#elvis presley x reader smut

[starryschoolgirl]

Good Husbandry

Summary -> While you view preparing for your honeymoon as finding all the hottest destinations in Honolulu for tourists, Elvis knows that he must help you, his soon-to-be virgin bride, understand all that comes with the honeymoon. What a good man he is, to give you a little hands-on lesson on what good husbandry is.

Warnings -> Lovely domestic things, innocence/purity kink, religious undertones, smut, just the tip trope, hinted breeding kink, swearing, Elvis gets a little rough, mention of RFK's assassination, the reader is overbearingly sheltered when it comes to topics like sex, cum eating, fantasies of "ruining" a girl's vagina, there's definitely some plot here I won't lie, loved writing this a little too much.

WC -> 7.3k

A/N -> This is an installation of the Baby Love AU. Find Masterlist Here!

The past few days had been a whirlwind of emotion for everyone. Elvis was doing press conferences for the NBC special he was about to start filming for, and while you usually go with him, with the recent assassination of Robert F. Kennedy, it was decided unanimously that it would be best if you were at home.

Elvis would have liked to keep you by his side, but given your family’s public connection to the Kennedys he knew that the press might behave in an uncalled for manner toward you.

It was also to be noted that he’d been very patient with you the entire week, after all you did know the man. He was a close family friend, a lot closer to your father, mother, and older brother than you. But there were still tears shed a few nights ago when it had occurred.

Most of that week you sat around the current California home, keeping the couch company like you were the prettiest of pillows as you spent most of your time on the telephone with your hysterical mother and being soothed by your childhood nanny who now watched your younger brother. You’d decided to write a letter to Ethel, she was no doubt being bombarded with phone calls from press and other family with the recent death of her husband. 

It was a rough way to start the month, it was only 6 days into June when something as tragic as that had occurred. 

You were certain things would change in regards to the guest list of your wedding just a little over a week away, for one you could understandably count on the possible absence of Ethel Kennedy and her children. Aside from her it wasn’t Elvis’ side you were worried about, because when Elvis says jump they all say “how high?”. It was your own side that worried you.

You knew it was selfish and stupid to be thinking of that at a time like this, those poor Kennedys have been through so much. But you couldn’t help the worrisome thoughts that lingered in your mind. Your parents already didn’t approve of Elvis all that much, with the influx of emotion that this event caused they might just cancel all together and then you’ll be left without anyone from your own family.

And that alone could cause an emotional storm to brew in Elvis. He always expressed his own disdain for your family, but you knew there was guilt deep down that he felt. And if he realized that he were the reason your wedding day went without family, he would be angry with you and himself. But that was only because he felt things very deeply, he was caring in that way.

So you made sure the past few days to get in as much reading as possible, so that even if your wedding doesn’t end up being the dream you hoped for, that your knowledge of your honeymoon destination would make up for it.

It had to be perfect. You had to be perfect.

"We better get up and get changed soon..."

You hummed absently at Elvis' words as your eyes continued to skim along the page.

"Wouldn't want the rest of the boys seein' ya in ya nightie"

You hummed once more at whatever he had said, much too focused on your book to pay much mind. Elvis noticed this and laughed softly as he asked,

"What are ya readin' Honey?"

You looked up from the book that you had been enthralled in for the past half-hour to see Elvis staring at you over one of his religious books, he had a crooked smile and a quirked eyebrow, his facial expression likely from the fact that you were actually reading a book.

You smiled cheekily and crawled closer to him on the bed, resting your cheek on his shoulder as you quickly card your floral bookmark in between the pages you were on before closing it and presenting it to Elvis, your fiancé.

"It's a book all about Hawaii, it has some of the best secret locations on all the islands, including Oahu"

You smiled up at him as his eyes scrolled to look over at you then at the book, a smirk playing on his lips as he did so. He set his book down on his lap to grab yours, one of his fingers tracing over the cover as he murmured honestly,

"Well Babylove, I don't think these locations are all too secret anymore considerin' the book is 7 years old"

You hummed softly at the statement. Truthfully you only picked the book off the shelf because one, it said Hawaii which is the place you and Elvis were planning to be your honeymoon destination, and secondly, it was pink.

Elvis shook his head fondly and brought a hand up to ruffle your hair, thankfully at the moment there were no rings on his fingers to pluck and pull at the strands of your hair. With that in mind you happily leaned into the touch like a cat getting its fix from its owner.

You roll your body closer, dragging one leg over Elvis' legs as if he were one of those long body pillows. You snuggled your face into his chest, feeling the silky fabric of his short ascot scarf. He'd recently begun wearing them often, you didn't mind it because you could tug him by his scarf whenever you wanted a kiss.

Your voice was soft and murmured into the fabric, "I wanna start our marriage off right, our honeymoon has to be perfect, and this book,”

You pull back for a moment to grab the book and open it to the first page. Elvis watches with an amused smile as your dainty little finger flies across the dust-colored pages to the sentence that you read aloud,

"These spots will guarantee a sweet time with that special someone"

Elvis’ voice is laced with harmless sarcasm (that you don’t quite catch) as he says,

“Oh well if the book says so, it has to be true”

You then excitedly close the book and show Elvis the back cover, where a quote from what must've been a review was laid out in bold, "Has the hottest places for America’s hottest honeymoon destination"

Elvis laughed softly. His arm wraps around your shoulder as his hand runs up and down your back, calluses grazing the delicate fabric of your satin nightie with a scratching sound before taking its rest on the curve of your ass. He explains, "Well little one, there's a bit more to honeymoons and marriage than that"

Your eyebrow quirks in the way you learned from watching Elvis' own eyebrow within the span of your relationship. It looked as if you were suspicious of Elvis, thinking he was trying to pull the wool over your eyes.

With a gentle hand Elvis removed the book from your hand and set it on the nightstand where he then set his own book on as well. You laughed softly as Elvis’ hands pulled you into your place, till you straddled his lap innocently for him to explain something,

“Well Babylove, a big part of marriage and honeymoonin’ is good husbandry.”

You go silent for a second, thinking to yourself as your fingers trace little shapes on Elvis’ chest absentmindedly. When you come to the conclusion that you’re clueless on the subject you ask,

“What’s husbandry?”

Elvis’ hands run along your sides, running up to your ribs, down to your hips, then repeating their cycle, it was in his own absentmindedness that he did it as he explained,

“Well, husbandry is kind of cultivatin’ and makin’ use of land, sorta like plantin’ a seed and takin’ care of it.”

“Like farmers do?”

“Very good girl, like farmers do. Now ya see, that comes into play within things like marriage and honeymoons. To be a farmer, the first thing ya gotta do is plant a seed, then ya get your farm goin’ and everythin’ is just dandy as long as you keep takin’ care of that seed.”

You nodded your head along to what he was saying, it made sense. But what did that have to do with your honeymoon?

“Just as that goes, to be a husband, you also gotta plant a seed. So ya see, in marriage, instead of a farmer plantin’ a seed, it’s the husband who plants the seed, and he plants it right in your petals”

You grimaced with embarrassment as you heard Elvis mention your “petals”. Such talk was still very new to you. Having been raised by the church most of your life, and having only attended catholic private schools, you’d been taught that such talk was deplorable and vulgar. 

Elvis seemed to be trying to undo all their teaching as he was very free and open with topics such as that one.

He could see the way your face began to dust a precious pink along your cheeks as you stared down at your hands scrunching up his shirt’s fabric within them. He couldn’t help but adore his sweet girl and lift your chin to take in the entirety of your innocence, the privilege of being innocent and naive having been fed to you with a silver spoon since you were a baby with your family’s fortune.

Your education didn’t span too far, it was done under the assumption that you’d be protected from the roughness of the world, the riff-raff. And though Elvis was a fair match monetarily-wise to your parents and the people you were raised around,with enough money to keep you as far away from the world’s roughness as possible, he was still considered to be in that riff-raff crowd.

Oh, what a shame for your family and the rest of your upper-class culture to have a rare purity, like you whisked away from your family made up of good breeding and a pure bloodline by a man like Elvis who would screw it all up when he one day planted his seed into your womb, making your once purebred French bloodline his own as he mixed himself into the history of your DNA to make a child that you will carry for months.

A child you will love to no end while your ancestors roll over in their graves.

Just the thought of it all made Elvis giddy.

His smile is cheeky as he grabs one of your nervous hands to soothe you while also keeping a grip on your chin with his other hand, his voice is breathy from speaking through a laugh,

“Now don’t let me lose ya, still got some splainin’ to do”

You can’t help but continue to duck your head away into your shoulder to hide your embarrassment, till Elvis pulls you out of it with his sweet little nickname for you,

“C’mon now Bubbles, need ya to keep listenin’ f’me”

You look up to meet those dark blues of Elvis’ that pierce with a strange softness.

“To seal the marriage a man plants his seed in a woman, and from then on he has to take care of that woman, that’s good husbandry. That’s part of what happens on a honeymoon. Understand?”

You nod slowly, and mumble a soft, “I understand”, before laying yourself down on Elvis, making yourself comfortable as you lay your head against his chest, your arms wrapping around his torso, somehow squeezing their way between Elvis' frame and the mattress.

Marriage seemed scary. Ever since you had gotten engaged to Elvis you felt a different weight begin to fall on your shoulders. And though you were excited to marry Elvis, you couldn’t help but remember how your mother described marriage to be with your father.

As Elvis dragged his hands along your body tracing every poke of a bone through your skin he closed his eyes, showing his affection through the action, you thought back to how marriage was represented to you as a little girl.

There were nights when your father stayed late for work that you’d sit on the floor between your mother's legs as she sat on the sofa, by then she would be nursing her 4th glass of wine that night, and let her braid your hair before bed.

You’d whimper softly as her diamond-littered gaudy engagement ring, which was comparable to the one you now owned, would catch on some strands of your hair. But you wouldn’t voice any complaint as she was too busy voicing her own, complaining to an 8-year-old you about your father’s “wandering eye”, how he loves work more than he loves his family, and that he can’t even function without a pill, in what sense she meant “function” you’d never know, because you only saw your father as a personal superhero. The man who would bring gifts like Santa, the man who would read you to bed on the rare nights he could, the man who held the whole world in his hand every time he held you.

You didn’t recognize the man your mother would drunkenly describe. And soon after you wouldn’t recognize your own mother as she would break into tears and talk about how it’s her fault, and that she knows it all falls on her to make the marriage work, she just needs to try harder.

You’d caress her knee and try to soothe the adult, “It’s okay Mommy”, while mustering up the courage to promise her that, “It’ll be okay”

And then at the end of the night, she would turn you around and slur with as much affection as she could muster,

“Always tend to your husband Sweetie, don’t make a prude of yourself like me, don’t make a nagging wife, be pleasant and pliant and you’ll be a happy wife”

Of course you weren’t married yet, and that might’ve been what was causing you to be such a worrywart, because you were scared of the unknown. That’s why you’ve been trying your best to find ways to start the marriage off in the best way possible.

But you now had a whole other thing to worry about perfecting, husbandry. 

It would all work out though, as long as you heed your mother’s words and be a pleasant, pliant wife, you’ll be just fine, and you’re confident that Elvis would never turn out to be the kind of husband that your mother described your father to be.

You mumbled into the fabric of Elvis’ shirt,

“How does a man plant his seed in a woman?”

Elvis’ hands came to a halt at your words. He thought he’d gone over this kind of thing with you before, then again there was never much need to. You never prodded for more than you were given, because you were simply unaware there was more you could get out of the pleasures of your body.

Elvis stared down at the top of your head as you kept your cheek resting on his chest, he realized how abstract your thoughts must’ve been compared to his within your relationship. He had spent countless nights holding himself back from making you his completely, there were so many times he easily could’ve done so. So many times you put yourself in the position to be vulnerable to the disgusting thought of a man who knew the pleasures you could give.

Had Elvis been a different man he would’ve done so by now, taken you shamelessly and left you crumpled on the floor next to your crumpled up clothes.

But he’d be reigned back by the thought that God wouldn’t make something like you, something so pure and holy, for sin. Had Elvis not been a god-fearing man he would’ve had his way with you.

All those nights he spent eating you out, listening to you finally break that voice box of yours in, the only thing he’d thought about was how much louder you would be when he could finally fuck you, meanwhile you thought that the sensation guided by Elvis’ tongue that momentarily blinded you was as good as it got, was as close as you’d get to God.

Oh Elvis could show you so much more, teach you so much more, touch you so much more. And as shameful as it is, he’d be a liar if he said that the fact that he wanted to be the one deflower you didn’t play a role in your engagement.

“I could show ya how it’s done Honey, would ya be alright with that? It’s a little different from anything we’ve ever done”

You sat up on his lap and nodded as you kept a hand to support yourself up on his stomach. He basked in the sight of you with a small smile, digging his hands through your hair like roots in the dirt, so deep and entangled it could be hard to tell where your hair began and his hands ended.

It wasn’t at all painful in the way your mother’s hands used to rest in your hair during her drunken stupor.

It was gentle as Elvis always was.

He used a gentle force to pull you close enough for him to press a kiss to your forehead for a moment and hold it there, you closed your eyes and let out a breath, any stiff stress in your body leaving at the touch of Elvis’ lips.

He pulled away, lips and hands.

“Lay down Baby”

Elvis patted your side of the bed and you quickly laid down as you usually would, and with a quick fwip of his hips Elvis’ knees rested just outside your thighs, his entire body hovering above yours as he reached over to your nightstand.

You heard the clink of glass, no doubt the two glass figurines you’d had since you were a child, your voice was soft but panicked as you felt a pang of protectiveness over your childhood trinkets.

“W-What are you doing?”

His response was immediate as he knew your sentimental feelings toward your figurines,

“It’s alright Honey, jus’ turnin’ Dottie and Lottie around”

“Oh.”

You let out a sigh of relief before having a blush spread like a wildfire in the summer across your cheeks. When Elvis had first touched you, you felt the need to turn your glass figurines Dolores and Charlotte, also known as Dottie and Lottie, around before he could continue any further. When he asked you why you could only mumble a quiet explanation about wanting to preserve their innocence. Elvis didn’t mind the strange gesture, he thought it was rather cute actually, it was something so girlish and sweet, something he’d never think of, it further instituted that you really were an endearing little girl.

And ever since then anytime Elvis touched you, he’d always turn your figurines toward the wall for you. And him doing it now meant that to plant his seed in you, he had to touch you.

You close your eyes as you relax into the mattress completely, and feel a shift in the bed then the cold air began to linger up your nightie, or rather Elvis made your nightie linger up your skin, giving way for him to view the cutely contrasting color of your pastel yellow panties to your pastel blue short satin nightie.

As the bed shifted a little more you allowed Elvis to part your legs so he could slide off the piece of fabric, his hands caressing the skin of your ankles a few seconds longer than the rest of your leg, and then he intricately removed your panties off your feet he laid them on the outside of your thigh, within arm's length.

You assumed what you’d be feeling next was what you always felt whenever he touched you, those calloused fingers of his walking their way up your thighs as he made himself comfortable right between the two limbs, his mouth and nose inches away from that bundle of nerves that he so lovingly explained was the bud of your little rose. 

His fingers would then drift down to what he called the petals of your rose, separating them gently, exposing your hole to the cold air of the room making you shiver like the scared little girl you were as he did so. But he liked it, liked how visceral all your reactions were from your inexperience.

Only this time, you’d been wrong as you heard the familiar shink of his belt, and as if you were a trained dog and his belt were a clicker, your eyes shot open as you knew what that sound meant. It meant you got to do the touching, but, why were your panties off if you were doing the touching?

As you sat up you saw Elvis shucking his pants and boxers down, you watched with a blush as you saw his dick, it wasn’t yet completely hard, it more so at half-staff if anything, with that it maintained enough loose skin so that the usual image of his veins bulging profusely through the thin skin was not a sight you’d yet see, but you could change that.

As you sat up with your legs still spread enough so that Elvis once he was free of his pants was able to swiftly kneel between them. You leaned forward with an eager hand but Elvis had caught your wrist before you’d made it to your target, you batted your eyelashes up at him in confusion.

“Elvis?”

He had a crooked smile on his lips and asked, “Don’t ya remember what ya gotta do first? C’mon Hon we’ve been over this a dozen times”. You had to think for a moment but felt flushed with embarrassment at your own mistake.

Elvis’ eyebrow ticked upward as he caught your realization, then he slowly raised your hand up to your mouth for you to lick a stripe along it. When he didn’t immediately pull away you knew to keep lapping at the skin till Elvis saw it suitable.

His head tilted down a little as he made eye-contact with you through the cracks of your fingers, staring at you as you licked lines of wet along the lines of your palm, he was mumbling a praise or too like “There ya go”, and “Just like that”. You only shut your mouth as his free hand came up to cup your cheek and gently push you back from your hand.

With your newfound view of his cock it definitely looked less limp than before but Elvis had taught you how to get it standing, and you wanted to show him that you could. He’d been loosening the reins lately and had been giving you more independence to touch him in the way you knew he liked. But at the perfect moments he’d step in and be a helping hand, wrapping his much larger hand around yours as he showed you what kind of pace he liked when his dick twitched a specific way.

It was him helping you build this muscle memory that was slowly etching its way into your brain, on the walls of your skull, and in the nerves of your hand

With the softest of groans leaving Elvis’ mouth your eyes shot up from his cock that maintained the attention of your palm, wanting to see his face, see the preview of your own triumph as you continued to stroke with the pace his hand guided yours along.

His smile was gone as his mouth twisted slightly to let out the low noise, he licked his lips quickly and tightened his hold on your hand, in turn tightening your hold on his cock as he ran your palm up and down it, your voice was hesitant and soft as you questioned, “L-Like that Elvis? I do it like that…”

He hummed an affirmation and mumbled, “Keep at it”, before pulling his hand off yours, leaning back on the bed on his palms while watching you with lowered lids, had they been any lower they would’ve been closed.

You tried shuffling yourself closer by planting your heels into the mattress and scooting yourself closer, but it was hard to focus on both things. You didn’t want to louse up what a good job you were doing, but you felt you could do better if you were just a little closer.

Elvis must’ve read your inner turmoil as he leaned off his palms and cupped the back of your knees with each hand, pulling you closer at the top of your calves where they connected with your thighs. As you continued with your strokes you noticed how close you now were, your bare pussy had never been so close to Elvis’ cock.

With the realization a strange curiosity shot through you, a kind of curiosity that had filled your senses one of the first times you’d sat on Elvis’s lap. He kept you on one knee easily, and it had been the leg that he often bounced absentmindedly, and as he easily bounced you on his leg you felt a weird sensation, and that damned curiosity of yours got the best of you subtly shifted on his leg, and suddenly the jumbling of your legs on his knee had shifted to a jumbling on a small bundle of nerves between your legs.

No you wouldn’t let your curiosity get the best of you again, you wouldn’t.

As Elvis pulled his hands away from your legs he leaned back on one palm and the other he reached forward to rub that very bundle of nerves you’d just been thinking of about. Just the slightest bit of force made your body react with what could be described as a convulsion as you breathed out a noise of surprise.

Elvis’ almost dazed look on his face didn’t shift as he glided his calloused thumb down between your folds, scooping up whatever was beginning to wet them, then using it as a lubricant to give your clit a good rub down, his facial expression unwavering as he watched you twitch and struggle to focus on doing a good job.

His voice was low and almost sounded slurred as he mumbled,

“Now this is hard ain’t it Honey? Tryin’ to pleasure each other at the same time?”

Your face shrunk and your lip quivered as you tried to maintain that you wouldn’t break under the sensations of it all, wanting to do good.

Upon gaining no answer Elvis’ eyes glazed up to meet yours, they now shifted to sympathy as he reassured you gently with little circles of his thumb around your bud,

“It’s alright Baby, I know it. I know it’s hard, that’s why through marriage a man can plant his seed in a woman, makes it easier y’know? A man can help you while he helps himself, ya shouldn’t have t’be doin’ work Honey”

You don’t know when you started nodding along to his words, you hardly understood them, but the way his eyebrows arched, the way his lips curled, the way his voice drew out, he seemed like he knew everything in the world. He was so in his element that you wouldn’t question it if he told you a cat were a dog.

But you had to ask, through your soft pants and whimpers, “H-how?” How was it possible to both be pleasured at the same time? How was it possible for both of you to reach that special spot just between the earth and the heavens where all felt impossibly right?

Elvis’ lips grew to a smirk once more as he removed his thumb from your clit and his hand wrapped around yours to pull you away. As you looked down you saw that familiar sight, that thin skin stretched out to show that long vein that started at the side of his dick and traveled down the center.

His other hand ran up your calf, to your thigh just to rest on your stomach, still covered by the top of your satin nightie, and with a firm force and a, “Lie back f’me” you were laid down on the bed with your legs spread.

He spread them a little further, and you watched as best you could while still laying down, craning your neck painfully to see what he was doing as he made a ring out of his thumb and index finger.

Elvis’ eyes met with yours, making sure you were watching before lining the tip of his cock up with the little makeshift hole he made of his fingers for demonstration.

“When a man plants his seed, he fills you with himself. This right here,” He lifted the little ring he’d made of two fingers, “This is like that little hole between your petals, so what I’m gonna do is fill it just slightly,” he slid the ring over the tip of his cock, leaving you to watch with a mouth slightly agape as his movement stretches the foreskin.

It’s not like when you stroke him though, he stops much too short, and doesn’t even go near the base of his cock, he ends at the base of the tip only.

“Now, this much is just till the wedding Hon. We can only do just the tippy top Baby, can’t break ya in just yet, we gotta wait till we’re unified under God to make that kinda connection-”

“...cause it’s special”

Elvis looked up at you, surprised to hear your soft voice so suddenly, it seems the words left your mouth with a little thoughtful pout. God, let this man hold back today. Let him be graceful and kind to his babylove, Elvis thought to himself as he smiled softly and hummed, 

“Yes it is sweet girl, it’s somethin’ special”

As a moment of sweet silence filled the air the two of you made eye contact, you smiled, feeling unsure of what was to come, he smiled back knowingly.

“Are ya ready Babylove?”

You bit your lower lip nervously and could only nod with trusting eyes. Elvis’ figure suddenly shut out most of the light from the ceiling as he supported his body above yours with one hand while he used his other to line up the tip of his cock.

You let out a shaky breath as he parted your fold with the tip of his cock before running it along your leaking slit. From the bottom up past the top till he hit that bundle of nerves that he could find with a blindfold. You squeaked softly at the bit of force he was using to circle your clit with his cock.

Elvis swore he’d do everything with you in mind, but as he watched the way your big eyes would crinkle to little bouts of eyelid folds and as he saw the way your lip quiver with every squeak and breath you let out, he couldn’t help himself but gauge your reaction to a little something.

Your breaths came out one by one in panic as you suddenly felt the tip of his cock begin to bat around your little bundle of nerves from the top, from side to side, even attacking from the bottom. Your eyes shot open from their little crinkles of stress and just before you could open your mouth his little batting around of your sensitive bud turned to slowed drawn out circles rubbing along the edge.

“That feels good huh Honey? It’s gonna get even better, just need ya to relax. Uh huh, that’s good, you’re doin’ good”

You relaxed into it, your jaw falling slack and your breaths coming out shallow. As you sank into that warmth that always accompanied Elvis’ gentle touch, Elvis pulled his neck back slightly to get a better look at your hole, with your folds parted he had a perfect view if he could look past his cock. He craned his neck a little to the left and found the target, wide open from your relaxed state, he licked his thumb to lubricate it and like a veteran, he navigated his cock down and at the forefront of it as his thumb took its place and pace in circling your clit, had you not been watching through lidded eyes you wouldn’t have even noticed.

“Here it come Baby, here it come”

Elvis couldn’t even look at you to gauge your reaction as his head fell back immediately as he was engulfed by your heat. Somewhere in the distance he heard a high-pitched noise but he was too high on the feeling- No, the knowledge that the first thing to fill you, to really fill you was his uncut cock’s head.

He breathed out to the ceiling, or rather to the Lord,

“Fuck…”

How could a feeling like this fill his mind, body, and soul from just the tip going in. Shit if he hadn’t already proposed to you he would do it now, just so he could one day feel the full effect of your body on his.

And then he finally peered down at you, and you were a sight to behold. He hadn’t been with a virgin in a long time, and the ones he had been with, you made them look like the most experienced girls in the world.

Your face was crumpled and your clenched fist was brought up to your mouth, you bit down so hard on your knuckles Elvis could see the skin losing its color around your little teeth. His hand slid down to your hip, running along the skin soothingly, as he hummed out, “Relax, it’s alright, just relax”

You nodded and pulled your fist from your mouth to show you were relaxing, but as your lower lip trembled Elvis could only softly remind, “Relax…”

And after a few moments of Elvis running his hands along your hips you spoke in an unsure whisper, “I-Is that it?”, Elvis sighed with a smile, “No Hon, don’t worry, but I can’t show ya the rest till ya relax, alright?” Elvis could feel you tightly around him, if he tried to pull the head of his cock back out he’d hurt you, he knew that.

"I-I am relaxed"

“No ya not Babylove”

You sighed softly, feeling a bit frustrated, this wasn’t what you thought it would be, it hurt. And it was obvious that you weren’t acting in the most pleasing way, so you lied through your teeth with a bit of an edge to your quiet words, “I’m relaxed.”

Elvis’ soft smile fell slightly at the tone of voice, and his eyebrows rose as he stared down at you, only now you avoided eye contact and opted to look at the wall. You tried to focus on the paint of the wall as best you can but it was thrown out the door as you felt a painful pull.

You whined at the feeling, and watched as Elvis pulled out, now you attempted to look him in the eye but he didn’t even spare you a glance as he muttered before lining himself up again, “Call that fuckin’ relaxed? If you’re so relaxed it should be easy goin’ back in”

Before you could voice an apology he’d already shoved the tip back in. It was much rougher than the first time he had put it in, it had you release a loud whimper and kick your feet, your heels pushing you away from his body, but his hips only chased further.

And those hands that were soothingly rubbing along your hips earlier now had them in a bruising grip to keep you from moving.

“Said ya relaxed, so fuckin’ act like it-”

Elvis let out a low groan as he stroked his cock while your little hole contracted from the stress of it all, it was like you were trying to swallow him, trying to suck him down into you. Almost like your body knew you needed his seed. And had he been a different man, or more accurately, had you been a different girl, he would’ve given it to you without shame. But you were different, you were special, you made this special.

He pulled out once more just to push back in, and then he repeated with no time in between, leaving you gasping at the rough push and pull of his cock head and whining at it, before blubbering out a series of apologies to him.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, ‘m not relaxed..! I-It hurts Elvis..!”

He’d ignored your apologies, but the way you said his name, like he could solve all your problems while also causing all of them, it was like you had this type of innocence. A pure innocence that no matter the pain he’d cause you, you’d still love him. Like if he kicked you, you’d come running right back.

Elvis stopped himself from pulling out once more and stared down at you, his grip released and one of his hands cupped your cheek and rested a thumb at the corner of your eye just before your temple, ready to catch a tear in case those teary eyes of yours spill over.

You stared up at him with a frown and pulled your hands to rest nervously on your stomach, feeling a sudden sense of awkwardness mixed with discomfort at the idea of Elvis being upset with you. But instead he seemed to sympathize with you,

“Now you see, ya gotta listen to me Babylove. I don’t expect much from ya, all I expect is honesty, now, be honest and let me know when you relax.”

You let out a shaky breath and soft noise as Elvis’ thumb landed back on your clit, beginning to rub those circles that make your hips twist a little from instinct. Elvis’ lips had been on yours in the blink of an eye, but his kiss was deep and slow, it wasn’t like when he’d kiss you so hard and so fast that your teeth knocked against his. Instead you felt his tongue explore each and every inch of your mouth carefully, could feel the way his tongue swiped along the small space between your lower gums and teeth.

His nose lightly grazed against the start of your cheek as he tilted his head to get a different angle. 

And in what would be one of the only moments for you to catch your breath within the kiss, you managed to breath out, “‘M ready”

It was a different kind of tug due to the efforts of the both of you. You were relaxed and open and Elvis was only rocking back and forth into you, no complete pulling, you couldn’t handle that yet.

With each rock of his hips, you let out a little breath or squeak. For a moment you lost focus as you watched the way Elvis used the thumb on one hand to stroke your little bud while using his other hand to stroke himself, but you were pulled back into your moment with Elvis as he groaned lowly, followed by a groan that sounded a bit more throaty. He was close.

And knowing that it was because he was in you made you feel a sense of excitement, and sense of sexuality, realizing you could make a man feel this way by doing nothing but laying there like a pliant doll.

Be a pliant wife. Your mother was right.

Your hips dragged upward slightly, crashing into his hips that were rocking down into you, the collision of skin made you moan softly as your manicured nails reached for the sheets, one hand gripped them brutally while your other hand ended up in Elvis' hair, not gripping, only carding through the dark strands.

“E-Elvis, it’s- I’m…”

You couldn’t describe it, what was coming, but thankfully you didn’t have to as he mumbled into your lips,

“I know Baby, I know. It’s comin’ f’me to, comin’ fast Babylove- H-how’s it comin’ for you?”

As the upward grind of your hips turned to little upward thrusts that your feet could manage on the slippery sheets of the bed you could hardly choke out a word as his thumb had entertained that warmth just below your stomach for too long, it’d been teased and tugged along far too long from the rubbing of his thumb on your little bundle of nerves that at its peaking point, it snapped, leaving you to try and choke out the words,

“It- I- It’s-”

As your mouth remained agape but your voice fell silent, and those pitiful attempts at thrusts of yours fell back to wishful grinds of your hips. Elvis thanked the Lord, he’d been trying his best to hold on for you, to slow his rocking when he felt himself get a little too close, he’d been edging himself almost the entire time for you.

And now as he pulled out and continued to stroke his cock with one hand, the hand previously fondling your clit reached for the pair of panties he laid aside so long ago.

As you caught your breath you watched as Elvis’ hand stroked twice, thrice, four more times along his length before he buried his cock in your crumpled up panties, letting his head fall back and a guttural moan fill the room as he reached his peak.

After a few moments of silence accompanied by the pants of the both of you Elvis removed the metal ring holding his short ascot scarf together at the center of his neck, you heard a clink as he tossed it somewhere on the wood floor, then you watched as the fabric got closer to your face, closing your eyes at the contact you could feel Elvis wiping away the dampness building on your head and cheeks from the heat what you just experienced. As the feeling left you watched as he wiped his own face off before bringing the satin scarf down to your petals, wiping off the proof of your pleasure from your pussy’s lips then wiping off your thighs that happened to be the victims of the heated juices that spread through your body which were shoveled out from the earlier pulls of Elvis’ cock’s head.

After Elvis caught his breath and pulled the panties away from his cock to see his work, then he flipped it toward you, and you saw that familiar white liquid that Elvis told you was a reward for your hard work.

“When we get married and I fill you with my seed, this is what I’ll be fillin’ ya with, I promise…”

Your eyes were lidded and tired, but full of love as you took in the sight of your fiancé, his once perfectly coiffed hair now ruffled, you could see sweat stains forming on the blue silk shirt he didn’t bother to take off before starting, and those eyelashes of his must’ve been batting so much as he now had a stray on his cheek, he must’ve missed it with his scarf.

As Elvis prepped your reward, scraping it off the pastel fabric with a finger you parted your lips, and as he finger-fed you his seed you accepted the finger into your mouth, closing your lips around it as you sucked it clean. “Atta girl, did so well” 

Your own little finger guided up his cheek to swipe the eyelash off his cheek, he watched with confusion at the way you smiled around his finger, then you flipped your finger around to show him.

As he crawled over your body to lay down beside you, removing his finger in the process you spoke with a bit of hoarseness, “Make a wish”

Elvis smiled fondly and put a hand over your thigh, “You can have this one Babylove”

You smiled before checking once more, “Are you sure?”

He wanted to laugh at how serious you were taking it all, and with a gentle rub of his hand he reassured, “I’m sure Honey, I’m sure”

You smiled down at the little eyelash resting on the middle of your index finger. And you wished for all that you could want, you wished for a happy marriage.

I had so much fun!! I really liked writing this, and I'm so happy I've had requests to write this character to the point I can turn it into a whole au!! hope you liked it.

If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this au feel free to just comment or message me!

@fadedsummerlove, @lialocklear, @astral-eyed-cat here it is lovelies

[burnthheparaphilia]

How big do you think Elvis’s dick is? Any proof/evidence lol

I think this gif will answer your question perfectly 😭

FIRST OF ALL, WHAT TYPE OF ANACONDA IS THAT???????.

(I would definetly say 8 inches long with 4 cm of width. I mean look at it, that thing is Alive 👀👀)

[therealslimshakespeare]

Let’s Fall Out of Love

Divorce Part 1

Fully co-authored with @elvisabutler 💋

Thanks: are due to so many friends on here who helped craft this timeline and concept and helped me hone the motivations into something I trust our readers will find evocative and sympathetic. Y’all know who you are, thanks for being my buddies

Warnings: 18+ for thematic and sexual material. Strong language and bitter accusations between spouses, mentions of drugs, divorce proceedings, lying to spouses (for their eventual good???) mentions of past infidelity, Colonel Parker being the worst, poor Elvis being in a bad place with his health and mentally -and dub con smut. It is in no way non con but the context, the lack of voiced or implied consent and the aggression make it dubious. It is fairly clear both parties are engaging in hysterical bonding, still the scene is dubious as is the language used by the man regarding a wife having no say in it. So please heed that.

Note: it was the attempt of the writers to craft a rather cinematic experience with this fic, one aim was to skip times and have plenty of fade to black moments. Please note the time stamps above each scene to keep track of progression. Anything that is not clarified in this chapter will either be clarified in the next part or else in others. You’re of course welcome to ask questions.

|| 10th, APRIL 1977 ||

Divorce. Lil Tink is divorcin' him. Lil Laney is gonna be his ex-wife.

The thought rattles around in his aching brain as he chases her up Graceland’s stairway, past the portraits of their children and the plaques celebrating their successes and haunting likenesses of younger selves. Both of them home for a brief stint after Vegas Showrooms and California Courtrooms.

Home -it won’t be his home much longer, she’s gonna see to that.

Divorce.

It had taken up half his year already but he was so sure, so damn sure all she needed was to make a fuss and threaten like she does and then it would cool down, smooth over. He was ready to humor all sorts of shit and then she went and pushed for more. More money, more assets, took out a damn lien. His Tink who happily chucked half of custody at him without a fight has now drug this little show on for months, all for a couple more bucks.

She’s takin' everythin' he's worked so hard for, takin’ it all, going back for more even, just to make sure she can still be taken care of in the conditions and standards he had raised her to.

Spoiled lil middle class girl grown into a spoiled, hardened rich woman.

“Till death do you part”, he hurled the promises at her over the phone, as soon as that court order had landed in his hands -but if ya ask Elaine, he's been dead more times than she can count. Maybe he's dead to her in everythin' but body. Ain't that the other joke, he feels half dead even in body.

"Elaine Presley! Turn 'round when I'm talkin' t'ya! Ya know I hate it when people do that” As if she’s required to listen to him or required to pay attention after two decades of focusing so much of her attention and time and energy on a man who has forgotten all of that. On a man who’s forgotten that he’s married to her. That’s forgotten he has children with her, a life he promised her, and not to his manager who's twisted so much of what was between them into this. Whatever this is.

"Why?" She spits still climbing stairs she's climbed a thousand times before. Faintly she hears Marie playing in her room and a surprising amount of silence from Jack's and her heart twists. They don't need to hear this. None of her children do but her youngest- oh her youngest deserve to think their father is still something resembling a good man.

"Why?" As if Elvis is some sort of parrot, he repeats the question back at her. His confusion colors his face, warring for control with his anger and frustration as he follows her through the padded master doors. "Why? The hell kinda question is that?”

“I told you come by and grab those things you said you needed so badly.” she hauls open one of his drawers and the thing squeals on its track from her violent tug. “So do that. If you wanted to chat then we coulda chatted somewhere else. Or, you know -a year ago? Ten?”

“I’m just askin’ why.“ He embraces her own wording and tries to get nearer her, hem her in against the dresser like he’s done countless times before in this very room with dazzling success.

Elaine slips away between them like water and he’s left bracing himself on the smooth wooden top.

“I’m not actively trying to be a shrew.” she murmurs as she turns away and goes to the other side of the room, opening the wardrobe, “No matter what you believe. I told you that you’ll be welcome in this house no matter what, so that’s why.’I’m not allowing you to come around -you just can, it’s your mama’s house still, for all I’m concerned.”

“No, no I mean- why’re you throwin’ this away?” He emphasizes it with his hands, a pleading gesture that sweeps the whole room and its host of sacred memories. He’s used this before but that was back when he figured it was all one big tantrum. Signing custody papers has rather shaken that hope, delusion, comfort.

Tink purses her lips and he notices her face has gone so white this summer, rarely in the sun and addicted to wearing black like some melodramatic Prima Donna. She does look stunning in the papers all decked out in veils and heels, he’ll give her that. He doesn’t know when she turned from being the heart of the operation to the glamor of it all -and he the opposite.

“What’s my favorite color these days?” she asks him instead.

He stares at the sable color he’s seen her wearing for months now and sighs in exasperation, “Shit I dunno -black?” he swings, knowing it’s a miss the second he says it.

“I can’t do this anymore.” she informs him, like color has broken up a twenty year long marriage and he grinds his teeth so hard he thinks he cracks a filling. The pain adds to his headache that matches the pounding in his chest and the roaring in his ears builds to such a degree he’s honestly terrified for them both.

“Stop this.” he warns her, quite sure she knows the red hot fit she’s stoking with her callousness and hurt that she won’t help him out of it like she used to, that she’ll let him go into a blind rage and then blame him for it, no doubt. “I know when you’re lyin’, woman, and I ain’t ever seen a more lilly livered liar than you right now.” he snarls and tries a last appeal that comes out as a barb anyways, “You wouldn’t be goin’ on so rash if your daddy were still alive,” he jabs a finger at her, “guess I can be grateful he ain’t, so he’s not breakin’ down my door for explanations ‘bout a offense you won’t admit to me!“

Elaine absorbs this blow with a wavering face before the nonchalance cloaks her features once more and Elvis would resort to smacking it off her if he were a different sorta man. “Black is practical, that’s why I wear it. It’s not my favorite though.” she simpers, clutching at the shoe she’s picked up from the floor, something for her hands to worry, to hide her own anguish at having to keep him in the dark. To lie repeatedly to him as he breaks apart, she didn’t know it would cut him up so much.

It’s a mess, this web of connections that used to prop them up, used to be a community. Now it’s a den of tattle tales and if one of them suspects she’s anything but angry at Elvis, that this this divorce and seizing of assets isn’t a scorned wife gone nuts, but rather a calculated endeavor to get at his manager once and for all -well Charlie will spill to Vernon and Vernon will spill to Elvis and Elvis will have all the fuel he needs to plead her right back into complacent heartbreak in his arms -before he goes on tour again and murders himself from the workload.

“I’m on orange kick, actually.” her voice is hoarse.

“Then I’ll buy ya some fuckin’ orange curtains and you’ll stop divorcin’ me.” he jabs a tinged finger at her and he looks like he might fall over, his face is so flushed and sweaty, from pills and passion. Elaine readies to catch him, break his fall if he tips. At least here there’s carpet, unlike the hotel hallway that busted his head last year.

“I’m rather in the mood to buy my own from now on.” she lies and sweeps past him to get to the closet.

She never gets past him. His hand darts out and engulfs her dainty wrist, tugging her back and in a spin like he practiced in his movies so many times, a romantic, gallant, possessive gesture that lands her smack against his broad chest, locked in with an arm around her shoulders.

"Buy your own, hm? Gonna sell my mama's house to do that? Gonna sell ya children's home to do that?"

“Elvis, you get your damn hands off me.” she bites back, throwing her weight on his forearm that might as well be made of steel, so little room does she gain from her effort.

"Never minded my hands on ya before. Even 'fore I married ya, it was fine for me to touch ya. To inspect that lil house of yours to make sure it could have all those lil babies ya wanted. Gave 'em to ya didn't I? Gave ya every last one and two've ‘em are even still with ya till they leave." Never mind that Jack's been bouncing between here and California in an effort to do what he's wanted to do since Elvis would play sharks in the bed with him. "But now you're wantin' my hands off. Goin' on 'bout gettin' new curtains yourself."

His words are punctuated with spit and a hissing anger Elvis doesn't normally indulge in. The bitter anger she used on the road with champagne making her head float in a sea of lies and wants and needs and a twisted sort of love till she had to call it. She can feel her jaw tensing up at his calloused fingers finding their way under her chin, tapping at first to try and have her look up at him before clenching around it and tilting it upward instead.

"Who is it, Laney? Who's the person who's gonna take care of ya? Gonna help ya buy those curtains? Get Marie those cameras? Help Jack and Rosie pay for those commie schools of theirs?" With each passing word Elvis’s voice drops lower and lower in octave until he's reaching levels Elaine's never heard. Against her will, her body shivers in his arms. A sneer crosses his lips- a twisted version of his raised lip that everyone knows and loves. That raised lip she's kissed before with laughter and jokes on how "if you keep doing that your face'll stay that way, Naughty." It shouldn't be there like this and yet it is. "That why ya dragged me to our lil Ella Bella's weddin'? Figured the Martins could spoil our daughter rotten away from you and your new caretaker? Your new piggybank? Don't get shy on me now, Laney! Who's the lucky sonuvabitch who gets to have my wife?"

Elaine's learned how to be composed in every situation with Elvis. She'll shoot at the Colonel over love handles and movies that killed her Elvis's spirit. She'll titter at army wives mocking her house and implying she couldn't keep up with being Mrs. Presley and growing a second set of twins in two years. She'll handle losing little Joesphine with a body that betrayed them all and with a smile on her face because Mrs Kennedy had just lost hers and then John died and the US can't handle their Irish Catholic and their Southern Baptist Camelots falling to pieces all at once. But this, this is too much. This is her soon to be ex husband mocking her. Like she'd have had time to find someone else who would take care of her, like taking care of Elvis and their children allowed her to seek any other comfort than in the aging movie star her husband sought to emulate once upon a time before realizing he's just a man too. The aging movie star she considers one of her nearest and dearest friends and who'd- who would be her caretaker if she let him.

Knowing her luck it'd end up worse than this.

No, this is Elvis throwing out an insult to her character, the one he'd have defended till his dying breath except for when she turns on him like Red and Sonny did. Their book's gonna be coming out sooner rather than later and- she's made it obvious he can't trust a soul any more.

It won't do either one of them any good to react. It's not going to help her escape from his grip that's a vice around her. It won't help him see what she's doing and how she’s doing it for him. But she is only human just as he's only human and her lipstick covered mouth opens in defense of her own honor.

"What makes you think you deserve to know?" He can't see through everything to see why shes doing this, so why should he get an answer. "You won't have to worry, we'll all be taken care of. And you can be rebranded! A seasoned entertainer who's free as a bird to do whoever and whatever he wants. Or oooh -maybe the colonel will pick you out a new wife. Pretty little fool to take my place, without trappings like children -or brains."

“I chose my wife.” it sounds like a beg, anger and hurt battling for the upper hand in Elvis’ heart, his hand squeezes her chin stronger, watching her lips pucker just that little bit. Such a soft mouth has no right being so stern and derisive as it’s been these past months, once upon a time he knew how to make it gasp and smile with a word, a kiss, a mere glance. “I chose you, and you promised. It ain’t me breakin’ that promise, ain’t me sayin’ I can’t do this no more -I-I-I’ve spent my goddamn career givin’ you all this, I gave up w-women for you, I gave up movies for you, when you come to me with what’s wrong I do my damndest to fix it. Now you won’t tell me nothin’ but orange curtains, and if I thought those’d fix us I’d be out the damn door right now, headed to find you the best in the country. I would, Laney, you know I would. I’ve given-“ he stops to gasp in a ragged breath, unsure of what part of himself he hasn’t poured into his Tink, entrusted to her once caring little hands, vulnerability poured like so much oil into her heart for safe keeping, his flaws and secrets tucked safely in the little nooks and crannies of her generous mind. “I’ve given-“

-So Damn Much.

“I’ve given you my life.” His Laney stares back at him entirely unmoved, her eyes hard and sharp with their ebony liner, the squish of her lips beneath his fingers barely dismantling her disdain for him, “And seven children from my body. I never said you weren’t a good man,Elvis, or that you're not generous, but we both know we don’t want to go toe to toe in measuring costs for twenty years in heaven. And I’m saying, -I can’t do it anymore.”

“Anymore?” it’s bothered him all these months, that word and he wonders what she thinks she’ll have after this, like they’re not so intertwined and connected that, like twins, they will forever feel what the other feels, want what the other wants, a string tied between them from countless, immeasurable amounts of time spent merged as one, “I ain’t ever not gonna be in you, woman, once mine -always mine. What’s there for ya after this, huh? Seven children -twenty years! -Goddamn I’m in you!” he shakes her at that and sees a spark of something he knows light up her eyes.

Elvis slides a hand from her shoulders, down over her sternum and feels her heaving intake of breath at the missed feeling of his hands on her, down past the tie at her waist, down to the planes of her firm belly, just a little swell and some soft skin that speaks of the souls they once made with their love. He presses his hand, large and warm and cupped to that precious sanctuary, kneading it, lifting it, weighing it just that little bit in his palm.

The little house is empty.

Elvis outright laughs at his mistake then, a booming, jarring laugh at having forgotten just who he’s got in his arms. He can feel Elaine’s violent shuddering along the entire length of him at the strange sound in their gloomy bedroom. Or maybe it’s from the dig of his fingertips at her womb, like he’ll claw inside it from the outside if he’s barred from plundering her the natural way.

Sweet Miss Phipps, Elvis thinks, with her hungry mind and starved body, so damn eager to be possessed, to be made good use of, to be pumped full and burdened with child again and again. He shoulda kept her swollen this past decade, prioritized her hunger over the tours and then, maybe then, she’d not have gotten notions like this.

“God gave me a remarkable woman.” he murmurs to himself in realization, his hands loosening their grip on her jaw to run the backs of his fingers against against the soft swells of her cheeks and Elaine’s heart speeds up in recognition of the shift in his demeanor, that thrumming resolution taking over his body behind her and helplessly her own responds to it.

As if she's another person, someone she would counsel to resist, to stay strong, Elaine feels her face turn towards the caress of his ringed fingers, towards the admiring touch that’s been her joy to wake to a million times, a touch that’s brought her purpose and comfort for twenty years. Her mouth falls open with a surrendering quiver and she makes no move to avert her mouth when his fingers sweep over her face and across her lips in a revenant mapping of his wife’s well known features. Her tongue darts out to taste even a sliver of his salt, she tastes metal instead as his ring glides by. It’s a heady feeling for anyone to realize Elvis Presley intends to fuck them, it’s entirely heightened by a familiar knowledge of his capabilities and a divinely witnessed right to his person.

It’s no villain staring down at Elaine, pressing himself to her -the distance has been necessary all these months to keep her anger and fear prominent, to remind her of the need for such dire action as divorce, the slightest, kindest of touches from him would dismantle that resolve, that garish image in her imagination. Now she’s close to the finish line, so close he’s fully panicking and she can feel the lightness of soon being free of her deceit. He’s no villain, he’s just a good man who has hurt her, who hurts himself more often and worse than how she’s hurting him. And soon they’ll be able to save each other. Just not today.

His hand slips to her throat and he kneads it, contemplating the give and delicacy of her pale flesh, and her responses, the languid subjugation of her body to his touches, just like he’d taught her in this very bed across from them.

She sees when his eyes flick up from her throat to their marriage bed and it’s like a million hummingbirds erupt in her belly in disbelief, in panic, in a frantic sort of hopeful missing.

“Elvis-“ she doesn’t know if she’s trying to warn him, trying to remind him of the wrongness of what he’s thinking, or if it’s a beg for him to ignore her sensibilities, to take her and make her that new little wifey with the carefree face and the mindless little head.

His face is dark and flushed like he gets when he’s aroused, his features seeming to get richer with the heightened intensity of his feelings and she can feel the sweat break out behind her through his silk shirt, slicking up her own back through the gauze of her dress. Elvis’ eyes drop back to her face, remaining there with a million intentions painted therein but not a single flicker of wavering shows.

Elaine had no reason to be as startled as she was when she felt his hands drop to her waist and spin her around, picking her up beneath the ribs with his astounding strength and tossing her like he would rag doll on his karate mats. She landed with a silly bounce amongst the bedding. It could have been romantic if he had any blue left to his irises as he looked down at her, sauntering to the foot of the bed himself and surveying her where she lay.

“Wife.” he greeted before taking hold of a footsie in each hand and spreading them apart for him to step between her legs.

"Elvis." A whisper as if saying his name any louder would unleash something they might both come to regret. As if it'd cause the dam she's locked her emotions in this entire ordeal will finally break. If she calls him husband it's over. He knows her inside and out, every crevice and dip in her body and soul has been mapped by him. The lie will come apart with a simple utterance of his title that he still has in this moment. The title he still has for three more weeks.

"Elaine." Her name comes out in a shaky breath that she can tell he's attempting to control, to rein in. Those blue eyes she's fallen in love with more and more as years had gone by are an inky void, pupils covering every inch they can and not just because of some pill he had to take or because she had watched him die right in front of her. Both their tongues dart out to wet lips and catch errant drops of sweat before she hears the *clink* of his belt.

That noise isn't new to her, the jangle and clanging of the metal a familiar sound. In the quiet of the room, in the quiet of the house? Of their home? It steals a breath from her lungs as sure as his body pressing down on her would have. The belt sounds like one of the heaviest ones he owns and a shiver unbidden rolls through her body as the cacophony of that gaudy belt gets louder and louder in her ears. Each breath takes effort, forcing air between the two of them that threatens to stifle any calming thought or action. A final puff of air- of his breath- warm and humid runs across her hair, forcing a loose strand of it to move.

Elaine doesn't. Elaine doesn't move an inch even as his belt finally comes off in a subdued flourish and a minor curse. Her eyes focus on the gaudy little harem lamp above them even as Elvis drops the belt ever so gently next to her body. It still clangs against the rings of his hand and its own golden links.

Sweaty and warm, his bejeweled hand moves to cup her cheek. "Mrs. Presley." he breathes her title into her lax mouth like it’s Holy Spirit anointed before slotting his mouth against hers with firm conviction in the rightness of his claim to her.

"Elvis."

It's not fair that all this force, all this passion, all this wanting that has -if she’s being honest- waned for her at times over the years is coming out of him only now, now when he thinks he’s lost her. Now that he’s more fool than he’s ever been. They’ve been alone too often in their marriage, if not separated by miles and oceans, separated by intent and interpretations of it.

“Still mine, for a few more months you’re still mine. Ain’t nothin’ you can do about it. You jus’ take it, jus’ take me, Laney”

And if she weren’t blinded herself by a heartache the proportions of which were only matched by losing a child, she might think every grip and clash of their bodies tells her he wants her every bit as bad as she wants him.

Still.

Mindless and hazy she waits for him to notice how every give and shudder of her own frame declares her want for him. He thinks he’s forcing the matter -but all he’s doing is giving her some false hope to curl around and cry over when the fissure finally splits apart.

I wanted you. But I thought I was alone in it, she thinks she hears them both saying it with every lewd squelch and pant.

It’s cruel confirmation of how entwined they’ve become, how much knowledge of the other they’ve collected over the years that he can make her writhe even under these circumstances, have her shattering beneath him effortlessly like older, kinder, gentler times. It’s made worse when she can feel him slow, stopping partway in that familiar way when he’s edging himself, intending to make her go round the loop once more, the familiarity of it makes her want sob, not from any hurt of the present, but at the notion this may be the last time she feels it -they both want this to last. And that unity is a mocking thing, all context considered.

He’s sweaty and she’s trembling, there’s so much warmth coming off his angry frame that she feels like curling inside the furnace and letting him make her forget anything beyond this physical connection that was never in doubt, the sheets are cold and dry and foreign against her back by comparison and she thinks of sleeping alone amongst them for the rest of her life. Elvis seems to sense this weakness of hers, one he wished he supported sooner, taken advantage of back when she looked so indestructible but was privately fraying at the seams, trying to hold the whole fairytale together. He shoulda done this sooner.

Old dog, new tricks, maybe, but Elvis has always been clever, opportunistic even, and he keeps his thrusts shallow and tantalizing as his wife gasps back to life beneath him and he keeps her close, his hands wound into her hair, hairy forearms beneath her shoulders, her ankle caught somewhere near his ear and his sweaty nose dripping onto her cheek.

“C’mon now Tink, you’ve thrown your fit,” he reasons to her in a coo that is underscored by the cajoling gait of his hips rocking into her, it has her clenching around those first few inches of him again, “ya made your point. Don’t -don’t do this to us baby. You c’mon back now. Ain’t anythin’ out there that’d satisfy you like us. Ain’t nobody else needs ya more dan hims does, satnin, don’t leave hims, baby.”

A good fuck, that’s all she needed, he’s sure of it. Or a couple of ‘em. He shoulda started dishing them out in Palm Springs but he’d been so angry when she filed and she’d been so cold. A couple of good fucks, that’ll solve it.

And to be heard. Which -she’s gotten that, all of America’s been hearing how he can’t keep his own wife.

Whatever bit of sentimentality he’s feeling right now, the sort that makes him wanna spill over how pretty she looks, vanishes in the angry tumult of his recalled humiliation. It fires him up instead and he snorts in his breath above her like an angry bull, perfectly capable of making her pay, making her see some sense, too. The longer she doesn’t reply the more this feeling surmounts the gentler ones and if Elvis were being honest, he knows denial had given way to rage and now bargaining and he’s full on panicking, trying to keep a woman who he shouldn’t have to chase.

She’s his wife.

“Elaine?” even to his own ears he sounds frantic and rough.

She is crying beneath him now, he thinks, that’s not all sweat making her face shine and her lips are taut like when she’s trying to hold it in and he wonders why the hell she’s the one crying. He feels like crying, he’s being left without an explanation or a pot to piss in. And all that while he’s still perfectly capable of proving he’s the best she’ll ever get. It’s like she’s agreeing with him when her hips start to move on their own accord, disagreeing with his teasing thrusts and instead she impales herself up on him, rough and sloppy to the rhythm of her fits of crying.

“I loved you.” Elaine sobs into his neck and he could wring hers for the confusion of it, for the way he just doesn’t get her after a lifetime of trying and how only this, this communion, this passion, this fucking is the only thing they make great sense at. Back when it had a purpose, back when it was to bring joy, to make a baby or five, and even now -to tie her to him somehow.

He folds her body viciously and plants his foot on the bed, thrusting so hard into her with all that wild abandon he knows she’d been jealous of him expending on his audience and not his family. “You greedy lil bitch, you love me,” he growls, “-what a revelation.”

‘Just an ounce of all that passion would go a long way, Elvis’ -he can hear the echo of her stupid little voice even now.

Passion? You want passion, Tink? He doesn’t think he’s ever been so passionately furious when he’s climaxed before ever in his life. For once it’s quite obvious he’s not ‘made love’, war maybe, but not love -and ain’t that another joke, he’d meant to make her love him again.

Elaine tears at his back with her fingernails and hears him snarling at her that he won’t stop, can’t stop, why can’t she stop this nonsense? She grips him harder, she seizes herself as he starts to slow, claws at his back with each vicious pump -seems they’ll both be shifting in their seats next time in the courtroom.

“Elaine?” he sounds so broken, like he does those times when they bring him back from heaven’s gates, it’s mumbled into her neck again like always but this time there’s no drugs to blame, not directly, not if she’s honest. She’s the one killing him. This little plan of hers to save him, just might finish him.

She prays God will be kind, prays he’ll keep her man alive long enough for her to finish this ugly business and restore his freedom, prays that maybe the hot slosh of spend coating her womb won’t be a waste. That she’ll have something of him left, just once more, please just one more. Something left of the man she married. Something to remind her of why they married and of what it was like to be happily married. Maybe just once more she wants to carry his entire world inside her.

“No, Elvis. I-I’m sorry, no.”

When he pulls away, it's not just sweat coating his lashes and his face. This plan of hers might just finish them both.

_______________________________

Every day in that courtroom is another layer of pride and image stripped away from Elvis and her and their perfect Southern Camelot. Every day is another headline for the papers with pictures of Elvis making a fool of himself in a way that can’t be smoothed over by anyone. Every day has cameras being shoved in Elaine’s face as she leaves with another hickey on her neck, bruising and blossoming in a way that looks grotesque when she sees it on the news later that night. The black outfits don’t help the contrast.

Every other day is being thrust against a bathroom stall’s wall with heels digging into Elvis’s back.

“E-Elaine-" He’ll stutter out, the feel of her clenching around his cock making it hard to focus or maybe it was the bite of her nails through his dress shirt. "You stop this. Been grovelin' 'n I deserve to have my wife listen."

"Ex. Wife." Elaine will huff out, words slurring into a quiet mewl as his cock brushes that one spot.

"Wife." An argument and a fact that he'll hammer home until the very last second he can. She never corrects him after the first time, too worried the knowledge would crush him to the point of everything finally giving out.

Jesse has taken to looking askance at her, worried and haunted little looks with fluttery hands at shoulder level that remind her of Elvis before he married her. If she had Elvis’ grit she’d ask her son if he had something to say and tell him to say it.

As it is she just pats his elegant hands, a man’s hands, she realizes, and thanks him profusely for his support, for being there at court with her day after day, missing practice and missing dates, letting a youthful spring and summer slip on by. They’ve been at this for close to a year.

“It’s nothin mama.” Jesse insists, almost offended at the idea he’d be anywhere but by her side.

________________________________

|| 5th, JUNE 1977 ||

When Ann makes her call, Elaine’s heart fills with all the old butterflies and girlish excitement of a past decade. They’ve kept in touch, of course they have, but between the touring, the marriages, and the unspoken acknowledgment of life falling apart from one and coming together for another, there’s less common ground to chat about compared to the days when Elaine used to share her husband and two little vixens named Thumper and Tink got to pick him apart in gleeful adoration like girls with their crush.

“Can I come by?” Thumper asks her, soft and kind but without the playful undercurrent that precipitated all her other visits.

“Well of course you can, you know you can.“ Elaine puzzles, finger worrying the wire in a nervous tick that has nothing to do with anticipation, dread pools in her belly instead.

There’s no children to greet Ann when she comes to the door, Marie at school and Jack away at his apprenticeship in California, Jesse has taken to spending his days in the studio when he’s not needed elsewhere, Daisy on the road and Rosalee in College, Ella married and attempting to assimilate with her in-laws. It feels like a ghost house compared to what Ann recalls. Maybe it’s just the passage of time but something terribly wrong and lonely strikes her at the lifelessness of the grand house, like it’s become haunted without a single death.

Unless it’s the death of the Presley’s as a whole. That would do it.

Elaine stands at the top of the stairs like old times, but there’s no gambit of children to wait for and so she speeds down the stairs at a breezy gait, smiling soft and subdued even as she refuses to be coy with her hug. She wraps Thumper up in a deep embrace and Ann squeezes her back, saying a million things at once by their clutching hold, murmuring little half sentences of condolences and “missed you’s”.

“What’d you come for?” Elaine asks her at the dining table after having supplied ice water and coasters for her guest. Ann turned down the saltines Elaine devoured with peculiar relish.

Always a straight shooter, Elaine. It makes Ann sigh and smooth out her skirt, clearing her voice to repay her candor with like. “I came to see what on earth was going on. To see if you were ok. And, I guess I came to see if it’s really happening. Nobody really thinks it’s happening. Or -I don’t know.”

“It’s happening.” Elaine replies with grim resignation.

“I don’t understand because Elvis says you’re the one divorcing and I always thought if one-“ Ann stops herself to scoff, “-I actually never thought either of you would ever divorce. You’re sincere?”

“It’s happening.” Elaine repeats, shielding her saltine chewing with a manicured hand. The action also flashes her still worn wedding band.

“So it’s not a threat?” Ann marvels, “When Roger insisted it was true, I thought it must be some drastic measure, something to get Elvis’ attention. His cooperation, you know, something to just-“

“-I’ve tried many drastic measures to gain that.” Elaine responds, “ all of them failed. I’d never ‘threaten’ something as horrible as this.“

“But…you’d do something…this horrible.” Ann murmurs, scared to play devil's advocate but utterly confused.

“You don’t know what I’ve been dealing with and, what you saw in the early days of residency, even the stuff on the film sets, it’s like aspirins compared to what he’s on now.”

“So it’s the drugs?” she whispers, heartsick, “You can’t handle being…around them? Around him?” she asks, then adds after careful consideration, “I have noticed you seem, seem still very tactile with him. I see the-“ she waves her finger at Elaine’s collarbones, “-I see the marks. Are you scared of him?”

It is unthinkable of Elvis. It really is, and Ann knows her face must show disbelief even when presented with her friend's mottled skin, and she hates herself for doubting a woman’s account, but if Elaine were to say she’s scared, Ann isn’t sure she’d be able to buy that. Not of Elvis. Even under the influence.

“Gosh no.” Elaine scoffs, a beat too late. “I just can’t do it anymore. All of it. Just the typical little things that build up in a marriage, I suppose.”

She tries to grin and Thumper thinks it’s the weakest acting she’s ever seen. Elaine more convincingly played a virgin in their home movies when deepthroating cucumbers for Elvis’ enjoyment.

“How’s Roger? Elaine asks, through with defending herself and Ann feels lost, adrift and unable to get near like she once did.

“Roger is fine.” Ann replies, “He sends his best. How is Ella?”

“Tell him I’m sorry they brought your name up, last week.” Elaine sighs, no apology offered to Thumper. They both know she’d be offended at an apology for being associated with them. “Ella is decidedly pregnant, that’s what she is.”

“Is she?” Thumper coos, followed by an alarmed quavering of hope and concern on her face. “Elaine, that’s-“ it is wonderful despite the circumstances but Elaine’s brittle posture suggests a to-do about it might sink her. “Congratulations, Grandma Tink.” Thumper settles for, daring to reach across the table top, seizing Elaine’s hand and squeezing its saltine dusted elegance.

“Thank you.” she whispers hoarsely, “She calls me everyday. Reminds me of you and me back when … her man he -he sounds sweet. Of course he’ll be gone awhile and so I’m all she has got to talk to about throwing up each morning and watching things swell.” None of this is how they expected or intended, Elvis and Elaine should both be hovering about and annoying their first grandchild before they’re even out in the world. Instead Ella’s perched down in Texas, no doubt terribly homesick, and Elaine’s talking about grandbabies like it’s another addition to the carport. “Tell Roger we’re sorry they brought your name up. Please tell him.”

“We don’t care.” Thumper insists and Elaine hopes that’s an accurate representation of Roger’s feelings. “He only asked-“ Ann stares out the front windows and down the drive towards the gates, summer colors brilliantly lush outside the house, she’s seen this view so many times it hurts, “-he asked that I make sure that…any…videos, and such, were disposed of.” she winces as she gets it out, once her manager, always her manager that man. “I wasn’t sure which of you to ask about them.”

Elaine stares at her intensely as if trying to read her soul. “I’ve most of them upstairs. Ruined by pregame juice mainly but the labels are sentimental so I’ve kept them.” Ann wonders if they’re ruined at all, and if they are she wonders if it’s by orange juice or by something far more lewd. Elvis never had great aim, “I’m sure Elvis has the ones we sent him under lock and key. Either way, you know neither of us would endanger you. You know that, Thumper.”

“Yes, yes I do.” Ann breathes, resting her chin in her hand, mournful at having insinuated otherwise.

“So you can tell Roger they’re not a worry.” Elaine prods with the shadow of an old smirk, “And you never know, in future it might not be so hard to track Naughty and I down at once.”

“Oh?” Ann squints at her in confusion.

“Mhmm.” Elaine just hums and shrugs her shoulders, the purple little mark on her clavicle shadowing with the movement. “Are you saying the night, Thumper?”

Ann leaves that evening more bewildered than when she arrived. “You were right, Roger,” she tells her husband as she settles beside him late that night, “she didn’t tell me a thing. Not really.”

___________________________

|| 9th, JUNE 1977 ||

“They’re gonna stop pressin’ ‘bout Thumper,” the murmur of his voice registering before the hand on her arm does as they both find themselves heading to the bathroom. It’s a flimsy sort of an excuse and one she’s beginning to think the papers and the news cameras see through.

“That’s good.” Her voice is a little too airy but today’s been a back and forth of yelling and excuses and all Elaine’s thinking about is how one of Daisy’s bandmates called her up from a payphone telling her that they almost couldn’t wake her for the show. The show she shouldn’t be doing but the show that Elaine let her do because she’s been playing being an adult for so long that who was she to argue against it?

“Told her we’d make sure it was- nothing came out. Roger was worried about it. For her image and for his, maybe.”

After all, it’s one thing to just be married to Ann-Margret, another thing entirely to be married to Thumper who’d rolled in the hay literally and figuratively with the Presleys at their lowest point. He’s never minded her continued friendship with them but that was before whispers of infidelity turned into whispers of sexual romps that were taped and stored or pictures that were taken and used as masturbatory material. He's never minded until Joe E, bless his soul, implied he might've seen copper locks in a video from Circle K that Elvis had shown a few of the members of the Mafia. Not that the court or anyone could find such a video.

The lock to the bathroom clicks behind Elvis and he turns around, raising an eyebrow. “Now hold on a minute, she- Thumper thought we’d- I’d never-”

“She didn’t. Roger was concerned. She knows us well enough, Elvis.” Still reassuring him as if they’re not going through what is turning out to be the messiest divorce the world has ever seen and likely will ever see. “I told her as much and she felt bad about asking.”

About the tapes and the photos, not so much about their divorce, Elaine reasons. As much as she wants to fault one of her oldest friends -it’s understandable. That was the purpose of the divorce. To come out of left field and appear to all concerned as if the faithful wife has finally grown unable to force herself to put up with Elvis Presley any more. The Colonel wouldn’t question that and had wanted it for years, if anyone were to ask him. Ann- their lil Thumper wouldn’t have been able to keep her plan a secret, her loyalty to Elvis and Elaine would have put her in a spot that Elaine didn’t dare want to shove her into. No, it was better for her to question the same as everyone else. Maybe if this went well they could all have a laugh about it in Hawaii. Or at the very least, Ann could forgive her.

“Don’t know why she didn’t jus’ ask me, ‘m the one who-'' Elvis's voice trails off when it hits him. Why would she ask the person who likely doesn’t hold most of them. Who’s fixin’ to lose everything in a divorce he desperately doesn’t want. “Least she knows now."

Elaine should agree with him, she should agree with him that at least Ann knows now, but she only knows part of the story. She only knows that the man she fell in love with on a movie set and his wife she maybe sometimes loves as more than a friend won’t damage her the way they’re damaging each other. How even Elaine had to joke that maybe it would be easy to run into them together in the future. Even during these hellish days in court they can’t escape each other’s orbits.

Pretending to not love and care for Elvis is an impossible task when what she’s doing is because her love and her care for a man who is sometimes brutish and stupid and selfish is so overwhelming it threatens to choke her.

At her silence, Elvis allows himself to crowd into her space, hands grasping at her hips ever so gently. "How's Rosalee?"

They're both too tired to fight in this bathroom, their energy having been spent outside of it for everything else. Asking about his favorite daughter, the one who's lived and breathed for her daddy for years feels safe.

"Not- she's not very good, Elvis. It's been- she hasn't really been the same." Since what happened. If things were different maybe she'd be taking the time to relax at home and maybe Daisy wouldn't have run off from guilt and - no. Elaine can't dwell on that even as her eyes start to water.

"It's hard on them." His tone isn't accusing, instead managing to just state a fact. This whole divorce has been hard on all of them. Even if Elaine's the one instigating everything he sees how unhealthy she looks. Feels how her body seems to be breaking down in ways that aren't as flashy as his body but the signs are there.

God knows he's not always been the most pious of men in action, that somehow all his good intentions and gospel songs haven’t managed to pull him back as he skidded down the road to hell, yet he’s got such a hankering to hide in the cleft of the rock once again. Acknowledge he’s a man, a failing man, a wayward husband, a prodigal son.

He finds himself reaching for Laney’s hand, palm up in a way she recognizes without a word. She clasps it without hesitation, in a time worn manner they’ve used before marriages, births, trips, shows, bedsides of sick and dying friends and here in this tiled little haven of the courthouse where they’re allowed to be as vulnerable and broken as their Heavenly Father knows them to be.

They bow their heads and Elvis finds himself begging his Almighty not for a return of fortunes but merely a cessation of tragedies. Elvis’ hand twitches, a pinky disentangling from Tink’s clasp and tickling her belly, like a presentment, like a benediction of nothing more than a heartbroken hunch on his part.

_____________________________

|| 29th, JULY 1977 ||

Elvis regrets answering the door to his penthouse the moment it swings open to reveal Johnny Cash with that sort of frantic and half crazed look in his eyes that Elvis thought he'd given up at the beginning of the decade. Wasn't that a hoot, the two of them swore up and down they had gotten clean for their women, the loves of their lives- the ones that God blessed them with to live out their present and future everlasting lives with- only to fall back into those old habits. What a cosmic joke.

"You're a fool, Presley." Short and to the point in a way that only Johnny can manage. Elvis exhales, wondering what exactly he's done to God to earn one of his oldest friends calling him a goddamn fool at the closest thing he's got to a home nowadays. His lil Schnucki comes to visit him, and Jesse's called once or twice but ever since that- ever since he realized how serious his Laney was about leaving him- Graceland ain't his home anymore.

"Ain't gonna say anythin'? No fight left in you?" The door to the penthouse is kicked in and if Elvis was any other person, or Johnny was any other person Elvis might've jumped. As it is, all he manages is a shrug as he pinches his nose. His head's achin' and his eyes hurt and all he wants to do is sleep. Take something to make every whisper floating in his head die down. An older brother telling him how he's ruined his life isn't remotely something he's got the patience for. Not after today's courtroom.

"Whatcha want me to say, John? Ya know everythin', so whatcha want me t'say, hm? Laney's leavin' me, takin' what she wants and leavin' me poorer than I met her."

Not monetarily, no, Elvis figures he could handle that better than the reality of his Laney, his Tink, the bjggest part of his soul other than his mama leaving him. Elaine's leaving him a man with barely any soul left in him to fight and go on. And he swears- lord he swears he felt something different about her recently. Something swelling that shouldn't.

"What I want'ya to say is that I'm gonna go back to my hotel and me and June are gonna tell each'otha that this whole thing's jus' you all been stubborn as a pair o'mules. Cause if it ain't, I gotta be real concerned June's gonna up and do the same thing on me." Johnny's always been someone who doesn't let Elvis get away with half the things everyone else does. Maybe it's because of how they started things together or how Johnny knows that half the reason he's got June is because of Elvis. Or maybe it was some misplaced need to be a brother to Elvis- to fill in a spot he figures his twin would've.

"June ain't gonna-" Elvis starts before Johnny uses the two inches he's got on Elvis to his advantage, staring the other man down as he cuts him off.

"Lane wouldn't've. Shouldn't've. Yet she is. This ain't- this ain't 'bout whatever damn excuse she's got. Can't be. There's somethin' you ain't tellin' everyone."

More and more Elvis has to laugh at his life and how everyone seems to think he's got some power over his Laney. That this whole divorce and the way he's embarrassing the both of them day after day is just another show. A snow job as the colonel would put it. This would be so much easier if that was the case. It isn't the case though, it isn't the case and Elvis feels his laughter escape him like the boom of a cannon.

"If there's anythin'- The whole damn country thinks I'm an idiot who can't keep his wife and here- I don't need you to be thinkin' 'm an idiot who don't know some grand plan his wife's cooked up. Ain't no plan. Ain't nothin' I ain't already groveled about and cried about in those hallowed halls. Laney jus' don't want me any more."

A silence settles between the two men at that revelation with Elvis breathing sounding so labored that even through the haze of his own drugs Johnny levels a look at his friend. It’s only after he’s sure that the other man won’t pass out and die on him that he actually speaks.

"You- You ain't me. She ain't Vivian. She- Elvis there ain't no way she's- that ain't it. You're both- you two can't keep your hands off each other even divorcin'. She- she still wants ya.”

“She wants my cock, John. Wants my money. Wants my house. My mama’s house. Know I said it was hers the moment we got hitched but- it wasn’t ever supposed to be hers. It’s- It’s ours.” Elvis isn’t one to break down, not in front of certain people and Johnny might be one of his friends that are near and dear to him but he doesn’t want to lose it in front of him. Doesn’t want to cry and blubber like he has been in the courtroom, pleading and begging for Elaine to just see sense. “We don’t- She don’t love me any more. T-That’s all there is to it. No grand con-spear-ah-see. Jus’ my wife wantin’ to be my ex-wife. Don’t know if I blame her. I ain’t-”

“You been a better husband than I was. Better husband than a lotta men. If- if 'Lane wanted to leave ya? She'd have done it back in the 60s. When you were carryin' on wit' what's her name- Swedish girl- fire hair. But she went 'n made friends wit' her. That woman's supposed to be yours till Kingdom Come 'n beyond. This doesn't make a single lick of sense and ya know it!"

One would think that nothing could echo in this penthouse and yet somehow Johnny's booming yell, filled with bass that Elvis is sure have made men greater than him bend and cower, echoes and reverberates in his ears. A stark reminder that Elaine and him seem to affect everyone around them for better or worse. Elvis's heart pumps a little harder as he tries to wrap his aching head around everything for what feels like the millionth time.

"I-I know it don't. This- you know these things don't take this long, John. I've-I been draggin' this out. Stickin' my damn heels in the mud. Anythin' to get her to come back, to see what- anythin' to not lose her. And she's jus'- ain't none of it workin'. Daisy up'n'ran off, Rosalee jus' wants me to be near her mama or her mama near me. Jesse's lookin'-"

"That what it is? Her doing it for the kids?” Johnny’s question has him tilting his head, not entirely unlike the millions of dogs Elvis’s children have had over the years. He ought to be offended Johnny cut him off so easily and without a care in the world and yet Johnny’s one of the few people he’d let do that. “She’s doin’ this for your kids.”

For once, Elvis has to look at Johnny and guess at what he means whether it’s because the man is too stunned to put it into words or because he doesn’t want to even entertain the idea, Elvis doesn’t know. He can hear his heartbeat going a bit too and a bit too hard in his ears as he answers.

“Ya mean- have i been failin’ them too? Have a been as bad of a father to ‘em as ‘ve been a bad husband?” The laugh that leaves Elvis sounds more like a sob than anything else. Johnny purses his lips even as he listens. "Ya mean how I found out I'm havin' a grandbaby through Laney? Or how Daisy's worse than you’n’I together on whatever she's takin'? Or how my boys acted like superheroes for their sister? How my lil Schnucki had- how I had to find that out from the Harrisons and my boys? ‘N I wasn’t there to blow those fools’ heads clean off their necks?”

Johnny realizes right then he’s made a mistake coming here. Or maybe just made a mistake pressing this point like it’s honestly any of his damn business. “You haven’t-”

Elvis cuts him off with a wave of his hand as he steps away, trying to feel less like a caged animal. “That’s right, I haven’t. I haven’t, John. Haven’t been there, haven’t given ‘em what they need. I had one job. Take care of all of ‘em and love ‘em. Failed so- I don’t blame her, John. I- I love her. Ya know I do. You know this sorta love but I can’t, I can’t make her love me again. S-she ain’t gonna love me again. Not the way she has.” His breath comes in short pants as his hand shakes and his leg jitters like he’s a man twenty years and nearly ten children younger. “I tried fixin’ this. The kids- the kids tried fixin’ this. But they can’t- can’t get through to her, these days! They’re all beggin’ and cryin’ and torn up and the Tink I know wouldn’t’ve lasted a week after causin’ such hurt to our babies. Well this new edition of her’s done made it close to a year.”

Johnny opens his mouth to speak only for Elvis to hold up a finger and force himself to take a deep breath, like Laney told him to those times after she thumped his heart back to life for him. Laney’d get what she wants if he died but he’s got a grandbaby he’s gotta see. Wants to try and see. “A year. Been nearly a year and it ain’t workin’. Nothin’- been tryin’ to remind her’ve what we had. What I give t’her. It-” Elvis starts to trail off, the fight that Johnny had put inside him slowly deflating till all he’s left with is the shell of a man who’s bone tired. Bone tired and losing everything no matter what fight he puts up. His shoulders slump.

Watching someone who’s as larger than life as Elvis Presley seemingly fold in on himself feels wrong in Johnny’s mind, but it gives him the answer he needs. It gives him the answer he’s looking for when it comes to just what’s going on with this whole divorce and what’s going on with Elaine and Elvis. His legs cross over to where Elvis is in only a few steps and without missing a beat, his arm wraps around Elvis’s shoulder. Elvis might not be his brother in blood but they’ve gone through enough that- that he wouldn’t leave him out in the cold without a hint of comfort.

“You gotta make peace wit’ it, then. Gotta- The Lord ain’t gonna want to see the two of ya fightin’ till ya keel over and die. Gotta give- If what she wants is to not be your wife any more, ya gotta give it to her. Just to make peace.” His voice isn’t much louder than a low rumble and yet Elvis can hear him clear as day.

“She won’t be my Laney any more. Won’t be my Tink.” A response as if he's a child being denied his favorite toy. Johnny doesn't stop himself from huffing out a laugh.

"But she'll still be Elaine, your children's mama. It ain't like you won't ever see her, EP." But that’s not the problem, that’s never been the problem and from the way Johnny’s looking at him, he knows that. “But ya gotta- it’s not doin’ either of ya a bit o’good to be draggin’ it on and on. Not after everythin’. Been livin’ ‘part for so long-” Johnny trails off, hand moving to rub at his eyes as he shakes his head. “Nothin’ you’ve done’s fixed it. Might not be meant to be fixed in those ways.”

“I-I- I don’t have anythin’ to fall on, John. I leave her it’s jus’ me and-” The medicine I got coursin’ through me, is what he should say. “I don’t know how to not be her husband.”

A silence settles over the two of them, punctuated only by Elvis’s heavy breaths and Johnny’s sharp and quick ones until Johnny settles himself against the wall, crossing his arms and raising his leg to press against it.

“Never said ya had to stop actin’ like you were.”

__________________________________

|| 6th, AUGUST 1977 ||

It’s a supreme irony that after a year of wishing for a cessation of that old stubbornness, that bitter pride of his, when such submission comes in the form of a mute and sullen husband opposite in the courtroom, Elaine feels her heart hammer in her chest, bewildered and terrified as he concedes one settlement after another in quick session.

Jesse gasps beside her at the change, even looks ready to beg her to reconsider her greediness as 90% gets handed over without a hint of the raging qualms her opposition has been voicing for five months.

Only Colonel Parker appears scared as shit, angrily grabbing at Elvis’ limp arm and trying to interrupt his directions with the lawyers. Each new verdict gets waved through by a lazy flick of a bejeweled hand and Elaine thinks the repetition of the gavel granting her all she wants could make for a decent backbeat in the studio.

After an agreement to give up 90% of his catalog, Elaine and Jesse both share a look, heartbroken and relieved that he’s really, truly, finally given up.

It’s obvious to all that it’s a bodily wearing out, Elvis looks awful and no amount of jewelry or eyeliner or Snow Job paraphernalia can hide the fact Elaine’s husband is a sick man. Even the papers who’ve found him easy pickings for ridicule and blame suddenly find some heart for his obvious suffering, even if the compassion is wedged between headlines about his expanding waistline and her latest money grab.

“What’s with you?” she demands and this time it’s her hand around his wrist, the unsteady clop of his boots following her heels after the click of the bathroom latch. When she drops his wrist his gold studded hand lands heavily by his thigh, he makes no move to crowd her, to grip her hair and kiss her like old times. “What was all that about?” she finds herself angry instead of relieved, mimics his lazy hand waves and scoffs in his face. She knew and planned on this day coming, but it doesn’t make it less unsettling as she takes in the victory of her spirit over his. He’s her man after all, her daddy and her provider, tough and proud and one of a kind and she’s beat him at the game of wills. She can feel her eyes pooling and angrily runs a hand under her nose as he stares at her with a blank, droopy expression.

“M’tryin’ to make peace.” Elvis shrugs, it was Johnny’s advice. Whatever it took, even if it meant giving in, he’s the man of their house and he’s here to make peace. Maybe if they end on a kind note he’ll be thought of, invited into the inner circle even even, by the time Ella pops out their grandbaby. “Never cared about the fuckin’ catalogue Tink, was only ever about buyin’ time to convince you to stay.”

The colonel’s panic at this latest settlement, one that finished the final prying open of his carefully constructed facade, one that’s exposed him to years of investigations, jail time maybe -though few outside of Elaine, Mr. Corleone and the FBI know that yet- is like sipping a mojito after a long day baking in the sun for Elaine.

Two decades of her saying he wasn’t right and Vernon telling her to go mind the carpet bill, change a diaper, redo a curl.

It should be refreshing, it should be a tonic to the way she feels shaky most mornings and ravenous in the evenings. Instead she finds herself trembling and laying an icy hand to Elvis’ burning forehead, registering the unnatural heat even in this chilled bathroom. It’s not just the stupid velvet coat, one blue eye is far more dilated than the other now she’s pulled his glasses down. He flinches from it, whether from the brightness of the bare bulbs or her touch, she isn’t sure.

“What’ve they got you on?” she sounds like a frog, throat all constricted and voice thin. She cares, she still cares so much and it could’ve been just yesterday she folded her handsome young groom into that bathtub in Germany and held him through the shakes. She wishes she could ask him ‘why do you always waste my love?’ But somehow, even after all her cruelty, that feels a little mean. “Baby, talk to me, what’s -“

Elvis grabs her hand, gently this time and he folds it with her other in both of his, a tan, sparkly little cage, she wonders how long it’ll take him before he pulls his wedding band off. Will he discard it before they make it out of the courthouse today? “Don’t you fret yourself, lil mama, those days are over.” he rumbles as he squeezes her hands and she wonders if he means days of fretting or drugs, they coincide often enough, “You jus’ take care of y’self, ok?” he sucks in a trembling breath and his glasses pinch between her fingers in his squeeze, “Without me there to nag ya bout it I-I -you take care of y’self.”

“Oh Elvis-'' she whimpers, moving closer, wanting to beg for some forgiveness, all clever plans and well timed revelations beginning to fray as she watches him rally his old magnanimity despite his grief.

_____________________________

|| 28th, SEPTEMBER 1977 || >>

He’s not alone in this concern, Elaine doesn’t know if she has Jesse or Daisy to blame for the way Marlon shows up in Memphis like that Yankee son of a bitch belongs that land bound. There’s never been a reason to see Brando except on one coast or another and it’s jarring for Elaine, seeing him take up space that’s so uniquely Elvis’ property, even if it’s under her name.

To see him in her home. Her true home.

She’s no good at hiding her nerves or the exhausted paranoia of wondering how Elvis will react when he hears of this visit. Marlon reads her like a book and leans against her kitchen counter, acting like Mary isn’t throwing them a million side eyes over the biscuit batter, and asks after her well being.

“Pretty terrible, thanks. And you?” she shrugs, wringing out a dish towel over and over. She doesn’t know when she became so fidgety, nowadays it seems she’s always betraying her nerves with restless hands and she never had that trouble before. Always a baby to hold if she needed the excuse, she guesses.

Her last baby is nine years old. And so she wrings out her dish towels and stares back at an old lover with the weary openness of a woman who doesn’t really care anymore. Elvis has been her one goal, and saving him is killing her as effectively as it is him. Those last days she wasn’t sure he was going to keep making it into the courtroom, shifting in his chair not from her nails furrows but from the repeated shots in his rump. The ones that have killed him a few times over.

Jesse made a visit to him in Vegas. Elaine doesn’t know what he said but her boy has barely spoken since. She asked her son how his father was, quite aware she doesn’t know the particulars from his fevered attentions in the handicapped bathroom of the Santa Monica courthouse. Her man would crawl out of his grave for the chance to make love one last time, it’s not a good gauge. Jesse said he keeps the curtains closed constantly. That he’s not letting anyone up. Charlie barely let Jesse up. His eyes are bad, so bad the curtains stay closed, otherwise Jesse couldn’t tell, couldn’t get a good look at him. He didn’t stay for the concert. Cissy says his voice has held up this time, at least.

“Pretty terrible.” She tells Marlon, because he’s always been more friend than lover, and that’s why he’s in Memphis when it’s a fool's errand anyway.

For all Marlon will speak his mind about this that and the other on things he cares about- yet God does he *care* about Elaine and so he bites his tongue at the first thought that pops into his head. *You've been pretty terrible for years and now you decided to care and do something about it*.

Instead: "You look terrible."

Which is a gross oversimplification of his feelings, but Elaine doesn't watch as his eyes slide over her pale and wan cheeks that look thinner than he's ever seen them. She doesn't watch how his eyes drift downward to breasts that are pressing against the dress she's wearing.

They remind him of when she was pregnant with Marie. They remind him of her breasts when she cried out beneath him against her tiki bar. If he closes his eyes he can picture them bouncing in front of his face, begging for him to bury his face in them. The boy- her oldest boy was right. Marlon doesn't even need to look at her stomach and yet some sick twisted masochistic tendency compels him to as if that'll change things.

It's small. Smaller than he figures any of her bumps have been and yet it's there. Mocking and growing at its own pace.

Proof that Elaine Phipps wants to remain Elaine Presley till one of them dies and maybe even beyond. Marlon can't help the way he exhales through his nose, unable to look away even as Elaine talks,

"Marlon, are you even listening?"

No. But he needs to.

"Mind wandered off, you know how I get, Elaine." He straightens up and tries to stay alert, “So, all this really fixed things for ya, eh?” he quips sardonically and she smiles, rolls her eyes, fully aware he’s not mocking her, he’s mocking the hopelessness of it ever working.

“Yeah. It’s all coming up roses.” she snarks.

“I uh-“ he stipples his fingers on the counter and weighs his next move, “-I heard that Colonel Parker’s recently landed in some seriously hot water. Something about the audits during the divorce and how certain things don’t match up. Got it from the papers, you know how long they stretch a few vague facts. I had to read two whole pages to get ‘fraud’ and ‘debts’ out of them. Anyways, I thought you’d find that nice -hot water, all that.”

“So hot it’ll boil his coat of lies right off with any luck.” Elaine seethes and her sudden passion takes Marlon by surprise. Stirs an old appreciation for just how much verve is always bubbling beneath her doll-like exterior. His fingers itch to let out the excess in a gush around his fingers. “Illegal alien.” She expounds, warming to her argument in the way of someone long overdue a listen, “Would you believe it? All those endless homebound tours -runing Elvis into the ground on the same circuit simply because that greedy fool couldn’t tag along. Couldn’t step outside the country. Always wondered why he never crashed our time in Germany, knew he would if could. Fake, heartless, toad.”

“Fuck him.” Marlon agrees vehemently and Elaine looks up with the same appreciative eyes of a decade past when she got no arguments from him, unlike all the menfolk surrounding her most days. Marlon abides by a simple rule: if it pisses Elaine Presley off, he needs no further research to say it ain’t shit.

“Yes, well, I’ll leave that to the Justice Department, I’ve done my bit.” Elaine sighs, her little victory crow short lived and even with his bias for the unattached Miss Phipps, Marlon can see how hollow her achievements are without Elvis to pat her pretty head for them. “It’s been weeks and I- I’m afraid he’s angry Marlon.” they’re not talking of the Colonel now, Marlon can tell by her love-sick face, “I knew he would be, with the divorce and probably with framing Parker but -he was so kind that day. So kind I thought he might’ve forgiven or just, I don’t know but now, now he won’t even answer my calls. Marie hasn’t gotten through either and -it’s not like him, Marlon, it’s not.”

“You got something pressing to tell him?” Brando asks and doesn’t even bother to hide the way his eyes flick back over her ripening form, pondering if her boy hadn’t been silly after all, going on about her not noticing. If he were a woman, a pretty woman like Elaine still is, Marlon would be weighing those growing tits each day with pride and mesmerization -but then again, Elaine’s had more on her mind than appreciating her own assets like a horny old star who never learned to aim for his own league.

“No I only wanted to-” she bites her lip as if unsure or else what she wants is unspeakably optimistic for a woman who just threw it all away. “I missed his voice.”

_______________________________

<<< || 16th, AUGUST 1977 ||

The knock at the door startled them both. Elvis pulled his back from it and faced it like he was gonna defend his wife from the mob he suspected was outside. Old habits die hard.

“Y’all?” Jesse yelled through the thick wood, “There’s half the city crowdin’ outside, there’s not gonna be a path to squeeze through soon.”

“Yeah alright son, thank you.” Elvis cleared his throat as he dropped her hands, straightening his posture fully. “You ready?” he asked dully, eager to get the worst moment of his life over.

“I gue- I- yes.” she stumbled over her meaning and smoothed out her black jacket.

"Daddy?" Jesse's voice was heard over the wood once more and both Elaine and Elvis took matching deep breaths, sweat droplets falling on Elvis’s eyes with a wince.

It's not pity that had Elaine putting the glasses back on Elvis’s eyes, her fingertips brushing against his temples in a simple gesture she's done a million times before. No, it's her last hurrah as his wife, her last action as his wife. They may have signed the papers within the past hour and legally she may be Elaine Phipps once more but until they walk out of this bathroom and this courthouse she was Elaine Presley, wife of Elvis Presley. A low hum reverbated against her chest before she pulled away, a soft smile across her lips.

"There there, Mopey, all better," she whispered in the sort of tone she only uses for the children when bandaging a hurt. "Let's- let's go face the music."

“Got me more nervous than any curtain I’ve been behind,” he joked even as it falls flat and his breath comes quicker and quicker. This was the beginning of their new life as separate entities. As an ex-husband and an ex-wife.

The door wasn’t that heavy when he shut it earlier and yet it felt as if someone had remade it out of concrete as Elvis tried to push it open once the lock clicked open. He could already see the flashing bulbs from the cameras and the press of the mass of people outside waiting for them. They were no stranger to crowds but this one was one none of them wanted to face. A look was exchanged between the three of them as their shoes clicked against the floor of the courthouse, a silent acknowledgement to try and get to their waiting cars as soon as possible.

"Jess! Mama!" Elvis and Elaine looked up through the mob of people as they pushed and pulled at each other trying to catch a glimpse of the former couple with their oldest son. They found themselves half blinded by flashes of cameras and the sun's own light, trying to find the source of the bellowed words. "We're over heyer!"

Jack then. Jack who was growing more and more into Elvis’s twin if not in bulk but in charm and whose shout sounds something like Sargent Presley’s in the army. Elaine looked at Elvis, biting her lip as she did.

"Soundin’ more like me everyday." Elvis commented as if he was commenting on the weather. It had never been hard to talk to Elaine. Yet in this moment, Elvis found himself at a loss for words. And from the way Elaine was looking at him, the feeling was mutual. Matching pink tongues darted out to wet dry lips and Elvis opened his mouth, his arm outstretched as if he was going to grab at Elaine's only for his oldest son to pop up between them, taking Elaine's arm without a second thought.

"I've got you mama. I gotcha, let's go."

The look he leveled at Elvis made every single moment in this courtroom for the past five months seem like child's play. To have his oldest son look at him like he did with any suitor that tried to come Elaine’s way, hurt. But that was his life now wasn't it? That's Elvis Presley’s life without Elaine Phipps. That's Elaine Phipps's life without Elvis Presley, protected only by her sons and her daughters from a man she once called husband. The man she once loved with every fiber of her being or so Elvis thought. Make peace with it, Johnny said. Make peace with her, Johnny said. Elvis didn't think that it would feel like this.

“I know you do, Jesse. Let me say goodbye to your father.” Elaine said as softly as she could in order to avoid the prying ears of every journalist between here and her car. “Jack and your siblings aren’t going anywhere. Not in this crowd. Even if Jack’d run them over to protect me.”

A smile unbidden crossed Elvis’s lips at the joke between their eldest and Elaine. She wasn’t wrong, but that was his boys and their love for their mother in a nutshell, wasn’t it? Capable of murder to protect her the same as him. She- she would be alright even if- even if what he suspected to be true was.

“Jack drove us here, all of us.” She explained as her eyes flitted across his form one last time to check for imperfections and for signs he might be needing anything. “I’ll make sure Ella calls you about-”

“It’s fine, Elaine. Made my bed, gotta lie in it now.” His eyes scanned across the crowd, even as he winced from the light of the sun and the flashes even through his sunglasses, finally settling on his car with Colonel Parker in the passenger seat, waiting for Elvis with a look of pure displeasure and mild panic on his face. “Gotta get him and I outta here ‘fore I give him a heart attack.”

Elaine’s face hardened at the words, and Elvis, in a fit of nostalgic responsibility for her happiness, moved to place a soft kiss against her cheek, squeezing at her hands as he did.

“S’been the joy of my life knowin’ you, Miss Phipps.”

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

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[satninroses]

Caught In The Act

(A/N): Almost done with the old fics! I’ll be onto some old requests and some new ones as well. Thank you to everyone who has stuck along! I love you very much!! As usual, I hope you enjoy it :-)

Summary: You and Elvis get caught in the deed by Gladys. You get lightheaded and pass out.

Pairing: Elvis(Austin! Elvis) x Fem! Reader

Word count: 1,857

Warnings: SMUT! MINORS DNI! Penetration, (F. Receiving) Riding, Fingering, Swearing, Mentions of Passing out, Mentions of injuries, Crying, Slight Angst.

Your meeting with Gladys had been quick. At that moment, she was cooking dinner for the family in celebration of your arrival. She gave you a hug and a kiss on the cheek and you both talked for a few minutes. Elvis was getting antsy and bratty so she sent you on your way. You wanted to talk to her a little bit more but Mr. Impatient in the pink button up couldn’t contain himself. He practically dragged you by the collar up the stairs and to his bedroom. Once you stepped in, he shut the door.

In an instant, his hands were all over you. He raked his fingers through your hair and slid them down your back. His hands met the small of your back where he pushed you into him- hard. He wanted to be as close as possible to you. While one of his hands stayed on your back, the other found its way to your ass and gave it harsh slap. You let out a surprised yelp and gave him a fake-annoyed look. Your pursed your lips at him and squinted your eyes.

“I think that’s enough hitting for one night Mr. Presley.”

“I don’t think it’s enough.”

His lips slammed into yours in a animalistic and feverish kiss. His hands came together again and began to unbutton the blouse portion of your dress. You had already kicked your heels off to make the process easier and quicker for him. He got to the last button and harshly shoved the top of the dress of your shoulders and onto the floor, leaving you in your lacy bra and panties.

“It’s like you knew. Good play doll.”

He disconnected from the kiss and pushed you onto the bed. He also made quick work of his clothes as well leaving him in just his boxers. He got on top of you and pulled you into another kiss again. Both of his hands snaked their way around your back to unlatch your bra and let your twins go free. He then slid his hands down and removed your panties. His hands found their way to your pussy where he paid the most attention.

You bucked your hips into his hands while he rubbed fast circles around your clit. He pulled away from the kiss to attach his mouth to one of your nipples. You placed one hand on his shoulder and the other one raked through his soft jet-black locks.

“Mmm.. Elvis. Please stop teasing! Please just give it to me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He pulled away from your body completely to stand upright. He removed his underwear and threw it down into the ever-growing pile of discarded clothing. He grabbed a condom from his bedside drawer and rolled it over the length of his cock. He stood back up and pulled your legs so you were right near his aching cock. He spit in his hand and stuck two fingers into your hole.

“Oh! Elvis! Could have warned me!”

He chuckled and pulled out. “Sorry Darlin’. Just couldn’t help myself”

Before you had the chance to respond, he pulled his fingers out and replaced it with his cock; submerged himself into you fully. You slapped a hand over your mouth to try and muffle the pornographic moan that escaped your mouth.

He didn’t wait for you to warm up to him. He went straight in- rough and fast.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t had sex with him before. Usually he tries to ease you into it by going slow and gentle but tonight was just one of those nights. You weren’t mad at him and it’s not like it hurt. Quite the opposite actually. It felt so good. Maybe a little too good.

“Fuck! Take it baby. Take this fat cock come on, moan for me pretty girl.”

You let out soft moans that had a hint of pain laced into them. You were feeling a little woozy and light headed. You thought this was just a part of it.

“Yeah! Yeah you’re such a pretty little slut. Gonna cum for me? Gonna cum all over my cock? Say it! Say you’re gonna cum!”

His grunts were on the verge of barbaric. You wanted to groan in pain and tell him to stop but you just couldn’t.

“Mmm. Elvis I’m gonna cum. Please make me cum! Uhh you’re so thick please make me cum E!”

Elvis increased the speed and strength of his trusts. He gripped your thighs and pushed them up as far as he could go to get a better angle of your G-spot. Once he found it, he didn’t stop hitting it. Your eyes were so far in the back of your head that you could practically see your brain.

Your senses were invaded by him. All you could see and hear and feel was him. And you loved it.

“I’m so close! Oh god, Elvis! Please make me cum GOD!”

With one final thrust he pushed you over the edge and into cloud nine. He didn’t stop his ministrations though. He kept fucking you through your orgasm until you saw stars.

While you couldn’t deny that this was the best you had ever felt, your lightheadedness was taking over. You felt like you could pass out right then and there.

He pulled out and breathed for a moment. “Are you ok?” You nodded slowly before sitting up. When you sat up, you didn’t feel his seed leak out of you like it usually did. “Wait, you didn’t cum?”

He smiled bashfully. “No. I wanted to try something new with you. I want you to ride me.” Your heart pounded in your chest at the confession but so did your head. You really didn’t want to press your luck with his headache but you also didn’t want to leave him to count on his right hand to finish the job.

You nodded again before moving next to him on the bed. “How do I do this?” He’s hand grasped yours. “Go ahead and get on top of me. I’ll help you out. You wanna make that that pretty cunt is right over me. I’ll take it from there and then I’ll tell you when to sit on it, ok?” You nodded at his direction.

You did everything he asked you too. You sat over his cock and slid it along your sensitive folds. You finally found the hole and began to push down. You kept going until you bottomed out on him. In this new position, it felt like he was reaching new spots inside you that had never been discovered before.

“Try to bounce on it or move your hips. If you need help, let me know, ok?

You flashed him a knowing smile and began to gently pump yourself up and down on him. His moans from beneath you were deep and guttural. His hands found their way to your hips and began to slam you down on his cock.

You were getting that feeling again. That floaty feeling like you were being suffocated, but this time it was much stronger. You pressed your hands onto his chest to ground yourself but you were already too far gone.

Just then, the door to the room swung open. In walked Gladys. “Elvis, baby! Dinner is re-“

Simultaneously, you three screamed. You tried to cover yourself but it was too late. The scare that had been set upon you pushed you over the edge and you passed out.

Elvis not realizing that you had passed out let you lay limp on his body as he pulled out. As soon as he let you go, you fell off the bed and onto the floor where you hit your head.

Gladys stood paralyzed at the door. She could not believe what she was witnessing. She almost passed out as well when she heard Elvis.

When you fell, his cock slapped his stomach and he let out a loud groan. He stood quickly and bent down next to you. “(Y/N)?! (Y/N)! Wake up sweets!” He jostled your body in an attempt to wake you up.

Gladys rushed over to be of some assistance. “Did she hit her head? If so, how hard?”

“I-I don’t know! I just let go of her and s-s-she fell off!”

In that moment, it had dawned on him the gravity of the situation. He was kneeling next to your hickey covered body, naked, in front of his mom. His cock bobbed gently and was so achy. He wanted to cum so bad it hurt.

Elvis let out a sob and leaned his head next to yours. “I’m so sorry mama. I didn’t mean for you to s-see me like this.”

Gladys didn’t care that her son was naked and erected in front of him and that his girlfriend lied passed out on the floor. “Baby it’s gonna be ok. We’re gonna get you both cleaned up and we’re gonna get her all patched up. Just take a few breaths in for me and go out on some clothes.”

He nodded and stood up to exit the scene quickly. Gladys stayed by your side and attempted to administer CPR to you. Miraculously, it worked! Your eyes fluttered open slowly and your hand went straight to cover your eyes because of the brightness.

Once your eyes adjusted to everything, you finally took in the scene ahead of you. You were naked, covered in hickeys and bruised finger prints in front of Elvis’ mom. Your hands raised to cover yourself.

“Oh g-god! Mrs. Presley I’m so sorry. I’m so so so sorry! This is so unladylike.” She placed a hand to your mouth. “It’s ok. Elvis will be back with some Tylenol and water for you. For now, let’s get you dressed and back into bed.”

She helped you up off the floor and slowly walked you to the bed. She helped you button up one of Elvis’ shirts and put your panties back on.

Elvis returned to the room with medicine, water, and a pair of his pajama pants for himself. Once he saw you up and conscious, he made a beeline for you. He put the items down before wrapping his arms around you. “(Y/N), baby! You’re ok! Im so sorry I let this happen. I should have been more careful.”

You smiled gently and grasped his hands into your hands. “It’s ok. I should have said something. It’s not you.”

He hugged you harder and you hugged back; albeit weakly. Gladys stood from where she was stationed at the bed. “I’ll give you guys some time. Dinner is ready and on the stove if you want any.”

Elvis turned to he was facing his mother. “We’ll come down in a minute. Thank you mama.”

Gladys smiled and let out a chuckle. “Any time baby.” She turned to walk out by stopped in her tracks right outside the door.

“Oh, and..?”

Elvis listened intently for what was to come out next.

“Please be safer next time.”

You and Elvis let out tired and knowing laughs.

“You can say that again.”

[elvis-elk]

Don’t Cry Over Spilt Milk

Pairing: Elvis Presley x Fem!Reader

Hello hello, I’m not dead HAH. Guess what, I DID THE FIC. Might not be appealing to some, but I thought the idea was interesting. Deals with galactorrhea, which is just people inadvertently lactating. I’m still working on some other drafts, but college is slightly being in the way, but expect some new things soon!

Summary: You come home tired from a laboring day at work, and Elvis seems to cheer you up.

Word Count: 3K

Rating: E (Explicit) 18+ only!!!

Warnings: Soft fluff, slight breeding kink, fingering, milk kink, stripping, teasing, a little bit of self-stimulation.

Let’s dive in, shall we?

Driving home after a long day of work, you worked yourself past the gates, and into the driveway to reach your home, Graceland.

It was late, a little bit after 7, and you normally always come home this late. But right now, your back was killing you.

Making your way out of the car and into the pristine mansion, you were greeted with one of Elvis’s good hearted chef’s that urged you to eat some dinner. So after stashing your belongings away, you willingly obliged and ate dinner relatively quickly.

Thanking the kind cook, your legs dragged themselves up the stairs towards your shared bedroom with The King. Your Elvis Presley.

He’d always be the one to come home horribly late or in the early hours of the morning, with him doing recordings and interviews and such.

But whenever you were with him, the time spent together was precious.

Sitting down on the bed, too worn out to change clothes, you stared at yourself in the full length mirror that was opposite of the bed.

Your eyes stared at your chest. With the work clothes clinging to you, they looked engorged. As you notice this, your head finds its way into your hands.

The problem was, you were inadvertently lactating. It’s somewhat an anomaly, but still plausible for women who weren’t pregnant. And you were 100% sure, you were not. You grew up with this, your doctor advising you that it was no side effect to any medication or clothing you’d wear. It wouldn’t always happen though, but you noticed it would happen on long days of work.

So, the best advice she had, was to not let your breasts become too enlarged by milking them. And in all honesty, it did the trick. It would never hurt either, it just became a chore you had to deal with. Elvis didn’t know this though.

You hadn’t told him because you thought he’d get weirded out. So before you’d ever see him, you’d make sure to “milk” yourself to look presentable. Which is why you were always lucky to be home before him.

But, not this time.

You heard one of Elvis’s expensive cars pull up into the driveway with some others, him getting out and talking to them saying goodnight while they pulled off. He eventually made his way up the front of Graceland’s stairs.

Fuck.

You shuffled over to the window to see if your ears were deceiving you, but, they weren’t. You had zero time whatsoever to deal with your chest and you were scared.

Backing away from the window, your ears perked when you heard Elvis’s booming voice come up the stairs as he greeted the others working in the house. You could see his shadow through the bottom of the door, and he politely knocked, asking if he could come in.

Shoot, he knows you’re home.

Already being caught, and not wanting to upset the man you loved, you called to him saying he could come in. You rushed over to the dresser, grabbed a small towel, and quickly sat back on the bed. You slowly started to wiped off the makeup you wore using the same mirror you stared hopelessly at beforehand, making it seem like you’ve been there for a while.

Opening the door, Elvis waltzes into the room, guitar case in hand, wearing one of those beautiful bright colored suits of his.

“Evening sweetie,” he croons while going to put his guitar case to the side. From your view through the mirror, his face was slightly sweaty, eyes drooping, and his walk lazy. He looked so tired, and you felt so bad. You wanted to walk right up to him and give him as much comfort as you could, but even you were dealing with your own problems at the moment.

“Hey Elvis, welcome home love, ” your voice came out soft, so quiet. Exhaustion laced in your words. He noticed this and turned to look at your sitting figure. Even though he looked worn out, he still always managed to have some type of energy in him.

“Sweetie what’s got you all bothered, hmm?” he questioned, slowly making his way over to you.

You started to internally panic, trying to cover your chest in any way you could. Should’ve grabbed a blanket or coat or something, you thought. That would’ve made this much easier.

“What’s wrong sweetie?” he reaches you and sits down, the bed shifting due to his added weight on the edge.

You really, really hoped, he didn’t notice, but you still reply to him.

“N-nothing Elvis, just a, a tired day is all,” your voice cracked, making him slightly more worried. “You should worry about yourself right now love.”

“If they’re making you overwork again Lord have mercy-“ he started to shake his fist in the air, an attempt of showing his disdain for your workplace.

“Elvis it’s fine, I promise,” you drop your hand with the rag to the side, your other hand gently grabbing his fisted hand. This caused you to slightly turn your body towards him, and that’s when he discreetly got a good look at your chest. There’s no way he couldn’t not see.

Shit, you fucked up.

“There’s gotta be something on your mind,” he moves to sit behind you, crotch pressing against your bottom as he stares into the mirror looking at you.

“What do you mean, Mr. Presley?” you feigned innocence, crossing your arms over your chest. He had his hands behind him, leaning back slightly onto the bed as his groin pressed into you further.

“You just sound so tired sweetie,” he keeps his crotch pressed against you as he leans back up, your back coming into contact with his chest. Wrapping his arms around your waist, accentuating your breasts further. This man knows what he’s doing, you almost begin to sweat.

“Yeah Elvis, maybe it’s time for some rest,” you try and curve him off, but as you go to stand up, he softly pulls you back down.

“But sweetie, I never get to come home this early. I feel like I’ve been neglecting your needs,” he looks at you through the mirror again, honesty ringing clear in his voice. He clings to you tighter, his chin nestled in the crook of your neck so that he can still stare at you. His legs close in around the outside of your thighs.

Basically, you were trapped.

“Elvis, love, you’re too busy so it’s fine. I understand, it’s your job,” you grasp for one of his hands, slowly rubbing your thumb back and forth over his knuckles. His eyes follow your finger’s movements. He squeezes you even more.

“But my job’s also to take care of you~” he mutters into your ear, pressing a kiss to your cheek and taking your hand in his own. Butterflies bloomed in your stomach, Elvis always making you feel like a little schoolgirl. You leaned into his touch and closed your eyes, the defensive barrier that you put around yourself faltering.

“And that also means I have to take care of these,” one of his hands moved to grab and squeeze one of your breasts. You whine out, back arching forward as it felt sore, yet so good.

“Elvissss,” you mewl, trying to push him away but your attempts failed. His hand never left, and to make it worse his other hand had grabbed your other lonely breast. Watching your reactions through the mirror, he decided to give your chest one firm squeeze, which shot your eyes open.

“You think I wouldn’t notice these? What’d you do hmm??” he breathed in between kisses on your neck, squishing your mounds even more.

You struggle within his grasp, the feeling pleasurable, yet you’ll know what’ll happen if he squeezes too hard.

“I, I-“ you couldn’t even talk straight, his touch felt intoxicating. You could feel everything, even through the thickness of your clothes. Your nipples started to feel hot.

“Tell me, you got anything done to yourself? Wanted to please me?” he asked, genuinely curious to hear your answer. His hands moved to work on getting your clothes off, his fingers working on the buttons of your coat.

“Wh-what, what do you mean?” you still tried to wave it off, but it just didn’t work. His hands slinked towards the bottom of your shirt, looking in the mirror your chest was pressed against the fabric. His fingers slowly hooked under the material and wiggled it off your figure.

Your chest was on full view for his hungry eyes. Your breasts pressed into the figure of your bra, swollen almost. Elvis’s pupils dilated, eyes widening at the sight. His hands trailed their way over and up your waist to cup both of your breasts.

“Elllviss, careful, this is my new bra,” you complain.

“And what do you mean by that now?” he stopped his kisses, and looked back into the mirror, giving your breasts an experimental hard squeeze.

Your hands gripped hard onto his thighs as, just as you’d expected it, you began to leak. One of your hands came up to cover your mouth, Elvis missing the warm touch of your palm. Milk had slowly started to seep into the fabric of the bra, a wet spot being evident. Elvis’s eyes light up for a second, before those crushing blue orbs were covered in lust.

One of his hands gently gripped the hand that covered your mouth.

“I’ll be asking you questions later lovely, but right now, let’s take care of you~”

His other hand left your chest, but you still couldn’t move since his thighs were still enclosed around you. You were wearing a skirt, so he pulled the edges up to reveal your panties. He slid the crotch to the side. The hand that still held yours pulled your hand down.

“Touch yourself sweetie, and watch the mirror while you do it,” he commanded. His hand still firmly gripped yours, not leaving just yet, urging you to do the deed.

His palm was now on the back of your hand, his fingers draping over your own. Middle and ring fingers pressing together, he pushes yours and his in at the same time past your dripping folds, causing you to arch your back away from his chest.

Four fingers.

All at once.

Your pussy ached, the feeling of something inside of you relieving. Your jaw went slack as soft moans started to escape from you, body slumping into Elvis’s.

“That’s right now there ya go, relax sweetie, fuuuck,” he whispered lovingly into your ear, his hips pressing into your ass.

His fingers were already more slender, yet thicker than your own, but now as he guided your own fingers inside of you, you thought it was an added bonus. His other hand retreated back to one of your breasts, molding against it to see if anything else would happen.

Opening your eyes, looking into the mirror, it was a sight. Elvis’s hand with yours inside of you, him leaning over and into your neck to press open mouthed kisses on the tender skin, his hand squeezing your breast nonstop.

All the attention was on you.

He wasn’t satisfied yet though, feeling his dick press against you through the suit’s pants, he was a bit far from done.

“Come this way, look at me sweetie,” he turns you so you’re looking at him. His fingers left yours, feeling empty. You decide to shimmy off your skirt, as Elvis wanted to take off your bra.

Before you could protest, he’s as fast as can be with the bras clasp on your back, the material falling onto the bed. Your tits were protruding out at him, milk slightly leaking. He begins to smirk, as he pulls you from the edge, and presses your back against the bed.

“Let’s see what you taste like here hmmm?” his head dips down, mouth latching into one of your nipples, sucking fiercely on it. You threw your head back, one hand clutching the sheets as the other continued circular motions on your clit.

His mouth ravished you, even slurping up the bits of milk the seeped out from you. Jesus Christ was this really happening? He moved between your breasts, leaving trails of saliva in between.

“It’s not fair,” you whined. He peeks his head up, wondering what you meant. You reached to lightly tug on his suit’s sleeve.

“Hmmm, alright then. But I get to take it off,” he muses, watching your reaction. There was hunger in your eyes, but could wait. You’d wait all night if it meant seeing his gorgeous figure.

He leans back onto his calves, his thighs slightly spreading as he did so. His calloused hands working on the small buttons that brought his jacket together. He kept his gaze on you, smirking, but your eyes were focused on his working hands. As well as the prominent bulge that shown through his pants. Slinking his jacket off, throwing it somewhere, he splays his hands over his chest.

“Just imagine,” his voice came out sultry, smooth like silk, his hands grip onto his pecs through the lace shirt he was wearing, the tent in his pants growing from his self-stimulation. “What my hands would look like all over that pretty little body of yours.”

You were anxious for his touch, but you were his good girl. His patient girl. You continued to finger yourself, but did zero grumbling.

His lace shirt was unbuttoned as it fell off of him. Chest exposed, his hands still stayed moving. Slowly making their way to the top of his pants, making sure you wait even longer.

The whole time you were watching him, but at this point you were so touch starved that you threw your head back in anguish.

“Did I say to stop looking sweetie?” Elvis’s hand grabs your chin and raises it up to meet his eyes, his stare piercing through you.

Shaking your head no, he lets go of you and goes back to his pants. Finally unbuttoning and peeling the fabric off, he was only in his boxers.

“Better?” he motions to himself, smirking as he did so. As you nod your head yes, he crawls back over to you.

“Take um off for me?”

Uhm, fuck yes.

Your fingers stopped their ministrations on yourself and rushed to the waistband. But not wanting to seem too desperate, you pulled them off slow, hoping to get a reaction out of him.

He started panting, watching your fingers just glide over his cock, not paying it any attention.

After taking it fully off of him, your hands reached for his face. He leans over your figure, bracing himself on his hands. He takes the fingers that were inside of you and sucks them, wiggling his tongue around to lick up your juices.

You start to giggle as it tickles, and he stops.

“C’mere,” he dips his head to your lips, making you taste yourself.

His hips move towards your core, his dick pressing into your thighs. Hands finding their way back to your chest, he goes back to groping and squeezing at them.

Your body felt hot. Unbearably so. You couldn’t stop moving and writhing underneath his body. He then unlatched from your lips to move to your breasts once again, but before he did, he lined his cock near your pussy.

He gazes at you, lust swirling around in his stare. Blinking, his head slightly tilts as he gives an earnest smile.

“My good girl~”

And at the same time, he slides into you and begins locking his lips on your nipples. His hips jutted back and forth, rocking your body against the sheets.

You lean your head back, it slightly falling off the side of the bed. Opening your eyes, you see the mirror.

Dear Lord.

From this angle, even with it being upside down in your vision, you could see Elvis tending to you. Caressing your chest, sucking and nipping on your nipples, tasting the milk that seeped from them. His hips moving up and down in the air, not showing any sign of stopping just yet.

He moaned against your tits, continuing to suck and squeeze some of the milk from you. At some point, his hands moved away to pull your body back onto the bed, pinning both of your wrists to the sheets, his mouth the only thing moving on you.

“That’s right sweetie,” he gasped between moans, seeing how you shut your eyes in bliss. “Tell me how good I fuck you, yeah?”

“So- aH! So, good mmmm,” every thrust he made into you stuttered your speech. He hit that sweet, deep spot inside of you every. single. time.

“Taste so good, making me act up,” he murmured against you, feasting on your breasts. “All hot and bothered~” You thought he’d be appalled, but, seeing him continue to love on you, he was the same Elvis you knew.

“Please, I-, mmm,” you were close already, feeling a little pathetic that you were unraveling at the seams.

“It’s alright sweet,” he bucks his hips into you more fervently, making sure you get your high. “Let yourself go~”

Your hands balled into fists, legs trembling, eyes screwed shut, gasps and moans erupting from you, your chest heaved against his hungry lips.

Your insides twisted, the coil that formed continuously growing, reaching the high you desperately chased after. Your cunt ached from how hard he was pushing into you, your tits felt so hot from all the attention they were getting from him.

“Elvissss!” you whined out, reaching your apex in mere seconds. Juices leaked from your pussy, coating his pelvis that still continued to move. Your legs fell limp against the bed, head falling back onto the sheets as he submerged his dick as far as he could into you, reaching his climax a while after.

His head lay resting on your chest, while you continued to stare at the ceiling trying to process what the fuck just happened.

“Nng, sorry sweetie, lemme get off ya,” he grunted out, voice tired, his arms moving to push himself away.

“..no,” your voice came out soft, hoarse. A hand gently moved to lightly grab at his bicep to stop him from leaving.

He looks back down at you, head tilted to the side as he gave you a lopsided grin. Milk dripped from his lips, but he didn’t care. His face falters as he notices something.

“Wh-what’s wrong?” you ask, frightened of what his answer could be.

He shifts his body to move his face closer to you, and so that he could bring both of his hands to your face.

“Sweetie you’re crying,” he says in disbelief, slightly chuckling as he wipes the tears away with his fingers. “What’re ya crying for?”

It hadn’t dawned upon you that your eyes had started to water, so you started to giggle as a way of trying to wave it off. He continued to wipe any more tears that had escaped.

“I was just, scared,” you smile up at him.

“Hey, don’t you be crying over no spilled milk now, y’hear?” he joked, fingers moving to squish your cheeks. “Ain’t nothin to be afraid of when I’m here.”

This boy was too charming and funny, dear Lord how did you bag him?

“I trust you,” letting your doubts be carried away, your arms wrap around his neck to bring him into a kiss, both of your lips moving in tandem.

He pulls away as he needed to breathe in some air, but not without inserting a quip.

“Taste good, don’t it?”

You start to laugh as his smirk widens, your hands gently swatting at him. “If I’m ever hungry again, I’ll just find my way over to you yeah?”

He cuddles up against your figure and presses kisses all over your face.

Yeah, you’d let him get another taste. Maybe you’d be able to taste him as well.

[starryschoolgirl]

Well now, isn't this something... In my short time on here I have yet to read something of this, I can't even find the words, this is just such a grand idea that I would never even dare to play around with because I couldn't execute it as wonderfully as this! I love this entire thing so much, the worldbuilding, the descriptive details, the smut, everything!!

In detail, my feelings for this would be so amazingly complicated, but in essence, my feelings are quite fond. My only regret regarding this piece is that I didn't read it sooner! Now if you'll excuse me I need a cigarette

Season of the witch

Elvis Presley. One of the biggest and most handsome musicians comes through your sleepy little town you couldn’t help yourself from giving him your potent honey pie. Little does he know it’s laced with your love sex pollen.

50s Elvis Presley x Witch! Reader.

Word count: 9k.

Warnings: Elvis becomes obsessed. To the point where he’s a munch. Sex pollen. Witchcraft, little talk of religion. Manipulation. Dubious consent. Talk of being eaten out, teeth. Heavy emphasis on breeding. Little coercion. Making out. Stalking. Slight noncon. You literally put him under a spell so he’ll be your pet. Titty sucking. Period sex. He has mommy issues and calls you mama a lot. Talk of drugs.

A/n: The only reason why I wrote this is because it’s inspired by one of my favorite movies The Love Witch, the scene where she poisons Wayne and he becomes so madly in love with her. Wanted to write this for Halloween too. So have a very devilish night imagining yourself as a witch in the 50s and having a 22yr old Elvis being bedeviled by you.

  

It was cold, very cold for a Halloween night in the Deep South. It had just rained and poured the night prior. The streets flooded with water, and puddles grew. The gold and brown dead leaves fell into the wakeless puddles. The sky overhead was dark with storm clouds; it was barely 5 o'clock, and it looked like midnight. It was so depressing, just as you liked it in your little town. 

  You made a honey pie for him. For Elvis Presley. You’re not sure how the governor arranged for him to perform at the little banquet. Your town needed the money and the praise. The once-booming oil town has now dwindled into a pass-through town to get to the interstate. Nothing was there; a couple of restaurants and a grocery store were it. A few antique mom-and-pop stores—nothing to stop at. The town's population barely broke two hundred this year. Full of old Bible-thumping seniors. The governor presumed if he got Elvis to perform then newcomers would realize how interesting the town is and would get people to move. Balance the old with the young. 

   Children were a phenomenon; the only time you saw kids was when it was their grandparent's turn to babysit. The youngest people who lived there were you and your friend Eileen, who was a few years older than you. She was actually the one who introduced you to your way of living. The art of witchcraft. She taught you mostly everything she knew, specializing in love. The most dangerous part of crafting. She even taught you how to make the love potion in the pie. The pie that he’ll eat. 

   Eileen said that she’ll meet with you at the hall. A stuffy run-down chapel that no one used, that was built in the 20s. It was a bit ironic that the governor chose Elvis, he wasn’t known for his godly beliefs but for his rather devilish dances. The governor came to realize the only way he could change the town was to shift the focus of religion, so people would feel comfortable living here. 

   Eileen had introduced you to a cult a few towns over that allowed you to express yourself better. To allow your blessings to become stronger. The cold nips at your legs and the pad between your thighs make your skin even more sensitive. Your black stockings didn’t allow any warmth. The dark wool coat with fur-lined on the inside was your only heat source. Your black jean dress had a white long sleeve under it to give you a little bit more heat too. The wool socks under your boots helped a bit too. Your cheeks and nose are painted a dusty pink.

   The pie was in a plastic round Tupperware bowl. Surely he'd only need one bite for it to hit, you made absolutely no mistake in making the pie potent. Not wanting for your only chance of him falling in love with you go to waste. Oct 31st, 1957 you were going to make Elvis Presley fall madly in love with you. 

 

 The chapel breathed with people. The seniors in town didn't bother coming. They were actually repulsed by the notion of Elvis coming here. However, the hundred or so people who did were in a two-hundred-mile radius. You're not sure how they knew he was coming but they were here. You shuffled past all the different giddy girls, trying to find Eileen. She'd most likely be in the back eating the crackers that they stored for commission. 

    From the amount of people who came it looked like the second coming of Christ. The governor decided to make a row of food outside for the people who couldn't get in. Handing out plates full of homemade meals. You knew that you had to hide the pie in the back closet. How you were going to make Elvis eat it would be the most important question. Maybe since you and Eileen were huddled in the back he’d walk past and you’d be able to convince him. That was a big maybe. 

   Your attention went back to the governor who looked at you. The governor was an older man, named Henry. Late in his 40s with dark black hair now turned gray. He was tall and wasn't ugly in the slightest. His family was politicians, founded the town even though it was his right to become governor when his legacy was passed down. His lineage extends to the church along with the police. His Father was the priest of the chapel until he died a few years ago. The only reason why you knew this was because you had a fling with him. He was cute and the town was little so why wouldn’t you? It was only until you realized that the love pollen only amplified their deepest subconscious was what warded you off of him. He was nothing but the son of Satan himself. Coming home and finding him doped up to the point where he’s incapable of thinking because the only thing he could think about was you. Thankfully, Eileen helped you reverse the spell but something still in him yearns to be with you. You learned from your mistake and made the pie far less potent. 

   As you stood in the long line you listened to women chatter amongst themselves about Elvis and where he was. Holding onto your plastic bowl you moved in with the crowd, slowly but surely. The table the governor was sitting at was right by the chapel's door. He smiled as he handed over another full plate. 

   “Thanks for comin’.”

   Finally making it to the door he holds his hands out expecting you to give your pie to him with a smile. His dark blue eyes are holding you frozen. You see his smile falter when he realizes it’s you. His face drains. 

   “I never knew you liked Elvis.”

   He crosses his arms, giving you a shocked face. You shrug your shoulders. 

   “You never asked, Henry.”

   He nodded, his eyes falling to his feet thinking for a second before he looked back up. Excitement etched into his face. 

   “Say, why don’t I take you out tonight. We can go back to my house, get fat off some candy, and watch old cartoons after the show?”

    You give him a sheepish smile, patting him softly on the shoulder. His eyes light up at you touching him. You almost feel bad for letting him down. 

   “How about a different night?”

   His face falls and he nods. 

   “Yeah, that’s fine.”

   He sniffles as tears well up in his eyes. 

   “Jus’ miss you is all.”

   You blink a few times, trying to regain your mind. You hear women gossiping about you behind you. 

   “I know, I’ll see you around though.”

   He wipes his eyes with the backs of his hands, his eyes lingering on you far longer than they should’ve.

 The church pews were gone so the floor was open. There were people stuffed into corners and billowed out the doors in lines. As you made your way in you were hit with overwhelming heat from all of the energies combining together. Your wool jacket almost made you sweat. 

 You weaved your way through the back, getting glares shot at you. Rubbing arms with others as you went behind the curtains down the hall to the familiar door where you and Eileen hid during Sunday mass for free food. Relieved to find that no one was in the back it made it easy. Everyone was too focused on the front. You positioned the plastic bowl on your hip and knocked three times. 

   You stood there looking back and forth to make sure that your coast was clear and it was. Your stomach aches with a tight squeeze. Menstrual cramps settling in. You wonder for a moment if Elvis would still fuck you if you bled. The thought made you nervous, and the fur of your jacket dampened. Goddammit, Eileen, where were you? 

   You raise your fist to knock again before you hear a muffled voice. 

   “Password?”

   You roll your eyes popping your hip out that has the tub on it. 

   “Eileen I don’t have time for this.”

    Pleading doesn’t help. 

   “Whose Eileen? Only a witch burns here.”

   After thinking carefully about what the password could be, it finally dawns on you. Witch. Eileen and her play on words are going to be the death of you. She was a highly intelligent individual, which was one of the reasons that drew you to her. 

   “Salem, final answer.”

   Groaning the answer, she smirked behind the door. 

   “What year?”

   Pushing your sweaty forehead against the wooden door, you shut your eyes tight. A sinner sweating in church—how comical. 

   “1692 through 3, let me in. I don't have time for this; he can be here any minute!”

   You take your head off the door once you feel the momentum shift, and it reveals Eileen. A petite, long-haired woman whose face was practically bone, with striking green eyes, beams at you. Mouth stuffed with cheap saltine crackers—you don’t know how she enjoys those things. 

   “You know there’s a feast outside.”

   Remarking on how strange it was that she’d rather eat cheap crackers than a home-cooked meal. She chews slowly, the tub of crackers in one hand as you walk into the small closet. Kicking the door behind you closed with the heel of your boot. A light bulb dangles in the middle, illuminating the room. Bibles and crosses line the shelves. Your skin erupts with goose flesh. The smaller woman shrugs.

   “Half of the stuff out there will poison me, I know those old bats target us.”

   She smiles softly, her voice muffled as she finally swallows. 

    “Like you with your own poison.”

   She wiggles her eyebrows and smiles as you grow flustered.

     “Be more quiet, Eileen! It’s like you want us to get caught!”

    Scoffing, you turn around, reaching high up, and place the tub on one of the shelves next to a bible. You discard your coat over the top of the plastic. Turning back around, you watch her stuff more crackers into her mouth. Half the tub is gone. 

     “Do you think it will actually work this time? I mean, not like what happened with Henry; he’s a wreck out there.”

   Sighing at the end of your sentence. You wanted Elvis to be in love with you; sure, so did every woman and girl in the world, but you didn’t want him to be devastatingly obsessed with you. Eileen shakes her head. For the first time in minutes, she puts the jar on one of the shelves and swallows thickly. 

   “Honey I watched you practice; I even asked the superiors what they thought, and they even encouraged your attempt. Yes, y/n I think you’ll be fine.”

   “Promise?”

   She sticks out her pinky, and you wrap yours around it. There’s a screech of feedback into a microphone and a roll of thunder as it begins to pour rain. 

    “As you may know, my name is Elvis Presley.”

 

 Big, heavy policemen were situated in the front and center of the stage, holding women who threw themselves at Elvis, back into the crowd. He was only a couple of feet above the regular ground. A few managed to slip through and got to Elvis. He’d laugh and shake it off, singing the rest of Hound Dog. As the men got distracted, you and Eileen held hands and tucked yourselves by the front left of the stage. Some girls shot you dirty looks, but it wasn’t anything you hadn’t already seen before. The people in the room were stuffed so tight that you couldn’t stand still without touching elbows with someone. 

    He shifted his hips back and forth, his black trousers hanging loosely on his skinny hips. His orange shirt clung to his sweaty skin, and the dark brown wool jacket did him no favors. His black hair was slicked back so much that you could see the globs of gel. He’s struggling with the cord of the microphone, moving around so much that it keeps getting tangled. Throwing his head back and standing on his tiptoes, he takes off his jacket, and the girls scream at the action. One of them manages to grab the sleeve and drag it off the stage, and a couple of them fight over it. He restrains himself from laughing hysterically. His leg starts jumping. His eyes run over the vast group, and they fall on you. Eileen squeezes your hand, smiling at you. His eyes linger on you as he sings, then he looks away, breaking your spell, and walks to the other side of the stage. It wasn’t more than a second but it felt like hours. 

    Thunder booms throughout the sky, and the lightning makes the artwork on the windows glimmer. The storm outside grows. The song finally ends and he’s a huffing mess. He sips on the glass of water by the rest of his band. He sets the glass back down on a stool and stands in the middle again in front of the microphone.

         “Never been much of a Halloween guy, but y’all are makin’ me change my mind.”

       He swallows, wiping his face with the back of his hand. He rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt up to his elbows. His voice is quieter with the crowd roaring. 

   “What am I goin' to do with all you women?”

   He licks his lips, his fat bottom lip tucked between his front teeth as he revels in the roar. 

   “Huh?”

   Egging them on, you just watch amazed- speechless at how he has a hundred people at his will. Similar to how Jesus willed people together. 

   He cups the microphone in his big hand and drags the stand with him as he walks to the side of the stage, farthest away from you. The girls claw at him over the policeman's shoulders. He crouches down on his knees.

    “Shouldn't ask this in a holy house, but I'm sure God will forgive me for it,”

   “What d’ya want me to do to you after the show?”

   He pushes the mic over to a young girl no older than sixteen in a white dress. She's a mess. 

    “I-i can't say that!” 

    She shrieks and it makes him smile, shaking his head. He stands and takes away the mic. 

   “Y’all got some dirty minds.”

    He walks to the middle of the stage leaning over to a girl whose face is red and she's hyperventilating. Her big eyes almost came out of her head as she stared at Elvis. She almost weeps as he asks her the same question. She's paralyzed and can't speak. 

   “Cat got your tongue, darlin’?”

   He smiles wide, amused by his joke. 

   “Or do I?”

   You watch as she turns white as a ghost, her body falls lump and the girls behind her hold her up. She fainted from just talking to him. It's a hassle for everyone to part and an officer to lift her up and escort her out. Elvis shakes his head again before moving over to the side you were on. You stare at his creased leather shoes. They're polished but the creases make white lines across them. The laces aren't matched on both of them either. 

   “Gon’ do one more ‘fore I gotta start doin’ my job again.”

    A few boos were shouted. The others screamed suggestions for him to play. He smiles before crouching to you. A cop in front is sandwiched between you two. You can see the sweat beaded on his forehead and trickle down the base of his throat. The lightning struck and a few girls jumped but you were too enchanted with his eyes. A shade of blue you’ve never seen before. It’s a staring contest between you both. Testing to see whose will is strongest. His eyes held the fire burning in your stomach. He made the fever boil your skin. He made you undeniably horny. The longer you stare the more time you commit his gaze to memory. His plush lips part and he asks the question. 

   The room is hot as hell itself. You can’t hear from the storm and the women, but the metal mic is placed in front of you. His hand is mere inches from your face, he has a couple gold rings on his fingers. You want to taste the sweat. Suck on those long digits until the diamonds weigh heavy on your tongue. Without hesitation, you speak into the microphone proudly. Staring him straight in his eyes. 

   “I want you to fuck me after the show.”

   The room goes quiet. The heavy pattering of rain is the only thing heard. Gasps spread throughout the small chapel. A few applauded your bravery for saying what they wanted to say but couldn’t. His dark blue eyes with dark lashes go wide. Blinking profusely at what your voice told him. You just a little nungen wanted to fuck him. Shocked to find that a little girl had thoughts of a grown woman. His mouth is parted as he breathes heavily, removing the microphone from you back to the front of the stage. He just stares at you enamored. For the first time in years since he started performing he’s speechless. That bold dominant act of a man is gone and replaced by a blushing boy. 

   He regains himself with his deep chuckle, which brings your thighs to dampen with slickness. You shift your thighs together to satiate the pulse of your throbbing clit. Eileen beams up at you like a child given a bag of candy. She doesn't need to say that you did it and that your plan is working, you know it. 

  He leans between the cop, close to your face to where you can smell his breath. Peppermint and cola. 

   “Meet me in the back, and I’ll make it happen.”

 

 He finishes the show as a heaping puddle in the middle of the stage. The last song was Crying in the Chapel which you deemed the utmost respect. The cops start to push people out of the chapel, and the doors opening makes the sound of rain louder along with the raging whip of the wind. Most people dashed out to their cars, and others had to wait beside a designated corner to be picked up. Eileen squeezes your hand once more. Leaning her lips to your ear she whispers. 

   “Make sure he eats at least a crumb.”

   She presses a quick kiss to your cheek before she leaves. The curtains had closed around the stage so you couldn’t see Elvis but you knew the only way out was the side of the stage where you stood. A few lingered and watched as he left, giving a sheepish wave. You absentmindedly tried to walk straight past the cops but their arms struck out and hit you in your stomach pulling you back. Confusion writes across your face. 

   “I need to go back there.”

   The cop smiles and laughs. 

   “Yeah, you and every girl in here.”

   You shake your head. 

   “You don’t get it Elvis gave me permission to meet him back there.”

   He gives you an incredulous look not believing you. You rub your temples and sigh, becoming frustrated before you have to pull out the card you dreaded most. 

   “Listen, I know the governor and he trusts me enough to be back there. I have my jacket and a pie I made for the banquet in the storage closet. I just need to go back there and get it, that's all. I’ll come right back and it won’t be more than a minute.”

  It’s quiet and you’re not sure if your half-true story would work. You’re more worried that he’s left already and thinking that you stood him up. Finally, the cop shrugs and shifts horizontally to allow you to pass as you do you smile. He grabs your arm before you can get too far. 

   “No more than three minutes.”

   “Yessir.”

    He lets go and you continue to walk to the door that Elvis had walked behind. You’re not sure where you’ll find him. There are only three different rooms in the little hallway, one of them is a unisex bathroom, the other is the pastor's office and the other is the storage room. Some of Elvis’s band walks past you talking about what they're going to do after the show. They don’t even care that you’re around them as they shuffle out the back door at the end of the hall. You go to the closet and open the door not expecting to find the man of the hour there. Your stomach drops and your body burns with goosebumps. Cheeks heating up flustered. 

   Absolutely floored. He’s eating the pie. The lid is discarded by your jacket. He’s sitting on the edge of a square table, Eileen’s cracker tub empty by him. He takes his thick index with a chunky golden ring and swipes it through the last syrup and crumb of the pie. His legs are spread out wide, and the black slacks cover his wide thighs. He sticks the pad of his finger between his plump lips and his cheeks hollow out. He places the tub by the crackers and leans his head back. He closed his eyes and groaned deep in his throat. 

   You can’t even begin to fathom what’s happening. You don’t know why he would choose your food in the back. How he chose the closet rather than the pastor's office. Why did he eat the pie when there’s a feast outside but then the realization hits. None of the visitors brought food and only the residents brought some so the visitors ate all the food outside waiting so he had none. From the mere viewing of watching him eat, he was ravenous. Dread fills you as you realize he’s eaten the entire goddamn thing. Realizing someone was in the room with him he stared at you, his eyes half closed as his gaze ran over you. He licks his lips and wipers his hand on the top of his trousers. He leans back, putting his hands behind him. 

   “Did you make this?”

   His voice is hoarse and a deep gravel within his chest. Blood rushes to your cheeks. Could he tell that you were that inconspicuous? That he could taste the pollen? No. He couldn’t, could he? You nod, incapable of speaking. Your throat is dry from anxiety. 

   “It’s really good. Should be a baker or somethin’”

   He breathes heavily, his cheeks and neck a bit pink. His face is still glossed with sweat. 

   “I wanna know what you cooked in it. Jus’ something I ain’t ever tasted before.”

   Your eyes nearly pop out of your head. You’ve stood in the same spot in front of the closed door. 

   “It’s a secret. An old recipe that uses natural oils.”

You hoped and prayed that your answer wasn’t as suspicious as it seems. He nods his head before standing. 

   “‘M sorry for eatin’ all of it. Didn’ mean to, I just burn through so much energy out there. Can’t help myself.”

   You smile shakily. 

   “Oh.”

   He scratches the back of his neck, grinning. His face is becoming more red with the blush creeping up his neck. He stands in the middle of the room only a few feet away. 

   “Which led me to eatin’ your pie. Hope you’re not angry or nothin’”

   You shake your head, wringing your hands anxiously. You can’t look at him so you look at his shoes. His smell has taken over the room. Your hormones being amplified because of your period makes his scent intoxicating. From the way he’s acting it seems like how you smell is making him antsy too. He’s tapping his foot. 

   “Made it for you.”

   As soon as you mutter the end of your sentence he walks to you. He reaches out and takes one of your hands and it makes your heart stop. You look up at him with wide eyes. The height difference makes him overlook you, he cranes his head down peering at you. Your knees go weak looking in his eyes. He smiles wide, pearly teeth and squeezes your hand. Your back is up against the wooden door as he holds you against it with his waist. His torso pressed firmly against yours. You can feel him. Feel how solid his cock is. 

   “You did? I appreciate that honey.”

   You wish he would kiss you, touch you more but he doesn’t. He just holds your hand, his grip makes the metal of his rings pinch your hand. You watch his mood shift in his eyes to a much darker tone. You can see the sweat bead and fall down his sculpted face. Feel the heat radiate off of his vast body. 

   “Pretty little thing.”

   His voice has dropped an octave lower and it’s nothing more than a mumble but you hear it. Before he leans in there’s a banging by your head. It slams three times over. 

   “Ready to go!”

   His touch leaves and your heart aches. A sheen of sadness wedges it into his eyes. He realizes that this might be the last time he sees you before he leaves for Memphis. 

   “Gimme your address.”

   He pushes out hurriedly. It’s not a question, it's a demand. You start stuttering an unfamiliar speech impediment summoning. 

   “I-I don’t have anything to write on or with.”

   He nods solemnly but he doesn’t take no as an answer. He removes himself from you entirely and scavenges throughout the small room. He finally grabs one of the Bibles and a pen tucked inside the book. He hands both of them to you and you take them. As you open the front page you write your address and name on the front cover. It’s strange since it’s like giving him your autograph. As you write your address he’s hovering over you watching you etch your way into his heart. The man on the other side pounds on the door once more. 

   “There’s a cop out here asking ‘bout some girl. You gotta open up!” 

   Elvis’s hand softly graces your shoulder, urging you to finish. 

   “Just give me a damn second!”

   He bites back through gritted teeth. You jump at his sudden outburst. Finishing suddenly with a period. He smiles hugely seeing you done. He kisses your cheek and you’re stunned at the softness of his lips against your skin. You give him the book and turn around to watch him leave. As he touches the door handle he pivots. 

   “I want to know your name.”

   You’re taken aback not understanding why, but you say it nonetheless. He nods his head, saying it to himself, committing it to memory. 

   “I like that name, it suits you.”

   Warmth spreads over you at his compliment. You stare at his broad back as he opens the door and leaves. You listen to the rain, as the familiar cop is stunned to see Elvis so close. Before he walks into the small room watching you melt. 

   “I told you three minutes.”

   “I know, he just took longer than I expected.”

 

 Sitting quietly in the back of one of the officers' cars. After the rendezvous with Elvis, you watched as the cops took people who lived in town back home. Serving as a transportation hub. You waited for your turn. The cop didn’t say a lot during the ride, only a few questions about where you lived and about Elvis. You shivered every time you talked about the musician. Not only was it freezing in the car, but your furry coat couldn’t keep up. But you were riddled with the fact that he had eaten the entire pie. You traced your fingers over the plastic tub in your lap. Not only did he do that, he has your address. Will he visit you tonight? Will he visit you at all? 

  It’s dark outside as you pass through streetlights. Your stomach twists and fills with butterflies as you think about him being in your home. Something that you imagined for so long is now coming true. 

   “Is this it up here?”

   The cop asks and you nod, he parks and watches you walk up the sidewalk and into your house before he leaves. 

   The rain manages to soak you for the few minutes you walk in it. Your house is grim when you enter. Dark and cold. You take off your jacket and place it and the tub on the island in the kitchen. Opening the drawer below the sink you take a box of matches and light the candles you had scattered around the house. The soft glow allowed warmth to spread. The smell of pumpkins started to flourish throughout your home. 

  Turning on your little box television to a random black and white cartoon. The last thing you decided to do to get settled in was to play a record. Your collection has grown over the past few years. You had more Elvis albums than any other musicians. Making a vital point to buy one whenever a movie of his would come out or a listening party would be announced. Making Eileen drive you to the nearest record store since the one in town wouldn’t have it until a week later. You’ve arranged his albums to be the ones in the front. Knowing that you were more likely to play those than any other. The record player itself sat between the columns. You touched the covers as you shuffled through. Deciding to put loving you on since it was fairly new. 

  You start to sway your hips to the first song that plays. Slipping off your boots and socks you walk to the back of the house where your bedroom was. You unbuttoned the oval buttons on your dress and folded it onto your dresser. Left in the long sleeve and little cotton panties. You opened the drawers, mumbling the words to yourself as you listened to Elvis’s singing. You grabbed a new pair of panties and a nightgown. Shedding the rest of your clothes you take the new ones with you into your small bathroom and draw a bath. 

   The hot water fills the tub and the room becomes a sauna, you place the clothes on your sink and grab the towel from the cupboard. You stare at your naked body in the mirror. Your body is already damp from the rainwater and the condensation that fills the air. Your nipples are already hard from thinking about him. God did the pollen work on you instead of him? You run your hands over your sides, up from your hips to the swell of your breasts. Imagining his hands instead. His song plays as you sway to his voice. Talk to me like that. Sing to me. Tell me you love me. It thunders outside and lightning flashes through the window above your bathtub. 

  You sigh, skin flushed from the heat. You step your foot into the hot water and turn off the faucet. Slipping deeper into the water. Completely relaxing into the oasis. You wonder what his lips will feel like on your own. What his mouth will feel like between your legs. Would he care about the taste of blood on his tongue? You close your eyes and dream. Surely you won’t have to dream any longer. You reach up, and the droplets of water run down your chest. Taking a tiny jar of essential oils you let it drip onto your neck and spread down. Cleansing and releasing your energy. You put the jar back where you got it from and lounged in the alluring water. 

   What if it didn't work? You ask yourself as insecurity wedges itself into your thoughts. He seemed awfully engaged in you at the chapel, but what if that's as far as it'll go? Your heart aches at the thought you did all of it for nothing. Maybe you should've learned from what happened to Henry and cut your ties. You don't hear the knock on your door, because the record is too loud. You think about how fitting it is that lonesome cowboy plays. 

   You hear the incessant pounding on your door like one of those cheesy horror movies where the victim runs to the house to escape the villain. You thought it would go away but it doesn't, it just gets louder. You groan, opening your eyes to stare at the white tiled wall.

   “Just a second!”

   You yell out and you blush as you remember him yelling that out earlier just to have a little more time with you. There's a dreadful ache between your legs as you dry off with the towel. You need something to fill the emptiness, that void that's growing oh so apparent. You need him. 

  You don’t drain the tub, as you put on your panties. Not caring if you bleed into them, Eileen knows a remedy to get the stains out anyway. The nightgown is dark red with the lace around your tits and thighs black. You smile as you remind yourself of a skimpier Betty Boop. You can't answer the door looking so promiscuous so you throw the fluffy bathrobe over it. The banging on your door grows, along with Elvis's slow love ballads. 

  Opening the door you're instantly hit with a massive gust of wind and emotions. It's him. He looks like a kicked puppy. He's sopping wet with water. His orange shirt is now a dark brown. His hair is messy and scattered along his face. His once dark blue eyes are now pale gray. He's heaving for air. As you stare longer you realize he didn't drive a car. He ran here with the Bible you wrote in his hand.

   “Elvis! I-what're you doing here? Why are you in the rain?” 

  Your brain runs too fast for you to comprehend his presence. The faint glow of your candles from inside is the only light shining onto his face. 

   “Had to see you. Ever since the show, I can't stop thinkin’ ‘bout you. I-I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I've never felt like this before.”

   His voice is sheepish like he’s afraid to admit what he just said. As he looks at you he’s almost brought to tears by how pretty you look. If you don’t let him in he’ll sit right down on your porch in front of your door and wait until you do. 

   “I mean come in, you’re going to catch a cold standing out there!”

   You grab onto his forearm and pull him in, opening the door wider for him. He winced at your touch. It’s too much for him, he’s too sensitive. You shut the door behind him and he stands in front of it like a statue. He sets the Bible down on top of one of his records, he smiles. He stares down at the floor, he can’t look at you. You wring your hands nervously. He’s not the same man you saw at the chapel, he’s softer, fragile. 

  “Let me get you some clothes, and warm up the bath. I’ll be right back hon don’t go anywhere.”

  You turn to leave and he catches your hand. His eyes are glassy and his lips pout. His hand is strikingly cold, and his eyebrows are furrowed. 

   “Can I go with you? I don't want to be alone again.”

   You nibble on your bottom lip, contemplating how you are going to fix him. God the pie worked. It worked too well. You nodded your head. You were going to have to call Eileen for her help, you can't have a human puppy always following you, especially since it was Elvis. 

  “Why don't we start by taking off your shoes and socks, yeah? Don't want you to leave a trail behind you.”

  He nods, he's already made a puddle by your door from just standing there. 

   “Yes, mama.”

   Your heart pounds in your chest. For some reason, your body burns alight at the name. He’s bent down and untying his shoes. 

  “What did you call me?”

  You ask softly, not believing your ears. 

  “Mama, I hope that’s fine I just I lov-,”

  He stops himself and chews on his bottom lip cursing himself for slipping up. 

  “I just like ya so much that I wanna call you mama..you make me feel so different, so-so special like my own mama does and I just- I can’t help calling you it.”

  He’s rambling now, trying to justify the newfound feelings he’s having. Feelings that are too big for him to have. Too potent and unfamiliar. He’s had girlfriends that he’s loved, sure, but never so much so as he does about you right now. 

  He finally slips off his shoes and socks and stands upright. He trails behind you as you walk back into your room. He’s mesmerized by all your decor and art. The makeup scattered on your vanity. The frame of your bed. Your clothes. The smell of your perfume. Everything you like, he loves. He keeps asking you questions about your interests and the various cult things you have strewn about. You answer every question given honestly. It’s the least you can do. You didn’t realize how difficult it was to find clothes in your own wardrobe to fit him. The record finally stops and scratches on repeat. 

  You hand him a baggy white shirt and some checkered boxers he can change into. You show him the bathroom, and as you enter he’s only seconds away from following. You sit on the edge of the tub, sticking your hand into the water to see if it’s cool enough. You turn on the faucet to warm it. As you wait, he sits on the toilet by you. He stretches his long legs out as he watches you. He takes off his rings and places them on the sink with the clothes you gave him. 

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone as pretty as you.”

   He mumbles and it makes you blush. He thinks you’re pretty. Not only that but he thinks you’re incomparable. 

  “You don’t mean that.”

  You shake your head, as you reply he finishes taking off his rings, and one of his hands cups your jaw. Making you look him dead in his uncanny eyes. 

  “What’s there not to like mama? I like everything ‘bout you and I don’t like it when you don’t see what I see,”

   He runs his thumb over your chin. 

   “It ain’t right thinkin’ that you ain’t pretty.”

   You nod. He shakes his head. 

   “Say it.”

   “I’m pretty.”

   He smiles, but it’s cold. There’s no mirth behind it. The water is finally hot enough for him to get in. 

  “It’s ready.”

  He nods and removes his touch from you. You go to stand and he holds onto your hand. Giving you puppy eyes. 

  “Don’t want you to leave.”

   You didn’t feel right leaving him, but you also desperately needed to call Eileen and ask her how to make him human again. You chew on your bottom lip, wondering what the right thing is. Finally, you smile at him. 

  “I’ll be right outside by the door. I just have to call a friend and ask her when the storm should pass.”

   His eyes linger on you and he finally lets go. 

   “Alright, don’t go too far mama I’ll miss you.”

  You give him a soft smile and walk outside the door, closing it behind you. Walking back to the front of the house you stopped the record from scratching again. Putting the plastic back into its sleeve and by the Bible. 

   The old rotary phone stuck to the wall is right next to the door and the player. You hear him take off his clothes, the wet smack of them hitting the floor makes your thighs burn. You dial Eileen’s number, cradling the phone to your face. She needs to pick up, if she doesn’t you’re not sure what you’ll do. The line is dead until she finally picks up. 

  “You’re going to have to hurry, I'm with Jim.”

  Eileen says hurriedly. Jim was her latest fling and the superior in the cult. You sigh in relief at her static voice. You curl the cord around your finger as you think. 

   “Elvis is here. In my house.”

   “That’s good!”

   Eileen says ecstatically. 

   “No, not good. It’s Henry level bad again.”

   “Oh.”

   She whispers into the phone, her mood instantly changing. 

   “How much did he eat?”

   You rub your temples as the memory of him in the chapel comes back. 

   “The whole thing.”

   She whistles low. Your anxiety grows as the morbid thoughts come into play. 

   “Well, you’re not going to like how to reverse it.”

   You’re happy to know that you can even reverse it. 

��  “Really, how?”

   “Mama..”

  Elvis whines loudly. It’s a high-pitched whine. You listen and hear the water splashing around. 

   “Jim told me how to reverse it, and Elvis is going to need to taste your blood.”

   “My blood!”

   You shriek at the incredulity of this all. 

   “How am I supposed to get him to taste my blood?!”

   Eileen is quiet on the other side of the phone for a few seconds. 

   “Are you on your period?”

   You're taken aback as to why the question matters. And then it hits you. He has to eat you out. A shiver runs up your spine. 

   “Mama..”

   Elvis whines out again. 

   “Yes, why?”

   You can hear Eileen talk to Jim before she's rushed to hang up. 

   “It's going to help you out, trust me. Oh! And before I forget he's going to have to taste his semen and your blood together. It's a love spell after all and lovemaking is the best solution to get it out of him. Bye, y/n!”

   The line goes dead after, and your mouth falls open in shock. Not only were you going to have to make him sleep with you, but you were going to have to make him eat you out after. You placed your head on the wall, putting the phone back into the case. Listening to the wailing man in the bathtub moan out Mama for the third time. 

   

It was strange seeing him in normal clothes. They were all too big for him, so they hung loosely on his body. He nursed a glass of warm milk to sip on as he sat beside you and watched the old black-and-white movie play. His gold rings gleamed brighter with the candles. Your couch could only seat three people, and he chose to sit in the middle, closest to you. His arm stretched out behind you. A quilt was shared between you both. He smelled like you. It finally felt like things had died down and simmered. It felt like when a teen girl had a boy over at her parent's house just to watch movies. You couldn't help yourself from going over what Eileen had said. Make him fuck you and eat you out after. 

   You've only spoken to him briefly since he got out of the bath. He only asked for a warm glass of milk, and the rest was quiet. There's a sensual scene playing on the TV. A woman is arching her back as the man thrusts into her, it looks as if it was made in the ‘30s. 

   You feel the soft brush of his lips against your ear as he whispers. 

   “I think I could do that to you better than he can.”

   Finally, after everything, you let go and surrender yourself to him. Not caring for the consequences, just relishing the moment. You crane your neck to the side, looking at him. His eyes are glossed over and his pale blues trail over your face. The tip of his nose is mere inches from your cheek. His middle finger swirls over the top of the glass. His lips are damp from the milk. His eyes burn into your stomach, directly into your womb.

    “You think so?”

   You ask and he nods, his voice dropping, and he takes a sip from his glass. His Adam's apple bobbles as he swallows.  

     “I know so.”

     He leans forward, placing the glass on your coffee table, and sits back, spreading his legs out wide so his knee touches yours. When you look at him, you can’t resist; you take the blanket off of his lap and yours. You swing a leg over his lap and sit down on his broad thighs. He looks up at you as you lean down. His hands squeeze the sides of your thighs, and his rings are cold on your legs. Your robe is parting so he can see your cleavage, and his eyes flick from your tits back to your eyes. The woman moans in the program. You can feel how solid his cock is—warm, hard, and right between your weeping legs. His lips are parted, and his hot breath fans across your cheeks. 

   “Can I suck on them, mama?”

   He whispers to you. You nod, shifting back so you’re sitting down fully, face to-face with him. Your robe and night dress are riding up your thighs. Taking the sash in your hand, you slip it through the rest of the robe. The sides fall open, you shimmy it off, and it falls onto your floor with a soft thud. Your nipples are already pebbled; the nightdress didn’t leave much to the imagination. He stares at the peaks. His hands leave your thighs, and they shake as they hover over your tits. You’d be shocked if he was a virgin from his rampant lifestyle, but now it looks like he’s never even touched a woman. He can’t touch you; he’ll burn. You perched on his lap, which is enough for the blood to rush to his lower abdomen. In all honesty, he’s not sure if he’s ever felt this hard- not since he first hit puberty. 

   He feels your tiny hands touch his big ones and place them on your tits. He doesn’t grope; he just holds them there. The warmth in his palms makes the buds perk up even more. 

   “Oh.”

   He mutters. You wiggle your hips on his length, and his head hits the back of the couch. His eyes roll back. He slips the bands of your dress off, and the garment pools around your hips. The bareness of your body makes you shiver. He pauses, admiring from afar. He likes the swell, the curve, and the color. He likes all of it. All of you. He cups the sides of your chest, pushing them together and watching them fall. You’re too sensitive for his bemusement. 

  “Elvis, please..”

   You urge him by pushing his hands firmly onto both of your tits. He nods, and a hand drops onto your lower back, leading you closer to him. Your stomach pressed against his. He takes one of your breasts, his mouth parting as he licks over your nipple. You arch your back to his face like the actress did on the screen. He takes the rest of it into his mouth. The wet softness of his tongue sends a wrath of fluttering to your cunt. Your hands squeeze his shoulders as his teeth graze the sensitive nerves. He gropes your hips with his free hand, encouraging you to grind against him. His eyes are closed, and his grip on your waist is going to leave a bruise. His rings bite into your skin. He nibbles on your nipple; it makes you jump and moan out his name, long and slow. 

    His hips jut up into your pussy, making you bounce when you come down. You feel dampness seep onto the lips of your cunt. He hits his head back onto the couch. He moans deep in his chest. He’s panting. 

   “Did you-?”

   You ask quietly, not trying to upset him, and he nods. 

   “Yeah, I think so.”

    He admits it absentmindedly. You smile softly, and before getting up, you press a quick kiss on his temple. It’s sweaty, but you can’t care. He watches you like a wolf as the dress falls off of you and down on the floor over your robe, leaving you in your little panties that have a dark patch under them. He adores how you look in the soft light of the candles and the TV static. The rain pours on. He lifts his hips up, slipping the boxers down his long legs. His cock springs up between his legs. Your expectations were exceeded. He’s uncut, thicker than you imagined, and what he lacks in length he makes up for with girth. The head is a ruddy color, and purple veins pulse along the side. It’s painful how hard he is—pins and needles shooting at his nerves. Even if he just came, he’s still rock solid. Cum is dripping out of his slit and down his length. Pooling at his balls. 

   Yours–his shirt, hangs over his taut stomach, touching the base. He crosses his arms and lifts the shirt over his head, leaving him bare on your couch. There’s a mountain of clothes on the floor, along with the blanket. The sight you imagined for so long made your clit throb. His legs spread out, his heavy dick in the middle of his thick thighs, and his arms spread out along the edge of the couch. His inky hair scattered messily along his face. But most of all, the way he looks at you, hungrily as a man starved. 

   You tuck your fingers under the band of your panties and take them off. His cock twitches at seeing you bare, he wets his lips. 

   “Can I make love with you mama?”

   You smile sheepishly as you walk over to him. Sitting beside him, you cup his face. Scratching softly at his cheeks. 

   “Of course.”

   You press your lips to his and it feels like fireworks burst within your soul. Getting a kiss from Elvis was a milestone in your book. His lips were soft, and his tongue tasted like milk. He was slow at first, letting you be in control, but as your tiny hands wrap around his broad shoulders and pull at the hair at the base of his neck, he loses himself. He becomes hungry, pushing his fat tongue into your mouth. He grabs onto your hips, making you lay down on the couch. Your head is by the end table. He moans into your mouth when he feels your soft thighs around his skinny waist. The groan vibrates into your chest, making you squirm. His body feels like a sauna, making you sweat. His body is sticking to yours. He leans back, his knees touching your ass. He takes his cock into his hand, jerking himself off a few times. Not that he needs to, but so he can keep whatever composure he has left. 

  His lips finally leave yours, letting you both regain your breath. It’s only then, as he looks at your pussy, he realizes you're bleeding. An inexplicable wave washes over him. Adrenaline and hormones beat into his heart. He needs to fuck his kid into you. Needs to breed you and fill you up. A brutal,l primal hunger grows within him. 

 “I don’t think I can go slow.”

 He admits it to you, and you can’t even answer before his tip works its way into your tight cunt. His mouth falls open, and you squeeze his shoulders. Blood mixed with your slick starts to coat his length. He doesn’t wait for you to relax around him, he pushes his way to his base in one swift thrust. Your head hits the table. 

  “Fuck!”

  You yell at his roughness. He grabs at your hips, pulling back out. His eyes stare at where he enters you. He’s obsessed with the way your pussy clings to him. How tight you are when he fucks into you. His balls hit your ass as he thrusts into you. He watches your tits bounce. You’re already overstimulated from being on your period but the heavy weight of his cock, pounding into your cervix makes tears well up in your eyes. Strangely enough, you feel that familiar wave in your stomach begins to build.

  “Gon” make you a real mama.”

  His grip on your hips tightens, his rings burying into your flesh. The lamp on the end table starts to wobble every time he snaps his hips into yours. 

  “Gon’ breed you ‘til you can’t even walk no more.”

   As you look into his eyes, you can’t find the sweet boy that once was there. He’s possessed by an animal. Hell-bent on making you his forever. His teeth are gritted as he continues his rampage. You weekly moan with every hit of his intrusion. You can’t help how badly your body craves this. The first time all night you finally felt content. He’s fucking the bad energy out of you, and what confuses you the most is how he’s doing that when he is the bad energy. His chest is glazed with sweat; he’s dripping on you. His lip curls up, and he takes his hand from your waist and puts it on top of your clit. The weight of it was enough to send you over the edge. Your body starts to shake, and your pussy tightens around him to the point where he can’t move. 

  “That’s it, mama.”

   He swirls his thumb lazily on your clit, watching your body wither on him. His thighs are becoming soaked with your cum. He watches you relax, your back flat on the couch. Your chest is rising and falling rapidly. 

  “Are you done?”

  You nod weakly.

  “Good.”

  He takes his thumb into his mouth and sucks on the blood that coats it. His eyes roll back into his skull as he starts his rhythm again. You can’t take his beating on your cunt, you plead with him to slow down but he doesn’t, he can’t. The loud slap of his body smacking into yours fills the air. Tears fall down your face as he goes as fast as he can. Your nails cling to his back. Clawing red stripes down it. He’s bound to be hurting in the morning, along with you. 

   After one of your nails makes his back start to welt with blood, he lays his hips against yours and releases. His cum hits right against your cervix, and you feel pleasantly full. 

   His balls draw up and then relax as he lets his load go in you. His grip softens into a caress. He doesn’t let his dick slip out of you as he lays down on top of you. His weight is pressing you deeper into the couch. The rain finally slows to a soft patter. It’s finally calm, and the tears on your cheeks are dry. 

  He’s drifting off to sleep, his arms wrapped tight around your waist. Cradling you to his chest. You run your fingers through his damp hair, watching the rest of the movie. It’s only when he whispers, I love you into your chest by your heart, that you realize that you forgot to break the spell. All you can wonder is how long his love will last.

[lillyrob]

Actual footage of me patently waiting for my favorite author to upload😫😫😫

[voxmortuus]

⇘ PAIRING:⇙ Dom!Benny Cross x Sub!F!Reader

⇘ UNIVERSE:⇙ The Bikeriders

⇘ WORD COUNT:⇙ 3k

⇘ SUMMARY:⇙ Seems you've found yourself in a rather unique situation. You've known Benny for a long while, but you always felt a little out of his league, whatever league that may be, it just didn't feel like you were good enough for him. The thing is, you're just what he's looking for. You've got a lot of love to give, a heart on your sleeve, and a loyalty that is stronger than a dog. He wants you, but he wants you specifically. He wants you to be his old lady, he wants you to be his ride or die. Once he gets you alone though, the patches stay on, and things get a little far from vanilla.

⇘ TRIGGER WARNINGS:⇙ Fluff | Language | Smoking | Smut | Some BDSMesque Scenes | Dom!Benny | Kissing | Face Smacking | Boot on Face | Hair Pulling | Fingering | Hand job | Oral (M) | Face fucking | Guided Masturbation | Benny Masturbating | Begging | Facial | These are in no particular order! PLEASE TELL ME IF I FORGOT ANYTHING!!! I want to make sure readers are fully aware of what they are getting themselves into when they read this…

⇘ NOTES:⇙ I hope this brings you some joy.

⇘ DIVIDER CREDIT:⇙ @nyxvuxoa

⇘ IMAGE CREDIT:⇙ @nyxvuxoa

⇘ My Master Masterlist ⇙

Was it happenstance, or was it planned that he happened to show up today? Handing the beer over the counter, you lean against the bar, and you smile the sweetest smile you've got in you.

"Well shit, if it ain't Benny Cross. How long has it been?" You asked. Benny looked up at you as he walked in, giving you that same crooked grin he always walked around with. He gave a slight chuckle.

"Well, no shit. It's been, what, almost 7 years?" He asked you. You nod your head and chuckle a bit.

"Yeah, somethin' like that." you smirk and look down at the bar top.

It had been what feels like forever. It feels like you haven't seen him in ages, and truth be told, it had been ages. Seven whole ages, as a matter of fact. Smirking, he looks over you as he approaches the bar. Looking over his face, you smile, and a soft blush graces your cheeks, causing you to feel warm. Letting out a soft, shaky breath, you glance around, realizing that no one else was there in the bar, but you knew that wasn't going to last too long. How do you even say what you think you need to say. You groan, and you sigh and decide not to say anything.

As the night went on, the two of you mingled and caught up. He learned quite a bit about you, just as much as you learned about him. You learned quite a bit, and he learned just as much. However, you learned something that he didn't tell you either, he had always liked you. Well fuck. Upon closing up the bar, you look at him and shake your head.

"Benny, I've always had a thing for you. I always thought you were too good for me. Outta my fuckin league." you state honestly.

Benny stopped and stared at you. "Outta my league? No, no. I felt you were outta mine. Let me ask you this... you still want me?"

"I've always wanted you... that never changed, never after all these years." you admit.

He looks at you and runs his hand over his face. Nodding his head, he looks back toward the door. Looking back at you, he walks to the door and locks it. "Come here." he points to the ground in front of him.

Lifting a well-manicured and well-defined brow, you walk to him and stand in front of him. You look over that face, that handsome, perfectly chiseled face, and you lose yourself all over again. Why? Why, when you are around him, he makes you feel so... weak. He makes you feel so... dead-brained.

Walking to you, he sticks a finger under your chin and forces you to look up at him. A thought crosses his mind, an urge.

"I want you to prove to me how much you want me." He tells you, his voice drops an octave as he watches you.

"How do you want me to do that Benny? Just say the word and you got it." You state.

"Strip, then lay flat, face down on the floor." He states.

Okay, so that was NOT what you had expected. Blinking a few times, you don't hesitate, and you do just that. Stripping down, you fold your clothes and place them to the side, and you lower yourself to the floor. Biting your lower lip, you listen as he paces around you, observing you, taking in your figure, your heartbeat picks up in anticipation as you watch his boots come into view, and he stops and looks down at you.

Benny lights a cigarette and takes a long drag from it. Watching you as you lay there, he runs his free hand through his hair and then over his facial hair for a moment. Smirking, he takes a few steps closer to you and kneels down a moment, a hand dangling between his legs.

"So, you've gone this whole time not sayin anything. All because you felt I was out of your league... You know Darlin' if you had said anything, you may have learned a thing or two about how I felt. Maybe you need to be punished for that, huh? Teach you how to speak your mind? Make you beg for my attention now?" he stated.

Why did that make your cunt tingle? Make you hot? And why the fuck did that sound like such a good idea coming from him? You nod softly.

"No, I want you to say it." He stated firmly as he took a drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke bellow above him as he exhaled.

"Yes. Punish me, teach me to speak my mind... make me... beg." You state. Your eyes look at his boots, and your fingers press into the floor as they are stretched out to your sides.

Standing up, he looks ahead of him, out the window of the bar, and smirks. He leans against the pool table, thinking of ways to punish you. Looking at your figure as you are sprawled out against the floor, so many things come to mind.

Standing back up from leaning, he pushes himself from the pool table and walks to you. He places his right boot on the side of your head. Not stepping, but applying just enough pressure for it to feel -- oddly comfortable. Your fingers press into the floor as you gasp. Why are you feeling this right now? Feeling these... feelings push through your thoughts. You bite your lip, and you let out a slow breath.

"Now, I've been thinking, since walking into this place, since we started talking, reminiscing about the past. I have been thinking about how things could go. About how we could have been together this whole time. But now, now I see the kind of girl you really are. I won't lie, Darlin'... kinda revs me up a bit. Eager to please." he mused a moment.

Looking down at you, he tilts his head, a sight for sore eyes, and fuck did he enjoy the view. Licking his lips, he took another drag from his smoke before he reached over to a close by table and tapped the ashes into an ashtray he had. With your head under his boot, he looks over the rest of your body. Leaning over with a smoke between his lips, his fingers run down the length of your spine. Feeling your flesh under his fingers.

"Soft to the touch." he pointed out.

Standing back up, he moved away from you, leaving you to bite your lip and almost ask for more. But instead, he reached down, grabbed your hair, and moved you to a standing position. You guided yourself with ease, and there was this deeper part of you that also enjoyed that. "What is wrong with me?" you asked yourself.

Moving you to sit in a chair, he spreads your legs apart. Looking over you, he licks his lips.

"Hands on your thighs, don't move them." He demands.

You nod in agreement. He wasn't going to demand the 'Sir' word just yet, but holy fuck was he going to enjoy it when it happened.

"Now I'm going to ask you a question, either say yes or say no. It's that simple. Got it?"

"Yes. I understand."

"Good. I'm going to hurt you, but it's not because I want to hurt you, it's because well... I want to see you in a different light, and because I enjoy it. Do you consent?" he looks over your face.

Taking a moment to understand, you've read some raunchy trashy books, so you knew not to compare the two, you weren't that naïve. You draw in a breath and you nod. "Yes. I consent." you finally state.

With a smirk across his lips, he nods. "Good girl. So long I've wanted to do this to you." He stated as he put his smoke out.

Walking behind the bar, he went to wash his hands, took a swig off a whiskey bottle, and made his way back toward you. Standing in front of you, he tilts his head. With a firm hand, he looks at you and throws it across your face. At first, you gasp, you close your eyes, your head whipped to the side. You whimper, not sure how to feel about it. You look to the ground, but he takes your chin and forces you to look back at him, and he smiles. Giving you a wink, and that's when you feel this sense of calm wash over you. It's like this switch was flipped in your mind. Submissive mode on... more so than before.

You didn't dislike the feeling on your skin, a hot sting. He brought his hand back, and it met your face again. Quickly moving to grab your chin, he leaned in and kissed your lips softly.

"Atta girl." he praised.

You felt this bubble of excitement rise inside you. It was this rush that moved through your veins like a hot liquid. Bubbling at the surface, wanting more.

"More, please." You ask.

He was happy to oblige. A little harder, be clipped your lip, but you didn't mind. The coppery taste on your tongue was sort of pleasant, a welcomed gift. You smile looking up at him. He looked at you, almost worried, but yet oddly calm. He smirked, leaning in he kissed you again, nipping at your now swollen lip. You feel your lower lips clench and quiver with want. Your breath was shaky against his lips.

His hand moves down your torso, moving to grip a breast before his hand moves down your apex right to your core. Your breath, staggered, your heart, pounding, your mind, stupid. You clench your lower walls and bite your lip, watching him, feeling him, desiring and needing him. You whimper. His fingers hover, and the heat from his flesh kisses your warm, swollen, needy bud.

When he finally brings his fingers to touch you, you gasp. You lock eyes with him, studying his baby blues as he begins to work your little swollen bundle of nerves. His free hand moves to jerk your head back by pulling your hair, as he hovers over you. His legs pressed against yours spreading your legs further as he worked you, exposing you to the pool table behind him.

But it was when he slid his fingers into you that your mind went more stupid. You let out a heavy moan as your eyes flutter, feeling his fingers work you. Leaning back in the chair, you let him take complete control, as he desired, and your body was no longer your own, and you were far from upset with that idea.

His fingers were like magic, but suddenly that all came to a stop. He looks at you, holding his fingers up as he looks at you. Bringing them to his lips he placed them in his mouth and smirked.

"Finger lickin good... Now... show me what you do with that pussy of yours when you think of me, because let's face it, Darlin, with all you've admitted, I know you've thought about me." He smirked as he moved back to lean against the pool table.

Looking at you he watches intently. Your hand moves to your bud as you slowly begin to work yourself. You watch him, intently, watching how he moves, how he breathes, how his lips curl with that crooked grin of his. You begin to remember how his lips tasted, how they felt against yours, how his fingers felt playing with you. You whimper as you bring your other hand up to grip your breast. Your breathing becomes heavy and you watch as the front of his pants grow tight.

Biting your lip you tasted the blood but your focus was on him.

"Atta girl, slow down, not too fast." he guides.

He readjusts against the pool table as he undoes his pants, freeing himself, he begins to stroke himself slowly. You slow down a bit, your toes curl against the floor as your legs spread even wider giving him a full view as you scoot forward a bit and expose your whole self even more.

"Just like that, keep going. What crosses your mind when you think of me?" he asked you.

Letting out a whimper you look over him as he strokes himself right in front of you. Dear fuck, his cock is god damned perfect.

"What you would feel like inside me." You state honestly with a soft whimper.

"What I'd feel like inside you huh? Well, maybe if you're a good girl, you'll find out." He mused as he moved his hand a little quicker against his cock. "Pick up a little speed." He demanded.

Without a shadow of hesitation, your fingers begin to work yourself quicker. You moan a little louder. His hand works himself faster, a little harder. He grunts, you whimper. It's a tandem of back and forth, a perfect give and take.

It feels like a lifetime, but a lifetime you'd never give back. He sees how wet you are, how you're beginning to drip off the edge of the chair. He snarls and walks to you, taking you by your hair he guides you to the floor and slips his cock between your lips, pressing to the back of your throat. He lets out a heavy groan.

Like a good girl, you take all of his cock, your tongue swirling around as he uses you like a little sex doll, fucking your face. He pulls you back, strings of spit from your mouth to his cock still connected as he slaps you across the face and shoves his cock down your throat again. Your eyes water and your breathing through your nose becomes heavy, and he does it again. Pulls you from his cock, slaps your face and brings your mouth back to his cock, and proceeds to fuck your throat and mouth, his grip on your hair tight it pulls at your scalp. Your moans and whimpers echo and vibrate through him and you as he uses your head to pleasure himself.

"Finger yourself." He snarls

You begin to do just that, your fingers working yourself as your mouth is being used. He smirks looking down at you before he's had enough of using your face he throws you back onto the floor and stands over you.

"Keep going." He demands.

And you do, you don't question him.

"Yes Sir." You state. Again, no question.

He's officially lost all control, at this point you both have. He works his cock faster, and you're watching every bit of it while you're moaning loudly just slightly below him as you work your bud, driving your fingers as deep as you can, feeling your wetness. You want to finish, you're right there, you almost cannot contain that hot explosion between your legs.

"No girl, you gotta beg for that finish." He states.

"Please, please let me cum" You plead.

He shakes his head. "Not yet... keep going... faster." He demands.

A soft whimper escapes your lips as you work yourself faster, you arch slightly your toes curled under you. You're rocking back and forth your hips buckle.

"Please... please Sir... I want to cum. Can I please. Please." You beg.

He looks down at you as he works his cock, and he feels his own eruption on the rise. He looks down at you and smirks.

"Open up." He states.

Opening your mouth, you stick your tongue out flat and you begin to taste those hot wet ribbons as he releases against your tongue, and over your face.

"Come on... Cum for me." He growls as he continues his facial finish.

You let out a heavy moan, a loud breathy gasp as your body begins to tremble. His cock tapped against your tongue as if saying he was finished with his finish. He watches you shake, almost a pleasure convulsion. You begin to giggle, swallowing what was in your mouth, and cleaning up your face. Licking it from your fingers.

"Thank you." you muse.

He looks over you and smiles. "No, thank you." he chuckles as he puts himself away.

Moving toward you, he scoops you up places you on the pool table, and looks over your face. He moves a moment and grabs a bottle of water from the bar fridge, and a clean, rag, getting it cool, he moves back toward you. Wiping your face, and neck, he starts to wipe you off and smiles handing you the water bottle.

"So I have a question." He states.

"Yes Sir?" you ask.

"How about you be my Old Lady... my ride or die... my one and only. My little pet... my little pain slut... my girl." He asked you looking over your face.

You look up at him, and this sense of perfection washes over you as you lean forward and kiss him sweetly. "I've waited a long time for that..."

"So is that a yes?" he asks with a smirk.

Nodding your head you chuckle place your arms around him and pull him in for another kiss. "That's a Yes." you whisper against his lips.

Smirking he presses his lips against yours and wraps his arms around you. Holding you tightly against him he leans back and looks over your face.

"Now, how about I take you back to my place, and show you how I feel inside you..." he smirked.

Nodding your head you chuckle. "Yes please, Sir." you whisper against his lips.

He kisses you again, and helps you get dressed before he takes you to his bike, hands you a helmet, and takes off in the direction of his place.

Everything that happened today, it felt like a dream, but this dream was one you'd remember. Only it wasn't a dream. This was real, and you were about to unlock a new chapter in your life.

[lustnhim]

manspreading 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

inspired by a post i saw on tiktok. i just climb right between them and lay down on his thighs :( ugh, cute baby.

[bodyelectr1c]

keep talkin’

austin butler as benny cross

just smut, no plot

i love benny, i was enamoured in the cinema

warnings: degradation, rough sex, possessiveness, a little overstim if you squint, not proofread, dirty talk

no spoilers for the bikeriders movie :)

benny cross wasn’t much of a talker

from the day you’d met him, he always let you do the talking. he’d let you go on and on without more than a few words, and you didn’t mind it, and clearly, nor did he.

but when it came to sex, benny cross talked.

talked you through your orgasm, talked dirty to you, degraded you, the whole lot. his voice was deep and rough during sex, a result of the years of smoking and riding, and he took the utmost advantage of this.

from the first time he claimed you, bullied his fat cock into you, saw how you reacted when he talked down to you, told you how much of a slut you were, how tight you were, writhing and babbling on his cock while he split you open, he knew he had found his favorite game.

benny reveled in it, got off on it, honestly. the way you melted under his words, in the way your body betrayed your mind's resistance, the way you’d squirm and try to stifle your moans, trying to hide the way his degradation turned you on.

"look at you," he'd tsk, feigning disapproval “fucking desperate for my cock. you need it, don’t you baby?” his grip punishing on your hips, forcing you to take every inch. "such a needy little slut, can't get enough of my cock, can you? always so tight for me, always so wet."

with benny, every thrust was deliberate, each stroke accompanied by a litany of degrading affirmations. "you love this, don't you? being my fuck toy, my little whore. look at how you're dripping for me. pathetic." he’d spit out between ragged moans

you'd gasp, the shame mixing with pleasure, making your body respond even more fervently to his rough handling. he'd grab your hair in fistfuls, pull your head back, making sure you saw the depravity in your own eyes reflected in the mirror.

"fuck- cmon, take it all, you fucking minx. you were made for this, weren't you? for me, to be used, to be filled up with my cum. fucking say it." he’d prompt you as he jackhammered the fat head of his cock further in you, smacking against your cervix repeatedly with a squelching sound.

and you would, because he made you, because his voice alone made you almost cum on the spot.

because the power in his voice left no room for anything else but obedience.

"yes, benny, fuck- ‘m yours, need your cock, need to get fucked, love your cock, please cum in me, pleasepleaseplease." you barely even knew what you were saying, you just knew you needed him, needed what he could give you.

he’d let out a loud, deep moan, music to your fucking ears, the sound sent shivers down your spine even as your body betrayed you again, arching into his touch, seeking more.

he'd smack your ass, hard, leaving his mark on you as a reminder of who you belonged to, relishing in your screams.

"that's right. you’re mine. no one else can fuck you like this, stuff their cock so deep in you, make you forget your own name. no one else can make you cum like i do.” his voice would begin breaking, his moans choked as he neared the edge. “cmon baby, cum on my cock, cum for me, m so close. don’t- fuck, don’t forget this feeling baby. don’t forget how good i stretch you, fill you. you feel full baby? stuffed?”

all you could do was nod, frantically as your thighs shook and your orgasm washed over you, and despite all he’d say, benny would hold you close, soothe your body through the orgasm as it wracked through you, whispering praises and endless filthy words into your ear.

"that's my good girl, my perfect little slut. look at you, falling apart for me, taking every inch like you were made for it."

he'd hold you tighter, his thrusts growing more erratic, more desperate, each one fucking you further into the mattress, fucking deeper into your already overstimulated cunt. his big, rough hands, callused from years on the bike, would wander over your body, leaving eventual bruises and marks in their wake, reminding you of your place, of his dominance.

"fuck, baby," he'd groan, the desperation in his voice eminent. "'m gonna fill you up, gonna pump you full of my cum. you want that, hm? want me to cum in your pretty cunt, baby?"

you'd nod, barely coherent, lost in the haze of pleasure and degradation, along with the comedown of your high. "yes, benny, please. need it, need you s’ bad."

his grip would tighten impossibly more, breath hot against your neck as he thrust deeper, harder, faster, driving himself to the brink.

"take it all, baby. so good for me, gonna mark you as mine."

with a final, guttural growl, benny would bury himself to the hilt, body shuddering as he came, flooding you with his release. the feeling of him pulsing inside you would trigger another wave of pleasure, leaving you trembling and spent beneath him.

benny would never let you go immediately.

he'd stay buried deep inside you, breathing heavy, his hands still possessive on your skin. he'd savor the moment, the way your body molded to his, the way you fit him perfectly.

"good girl," he'd murmur, his voice softer now. "you did so good for me. you’re perfect baby,” he’d punctuate his sentence with a soft kiss to your lips, before pulling out, exuding another moan from you.

he’d smirk, rolling over to the bedside table, already reaching for a cigarette.

[wanderingelvis]

hi girlie! love your work, please could you write about a reader that loves sex with ep but is still very innocent?

i hope you like it! thank you for requesting!

masterlist is here for more elvis fics takin' new elvis requests here

wc - 2.8k

warnings - SMUT, daddyk!nk, profanity, overstim, praisek!nk, innocencek!nk, all the usual stuff for me

Elvis was the one to expose you to a lot of your firsts. Your first kiss, your first time in Las Vegas, your first designer dress, your first sip of alcohol but most importantly, your first experience of sexual pleasure. 

Now, despite your innocence, even you knew that Elvis had been with many lovers and was well known for his abilities in the bedroom. Sure, it made you a little hesitant at first, a little scared that he would find someone more exciting and experienced than you and forget all about you. Actually, you were more than a little scared of that happening, you were terrified, you didn't even want to fall for Elvis because you never felt that you were worth the famous man's time or attention but oh Lord, you fell hard.

And you could tell straight away why so many people fell for him, when he looked at you, it felt like he was looking through to your soul and out the other side again. It was like you were the only person in the world to him in that moment.

But when Elvis introduced you to the world of pleasure and sex, you couldn't get enough. You were nervous during your first times, so, so nervous and Elvis could tell. But he went slowly with you, praising you and cooing at you as you took all of him, even if it stretched your walls and made a few sweet, little tears trickle down your cheeks.

Elvis would always praise you and make it clear what he was doing too, never leaving you in the dark.

"M'gonna take off these pretty lil' panties now, little girl."

"Open them lips f'me doll, that's it, just like that, good." He would hiss.

"Daddy's gotchu, s'okay baby, yer likin' that ain't ya? S'okay, I know yer overstimulated. That's my girl."

"Yer takin' my fingers so well little one, that's right, you're doin' so good f'me. You like that dontchu dolly? Yeah? M'gonna add another finger, stretch out yer pretty lil' cunt, I know you can handle it baby."

And he'd delight in watching you get so worked up under him, writhing with pleasure and practically begging for more through whimpers and tears each time.

Yet still, that sweet naivety that clouded you never left. You were always still seeking Elvis' guidance and love and attention and that's when Elvis realised the gem that he had in you.

You'd gaze up at him with uncertainty, seeking reassurance with every move as he would teach you all the ways he enjoyed being pleasured and Elvis would have to stroke your pretty little head as he taught you how to give it.

You became obsessed with feeling pleasure from Elvis, you found yourself begging and mewling for it in the morning, whispering in Elvis' ear during the day asking for him to take you, and undressing yourself at the earliest opportunity in the evenings so that Elvis would have his way with you.

And he'd always chuckle at you fondly, adoring your sweet desperation. 

You didn't even know the names of the acts that the two of you were performing but it didn't matter, your head became fuzzier and fuzzier over time, your only goal was to feel the pleasure that Elvis gave you.

And it wasn't long before Elvis realised you were his naive little nymphomaniac.

You were sat in your regular spot in the International, watching Elvis perform. You just thought he was oh so magical, the way he sang, the way he moved and gyrated on stage, captivating you and the rest of the audience. You watched tiny beads of sweat drip down his tanned face onto the chest hairs that were exposed by the white jumpsuit he wore.

He'd look over at you, every now and then, sending you a wink to make sure you knew he remembered that you were the most important little girl in the audience and by the end of the show, that sweet desperation that had started to become an all too familiar feeling, was creeping its way in. 

And Elvis just loved to tease you. He practically relished in watching you whine and plead for his touch and his love, he just thought you were so sweet, especially when you still didn't understand half of what was going on, you just got so carried away. 

So, when you and Elvis finally made it back up to the hotel suite after the show, you were nothing short of desperate. See, Elvis had this thing where he was just so damn nice to everyone that after a show, he'd go around and thank everyone for their hard work, and whilst you loved that about him, you were growing needier and needier by the second.

Elvis knew you all too well though, he knew that he was dragging this out for his little desperate baby. In fact, he didn't just know, he enjoyed it. Elvis decided to drag out the process and turn you into his own needy little mess tonight.

"You look so pretty tonight baby, y'know that? Got all dressed up n'pretty f'me huh?" Elvis teased, lowering his head slightly to kiss the top of yours as his large hand traced your skimpy, sparkly dress that he'd bought for you, only three days before. 

You gulped and nodded quickly, smiling and letting out a giggle - he'd barely touched you and yet there you were all flustered. 

It was no surprise though that just a couple of loving words and a gentle touch from Elvis would send you spiralling each time he did it. You'd never experienced life the way that you had since Elvis came into it, before Elvis, you would attend your part time job, go to the library and do your studies. It was mundane, unexciting, and repetitive. Then, you met the most famous man in the entire world and everything changed, you had so many new experiences from spending hours in lavish boutiques, to dining next to the King of Rock n' Roll as you both sat in the crowd, watching Frank Sinatra singing. 

In all honesty, it was a life you were never prepared for, you still weren't adjusted to it all that well, that's why you clung to Elvis, he was like some form of security blanket for you, a protector of sorts that looked after you and cared for you. He knew you were new to everything so he would always take things slow with you, making sure that you were always okay and comfortable. 

He'd help alleviate the stress of the lifestyle change in lots of ways, for example, he would choose what you wore each day and how you did your hair and make up. Now, many people had called this controlling, but how were you, a girl that had never stepped foot on the Las Vegas strip, supposed to know what to wear to a casino and show? Elvis knew what would look good on you and what would be appropriate for each occasion because Elvis always knew what was best for you. He ended up knowing you better than you knew yourself.

The new world that surrounded you, Elvis' world, was intoxicating. You hardly ever had time to think straight or understand what was going on around you. 

But what you did know was that when Elvis touched you, you felt good, so you chased that feeling. 

"C-Can we, can we do the stuff?" You whispered, avoiding Elvis' gaze.

Elvis smirked, oh Lord you were just the most adorable little thing. "The stuff? Well baby, yer gon' have to use a couple more words than that." Elvis said with a dry chuckle, lighting up one of the Cuban cigars that Sammy Davis Jr had gifted him.

You sighed a little, a mix of desperation, impatience, frustration and embarrassment. "Can, c-can you, touch me?" You asked softly. "Please?" You squeaked, pleadingly.

"Oh Little One," Elvis hushed, causing a sweet whine to leave your lips. "Y'need me t'touch you huh baby?" Elvis teased as you nodded almost frantically with wide eyes, leading him to chuckle at your state. "Need me t'make you feel good hm?" Elvis said, his eyes growing dark in comparison to your wide, sparkly eyes.

"Uh-huh," You squeaked adorably, barely an inch between the two of you. 

God, Elvis could just devour you. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat as he cupped your face in his large coarse hands, his left hand also holding his cigar between his fingers, the warm filler of it tinging the skin on your pink cheek, making you wince as you gazed up at him with eyes wider than a Disney princess.

"I ain't gon' touch you tonight honey, no, yer gon' do it all on yer own." Elvis whispered cooly, as you whined at the thought of not having him touch you, your eyes resembling that of a puppy dog as your desperation grew.

"What do you mean?" You murmured looking up at Elvis tentatively with a shaky voice as Elvis placed his large hand on the small of your back and guided you to the bed where he set you down, moving you like you were his own little doll, but in many ways, that's exactly what you were.

"You're so needy Little One, yer gon' have t'learn how to pleasure yerself baby," Elvis teased, facing you as you sat upright, letting his hands roam up your sides as your body trembled in his hold.

You chewed on your lip cutely, "Are you not gon' touch me at all?" You asked, your head tilting.

"No honey, y'gotta learn how to touch yerself, yer gon' touch yerself f'me okay baby?" Elvis instructed and you nodded despite feeling apprehensive. "Good girl." Elvis praised. "All I'm gon' do is get you undressed so I can watch all of you as you play with your lil' pussy."

You shivered as Elvis' coarse hands shimmied your dress up, exposing your white panties that already had a wet patch that was making the fabric sheer and translucent, letting Elvis see the pretty pink flesh that was so needy. 

"Let's get these cute lil' panties off baby, looks like y'need them off." Elvis chuckled making you blush. "Oh baby, m'only teasin." Elvis said, soothing you as he dragged the damp panties over your legs, letting them pool at your feet as he grabbed each leg and helped untangle them from you, all the while being careful not to singe your skin with the burning cigar that he took a puff from every now and then. "Atta girl." He cooed. "Now, pretty girl, spread them legs f'me." Elvis instructed and you did exactly what you were told, gazing at him intently.

Elvis really had taken over your entire life, you basically worshipped the man. Sure, there was a noticeable age difference and there was a definite power imbalance but as much as you worshipped him, Elvis treated you like you were the most delicate, precious thing in his life.

Despite Elvis having all the power, he could practically feel his old men knees buckle whenever you would lie there on the mattress, staring up at him adoringly with those wide eyes full of curiosity and love. Your plump, glossy lips parted ever so slightly as you studied all of Elvis' movements as he took your tender wrist in his large hand, guiding your hand to your slick coated cunt.

Your breathing was shaky at best, your chest rising and falling ever so erratically, making Elvis smirk at how nervous you were, even though he knew how much you needed to be satisfied.

Slowly, he directed his hand over yours, making your soft, small fingers fondle your soaked folds, your slick leaking from your pussy as your fingers traced up and down your slit. 

Your gaze wandered back and forth between Elvis and what was happening 'down there', the curiosity and nervousness getting the better for you as you let out soft gasps and mewls at yours and Elvis' actions.

"Keep going." Elvis commanded, removing his hand from yours, letting you continue on with the motions as you began to pleasure yourself in front of the old man. "Tell me how it feels honey."  Elvis said, his voice emotionless as his eyes darkened on you as you squirmed about.

You blinked hazily, your mind becoming a mess, your attention becoming divided by the overwhelming sense of pleasure and the God of a man that stood at the end of the bed, towering over you, not taking his eyes off you and your body.

Only a single, small lamp illuminated the room in a dull, dark pink tone, the rest of the light coming from the Las Vegas strip, the bright lights reflecting into Elvis' suite, letting Elvis see the silouhette and highlights of your body as you let your fingers rub around your clit in circular motions, eliciting soft whines from you.

"Feels so... feels so nice." You sighed lazily, moving your hips in a pathetic attempt to create more pressure between you and your own hand - but Elvis could only find it adorable how desperate you were. "B-But," You said through breathy whimpers. "Want you."

Elvis smirked, a slight chuckle leaving him, one that had an almost sadistic tone to it as he walked to a chair opposite the bed and sat in it, taking a puff from his cigar, letting the smoke cloud him as he stared at you.

"Not tonight little girl. Yer gon' keep going until yer learn how to make yerself cum like a good girl." Elvis hissed, causing you to whine at his denial. "Tell me what yer gon' learn, I want to hear you say it." Elvis softly demanded.

"Gonna, gonna," You whined, trying to do as you're told all the while touching your cunt. "Learn how t'make myself cum." You recited, your mind becoming hazy and the pace of your fingers quickening.

"Why?" Elvis teased, enjoying watching you battle with yourself, as he made you have to think whilst he knew that all you wanted to do was mindlessly pleasure yourself.

"Good girl, m'a good girl." You whimpered, your eyes beginning to brim with tears.

"That's right baby." Elvis praised, taking a drag from his cigar, never letting his eyes leave your body. "Put your fingers in your pussy for Daddy." Elvis instructed firmly - almost coldly.

You blinked at him, pausing your motions to silently confirm what he had said to you.

"Now." Elvis growled and you nodded tearily, pushing two fingers into your soaked hole, whimpers leaving your lips as your pink cheeks felt tears trickling down them from the sensations and the experience.

"You've never fingered yerself, pretty girl?" Elvis asked, watching your trepidation and jolted movements, he could tell you were experienced from the smallest of things.

All you could manage was a shake of your head as it rested on the mattress, your eyes rolling towards the back of your head as you let your fingers pump in and out of your pink pussy - and if your cheeks weren't already pink enough, Elvis would've seen a blush creeping onto your face at the question.

You cry out adorably from the pleasuring feeling, as you practically hump your own fingers, not noticing that Elvis is now palming the large bulge in his pants.

Oh, how he loved to be the one to corrupt you like this.

"Faster." Elvis demanded before you stared at him with nerves and apprehension in your eyes. "Don't you want to be my good girl?" Elvis teased, exploiting your desire for praise.

You nodded feverishly, tossing your head back onto the mattress as you let your fingers tease your hole at a quicker pace, slipping through your walls, your own slick acting as lube.

"Look at you, so needy, doin' such a good job of playing with your cunt and puttin' on a show fr' Daddy." Elvis praised, knowing his words would send you spiralling.

And he didn't stop, urging you on with gentle commands, praises and downright filthy comments as he got off to you masturbating for the first time.

"Such a needy puppy, ain't ya? That's it, doin' such a good job baby."

"Yer such a pretty sight fr' Daddy, fuckin' yerself with those fingers baby, it's okay, you can go faster, you can do it."

"Just breathe baby, y'can fit in another, I know that pretty pussy of yours can handle it. Good girl, that's it."

"Feelin' good huh? Gon' touch yerself when I'm on stage huh? Yer cunt that desperate huh kid?"

Elvis continued teasing and praising you, talking you through your first orgasm from your own masturbation, your mewls turning into full-blown cries before your body collapsed, and you lethargically pulled your fingers from your glistening, wrecked cunt.

You pushed yourself up and blinked adorably, looking at the wet patches on the silk bedding before you shyly looked up at Elvis.

"M'sorry, I made a mess on your sheets." You whimpered, still feeling overwhelmed and extra-sensitive, sniffling as you wiped away a stray tear.

Elvis couldn't help but smirk at the adorable sight in front of him.

You, the love and light of his life, a naked, flustered, soaked mess on his silk bed sheets, your chest rising and falling erratically as you came down from your self-inflicted high.

"Uh-uh, ain't nothin' t'be sorry about baby." Elvis cooed and he watched relief wash over you as you offered him the goofiest, sweetest smile at the reassurance and Elvis felt his both his heart and cock jump.

How had he been so lucky to have such a sweet, little, naive nymphomaniac such as you?

[lala1267]

Her Property (Part 2)

Summary: She got what she wanted.

Warnings: smut but not too bad, breaking into a hotel room?

Aria was spralled out on her pink satin queen bed. The headboard was decorated with fairy lights and Polaroids of Elvis performing on the grand stage. The pillows were in shapes of love hearts and flowers. Her hair hugged the satin sheets, and her dress hiked up to her thighs. She lay there just staring at the giant diamond chandler that hung above her. Her brain was clouded with thoughts.

"I want Elvis, I need Elvis."

She whispered to herself as she remained stuck in her lustful haze. She was willing to do anything to have her man, anything. The sound of the television echoed around the pink room. Suddenly, her eyes widened, and her body jolted as she heard,

"Elvis is in New York."

Coming from the television. She instantly sat up. Her bare feet hit the shiny wooden floor before she ran over to the television at lightning speed. She got on her knees in front of it as her bambi eyes watched the screen like a hawk. Her messy hair and her eerie look only added to her insanity.

"Elvis is in New York City for an interview on 5th Street. He is predicted to be there at 4pm. He is said to be staying at a hotel nearby."

That was all that Aria needed to make her insane thoughts a reality. She looked at the rather large clock that hung on her pink painted wall.

"3.10pm"

She said to herself before getting up and rushing to her closet. She threw all of her clothes on the floor and on her bed until she found the perfect outfit. She picked out a short tight dress that hugged her figure perfectly. It was a cherry red, and it was studded with expensive Ruby's that gleamed and twinkled in the light. She had also picked out a pair of black dolly heels and a black ribbon to sit in her blond luscious curls. Her makeup was perfect. She was perfect. She grabbed her handbag and rushed out of the door.

She walked over to 5th Street. The cold breeze hit her pretty face and pushed her golden hair back. She noticed a big crowd of people and a large black limousine.

"Elvis."

She said to herself before making her way to the crowd. Women screamed like animals and men scoffed as their girlfriends worshipped the godly man that graced their presence. Elvis stepped out of the limo and began to sign autographs and take pictures. He had a smile on his face as always. He was dressed in a silk button-up long-sleeved t-shirt that was colourful. He wore some classic black flares, and of course, he wore his signature gold belt. His dark shades covered his dreamy eyes. His black tarr hair shielded the top part of his shades. He towered over the dozens of women and even the men.

Aria finally got to the crowd, but by the time she arrived, Elvis was already inside. Her heart sunk slightly as she looked at the empty limousine. But she wasn't going to give up that easily. She saw a rather large looking security guard standing near the entrance of the building. She quickly walked over to him and tapped him on the shoulder with her acrylic nail that was studded with little diamonds. The man turned around and looked down at her with a frown.

"What?"

He grunted.

"Do you know where the hotel is that Elvis is staying in by any chance?"

She asked politely. She put on her best puppy eyes and stood like a lady. The man looked down at her before pointing to a local hotel that was right across the road. Aria's eyes followed his hand. She nodded before rushing over to the hotel.

She ran across the street as cars honked their horns at her. She stopped in the middle of the street and faced one of the cars.

"Shut up!"

She shouted at the driver before walking off and flicking her hair. She finally got to the hotel. She walked through the entrance as if she owned the place. She saw some of the Memphis Mafia members in the lobby. They were already looking at her up and down. She wasn't surprised. She was a very pretty girl. She swayed her hips and swung her long hair as she walked elegantly over to the vending machine. Her heels were clicking on the marble floor that she graced. She pretended to choose one of the items. It was only a matter of time until she would have the Memphis Mafia at their knees for her.

"3, 2, 1..."

She slowly and quietly counted down.

"Ma'am, don't worry, I can buy ya something from that, I will pay."

Jerry schilling said as he came rushing over to the beauty queen. His blonde hair and smart suit were quite attractive, but Aria was here for Elvis, not Jerry. She turned around to look at the handsome man in his eyes. A sexy grin formed on her pink glossy lips as her long black eyelashes batted.

"Oh, I couldn't accept that."

She said in a high-pitched voice as she wafted her small jeweled out hand. Jerry was quick to respond.

"Oh, no, I can't let a pretty girl like you pay."

He said as he stepped closer to her. Aria smiled slightly as she looked up at him.

"Well in that case, I'll have a cherry cola."

She said as she looked at him with her bambi eyes. Jerry nodded before pressing a few buttons and inserting a few coins into the vending machine. He patiently waited for the cola to come out. He grabbed it and gently handed it over to Aria, who was drowning in her own ego.

"Could I get your name, my lovely?"

"My name is Aria."

She said in a flirtatious tone.

"Well, Aria, that's a pretty name. Tell me what you are doing here."

"I'm just booking a room for the night."

She said.

"I'm also staying here for the night. I don't know if you know already but I work for Elvis and he's staying at this hotel. He's staying in room 222, and I'm in room 234."

He said. He followed his sentence with a flirtatious wink. This was exactly what Aria wanted to hear. Aria smiled and tucked a hair behind her ear before she continued to make small talk with Jerry for what seemed like forever. Once she was finished she walked up to the receptionist and booked her room.

"What room would you like to book ma'am?"

The receptionist lady asked politely.

"Room 221 please, and for one night."

Aria said kindly.

"Ok ma'am."

"Oh, wait. Could you please give me an extra set of keys, I stayed at this hotel before and I lost them, its always better to have a backup."

She said as she fake smiled at the lady. The lady turned around to the key sections. Many different numbers were wrote onto each slot, representing each room.

"Your room 221, so this must be yours?

The receptionist asked.

"Mine is the one that says 222. Another man said that he would have to put my set of keys in the 222 slot since there wasn't any space."

She said as she pointed to the 222 slot. The receptionist furrowed her brows in confusion but she let it slide. Once the receptionist was fully turned around, Aria had to cover her cheeky grin with her hand. The receptionist turned back around and handed her the keys before working again.

"Thankyou ma'am."

She said before walking off with a skip in her step. She walked into the elevator and pressed the button for floor 8. She turned around to look at the mirror that was polished perfectly. She began to rummage through her handbag. She pulled out some lip gloss that was a baby pink. She carefully applied the substance to her plump lips before blowing a kiss to herself. The bell rang to signal that she had reached floor eight. She turned around whilst putting the lip gloss back into her bag. As the doors opened, a large smile cascaded over her face. She walked out of it like a happy child.

She made her way to her room. She fiddled with the keys and turned the handle until it unlocked. She walked in and shut the door behind her. She didn't think twice before throwing her stuff onto the bed and walking straight back out. She checked her watch once she was in the corridor. It's was 4.50pm.

Elvis would be back any minute. She quickly pulled out the silver keys that had the number "222" engraved onto the shiny metal. She sneakily unlocked Elvis's door whilst she looked around suspiciously. She heard a click as she slowly pushed open Elvis's door. She quietly stepped into the dark room. Her doll eyes scanned the room briefly before she shut the door.

She flicked a light switch, and she watched as the luxurious room light up. It was beautiful. A large vanity sat itself next to the bathroom door, and a grand king bed was placed neatly next to a wall. Her heels hit the purple carpet beneath her as she explored the room. She walked up to the nightstand. It seemed that Elvis had already been in here since his wallet and belongings were sitting there. She carefully grabbed the wallet with her small hands and opened it. Her sparkling eyes widened as she saw the hundred dollar bills that were stashed in there like they were nothing. But her eyes were quickly hooded when she saw a small picture in a small pocket within the wallet. Her fingers slid into the pocket and pulled out the thin paper.

It was Elvis doing a funny pose with another woman. The woman had jet black hair, just like Elvis's. She was wearing an expensive looking dress. Her hand was placed on his face. Aria's heart sunk and shattered as she saw the large diamond ring on the woman's finger. It couldn't be. She turned the picture over to reveal Elvis's hand righting. It read,

"My beautiful wife."

Aria seemed to be stuck or even frozen. Her fists bawled, and her cheeks grew red. Her teeth grinded against eachover.

"Wife, my ass."

She said through her teeth to herself as she forcefully shoved the picture back into the wallet. She threw the wallet onto the nightstand before walking over to the vanity. She bent down to look into her reflection. She began to apply some makeup. Her hands were trembling with anger as she did so.

"He is mine, and I'll prove it."

She said as she angrily applied her lip gloss. Once she was done, she stormed over to the king bed and sat herself down. She hid her anger by plastering a mistevious grin on her smug face. Her hands ran through her blonde hair before she brushed out any creases in her sexy dress. She crossed her model legs and waited patiently for Elvis.

Not long after, the door knob moved and jolted until the door pushed open. The light from the hallway shot into the room before Elvis stood tall in the doorway. He closed the door and slipped his shoes off. He placed his stuff onto the small table that stood beside the door. Aria's smile only grew wider. Elvis turned around. He furrowed his brows and froze for a moment. He looked at Aria in horror. Aria played with her hair as she waited for Elvis to speak.

"What are you doing here? How did you even get in here?!"

He said as he raised his voice. His fists clenched as he looked at Aria, who stood up from the bed. She slowly walked over to him.

"Don't worry about that."

She said as she stepped closer to him. Her alluring eyes locked with his icey blues.

"What do you want?"

He asked in a fed up tone as he realised who she was. Aria's brows furrowed, and she stepped closer.

"I just wanted to suprise you. What's wrong with that?"

"You fucking broke into my hotel room goddammit!"

Elvis shouted as his eyes filled with fury. This only feuled Aria's ego. She put her index finger against his plump lips as her other hand rested on his chest.

"Hush baby, no need to get angry."

She whispered seductively as she felt his hot breath on her face. Elvis's chest rose up and down.

"You need to leave."

He said sternly. Aria was only inches away from his handsome face. It was so crazy that she was able to haunt Elvis. She was like his shadow.

"Aww, come on, we can have some fun."

She said as she looked into his dreamy eyes.

"I have a wife."

He said as he broke eyecontact. Aria looked at him with a grin on her face.

"Well, that didn't stop you last time, did it?"

She giggled softly. Elvis rolled his eyes before looking at her.

"I'm not like that anymore, I'm a changed man."

He said.

"Oh shut up, don't bullshit me. You can't be a "changed man" in a month."

Aria looked at him as her eyes hooded. Elvis didn't reply. He just looked to the floor. Aria carresed his cheek with her fingers, she looked up at him.

"I know you want me."

She whispered. No reply.

"I can treat you better then that basic bitch can. I can make you feel real good."

No reply. She was so menacing and alluring, something about her was so magnetic. It was like she had a secret power.

"I'll make ya wish that you put the ring on my finger. Just let me make ya feel -"

Her sentence was suddenly interrupted as Elvis grabbed her head and kissed her aggressively. His hands got trapped on her hair as his tongue danced around hers. Aria's hands trailed his body before he forcefully picked her body up. She wrapped her legs around his waist as her hands latched onto his face as she kissed him. He walked over to the bed and placed her on the satin sheets. She looked up at him as he began to unbutton his trousers. Her menacing grin appeared once again. She bit her lip as she watched him strip. Once he was bare, he hiked Aria's dress up to her waist and pulled her panties off aggressively. He threw them to the floor. He dragged her body towards his and began to thrust into her like it was his last day. He was so aggressive and strong yet so sexy and handsome. Her moans filled the room as her body bounced up and down. Her angelic moans were like music to his ears. Elvis grunted into her ear like an animal. His big hands gripped her waist tightly. He squeezed her to the point where it hurt, but she didn't care. She looked at the sweat that dripped from his head and soaked into the smooth sheets. His hair bounced. Aria wrapped her arms around his neck to steady herself. It was like he was letting his built-up rage out on her. Almost as if she was an object. Her lininen curls were now messy and frizzy.He slowed down once he reached his high. Aria's moans got quieter as she passed her orgasm. Elvis layed on top of her body, his chest heaving and his heart beating.

"Oh, I love you."

Aria said breathlessly into his ear. Elvis got up and began to put his trousers back as he looked down at Aria. Her hair was messy, and her cheeks were red.

"You make me do some crazy things."

He said before chuckling. Aria smiled before sitting up. Elvis walked over to his wardrobe and got changed into some boxers. He grabbed a t-shirt of his and threw it at Aria. Aria looked up at him confused.

"Put it on, you're staying here with me."

Elvis said. A large smile invaded Aria's face as she looked at him. Her heart began to beat faster as her blood coursed through her veins. Her dimpled cheeks and ruby lips enhanced as he looked at her. She quickly put the clothes on like it was her mission. Elvis lay down in the bed as he watched her change. Once she finished, she turned around to look at Elvis.

"C'mere honey."

He said with his southern drawl as he looked at her with a grin. She walked over to him, and she was pulled into his arms. She lay on top of him as he cuddled her like a baby. His hands stroked her body as his breath blew on her. This was all she ever wanted, and she got it. The smell of his cologne and the heat of his body. It was pure bliss. She smelt of white roses and felt as fragile and satiny as her hair. She lifted her head to look into his glittering eyes. She smiled as she looked at him. His long eyelashes and thick brows were so angelic and sexy. He bent his head down towards her and placed a candy sweet kiss onto her forehead, making her eyes flutter shut. She had finally got what she wanted.

[burnthheparaphilia]

GOD DAYUM WHY IS BDE SO FUCKING FINE

THIS ONE HOLY GOD- PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE IM BEGGING, LET ME SUCK YOUR COCK

[therealslimshakespeare]

As Requested: The Birth of Jesse and Ella

From the Sarge and lil Mama Universe

Warnings: pretty darn fluffy and sweet with the exception of descriptions of birth and labor, along with what might be considered disturbing inclusions of period typical insensitivity towards women’s wishes during labor and mention of a husband stitch

Word Count: 5k…a blurb was requested, well, uh, sorry about that

With excerpts from:

October, 1958 Memphis

Birth was awful, Elaine had always heard it, been cautioned of it, had the warning dumped like ice water on her motherly ambitions. You want a lotta kids? -just wait till you have to push a single one out. Elaine had expected it to hurt worse than anything she ever imagined but somehow, she thought it would feel more natural than this.

The pain was terrifyingly foreign and without a single cessation to get on top of it, the contractions put broken bones and smashed flesh to shame, and the helpless urge to do something was a floundering and aimless desperation that filled her with anxiety so strong she could barely breathe from it. The nurse cupping the gas mask to her face smiled down assuringly and Elaine hated her for it, the gal was so sure all would be well when everything in Elaine’s body rebelled against the drugged misery, the flat back, stirrup strapped contortion the doctor had locked her body in and left her at.

She thought it would at least feel natural. Like pulling a tooth. Like taking a man. Like all the other painful rites of passage that women surmounted generation after generation.

But now, near puking from pain and cuffed like a psych prisoner to the bed, no distraction save the flicker off the fluorescent bulbs above her, Elaine felt a wrongness and a betrayal she never expected.

She’d been so agreeable to going to the hospital, never thought otherwise. The army had been accommodating enough to let them return to Memphis and everything, and here she lay giving birth in the same ward she was born in. It should have been sweet. She had assumed it would be and it had been non negotiable with Elvis, things were to be done properly for his babies, and she had no comparison to cause her to object.

Elvis lost his brother in a twin birth, a home birth, and nearly his mama too. Things had to be done properly. What else was his money for?

Elaine hadn’t thought to object. What else was there? Primitive squatting in the woods somewhere? She was a decent, suburban girl, she had passed through a successive graduation of establishments throughout her life, preschools and proms and community services and now she was at St. Joseph’s pushing out her first child in a condoned, sterile, proper facility. Elvis, cheated of such all American properness by his upbringing, often praised her teasingly for being “such an upstandin’ lil citizen”.

Somehow the pride didn’t manage to fill her this time. Just the wrongness of it all. She tried to think of Elvis in those first hours, how anxious he must be having been kept out of the room, how happy she’d make him by presenting two healthy children at the end of her feminine ordeal. She refused to accept the thought for anything going wrong. Women were made for this, and she had assumed a miraculous sort of sustenance and wisdom were given them during.

Laying rigid and wracked with pain on scratchy white sheets -Elaine had never felt so alone, not a shred of Divine motivation or husbandly encouragement left in her exhausted heart. Becoming frantic as the ordeal wore on, she found herself begging for some assurance, more than those spinster nurses and bored physicians could provide her. She begged for her mama, she begged for Dodger who had told her they’d do nothing more than torture her “in that big ole place.”

No visitors are allowed, Mrs. Presley -she was denied each time.

Dodger, as usual, had been right. And Elaine demanded she be let in. She was sure that her husband and his grandma had stayed in the waiting room, they weren’t far.

Bring Minnie Mae in -she was Elaine Presley, wife of Memphis’ own Elvis Presley, and if they denied her she’d ruin their hospital's name.

Bring her Dodger, she needed Dodger.

Dodger came in, in low, slung-back heels and a dress that was fashionable three decades ago, wrinkled bony hands and thin, hard set mouth. Elaine thought she’d seen an Angel.

“What do you want?” Dodger grunted down at her.

Elaine whimpered and shook her head, entirely unsure, she’d just wanted comfort or direction. “I thought you’d know what to do.” she explained in a wheeze.

“You push ‘em out.”

“I can’t.” Elaine sobbed, she physically didn’t feel capable of doing anything but enduring. She really had thought she’d be able to participate in her own delivery.

“What’s gonna make ya?” Dodger asked.

“I can’t do anything like this.” Elaine cried, yanking at her restraints.

“Wanna stand up?”

Elaine was startled at the suggestion and through the fog of pain and gas it sounded like a rebellion of sorts. She hesitated. “Maybe.”

“You ever shit layin’ down?” Dodger put it ever so delicately in clearer, enlightening terms. “No one can ‘nless they got the runs. Baby’s head ain’t no runs, get up.”

Dodger had yanked the straps off and threatened to use the forceps on the objecting nurse. She stood Elaine up with a yank to the girl's arms and spun her round till she was facing the bed, feet spread apart and hands on the bed, head hanging low and her back heaving in breaths now the position allowed her to breath. She’d taken Elvis this way a hundred times, nothing to it -you just hang your head and tilt your hips and breathe through it till the cock didn’t feel so big.

This she knew. “Ok, ok, it is better.” she agreed even as a scream tore out of her at the burning stretch down below.

That stretch had been Jesse’s head, although in the midst of agony and Bureaucratic chaos, Elaine didn’t know anything beyond fiery stretching and a gush down her legs. His little noggin almost hit the floor he slid out so lanky and tiny, no sooner had she register a modicum of relief from passing her first child than the doctor berated her.

“Almost hit his head, this is why we labor in beds.” he had said and she could have gnawed his balding head off his scrawny neck for using the word “we” when he’d never felt or ever would feel what she had just endured. “She’s torn, a lot actually, going to be a mess to clean up later but I guess it will help the next one.”

They took Jesse and they wiped him clean as his first cries sounded somewhere behind his mama, Dodger’s hand still pressed firmly to her lower back as Ella used his newfound vacancy to make an effort herself. Elaine struggled and twisted, trying to catch sight of her son.

“I want my baby.” she gasped, “Y’all give me my baby.” she stood straight with an effort that even Dodger tried to prevent. “I want my baby!”

“You can’t hold him now-“

“Give him to me-“

“Elaine honey,” Dodger shushed as gently as the old bird knew how, “you’re too weak, can’t push and hold. Let ‘em put him on the bed. Put him there, right in front of ya, yeah, that’s it, so you can see him. Just do it, ya pinstriped idiot, it’s her kid, ain’t it?”

When the nurse laid Jesse down on the sheets, he was a dark haired, swaddled little thing in a bloody towel. Tiny but not so shrimpy for a twin, he was red and purple all over with the puffiest little face and the juiciest little lips and a tiny nose and eyes that squinted shut in tears. His cord was still attached to her, hanging off the bed between her legs, the tether not yet cut. Elaine felt it to be the specialist moment in the world, that one right then.

Oh it’s an unaccountable thing, that rush of gratitude and relief when your first born is laid on you. Violent love surges after it, quick as a tidal wave, as a tiny hand still covered in your blood pats your skin to learn you from the outside this time, the only person who’s ever done it opposite from all others. It's immeasurable the strength that frail little being gives you, to push once more, to bring out another life after it, a twin to reunite the Trinity.

“My son” Elaine acknowledged the gift through the agony, her sweaty forehead against his fuzzy one, watching his brave little face take in the lights and sounds and pain of this life she’d given him with a wonder that steeled her as she braced and pushed again.

Ella was easier, in the way someone at the brink of their worst feels no exacerbation of their agony. It was every bit as bad and every bit as tiring, doubly so with one already done, but this time Jesse lay there with an oxygen cannula taped to his fuzzy cheek and watched his mama huff and grimace above him, her hips cradled by Dodger’s boney hands, and in between the increasing spams, Elaine gasped adorations and babbled welcomes to him. After a short time Jesse snoozed in his little cacoon, and his peacefulness was more calming than any breath coaching the staff could give her. She matched her breaths to the rise and fall of his tiny chest and soon enough when she felt between her legs, there was the furry little head of his sister.

This time the doctor was prepared and had a nurse knelt to catch Elvis’ Presley second child. Little Ella came out the opposite of Jesse, no trouble at all with her petite head but a decent belly and buttox in the little girl gave Elaine a brief bit of grief before she popped out entirely.

Ella may have been caught in the safe hands of a registered nurse but Elaine had no such luck. No sooner was the rush over and her impediments pushed out of her body than she staggered backwards and landed flat on the floor, her legs giving out. Dodger’s shins caught the back of her head and saved her from splitting her skull on the tile but it was a brutal jarring nonetheless and it cemented a terrified horror where Elaine felt that she was entirely neglected in a room full of people sworn to help her.

Dodger, bless her, cursed up a storm at the accident and knelt beside the poor girl, doing her best to gather Elaine up as blood and fluids gushed freely between her legs.

Elaine felt like sobbing. Soon she fully was and remained so as the Doctor and two nurses hefted her onto the bed as gingerly as they could, profusely apologizing to Mr. Presley’s new wife. Jesse was placed on her chest and Ella, after having the cord snipped and washed, bundled and had her foot stamped, was brought over, too. Elaine laid there on her back again, eighteen hours after she had first begun and did her best to hold them as the sugar crash and blood loss made her teeth chatter and limbs tremble.

“A healthy five pounds both of them,” the doctor beamed with the satisfaction of a man who had accomplished a hard day’s work, “although the boy has a couple points on the girl.”

They were perfect, they were positively perfect, that’s what Elaine tried her best to focus on as her bearings came back to her and tiredness drug her limbs down. They were perfect and they were here. “Dodger,” she addressed Grandma in a thin voice, not even bothering to send her request to the staff, “would you go tell Elvis they’re here? Tell him they’re perfect.”

“He can’t come in yet, dear!” The head nurse protested, knowing the mulish young man would be forcing entry as soon as he heard.

“Why not? It’s over.” Elaine sighed.

“We’ve got to clean you up!” The nurse was scandalized, “He mustn’t see you all disheveled like this, it can very negatively effect a man, seeing his wife rumpled and brutalized by the birthing process. It's ended some marriages.” She warned and then added, “And you must be stitched first.”

“Then could we please -do it?” Elaine asked, “I’d like to see my husband and I’d like him not to worry any longer.”

“Y’all clean her up,” Dodger motioned, “and I’ll go fetch him.”

They were applying ice towels to her swollen eyes to reduce the evidence of weeping when she left. They sat Elaine up and they checked her pulse and blood pressure and her temperature. All was well, or as well as could be hoped. All except down south with her house, Elaine chewed her lip anxiously and clutched little Jesse harder for comfort as the doctor inspected her, rather like Elvis had done when proposing. Except Elvis was always so tender and he worked his touches up from gentle to firm, never went right in and spread torn petals apart without a care. Elaine bit her lip and figured she’d been awful enough to the staff, harsh and stubborn, a rebel in so many ways and now her ordeal was over, it would be best to resume the proper attitude she’d been taught.

So she was meek, and she was obliging and grateful, and she tiredly agreed when the doctor said she’d need stitches, the same as any other tear to the flesh. And when, lamp beaming at her nether regions and needle in hand, the doctor told her he was going to add one extra little stitch for her husband's enjoyment, Elaine assumed it was a medical formality. After all, he didn’t ask if he could, he said he was going to, and doctors only do what doctors must. She had her babies now, and anything required to have more must be done.

Sat up on stitched and taut flesh, pillows stuffed behind her back and her face scrubbed into immaculate freshness, Elaine put on her widest smile for Elvis, not a hard thing to do with the gifts in her arms. It turned fully genuine as her man burst through the door only to stall and moderate his intensity the minute he realized he had arrived. Elvis looked bewildered, eyes wide as saucers and his long legs stumbling to a halt as the door thudded behind him in Vernon’s face, assessing every bit of equipment inside and potential threat before his eyes landed on the bed that held his new family.

Elaine could hear his intake of breath from across the room and her grin now threatened to split her face.

“Those our babies?” he asked hoarsely with a shaking finger, not making a single move to come closer. Like this whole ordeal had him so shaken he didn’t know which way was up or down.

“Yeah baby, they’re ours.” Elaine had to force her smile closed to talk, marveling at his timidity, the awed look on his face and the reverent little shakes coursing up his body like he was about to go up Mount Sinai and meet God. “Come meet your children, Elvis.” she whispered, framing it in a way she hoped would remind him he too belonged in this room, he was head of them all, their protector, their provider and perhaps most importantly, the architect of the dream that brought them into being. “They wanna meet their daddy, keep lookin’ around and fussing like they know someone’s missing.”

He gave her a look of reproof for fibbing to spare his feelings before one of the babies came to their mother’s rescue and let out a pitiful, newborn wail. Elvis flinched at the sound, drawing back into himself for a brief moment before the cry was repeated and his instinct to soothe dominated his tentative fear.

“See, I told you!” Elaine grinned as she pulled down the blanket little Jesse was swaddled in and showed his puckered face.

Slowly, with light footfalls and a hand running along the bed for support, Elvis drew closer until he was beside them and Elaine saw his face light up with more overwhelmed joy than she’d ever seen on him before, just as his eyes filled with tears in an instant.

“Oh Laney,” he put his hand to his mouth unsteadily, “you done good mamas.”

She did her best to scoot her legs over without wincing and nodded to the vacated little space on the bed. “C’mon Elvis, they don’t bite. Not yet.” she whispered, casting a glance at the nurse who was peddling soundlessly in the far corner, back turned and utterly discreet, waiting if she were needed at any moment.

“I’m jus’ worried ‘bout breakin’ ‘em.” he confessed, gingerly sitting down beside her, his eyes never wavering in their metronome bounce from one child to the next and back. “They’re so little, so fragile lookin’ and -a-and they’re so pink, baby, look how pinks and fluffy they is.” Elaine thought his wide-eyed, rosebud mouthed awe was rather identical to the faces he was admiring and understood his shock, pretty things take the wind out of you. “I-I-I was so damn scared of touchin’ you, you’re so lil and gentle a-a-and they’re even littler!”

“I’ve never seen a more tender man, you’ve got fingers so delicate they could undo a knot in silk thread.” Elaine disagreed, “You should feel their cheeks, even softer than they look.”

Elvis swallowed hard, screwing up his courage before he raised his hand from where it had been wiping sweat off on his pants and brought it dried and shaking to gently run along the curve of Ella’s tiny face.

He little out a little gasping laugh. “Angels, they’re gen-u-ine angels.” He pronounced softly after rubbing his forefinger along Jesse’s tiny nose. “Ain’t nothin’ made me happier than I am right this minute.” he realized and Elaine’s heart clenched in gratification for the success of all her labor. “God took away one, gave me three back.” he huffed in a breath and realizing he needed a handkerchief, pulled his hand back, looking around in the white sheets like one would appear. The kindly nurse took pity and brought one over wordlessly, Elvis was a little shocked to find her present, not registering her existence in the room before, (as was she to meet Elvis Presley wordlessly with a proffered tissue) but he took it gratefully.

“Would you like to hold one of them, Mr. Presley?” she asked after having given Elaine some water as Elvis still sat where he’d perched himself and stared like he was looking into a portal.

“C’mon daddy.” Elaine whispered, nudging his stiff leg with her foot, “they wanna meet their daddy.”

Elaine suggested Jesse be the one as he’d eaten most recently while Ella was having some trouble latching. The nurse took Jesse from his warm little cocoon at Elaine’s side, and brought him around the bed to his daddy, who carefully formed a cradle with his arms and the nurse deposited his son there.

“Yeah, give me my boy.” Elvis nodded through parched lips and shuddered as he felt the tiny weight of his child settle in his arms, tiny head cradled to his chest. “Hey buddy,” he whispered, head reared back and expression a little frozen, like he was either holding something very dangerous or something very good that could be taken back at anytime, “sorry bout all the racket in there.” he referred to his pounding heart right beneath Jesse’s pink ear, “S’just that I’m so glad to meet you. Been waitin’ so long.”

Elaine watched them happily, exhaustion and satisfaction turning her complex feelings into the most rudimentary emotions and thoughts. “We made these.” she marveled and thought she heard the nurse titter for a moment, “Does everyone say that?” She asked her with a laugh.

“Not uncommon.” The woman agreed bashfully, “Me and my man did. Couldn’t stop saying it.”

“Absolute miracle.” Elvis protested, growing bold enough the thumb as Jesse’s cheek as he held him, “We made ‘em alright, strangest thing, the way I’m holdin’ something that’s half me and half you!”

“Made duplicates just in case.” Elaine added her joke and they both laughed.

“Sweet Jesus I think he just cracked a smile.” Elvis’ laugh was suddenly cut short as he wheezed in fascination.

“Babies usually don’t smile until much later.“ the nurse soothed gently but Elvis interrupted with an adamant-

“-well it appears that my son is extra smart, ma’am.” He grinned down at his boy with an immense amount of pride at his good humor which reminded him of his pride in Elaine and his eyes flitted up to hers and locked there. “You know I love you, Tink, but I-I-I- d-don’t think you’ve got the vaguest notion h-h-how grateful I am to you right this minute. You’re makin’ dreams come true like a goddamn fairy. I-I-I can’t say enough I-I don’t got words for it I just -I’d die for you, girl, and you and our babies ain’t ever gonna want for nothin’, I swear it.”

Elaine had never trusted another human being more in her life than she trusted this young man sat on her bed, about as young and lost as herself but so determined that she hadn’t a single choice or doubt except to believe him.

Ella began to fuss and the nurse asked if she wanted to try feeding again, no doubt the baby girl was hungry and Elaine agreed. “Here, Mr. Presley, I’ll take the little boy so you can go.” she helpfully held out her arms but Elvis clutched his precious bundle like she was gonna take him permanently. Elaine was reminded of a story Miss Gladys used to tell her about baby Elvis and a prized sack of bananas.

“I-I-I don’t wanna give him.” Elvis settled for this moderate expression of his sentiments on the subject.

“But sir -your wife needs to nurse. I'm sure they’ll extend the visiting hours for you, no need to worry on that account.”

“Oh I’m not leavin’ for that ma’am.” he clarified breezily, “I hold eatin’ in mighty high regard and I’d like to see to it my daughter finds her footin’ in it, ya see.”

“But-“ the nurse was rather astounded at this simple logic and in torn loyalties she turned back to Mrs. Presley in concern “-wouldn’t you like some privacy, ma’am? We’ll have to…uncover you.”

Elaine looked at her a little puzzled before assuring softly, “I don’t mind, he’s seen me before.”

The nurse colored at this modest statement that spoke so much and Elvis wasn’t sure if she was taken aback at their comfortableness around each other or at the suggestion of The Elvis Presley and his little wife making babies. Half the nation were obsessed with what they did behind closed doors and Elvis eyed her suspiciously lest she turn into some sorta fascinated personage. She didn’t though, she allowed Jesse to remain with his father and, rather more delicately than necessary, helped Elaine with Ella’s latching.

There had been dribbles of milk that Elvis had seen before Elaine gave birth, but it was nothing like the profusion that poured out now, so much sustenance that Ella’s tiny throat made great gulping sounds as she drank. Elvis, much to the nurse’s horror, was fascinated by it and soon found his old boldness, scooting himself up till he was sat beside Elaine in the narrow bed and could support her elbow while watching. The nurse was made more uncomfortable when the new father took to whispering a thousand different thanks and endearments into his young wife’s ear, and sweet as it was, the aggressive smooches she answered him with were of the sort the nurse was usually of the assumption led to more. But not with this couple, they swapped affection easily, too easily, and shared sentiments and compared their two children for the next hour, pointing out features and guessing at characteristics until the nurse quietly took her leave, stumbling into a barricade of men outside waiting on their boss.

“You should sing to them.” Elaine suggested to him once she’d gone, when Jesse wouldn’t stop fussing when it was his time to burp. “They’ve heard it for nine months, worked with the kicks every time.” she recalled and Elvis smiled sheepishly in reminiscence that those little kicks he’d once poured his heart out to were now little souls laying in his arms with his features printed on them.

At the first swooping and softly sung words of ‘My Father’s House’ by their daddy both babies stilled and their little slits of eyes searched restlessly until they found his face and they stayed staring at him until their violet, paper thin eyelids fluttered closed in sleep.

————————————————-

|| Excerpt from Mrs. Presley and Other Living Martyrs:||

“There was a narrow window in the door he’d rather uh, rudely let slam behind him,” Billy Smith would later recall with a smile, “and you best believe the whole lot of us were pressed up to it trying to get a glimpse of them inside. We were all real excited about the babies and we knew Elaine was a champ but it’s one thing to think about it and it’s another for her to do it and be alright after. We were all worried for her, last time we’d been in this hospital it had been with Gladys. So we were all crowding the window and Vernon and Mr. Phipps were actin’ like teenagers with their elbows jabbin’ at each other for space but this one time the grandpas seemed to be actually jokin’ about it. Granny tried gettin’ us to leave ‘em be but it wasn’t like we were disturbin’ them none, they didn’t mind us one bit and it was the sweetest thing watchin’ them pass a baby back and forth and they were gigglin’ so much one minute then cryin’ the next. EP was an absolute mess, he was so happy. They looked like a couple of kids clutchin’ a candy haul they stole and figured someone was gonna come along and say they were too young for ‘em and had to give ‘em up. Just two kids really, two kids with a couple of babies they’d made. Not sure they’d ever had such a normal moment in their lives, not since he got famous, at least. They stayed like that for a couple of hours ‘till Elvis realized he could have some fun introducin’ his new kids and so he came out the door holding little Jesse above his head like he was the damn Prince of Memphis. The whole hallway was jam packed with folks who were visiting their hospitalized relatives, loitering staff, all sorts, everybody havin’ heard she was here delivering, and the whole place erupted when he brought the baby out, said that him and his sister were well and Miss Elaine was in fine shape. That applause must’ve been real gratifying for Mrs. Presley.”

Ten days were encouraged for the new mother to stay in the hospital but after five Elaine found herself anxious and uncomfortable away from her home and she begged Elvis to make the staff let her come home.

“Elvis was never more besotted with Elaine than when she was pregnant, and it only got worse when she’d just popped out a kid and was holding it and asking for something.” Joe Esposita wrote, “She talked him into making them send some staff to Graceland and letting her out early, and she swore she’d let him carry her up and down any stairs for the next week. So, after he made her sign a drink coaster that said as much, he went and charmed the administrator into sparing a doctor and four nurses to come live at Graceland for 10 days. We later learned the staff had flipped coins to see who got to go, everyone was so eager to see the famous couple up close. ”

Five days after delivering, Elaine got her wish and was wheeled out of the maternity ward in a wheel chair and down the hall to the elevator, a pristine and glamorous figure with a baby swaddled in her arms as her handsome husband strode by her side, wearing his uniform on leave as suggested by the Colonel, and carrying a precious bundle himself.

In “TLC: The Presley Way” -Marie Presley’s documentary of her family’s life- Ella recounted having often heard from her mother the story of Elvis preparing her to leave for home.

Ella recounted: “She would often tell me about how daddy had come up to the room with all these bags. He’d already brought so much stuff over during her stay, they had to haul literal baskets full of possessions and gifts and stuffed animals out of her ward back to Graceland when they moved out, it had been like a hotel stay, collecting so much. But he did come up that day with these pretty pink bags and he was so excited, he tore the tissue paper out himself and showed her this absurdly fluffy white coat he’d bought. It was way too heavy for October but it was a little chilly out and it gave her the perfect excuse to wear it. It was made out of arctic foxes and was the fluffiest, most expensive, whitest thing you’ve ever seen and it hid her swollen figure perfectly, made her look like an angel in the press pictures. Mama said he also brought a little makeup kit, and there was hairspray and curlers and combs in the other bag, and daddy sat on her hospital bed while she was in a chair and he carefully painted her face. She always loved telling about how sweet and careful he was about her image, she said she had felt very humiliated and out of control during the labor, and it was like he was putting her back together, making her familiar to herself again, crafting some dignity back. And -you’ve seen the pictures, she’s perfection, her makeup is flawless and he had swooped her hair back from her face so she’s glowing. Even tied it back with that little ribbon, it’s just so much, I mean -she looks like a doll carrying out smaller dollies from the hospital. And of course later the female press would slam her for making something as hard as birth and children look like dollhouse props but like a lot of things, they didn’t realize it came from love. It came from daddy caring about how she felt, how she wanted to be presented, they both had a lot of pride and were complementary in that way. She had just delivered twins and was about to meet half of Memphis on the curb before going home. Can you really blame her for letting her husband make her up? Can you blame him for pouring out his pride in what she’d done through his art?”

Along with tender care and as much provision for her comfort as possible, it would be Elvis Presley’s last gift to his wife before he left for Germany less than two weeks later.

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

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

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[satninroses]

Behind Unlocked Doors: Pt. 2 | E.P x Reader

(A/N): The long awaited sequel is here!! I had initially started working on this pre-overhaul. It’s been sitting in my drafts for a little bit so I’m SUPER happy to have it published. I hope you all enjoy :-)!

Summary: Elvis confronts you after the run-in during part one. He shows you how much he loves and adores you.

Link to Pt. 1

Pairing: Elvis Presley x Fem! Reader

Word count: 4,682

Warnings: SMUT! MINORS DNI! Crying, Little bit of angst, Dirty talk, Fingering, Penetration, (F. receiving) Oral, (F. receiving) Hint of orgasm denial.

You didn’t join the Mafia for breakfast, lunch or dinner. Whenever there was a recording session, you sat in the corner of the studio and read a book quietly as to not draw attention to yourself. There were times when Elvis would stop you in the hall but you would act like you couldn’t hear him or see him and practically run back to your room.

Elvis on the other hand, hated this new treatment. You were already quiet and reserved. He knows he just made it worse. He desperately wanted to ask Jerry if he could talk to you but he didn’t know how he would react to Elvis watching his little sister masturbate.

At some point, Elvis had reached a breaking point. He needed to apologize or talk to Jerry. While he really didn’t favor either option, it was only chance at salvaging what he had ruined.

That night, Elvis had approached Jerry. Jerry smiled and waved.

“Hey boss. What’s up?” Elvis’ heart dropped. He would feel bad if Jerry already knew and he was telling him but Jerry really had no clue what was going on.

“Hey. I really need to talk to you about something. It’s not easy to talk about either. It’s about (Y/N).”

Jerry’s happy smile turned into a confused expression. “What do you mean?”

Elvis sucked in a breath. “I’m gonna tell you this. Please hold your anger til the end.” Jerry was really curious and a little worried.

“Ok?”

“The other night when you guys went to the casino and I stayed back, I walked upstairs to talk to her and walked in on her… relieving some tensions…” Elvis trailed off.

“I don’t understand Elvis.”

Elvis internally groaned. He knew he had to rip it off fast like a bandaid.

“I walked in on (Y/N) using a dildo on herself. She kinda… squirted everywhere. Even on me. I didn’t move and I watched but honest, I didn’t mean too. I know this probably isn’t something you wanted to know. However, she’s been acting off since then and I really need you to convince her to talk to me. I need to apologize real bad.” Elvis exhaled a breath that he didn’t even know he was holding. He waited for a response.

“I…” Jerry was at a loss for words. He didn’t know whether to be angry or surprised or all of the above. Before Elvis even had the chance to react, Jerry had slapped him across the face. His hands dropped to his side and he also exhaled.

“That’s for watching her and probably scaring her shitless. I’ll go talk to her but you better apologize IMMEDIATELY.” Elvis nodded quickly and out his hands out in defeat.

“Without a doubt. Thank you for doing this.”

Jerry nodded and walked out of the room. Elvis sat on the nearest and chair and took a moment to calm down. He knew he needed to make it clear to you that he wasn’t disgusted or uncomfortable with you. And, by the sound of his name pouring out of your mouth, you weren’t uninterested either. He had to think of a way to address the situation without coming across like a creep.

You sat on your plush bed and read some of your books. You needed a way to take your mind of everything that happened. “What if he thinks I'm disgusting or perverted?” You thought out loud to yourself. It was never your intention for him to walk in and see you in such a vulnerable state. You didn't mean to keep fucking yourself even with his eyes on you. Since then, you had been locking the door to every room you go into. Your room, the bathroom, the dressing rooms, sometimes the studio doors. (You don’t mean to do that. It’s a force of habit.)

There was a gentle rap at your door. You froze before tip toeing to the door to look out the peephole. It was Jerry. He wore a not-pleasant expression on his face. You opened the door and peeked out.

“Jerry? Are you ok?”

“(Y/N). I know what happened the other night. Elvis told me. I know it was unintentional and I’m here to pass on a message from Elvis. He wants to apologize, but he wants to apologize to you in person.”

An unhappy look spreads across your face. “Oh.” You simply stated. You cheeks begun to heat up in embarrassment and shame from being confronted by your big brother about something so private. You feel tears well up in your eyes at the idea of him being disgusted by your lack of self-awareness. You SHOULD have locked the door and you SHOULD have covered up and ignored the burning heat in your pussy. But you didn’t.

“I-I can try. Is he downstairs?” You ask through your heaving breathing and tears. “Yeah.” He replies. You rip your eyes away from him and look to the side. This was humiliating. How could you be such a prude?

“Sis, I’m not mad at you. Is that why you’re crying?” You sniffle again before the waterworks begin. He pushes the door all the way open and envelopes you in a hug. “I feel disgusted with myself Jerry. I feel like a whore and Elvis probably thinks I'm a whore too. I'm sorry Jerry.”

“Oh (Y/N). It ain't your fault. He came to me apologizing a whole lot. He didn't mean to make things weird. Listen, why don't we head downstairs and you can talk to him. I'll be right behind ya, ok?”

You stood there for a minute, held against your brothers chest thinking. Eventually you made a small noise to show you agreed and released him from the hug. “Please just give me a moment to collect myself.” He nodded. “I'll be downstairs.”

You entered your room again and took a deep breath to calm yourself down. You walked to your bathroom and fixed your hair and makeup. You changed from your pajamas to a cute, white babydoll dress. You threw on a big fluffy cardigan along with your frilly socks and Mary Janes. You made your way out of the room and took the elevator to the ground floor.

You arrived in the lobby to be met with an abnormal amount of people. You made your way around the sea of bodies to the V.I.P lounge where Elvis and the mafia were usually stationed. You walk up to the bouncer and tap him gently on the shoulder.

He looks down at you and smiles. “Hey (Y/N). Here to get a drink?”

“Not exactly. However, that's also welcome.” You both laughed softly. He lifted the bar and let you in. “Have a good night sweets. Stay safe.”

“Thank you Hank!” You gushed sweetly at him and waved. You made your way down the little hallway and into the lounge itself. It was littered with all kinds of people having a good time. You walked around for a minute before finding the booth that your brother was in. In the booth, Elvis sat at the end followed by Billy, Scotty, Jerry, Joe, and Charlie. Billy was the first to notice you.

“Hey (Y/N)! Came down to get a drink with us?” At the sound of your name, Elvis and Jerry shot their heads up. Elvis blushed and smiled at you but you sported a nervous look. You walked over and stood awkwardly by Charlie at the other end of the table. Charlie look up, confused, as to why you were just standing there.

“God damnit fellas, make some room for her! Scoot down Charlie!” Charlie followed by everyone else scoot down a seat leaving space right next to Elvis. He pat the spot invitingly and you sat down. You clenched your hands between your thighs and cowered. You were nervous. You didn’t want him to be doing this out of pity or because he was about to make fun of you. Your knee bounced up and down rapidly out of anxiety.

Jerry cleared his throat and you looked at him. He raised his eyebrow to ask ‘Are you ok?’ You nodded and looked away. Jerry flagged down one of the waiters to get you a drink and some food for the table.

“(Y/N), what do you want to drink?”

“Uhh… May I please get the Frozen Strawberry Daiquiri?” The waiter nodded.

“Anything else for the table?” Elvis perked up.

“Yeah, let us get 2 baskets of fries and onion rings each,” he leaned over you to speak privately to the waiter. “Oh and…get the lady some of those fancy chocolate covered strawberries.” Elvis slipped him a few $50 bills before he walked off.

While he was leaned over speaking to the waiter, his hands found their way onto your thighs as support. He played it off as trying to steady himself but you could see through that. While he grabbing the bills from his pocket, he grabbed onto your inner thigh to stead himself from falling. He leaned a good bit of his weigh onto you and let his hands slip up to in between your upper thighs. A dusty pink blush spread itself across your face as you let him hold you this way.

He released your thighs and you curled back into yourself. For the time that you had been waiting for your drinks and food, Elvis and guys had been talking up a storm. They cracked jokes, told stories, planned for different shows and all around had a good time. While it didn’t seem like it, you were also having a good time. You didn’t make any comments but you listened and giggled quietly at the appropriate times. These last few days of secluding yourself from everyone were boring. It was nice to hear people talk for a change.

The time passed slowly though. It had felt like forever since you ordered your drinks but like clockwork, they showed up. A few of the guys had ordered some beers to the table along with the food and your pretty drink. The waiter sets down your drink last before turning back to the cart. He pulls out a pretty pink heart-shaped dish with an assorted variety of chocolate covered strawberries.

You cock your head in confusion. “Oh, I’m sorry. We didn’t order this?”

“Mr. Presley ordered them.”

‘That’s probably what he was telling the waiter,’ you thought to yourself.

“Doll, they’re for you.” Elvis adds quietly. You turned your head and face him for the first time in a few days. You blushed again and opened your mouth, but shut it. You murmured a quiet ‘thank you.’

For a few minutes, you didn’t touch the strawberries. You just slowly sipped on your drink and thought about stuff. Finally, after 10 or so minutes, you started to eat. You took small bites to savor the flavor as these were the BEST chocolate covered strawberries you had ever had.

Elvis had watched as your face contorted from an uncomfortable look to a much more relaxed and content look. He leaned over to Jerry.

“I think I’m gonna talk to her now if that’s ok? Watch our drinks please.” He whispered in his ear. Jerry nodded his head but gripped Elvis’ sleeve.

“If she comes back crying again we’re gonna have to have a talk.” Elvis nodded and stood up. He wasn’t used to being bossed around by his right hand man, but he understood his protective instinct over his little sister and respected that.

“Darlin’. Would you mind comin’ with me? I need to talk to you real quick.”

You glanced up at him and back at your brother for help. Your brother plastered a reassuring smile on his face and nodded. You gulped and stood up to get out of his way. He you offered his hand to you and you took it, following him out of the lounge and into a back hallway.

“Is everything ok, Elvis?” You asked quietly. You were nervous as to what was to come. Was he about to fire you? Was he going to tell you that you needed to find somewhere else to go because you can’t travel with them? Was he going to fire you AND Jerry because of what happened? All these possibilities and thoughts clouded your head and you became visibly distressed.

“Yeah. I needed to talk to you about the other night.”

Oh god. It was happening. The media would find out about this and your lives would be destroyed. Everyone would find out how much of a whore you are. You would never be allowed out in public. People would call you names and mock you.

“Yes?” You replied shakily.

“I want to apologize. I should have knocked. I know I made you uncomfortable and I really don’t want that to be the way you think bout’ me. I’m real sorry yittle. I hope you can forgive me.”

You widen your eyes at his confession. ‘He thinks he made me uncomfortable?’ You feel an overwhelming sence of guilt take over.

“I-I.. I don’t know what to say. I thought I made you uncomfortable. I didn’t want to face you because I was afraid you would send me away. I’m so sorry Elvis.” You took a deep breath to calm your shaky breaths. Before there was a moment to speak, he enveloped you in a tight hug.

Your hands laid limp at your side for a moment but eventually, you wrapped them around his torso. His head laid in the crook of your neck and he breathed your scent. This nose breaths on a sensitive part of your neck and you push yourself into him and made a whimpering noise. He raised his head and stared down into your eyes. You stared back. You felt a sense of intimacy in this moment. You searched for the love in his eyes and he in yours.

“(Y/N)… Can I kiss you?” You didn’t respond. You made a bold move of initiating the kiss. You stood on your tippy toes and snaked your hands up and around his neck. He kissed back and deepened it as well. His lips were so soft and plush against your own. He stuck his tongue in your mouth to turn the kiss into a more sensual one. He tasted like rum and coke. His scent invaded your senses. The smell of his typical cologne- Lenel For Men- had hints of citrus and spice. You were intoxicated by his scent, taste, and the feeling of his body wrapped around your own. You could simply sit here forever and be stuck in his being forever.

He felt the same way about you. You were so pretty like this. So pretty when you look into his eyes. So pretty when you whimper. So pretty when you let him paw at your thighs. So so so so pretty when you squirted to the thought of him. Since that night, he wanted to fill you up and make you his own. He loved you and he yearned for you. He needed to make things right before he could act on his primal urges.

His kisses got more erotic and desperate. He wanted to be as close to you as possible. He wanted to be IN you. His hands slipped from your waist to the small of you back. You move your hands so they’re right up against his chest. You moan quietly his hands move further down and onto your ass. He gives it a squeeze and then a slap.

“E-Elvis! Maybe we shouldn’t do this right here…” You suggest timidly. You want him right now but you would rather not be caught by random bystanders.

“You’re right doll face. Wouldn’t want people to see what’s mine.” Mine. The word replayed in your head like a ringing bell. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. You could feel your panties become wet from his sultry and deep southern drawl. “Oh Elvis, you don’t know how long I’ve dreamed about this! I need you right now!”

He chuckled and pulled you into a secluded laundry room. He locked the door behind him and set you on a folding table. “Doll, you don’t know how long I’ve dreamed of this either. When I saw you the other night, pretty little cunt out I wanted to fuck you on that bed. I wanted to replace that silly little toy with myself. I want to be your man and I want you to be my woman.”

Your eyes widened at his confession. With some kind of newfound confidence and bravery, you pulled him by the collar of his shirt and kissed him. He didn’t hesitate to return the kiss. His hands went straight to cradling your cheeks. He squished them slightly and deepened the kiss. One of his hand snake down to your dress-clad breast and begins to gently massage it. His fingers find their way the the bottom of your dress and bunch it up to your waist.

“Take it off baby.” He demands. You nod quietly and pull the dress over your head and on the floor next to the legs of the table. His hands and mouth are all over you. His mouth begins to suck and nip at your collarbone while his fingers pinch and prod at your tits and nipples. “Oh, Elvis! Oh g-gosh.” You stuttered out. You felt him smirk against your collarbone before moving his mouth and hands down lower. He kisses the space in between and above your breasts before finally taking one of your nipples in his mouth.

His hands felt like lava on your skin as they pushed you down further onto the table. Your back hits the cold granite and it archs. You tits were pretty and perky in his mouth as his whole body moved to match yours- like a puzzle piece. His hands move from your stomach to your groin where he traced your pelvis bone with his rough, calloused fingers.

“Elvis, please. Please take me I need you.” He got a lopsided grin on his face and nodded. He pushes himself back from you and leans down so he’s eye level with your cunt. “So pretty, baby. You want me to take this pretty pussy? All’s you gotta say is yes and I’ll have you pretty girl.” You feel wetness pool in your panties and you nod frantically “Yes, please! Need you inside Elvis!”

His ego was being stroked and he let that show through. He pressed his fingers to your panties and let the wetness coat his fingers. The feeling of his hot fingers on your pussy sent an electric shock down your spine and you shivered. He stuck said fingers in his mouth and stared you down while he devoured your juices. He pulled them out with a pop and smirked. “You’re so sweet baby. Gotta taste the whole thing.”

He made quick work of your panties. He slid them down and put them in his pocket haphazardly. The cool air hit and your legs instinctively shut themselves around his hand. He pried them open with ease. “Gonna make you fall apart on my tongue baby.”

He let his fingers run through your silky folds and once again glaze his fingers. You moaned out his name and sat up. Your elbows supported most of your weight as you watched him with hooded eyes.

His mouth replaces his fingers as he dives head first into your cunt. His warm mouth wrapped around your pearly bud almost immediately after he started. Your arms buckle and you fall back onto the table. You back arches and you move your hands to where is head is stationed in between your legs. “Elvis! Oh god! Oh it feels so good Elvis don’t stop!”

He moves his fingers to your achy hole. At first, he was spreading your lips with his fingers but decided he needed to open you up before you took his cock. Using your wetness as a lubricant, he sticks a long finger in you. You let out a high pitched moan and vice gripped his hair. He took this as a sign to keep going. He sticks a second finger in you and begins thrusting then in and out.

You juices mixed with your velvet walls and his fingers made a sort of squelching sound that was only turning you on more. “Oh god Elvis. I’m so close, mmm!” You pushed your head against the table and began to clamp your thighs around his head.

As if the devil himself had possessed the black-hairs sex god below you, he removed his mouth and fingers from your burning heat. An empty feeling replaced the god-like sensation that was driving through your body. Your head shot up and you stared at him with a confused look. “W-why did you stop? Did I do something wrong?” He chuckled and shook his head.

“No baby. I want to fill you up with my cock though. I also want to cum with you.” You shivered at his words and nodded. He placed one of his hands on your tits and massaged them. Your mouth opens and silent gasps fall out at the feeling of him. He began to unbutton the shirt his shirt and unbuckle his pants with his free hand. He threw the shirt on the ground and kicked his pants off- leaving him in his boxers. He removed his hand from you and pushed his boxers down.

His hardened cock slapped his stomach and leaked with precum. “Ain’t it bigger than that silly toy? I know you wish it was me instead of that little thing.” You shuddered and nodded. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from his cock. You felt a little embarrassed but you just couldn’t stop looking.

“Are you ready pretty girl?” You nodded again. Your eyebrows furrow and your lips make a small ‘o’ shape. He prods the tip at you and begins to push it in. Inch by inch, you could feel yourself stretching out dramatically. While you have used dildos and other phallic shaped objects on yourself, you were still a virgin. You had never had a man fully inside you before- obvious by the pained moans that left your mouth.

“E… Please slow down it h-hurts.” He nodded and bent down to you. His torso lay over yours and his head was right near yours.

“Such a pretty girl. Such a sweet, angelic little thing. You have nothing to be afraid of baby, I’m gonna take real good care of you, right darlin’?” His sweet nothings were like a molasses to your ears. “Mmm, E? You can move now.”

Once he bottomed out, he began a stead, rhythmic pace as he thrusted into you. Little babbles and coos left your mouth. He just felt so good. All these months of lusting after him were really showing through now. All those nights when you rode that little dildo couldn’t compare to your position right now.

“Faster, please!” His thrusts picked up from a leisure stroll to a light jog. His hands moved from your hips, up onto the sides of your breasts. He balanced his weight before giving them squeezes, pinches, and prods.

“God darlin’. This pussy was made for me. Just molds around me so well. Gonna be mine forever.”

His pace increased sharply, as did his force. It felt like he was pounding you into the table and it hurt so good. He moved his hands to your sides and ceased action again. He pulled out and flipped you onto your stomach. He pulled you to the edge of the table so your legs dangled over the side. He re-entered again and rushed back to the pace you were at before. In this new position, he could reach even deeper into you so he could show you just how good your body could feel.

“Oh god! Elvis! Harder please!” He obliged and strengthened his pace. He placed both hands on your ass and pounded harder. “You gettin’ close baby? Gonna cum on me?” You let out a high-pitched ‘Mhm!’ Your hands stretched above you to hold the other end of the table with a tight grip. His hands squeezed the globes of your ass and he bent over you again. “Gonna make you cum so good baby. Gonna fuck you so good you won’t be able to do anything but moan my name. Make you my little dumb angel. Like the sound of that?”

You nodded and moaned. “Yes Elvis! I’m close! Please make me cum, mmm!” He could feel the way your cunt tightened around his cock signaling your release. “Come on baby, cum with me. Cum on my cock. Come on.”

He pace quickened again and he maxed out. His was growling in your ear and nipping your neck. All of a sudden, he hit a soft spongy part inside you that made you perk up. He hit it again, and again, and again, and again. You were seeing white spots and stars in your vision as you chased your release. “Gonna cum baby. Cum with me!”

His words pushed you over the edge and your orgasm hit you like a freight train. His orgasm hit him as well and he slammed his hands against the table. “FUCK!” he released deep into every nook and cranny of your pussy. His arms gave in and his full body weight was leaned against your back.

For a moment, neither of you said anything, just heavy breaths and small whimpers. He pushed himself up and off you and stood up straight. He took the panties out of his pants pocket and wiped his cock with them. You leaned up with what little strength you held.

He took the panties and wiped your pussy from behind with slow and gentle strokes. You let out overstimulated mewls.

“Are you able to stand doll?” He asked quietly. You slowly flipped over so you were on your back and touched your feet to the ground. You stood for a moment with wobbly legs and stumbled over to his arms.

“Barley.” You both laugh. He holds you close to him as he gets your dressed again. He puts on the cum soaked panties and pulls them up your legs. You push your thighs together and hold onto his shoulder. “You did really good baby. So proud of you.” He puts your bra on you and clasps it together. With the help of him, you slip on your dress and socks before sitting down on the table to wait for him.

He throws his boxers, pants, and button up back on. He puts his socks and shoes on and holds a hand out to you. “Let’s head back. If any of them ask, just say you cried a little bit.” You giggle and nodded.

“Oh, and doll?”

“Hmm?”

“I was serious. I want you to be my girl. I don’t want to spend another moment not with you.” He confesses quietly.

You gasp and look at him. Your big (E/C) eyes bore into his pretty ocean blue ones. “I want to be with you too Elvis. I love you so much.”

He smiles and kisses you sweetly. You return the kiss. You held that position for a few minutes before a loud voice calls down the hall. You let go of him and retreat to his side.

“Mr. Presley? Mr. Schilling was looking for you and Ms. Schilling. Should I tell them you’re alright?”

Elvis lets put a hearty chuckle and hugs you closer to his side.

“Tell him we’re more than alright.”

(Taglist): @mt12209 , @austinsmutler , @18lkpeters , @presleyenterprise , @myradiaz , @ccab @livelaughelvis

[kinascum]

CHARMED ᯓ★

Austin Butler x Reader

wc: 1.7k | summary: y/n, an interviewer at Variety, scores an interview with Austin Butler. | nav - taglist

FLUFF. no major warnings.

You sit in the quiet of the Variety office, surrounded by the soft hum of the air conditioner and the occasional clack of a keyboard echoing through the open-plan space. Your heart beats a little faster than usual today as you prepare for the interview of a lifetime. The email with the subject line "Austin Butler Interview: Confirmed" still sits open on your screen, a stark reminder of the excitement and nerves you've been juggling since you read it. You've done this before, of course, but something about Austin feels different. Maybe it's the way his blue eyes seem to look right into your soul in every magazine cover, or the way his deep voice sends a shiver down your spine when you watch his interviews. You're a journalist with a knack for making even the most guarded celebrities open up, but you're not immune to the charm of Hollywood's golden boys.

The clock ticks closer to the scheduled time, and you stand, smoothing out the wrinkles in your blouse and taking a deep breath to steady your nerves. You've spent hours researching his career, from his early days on the small screen to his breakthrough performance as the king of rock 'n' roll. You've rehearsed your questions, honed them to perfection, and now all that's left is to wait for the moment when he walks through the door.

When he does, it's like the air in the room shifts. He's taller than you expected, with a presence that seems to fill the space around him. He's dressed casually, but it looks like he stepped out of a magazine spread, his jeans fitting just right, and a leather jacket thrown over a simple white tee. His eyes scan the room, and when they land on you, you feel a jolt of energy. He smiles, a genuine, warm smile that reaches his eyes, and you can't help but return it, feeling a little bit like you're melting.

You extend a hand, and he takes it, his grip firm but gentle. His skin is warm, and for a second, you're lost in the sensation of his touch. "Y/N," he says, as if he's known you for years, not minutes. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you." His voice is like a caress, and you blush, hoping it's not too obvious. You've always been a little shy around the people you admire, and the fact that he's looking at you with such kindness isn't helping your nerves.

As you lead him to the interview set, you notice the way his boots scuff the floor, the quiet confidence in his stride. He seems to be at ease in his own skin, a stark contrast to the flurry of activity around you. You offer him a seat and take yours opposite, placing your notebook and pen on the table. You've done this a hundred times before, but today, your hand trembles ever so slightly. You tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, a nervous habit you thought you'd outgrown, and try to remember to breathe. The cameras start to roll, and you're aware of every little detail: the sound of the film crew moving around, the smell of freshly brewed coffee in the background, the way the lights cast a gentle glow on Austin's face.

He leans back in his chair, his gaze never leaving yours. "So," he begins, his voice like a purr. "What's the first question you've been dying to ask me?"

You open your mouth to speak, but the words catch in your throat. You clear it, hoping he doesn't notice, and glance down at your notes. But as you look back up, you realize that the question you've so carefully prepared isn't what you want to ask anymore. There's something about the way he's looking at you, something that makes you feel seen in a way you never have before. And in that moment, you know that this interview is going to be unlike any other.

You take a deep breath and dive in, asking him about his preparation for his latest role, one that's earned him critical acclaim and a slew of award nominations. His eyes light up, and you can almost see the gears turning in his head as he thinks back to those intense days and nights spent becoming someone else. He speaks slowly, thoughtfully, his voice deep and resonant as he recounts the hours of research, the months of practice, the moments of doubt and triumph. You're captivated by his dedication, his passion for his craft shining through every word.

As you listen, you find yourself leaning in, hanging on to every syllable. His words paint a vivid picture of his journey, and you're drawn into the story as if you were there with him. You ask follow-up questions, eager to learn more, and he responds with the same thoughtfulness, never rushing, always choosing his words with care. His honesty is refreshing, and you can't help but admire the way he's handled the pressures of stardom with such grace.

But then his gaze starts lingering on you a beat too long, and when he smiles, it's a smile that says he's not just talking about the movie anymore, and suddenly, the air in the room feels charged with electricity. You blush, your cheeks grow warm, and you feel your heart race in your chest. Your hand fidgets with the pen, and you realize you're playing with your hair again, a nervous habit you thought you'd left behind in high school. But with Austin, you're feeling anything but professional.

He leans closer, his eyes never leaving yours, and asks you a question about your own work, your favorite stories, your dreams. And you find yourself opening up to him, sharing things you never thought you'd say out loud, let alone on camera. His voice is a gentle coax, drawing you out of your shell, making you feel as if you're the most interesting person in the world. And maybe, just maybe, you start to believe it.

The conversation flows like a river, twisting and turning through topics of art, life, and love. His stories are peppered with laughter, and you find yourself smiling more than you ever have in an interview. His hand reaches out, resting on the arm of your chair, and you feel the warmth of his touch seep through the fabric as he pulls your chair closer to his. It's a simple gesture, but it sends a jolt through your body, making you aware of every inch of space between you as you catch a glimpse of how his muscles flex under the studio lights.

You notice the way his fingers tap against the chair, a subtle beat that matches the rhythm of your heart. His eyes, so blue and deep, seem to see right through you, and for a moment, you wonder if he can read your thoughts. You realize you're not just asking questions anymore; you're exchanging glances, sharing silent moments filled with understanding. The chemistry between you is palpable, and the crew seems to have melted into the background, leaving just the two of you in the spotlight.

The interview comes to a close, but the energy between you and Austin doesn't dissipate. As the crew starts to pack up, he lingers, his hand still resting on the arm of your chair. "Thank you," he says, his voice sincere. "That was one of the best interviews I've had in a long time." You blush, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "Thank you," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. "It was an honor."

He stands, and you follow suit, the space between you closing as you exchange pleasantries about the weather and the traffic. His eyes never leave yours, and you can't help but feel like there's something unspoken hanging in the air. He's charismatic, down-to-earth, and thoughtful—everything you've read about him, but seeing it up close is like experiencing the gravity of a star for the first time. His words come out measured and deliberate, each one chosen with care, as if he's afraid of saying too much or too little.

As you walk him out, the quiet of the office seems to amplify the sound of your shoes on the floor. The lights seem to dim, and the world outside the glass walls fades away. You find yourself lost in the depth of his gaze, the way his eyes seem to dance when he smiles. He pauses, his hand resting on the doorknob, and looks at you with an intensity that makes your knees wobble. "Y/N," he says, and the way he says your name feels like a secret shared between the two of you. "Could I interest you in a drink? To celebrate a successful interview?" His words are followed by a cheeky grin as he addresses you in an overly formal manner.

You're surprised by the invitation, but something in his tone tells you that it's more than just a professional courtesy. You hesitate, your heart racing as you laugh nervously. You've never mixed business with pleasure before, but the way he's looking at you, the way his thumb brushes against the back of your hand as he holds the door open, makes you want to throw caution to the wind. You nod, trying to sound casual. "Sure, I'd love that."

The bar he chooses is dimly lit, the kind of place where whispers are the loudest sounds and secrets feel safe. He orders a whiskey neat, and you ask for a glass of wine. As you sit across from him, you can't help but notice the way the light plays with the shadows on his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his lips. He talks about his love for music, the way it's shaped him as a person and an actor, and you listen, enraptured. His passion is contagious, and you find yourself sharing stories from your own life, things you rarely speak of outside of your closest friends.

The conversation flows as easily as the alcohol, and you realize that you're not just talking about work anymore. You're laughing, sharing, connecting in a way you never have with an interview subject. His hand reaches across the table, and he takes yours, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your skin. It's a simple touch, but it feels like a promise, a question, a door opening to something new.

A/N: kinda in a love-hate relationship with this one yall

tell me if yall want to be added to this masterlist's taglist !!🩶🩶🦫