I finally have a master list of my works!! I write for Elvis Presley and Austin!Elvis at the moment, but I am willing to open it up to Elvis’ movie character and Austin Butler once I get more comfortable. Some of my works are 18+(Minors DNI!!), so I will have those asterisked.
Summary Watching Austin doing stunt work for his latest Variety Magazine shoot, gives you a promiscuous idea you can’t wait to try out with him.
🔗Masterlist
❤️🔥Passionate Smut❤️🔥 Austin x You• Austin at work •hot without trying• can’t keep your eyes off of him • the lasso is doing things• teasing •edging • rope kink • caught by Austin’s lasso • nipple play• dirty talk• the clothes stay on• sex tied up • size kink • overstimulation • orgasm • after care
💭via @aust-een ✨Inspo via DMs
Lasso Me
You’re standing just off set, arms folded tightly across your chest so no one sees how affected you are beneath your thin sundress. The crew moves around you in a blur, but you barely register any of it, because the only thing you’re looking at is Austin.
Every time your eyes land on him… his strength, his grace, the way he moves so naturally…it makes your thoughts scatter.
He’s completely unaware of the pull he creates around him, and the longer you stare, the warmer you get beneath your sundress, your body reacting before your mind can even catch up.
It’s the Vanity Fair shoot, and he’s paired with Andrew Garfield for a stunt portion, the two of them absolutely ridiculous together.
Andrew throws an arm around Austin’s neck in a playful headlock for a take, ruffling that perfect sandy-brown hair as Austin laughs struggling to wrestle him off.
Austin retaliates with a sharp fake punch to Andrew’s jaw, making him reel back like he’s been fatally wounded… and both of them crack up like they’re twelve.
The chemistry is stupidly hot… all that easy trust and rough affection making Austin look even more irresistible.
His first stunt is the glass punch.
Austin rolls his shoulders and locks in, driving his fist straight through the sugar pane as it explodes like ice shattering to the ground.
He doesn’t even flinch…he just stands there in those high-waisted jeans and half-unbuttoned gray shirt, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, like he already knows exactly what he’s doing to you as they yell cut.
His second stunt is the lasso.
He steps into frame with the rope spinning slow at his side, tongue dragging across his lower lip right before he throws. One smooth flick and the rope sails out, catching the post dead-center, the sharp sound of the snap when he pulls it tight hitting you straight between the legs.
His third stunt is a fall.
Andrew throws a fake uppercut and Austin sells it like he was born doing stunts, falling back, arms windmilling, then dropping hard onto the crash mat.
His arms are flung wide, legs spread open, chest rising under his loosely buttoned shirt…and the position is obscene… his hips tilting just enough that the denim pulls tight across his cock, your thighs pressing together instantly to stifle yourself from making a sound.
He’s such a fucking star… so agile, so captivating… and all you can think about is how he’s yours….and you can’t wait to get him home.
The drive is torture in the sweetest way. He keeps one hand on the wheel and the other wrapped around yours, lifting your fingers one by one just to play with them.
He keeps glancing at you with that quiet, satisfied smile that he gets after a good day on set.
“You were watching me so intently while I was doing stunts, baby,” he says softly, not even bothering to hide the grin in his voice.
You smirk, pretending to look out the window. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”
“Mm.” He hums, his thumb sliding up the inside of your wrist, warm and teasing. “I saw your face when I threw that rope.”
Your thighs press together instantly.
“I thought it was hot,” you admit with a grin.
He laughs under his breath, deep and cocky.
“You thought it was hot,” he repeats, glancing over with that lazy smirk that always ruins you.
You swallow. “Fine… it did things to me.”
He looks at you again, slower. “You were staring at me like you wanted me to tie you up right then and there. Andrew kept asking why you looked so out of it.”
Your eyes widen. “He did not.”
“Oh, he did.” Austin says, lifting your hand to his mouth, kissing your fingertips one by one. “I told him you were just watching for continuity.”
You grin, voice dropping suggestively. “Yeah… that’s not what I was doing.”
“Oh, I know.” He teases, his fingers trailing down to your thigh, tracing circles that make your stomach flutter.
“For the record… if you did tie me up?….I wouldn’t fight you.” You breathe out softly.
He exhales slowly, eyes dropping straight to where his hand is sliding up your thigh. “Yeah. I know what gets you.”
“Austin…” You shift in your seat as his fingers slip under the hem of your sundress, and your eyes squeeze shut for a second as you inhale, trying to steady yourself.
He gives your thigh a slow, deliberate squeeze, his voice dropping even lower. “Tell me what you need when we get home baby.”
You look over at him, already completely undone, and he steals a quick glance at you before his eyes drift back to the road… releasing your thigh like he knows exactly what he’s leaving you with.
By the time he pulls into the driveway, your breath is unsteady, the sundress doing little to hide what he’s already done to you without even trying.
He gets out and comes around to your side, opening the door to hold your hand, guiding you through the house and straight into the backyard.
He walks to the out door bar and pours two glasses of brandy like his day on set was nothing, but as he hands you your drink his pupils are still wide with adrenaline.
You sink down onto the outdoor couch watching him eye you in your little sundress as he takes his time… because he knows exactly what seeing him work does to you.
You swirl your glass slowly, letting the ice clink, letting him watch your fingers curl around the rim. “You always been that good with a rope Austin…” You ask, heat rising up your chest. “You think you could you actually lasso me with it?”
His eyes snap to yours, dark, sharp, already intrigued as a slow grin forms on his lips.
“You really want me chasing you across the yard in that tight little dress?” he asks, his voice lower.
You bite your lip as you look at him through your lashes….and that’s all it takes.
Without breaking eye contact, he sets his glass down… then steps off the patio heading straight for the out door shed.
You watch him walk inside for a moment, hearing the faint clatter of hooks and when he steps back out, he’s adjusting the length of a rope, tying it tight, testing the weight of it with one practiced flick of his wrist.
You squeal, half delighted, half pure need as you lift from the couch and run across the backyard, sundress fluttering at your thighs.
“Baby I don’t wanna hurt you,” he calls after you, laughter and concern threaded through. “You can’t outrun rope, sweetheart. You know that.”
You’re giggling, breathless, heart hammering as you wait, and he slows to a prowl, spinning the rope faster.
“Hold still for me.” He instructs.
You freeze in the middle of the yard, chest heaving as you watch his eyes narrow, pupils swallowing the blue, tongue wetting his bottom lip.
The rope whistles once overhead, and then swoop. The loop drops clean over your shoulders and snaps tight beneath your breasts. One sharp yank and your arms are pinned to your sides, the rope dragging deliciously across your nipples through the thin cotton.
You close your eyes because it’s the hottest thing he’s done….probably for the tenth time today.
He reels you in hand over hand until you’re chest to chest, the thick ridge of his cock nudging hard against you through his jeans.
“Got you,” he grins like he’s won a prize, and you squirm, testing the rope, the friction on your nipples pulling a whimper out of you.
He dips his head as he smiles against your ear, giving the rope one quick tug that saws the rope over your breasts pulling a broken moan straight from your throat.
“Been wanting you like this ever since you stood there biting that lip, watching me on set.” he confesses, pressing the thick line of his cock against you.
He starts walking you backward, tugging the rope just enough to keep you off balance, your tits bouncing with every step. Your knees hit the edge of the outdoor couch and you fall down together, him landing heavy and perfect between your thighs, caging you in.
The rope keeps your arms trapped; the sundress already bunched high on your waist, and he slides one rough palm up your thigh, thumb tracing the crease where leg meets hip, stopping just shy of where you need him most.
You arch, panting. “Austin, please—”and he pulls back just enough to watch you writhe.
“Please what, baby?” He says, his hand sliding under the hem of your panties, two fingers gliding through your slick.
“Please fuck you while you’re all tied up and helpless?”
You nod frantically, and he grins as he sits up on his knees, yanking his belt open with one sharp tug. He shoves his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his cock— thick, hard, already slick at the tip, as he hooks your panties aside dragging the head through your folds until you’re trembling.
“Beg me pretty.” he says.
“Please, Austin, need you so bad, you looked so fucking hot today, please—”
He grins, filthy and fond, and brings your thighs over his waist keeping you pinned beneath him on the couch looking up into his blue eyes.
He lines himself up and guides his cock in slow, inch by inch, letting you feel every bit of his size until you’re whimpering, clenching, trying to pull him deeper.
He thrusts in fully and you moan, back bowing off the cushions, the rope biting deliciously into your skin as he sets a quick pace right from the start. He grinds in deep strokes on every thrust, and his thumb finds your clit circling relentlessly.
The rope drags across your nipples with every bounce of your tits, and it’s perfect, overwhelming.
“Love how you take me baby.” he pants, voice wrecked. “These pretty tits bouncing every time I thrust—fuck—”
You’re moaning his name, babbling praise and filth, saying anything to keep him moving, and his hips rut hard between your thighs as his cock nudges every sensitive spot within you.
He keeps you there forever, teasing, edging, fucking you open and helpless, tugging the rope to rub your nipples raw, his thumb never letting up on your clit. You’re panting, begging, and it feels so good you can’t form words, just broken pleas and his name over and over.
He slows suddenly, rolling his hips in deep lazy circles that make you sob, thumb working your clit in tight, perfect strokes.
“Come for me baby,” he finally says, voice cracking, thumb pressing hard. “Come on my cock while you’re tied up like my pretty little prize.”
You orgasm instantly clenching so hard around him he groans your name like it hurts, hips stuttering. He follows seconds later, burying himself deep and spilling hot inside of you breathing. “I love you, fuck, I love you.”
You’re both panting when he collapses over you, kissing you slow and soft, his nose nudging yours.
You smile, breathless and sated. “Untie me.” you whisper.
He smirks, eyes still black with lust, and gives the rope another lazy tug so it rubs your nipples as you gasp, oversensitive.
“Ask me nicely’,” he says, his hand sliding up to cup your breasts, squeezing hard, his thumbs circling the stiff peak until you’re arching into him again.
“Please Aus, untie me” you plead, feigning helpless.
“Are you sure?” He asks, placing breathy kisses across your chest. “because I’ve got a lot more rope where this came from.”
You grin as he looks up at you, the rope marks blooming red across your skin… and you already know you’ll let him have you all over again, because you love being caught in his lasso.
You were sat crisscrossed on you and elvis’ shared bed at graceland, reading a random book out of his very large book collection, waiting for him to come back from recording at the studio, a hand resting comfortably atop of your bump.
You looked up as you heard the bedroom door open, a wide smile spreading across your face as elvis walked in. “hi mama” he said softly, walking over to you and pressing a soft kiss to your lips.
“hi..how did it go?” you asked. “it went great” he said, slipping off his shoes and slipping in bed behind you. “whatcha readin’?” he asked as you laying your back against his chest, his arms wrapping around you and his hands finding home on your belly.
“gone with the wind” you answered. “i’ve seen the movie a million times but i’ve never read the book and i don’t really have anything else to do so i thought, why not?” you added with a chuckle, he smiled and pressed a soft kiss against your shoulder.
“how ya feelin’?” he asked, his thumb rubbing gently across your skin, you shrugged. “not too bad today” you answered, earning a nod.
“did ya eat?” he asked, you nodded. “i made pancakes this morning and had a sandwich not long ago” you answered.
“did ya dr-“ he starts, getting cut off by your lips against his. this was a daily routine for him, come home and ask a million questions, making sure you ate, drank water, took your medicine and vitamins, etc.
“i’m okay..i did everything i promise” you say with a chuckle after pulling away. “i worry about ya, ya know that” he says, you nod.
“and i’m very grateful” you say, closing the book and laying it on the side table before laying your hands over his.
“have ya been thinkin’ of any names?” he asks, you nod. “a few” you say with a smile. you had just found out about a week ago that your having a little girl, elvis was ecstatic.
“tell me” he says. you hum, thinking a bit. “i really like paisley” you say, looking up at him.
“that’s cute, i like it” he agrees with a smile. “what about a middle name?” he questions.
“i was thinking love, for your mama” you say softly, making his smile grow bigger. “Paisley Love Presley..it’s perfect.” he says, bringing a hand up from your stomach and laying it on your cheek, pressing a soft and slow kiss to your lips.
“yeah?” you question, he nods. “yeah” he retorts, moving some hair behind your ear before laying his hand back on your stomach.
“i love ya..and our ‘lil girl” he says softly, you smile and press a kiss to his cheek. “we love you too el” you answer softly.
Summary Austin looks so spectacular in his leather suit at the premiere of his new film, that you don’t even want him to take it off when you’re finally alone.
🔗MasterList
❤️🔥Passionate Smut❤️🔥 Austin in leather • leather kink • fawning • sweet talk• dirty talk •praise kink • the leather stays on • thigh riding • he talks you through it • clit play • edging • teasing •size kink •hand job while in leather pants • p in v on a lounger • multiple orgasms • cream pie •aftercare
📖 Proofreader @purejasmine 🫦 Plot consultant @Butdaddyilovehim99 ✨Inspo via reblogs, DMs….Austin in Full Leather 🥵
Leather & Lace
The premiere is a spectacle, gritty and glamorous, exactly the kind of chaos that echoes through New York City. The red carpet is a fever dream of flashing cameras, shouting fans, and interview questions.
Austin is the star of the night, gliding through it all with practiced ease. His leather-on-leather suit fits him like a second skin. Black, sleek, no shirt, just the sharp cut of the tailoring to his muscular frame. His tan skin glows under the lights, hair swept back in that effortless way that makes the crowd lose their minds.
He wears shades to shield his eyes, a trick he picked up from a famous musician to mask the anxiety when he feels the pressure rising in his chest.
He is the lead of the film, untouchable, charismatic, but you can see the signs: jet lag, endless interviews, the same questions asked over and over again on a loop until his answers start to blur.
Zoe his costar struts beside him, all cool confidence. Bad Bunny the protagonist flashes his grin, owning the carpet with every step. Even Tonic, the film’s unofficial mascot cat, steals the show, rolling up in a remote-controlled car, decked out in a tiny leather jacket.
After the photo call Austin makes sure to give an interview to every entertainment journalist, his voice steady, his eyes distant.
You wait out of sight, Austin’s private life kept carefully separate, your fitted black lace dress a quiet contrast to the glittering spectacle surrounding you.
You’re content watching him shine, the way he dazzles the crowd, the way he’s so professional at every event, always knowing he’s counting down the hours until he can unwind.
After the interviews Austin pauses to sign a few autographs, his smile warm as a fan holds out a blue rose. A new fascination, it seems, these roses being offered to him. It started at Cannes and now at every other event he is offered one, always accepting graciously.
Hours later in the suite, the doors clicks shut, sealing out the publicists, the wardrobe team, the noise.
The sounds of the city can’t reach the penthouse, and in this pocket of quiet, its just you and Austin.
He stands in the center of the room, still in his leather suit, the jacket revealing just enough to tease the line of his chest.
He looks like a fever dream, his movements smooth, his posture relaxed, but you can see the exhaustion in his blue eyes.
“Baby,” he calls, voice pitching up, a thread of panic lacing through as he fumbles with a button, his fingers slipping more than they should. “I’m, uh… I got a problem.”
You cross the room in a heartbeat, concern spiking. “What’s wrong?”
He sighs, loosening his leather suit, and then you see it, his skin is glistening, slick with sweat.
The low light catches the sheen on his abs, each ridge defined, shimmering, and your, thighs pressing together instinctively.
“Austin…” you gasp, your voice soft, barely a whisper.
“I know,” he says, glancing down at himself, a mix of embarrassment and frustration. “I’m soaked under this thing. Can you grab some towels?”
“Aus…” You try again, but your voice is breathy, weak, thoughts scattering like confetti.
He looks so good…too good, his skin slick and chest heaving slightly from the heat of it all. “Austin…just sit….I’ll help you.” You finally manage.
He obeys, sinking onto the plush lounger with a heavy sigh, his head tipping back, eyes half-closed.
You bolt to the bathroom, snatching a stack of folded towels, and when you return, he’s sprawled out, legs spread, the leather inviting in all the right places.
The sight hits you like a punch, he’s gorgeous, unguarded, and your pulse races, unable to stop yourself.
“Wait I need to capture this,” you say, setting the towels down and grabbing your phone.
He cracks a smile, a slow grin spreading across his face seeing how flustered you are.
“You want a picture of this mess?” he teases, his voice low, but he leans back further, letting his legs fall open just a bit more, playing coy knowing exactly what you want.
You snap a few photos, the leather gleaming, his chest glistening. He looks like a rock star, a god, a fantasy you can’t believe is real.
He beckons you closer with a smirk. “C’mere,” he says, voice softer, now heavy with intent.
Your phone trembles in your hand as you set it down. You cross the room, and his hands find yours first, pulling you right down to straddle his thigh.
“Austin,” you breathe, your hands finding his chest, fingers brushing the damp heat of his skin.
He pulls you in, his lips crashing onto yours, desperate and searching. His mouth is warm and needy as he groans softly, hands settling on your hips, pulling you closer.
“Missed you all night,” he whispers against your lips, voice rough with want.
“I… missed… you too,” you reply, words tumbling out between kisses, fingers digging into the leather of his jacket, the scent of it mixed with his sweat driving you insane.
You can feel his hand sliding to your lower back, pressing you down until your clit rubs his thigh. The leather of his pants is slick against your lace panties, making your eyes flutter shut as a soft moan escapes.
“Feels good doesn’t it baby?” he whispers, his voice filled with want, and his fingers slip between your legs tugging your lace panties aside.
The leather is slick and warm against your bare clit sending a jolt of pleasure through you, and he guides your hips, making you to ride his thigh, the smooth surface amplifying every sensation.
“Austin, yes” you moan, eyes closed, lost in the rush of pleasure, and his grip tightens on your hips, a quiet groan betraying his own need.
His mouth finds yours again, deeper this time, tongue sliding against yours as he moves your hips, making you glide along his thigh through your slickness.
Your soft, broken whimpers spill out, your body trembling as the overstimulation takes hold.
“Keep going for me,” he whispers, lips kissing along your jaw, and trailing down to your neck.
Your hips rock back and forth, his hands guiding you, the sensation so intense your thighs clench tighter, soft little breaths escaping as your vision blurs.
He hums, low and filthy, teeth grazing your collarbone. “You like me like this, all messy for you?” He says, his hand sliding up your side, thumb brushing over your nipple, teasing you slowly. “You’re making it real hard for me to get out of this suit.”
“Don’t take it off,” you moan quickly, fingers curling into his hair. “Keep it on. Just… just a little longer.”
His eyes darken, a wicked edge to his smile, and he obeys, shifting slightly so you can feel every press of his thigh between your legs.
“You want me to stay like this, all sweaty and stuck, for you?”
“Yes Austin,” you breathe, grinding down harder, the friction of the leather sending sparks through you making you desperate for more.
He kisses you again, his hands on your thighs, pulling you close until there’s no space left between you.
Your moans are soft and weak vision blurring thighs squeezing together as your walls flutter.
“You’re gonna soak this leather,” he whispers, voice raw, lips brushing your ear. “Fuck I want you too.” He confesses.
The room spins, the city outside fading to nothing as you lose yourself to him, hips rocking, soft moans and whimpers spilling out as you come.
You’re panting, shivering, the relief washing over you in waves as he stares, eyes heavy with awe and want.
You begin peeling off his leather jacket to reveal more of his sweat-slicked skin and the warm intoxicating scent of him hits you like a drug.
“I need you,” you whisper, hands trembling as they skim down his chest, slipping lower, finding his fingers already trying to undo his pants.
You gently push his large hands away, looking up at him through your lashes as you easily undo the tack button, and his eyes lock on your face as you slowly lower the zipper.
He gasps as your hand slides inside the leather, finding him already hard, hot, his cock slick with sweat pulsing against your palm.
“Austin…” you breathe, your core throbbing as you stroke him, the slickness of his sweat making your hand glide perfectly along his cock.
“Baby…” his voice cracks, raw and desperate, his hips jerking into your touch. “Baby…you’re gonna make me come if you keep doing that.”
You keep going, savoring his reaction, the way his breath hitches, the way his fingers dig into the lounger, the low, groans spilling from his lips.
His cock pulses harder, slick and heavy in your hand, and you can feel him teetering on the edge, his control fraying with every stroke.
With a shaky groan, he quickly grabs your wrist pulling your hand away as he moves you to lay down across the lounger.
He curses under his breath, fumbling with his leather pants, the tight fabric clinging to him as he tugs them down just enough to free his cock.
His breaths are heavy, his eyes wild. “I want you so bad,” he rasps, fingers grasping your hips. “You have no idea how much I need you, right now.”
You gasp, arching up to him and with a low groan he thrusts into you deeply, hitting that spot just right.
You cry out, lost in pleasure as the sound rises from your chest.
“Fuck you feel so good,” he groans, his cock thrusting into you, each stroke harder than the last.
Your cries break into frantic whimpers, hands clawing at his back. “Austin— please, don’t stop—”
He presses his forehead to yours, panting, his voice rough. “I’m not stopping, baby. Not until you come all over me again. You hear me?”
You nod as he increases his pace, his thrusts making your body shudder with each one, until all that’s left is his voice, his weight, his need pounding into you.
Everything becomes hazy your breaths heavy gasps as your walls clench tightly around his cock.
“—Aus—” you whimper, your voice breaking as pleasure crashes through you, waves pulsing from your core. Your body arches, fingers digging into his shoulders, nails leaving crescent shaped marks.
He groans, low and guttural, voice shuddering as he feels your walls gripping him. “Shit—baby, you’re squeezing me so tight,” he pants, every thrust faster, harder, his muscles flexing as he rides it out.
Your moans and whimpers mix with his grunts, your body trembling under the force of him, his hands holding thighs to take more of him as he groans louder, each gasp and shudder betraying the intensity building inside of him.
He makes a shuddering grunt, his thrusts faltering “Ffffuck—Im gonna come,” he rasps.
He groans, every muscle clenching tight, his voice a mix of pleasure and sharp exhales as he comes inside of you filling you with warmth.
He collapses against you, head slumping onto your shoulder, breathing heavily, all the tension draining from his body.
His moves against you as he suddenly starts to laugh, a light, giddy sound he can’t control and you can’t help but giggle too, your bodies slick and warm together.
He exhales, voice soft and satisfied. “Damn… I’ll never get over that feeling.”
“What feeling?” you ask, still catching your breath, fingers tracing through his hair.
“Being so exhausted… that I can only rest after I come in you,” he confesses, eyes closing, completely spent.
You smile proudly. “Don’t rest just yet,” you tease. “We have to shower first.”
His head nuzzles against your shoulder as he groans. “In a minute….I just want to…stay right here with you.” he says, his voice muffled and tired against you, and your fingers trail through his hair as he surrenders to your warmth with a heavy sigh of satisfaction.
summary. when austin sees you with a baby in your arms to film an elvis scene, he knows it: he wants you with your belly full of him. and he wants it now.
pairing. austin butler x fem!reader
tags & warnings. priscilla actress!reader, age gap (19/29), established relationship, secret relationship, baby fever, pet names, breeding kink, pregnancy kink, size kink, rough sex, messy sex, multiple orgasms, crying during sex, aftercare, tension, desire, intimacy, comfort, fluff, romance.
note. well, austin is just too beautiful and deserves to reproduce, so you help him with that. that's all. i decided to set this during the filming of elvis to make it a little more interesting and because i can't get over this era.
the film set is warmly lit, with those lights carefully placed to give the feeling of a 1970s home. there's a crib, a rocking chair in the corner, prop toys, baby clothes folded on the dresser against the wall, and baz giving quick instructions between coffee and cigarettes.
austin doesn't listen to anything he says. he can't. not when you're dressed in that pink babydoll that barely covers your butt. not when you're holding a baby that should be his. not when you look so pretty.
austin moves deeper into the nursery, dressed like elvis, with his hair slicked back and his wardrobe impeccable. he's gone through a thousand rehearsals for the accent, the gestures, the movements. but none of it has him as nervous as what he sees right now: you, his girlfriend, turned into priscilla, with a baby in your arms.
his heart squeezes in a way no camera can capture. the way you hold the baby—tenderly, with natural care, as if you were born to do so—is tearing him apart inside. austin feels the air in the room thicken, his concentration slipping through his fingers.
it's too much.
he watches you gently rock the tiny baby, murmuring to her in that low voice only he usually hears at night, and the world around him ceases to matter. it's not the spotlights, the cameras, or the script. it's you. it's the image of you with a baby in your arms, so delicate, so beautiful, so fucking perfect that all he can think is: i need to get her pregnant.
he stares at you, unable to move from his spot, his breath slightly bated. every gesture of yours, every smile you give the baby, is driving him crazy. it's not just that you look beautiful; it's that he sees you in a role he'd never allowed himself to imagine: you with a child, caring for it, loving it, being a mother.
his heart pounds, and he can't help but imagine it: that little girl in your arms would be his daughter, that baby you're smiling at would be his, you would be the mother of his child, his children. many children.
austin's breath catches slightly. he forces himself not to show it on his face, because baz is watching him. but internally, he's on the verge of despair. his fingers twitch, hidden in the sides of his pants.
"austin, remember: this part is intimate. it's not about elvis the superstar. this is just elvis being a father." baz says, in his energetic, detail-oriented way, walking around the set with headphones around his neck and a coffee in his hand.
austin nods, trying to focus, but his gaze inevitably returns to you. and no, it's not just priscilla he sees, it's you. his girl. his love. the person who, just by smiling at him while cradling the baby, is completely destroying him.
in his head, the scene splits into two realities: the fictional one, where elvis and priscilla are lisa marie's parents... and the real one, where austin wants nothing more than to skip all the hours, all the scenes, everything, to take you home and make you the mother of his child.
he runs his hand through his hair, trying to calm the heat rising through his body. damn, he's desperate. he wants this so much it almost hurts. he wants to take you in his arms and tell you that he wants to be a father too, with you, now, that he can't wait any longer.
the baby in your arms babbles, and austin swallows. a sound so small, yet so powerful, that he imagines it multiplied: what would their real child sound like? what would you look like, with your rounded belly, walking through the house he would buy for the two of you?
his thoughts become tangled. he sees you laughing, exhausted, with your hair disheveled, holding a newborn as he arrives with flowers and toys. he sees you in bed, caressing your belly while he kisses your navel. he sees you in front of the mirror, wearing loose clothing, blushing because your body is changing… and he's proud, so damn proud, to know that it's his.
austin approaches the two of you and leans slightly toward the baby to get a better look at her face, but soon his attention is drawn back to you. you tilt your head up so you can look at him, because you're so small, and then you smile at him with that mix of sweetness and shyness as the warm light illuminates your angelic face, and he feels a strange warmth in his chest… and elsewhere too.
damn, he thinks. it's supposed to be a tender, family moment… and instead, all he can imagine is his own daughter in your arms while you smile at him like that. imagining you pregnant, taking care of his child, laughing for him… the desire becomes almost unbearable.
"you look good with a baby," he murmurs softly, his mouth dry.
you smile, sweet, a light blush on your pale cheeks. "do you think so?"
he nods, staring at you. "i do."
you're beautiful.
and he's devastated.
because seeing you like this ignites an instinct he didn't even know was so close to the surface. it's not just tenderness. it's not just desire. it's a primal hunger, a vertigo in his stomach: he wants this with you. he wants to see your belly grow, feel you lean against him at night, kiss your forehead while you complain of tiredness. he wants to see you in his home, in his bed, carrying his baby.
"you're doing too well," he murmurs, barely audible, leaning into your ear while smiling at the rest of the team, as if they were simple words of encouragement between colleagues.
you glance at him, with that sparkle in your eyes that drives him crazy, and answer in a low voice:
"she's just a baby. it's not difficult."
it's not difficult. those words pierce through him. austin clenches his jaw to keep from laughing, because what he means is: yes, it is. it's difficult when all i think about is you, holding our real child.
the casting assistant approaches to take the little actress away, but the baby girl won't let go of the fabric of your babydoll, clinging with her tiny fingers. austin feels his chest swell with absurd pride.
"she doesn't seem to want to let go of you," someone from the crew tells you, in a light tone.
austin laughs along with the others, but inside he thinks: of course not. because you're perfect. because you were born for this.
after arranging the baby's clothes and the blanket she's wrapped in, the assistant places her back in your arms, and austin stays with you for a moment in silence. there are people around, yes, and there's a camera filming behind the scenes, yes, but he's reached the point where he doesn't care.
if people find out—and they will—he doesn't care. he'll give you his ring, his last name, and his baby. and the rest can go fuck themselves.
in front of him, you move smoothly and gracefully; your blue eyes, framed by eyeliner, gaze down at the baby in your arms with a sweet, maternal gaze that drives him wild, all while you gently rock her, cooing.
and then, unable to resist, he leans in close enough to whisper to you:
"you'd look so pretty pregnant."
you blink up, looking at him in surprise, your eyes sparkling as if you weren't sure you'd heard right. and austin smiles, with that mix of cheekiness and vulnerability that only comes out with you.
"austin..." you say softly, with a loving warning, as if asking him not to start there, in front of everyone.
but he can't stop himself. not after seeing you like this.
"i'm serious." his words are a firm murmur, buried in his throat. "you would look really pretty pregnant."
you try to hide your smile, biting your lip as you give him that quick, nervous glance, because anyone could approach at any moment and there's literally a camera filming behind the scenes.
"don't say things like that here."
"why not?" austin tilts his head, his fingers barely brushing the baby's head in your arms. "you're so beautiful with her... and you would be even more so with our baby."
the word our hangs between you two. you stare at him from below, your cheeks burning, and he feels his pants tighten as he imagines himself bending you over one of the pieces of furniture and making you take it.
"austin," baz's voice snaps him out of his trance, with that australian accent. "are you ready?"
austin swallows, regains his professional smile, and nods, placing a kiss on your forehead before stepping back.
the script says he's supposed to smile softly, kiss the baby's forehead, look at priscilla tenderly, tell her he'll put lisa to sleep while she rests. he does, easily. but deep down, austin fights the urge, the visceral desire to turn all of this into a confession: to whisper in your ear, no matter the crowded set, that he can't wait any longer, that he wants you full of him, round and shiny with pregnancy, that he wants you his in every way.
filming ends late at night. the set is enveloped in that strange silence that only exists when everyone leaves, when the lights go out and the echo of voices still floats in the air. austin emerges from his trailer, still trapped in his body. he'd spent the whole day holding back, hiding what he felt every time he looked at you with the baby in his arms.
the fresh air hits him, but it doesn't calm him. he walks slowly, as if he doesn't know where he's going, although in reality he's clear: his steps are leading him toward your trailer. there are no guards watching, no technicians running back and forth, no cameras. just the night, and the feeling that if he doesn't speak now, he'll go crazy.
he doesn't knock. he knows he doesn't need to, not him, and when the door opens, there you are.
you're no longer priscilla, nor the young mother with a baby in her arms. it's you. just you. without false eyelashes or elaborate hairstyles, with your face half-clean, still removing your makeup in front of the mirror. and what hits austin the hardest is seeing you in one of his hoodies, enormous on your small body, covering you as if you were swimming inside the fabric.
god. you're only nineteen.
nineteen, austin thinks, and feels a blow to his chest. you're still so young, such a child compared to him, and at the same time… nothing in the world can stop the fierce desire that consumes him. that instinct that had haunted him all day returns with even more force, now that you're so close, so natural, so his.
he closes the door behind him and stares at you for a second too long. you notice, of course, because you know him better than anyone.
"what's wrong?" you ask, in that calm, soft voice, so sweet, so like hers, raising an eyebrow while you continue to hold the cotton ball to your cheek.
he doesn't answer.
"satnin?"
hearing the nickname, he blinks and swallows, taking a step toward you.
"i can't get it out of my head," he says, directly, without beating around the bush.
you blink, leaving the cotton ball on the vanity. your blue eyes look at him through the mirror. "what?"
"today. you. with the baby." he answers in that voice, that southern accent he can't shake anymore, as he takes off his jacket and throws it on the bed.
you sigh, smiling faintly, as if you knew sooner or later he'd say it. "satnin... it was a scene."
he shakes his head, his lips forming a brief grimace. "no. not for me."
their eyes meet in the mirror.
austin stops behind you, watching you remove your mascara, and the image splits him in two. he doesn't need more embellishments, more costumes, more lights, he doesn't want that. he wants you like this, with your hair a little messy, your skin clean, your comfortable clothes that smell like him.
he leans forward, just enough so that his reflection is a breath away from yours.
"i went crazy," he confesses in a husky murmur, staring at you through the mirror. "all day, every time i saw ya' with that baby girl in your arms, i was lost. i didn't see priscilla, i didn't see the scene, i only saw ya'. and i thought... god, i thought you'd look even more beautiful pregnant."
you tense a little; he can feel it, but you don't interrupt, so he continues.
"it's crazy," he continues, laughing humorlessly, clenching his fists on the vanity table. "because i know how young you are, i know. i think about it and tell myself i should calm down, that it's not the time. but i can't help it, cilla. i can't." his eyes shine, and it's not just desire; it's pure vulnerability. "i..." he looks at your body, then back into your eyes. "i wanna see ya' with my child inside you. i want it so much it hurts."
you slowly turn in your chair to face him. you're wrapped in your hoodie, your legs tucked beneath you, so small and fragile that austin's breath catches in his throat.
"austin…" you begin, as if searching for a way to stop him.
but he kneels in front of you, holding your hands tightly, not letting you look away.
"listen to me." his voice lowers, almost a plea. "it's not just desire. it's not just that turns me on to see ya' like that. it's that i feel as if it's inevitable. as if your body and mine were destined to create something together."
he watches you swallow, your eyes shining, confused between fear and tenderness.
austin lowers his forehead to rest against your cold, pale knees, as if he needs to cling to you physically so he doesn't break.
"i wanna do it with you. i wanna give you a child. i want you to be the mother of my children, as many as you want."
you gently stroke his dark hair, your thin, cold fingers running through his short locks, trembling with each caress.
"i'm barely nineteen, austin."
he lifts his head, his eyes desperate when they find you. "i know. and that's why i feel like a fucking crazy. and i know people will talk, they'll think shit about me, about us, they'll say i'm a fuckin' predator. i know. but fuck them. because i love you, and i know i've never wanted anything in life like this."
the silence thickens.
you look at him for a long moment, your breathing ragged, before pulling him towards you, wrapping the hoodie you're wearing around him. and in that hug, austin knows that, soon, very soon, his vision will be fulfilled. he'll see you with his child inside. and it will be the most perfect image of his life.
the clock strikes almost one in the morning when you finally arrive at the apartment. the silence of the city contrasts with the storm inside austin. the two of you had spent the entire day surrounded by lights and cameras, but nothing had exhausted him more than the struggle with his own thoughts: that constant vision of you, pregnant with his child.
you take the elevator together, without speaking, tired after a long day and comfortable with the shared silence. he hugs you, putting an arm around your shoulders, making you rest your forehead against his chest as the elevator ascends.
when you finally arrive at his apartment, you take off your shoes, leave your bag on the couch, and go straight to the kitchen for a glass of water. austin watches you from the doorway, his heart pounding.
the hoodie you're still wearing is his, and it reaches mid-thigh. your long, dark hair is tied back in a messy bun, your skin clean and fresh from the quick shower in the trailer. you're no longer priscilla, you're no longer the king's wife, you're you. and, to austin, you're infinitely more beautiful. just like that, without extravagant hairstyles and so much makeup, you're perfect.
he approaches slowly, as if afraid of scaring you, because he already has, though not intentionally. still, he can't resist the urge to touch you. he wraps his arms around your waist from behind, pressing your back to his chest, and buries his face in your neck, inhaling your sweet, soft scent. you sigh, resting your free hand on his forearm.
"you're restless," you murmur, with a tired smile.
"i can't stop thinking about it," he admitted, his voice rasping.
"that again?" you barely turn your face to look at him.
austin nods, not letting go. "the whole way back, every minute, all i could think about was you, you with a baby inside."
after a moment, you place the glass on the counter, turning in his arms. you rest your hands on his chest and stare at him, as if trying to gauge the extent of his obsession.
"you know it's not that simple, austin."
"i know." He closes his eyes for a second, as if trying to control himself. but when he opens them, all they reflect is the burning truth of his desire. "but tell me you didn't think about it. tell me that, when you were holding her in your arms, you didn't imagine what it would be like if she were ours."
you open your mouth to respond, but not a word comes out; no protest, no rejection. and that silence, short and tense, is enough to ignite him even more.
austin uses his hands on your waist to lift you up, sitting you on the counter, and positions himself between your legs. he kisses you with an urgency he's been suppressing for hours, and you respond with a low moan, gripping your shoulders as you wrap your legs around his waist, feeling his already hard cock against your core. his hands are everywhere; on your waist, your thighs, your ass. he grips hard, leaving his imprints on your pale skin.
"austin…" you try to say, but he doesn't let you continue.
"let me make you a mother," he whispers against your mouth, desperately, rubbing against you. "let me give ya' what i saw today."
for a moment, silence covers everything. all you hear is his labored breathing against yours, the uneven pounding of his heart that you can almost feel in your own chest.
"austin…" you repeat, barely a whisper. he doesn't know if you're trying to stop him or if, deep down, you're asking him not to stop.
he lowers his forehead to rest against yours. his voice trembles a little, rough, laden with something more than desire.
"i'm not saying this on impulse," he murmurs, his eyes closed. "i'm saying it because i felt it. because when i saw you with her, so sweet, so natural… i understood that's what i want with you. everything. anything." he places a soft kiss on your forehead and, against your skin, murmurs again, "let me give ya' a baby. let me show ya' how much you mean to me."
suddenly, he feels your hands searching for him; brushing against his neck, his hair, your slender fingers tangling through his short locks. your other hand slides up to his face, caressing the soft skin of his cheek. for a moment, you just stay silent, saying nothing, just looking at him, his eyes, his face.
then, gently, like someone surrendering to something inevitable, you say:
"there are two months left until filming ends..." you pause for a moment. you lick your lips and take a breath before speaking again. "maybe no one will notice if it happens now."
your words are like pure gasoline. austin gasps, incredulous, and smiles against his lips.
"are you sayin' yes?"
you nod, shyly, but with conviction. you know what you want.
he stays still for a moment, his gaze clouded by a mixture of surprise and desire. you want this; you want him to impregnate you, you want to carry his baby inside you. his hand moves from your waist to your stomach, spreading possessively over your flat belly. he's never had unprotected sex. he's always been cautious. but right now you're offering him your womb, your body, unprotected.
he swallows hard and lowers his voice. "will ya' give it to me? your body? will ya' give it to me for my baby?"
his words make you blush even more, and your cheeks are tinged with an adorable shade of pink that makes you look identical to sin incarnate. despite the shyness and embarrassment you're clearly feeling, you nod again, looking at him with sparkling eyes.
he wraps an arm around your waist and leads you to the bedroom, almost groping you, still kissing you. he lays you down on the bed and leans over you, contemplating you for a second in silence.
"you're so young, so beautiful..." he says with a broken breath. "and yet, all i want is to fill ya' with me."
you caress his cheek tenderly, your eyes soft and your cheeks flushed. "then do it."
austin closes his eyes, letting out a grateful murmur, almost like a prayer.
"spread your legs," he orders, unbuckling his belt and pants.
your thighs slowly open, giving him a perfect view of your pink lace underwear. he licks his lips, watching your body squirm slightly on the bed as you also remove his hoodie. he removes his clothes and boxers, freeing his large, hard cock. he wraps his hand around it, pumping slowly as he watches you open wider for him.
austin climbs onto the bed between your legs, settling on his knees. he grabs your underwear and easily rips them off, leaving you naked for him. he tosses them aside and grips your hips tightly, pulling you down so your center is aligned with his cock.
"you'll look beautiful with a big baby bump."
austin rubs the head of his cock against your wet entrance, teasing you both. he's so big that even the tip opens you slightly.
"and these pretty tits are gonna get so much bigger," he murmurs, squeezing your breasts again before settling in between your legs.
without warning, he thrusts hard into you, filling you completely. you gasp sharply at the sudden invasion, your nails digging into his back. he stays still for a moment, letting you adjust to his size before pulling out slowly and slamming back in hard.
"fuckin' perfect..."
he starts fucking you hard and fast, the sound of skin against skin filling the room along with your moans and his grunts. he leans down to suck on your breasts again, marking them with hickeys. his hands grip your hips so tightly they bruise as he penetrates you.
you wrap your legs around his waist, feeling his balls slap against your ass with each thrust. he reaches between your legs and finds your clit, pressing hard on the sensitive spot as he continues to fuck you mercilessly.
"i'm gonna fuckin' breed you."
"yes..." you gasp, almost breathless from the force of his thrusts. "yes, please, yes..."
hearing your words only motivates him more. he presses his face against your neck, biting gently as he thrusts even harder. his fingers on your clit move faster, rubbing tight circles against the swollen nub.
"say it," he demands between thrusts. "say you want me to breed you."
you moan loudly and nod frantically: "Yes... yes, i want you to breed me... fill me up with your baby..."
his thrusts get even deeper, each one touching your cervix. he moves his hand from your waist to smack your round buttock with his palm, leaving a red mark.
"you'll look so sexy pregnant..." he presses hard against your clit again, making you moan loudly.
he spreads your legs wider, deepening the angle even further. he watches where they connect: your small body absorbs his massive size with ease. he pulls out almost completely before thrusting back in forcefully, making your breasts bounce.
he moans and stops stimulating your clit to grab your face with his hand; his grip is strong, digging your cheeks in. your face in his hand is a thing of beauty; frowning, eyes clouded and tearful, lips parted, pleasure written in every part of your expression. the sight almost makes him cum because you're beautiful.
and, god, you'll be such a good mom.
"i'm gonna get you pregnant, do you hear me?" he says almost in a whisper, staring at you intently. he pulls out and then thrusts back in, hard, burying himself balls deep inside you, making you arch your back and let out a loud moan. "and then you're gonna give birth." he does the same, drawing another moan from you. "and then i'm gonna get you pregnant again." he pulls out again and plunges into you. you moan again. "and again." again, louder this time. "and again." this time, you squeeze your eyes shut, and his expression softens as he sees two drops of water sliding down your face. "i know you want it."
you don't say anything, but your pussy is so wet and relaxed from his stretched cock that he's practically penetrating a warm, slippery hole designed to receive his cum. he pulls away again and enters you deeply, rubbing his pubic bone against your clit.
you whine helplessly and throw your head back, your legs shaking around his waist.
seeing you fall apart like that makes him absolutely wild. he starts fucking you again, with deep and fast thrusts, grinding that pubic bone against your clit with each snap of his hips.
"shit... can you feel my cock?" he reaches down. "baby?"
you nod frantically, tears leaking from your eyes. "you're so big..."
austin growls, wrapping his arms around your thighs to pull your legs back and open them wider. he's watching his thick, throbbing dick slide in and out of your small, pink pussy. he spreads your cheeks slightly, watching how your hole stretches around him.
your pussy is completely stuffed by his member, and it looks adorable and obscene at the same time. he starts fucking you harder and faster, his heavy balls slapping against your stretched hole.
"god damn, you're so fucking tiny..."
his cock is so big and hard that it hits your cervix with every thrust, making you cry out in pleasure and pain.
he feels your walls vibrate and clench around him, knowing you're close. he circles your throat with his hand, applying light pressure as he enters you.
"cum on my cock, babe. show me how much you want my baby."
the pressure on your throat makes you moan louder and tighter around his cock. "o-oh... austin... austin, austin..." your pussy starts clamping down hard around his size.
seeing you come apart around his dick makes his balls tighten. he watches your small body convulse, your breasts bouncing as you moan. he spreads your legs wider again, hammering inside you deep and fast, hitting that perfect spot that makes you screech.
austin gets even harder inside you, if that's possible, feeling your pussy milking his cock. he wraps an arm around your waist and suddenly flips you over, leaving you on all fours. he spanks you hard before grabbing your hips and pulling you back onto his member.
you moan, your face buried in the pillow.
he begins to penetrate you from behind, the head of his cock hitting your cervix with each deep thrust. he leans over you, gripping your hair with one hand while pinching and rolling your nipple with the other.
"do you want my baby inside you?"
you moan loudly, pushing back to him, feeling him even deeper. he feels you get wetter and tighter at the thought of being pregnant with his child. with a loud groan, he begins to fuck you even harder and faster.
his grip on your hair tightens, tugging slightly. "answer the question."
you nod frantically, your words coming out as broken moans. "y-yes... please... put a baby in me..." you arch your back more, pushing your ass out and spreading your legs wider, giving him deeper access. "breed me, please."
hearing you beg so prettily for his baby makes his dick throb inside you. he starts fucking you even harder, his hips slapping against your reddened ass with every thrust. "you're gonna be so full with my kid... will ya' give it to me, love? will ya' give me my lisa?"
you nod eagerly, pushing your hips back against him. "yes, yes, i'll give you your lisa.
"will ya' let me put my lisa inside your body? will ya' give birth to her for me, baby?"
at this point, you're making non-stop whimpering and moaning sounds, completely overwhelmed with pleasure and the thought of being pregnant with his daughter.
"i-i'm gonna cum again..."
hearing you say that makes his balls tighten. he watches your small body start to convulse again. he spreads your cheeks wider, going even deeper. he finds your g-spot and nails it with each thrust, making you screech louder, cumming all over his cock.
god, he loves making you noisy and squirmy like this.
your pussy spasm and gush around his thick cock. you're making a mess on the bed, soaking it with your juices. he leans over you, his chest pressing against your back as he whispers in your ear.
"you're so damn wet..." he spanks your ass again, leaving another red handprint.
your body goes limp suddenly, overloaded with two orgasms. you make a weak whimpering noise instead of moaning now. your hole is pulsing around him softly, trying to push him out because it's too sensitive.
"w-wait, i-i can't give you another..."
he ignores your weak protests and grabs your hips tightly, holding you in place as he starts fucking you faster. his balls are slapping against your overstimulated clit with every thrust, making you whimper and shake.
"yes, you can... give me one more."
you whine and squirm weakly, trying to escape his relentless thrusts. but your sensitive body can't handle it anymore. you start crying out softly as he hits that spot again, your legs shaking violently.
with a final brutal thrust, he buries himself deep inside you and holds still, his hand covering your mouth to muffle your cries as he comes hard, filling you up. your body convulses one last time and you scream muffled into his hand as another orgasm rips through you.
"there..."
he stays buried inside you for a long moment, his cock pulsing as he finishes coming. slowly, he removes his hand from your mouth and gently pulls out, his softening cock slipping free with a wet sound. you collapse forward onto the messy bed, completely spent and overwhelmed.
he collapses down beside you, pulling your limp body onto his chest. he wraps his arms around you gently, holding you close as you both catch your breath. he buries his face in your hair and just holds you, his heart racing slowly as he comes down from the high.
"you did so well, sweetheart..." he gives you a kiss on the head. "such a good girl."
you stay curled up in his arms for a long moment, your body trembling weakly. he runs his fingers through your messy hair gently, pressing soft kisses to your forehead and cheeks.
he smiles softly and murmurs."i think i might have broken ya'... you good?"
"if... if it happens..." you begin, your voice tired. "if you really get me pregnant..."
his expression turns serious, his arms tightening around you possessively at the mention of pregnancy. he cuts you off with a low, firm tone. "if i get you pregnant, you're keeping it. i was serious. i want you to be the mother of my children. you will be the one who gives birth to my lisa."
you look up at him. you seem hopeful, and it makes his heart ache, because you want to be a mother. "promise me."
"i promise." he looks down at you, his eyes intense and serious. "wanna see your belly swollen with my baby. wanna see ya' nursing our kid. wanna fill you up again and again until you're pregnant."
you shiver at his words and the intense look in his eyes. you nod slowly, understanding that he's completely serious about wanting to impregnate you.
you rest your head on his chest again, listening to his heartbeat as you murmur. "i'll have your babies."
he smiles, satisfied with your answer. he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead and pulls you closer, his hands resting on your hips possessively.
he murmurs softly. "i'm gonna make you such a good mama..."
tags: smut, rough sex, gentle sex (eventually), established relationship, angry!Elvis, early 1970s Elvis, kitchen counter sex, p in v sex, free use(?), light face slapping, dirty talk, light choking, aftercare, apologetic!Elvis, possessive!Elvis
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As always, smuts under the cut
Elvis slammed the front door of Graceland, his heavy boots stomping through the house like a thunderstorm. You barely had time to turn around from where you stood at the kitchen counter before he was there, towering over you, his blue eyes burning hot with frustration. “Damn Colonel’s got me runnin’ ‘round like a damn fool,” he growled, voice thick with his Southern drawl. “Bout near lost my temper at that bastard.”
You reached for him, but he caught your wrist, tugging you flush against him. “E—” you started, but the way his hands slid down to grip your hips stole the words from your lips.
“Need somethin’, baby,” he muttered, voice husky, lips ghosting over your jaw. “Need you.”
Your breath hitched as he lifted you onto the counter, fingers digging into your thighs as he stepped between them. His mouth was on yours, hungry and desperate, his body pressing you back against the cabinets. You barely had time to gasp before he was yanking at your dress, bunching the fabric up as his hips rolled against yours. “Gonna make me forget all about that bastard,” he murmured, breath hot against your skin. “Ain’t that right, honey?”
Your heart raced as Elvis pulled you closer, his hands rough but comforting as he undid the buttons of your dress with a fierce urgency. The heat of his anger still simmered in the air, but you could feel his need to release it, to lose himself in you, in the only thing that ever seemed to calm him down. “Elvis…” you whispered, breathless as his lips traced your neck, pressing bruising kisses against your sensitive skin.
“You’re all I need, baby,” he growled, his hands now slipping under the lace of your panties, dragging them down roughly. “Gonna make you feel so damn good you forget all my troubles.” Before you could respond, his lips crashed back to yours, silencing the rest of your words. He gripped your waist tighter, lifting you slightly as he positioned himself at your entrance, his eyes flashing with a hunger that matched the rage still bubbling in him.
You could feel him push his head cock inside with a rough thrust, causing a gasp to leave your lips. His pace was frantic, his breath ragged as he fucked you with a desperate intensity, needing to forget everything but you. “Don’t hold back, baby,” he growled between gritted teeth. "lemme hear ya."
Elvis’ frustration was palpable, his words coming in harsh bursts between ragged breaths. “Damn Colonel,” he muttered under his breath, his grip tightening around your hips. “Always got me runnin’ around for him, makin’ me feel like a damn puppet on a string…”
His thrusts grew more erratic, his hips slamming into yours with an intensity that bordered on painful. But you didn’t mind. The sting mixed with the pleasure, and you were more than happy to take it. His anger fueled him, his frustration sharpening his movements as he gritted out more complaints about the Colonel, his words biting as much as his actions. “He thinks he owns me,” he seethed, his pace quickening as his fingers dug into your flesh. “Thinkin’ I’ll jus' do whatever he says… but I ain’t some damn tool for him to use. I’ve had enough…”
His thrusts became harder, rougher, almost mean, but you found yourself moaning louder with every snap of his hips. The sting in your body only made you crave more, and the way he was losing himself in you, letting go of everything that had been eating at him, turned you on even more. “God, you feel so damn good,” he growled, voice low and strained, his anger now mixed with the raw need for you.
You could barely form coherent thoughts, your mind spiraling as Elvis continued to fuck you with a raw, relentless energy. The sound of his hips meeting yours was loud in the room, echoing off the walls as you clung to him, every nerve in your body alight.
"God, Elvis… please… don’t stop…” You babbled, breathless, your words a tangled mess. You could barely hold yourself together as his hands gripped you tighter, pulling you closer with each hard thrust.
His lips ghosted over your neck, his teeth scraping lightly over your skin, the sensation sending waves of heat straight to your core. You whimpered, barely able to keep up with his pace. “Please, baby, I can’t… can’t take it, it’s so—”
“Shut up,” he growled, his voice a mix of anger and something darker. He snapped his hips harder, pushing you further up the counter as if trying to bury himself deeper inside you. “You want me to stop, honey? Huh? You want me to stop?”
You shook your head violently, the words tumbling out faster now, completely incoherent. “No, no, no—please don’t… I need you—so good, so—" He slammed his dick into your cunt again, a harsh thrust that made you cry out, your body shaking, your babbling growing louder and more frantic as he drove you to the edge.
Elvis' breath was hot and heavy against your ear as he continued to move inside you, his pace relentless and unyielding. His hand, large and possessive, found its way to your throat, fingers tightening just enough to make you gasp. "You think he gives a damn about me?" Elvis growled, his voice harsh, barely above a whisper. "That damn Colonel, he don’t care about nothin' but his own damn pocket. Treats me like I'm nothin’ but his prize horse, pushin' me 'round... keepin' me on a leash..."
You could barely breathe, but the way his cock was filling you, slamming into you with punishing force, made it feel like you were floating. Your pulse raced, both from the thrill of it and from the sensation of his fingers around your neck, making everything feel so much more intense.
"All he cares about is his cut, his goddamn money," Elvis continued, his voice thick with disdain as he thrust into you harder, his grip on your throat tightening just enough to send a thrilling wave of dizziness through your head. "But you, baby… you're all I need. All I fuckin' need. Not him. Never him."
The words were coming faster now, and so were his thrusts, rough and desperate. Your head tilted back, eyes barely open as you felt the pressure building inside you. You could feel his anger, his frustration mixing with a ferocious need, and you loved every second of it.
You squeezed around his cock, your voice strangled, almost pleading. "Please, Elvis, don’t stop… keep going…" His hand on your throat tightened, his pace increasing, and you felt the familiar heat of release start to curl in your stomach.
Elvis’ grip on your throat was unforgiving now, his fingers pressing in with a mix of anger and lust that made your head spin. His thrusts were punishing, each one harder than the last, as if he was trying to drive every ounce of frustration out of his body and into you.
The kitchen counter was cold beneath you, your body trembling, but you couldn’t help the way your hips instinctively met his, the need for him overwhelming every thought. “You like this, don’t you, baby?” His voice was low, rough, dripping with the heavy drawl of his southern accent. “You like me fuckin’ you like this, don’t you? I can feel you clenchin' around me, beggin' for more. You’re nothin’ but mine, ain’t ya?”
His words were like fire, and each one made your insides twist with desire. He was brutal, taking what he wanted, and you were helpless to stop him. The feeling of him pounding into you, over and over, was starting to break you down in the best way possible. It hurt, but in the most delicious way, your body on the edge of something you couldn’t quite control.
“Gonna make you beg for it, baby,” he rasped, his hips slamming into yours with vicious force. “Gonna fuck you ‘til you forget your own name.” The pressure in your chest, from both his hand around your throat and his relentless thrusting, was starting to pull you under, your body aching, but you couldn’t help the moan that escaped you.
You were so close, your body trembling with need. "Please, Elvis," you gasped, your voice barely a whisper, but he heard you, his lips curling into a satisfied grin.
“Please, what?” he snarled, his words like a challenge. "Tell me, baby. What do you want?"
"I want you," you managed to breathe out, your body bucking beneath him. "I want all of you."
The roughness of his movements only intensified, his hands gripping your body like he was trying to claim every part of you. It was almost too much, but you didn’t care. You wanted to break.
Elvis’ pace didn’t slow down, each thrust crashing into you like a wave against the shore, relentless and unforgiving. Your head was spinning, the rawness of it all making it hard to focus on anything but him—his cock, his hand around your throat, the biting sting of his slap to your cheek. The slap was sharp, not too hard but enough to send a jolt through your system, snapping your attention back to him.
His eyes burned with intensity as he leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “Ya feel that, baby? Feel how badly I want ya?”
You could barely form a response, your body trembling beneath him, overwhelmed by the sheer force of his movements. You loved it, loved how rough he was, loved how he was pushing you to your limits. “Answer me, honey,” he growled, his fingers gripping your jaw to force you to look at him. His other hand came up again, and this time, his slap was gentler, a reminder of the power he held over you. “You’re mine, understand? Ain’t no one gonna fuck you like I do.”
You nodded, barely able to breathe through the pleasure and pressure building inside you. You were close, so close, and every ounce of pain was worth it.
The muscles in your thighs were on fire, shaking with every brutal thrust. Your body felt like it was on the edge of breaking, and Elvis wasn’t making it any easier. The slickness between your legs made a wet sound with every harsh movement, your body leaking all over the counter as he fucked into you with merciless force.
Elvis grinned, his breath coming out in quick bursts, his eyes dark with lust as he watched you tremble beneath him. "Look at you, baby," he said, his voice rough, almost teasing. "Leakin’ all over the place like you’re desperate for it. God, you’re so fuckin’ wet for me, aren’t ya?"
The sound of his words, coated in his thick southern drawl, made your head spin. You couldn’t form any coherent thoughts anymore; you were too consumed by the way his cock was slamming into you, the way your body was trembling with every stroke. “You’re makin’ a mess, sweetheart,” Elvis murmured, his lips curling into a smirk. “But I don’t mind. You wanna keep goin’, don’t ya? You love it when I fuck you like this, don’t you?”
You could barely nod, your body trembling in response. It felt like too much, but you wanted more, needed more, your mind hazy with desire. Elvis’ moved his hand and gripped your hair as it tightened, his fingers twisting into the strands with a roughness that made you gasp. He pulled your head back, forcing you to look up at him, his eyes wild, feral. He was thrusting into you with a brutal, animalistic pace now, each movement harder and faster than the last, his cock pounding into you with relentless power.
“You wanna come, don’t you, baby?” he growled, his voice dripping with both lust and dominance. His thrusts were so deep, so hard, that you could barely breathe, your body trembling beneath him.
But just as you were on the edge, feeling the pressure building, he pulled back, grinding against you with an almost cruel slowness. His hand stayed tangled in your hair, forcing your head back further, exposing your throat to him. “You ain’t comin’ yet,” he hissed, his breath heavy as he smirked down at you. “Not until I say so.”
You could barely form words, your body shaking from the need to release. “Please, Elvis... please… I can’t… I need it…” Tears welled in your eyes, your cries of desperation echoing in the room as you begged him. “Please, let me come... I can’t take it…”
But Elvis just laughed, a dark, twisted sound, as he increased the pace again, fucking you harder, not letting you get any closer to your release. “You think I care what you need? You’ll beg me for it all night if I want you to.”
Elvis’ frustration was still burning in his eyes, the anger he felt toward the Colonel spilling into his every movement. But even as his thrusts remained hard and unyielding, he seemed to notice your discomfort, the strain on your body from being pinned to the cold kitchen counter.
With a growl, he pulled you off the counter, not bothering to slow down, his cock still buried deep inside you. You barely had time to gasp before he lifted you into his arms, holding you effortlessly as he stalked toward the doorway, still thrusting into you with a steady rhythm.
Your hands instinctively clung to him, your body trembling in both pleasure and exhaustion as he carried you through the halls of Graceland, his grip on you possessive and unyielding. “Not gonna keep you bent over that damn counter,” Elvis muttered through clenched teeth, his voice a mix of anger and lust. “You deserve better than that.”
With one final, furious step, he entered the Jungle Room, the soft lights and lush décor contrasting sharply with the rawness of the moment. He didn’t hesitate, sitting down on the sofa with you still in his lap, his cock still buried inside you, the force of his thrusts now more deliberate, though still rough. “You’re gonna stay on my lap now,” he growled, one hand gripping your waist, the other running through your hair. “Let me fuck you how I want, baby, no more of that cold counter. You’re all mine, now and always.”
You were limp against Elvis' chest, your body barely able to hold itself up as he continued to fuck you with relentless force. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure and pain through your body, your limbs weak, your breath ragged. You couldn't do anything but cling to him, your hands barely able to grip onto his shoulders as he held you in place. "You like this, huh?" Elvis growled, his voice dripping with a mixture of anger and dark amusement.
His hands roamed over your body, rough and demanding, leaving marks on your skin, fingers digging into your flesh as if he couldn't get enough of you. He was grabbing every inch of you—your waist, your thighs, your breasts—leaving behind bruises that would remind you of him for days. "You’re all fucked out, aren’t you, baby?" he taunted, his voice low and mocking, his thrusts never slowing. "Barely able to hold yourself up. You gonna be my little ragdoll, huh? All limp in my arms while I fuck you like this?"
You could barely respond, the pleasure mixing with the soreness in your body, but your mind felt like it was spinning in a haze. Every time you thought you might collapse, he would tighten his grip, pulling you back up into him. “Come on, baby, talk to me,” he demanded, his voice rougher now. “Tell me you love it when I leave marks on you, when I fuck you like this. You’re mine, ain’t ya? Gonna remember me for a while, won’t you?”
You could only moan in response, your body too weak to do anything else, and he smirked, clearly pleased with your inability to speak. His pace quickened, the pressure building again, and all you could do was hold onto him, completely lost in the storm he’d created inside you.
Elvis’ hand suddenly came down sharply on your ass, the sting from the slap jolting you out of your haze. You barely had time to register the sensation before he did it again, harder this time, making you gasp. “Focus, baby,” he growled, his voice rough, thick with his southern drawl. “You’re makin’ a mess of yourself, can’t even keep it together. You ain’t gettin’ a break.”
You whimpered, your body too weak to keep up with the force of his thrusts. The ache in your legs and hips was overwhelming, and your head felt foggy. You could barely breathe, let alone concentrate, your thoughts scattered. "Please, Elvis..." you begged, your voice hoarse. "I can't... I need a break... just for a second..."
He smirked down at you, his grip tightening on your hips as he slammed into you harder. “Nah, baby. Ya don’t get no break. Yer gonna take it all. Take what I give you, whether ya can handle it or not.”
The sting of his words, mixed with the sharp slaps on your ass and his punishing thrusts, had you on the edge, your body trembling in his hold. Your muscles were screaming, but you couldn’t stop yourself from begging for more, your desperate pleas only egging him on.
Eventually, Elvis' pace began to change—slower, deeper, like he was trying to anchor you to the moment. His hands, which had been gripping and bruising, were now soft on your body, caressing the curves of your hips, your waist, your breasts. His voice, previously harsh and commanding, softened as he spoke, his breath still ragged but filled with a tenderness you hadn’t expected.
“You’re doin’ so good, baby,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear as he pulled you closer to him, one hand gently cradling the back of your head. “You took everything I gave you. I’m so proud of you, honey.”
You could barely focus, your body still trembling with the aftershocks of everything he'd put you through. Your muscles were sore, weak, and your entire being was on fire. But even as your mind was swimming, you could hear the love and care in his voice.
You felt his body tighten beneath you as he thrust once more—hard—and you were on the edge again, feeling the pressure build up like a storm. "Come for me, baby," he growled, his voice strained but loving. "Let go."
And with that, it hit you, crashing over you like a wave. You came hard, your body shaking in his grip as you cried out, your sobs trembling in the air. As you were still reeling from the aftershocks, you felt him release inside you, his body going tense before going still.His movements slowed, his breath slowing down as he collapsed back onto the couch with you still in his lap.
You were exhausted, your body limp against his chest, and Elvis held you close, brushing his fingers through your hair, soothing you. “Ya did so good, baby,” he murmured softly, his voice full of warmth and pride. “Yer perfect, just perfect.”
Your quiet sobs were a mix of relief and emotional exhaustion, but as Elvis held you, kissed the top of your head, and whispered sweet words of praise, you knew you were safe in his arms. The anger from earlier had faded, replaced with something deeper, something genuine.
Elvis' thumb gently brushed across your cheek, wiping away a stray tear, his gaze softening as he noticed the exhaustion in your eyes. He kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering there for a moment as he held you close, his body still warm beneath you.
"I'm sorry, baby," he muttered in his deep, southern drawl, his voice low and sincere. "I got carried away. Didn’t mean to push you that hard." His hand slid up to your damp forehead, gently brushing back the strands of hair that stuck there from the sweat, his touch tender. "You were just too perfect, too damn beautiful. I lost myself."
You could feel the sincerity in his words as he pressed another kiss to your forehead, his lips warm against your skin. His breath was slow now, calming, no longer the ragged breaths of anger and desire, but the steady, reassuring rhythm of someone trying to make sure you were okay. "I never meant to hurt ya, honey," he murmured, his hand tracing gentle patterns on your back. "You’re all I’ve got, all I ever need. I jus' got frustrated, but you don't deserve that. I’m sorry, sweetheart.” His apology came as a whisper, soft but sincere.
You stayed silent for a moment, your head resting against his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat grounding you as your mind tried to piece everything together. You could still feel the ache between your legs, the soreness that reminded you of just how intense everything had been, but there was also something else lingering in the air, something deep and satisfying.
After a few beats of silence, you let out a shaky breath and lifted your head to look up at him, your eyes still a little glassy. "Elvis," you started, your voice soft but steady, "I— I think I kinda liked it."
His eyes widened, but only for a second. Then a slow grin spread across his face, the kind of smile that made his eyes sparkle with mischief and something else—affection, maybe. “Ya liked it, huh?” he asked, his voice low and teasing, his southern drawl even more pronounced. He let out a quiet chuckle, his fingers trailing up and down your back as he pulled you closer to him. “Well, ain’t that somethin’.”
You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, but the smile that played on your lips couldn’t be helped. “Yeah, I guess I did. I mean... you were rough, but it felt good. It’s like you made me forget everything else.”
Elvis softly laughed again, the sound rich and full of warmth. “Well, honey, I’ll be sure to remember that next time. But don’t get used to me goin’ so hard on ya. I gotta keep you on your toes, ya know?"
You rolled your eyes playfully, but the affection in your smile said it all. “I can handle it.”
Elvis kissed your forehead gently, his thumb brushing across your cheek. “Good,” he whispered, pulling you into him even tighter. “You sure are somethin’, sweetheart. Ain’t nobody like you.”
Elvis shifted a bit, his hands gentle as he cupped your face, his eyes full of concern. He had always been so intense, so passionate, but seeing the faint discomfort on your face made his heart drop. He knew he’d gone too far, taken his anger out on you, because of the damn colonel, and it weighed on him now, despite the pleasure that had taken over both of you earlier. He couldn’t ignore it—he had to make sure he hadn’t hurt you.
"Hey, baby," he said softly, his southern drawl thick with concern as he gently pried your legs apart. “Let me check on you, alright? Just wanna make sure I didn’t do anything too rough.”
You winced slightly as he adjusted you, but there was no pain in your voice, just a quiet, understanding nod. You trusted him, and he was going to make sure he didn't hurt you in the process. His fingers lightly parted your thighs, and his eyes immediately focused on your red and tender cunt between your legs. The sight made his chest tighten—a mixture of guilt and regret flooding through him.
The folds was red and swollen, the aftermath of his roughness, but there was no blood --thank God--. His heart ached for a moment before he looked up at you, his eyes soft. “You’re okay, baby,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, his fingers gently brushing over the sensitive flesh. You could see the guilt written all over his face, how much it was weighing on him.
Elvis carefully set you down on the couch, making sure you were comfortable as he moved away for a moment. You could see the determination in his movements as he went to grab a wet towel from the kitchen, his steps quick but careful. When he returned, he knelt in front of you, his face soft, his hands trembling just a little as he carefully wiped the area between your thighs.
You winced as the cold towel touched the sensitive skin, your body still so sore from everything that had just happened. The sting made you flinch, and Elvis froze, his heart sinking. His large hands trembled slightly as he continued to clean you up, trying to be as gentle as possible, but the hurt in your eyes made him feel like the lowest of the low.
"Shit," he muttered under his breath, his voice thick with regret. "I didn’t mean to hurt ya, darlin'. I got too carried away with my own damn anger... I'm sorry. I’m sorry for hurtin' ya.." His voice cracked slightly as he leaned in, brushing his lips against your thigh in a soft kiss, trying to comfort you as much as he could. He wanted to undo the damage, make sure you knew how much he cared for you—how deeply he regretted pushing you too far.
“You didn’t deserve any of that," he murmured, his hands now gently massaging the tender skin as he kissed your thigh again. "I’m so damn sorry, baby. You’re too good for me.”
You couldn’t help but smile, even in your sore state, your hand reaching out to touch his cheek. "I’m okay, Elvis. I’m fine. Just... next time, maybe a little less angry, okay?"
He chuckled softly, but there was a tenderness in it that made you feel safe. "I promise, sweetheart. No more anger. Just you and me... and a lot more care." He kissed you again, this time on your lips, softly, gently, showing you just how much he cared.
A/N: So I saw something in a museum when I was on holiday about curtseying and then like the weirdo I am my brain turned that into a fic. Enjoy!
Pairing: 73!Elvis x wife!reader
Word count: 2.4K
TWs: Reader calls Elvis Daddy and Sir, sub/dom themes, Elvis is teacherish, the cane makes an appearance, praise kink, Elvis talks reader through it, smut including a bit of a rough blowjob.
You stand nervously in front of him, fiddling with the hem of your skirt. You know he doesn't like it when you fiddle but you can't help it. He's been sitting on the couch, reading and ignoring you ever since he called you into the room what has to be at least five minutes ago, although it seems like twenty, and it's making you feel kinda awkward. Part of you wants to mumble your excuses and go back to what you were doing, but the rest knows that wouldn't be a good idea. He did call you in after all, so he must want something. You've always struggled to stand still though, no matter how hard you try, shifting your weight from foot to foot as your fingers caress the very edge of your dress. Impatient, that's what he always calls you. An impatient little girl. But you can't help it if waiting in silence for him to finish reading an unknowable amount of book is boring. You hate being bored. It baffles you how often he subjects you to it, actually. Considering you're absolutely certain that you mentioned it at least ten times.
“Baby, ya've gotta stand still. Yer causin’ a distraction.”
He hasn't even looked up, his eyes still fixed on the page. Or you think they are anyway, the shades make it hard to tell. You're sure this head hasn't moved though.
You bite your lip, hard, and let go of your dress. “Yes, Daddy,” you reply, trying to use the sharp pang of pain to focus your mind. You can stand there without shuffling. It's got to be possible. Those guards at Buckingham Palace don't move for hours, so a little girl from Kentucky should be able to manage a few minutes.
After what genuinely seems like forever, he closes his book, sets it to one side and moves his attention to you. You can feel yourself colouring as he looks you up and down, studying every inch of you. It goes on for far too long, and you start to worry about your hair and whether the humidity has made it frizzy, and then whether your dress has creases from where you've bunched it up to get it out of the way when you were scrubbing the floor earlier. Maybe your eyeliner is smudged, the bow in your hair is crooked, your nail polish is chipped. A million worries go through your head as he continues his silent observations. You wipe your slightly sweaty palms on your skirt and toss your head a little in the hopes of rearranging your hair. He chuckles.
“Can't keep still, can ya? Impatient lil thing.”
Clearing your throat awkwardly, you wet your lips with your tongue as you try to endure the intensity of his gaze without any more shuffling about.
“Sorry, Daddy.”
Looking down, your eyes alight on his black boots, shining from the polish you'd given them the other day. The memory of the way you'd done it makes your cheeks burn with shame, it's certainly not how your mother had taught you to polish shoes, and you briefly wonder what she'd think if she knew what your life was really like here. Just a nice country girl, thinking her daughter had married well, into fame and fortune and the Presley family. Having no idea the sorts of things he asked you to do on a daily basis. The sorts of things you enjoyed doing.
“Baby, I've been readin’ somethin’ that might interest ya.”
His smooth baritone interrupts your thoughts and your head whips up, eyes meeting the shadow of his behind the shades.
“Really?”
Another low chuckle. “Really. Book ‘bout manners.”
You look at him, wide-eyed, as he continues.
“Young ladies used ta curtsey fer their masters.”
Your stomach drops at the word master, and you can feel tingling between your legs.
“They did?” You breathe.
A grin spreads lazily across his face. “They sure did, honey. Thought ya might like ta learn how.” He's leaning back against the couch in that self-assured way he has, hands resting on his spread thighs.
“Yessir,” you reply, sensing the slight change in atmosphere.
His grin gets somehow wider at the use of the honorific, and he opens the book back to the page he’d just been looking at, holding it up for you to see.
“Alright then. Feet out ta the sides like this, baby.” Tapping the picture in the middle of the page with his index finger.
You shift your feet out as far as you can, then put your hands behind your back as he tells you. He nods his approval, reaching for his cane, which you somehow hadn’t noticed had been propped up against the couch this whole time. You’d been too busy looking at him. You might’ve been bored, but his attention was all you wanted.
“Bend yer knees,” he continues, tapping one with the end of the cane. “That’s it. Keep bendin’ ‘em honey. Keep goin’. Very nice. Now straighten up again.”
You do as you’re told, springing back to an upright position with your legs straight. His teeth seem to gleam as he grins again.
“Very good. Again.”
You weren’t really expecting to have to do it again, but you repeat the movement as he gets up from the couch to stand in front of you, watching you bob down and back up.
“Don’t stop, honey.”
Slightly flustered, you curtsey again, trying not to move your head to follow him as he starts to walk around you, looking at you from all angles.
“Straighten up, honey.” A tap to your lower back with the head of the cane. “Keep yer chin up.” His fingers under your chin, pushing firmly. “No stickin’ that lil bottom of yours out, now. Keep goin’ straight up an’ down.” He taps your ass with the cane, just hard enough to make you flinch. To make you remember other times he’s tapped you not quite so lightly.
Your quads are starting to ache from the movement, and you feel the start of sweat beading on your brow too. His warm breath on the back of your neck as he talks you through what he wants you to do, praising you when you’re getting it right, the smell of him… it’s driving you crazy, wanting his lips pressed up against yours, his tongue in your mouth. You feel something hard nudge your hip as he leans closer, whispering that you should be looking straight ahead as you dip down for what seems like the hundredth time. A sharp little exhale gives away your discomfort and he smiles to himself as he asks you for just one more, one more perfect one for Daddy.
“Yessir.” Your voice is hoarse, lust-filled.
“Oh that’s my good girl,” he coos. “Ya can stop now.”
Your legs tremble as you stand there, watching him move back to the couch, his legs splayed and his obvious hard-on on display for you. The idea that you’ve got him so excited makes you giddy.
“Well, I think ya got it down, baby,” he tells you, with a wink as he removes his shades. “Think ya deserve a reward. Whaddya want?”
You can barely tear your eyes away from that big bulge in his pants and you can’t think of anything else but how much you want his dick in your mouth right now.
“Can I suck you?”
He blinks, that’s not the answer he was expecting at all, but surprise is soon followed by delight. What a good girl you are. “Such a fuckin’ good girl,” he murmurs, undoing his belt. “So good fer me.” He gestures for you to kneel between his legs. “Don’t deserve ya, baby.” Unzipping his pants and freeing his aching dick. “C’mere.”
You shuffle closer, opening your mouth obediently, feeling it water at the sight of him. He gently eases the tip between your lips, pumping it slowly as you run your tongue around the head, enjoying the sound of him moaning softly. As you start to take more of him, you look up to see him reaching for a cigar and lighting it, taking a long drag. His hand cups your cheek and he softly encourages you until his whole dick has disappeared inside your mouth, puffs of cigar smoke enveloping you both. His fingers continue to caress your cheek, murmurs of praise and encouragement falling from his lips as he grips the cigar between his teeth and adds his other hand to your face, holding you oh-so-gently while his hips start to thrust upwards, the end of his dick nudging the back of your throat and making you gag.
Your eyes water, and feeling your stomach clench you shift to get a better angle, one that gives him a clearer route to fuck your throat, hands demurely resting behind your back. Groaning at the sight of you and the feeling of tightness all around him, his fingers knit into your hair, hips snapping now, trying to hold back so as to avoid hurting his princess, but failing a little more with every movement.
“Yer so goddamn perfect, baby,” he mumbles around the cigar, still trapped between his teeth. “Gonna cum right in that perfect little mouth a yours.”
Your watery eyes look up at him, lost in pleasure, you can tell he’s only a few strokes away from completion. You love watching him like this, out of control because of you. The final thrust forces him further down your throat than he’s ever been before, and you cough and your eyes stream, but you swallow it all down anyway. You don’t want to waste a single drop.
“Lemme see,” he instructs, lazily, putting the cigar into the ashtray as you pull off him, saliva trailing out of your mouth. He grins as you stick your tongue out to show him you’ve swallowed. “Good girl.” Putting himself away with trembling hands, he pats his thighs. “Come sit in Daddy’s lap.”
You wipe your wet lips with the back of your hand and shakily get up off your knees, letting him help you sit sideways in his lap. One arm is around your body, holding you to him, as the other runs up your leg, feeling the bumps on your skin from kneeling on the carpet for so long.
“So good ta me,” he murmurs, kissing your face, then your lips.
You moan into the kiss, the place between your legs is so hot and swollen and so needy for him. His big arms make you feel safe and warm and that rich, woody smell that surrounds him makes you melt into his kisses. His hand carries on its journey, sliding under your skirt now, the coldness of his rings and the roughness of his palms just adding to the sensations.
“Not even askin’ fer anything, after bein’ so good,” he coos, fingers deftly moving your panties to the side. “Can’t leave yer pussy like this though, can we?”
His fingers slide through the slickness he finds between your legs, making it very hard to think, let alone speak.
“Hm?” He encourages, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, his nose tickling the end of yours.
“N-no Sir…” you finally manage.
He smiles. “She’s all wantin’ an’ needy…” he slides his fingers down to your entrance. “Can’t leave her like that… all empty…” he pushes one finger in, and then another quickly follows. You gasp. “Not after all ya’ve done fer me.” His thumb brushes your clit as he starts to pump his fingers in and out, lubricated by your arousal, his eyes flicking over your face to watch your reaction. You whimper at the feeling, pushing your face into his chest. “Pretty, selfless little girl didn’t even ask ta cum… so goddamn patient…” he whispers in your ear, fingers still working you in the way he knows will make you come undone. “Best girl I ever had…” he continues, praise so intense it’s making you blush, pleasure filling your body. It feels like he’s holding you right on the edge of orgasm and it’s starting to make you crazy.
“Uhhhhh.” Muffled into his shirt.
You hear that tell-tale low chuckle of his at the noise you just made, knowing he’s fucking you stupid only using his fingers, knowing he doesn’t need anything else. Sometimes you think he could make you cum just by talking to you.
“That’s it, baby,” he coos, back to encouragement again, feather-light kisses on every inch of skin he can reach, pressed into your hair. “Cum all over Daddy’s hand. You can do it. Fer me. Reward fer bein’ so patient…”
You feel it start to build then, his fingers brushing against that place inside of you as he increases the pressure with his thumb. All those years of guitar playing… people said he wasn’t any good, could only do basic rhythm parts, but he’s playing you like a damn virtuoso… your attempts at being demure fly completely out of the window when it finally hits, fingers grasping desperately at his shirt, head tipped back, back arching as you moan low and dirty, looking like the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“Yes… fuck…” he mutters, holding you as he gently finger-fucks you through it until you’re flopped against him, breathing heavily.
Watching you as you lean your head on his chest, eyes closed, your make-up a mess from the blowjob earlier and your breasts heaving, he wants to hold you like this and never let you go. He slides his fingers out and presses a kiss to your temple. Gradually you start to come back down to earth, eyelashes fluttering as you open your eyes to see him watching you. His cute, lopsided smile makes you smile too, a hand reaching to touch his cheek.
“Thank you, Daddy,” you tell him.
“You deserve it, baby.”
Still smiling, you feel warmth spreading through you at his words. And then you remember what you were doing earlier.
“Though I should probably curtsey, shouldn’t I?” You giggle.
Elvis chuckles too. “Ya should. But I won’t make ya.”
Giggling together, you nestle closer into him, and he picks up his book again, flicking through a few pages ahead and then moving so you can see. The next chapter is called "the Texas dip” and there’s a photo of a girl doing it. Her arms are out to the side and one of her legs is bent behind the other. She’s bent over so far at the waist that her head is almost on the floor. You giggle. It looks kind of ridiculous.
“Whatchu gigglin’ for?” Elvis teases, elbowing you playfully in the side. “This is tomorrow’s lesson, little girl.”
***
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Hi!!! I saw your poll and I was wondering if you could write a 60s!Elvis X Reader fic, where Reader is having a hard time at work because they can't seem to keep up with everything and Elvis finds them crying outside their work place? Comforting them and asking why they can't just let him take care of them?
Take all the time you need!❤️
(hello, thank you so much for requesting this! it was slightly difficult to write since this is my first time writing smut, but i hope you all enjoy it. i’d love to see more requests featuring elvis in my inbox!)
⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ MY HEART BELONGS TO DADDY !
a work of fiction written by @twobitsblade and inspired by @atleastpleasetelephone, @jhoneybees, @wanderingelvis, @lustnhim, and @theelvisprincess !
contains: smut (obviously), reader and elvis are married, elvis is a cocky know-it-all with hints of the 1960s male mindset !
you and elvis had been together for a while now; around three years of loving, fighting, and arguing, but you knew that at the end of the day he’d always be there for you. and you knew that even when you took up a new job at your aunt’s boutique—something which elvis discouraged multiple times (“oh m’baby, you ain’t needuh do these stupid ol’ jobs, m’the one providin’”)—while you were very thankful for him, your aunt desperately needed your help, and who were you to turn her down?
but it turns out that perhaps elvis was right—this job began to be a lot more than you’d signed up for. originally, the deal was you’d wear a cute dress, get your hair done all nice (for free, mind you), and greet the customers, but then more and more duties started being asked of you.
“oh dear, can you go bring the boxes from the basement?” “can you go downtown and pick up some new hair dyes? we’re all out, and the shipment won’t be on time?” “can you give her a little trim? it’s not too complicated.”
while you don’t like to think of yourself as spoilt, you’re not very used to working these types of jobs. i mean, you and elvis have been together for years, and you’d gotten used to the comfy lifestyle he provided you.
one day, it just became too much—you were turning around like a dog, fulfilling one task after the other, and it didn’t help that you barely slept last night. it’s not like you could tell elvis about this because it’d prove him right, and you can’t handle that damn cocky smirk on his face as he tells you how he knows his little one wasn’t made for such hard work.
you sigh, placing your things down—the sound a bit louder than intended, causing you to flinch. you toss off your high heels, lazily running up the stairs of graceland and into the bedroom you and elvis shared—grand, beautiful, and decorated by both of you as a visual representation of your love for the other—but now all it felt was suffocating.
you plopped down on the bed, not bothering to change out of your outdoor clothes, and laid your head facing the ceiling when suddenly you heard rustling and groaning, causing you to turn your head as you saw the back of elvis’s head. he slowly turns around to face you, clearly still half asleep.
“mmm, hey m’baby, how’s work?” he says drowsily, grabbing you by the collar of your dress and pulling you close, wrapping his leg around your waist.
“it was fine, el—fine as usual,” you say, though he wasn’t stupid; even half asleep, he could tell. he groaned, rubbed his eyes, and sat up.
he looked you up and down before smirking—god damn it—“well, what’s the matter, huh, little ’un?” you rolled your eyes and weakly shoved him, the shove barely moving him.
“i said it was nothing, didn’t i?” you groaned, but he doesn’t care.
“ah, f’god’s sakes, just let me take care of my babygirl…” he groaned, grabbing you and laying you on top of him. you tried to pull away to no avail, causing you to let out a mewl which made him chuckle—everything about him was irritating you in that moment: his baby blue eyes, his tan skin, his perfectly, oh so disgustingly perfect smile, and the softness with which he looked at you, his girl. you sighed, resting your head on his chest and stifling a sob, and he noticed, tangling his fingers in your hair, “shh, m’girl, tell daddy what happened.” you did, and even though it all came out as incomprehensible high-pitched, whiny rambles, he nodded as though he understood you—not just your words, but the language of your soul.
you eventually felt content, done venting. you sighed, wiped your tears, and looked up at him, and suddenly you chuckled. it wasn’t quite wry but not quite from happiness; you felt good—elvis always had a way of making you feel good.
and in your exhausted state, you needed him, needed him badly, and he could see that; after all, he knew you inside and out. his hand went down to your back, then to your hip, then to your butt, then to your thigh, causing you to feel slight tingles coursing through you—you hated that, you hated how easily he could get you in such a vulnerable state.
“baby, come on, you need to open up for me. how else can i keep you safe, huh, lil ’un?”—ah, the typical elvis double entendre.
you nodded slowly, turning around on his lap so he could unzip your dress, the slight friction causing him to groan, “fuckin’ tease, you are…” he said, unzipping your dress slowly but surely, “ah, m’girls wearin’ somethin’ fancy, hmm?” he said, observing your baby pink bra with lace detailing. your face heated up at his words as you expected him to unbuckle your bra, but he didn’t.
he linked his fingers underneath the clasp and pulled you backwards so that your back rested on his chest, as his hands, in a painfully slow manner, slid down from your cleavage to your ribs, to your belly, down to your pelvic bone, and under your skirt—and you arched into him, causing a giggle to escape him. “hmm, needy, ain’t ya?” he said, his fingers rubbing circles on your clothed cunt as you squirmed into his touch. he slipped one finger underneath the fabric and then inside you, causing you to let out a loud, high-pitched moan—and god knows he wasn’t going to be the one to silence those sounds—then another finger, then a third and final one, as he slowly began pumping them in and out of you. you lost yourself in his touch; incomprehensible words mixed with moans left your mouth drowned by his groans—the sounds almost pornographic.
he pulled his fingers out and wiped them on your dress, causing you to whine at the sudden emptiness you felt and at the vulgarity of the action.
he rolled around so that you were now under him, and a surge of excitement crossed you.
he removed his pants, then his boxers, his erect cock springing out from them. he grinned, “y’ready m’baby?” you nodded, preparing yourself as he aligned his tip with your entrance, your wetness working as the perfect lube, and slowly—painfully slowly—he entered you, moans leaving your mouth as your mind became dazed, hungry for the man you loved so much.
slowly, he began thrusting in and out repeatedly, causing you to let out a strange sound—a mix of a scream and a yowl—with his fingers digging into the sensitive flesh of your hips. “mm, take it for me like a good little girl.” you nodded, continuing, and as you felt your climax approaching, he nodded, a silent signal that you could release yourself, and so you did—all over him—and soon after, he followed.
you both plopped down onto the bed with a sigh. he looked at your tired frame with admiration, the sweat glistening off your body and making you look like an angel. he hugged you slowly, “m’girl, you gotta be honest with me; i’m always gonna be takin’ care of you, aight?” you nodded, letting out a gentle mix between a whimper and a sigh as his body embraced yours.
For this day, I would like to recommend a fic ❤️ It's a long but incredibly entertaining read with a unique set-up that I've never seen before. It's full of tension, fluff, angst, falling in love and smut. Also featuring jealous Austin who is my favorite 🔥 How does it fit into the Hollywood theme? Well, the FMC gets to work with Hollywood celebrity Austin Butler himself, as well as Baz Luhrman and even gets to meet Tom Hanks and Priscilla Presley in the course of the fic.
— Crossing That Line by StoryTime3
— PAIRING: Austin Butler x f!Reader
— TAGS: Romance, Drama, Fluff, Smut, Elvis Presley Played By Austin Butler, Mentions of Elvis Presley Songs, Romantic Comedy, Marijuana, Masturbation, Oral SexSex, Rough Sex, Inspired by Elvis Presley Songs, Semi-Public Sex, Shower Sex, Drunkenness, Dirty Talk, Stripping, Dirty Thoughts, Public Sex, Domestic Fluff, Elvis Impersonator, Love, Fate, Daddy Kink, Ass Play, Butt Slapping, Anal Sex, Panty Kink
— SUMMARY: You can’t believe it! You are one of two lucky winners of the ‘If I Can Dream’ contest! And that means you get to help work on ‘Elvis: One Weekend Only’ the Charity Concert Series in Vegas directed by the insanely talented Baz Luhurmann and staring the one and only insanely talented Austin Butler.
You are just honored to be there to help the world see EP as you do, the most brilliant entertainer of all time.
But of course, when Austin Butler is around, living in the same hotel as you, rehearsing as Elvis, you suddenly find it really hard to stop yourself from crossing over certain lines, especially when he starts to develop a special certain interest in you.
A/N: I was feeling some type of way earlier and I just wrote this half as a comfort to myself and half because people keep reading Daddy Likes His Football. So this is yet another part, but this one is a little... sweeter?
Here is part 1, and here is part 2.
Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie
Word count: ~1.3k
“Honey, what’re you doin’ in here?” Elvis cracks the door and peeks into the room you share. It's dark despite the sunset outside and as his eyes adjust, he sees the lump that must be you in the bed. “Are you asleep?”
“No.” You sigh deeply and roll over onto your side, trying to hide the fact that you were crying.
“You been up here all day?” You close your eyes and cringe internally. You have, in fact, been in this bed all day long and he's just now noticing. He's busy, you know that, and you're being a little overdramatic, but it still hurts. Especially in your current state of mind.
“Yeah.” It’s barely audible, so he walks further into the room, looking down at you in the bed. You have these moods sometimes, and hell, so does he, but this seems to be worse than normal. He stands and stares at you, trying to decide just how firm he wants to be with you. You're an angel when he gets like this, but quite frankly, he's a little annoyed. He buys you everything you could ever want, gives you whatever you need, and is only ever a little grumpy about it.
“What's the problem?” It comes out a little harsher than he intends and you flinch.
“I dunno, Elvis. I'm just… sad.” He wants to roll his eyes so badly, but he holds back.
“Honey, you have no reason to be–”
“I know that!” You snap at him for the first time ever and it completely catches him off guard. “But you don't either and I put up with your bullshit moods all the time!”
You have no idea where this anger is coming from. Elvis is the love of your life and taking care of him is your joy, even when he's down. But right now you just want to be left alone to wallow in self-pity.
He purses his lips and shakes his head. A sad mood is one thing, but you need to remember who you belong to.
“Enough.” In two strides, he's next to you, yanking the covers off of you unceremoniously.
“Elvis!” You holler, but he ignores you, picking up your body easily and throwing you over his shoulder.
“Ya been in bed long enough. No more feelin’ sorry for yourself.” He carries you to the bathroom as you kick and yell and pound on his back with your tiny ineffectual fists. You gasp as he plops you on the lid of the toilet and then walks to the shower to start it up.
“What are you doing?! I don't wanna shower!” He continues to ignore you, checking the temperature and coming back over to you to undress you. You protest verbally, but let him strip you naked.
“You always feel better when you're wet, one way or another.” He's not wrong. There are two things that'll cheer you up without fail: sex and water. Maybe it's the Pisces in you. And you don't seem to be too eager to fuck him, so he decides a shower is the next best thing. You scoff and harumph as he moves you under the water.
“This isn't helping.” You sound like a petulant child now and he does roll his eyes this time.
“Shut up and wait for daddy.” He starts to pull his clothes off as you stand in the shower pouting. Eventually, you feel him move in behind you and sigh despite yourself. The water does feel really good and knowing he's naked behind you is just enough of a distraction from your mood. You turn to face him and lean your head back into the stream of water, moaning softly. He suppresses a smile at how quickly you seem to be coming back to life. It comforts him to know that he knows you this well. His relationships are never easy, but with you it feels like it's worth whatever he has to put up with. You drive him crazy in the best way possible and he loves you more than he's ever loved anyone before. He puts his hands on your hips and moves closer to you, pressing his lips to your neck. “You like this?”
You're quiet for a bit, just enjoying the sensation of his hands and mouth on you, but eventually you sigh and whisper, “yeah.”
He puts your arms on his shoulders and presses his body against you. Thinking about how much you mean to him has his cock hard where it pushes against you.
“You want daddy to make it all better?” You nod, your bad mood completely forgotten as your center radiates heat on his leg. “Good girl.”
He turns and presses your back up against the shower wall, dropping to his knees in front of you. You moan loudly and your eyes roll back as he shoves his tongue into your pussy. Usually it's you on your knees, so this is a welcome change.
“Fuck, daddy…” Your hand goes to the front of his hair as he eats you like a man starved. His tongue swirls your clit and then he sucks on it lightly, determined to make you cum as quickly as possible. He slides his long middle finger up inside you, curling it against your g-spot as he licks you. You feel your orgasm approaching you and your legs tremble with anticipation. He feels your walls start to flutter and grumbles into you.
“Cum for daddy, baby.” You listen to him and moan again as your climax washes over you, pounding in your veins and lighting you up like a firecracker. He groans as he feels you pulse around his finger and then pulls back, standing up. You lean against the wall, shaking and panting as he lifts one of your legs and bends his knees to line his cock up with your entrance. “Be a good girl and let daddy fuck you until he fills up this sweet little pussy.”
“Yes, daddy…” You whimper as he pushes inside you, grunting. He holds the side of your neck, his thumb brushing your lips as he picks up a steady pace, fucking into you faster and harder as the shower water mixes with the sweat on both of your bodies.
“Whose baby are you?” He growls, his cock sliding in and out of you.
“Yours, daddy.” You moan, reveling in the power with which he slams into you.
“And does daddy love his baby?” He doesn't give you a chance to answer, pressing his lips to yours and pushing his tongue into your mouth. When he finally does pull back, he puts his forehead on yours, thrusting deeper into you. “Does he?”
“Yes, daddy.”
“And daddy will always take care of her and make her happy?” You nod furiously and he moans. “Fuck. Daddy loves you, baby.”
He closes his eyes and fills you one last time, trembling as he shoots you full of cum and you lose control, another release vibrating in between your hips. You slump against him and he holds you steady, kissing your forehead gently. The steam curls around you and for a while there is nothing but the sound of your breathing as your heart rate normalizes.
“I love you too.” You murmur against his chest. He runs his fingers through your hair and kisses your temple. It's amazing how safe and at-ease you feel now, considering your mood from earlier. But that's just the effect he has on you, that you have on each other. He is your home, your peace. You love to tease him, but you'd never want to be without him. He reaches around you and converts the shower to a bath, laying down with you in his arms.
“You feel better?” He holds you, stroking your arm gently. You can be a real brat sometimes, but when it comes down to it, he wouldn't trade you for anything.
“Yeah. Thank you.” You sigh again and settle against him, snuggling into the hair on his chest.
He kisses the top of your head and smiles softly. “Any time, baby. Any time.”
After arriving at the Honolulu Airport, Elvis was brought to the Hilton Hawaiian Village Hotel by helicopter. Then he started with his first rehearsal with the band and backup singers, who had arrived too.
Synopsis: A midnight visit to Elvis's grave doesn't end how you expected it to—instead of being caught trespassing, you're thrown back in time. His time.
Warning(s): Time travel AU, trespassing on Graceland grounds, mention of Elvis's death, mentions of pills, arguing, somewhat strong language, angsty, smut; unprotected sex.
A/N: I wanted to write a little something for Elvis's 90th, but I wanted it to be something different than my usual stuff—so why not a lil' time traveling? It's not super birthday-ish, but oh well. I never dabbled in this genre although I love reading about it, but here y'all go! Don't be afraid to leave a comment! 🖤
You can find my masterlist here.
The air is cold, sharper than it had been earlier in the day. It had been a bitter January, but that hadn’t stopped you. Not tonight. January 8, 2025—the day the world still remembers Elvis Presley’s birthday. This one feels more special to you—if he would have still been alive, he would’ve been 90. It’s a miracle if people make it to that age nowadays and with Elvis’s genes, you don’t think he would’ve made it to that age. But it’s still special. For you, it’s more than a date on the calendar. You’d idolized him for years, pouring over every song, every snippet of footage, every book written by people that had been in his life.
You’re most likely the biggest Elvis defender your friends and family have ever seen. You respect him and everything that belongs to him—including Graceland. So, you’re very aware of how wrong it is what you’re currently doing, sneaking nervous glances left and right as you wander outside the gates at 3 AM.
You’re surprised there’s no one else, seeing it’s officially his birthday. But then again, it’s 3 in the freaking morning.
The street is silent except for the occasional hum of passing cars. You’re trespassing; you know that much. You’re not this kind of person, but the pull to visit Elvis’s grave, undisturbed by crowds or tourists, is irresistible. This will be just a one-time thing. Go in and go out.
With one last look over your shoulder, you hoist yourself up and over the wall, landing on the other side with a muffled thud, your hands catching your fall which makes you shiver because the ground is covered in snow.
Graceland looms in front of you like a timeless sentinel, the mansion bathing in faint moonlight. Your heart skips a beat, pulling your coat tighter around yourself as you pad across the grounds. The Meditation Garden isn’t far, and you find yourself standing in front of Elvis’s grave within a minute or so.
“Happy birthday, Elvis,” you kneel, fingers tracing the engraved name, wiping some snow off the stone. A lump forms in your throat and you sit back on your knees after you put the small bouquet of roses by his grave, not caring about the cold. “I miss you. Everyone does…”
To some, you might look like an absolute fool, but you’re the only one here. Right now, you’re talking to Elvis because you’re positive he can hear you. And even if he doesn’t, it doesn’t stop you.
It never did before—maybe he even gets tired of you yappin’ at him every chance you get. Who knows.
Time stretches on as you sit there, lost in thought. You don’t hear the first rustle of the wind, nor the creak of something in the distance. But as the hour passes, the chill bites deeper into your skin and your fingers are starting to lose feeling. You rise reluctantly, ready to leave the way you came.
But as you pass the house, a sudden sound makes you freeze in place.
The front door creaks open.
You stop, blinking in disbelief.
Graceland’s security measures aren’t exactly lax, and there is no reason anyone should be here at this hour. Yet the door stands ajar, faint light spilling into the dark.
Curiosity battles with reason in your mind, but it only takes a second before curiosity wins. You approach the door slowly, peering inside.
“Hello?” you call out softly, your voice trembling. No answer. The silence feels alive, pressing against you like unseen hands.
You step inside.
Suddenly, you can’t see anything but white light so bright you have to squeeze your eyes shut. There’s a ringing in your ears and the ground seems to disappear from underneath your feet.
You’re flying… floating… no, you’re falling.
And then, darkness engulfs you.
The darkness is thick, oppressive, and seems to stretch on forever. Then, a muffled sound—a voice, several voices—start to penetrate the void. Your head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, and your body feels heavy, almost disconnected from your mind.
Your eyelids flutter open to the sight of faces looming above you. Disoriented, you blink rapidly, trying to focus. The first thing you register is the couch beneath you, soft and worn. Then, you see him. Elvis Presley. His raven-black hair shines under the dim light, his piercing blue eyes wide with concern. Around him are several men, all dressed casually yet... different.
Men don't dress this way. Not anymore.
“She's waking up,” someone says, but the voice seems distant.
“Hey, honey,” Elvis's voice finally breaks through the haze, warm and tinged with his signature Southern drawl. “You all right there? You took quite the tumble.”
You sit up, your body moving on autopilot, the weight of your situation not fully sinking in. Your eyes dart around the room—plush furniture, vibrant decor, and the faint hum of an old television in the background. You know this room. You've seen it in documentaries and photos.
Graceland.
“I... where am I?” you manage to whisper, your throat dry and voice shaky.
“You're in my home,” Elvis answers gently, crouching to meet your eye level. His brow furrows, and his concern seems genuine. “You're in Graceland, darlin’. Memphis, Tennessee. And, uh... today's January 8th, 1967.”
The words hit you like a freight train. 1967. Your breath catches in your throat.
1967.
“This can't be real,” you mutter, your hands trembling as you clutch the couch cushions. “This... I was just in 2025. This doesn’t make any sense.”
“Whoa, slow down there,” one of the men, probably a member of Elvis’s entourage—the Memphis Mafia—says, holding up his hands as if to calm you. “What’s she talkin’ about, E?”
Elvis doesn’t answer him. Instead, he studies you, his gaze far more intense than before. There's something in his eyes, something knowing, as if he recognizes you—but that’s impossible.
“I think she’s just a little shook up,” he says finally, offering you a small, reassuring smile. His tone is soothing, but you catch the glimmer of something deeper behind his calm demeanor. “Let’s give her some space to breathe, fellas.”
The others shuffle away reluctantly, muttering amongst themselves. Elvis sits down beside you, his presence almost overwhelming.
“You feelin' any better?” he asks softly, tilting his head slightly.
You nod, though the answer is a lie. “I... I don’t know how I got here.”
He hesitates, his jaw tightening as if he's debating something. Then, his voice drops to a low murmur, barely audible.
“I don’t know how to explain this, but... I’ve seen you before.”
Your heart skips a beat. “What?”
“In my dreams,” he admits sheepishly, his eyes locked on yours. As he continues, you realise he's serious. “I’ve been dreamin’ about you for weeks now. I didn’t know who you were, or if you even existed, but... now you’re here. And I think we were meant to meet.”
The room seems to tilt again, reality fraying at the edges. You want to protest, to tell him this can’t be happening—but deep down, something about his words feels eerily right.
Elvis watches you carefully, his intense gaze searching your face for something—answers, maybe, though you have none to give. Your mind races as you try to process his words. He’s dreamt of you? Weeks? It doesn’t make sense, yet the sincerity in his voice is undeniable.
You exhale shakily, running a hand through your hair. “I… I don’t even know where to start,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “This is insane. I shouldn’t even be here.”
“I don’t think you’re here by accident,” Elvis says, his tone steady and deliberate. “Things like this don’t just… happen. There’s a reason, even if we don’t understand it yet.”
You glance at him, overwhelmed by the calm certainty in his voice. Despite the surreal situation, he has a grounding presence, like the eye of a hurricane.
“The dreams… what are they about?”
Elvis looks at you as he stands up from the floor he was kneeling on and sits down on the edge of the couch—his long, white couch you’d seen so many times on pictures and tours—next to you, looking at you.
“Sometimes they feel like nightmares,” he wrings his hands together, keeping his voice low although everyone had left the living area and scattered around the house. “I see you at.. at my grave. Can’t read the date on the damn thing, only see my name on it. And I hear you—I know y’er talkin’ to me but I can never figure out what it is y’er saying.”
A shiver runs down your spine and not because of the cold. Tonight wasn’t the first time you’d visited his grave. You’ve been there plenty of times before—what if every single time you were there, he saw you… only he wasn’t watching you from the afterlife but from his dreams.
Geez. This whole situation is so trippy.
“This is crazy,” you blurt out. A smile curls the edges of his lips and he lets out a low laugh, nodding his head. The two of you sit in silence for a bit, the noise of music and voices of the Memphis Mafia far away in the background.
“I’m sorry,” you mumble then, guilt creeping into your chest. “I didn’t mean to show up and ruin your birthday... but happy birthday, Elvis.”
Elvis blinks, and then a soft chuckle escapes him. “Honey, I think this is the most interestin’ birthday I’ve ever had. And believe me, I’ve had some wild ones.” His smile is warm, disarming. “So don’t you go worryin’ ‘bout that.”
The corners of your lips twitch despite yourself, and for the first time since waking up, the panic loosens its grip on your chest.
“Thank you,” you murmur, and he nods like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Now, let’s start from the beginning,” he says, leaning back against the couch. “You said you’re from 2025?”
You hesitate, unsure how much to tell him. Finally, you nod. “Yeah. I was visiting your grave and suddenly… I was here.”
For a second, you consider telling him you jumped the gate and then saw the front door being open, but you decide to leave that part out. He doesn’t need to think you’re some kind of professional trespasser.
His eyes widen slightly, the weight of your words sinking in. “That’s almost sixty years from now,” he mutters, running a hand over his jaw. “What’s it like? The future, I mean.”
You bite your lip. “It’s… different. So much has changed.”
“Tell me,” he says, his voice low and insistent. “All of it.”
You hesitate again, your heart pounding. How do you explain a world he’ll never see? The advances in technology, the cultural shifts, the rise of global issues? And then there’s the other stuff—the bad stuff. Things you’re not sure he’s ready to hear.
“I don’t know if you’d believe me,” you say softly.
Elvis leans forward, his blue eyes locking onto yours. “Try me.”
So, you do. Slowly at first, you describe the marvels of the future—smartphones, streaming services, the internet, electric cars. He listens with rapt attention, his expression shifting between awe and disbelief.
“You mean to tell me people carry phones around in their pockets?” he asks, incredulous.
“And they can use them to call anyone, anywhere in the world,” you add with a faint smile. “They can even see each other while they talk.”
He whistles low, shaking his head. “That’s somethin’ else.”
But as the conversation continues, his curiosity deepens. “What about me?” he asks suddenly, catching you off guard.
“What do you mean?”
“In 2025,” he clarifies, then seems to do a little math in his head. “I would’ve been.. 90, right? Am I… still around?”
Your stomach twists painfully. You knew this question was coming, but you’d been dreading it all the same.
“I… no,” you admit softly. “You passed away in 1977.”
Ten years from now.
His face falls, and for a moment, he looks years older. “How?”
You hesitate, the words sticking in your throat. How do you tell him the truth about his health, the drugs, the isolation?
From the research you’ve done about him in your own time, you’re pretty sure he takes medication now too. You can’t just tell him to quit them—you’re practically a stranger, and he doesn’t even listen to the people close to him.
You love this man, truly more than anything in the world, but you’re aware of how stubborn Elvis Presley could be… no, is.
“It was a heart attack,” you say finally, opting for the simplest version of the truth. “But… you’re still remembered. People love you, Elvis. Your music, your movies—you’re a legend.”
He leans back, silent for a long moment. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet, but feels like a warm blanket is being draped around your shoulders, yet his words tug at your heartstrings. “They really remember me, huh?”
Meeting his eyes, you smile and nod, putting your hand on his arm. It sends a surge of what feels like electricity down your spine and Elvis seems to feel the same as he straightens his shoulders, his eyes drawn to your hand. “Every single day,” you whisper, fighting off the lump that starts to form in your throat when he puts his hand atop yours, curling his fingers around it.
The soft squeeze he gives makes your heart leap pathetically against your ribcage.
For a while, the two of you sit in silence, the weight of the moment settling around you.
“You’re stayin’ here, right?” he asks softly. “At least until we figure out how to get you back. Don’t worry about a thing—I’ll take care of you.”
Your chest tightens at his kindness, and you manage a grateful smile. “Thank you. I don’t know how I’m going to repay you.”
“You don’t need to,” he says simply. “The universe doesn’t do anythin’ without reason.”
Weeks have passed since you first woke up in Graceland, and the surrealness of it all hasn’t quite faded. You’ve grown used to the rhythms of the household—the comings and goings of the Memphis Mafia, the endless music that seems to fill every corner of the mansion, and most of all, the magnetic presence of Elvis himself.
You don’t know how long you’re stuck in his time. You might wake up and be thrown back to your own timeline, or you might be stuck here forever… but you can’t seem to care about the latter. You feel like you’re right where you need to be.
And the thought of leaving, especially if it’s sudden… God, that just kills you.
Elvis everything the world remembers him to be and more. Charismatic, kind, larger-than-life, but also deeply human. Vulnerable in ways that surprise you. And it’s in those quiet moments, away from the spotlight, that you feel closest to him.
But it’s also in those quiet moments that you start to notice things. The long nights when he doesn’t sleep. The bottles of pills tucked away in drawers. The way he brushes it off when you ask if he’s tired or feeling okay.
It all comes to a head one evening. You find him in the den—in future times, known as the Jungle Room—lounging on the couch with a guitar in his lap. He’s strumming absentmindedly, humming a tune that hasn’t quite taken shape. A bottle of sleeping pills sits on the side table.
Something he usually doesn’t do, you have noticed. He keeps them away in his bathroom, or they’re stashed in the case of his personal doctor, Dr. Nick.
Maybe he forgot to put them away.
“Elvis,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, “can we talk?”
He looks up, a soft smile curving his lips. “’Course, darlin’. What’s on your mind?”
You hesitate, your heart pounding. “It’s about… those.” You gesture to the pills.
His smile falters, and he follows your gaze to the bottle. “What about ‘em?”
“I’ve noticed you take them a lot,” you say carefully, sitting on the edge of the coffee table. “And not just those. There’s others too, isn’t there?”
He stiffens, his easygoing demeanor evaporating. “Now, hold on. Where’s this comin’ from?”
“I’m worried about you,” you admit. “You don’t need those, Elvis. You’re healthy, and only 32—you don’t need pills to sleep, or whatever else you’re taking them for.”
He sets the guitar aside, his jaw tightening. “How would you know what I need?” he bites, a hint of venom on his tongue that makes your blood run cold. “I’ve got a lot ridin’ on me, a lot of people dependin’ on me. Sometimes, I need a little help, that’s all.”
Your chest tightens. “I understand,” you say softly. “More than you think. Because I know where this road leads.”
He narrows his eyes, his voice lowering dangerously. “I don’t need’a hear this, Y/N.”
“You struggle with this, Elvis,” you say, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. He might not want to hear it, but he needs to. “In the future, it gets worse. You start relying on pills for everything—sleeping, waking up, getting through the day. And it takes a toll on you. On your body, your mind, your—”
“Stop,” he interrupts, his voice rising. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
“I do!” you insist, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. “It’s true you die of heart problems, Elvis, but the pills.. they play a part in all of it. The stress, the drugs—they kill you. And it’s not just you who suffers. It breaks the hearts of everyone who loves you. Your fans, your family…” Your voice cracks. “Me.”
He stares at you, stunned into silence. For a long moment, neither of you speaks, the air between you thick with tension.
Finally, he stands, pacing the room like a caged animal. “You don’t get it,” he says, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. “You think I want this? You think I like needin’ somethin’ just to keep goin’? I don’t have a choice. The movies, the people… it never stops. And if I don’t keep up, it all falls apart.”
“You do have a choice,” you say, getting up as well and stepping closer to him. “You’re Elvis Presley. People love you for who you are, not what you can give them. You don’t have to destroy yourself to keep everyone else happy.”
He turns to face you, his eyes blazing with a mixture of defiance and desperation. “And what about you?” he demands. “You’re askin’ me to believe all this—time travel, the future—but I’m just supposed to take your word for it? How do I know you’re not wrong? How do I know this ain’t just ‘nother one of my dreams? Hell, how do I know you ain’t some crazy lunatic fan that broke into my goddamn house?!”
You swallow hard, the weight of his words cutting deep and you can’t stop a stray tear from rolling down your cheek. “Because I’m here,” you say softly. “I’m here, Elvis. I’m not some crazy fan that broke into your house and fed you a lie that I’m from the future. I care about you more than I can put into words. That’s why I’m telling you this. I don’t want to see you hurt yourself. Not now, not ever.”
His shoulders sag, the fire in his eyes dimming as the weight of the argument settles over him. He looks away, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “You don’t know what it’s like,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible. “To have the whole world watchin’, expectin’ you to be somethin’ you’re not even sure you can be.”
“I don’t,” you admit. “But I know you’re stronger than you think. And I’ll be here, Elvis. As long as I’m stuck in this time, I’ll be here for you. You don’t have to do this alone.”
His gaze finally meets yours, and in his eyes, you see the cracks—the vulnerability he tries so hard to hide from the world. Slowly, he steps closer, his hand brushing against yours.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he admits, guilt about the words he has spoken out to you in his eyes.
But if there’s anything you learned—and read about—is that Elvis Presley doesn’t apologize.
At least, not with words.
You shake your head, tears slipping down your cheeks. “You don’t have to find out. I’m not going anywhere.”
He brings his hands up to cup your face and within seconds, his lips are pressing against yours.
His lips are warm and urgent against yours, the world narrowing to just the two of you in that moment. The intensity of the kiss sweeps away every doubt, every fear, until there’s nothing left but him—his touch, his scent, the taste of his mouth against yours.
“Elvis…” you murmur against his lips, but his name comes out more as a breathless plea than a protest.
“Shh,” he whispers, his forehead pressing against yours as he pulls back just enough to look into your eyes. “I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I saw you, darlin’. I don’t know how this happened, but I know I’m not lettin’ it slip away.”
His hands glide down to your waist, and you let him guide you to the plush rug beneath the dim glow of the table lamp. The guitar and forgotten pills sit on the table, but they no longer matter. In this moment, there’s only the two of you, and the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world that makes sense.
You’re aware that some of the guys are around, probably somewhere in the TV room downstairs or the pool room and with the den not even having a door, it’s dangerous.
But you can’t resist the man above you—especially not when he slides your shirt over your head and his soft lips are kissing across your collarbone and to the swell of your breasts, fingertips pulling down your bra straps.
The green carpet is soft against your skin and his lips are even softer as they reach your nipples once your bra is gone. Oh what the hell—the two of you are hidden by the large, gaudy couch.
You’re not going to stop him.
Fingers running through his hair, your hands find home on his shoulders and he shivers as your nails drag down his upper arms and up again, fingers tugging at the fabric of his shirt. He takes the hint quickly and pulls his shirt off, throwing it over the couch and obviously not caring who sees.
He laughs as you gasp. “Stop worryin’ that pretty lil’ head.”
Your worries about being caught fade to the back of your mind, because Elvis gives you no other choice than to focus on him as he pulls your pants down, your panties sliding down along with them.
“Impatient much?” You huff teasingly as he sits back on his knees, fumbling with the undoing of his pants.
He smirks. “Been waitin’ too long,” his pants come off and so does his underwear and you’re not even ashamed of the gawking you’re doing, his cock hard and twitching once against his lower abdomen. “Been dreamin’ too long about this.”
“Me too,” you whisper, biting your lip as you reach out to him, wrapping your hand around his length. “Me too, Elvis.”
Elvis is usually all for foreplay.
Big fan of it, actually. He loves it.
But right now, he’s impatient. Other than cuddling and kissing, the two of you hadn’t gone all the way yet. Most of your time together had been spent talking, reading and more talking. Deep, important conversations—but also ones that didn’t make any sense, you easily falling into baby talk with him.
He found that he could be his complete self with you, at all times. And he feels guilty for accussing you to be a crazy fan, for getting mad at you for calling him out.
You only spoke the truth and the truth has a way of hurting sometimes.
He doesn’t mind the handjob but afraid he might cum too prematurely, he gently removes your hand and pushes you back down against the carpet again. He situates himself in between your legs and you gasp softly as you feel him rubbing his tip through your folds, spreading your slick around.
And when he rubs small circles against your clit with his equally sensitive cock head, the moan you let out is like music to his ears.
With a low groan, he moves his cock to your entrance and pushes inside of you—slowly, but all the way. Your hands slide over his shoulders, left one moving to the back of his neck and into his dark hair which has gotten a little messier than when you first walked into the room.
“Move, you tease,” you grin at him with an excited gleam in your eye, clenching your walls around him on purpose.
He moans lowly, a smirk tugging at his lips. He doesn’t hesitate, though. And when he pulls back only to thrust back into you, you tangle your fingers in his hair, your nails digging into his shoulder.
“Real thing’s better,” he groans as he lowers down, his body covering yours, as he plants his forearms next to your head—deliciously caging you in. “That’s for damn sure.”
The den fills itself with the sound of skin meeting skin, his balls slapping against your ass with every thrust. If anyone were to enter the kitchen, they would surely hear you from here.
But you don’t have time to dwell on it. Elvis’s cock is buried inside of you, something you had only secretly fantasized about in your own time. The stories of his ex-lovers certainly aren’t wrong—he is a marvelous lover.
He hides his face in your neck, tongue caressing your skin now and then as he breathes heavily in your ear. You wrap your arms tighter around him, legs around his waist firmly.
You run your nails up and down his back, raking your fingers through his hair before your hands are moving down to his ass, squeezing it and trying to push him in even deeper. You want to remember this forever—no, you need to remember this forever.
The way he feels, the way he sounds when he moans your name softly in your ear, the way he smells…
Everything.
You’re floating on a cloud and when your orgasm washes over you, you’re seeing stars as you arch your back and flutter your eyes shut. Elvis isn’t far behind you, hips stuttering before he holds still, his lips finding yours to share a deep, messy kiss as he lets himself go inside of you.
This must be Heaven.
Still laying on the carpet surrounding by pieces of clothing, he pulls you close, taking you in his arms. His chest rises and falls in a slow, steady rhythm, and you can feel the warmth of his breath against your hair as he nuzzles his nose in it.
“I’ll cut down,” he says softly, breaking the silence.
You blink up at him. “What?”
“The pills,” he clarifies, his voice heavy with sincerity. “You were right, honey. I don’t wanna go down that road, and I don’t want you worryin’ about me. I’ll start cuttin’ back. I promise.”
The tears return, unbidden, and you press a kiss to his chest. “Thank you,” you whisper. “That means everything to me.”
“Anything for you,” he replies, his voice laced with an unspoken tenderness that leaves you breathless. “Here,”
You watch as he takes his gold plated ID bracelet off his wrist and puts it around yours before you can protest.
“Never take it off, okay?” He whispers as you ghost your fingertip along his name that is encrusted onto the piece of jewelry with diamonds. “It will keeps us connected.”
You look at him and nod, silently promising to keep it with you forever. Wrapping your arms around him, he holds you tightly—as if you could disappear any moment. Afraid you would.
“I love you,” you whisper, needing to say it before it would be too late.
He puts a hand on the back of your head, kissing your temple. “I love you too, darlin’. In every damn timeline.”
The two of you drift off to sleep like that, tangled in each other’s arms in the softness of the carpet, a quiet peace settling over you.
When you wake, it’s not to the soft glow of the den or the warmth of Elvis’s embrace. Instead, cold bites at your skin, and your eyes snap open to a dark, gloomy sky.
You sit up with a start, snow crunching beneath your hands. Your breath billows in the frigid January air, and it takes a moment for your surroundings to register.
You’re outside, back behind the gates.
Graceland looms ahead of you, its stately columns and familiar facade blanketed in snow. But it’s different—cleaner, sharper, modernized in subtle ways.
You look down and your heart sinks as you see the clothes you’re wearing are the ones you wore before you were planted back in time—not the pretty dresses Elvis bought you, or fancy blouses and pants the girlfriends of the Memphis Mafia gave you.
It’s not 1967 anymore.
“No,” you whisper, your heart plummeting as reality crashes down around you. You scramble to your feet, your fingers trembling as you pull your phone from your pocket. The screen lights up. January 8, 2025.
You stare at the date, the truth settling like lead in your chest. You’re back.
“No, no, no,” you panic, turning toward the mansion as if he might still be there. As if you might have somehow carried him with you. But there’s no sign of him—no sign of the life you left behind in the past.
Your legs feel like lead as you get up and take a step closer to the gates, your heart pounding with every step. Was it real? Did it happen? Or had it all been some impossible, beautiful dream?
Tears fall over your cheeks rapidly, your ribcage twisting around your heart. You scream out his name in the stillness of the night, your hands slamming against the gates in frustration.
In your moment of despair, your eye catches the twinkle of diamonds as the street light shines down on you—and there it is.
The golden bracelet he’d given you, dangling from your wrist.
Your breath catches, your fingers trembling as you caress them over the diamonds. Your heart is pounding in your ears and as you hide your face in your hands, you catch a whiff of your hair that falls down your shoulders.
You pick up a few strands and your heart clenches even further in your chest—you smell like him.
It’s not a dream. All of this is real, but you have no idea how to get back to him.
Does he know you’re gone? Does he even remember you were there in the first place? Or did he think it was all a dream?
You don’t remember leaving anything personal behind for him.
You inhale sharply, the faint scent of him still clinging to your hair. Your hand drifts back to the bracelet, and your thumb brushes against the clasp. That’s when you notice it—a tiny engraving on the underside, one you hadn’t seen before.
Four words.
“We’ll meet again, E.”
Your heart stops.
He knew.
He knew you might disappear, might leave him behind. And still, he gave you this—a promise, a thread tying the two of you together across time and space.
“Elvis,” you whisper again, but this time, it’s not a cry of despair. It’s a vow.
You won’t give up.
“I’ll come back,” you look at the house up on the hill, determination filling your chest. “No matter what timeline.”
You don’t know how, or if it’s even possible, but you’ll find a way back to him. If he remembered you, if he believed in you enough to leave this message, then you owe it to him—and to yourself—to believe, too.
As the snow falls softly around you, you step away from the gates, your grip tightening on the bracelet. It’s not a dream. It’s not the end.
