#elvis bread | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

elvisalltheway101 · 2 months

Text

••••••••••it’s impossible•••••••••

summary: Reader just can’t sleep, she never can. Elvis walks in just in time to help shush you to dream land.

author’s note: HEHHEEHEHHE! I’m back hunniessss. So I wanted to get this out before all the nasty deeds come flying out of my drafts. And let me tell, they’re gonna be nasty. Anyway, this is inspired by ahem, ✨me✨ I don’t have diagnosed insomnia but I’m rlly thinking I’ve got it. Lmao I’m too broke to care, ain’t nobody got that government money 😭🤧.

author won’t shut her chapped lips: so I really hope you guys enjoy…hehe the fluff for now. It’s gon be hell’s butter on bread real soon 😭.

•••••••••• ••••••• •••••• •••••••

You huff to yourself in frustration. Tears flood into your doll eyes, only making the dark room fuzzy and cloudy. You purse your lips and frown, having absolutely no idea why you’re not getting any sleep. You were so tired earlier today, throughout the longing day, and now wide awake in bed.

You cross your arms, giving up as your chest heaves up and down in irritation. Thoughts, stupid thoughts that have nothing to do with anything just continue to swarm and bug you.

Is this even normal? You scoff to yourself finally, rolling your eyes that makes the tears streak down your cheeks. You rub your sweaty palms to your eyes, adjusting to the darkness and squinting at the dark, navy blue clock across.

You read, 1:13 am, and you groan. Throwing yourself back into the fluffy, silky sheets, and jumbo pillows arch into your back. You truly don’t know what’s wrong with you. It’s impossible to sleep like this! It’s impossible.

The sound of the bedroom metal, cool shiny door handle being twisted and opened clears your thoughts for a second. You glance back and meet the warm glowing eyes of your darling love. A soft sigh leaves your pretty lips as you look away and trail your gaze into your lap.

“Darlin’? Why ya still up? You’re usually asleep by the time I come back from work.” A warm, honey-sweet southern accent stuffs the room, a pinch of concern is present.

You shrug and frown, furrowing your brows and sighing heavily. You slump, your pretty pastel pink nightie hugs you loosely as one of the straps falls off one shoulder. “I-i dunno…I’m tired but I can’t sleep.” You admit, tilting your pretty head up to look him back in the eyes.

There’s an understanding spark of blue in those pupils that meet your eyes, he clicks his tongue and shakes his head. Walking slowly over to the bed, the soft sounds of his footsteps thudding onto the red, thick carpet are the only things that busy the room.

“Oh…gotcha, hunny? Is something on your mind?” He whispers out softly, crawling slowly onto the big fluffy and soft mattress. You don’t bother to look up though, still so absorbed and worried in what’s going on with you. Hell, you don’t even know what’s on your mind.

Everything seems to fall and not matter when a large pair of big chubby arms embrace you into a warming hug. “Baby, c’mon, ‘s okay, ya don’t gotta answer. I jus’ wanna sleep wit’ my yittle baby, mhm?” He whispers ever so gently into your locks of hair, the sweet scent of your strawberry shampoo fill his nostrils. You only nod slowly in agreement, wrapping your arms around his big frame. He’s almost like a huge soft, brown teddy bear.

His arms engulfing you into a bear hug keep you to his prodding belly that bulges into your side, and that only adds to this intimate, loving moment. Slowly falling to your sides, he pulls you closer and lets one hand slip away to swiftly grab the thick, velvety red blanket. Pulling it up your chin, only ending it up to his shoulder but he’s already warm enough in love.

You feel your eyelids already starting to droop, suffocated in his delicious spicy, strong scenting cologne, with the feels of his tickling chest hair that peeks out from his shirt. You nuzzle your face into his chest, sighing softly in delight and satisfaction.

“It’s impossible, ta tell the sun to leave the sky it’s just impossible.”

You hear the soft tone of his words, so light and an airy fluff. The scent of cherry coke and the faint scent of smokes from cigars lingers in his hot breath and warms above you, and you can feel his chest rise slightly as he takes in another breath to continue.

“It's impossible to ask a baby not to cry It's just impossible.”

He laughs out softly into your curly, puffy locks, gently shoving his face into the crook of your neck and inhaling the sweet, pretty scent of that new cherry strawberry perfume. “Can I hold you closer to me. And not feel you going through me? But the second that I never think of you Oh, how impossible”

He whispers out warmly against your skin, and your eyes close for bedtime. Your long lashes fluttering like a butterfly’s wings, as his voice continues to soothe you.

“Can the ocean keep from rushing to the shore? It's just impossible”

He shakes his head to himself, and you feel a soft peck of his plump, hot lips press to your collarbone. His nose pokes against the silver necklace he had customized just for you, shimmers with its glittering font that reads: Your love. “If I had you, could I ever ask for more? It's just impossible”

He smiles and nods slowly, his heart fluttering at the memory of you and him buying it from the shop. When he draws in a long, wandering breath, he adjusts his arms on your body tighter and full of passion. “And tomorrow should you ask me for the world Somehow I'd get it, I would sell my very soul And not regret it, for to live without your love Is just impossible”

He finally ends, ending with a hushed warm whisper. Finally pulling his face out of the warmth of your neck, he cups your doll jawline and scans so lightly of your calmed facial expression. You look so peaceful and restful as your eyes shut and you’re finally asleep. Leaning down to press a loving kiss to your smooth cheek, then holding, cradling you to his shoulder with a happy sigh. Shaking his head to himself and resting his own chin onto the peak of your itty bitty little pretty head,

“It’s impossible.”

•••••••••

I hope you enjoyed! It’s been a while so…my apologies if it’s not as detailed as before. Anyways, love you lovesss

tagging my hunny dolls: @bigdaddyelvislover @jhoneybees

#Spotify #elvispresley #big daddy elvis #elvis #elvis x reader fluff #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis x reader #elvis imagine #elvis fanfiction #elvis fluff

135 notes · View notes

ckret2 · 2 months

Text

I think one thing the fairy/walrus debate leaves out is that the question is which would surprise you more, not which do you consider less likely.

If I opened my door and saw my next door neighbor standing naked on my porch shouting "BOO!" I'd be a lot more surprised than if I saw Elvis Presley in a t-shirt and jeans standing on my porch, even though the first one is possible and could easily occur and the second one I believe is 100% impossible. After I process the identity of the musician on my porch, my mind would be blown; but my FIRST reaction goes to the shouting streaker.

I get surprised by my toaster popping, something I know is going to happen because I'm the one who put the bread in it.

This is because surprise is an emotion, a knee jerk instinctive reaction, and it doesn't stop to check in with the brain and ask "how probable is this? how logical?" before it goes "‼️"

87 notes · View notes

kaylinelizabeth4004 · 7 months

Text

Beggin’

(Broadchurch) Alec Hardy x Reader

Synopsis: Alec has no concept of time and barges in Y/N’s house to investigate. Shenanigans ensue.

Tags: smut, fluff, established relationship, face riding/sitting, oral sex (f receiving), slight praise, no beta we die like his heart

She'd just come out of the shower, hair up in a half hearted bun. Y/N was exhausted, the current case was on her mind. A murder, that was evident. The victim was an old woman in her home, a single gunshot to the chest and her house ransacked. But it didn't look right.

As she changed into some comfy short shorts and an oversized Elvis Presley t-shirt, she visualized the scene in her head. It just wasn't right. She remembered a little purple jewelry box up near the dresser, and it didn't appear to be opened. She made a mental note to check that out, along with the neighbors alibi and how sound could transfer in a duplex.

Of course she knew when she agreed to be a Detective Sergeant that it was going to be time consuming, that this career would become you to an extent. And she wanted that. After she accidentally stumbled into this career and saw her first scene, she knew that was what she wanted with her life. But she hadn't realized that that would mean when she does even the most basic functions, her brain would be so wholly preoccupied. She took her hair out, brushed her teeth, pulled the covers down then went to turn out the lights before climbing into them. And all throughout it, she was speculating about silencers and times of death.

Her head had barely hit the pillow before she heard a banging at her front door. She laid there for a moment, contemplating her options. It was either some tragedy has happened or some idiot come to hurt her. And quite frankly she knew she could hold her own. Y/N wasn't a fool, she wasn't going to go answer it without precaution. She quickly went and retrieved a bread knife from the kitchen before going to the door.

The knife was in position when she opened it. Instead of finding some craved criminal, or even some sobbing family member, she found her boyfriend/boss with a box of papers.

"Alec? It's one in the morning."

His eyes narrowed at the sight of her. He looked tired, but he did always look just a little tired. His hair was messed up and his beard just a touch scruffy.

"I don't trust Anderson."

"What?" She asked. He didn't answer as he walked into her house and deposited the box of files on her kitchen table. She didn't mind Alec coming over, hell she loved the chance to see him, but this was all a little unprompted for her.

"Y/N, didya get anything on Imogen Walker? I don't like her. I also don't like this bloke, who does he think he is? Fucking hell," Alec started pulling stuff out to work on.

Y/N wanted to protest, but she also knew that she wasn't going to get much sleep even if she tried. This was at least productive and she got to spend time with him. She grabbed a blanket from the living room, wrapped it around herself, and sat down at the table.

"Imogen has a few misdemeanors but nothing of this caliber, nothing that would suggest murder." She said, "As for Gary, he did have a stay in the hospital back in his twenties for mental illness. I requested the documents for the diagnosis and behavior during the stay but they probably won't come in until later today or tomorrow. I think you need to focus on her niece, her alibi is shaky at best."

If Y/N focused on DI Alec Hardy's face, she might have seen the shadow of a smile on his lips that he quickly hid with other possible motives and questions. He'd never say so, but he loved these moments. The times when he could share what he was truly passionate about with someone that he truly loved ... Those moments were the best. All he would need was Daisy cracking jokes in the corner for this moment to be complete.

It was long after the sun came up before Y/N finally decided to make some tea for the two of them. She told Alec who grumbled a one worded response she didn't bother to try and understand. Maybe it was Alec or the case, but she strangely wasn't tired. Her mind kept whirling with all the possibilities and she enjoyed the time with Alec.

"Y/N! Do you have the SOCO reports from the car in there?" Hardy called to her. "I need to call -"

He stopped, looking at her from above his glasses, his lips still perched out from his words that fell forgotten. She gave him a strange look, placing the two cuppas down on the table then passing him the SOCO report he'd wanted. Yet he still stared, didn't even bother to say a word. "Hardy?"

DI Alec Hardy was not a man of many words, but when he needed to use words he always had the right thing to say. Or at least he believed it to be the right thing to say. But now, in a moment when words would definitely be helpful, he had nothing. He just stared like a man gone wild. Y/N didn't even know what he was staring at, and she shifted awkwardly on her feet. Which drew extra attention.

"Alec? What're you looking at?"

He seemed to snap out of it, shoving his glasses up his nose and glancing back down at the paper. Y/N didn't know what to make of it, but thought perhaps he was exhausted. She pulled the kitchen chair to her, putting a leg on either side so she could rest her chest on the back of it while she read. And yet again, she looked up to see his warm brown eyes trapped on her and her body.

"Alec?" He didn't answer. "Alec! What's going on?"

Alec adjusted in his seat and said calmly, "nothing."

"Bull."

"Nothing is wrong. Can we continue?"

She felt silly for a moment, maybe she was exaggerating. Then she propped a leg on the chair and she saw his eyes wander again. Okay enough was enough. "Alec, what the hell?"

"Y/N-"

"Oh ho, don't Y/N me to try and get out of answering my question. What's got you looking at me at all weird?"

A pink started to spread on his cheeks and ears, but he looked away. No way, she thought. There's no way 'shitface' just blushed. Yes they'd been dating and she knew he was more than that nickname, but sometimes the occasion calling for it. Like when was blushing early in the morning for no reason, and she'd never seen him blush unless they were making love. Oh. Oh. Her eyes widened, and she felt a little smile on her lips. She stood up slowly, watching the way he tried to fight his gaze from following after.

"Alec, anything you want to tell me?" Y/N went and sat down on the edge of the table in front of him. He swallowed.

"Don't laugh."

"Darling, I would never laugh."

He rolled his eyes and looked away, not having the strength to say it while looking at her. He swiped his glasses off and groaned. "I... those shorts. I really like those shorts."

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. That was not quite the answer she was expecting. "The shorts?"

"Your thighs, they... I like seeing them."

Her mouth fell open in a little o, adjusting her legs slightly as though thinking about them meant she had to move them. He likes her thighs, enough to distract him from work. Alec saw this reaction and immediately flushed darker, "you think I'm stupid."

"Gosh, no, no, no not at all," she said, "I just didn't know."

He still seemed embarrassed. Alec grabbed his glasses and shoved them back on his face, going to grab his work again. But Y/N felt bad, she certainly hadn't meant it like that, she would never shame him for something in the bedroom. She just wanted to know. And she found it very sweet that he found her so attractive. It made her feel sexy.

With a gentle touch she made him set his paper down. He looked with wide eyes. Y/N moved with slow, deliberate movements so Alec could take the time to digest it all. She carefully climbed onto his chair until her thighs were straddling him in his seat, though she hovered above him. She could see his adam's apple bob up and down as she placed her weight on him, leaning forward to take his glasses off. They were so close she could feel his warm breath on her cheeks. She smiled, "hi."

His large hands came to rest on her thighs almost instinctively, squeezing the flesh there. From under her, she could feel the hard length of his cock pressing against his pants. It made her rock her hips just slightly to meet it. He let out a hiss, grip tightening. She quite liked him holding her there, the way he ran his hands down the length of her thighs with a tight grip. He cherished them.

"Y/N..." he murmured, eyes half shut as he lifted a hand to cup her jaw. She leaned in and captured his lips with her own, exploring the kiss and grinding against his hips as he branded her with his touch. She always loved the feeling of his kisses, the way he fell into her touch like it was instinctual. His jaw was always delightfully scratchy and she loved to run her fingers along his beard.

When they broke and their foreheads fell against each other, each gasping for breath, he spoke softly. "Darling.. I have a request."

Alec didn't often ask for much in the bedroom. Y/N certainly wasn't trying to prevent him, he just tended to stay quiet. So she pressed a soft kiss to his scratchy beard and nodded for him to continue. He swallowed nervously before continuing, "I've this fantasy. I've only had it for you."

Alec got embarrassed sometimes when talking about sex. Oh sure, he was great during the act. But he always treated any fantasies or ideas as something stupid and silly. But Y/N didn't think that, she wanted to make it pleasurable for the both of them. If he was willing to do things for her, then she would be willing to do things for him. In a voice that came out far huskier than she intended, she said, "I want to hear it."

"I, I want you to sit on my face."

Her eyebrows shot up and she pulled away to look at him, to check that was what he wanted. His flush got darker and he tried to turn away, but she grabbed his face before he could. The corner of her mouth quirked up, "Alec Hardy, even in your fantasies you want to go down on me. Are you sure that's what you want?"

He nodded vigorously, his gaze intense. She nodded an affirmation and got off, offering a hand for him to take as she guided him into the bedroom. "Tell me where you want us."

Alec nodded. He began to take off his clothing, tossing them on the chair in the corner. Then he got onto the bed near the headboard and told you to strip as well. Here came the part he got excited about, even if excited for Alec meant a pair of wild eyebrows lifted high.

Now naked, Y/N went from the edge of the bed and crawled up to him, showing off her assets. He took a deep shaking breath. She situated herself so her cunt was right above Alec's head, thighs already shaking slightly but she was determined to stay above. Then she felt his hands grab at the back of her thighs, pulling her down.

"Alec!" She squealed, "I can't! What if I hurt you?"

"Hurt you?" He asked in an incredulous way, as though the thought was the furthest thing from his mind. "How could you hurt me?"

"My weight on you.."

He answered what he believed to be a silly question with a silly answer, and dragged her down squarely on his mouth. She laughed a little as she settled, but his hot tongue on her clit was enough to distract her to silence. Well, not silence, but certainly not laughter.

This was a sensation unlike any she'd had. Alec had gone down on her before and it was bloody fantastic, she always left panting and delirious with pleasure. But this seemed to open a whole new wave of sensations. He came into it with a crazed intensity, yearning to taste every part of her he could. His touch was everywhere, hot as it skimmed over her skin and seared her. His lips were plush as they parted to let his tongue slide along her folds, tasting her. That delightful beard was going to cause a rash tomorrow morning but she didn't care as she rocked her hips to meet his tongue's ministrations.

She tasted like sweat and sex and everything good in the world, if he could bottle it up he would. Though in the back of his mind he knew Y/N worried about crushing him with her weight, it was that sensation of being fully engulfed by her that he was so attracted to. Those burning thighs were right by his head, holding him there and clenching with each stroke of pleasure. He held onto them tightly, letting her know just how much he enjoyed it. It was better than just regular oral, it was deeper and intimate. One look up at her was enough to make him shudder and hold her tighter. She looked like a goddess, head thrown back with those raspy little moans pouring from her. Her breasts heaved on her chest, begging to be touched. If he died then and there, with the image of her above him, he'd die a very happy man.

Y/N gasped his name over and over, rolling her hips and meeting his expert tongue. He was everywhere, scorching all of her. Alec’s touch was making her dizzy with pleasure and if she wasn’t careful she’d never leave her spot here. That coil inside of her started to tighten, twisting as tingles were sent all throughout her body. She could feel her orgasm coming, tightening and tightening until with a sobbing gasp she came on Alec Hardy’s tongue.

He never stopped for one second, just lapping at her oversensitive clit until he could feel her coming down from her high. Then he adjusted, helping guide her down his body so he was sitting and she was straddling him. She melted against his chest, head in the crook between his shoulder and neck, breaths uneven.

“Oh my god,” she said finally.

Alec kissed her forehead and rubbed her back, “thank you, darling.”

She gave him a thumbs up, “you tell me all your fantasies, love, because holy fuck.”

Alec nodded, “duly noted.”

“Shut up,” she said, burying her face deeper into him with a smile.

#broadchurch #broadchurch fanfiction #i’m happy the 12 of you who read broadchurch fics will enjoy this #alec hardy #alec hardy x reader #alec hardy fanfic #Alec Hardy is shy and bad at asking for what he wants #but we love him anyway #no beta we die like danny #damn that’s harsh #fanfic #shenandoah I long to stop Becca from reading this fic #no one will get that reference but them and if you do get it I swear you do not know me in real life #I don’t exist I am a figment of your imagination like Alec’s mental health #we don’t exist

275 notes · View notes

epithetemporium · 3 days

Text

Please reblog for bigger sample!!

SHEEP PROPAGANDA

Sheep 1

adorable little guy

perfect amount of sparkle on wool

freckles

croissant shaped horns

could judge you on an interpersonal level

most likely one to be able to work a normal office job

just wants to chill

very viby

has good music taste

loves milkshakes

doesn't always understand what's going on

very trans coded

looks like seed bread

Sheep 2

he angy

relateable eye bags

discrete glitter

orange

will fight enemies and annoying people

might headbump your leg until you give him attention

bites people

demands half of your food

very cat-like behavior

don't ask about what he did in Quatemala in the 80s

wanted criminal, would commit several war crimes for you (again)

Sheep 3

eepy little guy just wants naps

star freckles

teeny tine horns

wool looks like dyed cotton candy

looks very sad, needs hugs

even more discrete glitter

probably makes sigh sounds

most likely to have food hanging out of mouth while eating

doesn't lay down to sleep, just randomly falls over

could totally tattoo you

and do piercings

snacks hidden in wool

Sheep 4

very concerned over current social and economic problems

reads and eats newspapers

butter looking wool

will sit next to you on the kitchen floor while you cry over your burnt toast

slightly crooked horn

will never judge anyone's looks

might start crying if looked at for too long

introvert who actually needs a lot of social interactions to not feel sad

will feel left out quickly

needs schedules

so much anxiety in such a little sheep

Sheep 5

scar over eye

badass

acts like he's from a movie where gangs do dance offs

Elvis Presley looking hair

famous actor, known for his incredible emotional acting in the Molly Hoodie Commercial

has trouble with the police

acts all tough but has a very sweet spot for his mama

tsundere sheep

very troubled childhood

scared of hurting people but will do everything for you

regulary donates to multiple charities

pirates everything

theater kid

#epithet erased #stupid shit #polls #epithet erased polls #sheep 1 #sheep 2 #sheep 3 #sheep 4 #sheep 5 #epithet erased sheep off #ee #casually makes silly sheep stuff #sheep posting #sylvesters sheep #sylvies sheep

47 notes · View notes

h0unds-of-h3ll · 4 months

Text

Don’t worry darling

Another year with Elvis has come and gone. Since you first started a serious relationship with him he’s given you everything you’ve ever wanted. Now that it’s your turn to return the favor everything has just gone wrong. Don’t you worry, he knows how to make it all better.

Elvis Presley x reader fluff.

Word count: 2k.

Warnings: making out, dirty talk, heavy touching, talk of insecurities, crying.

A/n: happy birthday to my beloved showman. Released early because I couldn’t help myself.

Getting Elvis a birthday gift was always difficult. Arguably one of the most troubling tasks given to a person. What didn’t Elvis already have? He had everything, so what could you give him that would be substantial? For some strange reason, you decided to bake him something.

The old wives tale is that the fastest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, so why not give it a shot? The thing was, you weren’t a baker and not that good of a cook to begin with. Sure, you tried to bake miscellaneous pastries and desserts, and Elvis would eat them along with everyone in Graceland, humming and oozing with admiration as they ate, telling you that it was amazing once their mouths were empty. You can’t help but feel like they lied to you; they were too scared of breaking your poor ole little heart if they told you the truth. Maybe it was Elvis telling them that if they said anything bad about your cooking, he’d tan their hides.

You’d hum a tune to one of his songs. Strumming the tips of your manicured nails on the tops of the marbled counters, you wait for the bread of your cake to rise. Nervously, you smile. An anxious flush turns your body warm. It’s not going to turn out the way you wanted; you just had a strange intuition about it. Knowing that you put in way too much sugar and flour. You wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t rise at all. You chewed down on your bottom lip, the nervous anticipation getting the best of you.

You could hear the mafia and Elvis yelling and playing football out front, with their wives and children cheering them on. That just filled you with more dread. What if he stumbles in on you when it’s not done? Or even worse, what if he saw your mistake, and you made him disappointed on his birthday?

Sighing, you stick one of your fingers into the icing you had laid out and stick the pad on your tongue. The sugar lifts your mood, but the ding of the oven going off sinks it.

Opening the top, you gasp and are instantly hit with emotion. It didn’t lift. It stayed flat, like a pancake. Reaching up on your tiptoes, you turn the dial off. Tears are pricking behind your eyes. You didn’t want to look at it; you didn’t want to admit your failure. Oh, how disappointed Elvis is going to be! You stood there, hands flat on the counter, as tears slipped down your painted cheeks. Mascara streaked down the apples of them.

What if you just decorated it pretty to hide the fact that it’s ugly? You sniffled with a swift nod, deciding that’s what you'd do. Opening the oven once more with a mitt over your hand, you take the side of the pan and take it out.

Staring at it with sorrow. It had so much potential, and now it's as flat as it can be. The tears began to fall again. A soft sob falls from your mouth. Taking the white frosting, you stream it over the round top, smoothing it over the sides with a spatula. Then make big white dollops over the sides. Follow it with a pink, then a red. Sticking a few cherries in the dollops too. Relieved to know that it wasn’t such an ugly duckling anymore, but now a little swan that’s beginning to understand its beauty. In a gold shimmery yellow, you write haphazardly “happy birthday, El” since Elvis didn’t fit. That was what truly broke you. Your chin wobbled, and with sticky frosting on your hands and fingers, you balled your hands up and rubbed the tears from your face. Truly just shattering in the kitchen.

His cologne filled the air, and before you could even turn around, he pressed himself up against your back. His large, wringed hands spread over your stomach. He kisses your shoulder lightly before placing his chin on your shoulder. You shook his entire head as you cried. His fingers swirled over the wrinkles in your dress.

“Why are you weeping on my birthday, Satnin?”

His acknowledgment of your sadness only made you feel worse. You knew that Elvis had a heightened sense of empathy, which is what prompted him to be so generous. He was like a dog; he could walk into a room and know immediately how everyone felt.

“Is it because I’m gettin’ older? Gon’ become a decrepit old man; is that what you’re cryin’ ‘bout?”

You giggled lightly, your eyes still cloudy with tears. He smiled at your laugh.

“Mourning my youth, is that it?”

You sniffled and moved around in his arms to where you were face to face. His hands fall onto the counter, caging you between his body and the stone. You don’t look into his prying blue eyes. Those of his made you weak.

“Not quite. w-why aren’t you playing football?”

His lips turned into a soft smile, warmth radiating off of him. His eyes filled with mirth. It might be his birthday, but he still looks as young as when you first met him.

"I noticed you weren’t out there, honey. I missed you, cherrin’ me on.”

He takes his hands off the bar and places them on the sides of your face. He sweeps the frosting and cake mix off of your face. He sticks the cream in his mouth and makes his cheeks hollow as he sucks it off. Humming at the sweetness. His eyes close as he truly soaks in the taste. As they open, your stomach is twisted in knots, and your thighs itch for his touch. His eyes linger on your lips, and his palm runs down the side of your face to your neck. He cranes his head down and presses his thick, plump lips over yours. It’s electric and warm. The way he kisses you feels like he’s starving.

He tastes like sugar and honey. A hint of a cigar he’s smoked earlier in the day on his lips. His tongue sweeps over the part between your lips. His hands travel south to your back. Smoothing over the silk. He squeezes the thickness of your hips, then the softness of your ass. He takes big handfuls and palms at your backside. You squeak as he lifts you up and places you on the counter. The marble is cold on the backs of your thighs, making you shiver and your skin prick with bumps.

His hands continue to knead at your thighs. Your dress bunching around your hips. Your heels dangling by his legs. His nose nudged against your cheek. He pulls back. Breathing raggedly.

“You never told me why you were cryin’.”

He mumbles on your lips. You can’t even think straight; your head is foggy with emotion. Eyes half lidded, you look up at him through your lashes.

“I don’t want to spoil the surprise.”

He shakes his head. His hair moving on his head by the motion. His eyes flick down to your lips, staring longingly. His hand reaches up to the side of your neck, his thumb traces along your jaw. His other hand lays flat on your thigh.

“Darlin’ if you don’t tell me, I’ll bend you over right here and tear your ass to seven different shades of red.”

He mumbles when he says it so casually, like he does when he jokes, but this wasn’t a joke nor a threat. It was a promise. Your pussy flutters, cheeks warming at his statement. Your eyes look towards the floor, becoming shy. All too self conscious.

“T-tried to make you a cake."

“Mhm,”

His chest rumbles. It vibrates under your palms.

“And it turned out ugly.”

He snickers once you finish, at the idiocy. He loves you but sometimes you are too naive to understand simple things. That’s why he was here to be able to moderate your helpless self, he gets antsy thinking about the person you’d be without him.

“Nothin’ you do will ever be ugly.”

Your brows furrow, and you look up at him. Suddenly feeling insecure.

"Are you sure, El?”

“I know so.”

It’s quiet for a few minutes as you digest his words. Nothing you would ever do would be ugly to him, and that made you want to cry all over again.

“So, where is my birthday cake?”

He curled up his eyebrow as he asked. You pushed him softly away by his shoulders; he helped you down from the counter. Always being a gentleman. There, in all its chaotic glory, was your cake. He smiled, taking the pan and moving it to the edge of the counter.

“You made this?”

He doesn’t look over his shoulder when he talks, he’s too enamored by your creation. You nod quietly. Wringing your hands in your lap, head cast downwards.

He sticks his long index finger in it, up to his golden ring. Placing the white, red, pink coating in his mouth. He moans. This is the type of moan you hear when he finishes. It was just that good. His eyes roll back, and he goes for another swipe.

Your eyes bulge out of your head as he devours the cake in front of you. It started out with his finger, and now it’s in his palm as he eats his way through the small dessert you made him. You were shocked, to say the least. Amazed at how fast he ate it. You’d be sure to hear him whine about his stomach hurting later.

After he was done, he took one of the cherries in his mouth. You watched as his tongue poked at his cheeks. You were confused as to what he was doing. He took a kitchen rag and wiped off his damp fingers. He stared at you. Pretty little woman, his woman making him stuff. He doesn’t know if he’d be able to eat the other cake that was bought for him by the Mafia wives. He much preferred the one you made with love than the store bought one. Even if it was too sweet it was made by you, and you were always too sweet. That’s one of the reasons he loves you so much, but truthfully you give him toothaches.

“Did you like it?”

You whispered under your breath. He laughed heartily, loud and boisterous. It filled the entire house. He took a step over to you. Holding your arms. You looked up at him and he had frosting smeared over his cheeks and lips.

“Darlin’ I ate the whole damn thing.”

You blush, smiling sheepishly. He kisses you, he pushes the tied cherry stem between your lips into your mouth. He pulled back, kissing you on your lips with a quirky smile.

“Somethin’ I learned back in high school.”

You smiled softly imagining a young Elvis buying milkshakes with cherries on them just to practice tying the stem with his teeth.

“Happy birthday, Elvis.”

He smiles in return, one arm over the back of your shoulders as he walks you out of the kitchen and to the front door.

“You’re the best present I could’ve asked for little darlin’”

He adores the light that flickers in your eyes after he compliments you. He kisses your head again, leaving frosting on your skin. He opens the door for you. Waiting for you to walk out before giving your ass a little spank. Amused at your squeal and little jump. You bring your hands back to massage your aching cheek. He’s just happy to have his little cheerleader back.

#xreader #fanfic #fluff #elvis presley #elvis presley x reader #elvis #happy birthday Elvis #elvisaaronpresley #elvis my love #elvis my beloved #i love elvis #elvis x reader #obsessed with him

140 notes · View notes

foreverdolly · 1 year

Note

For tut sleepover I’d love dad Elvis with 9 and 26 thank you!!!

𝐌𝐔𝐃 𝐏𝐈𝐄 | 𝐝𝐚𝐝!𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐢𝐬 𝐱 𝐦𝐨𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

prompt(s): "I love it." "I'm gonna puke." and "If it makes you feel any better then you can slap me. Lightly."

word count: 1.3k

song: fooled around and fell in love - elvin bishop

notes/warnings: this is for my 2.5k celebration! no triggers, this is a safe read. elvis is the best dad ever and loves you and your kids more than anything. we stan a girl-dad king.

The musician had grown up ridiculously poor. The kind of poor that had him eating nothing but corn bread for dinners some nights and living in government housing. He never grew up with many toys, but neither did the other boys from his side of town. They had to make do with what they had.

An empty apple crate was a car if you tied a thick rope to the middle plank and took turns pulling one another in it. You could make forts out of broken branches and dead leaves, and the local streams were just as good as any saltwater swimming pool.

His daughter had absolutely everything that he had grown up without. A nice big house, brand new clothes (without any patches in them), and more toys than any child would know what to do with. Instead of riding her tricycle around the house and terrorizing Miss Mary (his daughter loved to help her with the cooking), she was outside getting her hands dirty. His daughter was out in the front yard with a plate, one that she no doubt had to have stood up on her tiptoes to steal from the fine China cabinet. The baby blue dress that you had put her in just hours ago was practically black, mud splattered all over every visible inch of her tiny body.

“Winnie!” He called out to her, hoping to get her attention.

She didn’t look up, rather just slapped another fistful of mud onto the plate. He spluttered, feeling jilted by the act of her down right ignoring him. It wasn’t just any old plate that she was sullying either- it was your wedding china. It was cream colored porcelain with gold inlay- very expensive. He didn’t care about the price though, rather the fact that you and him had eaten your wedding cake off of it.

Right on que, as if summoned by his panic, you appeared in the doorway behind him. You opened your mouth to ask him what he was looking at, but found out on your own very quickly.

“Winona Mae!” You called out to her hurriedly, motioning her over with a forceful wave of your hand. “Come here, baby.”

Elvis couldn’t help but huff in annoyance as his little girl stood up, plate in hand, and did exactly what you said. He should have known that she would listen to you over him. His brown suede jacket crinkled softly at his elbows as he crossed his arms over his chest, tapping his booted foot against the stones of the front porch, trying to look the part of an authoritarian.

“Did you not hear me, lil girl?” He asked her once she was close enough. Her bare feet slapped against the stairs as she walked, and to his disbelief she shook her head.

“I was busy cookin’.” Her little southern drawl was thick as she replied in a rather matter-of-fact tone.

He couldn’t help but let out a breathy laugh as she proudly held out the plate. You and your husband stared down at the mud, both knowing that it would be better to play along with her little game of make-believe. You were the first one to lean down, admiring her handy work with kind motherly eyes. She had placed small pebbles around the perimeter of the dirt mound, even going as far to place a few leaves and sticks on the very top. You surmised that it had to be a cake.

You pretended to sniff the air, shooting her a wide grin soon after. “Oh my- what a beautiful cake. And it smells so delicious. How did I not know that you were such a talented baker?”

It was moments like this that had Elvis falling in love with you all over again. Motherhood suited you beautifully. Here you were, happily playing with your daughter, your stomach swelling with his child. He had the family that he had always wanted as well as a wife that he adored. You were someone that truly saw him and his heart.

“S’cause I didn’t wanna tell ya.” She got her sas from you, he supposed.

Winnie smiled expectantly at Evis, staring at him expectantly. He had to bite his lip to keep himself from laughing, not wanting to offend her. “It looks delicious, honey. Can I have a bite?”

He pretended to scoop some up into his hand, then proceeded to fake chew. “It is delicious. That’s gotta be the best cake I’ve ever had.”

“Well is mama gonna eat a slice?” It was almost like the girl didn’t realize she was coated in a thick layer of dirt. She was carrying on a conversation like everything was normal.

Elvis was fully focused on his precious red carpets, wondering if they would ever recover from the stains they were no doubt about to endure. Thankfully you had heard what your daughter said and replied for him.

“I’m sure I would love it, but mama can’t eat anything that might hurt the baby, and that much sugar would be bad for me.” You pointed at your rounded belly. “But I’m sure daddy would love to eat another slice.” You shot your husband an apologetic smile, but the expression was soon replaced with shock.

“Winona, baby- don’t-” You hurriedly reached out for her, but it was too late.

Elvis felt something cold and wet press against his mouth. He parted his lips to let out a surprised yell, which was a terrible idea.

His daughter’s small hand was pressed against his mouth, force feeding him a fist full of mud. The earthy, gritty sludge had him doubling over the side of the porch to spit. His stomach churned as the horrific flavor hit his tongue.

“I’m ‘bout to be sick.” He grumbled, his eyes tearing up as he tried to keep himself from dry heaving.

Instead of sympathy on your end, he heard. . . laughter? Sure enough, you were doubled over as well, but for entirely different reasons. The white turtleneck that he was wearing under his jacket was stained, his perfect face marred with mud and chunks of grass. The usually well kept, perfectly put together man was an absolute mess. The ungodly moans and groans of disgust made the moment even more comical.

“Are you laughin’ at me?” He gasped, his large hands braced on his knees.

“If it makes you feel any better, you can slap me. Lightly.” You teased, only for another round of giggles to pour out of your mouth as he leaned back down, gagging dramatically loud.

“E-Elvis? Did you hate my cake that bad?” His daughter's small voice sounded dejected as she stared up at him, her big eyes and long lashes downcast.

He was too preoccupied with trying not to puke his guts out to correct his daughter when she called him by his first name.

No matter how disgusting it was, he couldn’t help but feel guilty for his reaction. He was sure that anyone else in his position would have acted the same way, but his daughter had him wrapped around her little finger. He should have just chewed and swallowed it; he couldn’t stand to see her upset. “Baby, I loved it,” A pause, then another gag.”I loved it so much that I just had to spit it out, that way I could get to enjoy the slice twice.”

270 notes · View notes