Bullseye
Elvis x Y/N
Premise: It’s another day at your summer job at the amusement park. But when night hits a certain celebrity rents the whole place out. And you find out he’s taken a lot of interest in the shooting gallery, and in you.
Warning: NSFW: Oral (male receiving), Semi public, Gun kink
Word Count: 3k
Note: Takes place in late 1950s
Starpark is known for it’s lights, fun, and like any amusement park worth it’s salt: occasional screams of terror from the thrill rides. This place has been a mainstay in Memphis, everyone knows that instant relief from a hot summer day that only a Starpark snow cone can provide. And to you, it’s become a pretty perfect summer job.
And a few weeks in, you’d gotten used to the occasional catastrophe. For example, a little kid getting stuck on a ride or that one fateful day the hot dog stand caught fire and burned to the ground. But you learn tonight especially was to be exciting in a different way.
You knew it’d be different when your boss said he needed a handful of night owls to run a special shift. A high roller had rented the whole place out to pal around with some buddies. Now, you’d read some magazines about celebrities organizing glamorous parties, or special movie showings, but this kind of outing made you curious enough to lean into employee gossip you usually avoided.
There were whispers about it being some oil tycoon, another said that it was a famous model. But the one rumor that came from the most trusted ferris wheel operator east of the Mississippi, swore by his cigarette that it was going to be Elvis Presley.
That was a whole other world of exciting compared to a flaming hot dog cart. You became an official night owl right then and there.
—
You’re already on your third coke by the time midnight comes around. You can’t nod off at a time like this after all. It’s surreal to see the park empty, the usual lights twinkling way past their bedtime. Working at the park, everyone knows a bit of each other’s job here and there, but right now you’re stationed with the games. It’s the usual suspects, ring toss, bottle bash, balloon pop, and of course the shooting gallery.
Keeping yourself busy setting up isn’t easy as whenever a car drives by you pop your head up to see who’s coming. You heard Elvis’s records, had even seen him on the television. Maybe you weren’t apart of a fan club but you would plead guilty on writing about him in your diary.
Just as you mindlessly stack teddy bears prizes against the walls of the booths, that’s when you hear it. Two cars pulling onto gravel. Duel Cadillacs to be specific, one red, one white, both new. Some bouncy radio can be heard form the cars but it’s pretty overpowered by the hollering of the band of VIPs inside.
They pop out one by one, some guys, a gal or two, and from this distance it’s hard to make out who’s who. Your area is a ways away. By now you’re straight up staring and leaning closer for a better look. Leaning… leaning… until you go ass over teakettle. Right over the edge of the booth. Its enough to make your face redder than that Cadillac, praying no one saw that.
But someone does. The someone. Now you can make out his face. Yep, Elvis Presley sees your little foible. And you quickly get yourself up and brush yourself off. When he smiles in your direction, you just about die of embarrassment on the spot.
—
Well, your first celebrity encounter being a disaster. You wondered if you could just head to the back section of the booth where all the extra teddy bears were stored so you could bury yourself there. It wouldn’t be the worst way to go. Your previous hope that Elvis might stop by was now matched with just as strong a feeling that he wouldn’t. At first it seemed you’d get your wish. He and his gang seemed most attracted to the rides.
You leaned up against a crude painting of a clown in the ring toss booth. “You and me, Bozo, couple of jokers,” you muttered against it, “who knows how he sees me now…”
“You could ask if you like.” A low drawl breaks your pity party and you turn to see him. Elvis. He seems more amused than anything else at your little chat with an inanimate clown. But, you now find death by teddy bear burial even more appealing. “Don’t you worry a thing, everyone falls off a stage now and then.”
It’s a response you didn’t expect, but you’re grateful. Grateful that it seems he didn’t point you out to his buddies like some boys in your high school would have. “Well, uh, I do usually try to stick the landing,” you have a sheepish expression as you laugh it off with him. You realize that he’s up closer now, that black shirt you saw in the distance is confirmed lace, really contrasting those pink pants he has on. And you can see he really is more gorgeous up close in person. “But, right.” You clear your throat, you are working after all… “Can I help you with something, Mr. Presley?”
“Just Elvis is alright.” His hand sets in his pocket, leaning and relaxed. “Well since I got good company,” he nods your way, “may as well play a game. What’s on the menu?”
You smile and start to gesture, “we have things like ring toss and well that one you try to get bean bags in the hole,” you’ve been kind of distracted by him that only now it dawns on you his friends hadn’t come up to join him. “Would… your guys want to play too?”
Elvis shrugged, “they’re having fun in the mirror maze right now, that’ll keep ‘em busy for a while.” He added on, “besides I see enough of myself as is, you know?” Its said humorous but for a moment it does have you wondering what it’s like to be like that, to just have your face on just about everything. Frankly you’re glad to have it right here. “I think I’d like to try out the shooting gallery,” his head gestured to the booth at the very end.
You had a feeling he’d go for that. Young men loved that one. Of course you have to leave the booth you’re in first. And just as you lift yourself up on the counter to slide to the other side, he takes your hand. He has a knowing smile and you share a laugh as this time rather than falling to the ground, you land right toe to toe with Elvis. You feel a little pink, and you gesture for him to follow you down to the end.
It’s quieter down here, a little more private.
The game is pretty easy to catch on with: hit the target. You give the usual rules, three shots and if he gets a bullseye then he gets a prize. Usually you’re explaining it to a young man that has his girl attached to his hip. This set up is a little preferable. As you get into position of the vender of the booth and settle in a safe corner, he picks out a gun to use.
“Good luck,” you say, a usual line before the game but, it’s said a little different this time. This time you’re way more invested.
He nods your way and settles into the mounted gun. It looks good on him, the sight makes you feel different in a way you can’t place. The gun is not lethal of course, just pellets in there, not bullets. But damn if it doesn’t look real. It ring off, pop, pop! And, you have to hand it to him, for a game that’s semi rigged he actually has good game. And bam, last one hit right in the center.
“Bullseye!” you smile his way and head for the prize wall that is overwhelmed with fluff of all kinds. Though you guess it’s a little silly to give one of these out to someone like Elvis, a guy that probably already has everything. But, you’re wrong about that. He doesn’t have exactly everything handed to him. Sometimes he has to be forward about it.
He gives the wall of toys a look up and down, “They look cute, hmm, mind if I get a better look?” With a gesture to the counter you look left and right, to see if anyone is going to notice you letting a guest on in but. Come on, surely your boss wouldn’t mind a rule bend for Elvis. When given the okay he slides on over to be right there next to you. When he goes it, it’s effortless. “Yep, I knew it, cute,” he confirms like it’s a fact which makes you giggle. But it’s then you notice he’s not looking at the prizes at all.
No doubting it, his gaze is on you. The Elvis Presley, taking an interest in you. It dawns on you that maybe he didn’t come over here for any game an amusement park might offer.
“Well, I suppose you can pick out whatever you want then, Elvis.” You swallow and realize your mouth has done a little dry. “I mean, what else would you… come over for?” You can now feel your heart in your chest.
He nodded, pleased by your expressing that you’re catching on. “Just for a little fun.” He takes a few steps forward and your back now hits one of the mounted targets. And now it’s like you are completely in his sights and truly a deer in headlights. Yet he doesn’t go in for the kill right away, as if waiting to see if you’re scared.
But, you’re not. You realize that beating in your chest isn’t fear at all. It’s excitement. So you say it. “Well... Have fun.” It’s all he needs. He leans in eager and kisses you like he’s been waiting. And it’s better than you could have even thought. His hand goes up to your hair to cradle your head and encourage you to give right back and you have to brace your hand on the front of his chest to keep yourself steady. It’s all lights and color.
It was hard to think at a time like this, but you’re just warm and wanted. It’s as simple as him thinking you were cute and it was just a bit of messing around. But, even if it is only a casual it’s one heavy with desire. You could wonder where it came from but a feeling this intense often bloomed from something there that had been waiting. And when his lips goes from your lips to your neck, it becomes clear this was going to be more than just a moment.
Thank god.
Your breath hitches as soon as your mouth is free and you overhear some bustling. Co-workers? His friends? Either way you didn’t want to be on display right now. He notices your fidgeting. “There’s,” you honest to god whine when he gives your skin a nip, “better prizes in the back if you… wanna see.” You’re way past coy but you can’t help yourself. Elvis did say he wanted fun.
—
An assortment of various plush and fuzzy faces is as good as any makeshift bed. It’s where you land when you two slip away to the back. With just beyond the thin fabric walls between you and the rest of the amusement park. The only thing to absorb any sound being the teddies and a few junk guns that stopped working properly all stacked up. But you focus in on the view. And what a view from down here, him standing above you. His black lace shirt blends in with the shadows behind Elvis and his skin looks just like the light coming through the curtains.
It’s as private as a shower at the beach. And yet it feels like you’re alone together. The occasional joyful shout from the company just outside feels far somehow.
You can tell he’s ready, but he seems to take some enjoyment out of watching you dazzled. Maybe finding it sweet, the clumsy girl suddenly ready for a man’s full attention. For a second you feel like a gazelle about to be pounced upon but when his hand glides over one of the used up guns, his gold ring tapping against it. “Isn’t it a little dangerous having these all piled up, sugar?”
You remind yourself that the worst a game gun could do is give a nasty bruise at far range. But hell, the imagery alone has you swallow thickly, “those are dead guns, that one right there jams, only fires after every third trigger pull.”
“Then I’d better stop at three.” He muses, easy toned. But, he doesn’t pick anything up. His hand hovers over the black metal. Now, he had his fun, just as it was afforded to him. But, Elvis wasn’t about to involve a little lady if it scared her. He wasn’t about that. A game wasn’t a game if one player wanted out. And depending on the reaction he could just play it off as a joke.
But just seeing him like that brought you from aroused to something more like… horny. Parents all around town were calling him bad news, saying he sang devil music, that he was a menace. And well, like for many girls, that was doing it for you. Being a little dangerous, a little different, that was all the fun of working at an amusement park, right? “I’ll be counting,” you nod.
“You want out, you say uncle,” he nods back your way. He means that. The gun now fits in his hand and points it just slightly in your direction. “Now. I wanna see you.”
Where his eyes land on you, it gives you all you needed to know. You unbutton your blouse. One by one, they came open and it seems Elvis is particularly pleased with what he sees because when you reveal your white bra the gun in his hand raised higher and now you felt it’s sights on your head. And the first trigger sounds off. “One.”
He kneels on down to you. His free hand first gliding up between your legs and brushing and giving a quick rub where they meet, just before his knees sink down on other side of you. You shiver, he’s right on top of you, perched now just below your hips. And a distinct black metal barrel is now against your cheek. “I got an eye for talent, you know,” he mumbles, the gun just starting to trace your jaw and go near your lips. “I love to be impressed.”
And that gets your tongue practically asking for the gun to be in your mouth. Ready to show off. Like those girls that would crowd around the water fountains instead of going to class, or those free living ladies posing in dirty magazines. A bad boy’s girl. When he obliges you give him a preview of just what you could do, gliding the barrel against your cheeks and licking as it nears your throat. You cough just once, but it passes quick. The metal is cold and harsh but his burning gaze warms you right back up.
His free hand has gone to his pants now, and you can see him gripping at his belt. With him jostling himself on top of you, even with the layer of a skirt and panties you get a feeling from the pressure and movement he provides. You feel dirty, filthy, it’s wonderful. You want him inside you right now and you don’t care where. Your groan lines right up with the second trigger sound. “T-two,” you say, mouth full.
When the guns comes out you’re met with the sight of his front zipped down . He’s hard. “Real thing now…” he chuckles, his once perfectly combed hair looks wilder now, wild as his eyes. When he shifts up to get closer to your face, that free hand hooks down between yours legs and gives his fingers a quick twist before leaving you wanting. God.
He’s in your mouth. He’s careful about it, waits for you to chase him before he starts easing his pelvis forward and damn this was different from a gun. Warm skin, thick. Elvis keeps a close eye on your expression and pulls himself out, waiting for you to give any kind of word, but you don’t. You just want this. He keeps an even pace, his trigger finger itching. “Look at you, don’t you love it…” he chuckles, pushing some of his hair back, giving a slight buck. “I knew I picked a good girl.”
Your thighs now desperately close and rub to get some more friction for yourself, because you’re plain wet now.
You’re deep in the heat of it when the outside world gets suddenly closer. Some words like, “E, where are you?” And other calls for where he’d gone. And that somehow just ups it. And it seems Elvis is aware too because he pulls out his cock from your mouth. But you can’t have it end like this. Not when he’s close. Not when you’re close.
“We’re almost done,” you whine louder than you thought you might which gets him worked up, one of his friends could have heard that. The gun goes back to your head, and the dick back in your mouth. Your now muffled voice against him is all it takes. A click. You both cum.
One swallow later and he’s limp against the outside of your cheek. “Three.”
—
“Hey Elvis, where’d you go, man?” A younger teen gets up beside Elvis, not long after he’s stepped out from the booth. Elvis’s hair tells a story that this guy is apparently a little too naive to catch on about. “What, did you ride the spin-a-round again?” He asks jovially as he gave Elvis’s hair a fluff, which got some boyish push back, as a friend might do.
As you yourself reappear on the opposite side of the little structure, most everything resembled. Well except your underwear, that had to go. It looks like no one is the wiser. Still you couldn’t help but listen in on Elvis and his boys near by.
Elvis strode on to see his buddies, acting cool and casual as they dug in at him and made fun, “you should have seen it, EP, Jerry got all lost in the maze, Red had to fish him out. You missed all the fun!” And you had to cover your mouth to keep your laugh from getting out.
As you peered over at the group heading to their cars to head out, just before getting in, Elvis stood back just long enough to catch your eye contact. He raised up his hand, positioning a finger gun and popped it in your direction. Oh, he’d be back many other times after this. And if you’d ever fool around again? Well, you were feeling pretty game.
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Which MLB team is most like the Yellowstone Magic?
Blaseball is back, baby! Sort of. First we’re finishing up a multi-week expansion draft-style period where all the old players fall out of the black hole that ate the league last year and onto their new teams. If you want to follow along, enter your email on Blaseball.com so we can unlock more prizes together.
But anyway, with the baseball season wound down and the blaseball season winding up, I thought I’d do a little crossover comparison to see which MLB team best matches the history, style, and vibes of my Yellowstone Magic.
Part 1: Historical Performance
The Magic have spent much of our history as an average-to-bad team, interspersed with occasional 0 No-powered playoff runs that always fall short of the Internet Series. We found consistent success with above-.500 records from seasons 13-18, but suffered a narrow MLCS loss to the Moist Talkers in season 14. After that, our playoff core was lost to redaction, and our “Magic 8 Ball” 8-player roster was bounced in the first round of the season 17 playoffs by the Fridays.
This lack of playoff success characterizes the Magic; in fact, the Magic and Dale are the only non-expansion teams to never appear in an Internet Series (both have, however, won the Underbracket Series). The MLB teams most like this are, of course, the six teams that have never won a World Series: the Brewers, Mariners, Padres, Rangers, Rays, and Rockies.
Part 2: Natural Vibes
Being the only team based in a national park, the Magic have cultivated an air of mysticism and the natural environment. Much of the lore for our homegrown players has developed around one or both of these two concepts: a geyser, a coyote, a cyanobacteria colony, a wizard, a devilish goatman, a shadowy, unquantifiable being, multiple rock formations. Among the fanbase, the focus on nature also encourages a balanced, mossy mood, promoting good vibes and an appreciation of the world around us.
The Magic are a team with a rich history, but one of nature and ancient forces rather than urban environments and industry. Obviously every MLB team is based in an urban area, but western teams tend to lean into more natural aesthetics. In particular, the Angels and Rockies ballparks both feature forested natural landscapes in center field.
Part 3: The Starpark Stats
Stats and strategy discussion for the Magic usually centers around improving pitching and defense. The team has always had a decent lineup, built around 0 No and boosted by a well-sequenced top of the batting order and various short-lived combos like the Coven. Aside from very early seasons, though, the team had major holes in important defensive stats. This hurt less optimized pitchers like Inky Rutledge, and even our best pitchers in Curry Aliciakeyes and King Weatherman didn’t stack up to powerhouses on other teams.
Defense in MLB is hard to quantify over multiple seasons, but as far as pitching: the Orioles, Pirates, and White Sox all have 30+ year Cy Young award droughts, while the Rangers, Reds*, and Rockies have never won a Cy Young.
*By order of me, the 2020 NL Cy Young winner is now Yu Darvish by virtue of he deserves one and fuck the other guy.
Conclusion:
The MLB team most like the Yellowstone Magic is... the Colorado Rockies!
Located in Denver, Colorado, the Rockies are the closest geographical team to Yellowstone National Park, and the park lies within their eponymous mountain range. They have made only five trips to the playoffs since being founded in 1993, and only once made it past the division series: during the 2007 “Rocktober” campaign where they swept the NLDS and NLCS only to be swept in the World Series.
Like the Magic, the Rockies are known as a high-offense, low-pitching team; the large dimensions of their home park, Coors Field, are offset by the offense-boosting high altitude. In their 30 years of existence, they have won 11 NL batting titles. Coors Field is extremely well-attended despite the Rockies’ mediocre performance, consistently placing in the top quarter of league attendance, similar to the Magic’s comparatively large fanbase among blaseball teams.
Some other facts about the Rockies that fit the vibes of the Magic:
They have a unique color scheme in MLB: purple and black
They have only one representative in the Hall of Fame
16 players have won a combined 32 Silver Slugger awards
The altitude of Coors Field requires unique strategies for pitching, hitting, and fielding
Coors Field has a row of purple seats representing the mile-high altitude line
The Coors Field bullpen contains a small forest and water feature
There have been several viral instances of opposing pitchers hanging out in said forest
Dinosaur bones were discovered when constructing Coors Field
Because of this, the Rockies’ mascot is a purple triceratops named Dinger
Their triple-A affiliate team is the Albuquerque Isotopes
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