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xmintpiex · 1 day

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On the Other End (1/4)

pairing: Satoru Gojo x Reader, Yu Haibara x Reader, implied Satosugu

Since birth, it was determined that you would marry Satoru Gojo, your pairing beneficial to both of your clans and so the two of you were tied by your shared fate. At least for this lifetime.

wc: 2,013

content: fem!reader, arranged marriage, angst, hurt/comfort, love, friendship, romance, fluff, growing up together, mentions of death

It was December 1995, when you were convinced you had experienced love for the first time. The courtyard of the main Gojo estate was covered in a thick sheet of snow, the lush green and dark wood blanketed in the fuzzy whiteness. The snowflakes falling on your soft lashes and little puffy cheeks. It was like that painting in the main hall of your clan’s estate. So beautiful and perfect and easy to daydream with. The one your nanny always had to tell you to not touch.

The constant jingle of your hairpin, the one that was a little too big for your head, sounded so sweet with each little step in that snowy wonderland. The one that had belonged to your mother, the one she had worn when she had met your father for the first time. You had been told the story so many times. The silver hairpin molded into a flower with shimmering gems and beads that your grandmother had let you play with and hold in your little youthful hands when you were a good girl, listening to the expectations placed upon you.

You were dressed in that heavy lush blue kimono, the one with the embroidered butterflies and flowers, the one you had to sit through what felt like a thousand fittings for. Yet it was still somehow too big for your small six-year-old form, The white fur around your shoulders gently tickling your cheeks.

Your big sister walked next to you on your right, your eldest aunt on your left, the others behind you, and of course grandmother in front of you, leading your group. Everyone was so tall and old around you, in those dark kimonos, like splotches of ink in the white landscape. If only you had paid more attention at that time.

Would you have seen the trembling of your big sister’s lips as she tried to school her features to that stoicism expected of her? Only fourteen, yet thrust into a role well beyond her years, forced to grow up so soon, even though that sacrifice was not enough to protect her little sister. For being the heir of a weakened clan would not be enough to protect you, not when your fate had been set at birth.

Would you have noticed the shaking of your eldest aunt’s shoulders? A perfect vision like always, with her silken hair and elegant face. Your clan was known for its beauty after all, for producing those perfect, perfect brides. Yet even that could not hide the bitterness in the graceful lines of her face, the worry and fear in the scars and old marks covered with thick powder to maintain the prestigious image of her beauty. At least you were not being wed to a Zen’in. She could find some comfort in that.

Would you have noticed how your grandmother stood tall and rigid despite her aching back, not a silver hair out of place, the clan crest proudly embroidered into her kimono as she led your group? Backed into a corner and forced to give up more than she wished to. As usual. But the clan came first. The clan always came first, and this would bring back that long-lost power, that respect they so desperately needed now. It would benefit you too, because who could be a better spouse, a more worthy husband than the one born with the six eyes? And so she held her head up with that undiminished pride as she led on.

If only you had paid more attention. If only you weren’t so well-behaved, perhaps you could have gotten a glimpse of your big sister’s watery eyes if you had impatiently pouted and tugged on her silken sleeve.

But in that sea of falling snowflakes and inky figures, a small boy in silken blue caught your eyes. Soft white hair that blurred with the snowflakes and those blue, blue eyes. The bluest you’ve ever seen. His face was of unimpressed boredom when his eyes met yours

Yet he went to grab your hand so you would play with him.

How easy it was to fall into that lovely fuzzy feeling when his warm hand held yours, dragging you to where that snow-covered red ball lay in the empty corner of the courtyard. You had already been told since birth how he would be your future husband, your partner, and your companion. You just had to cling to that warmth that began to bubble gently in your heart and let it grow. A sweet little smile forming on your cold, snowy face.

How easy it would have been for Satoru Gojo to hate you. Face-to-face with the first physical proof of the expectations placed upon his shoulders. Of who he was supposed to be. Of what he was supposed to be.

He did hate you a little bit, that festering feeling he had held within finally able to have a more tangible target. A weakness forced upon him. An annoyance he was expected to be nice to and protect. You were nothing like him, too polite and quiet, always being praised for your good behavior. A dull goody-two-shoes.

You wouldn’t be a sorcerer like him, it was deemed unnecessary for your future role as his wife. Besides, you were too weak. Even your supposed technique, the one that was exclusive to your clan and incredibly rare, the sole reason the two of you were arranged to marry seemed pointless and dumb. What was the point of having a useless technique in your tummy? You even had asthma! He hadn’t even known what that was until he met you. How annoying!

And so, he was a bossy brat. Always dictating what you two would play together, everything had to be his way, and a little snarky comment on his lips whenever you came over.

But..

He was born on December 7th and you were born on December 8th. You would always be the same age except for one day a year. Essentially birthday buddies, you had excitedly told him on your 7th birthday as you exchanged presents. Birthday buddies. Forever.

You both loved sweets, and you were the best at playing pretend. So much more fun to play with than the maids who were too afraid to upset him. You would point out fun shapes in the sky and pretend that the garden grass was dangerous lava. He had never thought to do that before.

You smiled so brightly when you came over to play, eyes twinkling so sincere and happy. He was your only playmate, and you were his only playmate too.

You both dreamed of those things you had only heard of in passing. Cartoons, movies, cotton candy, and soft drinks. He declared that when he became head of the clan he would put a television in every room, and the two of you would be able to watch whatever you wanted, whenever you wished to.

You told each other secrets as you doodled and Satoru pretended he could read those big complex adult books. You missed your mommy and daddy a lot (you had never told anyone that before, not even your big sister). He missed his parents too. Just a little bit though, of course, because he got to see them for his birthday every year.

During the summer months, Satoru would tell the servants to lift the two of you to peek past the tall walls of the estate to get a glimpse of those distant fireworks. So dazzling, like flowers in bloom in the night sky. The two of you giggling and shouting with glee.

Between the lessons and the evergrowing list of rules, your visits together were always a guarantee. Every week and every season. Hand in hand as you pointed out shapes in the sky. Stealing snacks from the kitchen and trying to muffle your giggles although there were never repercussions when Satoru was caught.

Those sticky hot summer days when the two of you could do nothing but lay beneath the fan and talk about silly things. Oh, how that warm feeling in your heart grew so much. Friendship. Fondness. You could imagine it growing more and more, and the future didn’t feel as scary, the expectations less daunting, Because the future meant being with Satoru.

But then you and Satoru turned 10. The visits started to fizzle out as Satoru had to focus more and more on his sorcerer preparations. A week became a month and then a year and then more years. The frequent letters you liked to write received fewer and fewer responses until you only got a simple ‘happy birthday’ a year.

It wasn’t until April 2006 that you saw Satoru again. You can still remember the butterflies in your stomach that day you were escorted up the steps to the school. Dressed in your favorite kimono, hairpin gently clinking with each step, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

How silly it all felt. Being transferred into the school, not to train to be a sorcerer but rather to ensure you could spend time with your future husband to help strengthen your bond again. It was what your clans had both wanted. It had been too easy to arrange with the Gojo’s influence.

In the crisp afternoon sun, you were brought to the little field area where Satoru and the other two second years sat, the three of them getting along and teasing and bantering with each other. Three sets of eyes upon you, all unimpressed. You had never felt so awkward, so unnecessary than in that moment.

The Satoru of your childhood, the one that you had been so excited to finally reunite with, the one that you had daydreamed of, staying awake at night thinking of, getting to play with and talk to again was the same and yet different. So different. He was still arrogant, confident, and playful, but even more so. Yet so much more distant. His smile wide and laughter loud. His smile and eyes disintered and annoyed as he saw you. Like that first day in that cold winter courtyard so many years ago. But this time he did not even try to step toward you, content to stay at the bench with his two teammates at his side. Strangers yet again.

If only you hadn’t been so caught up in your nerves, anxious for your reunion. Dreading how out of place you looked, how weak you were and already giving up before you greeted them with a polite bow.

Strong. Powerful. One of the greatest. If only you hadn’t listened to the whispers and praises surrounding you during your years apart. Satoru raised to an impossibly high pedestal of your own creation, and you so, so far beneath him.

If only you had remembered that little boy in the warm spring sun as you shared strawberry daifuku. How you had shyly told him that you were nervous about the future. How he laughed and teased as he stuffed his face before a little moment of quietness fell between you. How in that quiet he had murmured he was a little nervous too—just a little bit. His blue eyes meeting yours, a bit more shy, a sheepish pout on his lips. How you reached out hold his hand with yours. Both warm and soft. Together. A promise for the future.

A promise you were too afraid to cling to that sunny afternoon of 2006, fearing it would be so easily shattered, pushing it deep, deep down due to fear and self-doubt.

A promise that Satoru did not think he needed anymore, one that he believed he had outgrown, that he had found another to fulfill with. For he had friends now, friends not forced upon him due to his family name or expectations but rather through his own free will. He had Suguru Geto, and for 16-year-old Satoru, he held far more weight in his heart than you ever could.

And so, the two of you were strangers once more, simply tied to the same fate.

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jjk #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk fanfic #gojo satoru #xmintpiex work

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aconflagrationofmyown · 1 year

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Will there be smut between Elvis and Elaine in the 70s/80s chapter of the saga? I absolutely adore the second gen, but i am also really obsessed about the both of them still finding time (to make babys obvsly) but also enjoy eachother soo passionately like in the early years 😍 i am very invested 😂

Oh, oh darling yes there will be and…it just might be my favorite of all their eras. Plenty of fic in the works, and I’m delighted that interests you. Nothing hotter than a couple fused together by time and devotion. Also, this is beyond random but I do envision Elvis getting a bit cuddlier and bulkier into the 90’s…whereas in this AU the 70’s remain about the same health and looks as around ‘74…with some gray allowed to creep in by the mid 80’s. 😏 ALL THAT TO SAY, I find the idea of warm and sturdy Elvis being enamored with his Pilates obsessed wife pretty swoonworthy

There’s a lot coming soon for the 80’s and earlier but for now, how about a little intermediate, plotless, fluffy, wintry smut fest between Grandpa Elvis and his Tink when they’re stuck in a ski lift on their aspen holiday? …it goes something like this (WARNINGS, fluffy smut involving p in v, semi public sex but not observed, tender cum feeding (somehow Elaine made that a thing) and subby older Elvis, 18+:

Sarge & lil Mama blurb, Jan 1995,

|| Snow Bunnies

“When’d I get so damn fat?” Elaine hears her man huff over the rustling sound of their snow coats rubbing together and wants to roll her eyes, amused that Elvis didn’t expect that result from almost nightly burger and shake runs with Shiloh for the past decade.

She does roll her eyes at the thought that he wiggled her snow pants down and her panties, too, before even unzipping himself.

“You’re cuddly,” she retorts with a smile directed down to the ski slope far below them, her hand pressed to the frosting glass of the lift, “as all grandpa’s should be. Nobody wants a scrawny grandpa.”

Case in point is the waft of steaming heat Elaine feels against her bare backside the minute he gets his pants undone, sweaty body heat radiating off of him despite the freezing temperatures around them. Instinctively she arches her back a little and shifts her footing, putting a leg up on the bench to make some room for little Elvis, slotting her ski carefully between the narrow walls. It barely fits.

She thanks God for the fact she’s got just enough height to her that they can do this standing up, have been doing it this way for over three decades now, because if he can’t wait for a private moment and if he must take advantage of the stalled ski lift, then she’s secretly relieved she won’t be the one exerting effort with ten pounds extra of ski equipment hampering her.

As it is, it’s funny how swelteringly hot they both feel besides their barely exposed privates. She can hear the minute Elvis frees himself from his little wounded hiss at the cold air and his pitiful need always did make her run wet.

“C’mon mopey, come to mama.” she encourages and braces her hand on the glass, checking to make certain her long coat covers any frontal view, only the back tugged down and her husband is soon behind her with enough width and padding to hide a dumpster. “Give lil Elvis some shelter.” she tries to reach between her legs to guide him but there’s too much winter bulk in the way and only her fingertips make it to his line of sight.

Elvis moans at the eager gesture anyway, touched by how ready she still remains for him, how willing even when it ain’t her idea or need.

“Keep ya hand right there, Mamas.” he tells her in a conspiratorial little whisper, “Hims gots a little gift for hers.” he says and Elaine grins wildly in delight, trying to anticipate it, beyond the delicious stretch she readies for with braced and booted feet.

She hears the shlick/shlack of him rubbing something, along with the muffled creaking of his nylon jacket and leather gloves, and after a few moments of white breathed puffing behind her she feels a warm drop hit her finger tip.

Then another, and another and then a little string of liquid and she knows it’s his precum, he’s dripping it onto her hand and Elaine closes her eyes against the bright white landscape of an Aspen morning and imagines his drippy pink cock in a sea of leather and nylon, one warm and vulnerable little knob in the harsh elements and she knocks her forehead against the glass wall in mouthwatering craving.

“Oh Elvis!” she groans, curling her fingers as the puddle grows and begins to puddle in her palm, slicking up her own curls down where her hand is wedged so tightly from her barely removed pants. “Put it in baby, mama wants it, c’mon pretty baby.”

“Ok.” The whine and shuffle she hears behind her sounds like a child clumsily but eagerly obeying and that’s rather characteristic of her man. She bites her gloved thumb at the feel of his tip pressing blindly at her folds, poking and prodding the wrong places for entry and strangely it’s terribly exciting, this inhibited Elvis, this clumsy man who wants her so bad he’d try to bonk her in a sky lift with Pillsbury Doughboy amounts of padding striving to keep them apart.

The path of true love never did run smooth.

The jabbing and novice pokes are worth it for his frustrated little grunts in her ear and the way he tries to wiggle on top of her leaning frame, like extra height is going to help matters. She bends a little further with a fond smirk, wanting to chuckle at the way his arm presses across her shoulder and the back of her neck. It’s so desperate it’s comical and Elaine always has a weakness for being overly wanted by him.

His face is hanging over her left shoulder when he manages to wedge an inch into the correct hole and his hot breath blasts her cheek in relief and she spares a gloved hand from propping herself against the glass to pat his squishy cheek. It’s not fair how packing on a few pounds has seemed to erase the age from him, filling out the wrinkles he collected last decade and turning him into something as cute as the grandsons all over again.

Elaine feels like she did when she was freshly married and he was a chubby cheeked baby man. Even now when she can’t really see his face with the positioning, she can imagine it and it makes her heart flutter. She pats at his face and the scritch of his trimmed sideburns is noisy against the leather, Elvis nuzzles her palm.

Before she knows it he’s got her gloved fingers in his mouth and his teeth clamp against the leather at the tips and he starts to pull the glove off. She helps him, yanking her wrist and he drops the glove over her shoulder like a dog depositing a gift.

“Pet me, mamas.” Elvis begs again and nestles into her body a little further, half way in if she were to guess, and after all these years, she’s a pretty good guesser about little Elvis. “M’too fat to get in all the ways.” he fusses, forlornly starting to hump inside her in aborted little fucks like a bunny with his mate.

The mental image makes Elaine chortle, as do the silly little jabs from those famous hips. He’d get more depth violating a jacuzzi jet but Elvis Presley waits for no man and she supposes if the slide is tight enough to drag his little scarf back and forth, maybe it’ll be sufficient. She clenches for him, little rhythmic kegels that remind her of postpartum rehabilitation and his answering moan encourages her. “That feel good, baby boy? Hmm? Is mama warm and cozy?” she asks, her cheek getting sweaty from where his is pressed to hers.

Into their sixties and Elvis still twitches madly under her doting, purring in her ear when he’s being spoiled.

“Ssso’cozzzeeey.” he slurs right into her ear and she shudders in delight, feeling his arm around her waist through her layers of bundling, his hand on her shoulder needy and insistent.

After a decade of peace and over three so intertwined and inseparable, it’s as if Elvis has forgotten they are separate people. Older and less fastidious over timing or moods, when her husband gets a craving for his better half, he indulges it. It’s wholesomely nasty and Elaine doesn’t expect her children or the public to understand but she gets it.

She leans her forehead against the glass, lets her sweat smudge the clear view, and thinks she sees the specks that are their friends and kids below, commenting on the stalled lift no doubt, and she grins at the notion that Elvis can’t get enough momentum to actually make it obvious as to what these two bundles in the sky are doing.

His chubby and familiar cock is rubbing inside her delightfully as do his balls, hanging lower and swollen by age, smack her backside with every lurch, and she lets out a happy sigh at the slick sounds of his sloppy movements. Elaine can hear when he starts to get close, his breathy moans of exertion quicken and he lets out throaty little noises of delighted panic as his climax nears. His hands grasp her hips over the padding and he nearly climbs on her like it’s a piggy back ride, squirming to get a little deeper before letting out a long and loud sigh of contentment as he lets go, a sigh that has begun to crack at the end in a hoarse moan the older he gets.

“You feel so good, Tink.” he groans into her ear and her pussy clenches at the praise and the feel of his wet slop inside her.

The gush between her legs is obscene due to his shallow depth and just when she thinks he’s done with his deposit, Elvis will jerk some more and out sputters another little bit to join the rest slowly leaking out of her and dripping onto the crotch of her ski pants. “Mmm, shit, I made a mess, mama.” he mumbles apologetically at the obvious and easily foreseeable consequences to his actions.

“S’ok mopey,” she reaches back and strokes his sweaty cheek as he burrows his lips into the collar of her jacket and kisses her neck ardently and grateful, “that do it for ya, baby?” she asks, tipping her head back to allow him more access.

“Yeas,” He sighs happily, “m’all better.” he declares and Elaine’s heart thuds like a teenager from his soft, adoring tone, from the way she’s still his cure-all at all times. “But damn is it soupy down there, sorry mama.”

“You’ve been holding that in for a couple days now,” she coos, “been makin’ you grumpy and it must’ve been so hard, bein’ so full and achy and not able to relieve it.”

Elvis sniffles into her neck even as he begins to pull out, the gush of his release beginning to pour out and she quickly cups her hand to her cunt to catch some of it in her palm and spare her pants just a little.

“It’s been verra rough.” he agrees with a pout that no longer reaches anywhere else on his face save his mouth, quite an improvement from the grumpy storm cloud that was Elvis traveling here yesterday in a crowded Bus with kids and grandkids, deprived of his naps and his autonomy, with his bed full of grandkids at night and unable to have his Tink at whim.

Vacations were nice in theory, and suddenly relieved of his more irritable humors -which Elaine was cupping milky white in her palm- they might end up being nice in practice too. He just needed a little dotin’ on, like a vintage car, one can’t expect it to purr constantly without some upkeep. Tink knows this and she smiles back at him sweetly, same way she smiled at him on the bus when his boyish and round face was puckered in a moody scowl that matched Jack’s a few rows behind.

“Yeah, I know,” she’s still smiling but he watches her glance down to the pearly puddle in her palm as she adds, “but we gotta count our blessings we’ve got kids who wanna bug us as much as they do, people dream about families working as well as ours. Nothin’ we did alone, God’s been good to us, I mean -look at those sweet idiots, they’re not even skiing even though the conditions are perfect, they’re too worried for us. Don’t you think most rich kids would be hoping the car falls so they get the inheritance faster?”

Elvis wheezes a laugh and does a little hop to pull his padded pants back up, struggling with the zipper a bit. Slightly thicker around the middle and he acts like he’s nine months pregnant, unable to fasten his closures or put his shoes on, the pink happiness in his cheeks when Elaine offers to help him, betrays his act each time.

“I’ll help ya, if you need,” she offers, her own pants having been pulled up by him as he’s a gentleman, even if he’s a feral one.

“Yeah baby I need a hand.” grunts and his chin has a soft double under it as he looks down to his fly.

“Well, then clean me up so I can help.” she casually presents her cum coated hand and he balks for a brief moment until her unflinching little smile tells him she’s not kidding in the slightest, and he doesn’t need her to remind him she’ll be waddling and skiing all day in the soupy mess he made in her pants. It’s the least he can do, her eyebrow remind, and with a stuttering little whimper of aversion he takes her wrist in his large, gloved hand and bends over it like he’s gonna kiss it with all his Hollywood honed suavity.

Instead he gets to work on his task with only a fleeting grimace at the tepid saltiness of his own release and his compliance makes Elaine shiver and clench. She can feel the warm little kitten licks from his tongue, so reminiscent of other activities she uses him for, and his black lashes fan against his cheeks through the orange visor of his ski glasses as he peaks up to see her approving expression.

“That’s good enough, well done, let me help you now, sweet man.” she sighs dreamily while rubbing her finger against his curling tongue.

Elaine pats her shiny hand on her leather vinyl ski pants and finds it ineffective for drying it but there’s nothing to be done about it and so she dutifully lifts up his jackets and grasps the top of his pants and brings them together, “Suck in just a lil.” she suggests as her knuckles dig into the soft, hairy flesh of his belly, rubbing against his little treasure trail. “There we go.” she clasps it and he lets out a sigh and she steps back and both smile shyly at each other over the pretense of him needing help with something so easy.

“I love you.” it bubbles out of her lips as she sees him bundled and shy in front of her with a face shiny from his exertions inside her.

Elvis’ pink lips gasp a little at the common little declaration and he brings his large hand to the back of her neck, pulling her in for a deep kiss. She tastes his salty spend still on his tongue and moans into his scorching mouth. Her man and his body -always so warm and never more so than when he’s been freshly sated.

The ski lift jolts and Elaine falls further forward into Elvis’ embrace, losing her footing in the clumsy footwear, and he holds her up, looking above them to find the car has begun to lurch in what he hopes is an intentional motion to help the stall.

“Are we about to die?” Elaine asks with a giggle into the poofy padding of his jacket and his own laugh rumbles under her ear.

“Dunno,” he jokes, “but if we are, I want ya to know I don’t regret a damn thing ‘bout lovin’ you, ‘cept that I just left ya hangin’ in our last ron-day-voo like a green boy.”

Elaine smacks at his arm and feels the ski lift start to slide down the cable as it ought to have a whole half an hour before. “Gosh, I think we’re actually going to make it.” she mutters as their skiing party has remained intact for the most part, loathing to split off before the Boss and Boss Lady made it up safe.

When they get to their drop Elvis helps Elaine hop off the lift and he follows after, being swarmed by kids and grandkids and their friends asking if they’re alright. Which they are, of course they are.

A employee from the Resort, no doubt the fella who got them moving again, comes up and apologizes profusely for the inconvenience.

“Say nothin’ of it boy.” Elvis beams and claps him on the shoulder and Jack shares a look with his wife Vic at the quite obvious attitude adjustment that seems to have occurred since leaving the lodge. “Ya never know, one day I might tip ya for stallin’ an elevator or something so I can get this sweet creature alone for a minute.” and Elvis squeezes Elaine to his side like a typical, flirty old man and the poor employee stops chewing his gum in confusion.

“Uh. Well I’m glad you’re not shaken up, these things are quite safe they just stall occasionally.” the guy assures, loathe to get a bad review from the Presleys of all people.

“Yes of course.” Elaine smiles demurely at him and that should be his signal to move along but he’s one of those overachiever types, rules and regulation sorts, and so he persists.

“What can be dangerous is rocking a car in hopes to get it going.” he explains, “If this happens again, God forbid-“

“-better not.”

“-then it’s really important not to rock the thing or sway it too much, that can snap a cable, really Mr. Presley it’s important you guys don’t try that again.”

“We-we didn’t-“ Elvis is the picture of confusion even as Elaine’s face solidifies into diplomatic blankness.

“But we saw it rocking.” Bee, Shiloh’s best buddy and a tag-along to all Presley events, insists she saw what she saw, which was the lift rocking. She had commented as much to Danny despite his arguments that it was the wind before he dragged her off to watch him fail at a misty ski trick.

That’s why his forehead was busted and Elaine stares at the gash partially hidden by his shaggy brown hair with some concern.

“Must’ve been the wind.” Elvis repeats his son’s logic and Bee stares in confusion as they’re all out to ski because of the lack of wind.

Elaine beckons Danny over and makes his lanky frame crouch a little so she can ascertain the damage to his head while elbowing a still protesting Elvis in the ribs.

“We did try hopping a few times.” she admits breezily and as soon as she says it, Elvis stops his lying, quickly clamping his mouth shut, “Just thought we might get the momentum back. I’m sorry sir, we didn’t know we could die, we won’t try it again.” she assures.

Content the employee leaves them be and the various groups split off for the various courses, eager and red cheeked. Elvis and Elaine agree to shepard the youngest kids in the group down the easier slopes with the help of Rosalee and Sam.

On their way to their starting places Elvis brushes by Elaine, grandchild's hand in his on his opposite side and mutters in her ear, “Shouldn't make promises ya can’t keep.”

🥰 I hope y’all don’t mind me tagging y’all in blurbs as well as fics, most of y’all asked to be tagged in “everything” so I took you pretty literally, lol. Let me know and I’ll remove you for future. Xoxoxo

@paradsol000

@eliseinmemphis

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#elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #sarge & lil mama #elvis fanfic #elvis imagine #elvis x reader #elvis #welcome home elvis #elvis presely smut #Elvis smut #elvis the king #elvis history #elvis and priscilla #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley fanfiction

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