has you. In the back of your mind you never feared being confronted by your patients' abusers as you always told yourself that if this were to ever occur you would be a bulwark for your patients. A pillar of strength and self assurance that those that did them harm had no power over you, therefore no power over them. But now with all that you have to lose you find your palms are clammy and your knees quite literally shaking.

“Don’t play coy with me girl,” he says in a voice so vile it has your skin crawling. “Now I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout therapy, but I think even I would a heard about this radical new treatment of shrinks fucking their patients to make them right in the head. But only the best and newest for the King of Rock and Roll I suppose.”

Your blood turns to ice in your veins, as this is the first time you’ve been directly accused for your repeated misconduct. “I think you have me confused for someone else,” you say in a small defeated voice. In spite of the fact that you know you’re made, you still hold on to the smallest sliver of hope that playing dumb will somehow get you out of this mess.

“I know exactly who I am talking to Ms. Y/L/N.”

And it’s with that final misuse of your title that you start seeing red. “You obviously don’t, as I’ve told you before, Mr. Parker, it’s Dr. Y/L/N. Unlike you I take pride in my title because I've actually earned it. And do you know how I earned it?” you say all the pent up rage at your situation of the last few months finally coming out, and being directed at a man who both does and doesn’t deserve it. “From studying the likes of you and how you operate as nothing more than a parasite that is determined to suck the life out of vulnerable people. You go through life believing we’re all simply puppets for you to control, but here’s the reality you refuse to accept, you have no authority over him, and you sure as hell hold no authority over me.” Your chest is heaving at this point, the smallest ray of pride finally shining on you after all these months of shame. All too quickly though, all the wind is knocked out of your sails, as you hear him do an almost full belly laugh at your tirade through the phone.

“Quite the spitfire, ain’t you? I can see why you remind him of his Mama.” That hits you like a punch to the gut, because that observation on his mother didn’t exist in Wilson’s notes. Only yours. How could he have accessed those?

“She ain’t ever had a nice thing to say about me either,” he continues on, emboldened by your stunned silence. “But it’s you and me who are the same, ain’t we? Choosing his schedule, his medical doctor, hell his family even. Of course the only difference is I ain’t ever get into bed with the boy. The other girls ain’t never had nothin’ between the ears that I had to worry ‘bout. But you… you’re different. You came along with your snooty degree and your cockamamy talks about feelin’s, and you think you can take everything I worked so hard to build.”

“I don’t think you understand Mr. Parker,” you say sternly. “Even if I was his therapist and even if I was doing all that you're accusing me of, after all I’ve heard you done to that man, what does this have to do with you? As far as I know from what the news has been saying, you’re his former manager, who abused and exploited the man for almost twenty years.”

“It is a shame really, his ability to be so easily influenced by outsiders,” he says, ignoring your denials and not even trying to refute your statements. “Truly he’s incapable of being left to his own devices for too long. And the fact that he now latched himself on to his shrink of all people proves my point, he needs someone else to be in charge of him. Now there are of course legal routes to go through with that, but I don't think we need to do all that, especially when you’re now in his ear.”

“What are you talking about?”

“His daddy, a good friend of mine, would of course be appointed guardian and of course with his hands full taking care of his son, someone’s going to have to take care of the business side of things. In spite of all that ugly business months ago, he loves his son and would no doubt be happy to step in.”

You’ve heard of such circumstances where an adult is deemed unfit to take care of themselves, and all financial assets, medical decisions, and power of attorney are handed over to a family member with the understanding that they will have the interest of the person in mind. Elvis’ next of kin wouldn’t be his young daughter, it would be his father. Vernon, whom you never met personally, but the last thing you heard about him was that his role in the company had been reduced significantly, to the bare minimum monthly stipend and almost no contact with his son.

“Nothing about his mental state would deem that necessary and he’s a grown man capable of making his own decisions.” you assert, more to yourself rather than Parker.

“And where have those decisions led him? Sleeping with his therapist speaks volumes as to how unwell he is in the head. Not to mention all the other crazy stunts he’s been pulling in the last few years when he was givin’ away cars and shootin’ TV’s. He even tried to put a hit out on one a Priscilla’s boyfriends, and he only gave up on that idea because he went to rehab. No doubt any judge will just take one look at all that and know that this boy can’t take care of himself. Especially when he don’t know who to trust.”

“And he can trust you!?”

“He can trust that I want him to make money, so that I can make money,” your stomach roils and your jaw drops at this statement, truly astounded and rendered speechless by the audacity of this man. But you know that it’s not the money, it's the power that Parker wants back. You realize that this is why he went to you rather than Elvis, he wants to control him and he believes he can do so vicariously through you. He doesn’t realize how little control you have anymore.

“I take it, you know exactly what a situation like that would mean?” he says smugly over the phone. “I am not an unkind man Ms. Y/L/N, and I know you just wanted to help him. But perhaps you can start helping yourself. I made that boy what he is today, and I want back in. And I know you’re the key to that goal. You’re going to preach the benefits of forgiveness to him or whatever the hell story you need to spin, and once you get that done, I can work the rest.” He says slowly, emphasizing every single word of his sentence, as though you were stupid.

“I would never in a million yea-”

“You probably thought the same thing about sleeping with a patient. And yet you did just that,” he tuts as though you were simply a naughty child. With the way you’re rendered silent while looking at your feet, you have serious doubts that you aren’t. “If your fancy degree can tell me one thing, it’s that you’re not a stupid girl. And from the song one of his buddies’ been singin’, you want out.”

“Who?”

“It don’t matter who,” he states gravely. “What matters is that the only way you can get out is if I can get him to let you go. I’m a man who always gets what he wants, and in either case I will. The only thing you need to worry about is if you will be on my side or in my way.”

“You’re not gonna get away with this!” you shout, but you’re only met with the sound of the dial tone. Elvis had described how in his worst interactions with Parker he was prone to fits of destructive rage, and you have never sympathized more with him than after this single encounter with the man as you throw the receiver to the ground.

But you don’t have the luxury at being righteously angry at him because at the end of the day this is all a result of your pride and stubbornness. You should have let Elvis go long ago, you should have turned yourself in long ago and now the relationship will not only hurt you but devastate him. There was no reason it had to have gotten to this point.

It’s ironic really, you wanted to be the hero of this story, who helped a troubled man out of this dark place, only to get just as lost in that place with him. It hits you like a semi what those dreams meant now. But unlike those dreams you’re given the awful choice now of who will be the one to get out. You are so far from the heroine of this story, you are in a position where you have to decide whether or not you’re going to become the villain.

No… It’s choosing how you’re going to be the villain, as either option is going to hurt him in the long run. Unless…

As the idea forms in your head, you surprise even yourself how you don’t feel the onset of a panic attack, instead you feel an almost unsettling sense of calm. This dreadful feeling of finality washes over you, keeping you grounded to the moment, because no matter how much you had tried to prevent this, this shoe was meant to drop eventually. But that doesn’t mean you're going to let that asshole be the one that comes out on top of it in the end. As you pick your phone back up to make the call, you know that this is the end for you, but it doesn’t have to be the end for him.

You would think that it's lucky that he’s the one that picks up, were it not for the fact that this night has you truly believing you’ve tapped any luck of yours dry. You don’t leave a alot of room for him to speak, you just tell him to meet you in your office as soon as he can. He sounds perturbed but intrigued and he agrees to be there.

As you sit in your office, you once again see your doctorate degree. You know that save for proven academic dishonesty, your old university can’t revoke your degree, but you idly wonder if they would make an exception once they hear how monumentally you’ve messed up. You hang your head in shame as you prepare yourself to face the future.

You hear him enter your office, though with your head in your hand you’re too ashamed to look at him fully. You ignore his questions and simply slide the document toward him.

“Baby what’s this about?” He said, grabbing the papers.

“That's the file needed to make a complaint against a licensed psychiatrist in the state of Tennessee,” you say, absolutely sure of the steps that must be taken to protect him. “If you need, I can give you the number of the board of psychologists to file the complaint directly to them.”

“Darlin’ you’re scarin’ me. Why would I do that?” Sounding even more confused.

“Elvis, I-I’m so sorry,” you say, your voice quivering. You steel yourself as you take a deep breath and open your no doubt bloodshot eyes again. “I don't know how… or who, but… Parker got a hold of me.”

The concern in his face drops and is quickly taken over by a fury you’ve never seen in him before. He stands up and immediately begins to stalk around the room, restless and enraged like a caged lion as he all but roars “What did that sonuvabitch want?! What did he tell you?!”

“Elvis…”

“That old toad ain’t never spout anythin’ but lies! I swear if I ever see him again, I’m gon-”

“Elvis he knows!” you shout. You’ve never raised your voice to him, so he's taken aback and you continue. “He knows about us, and he’s threatening to go public with it if I don’t get him back in. And if he goes to the media, then he’s going to use this as a reason as to why you should be under a conservatorship.”

“What the fuck is a conservatorship?!”

You swallow the bile in your mouth as you tell him what that would entail for him, and how either way Parker finds a way back in. “Elvis this is why you have to be the one to report me, because then it’ll at the very least demonstrate how you are capable of looking out for yourself.”

You expected more rage. You expected belligerence. Hell you were even prepared for denial. What you weren’t ready for was the quiet. Elvis, who's someone almost constantly in motion, falls back into his seat, completely frozen. His face is devoid of all color and his breathing is coming in short bursts, but it's his eyes that frighten you the most. It’s the look you’ve become all too familiar with as it’s the almost exactly the same thousand yard stare you’ve seen in your fathers eyes hundreds of times. Acting on instinct alone, you crossover to him, drop to your knees and bring your hands to his face to try your best to ground him.

You beg, you bargain, you even resort to kissing him all over his face in an effort to bring him back to you, until eventually you feel the tears start to fall down his face. It’s like a floodgate has been open as he leans forward and you hear him break into heart-breaking wails on your shoulder. You’re no stranger to people crying in your office, not even to men crying in your office, but this is a new experience with Elvis. His full body, wracking sobs are a devastating thing to hear, and you can’t help the tears that fall from you as you hold onto him. You cry even harder as he begins to whimper how much he loves you and how sorry he is that he got you into this mess.

“I-I’ll go back,” your head snaps up at this. “Y/N, I’ll go back to him, if that’s what I gotta do.”

“Elvis, please…” you sob.

“He’s still got his goddamn claws in me!” He shouts in your face, and seeing your fear he dials it back with a softer tone. “But he ain’t gon’ get them in you Y/N. I-I can’t lose you too.”

“No Elvis, listen,” you plead, taking his hands and all but begging on your knees. “If you report me, and we stop, then he-”

“Then he can still go public and paint me as a fuckin’ headcase,” he says disheartened, as he seems to accept his fate.

You, on the other hand, are having trouble wrapping your head around how you could have overlooked something so crucial. He’s right, you think, Nothing can stop Parker from going public at any moment. Unless…

Suddenly a new idea strikes, and you gather yourself for what you have to say next, “Not if you get ahead of the story.”

“What?”

“If you get to the press before Parker, then you’re the one who controls the narrative. Parker is a known crook so anything he has to say about it will be seen as him desperately trying to be a part of the story.” you try to reason.

He looks at you and you can hear the gears shifting in his head as he thinks of this suggestion. In spite of his tear stricken expression, a small smile begins to form until it abruptly drops, “Baby… if I do that, then ain't you gonna lose your-”

“I know,” you cut him off, attempting to sound as neutral about the whole thing as possible. You’re trying to remain a bulwark for his sake, because the last thing you want is for him to feel guilty for the situation you created. “It’s alright Elvis. If you go back to him, you’re going to die.” You’re not sure what makes you so certain, but you’ve never been so sure about anything else you’ve said to him. “I-I couldn’t live with myself if you went back to him because of me,” you speak truthfully, though your bottom lip quivers. “This is-” you choke, but quickly recover. “This is the best way to ensure that he doesn’t have anything over your head.”

And just like that everything you’ve built, everything you’ve worked for will be dashed away. You could have potentially survived a private investigation, but being thrust into the spotlight on an international, no global, scale and your actions of the past year being put under the microscope. There is simply no way, whatever story Elvis comes up with, the psychology community at large will have to put up a hard line as to acceptable behavior and they will do everything in their power to disown you.

All those sleepless nights spent studying, all the money you saved, and all the estranged relationships. You’ve put everything you are into building up this practice and all of it is being thrown away to save one patient.

Let’s hope he’s worth it.

“You’re comin’ with me,” he states, taking your shaky hand in his.

“Elvis, no…” you half-heartedly protest, but it seems that the last twenty-four hours have taken all the fight out of you, as your grip on his hand tightens because even you recognize you don’t want to let go. You’re fucked anyway you spin it, so whatever story he spins about your relationship is out of your hands anymore.

“Yes you are,” he states, putting his hands underneath your face and bringing you to look into his eyes. His cerulean pools bore into yours, and you know you’re done for. “Baby, I promise you right now. I’m gon’ take care of you, and you’re gonna take care of me.” he breathes out caressing your cheek. You lean in further and you resent how easily you submit to his touch, how you’ve both literally and metaphorically put your life into this unstable man's hands. You see one corner of his mouth curl into an relieved grin as he says, “Our life’s gonna be perfect. You know why?”

You know for a fact it’s not (at least not for you), but you know exactly what he wants to hear. “Because I’m your girl” you answer in a small voice, while a few tears fall out of the corner of your eyes.

“That’s right mama,” he says, brushing away your tears, his mind fully lost in the fantasy you’ve helped make a reality. “You’re always gon’ be my bestest girl.”