#written by ab4eva

[ab4eva]

‘The Three of Us’

-

Fully co-authored with: @precious-little-scoundrel

Thanks to: My incomparable co-author & sweetheart Marina, for being willing to follow this rabbit hole with me and explore this little trio! And for the gorgeous mood board and vibes, I’m obsessed. And to Ashley, for being the best damn cheerleader we could ask for. ♥️

Warnings: All the sex, 18+ only

Word count: 8k

-

Sometimes in Hollywood, magic happens behind the scenes - in a dark corner of Bar Lubitsch or a little poolside bungalow at the Chateau Marmont. Things that are only whispered about in certain circles or sent to Deuxmoi with the stipulation of “anon please.” The blurry flash of a hand, littered with telltale rings, on her Instagram story. The paparazzi photos of a drunken night out before the three of them disappeared into the balmy Los Angeles evening. The fandom set ablaze by rumors as they combed over every sign, every possibility, every look that they took for god’s honest truth. A myth in the making, never confirmed, never denied.

When a ballsy journalist had the gumption to ask Callum about the rumors some months down the road, he just grinned his Cheshire smile and shook his head, the slightest blush hinting at the corners of his already ruddy cheeks.

“Nah, mate, can’t believe everyfing you read in Hollywood, can ya.” A statement, no trace of question in his ice blue eyes as he licked his cherry lips and stared the journalist down, daring them to dig deeper. His heart may have started pounding a little too hard but only he knew that. Nothing belied the steely gaze he turned on the journalist - not a flex in his jaw or a slight blink or the whisper of a breath. Needless to say, that journalist had no desire to go toe-to-toe with all six feet two inches of Chelsea’s finest lad. They let the subject drop, though the air had already been sucked out of the tiny interview room. Callum noted with suppressed glee the way the journalist shifted in their seat uncomfortably, trying to regain the upper hand.

Serves ya right, ya wanker, floated through Cal’s head and it took all his energy to focus his thoughts on the next question being asked of him. Now that the taboo subject had been brought up, he couldn’t keep his mind from drifting back towards that fateful night, like the breach in a ship’s hull the memories flooded in. The soft give of her flesh beneath his fingers as he dug them into her hips, needing her closer, closer. The salty taste of Austin’s skin on his tongue as he dragged it slowly across his friend’s collarbone, the streak of wetness left behind shimmering in the moonlight. The mingled sighs and shared breaths, overpowering and heady in that dark little bungalow. That was the night he couldn’t get out of his head, no matter how hard he tried. It didn’t matter how many books he read or women he kissed or bloody hikes he took in Runyon Canyon, he was always going back to the night when everything changed.

-

“Didn’t I see you at the Luchino Visconti retrospective a couple nights ago? At the Academy?” The very definition of tall, dark and handsome has just walked in the room, smiling down at you and waiting expectantly for your answer. This is Callum Turner, the new client you’re working with for Masters of the Air press (alongside Austin Butler, your regular client and current boyfriend-adjacent…guy. It’s casual, you’re both keeping it casual. For now.).

“Oh! Were you there? Wasn’t it amazing?” you gush, a little flustered.

“It’s kind of rare to meet another Visconti fan. You must be one of the good ones.” He grins at you, all warmth and puppy dog eagerness. A kindred spirit, an instant connection. You would be very charmed by him, if you weren’t already attached to someone else. Who are you kidding, you’re charmed by him anyway. Talking with him comes easily, and the time flies by as you style his hair, moisturize his skin, add a bit of concealer here and there. He’s funny, sweet, intelligent. Austin has told you a bit about him, about his friend who helped him during one of the most confusing times of his life. But this - this is more than you were expecting. He’s more than you were expecting. And you’re pretty sure he’s flirting with you. When he asks you out for a drink later, you’re absolutely certain. It is with no small amount of regret that you turn him down.

-

The first time you noticed something akin to a spark between the man you’d casually been dating and his co-star was during press interviews for their new television series, Masters of the Air. As Austin and Callum’s groomer and makeup artist, you were allowed a seat at the back of the room, near the video monitors, ready to jump into action if one of Austin’s curls needed to be twisted back into place or if Callum’s nose got too shiny and needed a bit of powder. You glanced up from your phone to see the two of them leaned so close together their shoulders touched, just barely. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Callum’s mouth looked as if it might graze the shell of Austin’s ear, a smirk playing at the edges, as his dark, curly head bent conspiratorially towards his friend’s blonde one. Silly boys, you thought, smiling to yourself as you watched them. You’d seen that look on Austin’s face before…it was almost one of… adoration.

Without warning your mind flashed back to last night, Austin gazing up at you through your thighs, a look of devotion on his face, his sandy hair ruffled and his eyes slightly dazed. The very same look that he’s now turned on Callum… Nah… You laughed at yourself quietly and shook your head to clear your thoughts, silently scolding yourself. You’d been reading too many spicy novels recently and clearly your imagination was running wild. It made sense that he and Callum were close. Austin had been lost as a newborn calf without a mother after Elvis had wrapped and Masters of the Air had started filming. A brotherhood, that’s what Austin had called it. And Callum had been his right hand man. And that’s all, you were sure. Pretty sure.

-

Bar Lubitsch is dim and noisy, crowded with cast and crew of Masters for an impromptu celebration while so many of them are in town. Austin hasn’t been here in years, always remembered it being a good time. He wants to show you and Callum a good time, after all the hard work you three have been putting in for press the past couple of weeks. That was two hours and three drinks ago, and you watch them now from your perch at the bar and how much they feed each other’s souls, like displaced brothers, reunited after years apart. The evening is starting to shift and blur, so many drinks and people and noise and singing. You never knew Callum loved to sing so much, until he was singing karaoke at the top of his lungs and the whole bar was gathered around the little stage in the back room, jumping to the beat while he sang the most risqué lyrics right to Austin, like they were the only two people in the room:

Even when the cold comes crashing through

I'm putting all my bets on you

I hope they never understand us

I put my heart inside your palms

My home in your arms

Now we know nothing matters

Nothing matters

And you can hold me like he held her

And I will fuck you like nothing matters

You’re not sure you’ll ever be over Callum pinching Austin’s cheeks, channeling his inner Egan, and singing right at him with drunken gusto while Austin is too tipsy to remember not to bask in it and it’s probably the cutest, and hottest, thing you’ve ever seen. It’s only afterwards that you start to feel a tiny flicker of jealousy. There’s something between them, a connection that time and distance hasn’t untethered. Later, you drag Austin into one of the faded velvet booths, snuggling up to him as he pulls you into a one-armed embrace, kissing your temple with glassy eyes and a crooked smile. His heady mix of sweat and cologne mingle, along with the alcohol, and suddenly you’re lightheaded. Not to mention the fact that his soft lips have seemed to have move, with lightning speed, from your temple to your neck. You gently push him away, and he gives you a questioning look but you need to see his face when you ask him this.

“Hey…what’s going on with Callum? Because, it’s clearly something? And whatever it is, it’s ok, really it is…but…I do have eyes, Austin,” you blurt out, biting your lip. You see a dozen different emotions cross his features, like a movie playing out in real time - surprise, guilt, defensiveness, longing, acceptance. His face goes all red and he leans his head back, his tan throat open and inviting, his Adam's Apple bobbing up and down as he swallows thickly. It takes everything in you not to kiss him right this second.

“It’s…complicated. Kind of,” he sighs as he stares up at the ceiling and you can tell he doesn’t want to talk about it and that’s answer enough for you. You don’t push him further as you quietly turn his mouth to yours and make him forget anything and everyone but you.

-

“Come on Aus, it’ll be just like old times,” Cal goads drunkenly, placing a proprietary hand on Austin’s belly, his words laden with meaning and a hint of pleading. It’s not like he’s missed Austin or anything…not like that. Not that he’d admit anyway, hell no. Couldn’t two dudes have a consensual thing and not be weird about it? It must be liquid courage that made him suggest it aloud. That and the fact Austin keeps looking at him like he hung the damn moon.

“Swear you’ll shut up? If I say yes, will you just…chill?” Austin’s eyes are trained on you and it takes everything in him to play it cool, keep a calm head. Cal’s hand is still on Austin’s stomach and he starts to pet him, just above the belt and it makes Austin lurch in sudden need. He licks his lips, they’re suddenly parched, and swallows hard. He hears Cal snicker softly in his ear.

“Now, see, as I recall, you wouldn’t stop asking me to keep sayin’ shit last time.” Callum’s voice floats above the music, scratchy from gin and karaoke, hot breath tickling the shell of Austin’s ear. His hand moves to squeeze Austin’s neck, and if Austin didn’t know any better he’d swear it was a subconscious power move, Callum trying to literally bend Austin to his will. There’s an all too familiar twitch down Austin’s pant leg, and oh god he wishes- he thought, he was so sure, he was past that phase of responding like one of Pavlov’s dogs to Callum’s adoration and teasing.

Maybe it’s just the notion, his suggestion. That’s what’s suddenly making Austin’s blood feel hot and his eyes hazy, it’s the idea of her…and him! But mostly her, just her, and sharing her and- None of that explains the way he wants to bend to that firm hand squeezing in drunken cajoling at the base of his neck, makes him want to knock noses and yank at the stupid collar of Callum’s sweater until there’s collarbones to see and a draft under the wool. This is winter in Los Angeles, heating inside is state of the art, there’s no reason for such coziness and it’s making the man sweat and all Austin can think of from the smell is memories of an English summer, worn out and floating in his own body, biting down on Callum’s upper arm, tangy, sweaty flesh to keep an awfully strange escapade quiet.

That does it. What is he even thinking? He must’ve drank more than he realized but then, oh god, there Cal goes, throwing his hands up in defeat, shrugging his shoulders like a kid caught trying to push his luck. The arm around his shoulder is suddenly gone, and he’d give anything to have it back again. He shakes his head - he really must’ve had too much to drink. It was making him melancholy and sobering him up fast. Funny how alcohol will do that to you.

“Scouts honor, Butler, I’ll-I’ll-I’ll,” he seems to search the ceiling in drunken concentration for the correct wording most likely to open the doors to the kingdom, “I’ll be- it’ll be: HER, YOU and a um, uh mannequin. How ‘bout that, mate? Good enough for ya? You’d probably like that, wouldn’t ya? Ya little freak!” He lands a playful right hook to Austin’s jaw, hard knuckles digging into soft cheeks.

The usually inflammatory epithet of ‘freak’, coming as it does from a man begging for a threesome with himself and his girl, is nothing short of rabidly complementary. Callum’s shit-eating, triumphant grin could light up the whole damn room in this moment. He knows he’s got Austin right where he wants him and starts to count down silently in his head - three…two…

Austin finds himself grinning, a warning, measured thing but a condoning of the sentiment all the same.

“One,” Cal says out loud, his arm going back around Austin’s shoulders, squeezing so hard Austin winces a little. It’s a reflective motion then, done almost without thinking, when Austin slaps Callum’s thigh, not realizing there’s a boner bent down that trouser leg. A wounded hiss leaves Callum’s lips as he caves in on himself a little bit and Austin freezes, his face turning crimson and he feels another twitch down his own trousers.

“Steady on mate,” Callum coughs, shaking a leg, trying to discreetly readjust. “And I thought I was the eager beaver here.” Austin wants to wipe that smirk right off Callum’s smug little face but the moment their eyes meet they can’t help but start to laugh. Giggles, really, which turn into loud guffaws that has the whole bar turning to see what the commotion is about.

Your head whips around at the sound you’ve grown to know well over the past few weeks, the loud and boisterous laughter of two friends who seem forget that anyone else exists when they’re together. You spot them, huddled close as they always seem to be, and shake your head. A grin tugs at your lips and threatens to spill out the feelings fluttering around in your chest, no your stomach, no…somewhere else, lower. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about the two of them…together. Sometimes you’re with them, sometimes you’re not, in these little fantasies of yours. You catch yourself biting your lip and staring at them a little too longingly. You wonder what they’re saying now, both of them look flustered and awkward, just slightly. You can actually feel the tension rolling off of them in waves from where you stand across the bar.

Austin chooses that moment to look up and catch your eye. There’s a fire in his gaze that wasn’t there earlier and what is that look on his face? You’ve never seen it before…shy and almost…guilty? He looks just like a little boy who’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Your eyes question him across the dim bar, an unspoken tether ties you together wherever you are, and uncertainty about the deal he’s just struck with Callum comes creeping in. What has gotten into him? He’s just agreed to share you, with another man. And not just any man, one he has a rather interesting history with. The thought of Callum touching you, kissing you, fucking you…suddenly he’s stone cold sober and beginning to regret letting Cal sway his decision. Because there sure as hell won’t be any take backs, not with Callum. He’s like a dog with a bone once he gets what he wants.

-

“Dude no, there’s chemical flavoring in there, that shit’s bad for you and it’ll give her irritation!” Austin looks slightly perturbed, not for the first time this evening. He sways slightly under the florecent lights of the drugstore, the constant buzzing adding to the pounding in his head.

“What if it’s not intended to go on her? Hmm? Thought of that Butler?” Callum murmurs under his breath, his eyes focused solely on the lube he’s holding, a pink blush creeping up his neck to his ears. Has a blush under drugstore fluorescents ever looked so lovely? And Austin hasn’t stopped biting that lower lip since you walked into this place. It hasn’t stopped him from grinning, though, his excitement bubbling through in little ticks and tells, the nervous turning over of the vaseline jar in his large hands.

“You haven’t even bought me dinner Cal, just straight to the flavored lube,” Austin bemoans, faking offense. “’Sides, she’s already sweet enough, aren’t you baby? I’ve had my fair share of licks,” Austin’s shoulder bumps yours as he sends you a smoldering look, his eyes flickering down your body briefly before his cheeks turn a slight rosy color you can see blooming up from his chest through his open shirt collar.

“Austin!” you hiss, slapping his arm playfully and hiding your face in his neck, embarrassed.

“Leave it to you two twig Bettie’s and we’d be down to nothin’ but socks and coconut oil,” Cal snarks, not at all inaccurately.

“I don’t remember you minding coconut oil last time,” Austin says under his breath, clearly meant for Callum’s ears only, but you manage to catch it, and your heart starts to pound at the implied meaning.

“Mmm, and it was bitter so - mojito,” Callum says decidedly, leaving no room for argument. Austin smiles at you, lifting his shoulder in a shrug and rolling his eyes heavenward. You giggle nervously, wondering for the first time just what you’re getting yourself into.

“I saw that! Listen mate, feel free to shut me up at any time. This would do nicely, ya reckon?” Callum lifts a silk sleeping mask with one, long finger and swings it around seductively, waggling his eyebrows up and down comically. You laugh and the butterflies making a home in your ribcage start to settle down again.

-

The whimpers emanating from between your parted lips take you by surprise and you promptly shut your mouth, unexpectedly embarrassed to be mewling so wantonly. You bite your lip as it becomes harder and harder to hold them in with every slow thrust of Austin’s velvety cock filling you, his swollen tip hitting just the right spot, and every flick of Callum’s tongue as he laves at your tender little clit with vigor. You feel Austin tense slightly beneath you as Cal swirls his tongue down to your opening to lap at where you and Austin join, sloppy and wet. A soft moan floats past your left ear, Austin’s hot breath sending a shiver through you, and it seems to invigorate Callum as he doubles down on his efforts to have his tongue cover as much surface area as possible. He chuckles and it jolts through you as your back arches, your fingers finding his dark curls and yanking him closer, demanding something you aren’t even aware of. He understands what you need even if you don’t and as his lips close around your sensitive bud you can no longer keep quiet, keening softly. You practically buck off of Austin’s lap and his arm tightens around your waist to keep you in place. The harder Callum sucks, the more Austin starts to whine - you’ve gotten so tight around him he can hardly thrust.

“Oh fuck, what’re you doing? Cal…what…” you slur as you pull at his hair, trying to dislodge him from your clit. You feel him grin against your heat as he slowly slips two fingers in you, resting them alongside Austin’s length. You hiss at the stretch and Austin starts to pick up his pace again. Your head is too hazy with pleasure to register fully what is happening as Callum gently slides another finger in next to the first two. His mouth works your clit, sucking and pulling, harder then soft again.

“More…more more more,” you beg hoarsely. You feel as if you might fly away and the only thing anchoring you to earth are these two men and their hands and their mouths on your body. Callum cocks an eyebrow at you and his eyes shift to Austin. You feel him nod, barely, and then another burning stretch as Cal slips his pinkie in next to his other fingers. It drives you insane and you feel yourself clenching and coming, harder than you can ever remember. You stop breathing for a moment, your mind going numb with rapture as you come apart at the seams.

“Oh fuck,” Austin whispers, biting your shoulder, his hand absentmindedly palming your breasts, pinching your hardened nipple. “Come on baby, I know you’ve got more, give us another one. Cal, can’t thrust with you in there…give me some room, huh?”

Callum let’s go of your clit with a wet pop and gently slides his fingers out. His nose and chin are shiny with your juices, even his eyebrows look a little damp and he’s grinning from ear to ear.

“Go on then, Butler, show us what you got.” He stands, knees popping as he does. From up here he can see your faces clearly, yours and Austin’s. He watches, rapt, as Austin nuzzles your neck, nipping at your earlobe as he speeds up his thrusts, toying with your nipples mercilessly. Your eyes flutter closed and your head drops back onto his shoulder. Callum shakes his head, dazed and pussy drunk - why was he on his knees so long?? He coulda been watching this the whole time? But he knows why- fresh, homegrown pussy. And he means to have his fill. He can’t take being on the sidelines, watching Austin move in and out of you at a punishing pace, having all the fun. One of Callum’s massive palms descends onto your clit, slapping and rubbing cruelly, back and forth, faster and faster. And then you’re gushing everywhere, all over Callum’s hand and Austin’s cock and the bed, soaking everything.

“Come on then girl, give us all you’ve got,” Cal encourages, his raspy voice driven to the point of hoarseness. He grabs his painfully hard, throbbing cock and roughly starts to slap your clit. You gasp, jerking in Austin’s arms as you fall apart again. And then Callum gets a thought, because his dick is doing most of the thinking just now, and it’s been sadly neglected thus far. He’s just had four fingers in you and now you’re literally flinging droplets with each swipe, it’s a goddamn swamp down there it’s so wet. He slows his slaps and starts to rub soft circles against your clit, stopping every once in a while to try your entrance gently, just to see. You moan breathlessly and his heart speeds up as he looks at Austin questioningly.

“I recognize that gleam in your eye, Turner…spit it out,” Austin says in a slightly strangled voice.

“Think you can take us both, angel? At the same time?” Callum directs his question to you, ignoring Austin.

You can’t take your poor abused clit getting ground on anymore, it’s just too intense, anything to give it a break. You nod your head so fast he thinks it might fly off. Your trembling little hand reaches down with disjointed begs of “Put it in baby, put it, please Cal, it’s burning.”

Your sloppy wet pussy hole visibly clenches with a tiny space of room left each time Austin digs in. Callum drunkenly wonders if they should have a medical professional on standby for this sorta shit, like it’s gotta be a crime to wedge two boys into a girl, especially when Butler’s packing like that. But your whine suggests you need it and he’d really like to not be left out. FOMO -that’s what he’ll blame when he’s driving the ambulance or else coming down from the craziest high he’s ever had with a pool of cum drying on his belly.

Austin goes still as a statue under you and drags your sweaty hair across to the other shoulder so he can really see your face and ask, “You sure? Baby, talk to me, you really wanna try?” His hand gently grips your chin, forcing you to focus on his eyes, his question.

“I’ll die if I don’t have you both,” you plead, your voice barely above a whisper, but Austin still looks concerned and slightly perturbed. Is the girl he knows even in there? But you want something, you want this and he’ll be dammed if he doesn’t give you anything you want that’s within his power to give. And if there’s one thing he loves about you it’s your love of a challenge. He bites his cheek, trying not to blow his load over your sweet determination.

“Ok ok.” Austin takes a deep, steadying breath, kissing your wet temple and gives Callum a very familiar look of admonishment and also trust in his good intentions. “Careful, man, really careful,” he instructs as Callum nods his silent assent.

“No safe words, just if somebody says stop we stop, ok?” Austin’s starting to pant, as he can feel the poofy mushroom head of Cal’s cock brushing his sack at your entrance. “Anybody who says stop,” he clarifies, half thinking he might be the first to wimp out and do it.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘course.” Cal actually looks sober as fuck except for the sheen of sweat that always seems to come with his pints and somehow the eye contact he makes lights a fire in Austin’s belly.

“I might say no,” you squeak, “I won’t mean it though, just a heads up. I’ll say stop- if I need to stop.”

“No?” Cal laughs nervously. “That might make me feel a little…bad,” he admits, still rubbing maddening circles around where Austin’s been practically cockwarming you for ages.

“Stop getting all existential and give her what she wants, man,” Austin rebuts.

“It’ll make me feel bad if she says no,” Cal blurts, running a hand through his already messy hair.

“Then I’ll do it.” Austin’s voice is rough in your ear and your nipples harden into peaks as he gently pulls out of you and pats the bed. “Tell Cal to lay his big ass self down.”

You giggle as Callum dives onto the bed, bouncing for a moment until he settles, turning over onto his back, head propped on a lazy forearm. He pats his meaty thighs and you roll your eyes but can’t deny the flip flop your stomach does at the thought of those thighs and what a nice cradle they’ll make while you’re railed within an inch of you’re life. And then you’re hovering over him, Cal kneading your hip encouragingly while running an admiring hand up and down your spine, like you’re a skittish horse in need of calming. You hesitate, momentarily unsure, but Austin nods at you reassuringly from the foot of the bed and ever the gentleman, gives you his hands to hold as you sink slowly down on Callum. Though his gentlemanly hands are gripping yours tightly, his eyes are glued to your pussy taking every inch of uncut Brit cock that he’s maybe gagged on once.

“Earth to Butler!” comes from behind you because Austin’s zoned out a little and it’s been a hot minute and you’re somewhat situated now.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, uh, ok, ok…”

Cal snickers before crunching up behind you, his chest hot against your back as he wraps his arms around you. “You feel lovely, darlin’, wanna lay back wif’ me? Don’t mind him, he’s lost it. Always goes a bit soft in the head around a pretty pussy or my cock.”

It’s a lot from this position and laying back against Callum’s chest is intense. You feel like he’s fully in your belly and it stretches your womb over him. He feels different…his isn’t as wet as Austin’s little water fountain but it throbs more noticeably, sending little shocks of pleasure through you. Cal pets your belly soothingly and spreads your pussy lips for Austin to really get a look at. You whine and squirm, realizing again the want for more. Those fingers dabbling at your entrance, threatening to push inside you once more and that’s when Austin breaks, recalling that’s what he and his cock are here for.

“Yeah, ok, ok, present and accounted for. Move your hand,” he murmurs, swiping Cal’s hand away. He thumbs at you himself for a bit, just to be sure and to watch as Cal loses his cool facade for a second when you clench tightly around him.

“Still sure about this, baby?” He asks one more time as he’s pressing at the ring and the burn has you bracing. You feel Cal’s hand move from your waist to your thigh, behind your knee, cupping it and dragging it wide, spreading you apart before you’ve even said your piece. The vote of confidence does you good and you take a deep breath, nodding once, decisively.

“Then put me in, angel,” Austin tells you, fat cockhead already snagged in but there’s a little ripple in his hard cock from the resistance of the tight space. Steeling yourself, you reach down and wrap your fingers around him, tugging him closer and slowly feeding his thickness into you alongside Cal’s, who starts thrashing his head and moaning at the drag like he’s the one getting breached.

“Good girl, good girl, please more…know you can take more.” Cal’s begging for cock by proxy and it alters your brain somehow. Austin’s too, he puts his hips into the effort and soon he’s gotten past the muscles at your command and into the threshold where you can’t manage to push him out if you tried. It makes you panic a little, but Cal is softly shushing in your ear, a distracting thumb stroking behind your knee, other freckled hand mauling a tit and begging you to take more cock so he can get friction.

“She can take it, come on, Austin,” he vouches for you, a little self promotion as you can’t even form words right now. Somewhere about six inches in your vocabulary consists of yelped little “fuck’s”and whimpering “I cant’s”.

Austin caresses your cheek, commanding you to look at him, his blue eyes focused in on yours, “That’s it baby, just a little more. You’re doing so good for us… such a good girl.”

Callum grab’s Austin’s shoulder and brings him fully deeper, which is all well and good when Austin kisses your forehead and insists raggedly, “You are doing it, baby.”

When he finally pushes in that last little bit, you lose any control you thought you had, instantly coming from the stretch and threatening to push Austin out. But he presses nothing less than his full weight on you, keeping you in place and himself snug inside next to Callum. You gasp for air and wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, clinging to him. Austin tries to remember to breathe and promptly forgets how when he makes eye contact with Callum for the first time since being balls deep.

“Are you -is that you…twitching?”

“Woulda thought you’d remember that,” Callum smirks. “Coulda sworn I recall you saying something about it jumping like a live wire in your hand?”

“Christ, well it feels different all…snuggled up next to mine,” Austin grits out, coloring slightly.

After a moment or two, when breath has been regained and a few laughs shared and some semblance of sanity restored in right spaces, Cal starts to pepper every inch of your neck and cheeks in kisses. Now that he’s not so desperate he’s become utterly grateful for you, for this. The kisses turn into sloppy, wet groans in your ear as Austin begins to move and Cal’s hand is gripping your jaw, his eyes locked on Austin, your legs thrown wide over his thighs, spread to the max and he’s a perfect recliner. He throws his other arm across your chest in a loving armbar, holding you still on top of him, “So Butler can get a rhythm, baby.”

Austin looms above you both, finding his pace, measured and steady. His beautiful face is flushed full of awe and there’s a heat in his gaze you’ve never seen before. He puts his hand on Callum’s shoulder for leverage, long fingers digging into freckled flesh and Cal promptly lays a little smooch on Austin’s forearm with a cheeky grin. Austin’s eyes shift and change, become a deeper blue and an expression you can’t read flits across his face as he jabs a particularly hard thrust into you. Callum starts to whimper and squirm when he realizes Austin’s thrusts are rubbing him too well, and it's not just you who’s getting their spot hit - that spot being his foreskin being drug back and forth in maddening little drags.

“Y’all like that? Feel good?” Austin growls lowly, rhythmic thrusts pushing you and Callum deeper into the fluffy white sheets, both of your whimpers combining until you can’t tell who they belong to. Austin groans and drives in harder, his white knuckles gripping Callum’s shoulder hard, while he reserves his tenderest touch for you, rubbing his thumb back and forth across your cheek.

“You’re…enjoying this…” you manage to moan between thrusts. His face splits into a grin as he pushes all the way in, pausing for a moment to kiss you hard, all tongues and teeth and desperation.

“Oh, fuck mate, that’s so good. Oh my god,” Callum babbles. “Right there, fuck, right there. You feel so good.”

“Which one, baby girl? Me or her?” Austin smirks.

For once, Callum has no witty response except the heavy panting in your ear. He squeezes your waist harder and his fingernails indent your hip and it gives you something else to focus on while you catch your breath, a tiny escape from the mind-blowing ecstasy you feel and the slight alarm bells ringing in your head. You can feel Callum somehow expanding and growing inside of you, even bigger than he was before. Austin’s eyes go wide and a look of panic crosses his face - his perfect pink mouth forms a perfect “o”.

“Oh shit, what…why is everything so fucking tight again…what is happening,” Austin groans breathlessly, his mouth set in a determined line, teeth ground together so hard you worry momentarily he might break a tooth. He tightens his grip on Callum’s shoulder and Cal’s massive hand encircles Austin’s delicate wrist, knuckles white as he holds on for dear life.

“Faster…faster,” Cal begs, again and again. “Sorry no, mate it’s, it’s fuckin’ happenin’…oh fuck.” His head cranes forward and you can feel his belly and hips flexing beneath you as he tenses over and over, letting out a hoarse sort of howl as he comes. His warmth fills you and it shakes something loose in your head, your own stomach starting to clench as you grab a handful of Austin’s golden hair, urging him on. Callum’s hands are all over you, petting you everywhere as he starts to come down.

“S’ok I came in ya? Yeah? Good, ‘cause I did,” he whispers hoarsely with a remorseful little laugh, back to babbling to you now that Austin’s got him there. He wipes the sweaty hair from your forehead, tucking a piece of it behind your ear and kisses your neck, whispering encouraging words, “That’s it, babe, give us another one.”

Cal’s bitten off little whimpers spur you on, as his soft cock is trapped in there too, getting pummeled. He’s trying to focus on you, with little pets and murmurs of encouragement but you feel his jaw clench as he grits his teeth, taking the pounding Austin is giving the both of you.

“Got me feelin’ like a proper woman, squealin’ n’ shit, Aus.”

You feel another orgasm build and shake through you, one of the many countless times you’ve fallen apart tonight, but this one stands out. It would bring you to your knees if you were unlucky enough to be standing at this moment. You’re sure it has something to do with knowing you’re satisfying two men at once, Callum having found his release and Austin being close to his. You can tell he’s on the verge by the little signs you’ve grown to recognize over the course of your relationship. The way his forehead creases in between his brows - you’ve kissed it away a dozen times in the heat of the moment. The way his pulse beats on the side of his neck, his vein there popping out and becoming more prominent. The short little huffs of breath he inhales, in quick succession - one, two, three, bam, bam, bam, like three shots straight to your heart. It’s your turn to take care of him, the last one standing after he made sure you and Cal got yours.

“Your turn, baby,” you whisper, pulling his forehead down to meet yours, thumbing at the hollows of his cheeks as he begins to tremble and his thrusts turn sloppy. He kisses you again, sucking on your tongue before moving to latch onto your neck. Cal wraps a hand around Austin’s throat, pushing his head back and squeezing just enough for his eyes to widen and his mouth to pop open. His blue eyes darken and you think he’s going to put his mouth on you again, but he bypasses you and goes straight for Callum’s collarbone, his perfect, white teeth sinking into Callum’s lovely English skin and biting down, hard. Cal yelps but doesn’t let go of Austin’s neck, and that’s when you feel it, your belly filled with warmth again as Austin pulses and twitches inside you, a stuttered moan muffled into the crook of Callum’s shoulder. He collapses on top of you and Callum, completely and utterly spent, the three of you breathing heavily and unable to move for a few moments. You squirm a tiny bit, trying to take a deep breath with one man plastered to your front and another to your back.

Austin gets the hint and lifts himself back up on shaky arms, slipping out of you with a squelch. You gasp one final time, at the sudden loss of him, and a cold emptiness is left where he once filled you to the brim, almost to breaking. The coldness is replaced quickly by a gushing warmth spilling out of you. You feel Callum suck in a breath, his broad chest expanding beneath you, his right arm still wrapped tightly around your chest.

“Christ, it’s running down my balls,” he wheezes out, taking another shuddering breath.

Austin braces himself against the headboard and slowly disentangles himself, flopping limply beside you on the bed. He looks at you and Cal still entwined, his eyes moving from both of your faces flushed with heat, down to Callum’s arm still tightly wrapped around you, one large, meaty hand gripping your breast, his middle finger absentmindedly pressing the sensitive bud of your nipple down. Austin sucks in breath after breath, and his eyes travel lower, to your legs still splayed wide over Callum’s sturdy thighs, his softening cock still nestled deep inside you, the spend of both men slowly dripping out of you. A sudden flash of possessiveness roars through him - for you, for Callum. For the sacred thing he has with both of you. His face goes numb and his ears start to ring. But it’s gone as quickly as it appeared.

“What is it, Aus?” you whisper, stretching out a hand to him. He looks forlorn, alone on the other side of the bed, his vulnerable face a mix of emotions crashing together all at once, lost and unsure, the gravity of everything settling on his shoulders like a blanket.

“Come back to us.” Your fingertips barely reach to brush his bronzed chest, the little blonde hairs soft against your skin. “Please.”

He lets out a breath you didn’t realize he was holding and crawls back over, wrapping his arms around you both and collapsing on top of you again. You’re hilariously squished in the middle of a bear hug now, both men squeezing with all their might, a strange show of masculinity to mask true feelings.

“I can’t breathe….” you manage between giggles. Callum lets out a soft chuckle in your ear, his breath warm against your cheek as his arm shifts beneath you. He digs his fingers into Austin’s armpit and wiggles them around none too gently. Austin bucks against you and squeaks out an uncharacteristically high laugh, trying to squirm out of Cal’s grasp, but it’s too strong and Austin’s body feels like jelly just now.

“Hey! Hey hey, no fair…you know I hate… being… tickled…” Austin grunts out, trying desperately to writhe out of this strange embrace.

-

Bright, cheerful sunshine spills onto the hotel room floor and across the bed, where it has no right to be at this ungodly hour. It shines in unabashedly, through drapes you forgot to close properly in all of your horny desperation. A little sliver of verdant green Hollywood hills is the only signal from the outside world. In here, somewhere between sleeping and waking, in that hazy early morning dreamland, you register Austin tucked up close behind you, his knees pushing the backs of yours and his warm, heavy arm slung over your waist. This is how you wake up every morning and you scoot your bottom back, into the cradle of his hips, momentarily unaware of the pulverization of your insides. But scenes from last night play out like a clip reel inside your head almost as soon as you’re conscious. You squeeze your eyes tight, refusing to give the sun its due. You stretch your legs gingerly, wiggling your toes against Austin’s, and take stock of things. There’s the obvious ache between your legs - more of a throbbing fire, if the truth is to be told. Your nipples seem to remember the previous evening’s activities as well because they immediately harden and stand at attention. And you can’t feel them yet but you’re pretty sure you have a few bruises, too. Ah well, you think as you yawn lazily, that’s what makeup is for.

You blink one eye open (it’s so bright in here!) and the first thing you encounter is a massive arm right next to your nose, tiny, golden hairs glinting in the sunlight. The second thing you see is Cal, on his belly and sans sheets or clothes, his lush and muscular bottom swelling above the white duvet beneath him. His adorable face is pressed into the pillow next to yours, dark curls swirling across his forehead and day’s worth of stubble dots his jaw. He feels your eyes on him, he’s only been snoozing for a bit, waiting for you two to wake up. He cracks one bright, blue eye open and stares back at you a moment. He senses a rush of what he feels everytime he sees you but this time it’s magnified by endearment and gratitude. Then, his face lights up, still smushed into the pillow and a massive, squinty grin splits his face. Your heart gives a funny little leap inside your chest and you find that your fingers are caressing his cheek softly, of their own volition and you resist the urge to kiss the little freckle under his mouth. He grabs your hand and kisses your fingertips, holding them to his warm lips as he smiles. And suddenly, any worry about things being weird has evaporated, as has any possibility of him being a third wheel. He just belongs.

“Hey! Quit making goo-goo eyes at my girl.” Austin’s gravelly morning voice rumbles from behind you playfully, and quick as lightning the arm still draped around your waist reaches over and smacks Callum’s ass, hard. The slap echoes around the room and you see the pale flesh of his bottom bounce and reverberate with the force of it. Cal, and his red, pillow creased face, jolts forward, yelling and jerking in the sheets, which in turn rubs his raw cock. This causes a chain reaction of events which results in him immediately pulling a sore muscle and flopping back down on the bed, moaning and rubbing his reddening backside.

“No fair, bruv,” he groans into the pillow. “That was too fuckin’ close to my balls.”

Austin chuckles and swats your ass gently for good measure. Slowly, everyone starts to shift and stir. First there are whines about soreness and muscles. Then about how sticky it all is. Then about who’s gonna order room service - but more pressingly, who’s gonna walk to the mini bar and grab a water. And then there’s an argument about who’s voice is less hoarse to call for the food - this ends up being you, hilariously. Then there’s moaning arguments about who is intact enough to wobble to the door and tip the server. In between massive amounts of doting and fretting over you, obviously. The boys are ever attentive, fluffing your pillows and making sure you’re comfortable while they feed you omelets and sausage and pancakes until your energy is restored. Over breakfast in bed, the arguments continue about who’s more bruised up - there’s a nasty bite mark on Cal’s collarbone but the fingerprints around Austin’s neck are a fair rival. There’s a panicked and very male discussion about emergency rooms when you admit you can barely move. But you manage to convince them that a nice, hot soak in the tub would do you wonders right about now. So Austin goes to draw you a bath while Callum helps you out of bed, wrapping a protective arm around your waist, and guiding you to the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later you’re starting to feel somewhat restored and a little more like yourself. The boys take turns showering, getting ready for the screening event later today. They go about it quietly though, almost reverently, leaving you to relax in peace. You turn the hot water on again, you’ve soaked so long it’s turning tepid but you’re not ready to relinquish this luxury. You ask Austin to bring you your makeup kit, eying the marks on both of them that need covering up. First Austin, then Callum, one after the other they kneel beside the tub in only their dress pants, chest and feet still bare. There are bruises and hickies and bite marks on clavicles and necks and wrists. Poor Callum, with his delicate, reactionary British skin has what looks like beard burn over half his chest and up the side of his throat. You turn sideways in the fancy clawfoot bathtub, gingerly dabbing concealer here and there, doing the best you can to cover up any evidence of last night's revels. Austin sits patiently, a towel underneath his knees to buffer the hard tile floor, and watches you with his kind, enigmatic ocean eyes. They’re distracting, those eyes, as they watch your face, every blink and every smile.

“What is it, Aus? Something on your mind?” you finally murmur, unable to take such naked contemplation any longer.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” He smooths the hair back from your forehead, rubbing a silky piece between his fingers. “I’m so lucky.”

Callum slouches against the doorway and lets out a quiet hum. “I think you mean we’re lucky, mate. The three of us.”

-

Tagging some Austin & Callum lovers I know: @jelliedonut @crazymadpassionatelove @elvisabutler @slowsweetlove @stylespresleyhearted @steph-speaks @blurredcolour @pearlparty

#austin butler #callum turner #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler smut #austin butler fic #austin butler imagine #callum turner fanfiction #callum turner smut #Callum Turner fic #callum turner imagine #the three of us #marina does it again #written by ab4eva

[precious-little-scoundrel]

🍸 Harry Crosby headcanons

18+ -helluva lot of nsfw under the cut but interspersed with a lotta fluff and domesticity…to me that’s the appeal of this man, cannot be separated one from the other: the unassuming sweater wearing vet at the block party is also a man of hidden depths.

Long promised and woefully incomplete, the word count was getting out of hand so I’m tossing it out, there’s more where this came from. Not edited so, apologies

Entirely co-written by myself and my comrogue @crazymadpassionatelove , enhanced and bedazzled by chats with @ab4eva including special additions from other guests who commented under my announcement post, credit is given at each specific point for their contributions

|screencap cred grabbed from: @hawkinsfuller

First off let me say it’s been ages since I read A Wing and A Prayer. I remember loving it, loving him and I cannot stress how much I respect and admire the real Harry Crosby and his Jean, the Missus of our dreams.

This is purely for fun, a heavy mix of both Boyle’s portrayal and a tad of Crosby’s real life vibes as taken from his accounts by me. Sometimes you gotta take historical figures’ virtues in one area -say navigation and math- and translate it to the more suggestive aspects of life -say, how to find a clitori- *gunshot*

Because this man’s biography is the most oral-leaning, drink-your-respect-women-juice book ever. Ok, almost ever. For a wwii book at least. Uhem so -I am prejudiced, sue me.

See, sometimes it’s the quiet, stressed ones with a self consuming desire to please who have the cozy sweaters and the attentive appreciation for your interests and the stubby fat schlongs and the propensity to keep you in suburban comfort all your days

The compulsive drive to call you “button” and be on time for church and thank you for your scrambled eggs each morning with eager kitchen countertop oral before waking you children up with annoyingly soft catchphrases they’ll recite fondly at his funeral: “rise and shine” etc

Also back to the perfectly respectable schlong for just a moment -This is a Thing! Justice for the perfectly adequate plug stoppers, not everyone needs a rolling pin, who can resist giving head when the head is the same gorgeous color as his lips?!

Mr Crosby is skipping off to lecture college kids about literature post-war with a pep in his step that you put there without fail, you can’t help it, it’s as essential as the matching “his and hers” coffee mugs you bought during your honeymoon

Cookies slightly burned cuz you’re busy as bunnies in the bathroom while the kids ride bikes in the cul-de-sac is a Crosby staple

This is a man who as husband keeps you well supplied with mixers and microwaves and cute little nighties and also loves your brain -SCORE.

Loves to gift you with bath oil and fun stuff to smell good. He's into lavender. It benefits him in the end, loves to sit on the edge of the tub and just talk with you for ages

Croz’s go-to distresser is to have Jean sit on his face until his vision spots

She knows as soon as he walks in the door. Fixes him a Shirley Temple, takes him by the hand to the bedroom and …..boom.

De—stressed

As for the ptsd nightmares? He just barely starts to thrash in his sleep and Jean is rolling that man over and taking matters into her own hands

You’re Jean now, you do realize that don’t you? It was never ever going to be anyone but Jean

This man leaves love letters on your pillow, in your apron pocket, in the dash of your car anywhere at all that you’re likely to be. All of this even though he’s gonna be home by six that evening.

Also, hear me out: lots of evenings he just lays down next to you for ages, facing each other on your sides, absentmindedly mapping your body with his calloused palms and fingering you for ages while talking about Persuasion.

Actually gives a shit about your opinions too, and not in the way of wanting to argue them. When you make a good point his eyes get even droopier and he grabs your neck and…

“You're one smart cookie Mrs Crosby”

“My clever, wise, beloved…”

Honestly though, deep connections and the ability to go vulnerable, and if those moments are often concluded with little laughs to shake off the moment -it doesn’t diminish it

Can actually talk about dying to you, not in a morbidly preoccupied way, but he can face it and admit it and be vulnerable enough to acknowledge the likelihood

Then get on with what needs doing

He appreciates how well you grow to know him, and he in turn makes a lifelong study of you

Also, this man is so highly attuned to your well being.

Yes you have to put up with his stress but for you? He will man-up repeatedly and without thought. He doesn’t even think twice about just up and leaving whatever situation is tiring you. did you see him hop up to get the fuck outta that bar fight? Yeah so, you’re bored? Tired? Stressed? It’s not even machismo it’s just a homebody not giving a fuck with the subtext of “my wife and I would like to go home and read and cockwarm”

Often gives the shiftiest excuses to army buddies and coworkers just to go home and hang with you, swears he has to repair that squirrel feeder -or that an alligator is in his swimming pool, “sorry guys maybe drinks next week”

Don’t tell the guys but…HE PAINTS YOUR TOENAILS

Maybe some of your high school friends snickered about Harry Crosby way back when. Making googly eyes at you and barely getting out the most stammered greetings? Bookish and a little clumsy at times?

Ha, you won in the end

He comes home in one piece, that beautiful schlong still intact

you prayed for that ok?

“Lord keep my husband safe -- and his girthy manhood in tact as well” …for the babies you’re hoping for of course...just that… kneeling in silk pajamas each night, adding this addendum with a blush but was always faithful to keep it in your prayers

Sometimes you have that thought in church as well...so you has to take a couple deep breaths and calm yourself...it's because you want children...not because you’re already so sprung off this man's dick after only a couple weeks of married life.

weeks that feels like a lifetime ago now, by the way

Prim and lovely Jean Crosby staring off into stained glass worlds thinking of having her tight little hole tugged open and her guts rearranged, it’s even worse than her thoughts prior to the wedding, because she’s had the experience, then suddenly it was ripped away

And she’s empty and scared to death for him

She gets asked to sing at the funeral of a lieutenant who never even got off the ground during a training flight,

work and church and such are hopeless distractions

Wanders through the department store wondering if every other wife misses this way, does everyone feel the same primal ache?

Dear Jean Crosby terribly worried she’s a freak yet entirely unrepentant for it

But ya know what’s probably funny? Across the ocean Harry Crosby is sometimes so direly missing his wife in the carnal way that he just about spaces out too, and god knows there’s zero privacy anywhere and the showers are the showers but like???? it’s just a no-go most times and everyone gets very confused when he’s in this mood?? Not at all suspecting baser distractions are what’s at play. Somehow someone figured it out, maybe he actually snapped a little about having five seconds to himself while reading a letter and they’re like

OH

And somehow there seems to suddenly be five minutes or so when NO ONE but Crosby is in the showers?!

It only takes him two minutes to get there but he needs to stand there catching his breath and clutching at his heart while he thinks of Jean sprawled beneath him

This is probably Douglass’ doing? Because he’s a good dude, he doesn’t underestimate Croz AND he’s a dirty little bastard himself

“Fellas, the man got himself a wife while half of you guys are virgins? Of course he has urges?”

In a quiet, rare moment, Gale bends his ear -Harry is so modest and low key...unlike some folks *looking at you Bucky*- “So, uh, where'd ya say you and the missus went off to before ya came here?“

Gale’s gotta casually open the door for this conversation “Lots of good sights to see? I, um, haven't done much traveling myself”

It takes Croz a few conversations until he realizes just what Gale means, until then there’s a lot bewildered eyebrows at the inquiry and bashful appreciation for the interest: “Major Cleven I-I already told you, sir, we had a little cabin in the Alleghenies for a week?“

He's been telling Jean about Major Gale Cleven, about how she'd really like him. Gale is a good fella. He tells her about all their "travel talk"

Until one day Jean writes back: “Oh honey, that Cleven of yours is a virgin”

Whether Harry divulges to Gale anything he learned about ladies in that little cabin in the mountains writhing before a fire on a bearskin rug, that first time Harry actually didn’t stop and ask if Jean was dying every time she made a noise but instead, kept going until her cried properly built and she screamed…

well, it was probably an abbreviated account that mostly consisted of “wives are just wonderful people, Major Cleven” with a far off look in his eyes

Gale leaves him to it after all- Harry was married for like 3 seconds before he left, It's literally either playback of the last horrific mission or thinking of the curve of her spine

He gets the dreamiest look on his face, eyes all shiny, mouth a little slack

Somehow these two can be so passionate and yet it’s so wholesome and good and angelic?!!! It’s the allure of them

Because it’s all in these gentle and safe and good boundaries? Like it isn’t complicated and yet it’s not simple and it’s neither settling nor is it turbulent. something to be said for “doing it right”

They genuinely thank God for each other, they’re so sure it was always intended to be just them

I have 1k of headcanons just for the homecoming ok? Y’all will have to request those separate

But once home:

The eye contact they make at social events?? It’s a whole language, the most loving and adorable thing ever

He may not be a real gem of a singer but he’s an excellent hummer. so much gentle humming around the house while he’s fixing the stove light or rocking a baby to sleep or-

You know what I mean don’t you? Some men can just humm and you’re instantly wet? No I don’t mean humming a Billie Holliday tune

I mean humming when you make a new reaction to his incessant fingering while he’s reading, makes him look away from the page and arch a brow, highly inquisitive puppy dog look on his face, reading glasses pulled down.

*a new spot? After all this time? Must investigate further*

This man, when in his element, is a goddamn tease, he’s impossible, he’s goofy, he makes sex the joyous sacrament its supposed to be every damn time and he ain’t shy to remain stark naked for ages

Praise kink for miles in that, once you’ve praised him, he will keep doing whatever earned it for the next two hours. Brace yourself

He can recite your favorite literature passages (he knows them and took pains to memorize them by your tenth anniversary) when he’s gently plowing you from the back with his hand on your neck and your ear lob in between his teeth

He’s a biter my friends -gotta keep quiet somehow, can’t scar the passel of children y’all made, after all

So many excuses given to kids about “mama and I need to talk about the mortgage” -very rarely is mortgage even thought of once the door is closed and locked

But that brings us back to the early days, it’s one thing to know someone so well after all those years but the early days?

Two Virgins named Jean and Harry went straight from the chapel to fucking like Bunnies before he went to war

Harry had done his research tho. All that reading…

Harry Crosby totally ate his wife out on their wedding night.

even though he’d never really seen a full vagina before

he’s a bit methodical, yeah? At first? with a hint of overly flustered and terribly delighted

So I’m just picturing him like hunkering down there, tentative but firm hands on your thighs: “to get my bearings, honey pie” as he takes in the lay of the land

because there’s a lot happening down there on a lady, ok? -there’s petals and more petals and slippery slopes and little buttons and a tiny hole that has to be for pee, no way he’s supposed to go in that one?! but, but she doesn’t have another? Well the backdoo- no can’t even think of that. Oh god ok, ok, vaginal opening, -I guess that’s a vaginal opening?! and due north, a little button that makes her squeak when I touch it. ok ok, might as well start there…

I can see him with a metaphorical pencil behind his ear, ready to jot down notes

Jeanie finally sighs and grips him by the ears and hauls him up for a kiss and just grinds against him and insists it’s lovely

“just kiss me, silly.” she says to him after awhile.

“Mmm, I do like kissing you, Jean” he grins back

he’s naturally kissing his way to her boobs and staying there a lovely long time but she starts pushing at his dark head, *hint hint* lower down her belly and lower, and lower and he’s so caught up he doesn’t even realize it until there’s a sweet little patch of curls under his chin and he looks up with the oddest expression of curiosity and doubt on his face only to be met with Jean’s expectant eyebrow

She wouldn’t want me to?—-*ah, she just face planted me in pussy, ok then*

Lapping at it with the biggest grin, there may or may not have been some noise complaints

the whole apartment complex just knows he’s a good husband, never would peg him as a stud if you met him in the hallway but, Jean sure takes forever to say goodbye to him in the mornings so he must do something right

All the neighbors just can't help but be happy for those two kids

They cook them food and leave the casserole dishes on the landing so they can savor each other for as long as possible before he leaves

Next Sunday they show up at church like dutiful little Americans and they’ve got hickies everywhere and his cheeks are a permanent pink, Her knees are red and raw under her church dress

I feel like maybe they get a little adventurous as their time together draws to a close? Maybe they break a dining room chair? She's too mortified to put it out on the curb

*saves it for 50 years*

Some of those wedding china ends up in pieces on the floor. Can't explain to her aunts why they don't have a full set all of a sudden

i really hope he never loses that occasional hair trigger premature ejaculation tendency.

Sometimes it even shocks him, “O-Oh...shoot”

The last day together is a dismal and precious night

The poor man probably laid there on her sweaty boobs after blowing his last load with the saddest *fml* face on as he processed it being, indeed, his last

But HOMECOMING!

and now the war is over they can set up house and make babies

A small breeding kink, after all, these men marched home from war and basically were told "get a job and let's repopulate for all the boys we lost!"

It’s so damn primal when you think about it but under the veneer of the starched and polished 50’s

Croz can't think straight in that tight little hole, let alone think of the ramifications of another baby

“Give it to me, give me another, come on Harry, we've got an empty space in the Christmas card anyway, think of it!! fill me up baby oh godddd Jesus bless your pretty dick-*

it’s the most mundane reasons and he still busts a nut like she’s some filthy vixen and not his sweet and slightly too optimistic wife

frantic love making with a sweater and socks still on, too

Jean is a writher because the longer they are married the longer he lasts and soon she’s come and he just keeps going and she cannot keep quiet then and he’s too big to ignore or calm down between, just thick enough to always be tugging just right and she fully sobs from it sometimes

Often she’s trying to cup herself?!? Fully spasming and shaking and curling in but his strong forearm is over her belly and his lips on her ear

This man is a god at spooning sex

she is so cock feral when she falls pregnant it almost alarms him

The books didn't say anything about this?! He's exhausted and dehydrated and his classes are suffering as a result

Wants to ask Egan if he encountered this phenomenon

His war buddies become a new father support group

"Hang in there pal, only three more months"

They’ll be in the kitchen just chatting before dinner, she wants to tease him. Scoops a little cherry pie filling onto her finger. He licks it and sucks it off -- bites the finger too, in the background dogs are barking and kids are running amuck

As the Crosbys you’re in for a life of very benign but nauseatingly idyllic Christmas parties.

Snow globes, y’all

Sweaters, spiked eggnog and very well thought out gifts

Harry is the sort to carry Jean's purse when they are out shopping and she is trying on clothes. He also has no problem going and buying her sanitary napkins at the drugstore when she's on her period, because it's completely normal and there's nothing for anyone to be embarrassed about. Basically, he is just stupidly in love with her. He's like a puppy who will always follow, but she doesn't take advantage of that fact (credit to:@noneedtoamputate)

He is Harry “Have You Met My Wife?” Crosby back home, too, it’s even worse when he gets tipsy and his confidence grows and good luck shutting him up about how beautiful she is

This is the sorta man whose kids only learn Daddy was a goddamn boss during the war when they’re outta college, a very casual “oh yeah, that was sort of a thing, pass the salt.”

It’s canon this man cut his own son’s hair all his little life, propped him up on a little stool in the back yard and got to trimming -some of the only times the boy ever heard of those devastating missions

Imagine? Same man who used to take you out on the porch into the night air and rock against his sweater when you were a baby and wouldn’t settle is the same man who bombed the hell outta Fortress Europe

He’s the kind of man whose kids are so enamored over how both sides of the coin could settle in the same man, they end up making a documentary about him

Now I also need you to think of this man at bath time in the early 50’s -Shirt sleeves rolled up, top two buttons on his pristine white button up shirt popped with a peak of chest hair showing through, his curls getting steamed by his kids bubble baths

He’s got the prettiest slightly hairy forearms, y’all -according to Jean at least

Gives himself a bubble beard to make his kids laugh, will stay on his knees watching them play for ages, fully participating

His white shirt gets fully transparent with all this splashing and Jean has to really keep her mind on what’s next when she can so easily see his hair and pretty little nipples pebbled in a chill under them. Stops her whining about water on the floor in seconds.

Harry’s already hushing her and mopping it up with a towel anyway

The Crosby kids will have memories of their idiotically in love and enthralled parents who loved being parents, wrapping their baby selves snuggly into towels and setting them on the counter and just cracking up over how cute they looked with their chubby and shiny widdle faces poking out of terry cloth

Jean and Harry spend a lotta time doing that, they just love their kids, ok?

Brushing their cute little Croz curls

Jean can’t say no to a single one with their sad puppy eyes their daddy gave them

Sometimes they sit the kids in front of the fireplace (they obviously needed a house with a fireplace after that honeymoon) and line them up. Talk about them as if they aren't sitting right there. "Honey, look at those gorgeous eyes -- and his smile! Oh my, who do these cuties belong to?"

But it’s not all placid domesticity. Picture this:

Crosby with a mega phone, organizes a neighborhood Easter egg hunt. He's in charge, his aviators on, taking this so seriously

There are maps, he’s planned this for weeks, some of those traits and skills he picked up during the war come back at the oddest times

this gets even more intense if any of the war buddies are there

Harry writes letters to them strategizing, they all come and bring their own kids

It makes the local paper for being one of the biggest Easter egg hunts the state has ever seen

Night falls, children fall asleep and there are still some eggs left. Armed with booze and flashlights, the boys go out to collect the rest

Harry and Jean don't collect any though, they end up in a bush necking somewhere

Bucky gets very adamant about finding them and Brady is just as adamantly begging him not to

But Major Egan cannot be stopped, he rallies his men, hopping on the kids’ bikes and scooters

Everyone heckling each other in the dark suburban neighborhood

"Ya lost your touch Buck, keep up will ya?"

They all end up in a schnapps induced heap in the Crosby's backyard, long limbs all folded up on too small equipment

Jean and Harry leisurely stroll back up the street under lamp glow to their house where everyone is feral and collapsed and calling loudly for their hosts

Sharing soft little smiles and picking twigs out of each others hair

They tuck these idiot men in on the couches and floor, blankets, sleeping bags and dogs

Hear me out: Jean is the only human able to talk a belligerent Bucky out of his thirtieth beer

She has that sweet way about her that makes every person wanna be a better man for her

When he finally gives in and throws his arm over her little shoulders and swears she’s a good woman, Harry is there with the pan and the aspirin and the blanket

She makes them all the most perfect hangover breakfast the next morning, gingham checked apron stretched over swollen belly

Harry nuzzles her belly when she stops at his plate to dish up the eggs

Everyone wants to gag over how perfectly content these two are but that would be a waste of the best breakfast in the USA

And if Jean happens to make the best baked goods on the block - Croz is making sure everyone knows just who’s muffins those are on the bake sale table. Or if she wants to pursue a career or education? Harry is her biggest cheerleader, doing anything and everything to support her and being sure that everyone knows how incredible she is at what she does. (Credit @blurredcolour)

They may be the sweater wearing, block party and Sunday school couple but don’t think anybody gets away with being snide to Mrs. Jean Crosby -there will be comeuppance, even if it’s just an exquisitely literate verbal evisceration.

There's even more often a roaming band of local kids who kick the shins of everyone who's mean to Mrs. Crosby, because she gives them sweets and feeds them when they're hungry and cleans up their scrapes when play gets too rough and -if Mr. Crosby hands out a comic or two to the boys that "accidentally" tripped some bloke who was harassing his wife, well. All is fair in love and war. (Credit to @promptedwordsmith)

When in the summer of 49 the Crosbies get a swimming pool dug? It might as well be considered public property.

not just the kids who are attached to the crosbies, though. your home is a constant revolving door of visitors - including a bunch of ex-servicemen. if it's not bucky lounging in the pool, or rosie painting the fence in his shirtsleeves because he wanted to be helpful, then douglass is smoking a cigarette in the yard while trying to make you laugh. ev is asking harry to show him how to read this goddamn map bc they're supposed to be taking a trip to the grand canyon in a month, and bubbles is over for dinner every other night. even brady sometimes shows his face, if only to carp at harry for getting them lost over france that one time while working the barbecue because you asked him to. when you and harry bought the house with an extra room you weren't sure you would ever use, you didn't expect it to be occupied as often as a popular hotel. if anyone ever had any bad intentions toward the crosbies, they're definitely rethinking it. those that don't...well. being in the air corps teaches one all sorts of creative ways of getting back at people. (Credit to @fidelias)

Imagine all the different skills the Crosby kids (_and their neighbor friends who never seem to leave_) learn from these guys?

“Oh yeah, Bucky Egan taught me how to swim while wearing his aviators…”

In other words:

Harry Crosby went home and built himself a little Norman Rockwell Camelot and then opened the doors of the kingdom to his buddies and -that’s as it should be.

And that’s not even mentioning how the Air Force and the CIA walked up to his front porch and interrupted a backyard ballgame to ask him for his help

It sucks to be super smart and needed when all ya wanna do is teach literature, go camping and help keep the church life going

But still

Jean sure looked good in Pakistan, the kids enjoyed a new culture and Harry likes to say he may have done some good

#mota fanfic #masters of the air #harry crosby #Harry Crosby fanfic #Harry Crosby x reader #mota headcanons #masters of the air fanfiction #anthony boyle #hbo war fanfic

[aconflagrationofmyown]

Three Way Script

A Sarge and lil Mama fic

Warnings: rather angsty and with some strong language -but with a load of gentleness and love thrown in as is typical with this universe, please note the subjects covered here relate to infidelity and the death of an infant. Everyone herein is coping and not in a very tidy way but they’re tryin’.

Note: this is written in experimental first person view from Ann-Margret’s perspective. I’ve zero intention to vilify anyone and even had a little bit of qualms regarding using her in this at all. As is, I’m creating more of a character for her in the form of “Thumper” and her dynamic with the fictional Presley’s than any true resemblance to the lady herself. Cheers 💋

Dedicated to sweet @ab4eva who loves her hot tamale

Circa: summer of ‘63 on the set of Viva Las Vegas

It was a dark and deathly quiet quarter to four in the morning. I’d just been decked in the face by a sleepwalking Elvis Presley for trying to wake him up. Face throbbing, nerves strained from our undefined tryst, I clumsily chased him as he wandered outside, strangely stubborn in his unconscious quest for air, or space, or -her.

I didn’t know the etiquette for this, for any of it. I’d told him just that as he, a married man of such notoriety, pressed his lips against mine and told me that we had a connection.

He and I.

As if I couldn't feel it thrumming and seething and tugging between us during every scene and more concerning still, in the lulls between, in the quiet and unpretentious moments of rest when it wasn’t our characters, when it was just us. When he admitted to being gutted by the loss of his child, estranged from his ever-ebullient wife in her own bereavement, envious of his son, not even four years old, who occupied his space in her bed and took comfort from her body while he was obliged to dance and sing his way to another hit as if he wasn’t fragmented by the grief of it all.

“I thought you’d be all tough n’shit, a real firecracker.” he’d breathed with immense relief after uncovering that gooey, soft, vulnerable place inside of me that something about his grief and his hollow smirk and his lonesomeness had almost immediately unleashed in my soul. That urge to comfort, to assure him he wasn’t going out on a limb, it had me spending my days making a fool of myself for him.

Yet it seemed the price for such misplaced loyalty and pleasure was about to be extracted as I trailed him, calling out to him in vain, ignoring my aching jaw in an attempt to stall his sleepwalking, quelling the panic I felt at what must be done.

His guys didn’t know he was here with me and I wasn’t sure if I should tell them anyway, though I would have at this crucial point if I could have found or telephoned any of them. Tell them he was about to wander bare as the Lord made him into the studio lot.

I had to spare her that at least.

I had to call Graceland.

When I had entered my studio apartment earlier that evening Elvis had been sat in the kitchenette chair, twirling the landline cord around his finger, feet propped up on the Formica table, perfectly at home in my space, saying his goodbyes to a child or four. He gave me a dazzling smile as I stepped over my own threshold yet held up his finger for silence in my own space as he finished speaking with his family.

“Your phone ain’t bugged like mine is.” he had said casually by way of explanation for his entitlement to my rented room and then took me in his arms. I’d forgotten to press my point regarding privacy and rumors after that.

Now I fumbled the receiver off its hook and with all the cold, dreading heroism of a soldier launching a nuclear missile, I pushed redial.

One of the Presley cousins answered, I calculated the truth would get me where I needed fastest, so I said outright “Elvis is sleep walking on the lot and no one knows how to wake him”.

I was asked to hold and about twenty seconds later the receiver picks up again and this woman’s soft drawl comes over,

“Thumper? Is that you? Is he with you?”

Elaine was anxious. I could feel the strength of it through the phone, a visceral connection with a total stranger just by the waiver of her voice. So very anxious in that way that people who’ve been in a rash of losing things start to freak over the slightest possibility of another blow. It was the first time we’d ever spoken and yet I told her the situation as it stood, clear and concise. She knew of me -not just of Ann-Margret but of Thumper- and god knows I knew of her.

Elaine gained strength with details, demanded how long he’d been asleep and if he had his eyes open at all. With the first question I thought she was trying to trap me and get me to admit something I was more than ready to own up to. But then I realized she was just trying to triage. I gave her all the details I could tell and she gave me some suggestions.

“Make sure you duck away when you touch him or he’ll wallop you in the face, Thumper.” she warned with the surety of a veteran and her tone was so kind it took me ten whole minutes later to process the fact she had anticipated everything that had occurred and would occur. Despite that she was kind.

She was still kind after she suggested I let the dream run its course and maybe try to steer him from the gates or keep the outer door locked, and I had to tell her sheepishly he wasn’t wearing anything. Again, instead of what I was expecting she just let out a little huff and said

“Why didn’t you say? That makes things easier, you’ve got an ice pail, don’t you?”

So I ended up tossing ice at Elvis Presley’s chilled skin till he woke up and startled. Then led him back inside and when he saw the phone off the hook he got spooked and yelled at me that it wasn’t something to call the police for.

I said it was his wife instead. It was like he turned into a little boy then, he just yanked a sheet off the bed and curled into a chair at the kitchenette table and picked up the receiver.

I heard him whisper,

“Tink?”

before he waved me away and off as if this wasn’t my place that he had crashed in. But they were still softly chattin’ in a foreign sort of gibberish on the line by the time I gave up and fell asleep with the lamp on and him mumbling to his wife about his dream and asking to talk to a kid if one was awake.

He was gone when I woke up, so were his clothes.

Next I saw him, he was on set looking chipper, full face of pancake makeup disguising his exhaustion, playing cards with the boys waiting for the director to show. A quart’s worth of makeup was lathered to my own face, meticulously plastered on my left cheek five layers deep to disguise the purpling bruise he’d given me.

He acted like nothing, and I do mean nothing of any sort, had happened the night before. It was puzzling and I began to realize just how well he could compartmentalize everything. Lines and paces and dances and duets, he moved through them all that day with ease, belying the man who told me the night before he didn’t think he could keep going on like this.

‘This’ being the continuing of the smiling and dancing and grinding for all the nation to applaud, anything to market his resilience, once again having to rebound from his unsellable grief. But a child buried comes back in a man’s dreams.

“They made me choose, Annie,” he’d wept to me, “came out in their coats and said ‘which would ya like us to save, Mr. Presley?’ What was I s’posed to say to that, Thumper?” he begged me for an answer like I had an opinion on such a horrific conundrum. It’s times like these when a twenty three year old starlet isn’t sure what to say. “I can’t live without her! Can’t keep ‘em all well and happy without her, chose her. Now my baby girl’s dead.”

Her was always Elaine. And baby girl had been named Joe.

Josephine Belleaza, though her daddy couldn’t say her name, the name he’d lovingly chosen in happier times, couldn’t say it aloud without sounding strangled.

“It wouldn’t have changed a thing.” I kept insisting, I didn’t know what else to say except the truth of it, “They just ask those things to put it back on the -the- the patient.” The victim, the father, the parents. Putting those sleepless nights about choices back on his shoulders. As if a child drowned in the amniotic fluid that had once been its home and haven could be revived if the mother was cut apart to take it out. It was cruel, there never was a choice that god hadn't already made. “Wouldn’t have changed a thing. She doesn’t blame you, does she?”

“No, no never.” he’d sighed bitterly.

We talked a lot about her for a young co-star and her married leading man, laying in those twisted sheets he laid me out on, reveling in the fact I had no old memories etched on my skin, yet was soft and giving in all the ways to mimic the familiar one. It was an unfair usage, but when you’re in love you take a married man happily even if he seems as if he’s looking for more and less than your unstoried body could ever give him. A respite from things associated with dreams gone wrong, turned dark and twisted. He made me feel like a lifeline, he made me feel indispensable for him getting up each new day, he made my body rejoice and thrum from even the smallest of child play beneath the sheets, he made me fall in love with him.

And then he railed at me for calling her. I was the lifeline to get him back to her alive, sane and somewhat devoted. I was never his wife and according to him I should never have made his wife listen to his passing dalliance recount our tryst. It was unfair, I had done it to protect him but the minute the cameras stopped rolling he had cornered me and cut me down for the night before.

“You told her about us!” I accused him right back, righteous and misled all at once.

“There ain’t no us!” and he said it so easily.

That was true, I’d never met a fully grown man with such drive who found a way to make love in every possible way except the typical insertion method. I had not pressed it before, thinking it connected to his fear of pregnancy. “You told her about me being Thumper!” I clarified my complaint.

“Course I did!” he acted like I’d cracked up, “I tell her ‘bout all of ‘em, she’s accommodatin’ like that. Don’t mean she should have to have salt rubbed in the wound by talkin’ to ya. Ain’t fittin. She’s my wife!”

That stung, the categorization. There was little ole me, one of an apparent host of good time girls, and then there was her. And the fact she was his wife, that he really had his priorities straight despite his wandering eye, was a virtue lost on my love sick heart.

I was just furious and hurt.

“Did she put you up to this?” I seethed and he said no, no she hadn’t but this was just the way of things. He told Elaine about all his friends, which he considered me one, and on the flip side he kept them separated from his family life. It was traditional and tidy and archaic and we fought bitterly over it and made up in my bed.

He was gone again when I woke the next morning. But across the room in his stead was a large spray of roses he must’ve allowed in, shaped in a heart like a valentine, though the month was July. I anticipated conciliatory words in his childish scribble on the note. Instead, there in a delicate cursive was a quote, from Anna Karenina, I recognized,

“There are as many kinds of loves as there are hearts”

and down below in tiny, achingly gentle words was the sentiment:

“to a very tender young lady, for her pains and kindness to us, hope the cheek heals by the time I come and kiss it, all my thanks, -Elaine.”

———————————————————

I so hope I can crank out another of these or one for Gigi before too long, and a happier one at that, but for now I hope y’all enjoyed and thanks for all the love and questions flooding into my inbox for this make-believe family, it makes me so soft 🥹

Hope y’all enjoyed xoxo, lemme know below if you’d like to added to the taglist

@paradsol000

@eliseinmemphis

@prompted-wordsmith

@ab4eva

@foreverdolly

@powerofelvis

@butlersxbirdy

@crash-and-cure

@elvisabutler

@heartbrake-hotel

@stylespresleyhearted

@thatbanditqueen

@crazymadpassionatelove

@myradiaz

@ash-omalley

@whatstruthgottadowithit

@arianatheangelgirl

@steph-speaks

@burningloverdoll

@angelface-555

@lookingforrainbows

@missmaywemeetagain

@coolgirl462

@kingdomforapony

@18lkpeters

@richardslady121

@from-memphis-with-love

@lillypink

@artlover8992

@pennyroyalcreep

@notstefaniepresley

@ellie-24

@renaissingle

@waiting4brucewayne2adoptme

@presleyenterprise

@marriedtopresley

#elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #sarge and lil mama #elvis fanfic #Elvis one shot #elvis imagine #elvis x reader #elvis angst #elvis au #elvis photos #elvis fans #Elvis x Elaine #austin!elvis #elvis austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler elvis #viva Las Vegas #ann margret #thumper #thumper/naughty/tink

[missmaywemeetagain]

Read TRICK OR TREAT 🧡🎃🎃 for FREE now on Patreon--Click HERE!!

My dearest Sugar Mama Rachel requested a fluff fic with the idea that Elvis and his girl get to spend a relaxing and fun day together in the mid-70s. But how do you get Elvis to relax for the day while getting him out of his funk AND out in the world with no one the wiser? 

HALLOWEEN TRICKERY! 👻

It's been a while since I've written some sweet, smutty fluff, and since it's pretty much Spooky Season, I thought why not combine the two? 😊

This is meant to be a stand-alone one-shot, but you could certainly imagine it as part of the Pink Scarf Universe if you wish (sans Nicky). Please note I am still very new to writing Big Daddy Elvis! 🥹

I hope y'all enjoy and can't wait to hear what you think! 

xoxox, Madi 💗

TW: SEXX, BDE, cussing, era-appropriate body image issues for E, tooth-rotting fluff, a hippie wig, Halloween silliness...👻

Trick or Treat

Halloween 1974

“Ab-so-lutely fucking not, honey,” Elvis says, giving you the side eye. “There is no way in God’s green earth I’m puttin’ that—that Commie getup on.”

You anticipated this and are determined not to take no for an answer. “Please baby? I promise it’ll be worth your while,” you say demurely. “I have a surprise planned.”

His brow furrows a little at that. “Hmmm, I see you battin’ those pretty lashes at me, darlin’, and it ain’t gonna work,” he adds stubbornly, shaking his head.

Elvis needs to get out of this damn house, and not in his usual way. Being one of the most famous men on the planet makes it hard for him to go out and enjoy even the slightest bit of normalcy, and going from his grueling show schedule to hibernating at Graceland over and over has depression settling in. In his isolation, he’s starting to resemble a caged bear, so you know you need to do something to help bolster him out of his mood, even if just for a day.

After a bit of maneuvering and preparation, you think you came up with a pretty great solution. You know Elvis doesn’t like celebrating Halloween, but you also know it could give him some much-desired anonymity. Hence the hippie outfits you managed to procure without him knowing currently lying on the bed.

But you knew trying to get him into costume wasn’t going to cut it—which is where the second part of your plan comes in. Undeterred, you feign sadness with a breath and a pout. Of course, you had anticipated all his moves, and your plan accounted for it...

✨READ THE REST HERE FOR FREE! 🎃

Taglist Pt 1

@eliseinmemphis@russian-soft-bitch@tattywood

@sassanoe@thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle@carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23

 @littlebitofgreen@paigevis@bugg06@xhannahbananax03@artlover8992

@18lkpeters@frozenhuntress67@girlblogger2002@kendralavon7@misspresley

@be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis @from-memphis-with-love

@precious-little-scoundrel @stylespresleyhearted @prompted-wordsmith @crash-and-cure @elvisgf @ohjustpeachy1 @lookingforrainbows @fic-over-cannon @godlypresley @ab4eva @whatstruthgottodowithit @elvisabutler @amydarcimarie@idontwanttoputanything @callieselvisobsessed @captainamerica1235-blog  @xenaspace3-blog 

@simplyamberj@claire-elvisgirl@everythingelvispresley@louisejoy86@deniseinmn @madelynpresley

#trick or treat #BDE one shot #sugar mama request #elvis presley #elvis #if you’re looking for trouble #you came to the right place #let's get back to what matters #having fun and loving elvis! 💗 #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #austin butler elvis #elvis 1974 #elvis fanfic #big daddy elvis #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis smut #elvis fic #70s elvis #halloween #spooky season #missmaywemeetagain

[everythingelvispresley]

Hi everyone I am finally getting around to saying hello. I am Lisa Marie just like Elvis’ daughter but have always been known as Lisa. I have listened to Elvis Presley songs over the years and really took interest in him when the Elvis movie came out. Feel free to tag me in updates to current stories and new ones. My late mother introduced me to his music and I am greatly for that. To everyone else who shares photos and stories from Elvis books thank you. I love learning more about him.

This lead me here and all the wonderful stories written by some many talented writers here. There are so many stories and one shots of Elvis and even Austin I enjoy reading. Thank you all for sharing them on Tumblr. @whositmcwhatsit @thatbanditqueen @ellie-24 @plasticfantasticl0ver @elvisabutler @ab4eva @precious-little-scoundrel @samfangirls @missmaywemeetagain @doll-elvis @mooodyblue @nothing-but-elvis @heartbrake-hotel

@velvetprvsley @elvislittleone @elvispresleywife @everythingpresley @c-rosenn @peaceloveelvis

#elvis presley #elvis #graceland #60s elvis #70s elvis #50s elvis #68 comeback special

[septembersghost]

relief begins to creep in as my queue dissipates and i get closer to never having to be here again, but i want to say something directly to my elvis girls 💙

specifically: @joons, @thebohemianbelle, @lookingforrainbows, @ab4eva, @from-memphis-with-love, @queenncreole, @arianatheangel-girl, @headfullofpresley

i keep thinking about him writing: “If I wasn’t tough, I wouldn’t be here. If I wasn’t gentle, I wouldn’t deserve to be here.”

you are the kindest and most loving community of people, fans of anything or anyone, that i have ever interacted with, and to my mind (and heart), that speaks so directly to him. i’ve unexpectedly written so much about him now on this blog i am fleeing, and honestly it may be what i will most regret leaving behind. my spaces here are always a mishmash of fandoms, for better or worse, and with that has come joy, but also a certain amount of sadness and turmoil for various reasons. we certainly have that too, but it typically comes from the outside, whereas the core of what we have together is built on shared love and humanity. what strikes me about this is how closely it aligns to him and the things he believed and tried to enact throughout his life. if there’s a way to keep someone’s presence and spirit alive, surely it’s not only in remembering them, but in holding close to what made them vibrant and happy and faithful and beloved while they were here. walking that path a little to offer empathy and comfort, like we’ve all heard him say (paraphrasing slightly) - help each other along the way, no matter where we start.

i was lucky enough to be friends with a couple of you before he gleamed into my life more fully, while others of you he brought to me, and i've been part of this community for less time than i have many other spaces here, yet as it's played out, you're the ones who've reached out to me, you're the ones who've shown compassion, you're the ones who've treated me like a person and made me feel safe. it seems like topsy-turvy land in that the things i initially came to this blog for i cannot abide interacting with at large anymore, that things i cherished have turned to ash, but in that space of loss is something else. a voice and strength and spirit.

he gives so much light to this world, and you reflect it. he, and therefore you, have been my greatest blessings this year.

he would be so proud of all of you and would love you tremendously. as i do.

#i have seen the most unconscionable things from groups of ~fans~ on here whom i will NEVER consider myself part of again #but not you. #apologies if i missed tagging anyone i am very tired but it encompasses those of you that he brought closer to me #also a couple of people who i didn't tag because i don't want to make you uncomfortable (but you're here and hopefully know it) #i was a dreamer #bubble wrap around my heart

[elvisabutler]

*slams table again*

GIVE ME A SIX

three-fic ask game!

you're lucky i adore you enough to not post the oopsie daisy messages. so i had to crowdsource this a bit because i genuinely wasn't sure which ones i wanted to pick. i am also cheating and doing four. so without further ado, the question and the answer. with selfishly some honorable mentions. consider them the cast offs of the sampler platter? special thanks to @blurredcolour and @ab4eva for the assistance.

6. make a sampler plate! which three fics should a first-time reader of yours read first?

so i did two au's, one austin fic and one elvis fic.

the one elvis fic is the walls have ears ( but not eyes ). that is the first completely elvis presley himself fic i did. not austin elvis, just straight elvis. if it wasn't for this i wouldn't have written what is most of my masterlist now including professor presley, spark, quiet, etc etc.

the one austin fic is cooking is my love language. i promise i didn't mean to pick two fics from my 500 follower celebration it just happened that way. i really like this fic- i'll tell everyone who asks, i think bee ( blurredcolour up there ) writes a phenomenal austin and that is one of the few fics i had zero qualms with and thought flowed how he talks. it's also why if/when i do a 1500 follower celebration, if she asks for a third part to that, i will write it. it's just sweet.

and my two au's are my heart’s already sinned and happy we’ll be beyond the sea. that is to say, the first introduction to professor presley and the first introduction to selkie elvis. i always tell everyone i thought professor presley was niche and no one would like it, but y'all did and the same is true with selkie elvis. it boggles my mind, but even beyond that, i like to think professor presley is some of my best writing and selkie elvis- while i think i could have given myself more space to expand on it- it's also very good writing from me.

my honorable mentions: gravity ( technically an austin elvis x reader x olivia priscilla thing based two other blurbs ), queen of graceland, gunmetal, and good girls clean up their messes. i would also say probably the little dove series but that's spread out so much i can't call it a fic specifically i think. also virtue because i like corrupting 50s elvis, what of it.

#ally answers asks #smitty 🐦‍⬛ #YEAH SMITTY I KNOW I CHEATED. #this was a monumentally hard ask tbh. #and yes i know i didn't link the honorable mentions. i got lazy.

[ab4eva]

‘Ain’t That Loving You Baby’

Summary: Reader is out of sorts all day - grumpy, petulant, rude and just plain bitchy. Elvis takes it upon himself to set her straight.

Warnings: NFSW 18+, spanking, non-con spanking, established relationship, time period related ideas about marriage/relationships, copious use of pet names, use of the term “daddy”, fingering, aftercare, fluff. Please let me know if I missed anything.

Authors note: Y’all, sometimes inspiration for a fic strikes in the most unexpected of ways, as with this one. I know this isn’t everyone’s cuppa, so if I’ve tagged you and you aren’t into it, apologies and please just keep right on scrolling. Now please enjoy one of my top Elvis fantasies that I will write in as many different ways as humanly possible until the day I die.

Word count: 3.6k

-

You couldn’t quite put your finger on it - why you were so out of sorts today. One minute you were close to tears, feeling sensitive and tender if anyone so much as looked at you the wrong way or seemed the least bit careless with you. The next minute you were blowing up at some poor member of the Memphis Mafia, Vernon or even Elvis himself. You were grumpy, combative, and just generally in a very bad mood. It was as if a black cloud were hanging over your head, following your every step, raining on your own personal parade just to piss you off. The worst part was you knew you were being a brat but you were powerless to stop it. You felt itchy and irritated, on edge from the moment you stepped out the front doors of Graceland that morning to run your errands.

It didn’t help that when you returned, Elvis and the boys were lounging in the living room, making a right mess of things - beer bottles littering every surface, ash trays full to the brim with cigar ash, dirty plates covering the floor - it looked like a literal bomb had gone off. You’d just cleaned the entire house yesterday from top to bottom. Elvis had begged you to hire a housekeeper after you’d gotten married, but you were old fashioned, you saw it as the wife’s job to keep a clean house. And so you did…until all of these beastly men came and messed it up again. You surveyed the mess, a look of displeasure coloring your pretty face, your hands clenched into tight fists. Your heart pounded as you dug your fingernails into the soft flesh of your palm and tried very hard not to scream.

“Oh hey Y/N,” Red said lazily, the first of them to notice you standing in the doorway. “These cookies are damn delicious.” Your eyes zeroed in on his hand and you saw he held one of your freshly baked chocolate chip oatmeal cookies, the ones you’d painstakingly made dozens of last night. They were meant for the cookie exchange your book club was having tomorrow. Your eyes slowly surveyed the rest of the men in the living room, all of them perched here and there on the furniture or the floor… and all of them with cookies in their hands. The big platter heaped with cookies you had carefully placed on top of the fridge now sat almost empty in the middle of the coffee table. Your eyes found Elvis’s as you inhaled sharply and gave him a look that could kill. He had the good grace to look abashed as he quickly dropped the cookie he was holding, standing up slowly from where he sat on the couch as he moved towards you, holding both hands in front of him in a gesture meant to placate you but it only enraged you further.

“Now baby, we didn’t mean to eat all these here cookies, but you know they’re my favorite and I-I-I couldn’t resist. And I had to share with the guys, otherwise what kind of host would I be?” His blue eyes were sparkling with something close to amusement and his voice dripped honey, soft and low, soothing. He knew the look you were giving him, knew he had to tread carefully.

“Elvis…baby,” you said in a dangerous and mocking whisper, “those cookies were for my book club.” You spat the words out through gritted teeth, barely containing your rage. The thing is, you were usually so easygoing, so even-keeled, the very definition of hospitable to guests in your home. Normally, this wouldn’t even phase you. But today? It made you so angry you could barely speak. Poor Jerry had the unfortunate thought at that moment to try and smooth the situation over by offering to clean up the mess they’d made only to have you snap at him (“Don’t bother! None of you had the bright idea to even think before turning my living room into a pigsty!”) as you stomped out of the room.

Things didn’t end there as your rampage continued for the rest of the day, cutting down anyone and anything daring to cross your path. Vernon made the mistake of asking you about a shopping bill for some new dresses you purchased last week, innocently wanting to know the total so he could add it to the monthly expense account. You almost wrung his neck - the sheer audacity of the man! The Colonel came sweeping in cheerily in the late afternoon, trying to pull one of his old carney tricks on you, thinking it would lighten your mood. It had the opposite effect and you told him off so completely that even Elvis had to chuckle at it with a bemused smile. But the final straw came that evening, as you and Elvis sat peacefully (for his part, at least) in the living room, quietly reading after a rather tense dinner. You made some snide, off the cuff remark aimed at the way your husband’s business was being run and in an instant, you knew you’d stepped over the line, pushed Elvis past the limit of what he’s willing to take.

As soon as the words fly out of your mouth you wish you could pull them back in, gather the broken pieces of them and keep them inside. You suck in a gasp, your eyes flying to his face, realizing your mistake too late, realizing your bad mood has landed you here, in uncharted territory. Only once before had you taken things too far - two weeks after your wedding - Elvis had stormed out of the house in a barely suppressed rage only to return the next morning, acting as if nothing had even happened. You see his body still and his blue eyes widen in surprise before they darken, anger and annoyance flashing across his face before being replaced with a look of willful determination. You know that look, it’s the one he gets when he has an idea in his head, and like a dog with a bone, won’t let go until he gets what he wants. Your heart speeds up in your chest, pounding almost painfully, you feel a little lightheaded and your mouth goes dry. You swallow thickly, opening your mouth to apologize, to take back the words you’ve already said, anything at all to stop this train from hurtling off the cliff. “Elvis, I-,” the words start to tumble from your mouth in a rush before he cuts you off angrily.

“That’s enough!” he yells, his voice booming loud and firm, your ears ringing with the force of it. “Now listen here, girl, I don’t know what’s gotten into you today, but that’s. Enough.” His voice is now dangerously low as he punctuates each word with a stab of his finger in your direction, his gold rings glittering wildly in the soft light of the room. He stands abruptly and strides towards you, grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you to his chest, wrapping his arms around you tightly and holding you there. You struggle against him, beating his solid chest with your closed fists like a child, not wanting to be held.

“Lemme go…let me go!” you practically scream in his face. Something inside you refuses to be comforted in this moment, you feel as if he’s suffocating you. You don’t want him to touch you, don’t want him near you. And yet, it’s all you want, to be here, in his arms. His deliciously musky scent fills your nostrils as he presses your head into his shirt in an attempt to calm you. His chest is heaving with restrained emotion and his wiry chest hairs tickle your nose through his unbuttoned collar. Confusion swirls in your brain, you’re too upset to sort through the emotions that have been tormenting you all day as you thrash against him. His lip curls up in an annoyed smirk as he grabs your flailing fists, pinning them to your side as his jaw clenches, his strong arms vise-like as he clutches you tightly to his chest.

“Now, you’re gonna tell me why ya got a bee in your britches, darlin. Why ya been a goddamn brat all goddamn day… or I’m gonna make ya tell me,” he commands, his voice rough and low. His eyes search yours and his nostrils flair slightly as he breathes heavily, trying to keep you in check as you still struggle against him. You can see the vein in his neck, the one that drives you wild, popping out - which means he’s excited or angry - or both.

“I’d like to see you try,” you spit at him scornfully, your bright eyes challenging him, your lip turning up into a slight sneer as you wriggle some more.

“Don’t test me, little one. I think someone needs an attitude adjustment and I’m just the one to give it to ya.” He squeezes you tighter in his arms as you squirm, still trying to break free, and suddenly you’re having a little trouble breathing. You stop moving for a moment and his grip loosens just a little as you gulp in a breath of air. “As your husband, it’s my job to set you right when you’re misbehaving. So I’m gonna ask ya again, darlin - why are ya so outta sorts today?”

You stare at him, at a loss for words. Truthfully, you don’t know what’s gotten into you. It’s just a bad day. You remember waking up and feeling fine, maybe a little tired. Elvis was already gone, his side of the bed cold and empty. He’d been distracted with contract negotiations when you found him in the kitchen, already eating breakfast. Without you. You had wanted to tell him a story about something that happened yesterday that made you think of him. But just as you were about to he was up and out for a meeting, without ever kissing you good morning. Or goodbye. All of these little things, you suddenly realize, subconsciously added up to you feeling neglected and uncared for by him. They had curled inside your belly without you knowing, sending sad thoughts to your brain all day long. You bite your lip as it all comes rushing in and you feel yourself close to tears.

You can’t tell him these things. They’re all too silly, too small, too insignificant in the grand scheme of it all. You just stare at him, your chest heaving, your eyes silently pleading with him to understand as a tear slips down your cheek unbidden. He softens for a moment, a dozen different thoughts flashing across his readable face. He gently wipes your tear with his thumb and presses a kiss to your cheek where it fell. Then he nods once, as if making up his mind about something. He releases you, grabbing your wrist again, practically dragging you over to the big, comfy chair at the edge of the living room. You go rather willingly, unsure of what his plan is. His other hand settles on the back of your neck, gently, as he starts to push you down over the back of the chair. You suddenly understand that something you have no control over is about to happen and you start to fight him again. But he keeps a firm grasp on your wrist as he keeps pushing your head down until you are bent almost in two over the back of the chair. If his iron grip on you didn’t entirely prevent you from moving, his strong, lean body standing behind you and pressing you into the chair does.

“Stop squirming, or I’ll have to tie you down.” His voice in your ear is breathy, somewhere between amused and annoyed. “Don’t think I won’t, honey. You’ve been ornery all day and you don’t get a say in what happens now, ya hear me? Just remember, this is for your own good. And I love you.” You stop moving, knowing he’ll do whatever he deems necessary to see this through. He releases his grip on you and steps to the side, his left arm settling heavily across your back to hold you down as he rucks your short dress up around your hips. You feel him run a hand across your round ass, cupping it and squeezing softly. You hear what can only be described as a delighted breath escaping his lips behind you, the soft huff of a chuckle, his ribcage expanding against your arm as he breathes deeply. The pressure as he grips your ass gets harder and harder before he suddenly stops and his cool fingers toy with the edge of your panties around your waist before he unceremoniously yanks them down to your ankles.

“Last chance, baby,” he says through gritted teeth, his tone stern as he pins you to the chair. You start to squirm again, panic rising in your chest. He’s about to spank you. He…he’s never done that before. Not even for fun. Your body starts to tremble and you shake your head, refusing to speak. You feel him raise his right hand and a ghost of a breeze whispers across your bare bottom. You squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath, your heart banging painfully in your chest, preparing as best you know how. You haven’t been spanked since you were a little girl and there’s something wrong, and slightly exciting, about it.

He delivers the first slap to your bottom with a firm, open palm, the impact of it echoing throughout the living room, the only other noise that can be heard is the ticking of a clock, your gasp and Elvis’s heavy breathing. You inhale sharply at the sting of it, but it isn’t as terrible as you were expecting and it dissipates quickly. You let out the breath you’d been holding, if this is all it is you can handle it. All is quiet and still behind you, and you wonder if that’s it…until you feel him lean down to speak in your ear again.

“That was just a warm up, little girl, ain’t gonna go that easy on ya for the rest of ‘em,” he murmurs, and you hear the love in his stern voice as you try and process what he’s saying. The rest of them? That was going easy? You start to wiggle, trying to break free once again and realize the whimpering noise filling the room is coming from your mouth. Before you can get too worked up he swats you again, twice in quick succession, a little harder than before.

“Ow!” you yell, incensed by your situation, kicking your feet a little. “That hurt!” You spit out through gritted teeth, angry now. “Elvis Aaron Presley, you let me go this instant!” Your demands are met with an amused laugh, and you let out a frustrated growl, trying and failing to twist out of his grasp.

“I see I haven’t sorted you out yet, honey. Still got some of that brattiness left in ya that needs to be broken. Your choice, little girl.” Elvis lets a small laugh slip, his eyes on your body as he slowly and deliberately brings his hand down on your ass again. It’s strong and forceful, but not cruel. It leaves you breathless, speechless. Finally the stinging has permeated your skin and refuses to leave. It’s starting to be uncomfortable and you can tell that if he doesn’t quit soon you’re going to have a hard time sitting tomorrow.

“You’ve been petulant, rude, acting like a damn child all day. And that’s not the woman I know and love, the woman I married. No wife of mine is gonna act that like that and get away with it - not to my friends, not to my father, and especially not to me. Do you understand?” His hand gently cups you as he lectures, rubbing softly over what must be your quickly reddening ass. You hiss and grip the the pillow in front of you. “Answer me, girl. Do you understand?”

You’re not done pouting…if he thinks he can break you, sort you out, punish you - let him try. You stay willfully silent, refusing to speak. You hear him sigh as he removes his hand from you and you brace yourself for another round.

“Have it your way, darlin’…I’m gonna give you six more and if you’re still in a state, then we’re gonna have to have a serious talk, you and me," Elvis says, suddenly quiet and solemn and your heart drops in your chest. Maybe this isn’t some game he’s playing? You didn’t realize it was as important as he’s now letting on. You know you were a total bitch today and you do regret your words and actions… You cry out as he spanks you again without warning, his palm landing with more force than he’s given you so far. He continues and the spanking is relentless, but there's also something almost hypnotic about it. It feels like his hand is on your skin forever, but before you know it, it's almost over. And unexpectedly you realize the last couple of swats have sent lightening straight to your core, your nipples are tight buds rubbing deliciously against the coarse fabric of the chair through your thin dress and you’re surprised to feel slickness gathering on your thighs. You don’t know when your cries turned to breathy moans but he stops abruptly as he hears you, still two spankings left to give.

You’re breathing heavily, still clutching the decorative pillow adorning the chair as you clench around nothing, surprising yourself and Elvis as an obscene squelching noise echoes across the now quiet living room. You let out a breathless laugh, flushing a deep red, thankful he can’t see the embarrassment written across your face. You feel Elvis laughing silently as well, quiet little snorts as he tries and fails to keep from giggling.

“Well now, this is a development I wasn’t expecting,” he murmurs in your ear, leaning over you, his warm breath floating across your cheek. You turn your face towards his, your glassy eyes trying to focus on him as you blink slowly. “Now that it seems I’ve sorted you out, what kind of daddy would I be if I didn’t also take care of my baby?” His right hand squeezes your bottom lightly as his left arm finally releases you and his hand slips underneath your hips, his long, cool fingers gently sliding up your soaking folds. Your breath hitches at his touch, letting out a whimper as he reaches your aching clit, circling it deftly with calloused fingers, once, twice, before dipping two of them into your wet heat.

“Goddamn, mama, so needy for me? Maybe I oughta spank ya more often,” he says breathlessly, his voice taut with desire. You know your husband well - it’s the way he sounds when his cock is hard and straining against his pants, aching to be set free. He’s probably already starting to leak, you think dimly, and the thought has you fluttering around him.

“Oh…” you manage to breathe out as he starts to pump his fingers into you agonizingly slow, his thumb finding your clit and applying light pressure. You rock your hips, already so close to the edge you can almost taste it. His right hand smacks your ass hard and you jolt forward, the feeling of his fingers inside you and his punishing hand on your backside has you starting to whine, unable to stop. He speeds up the movement of his hand, curling his digits just so into that sensitive and spongy part of you just as he delivers the final slap to your ass that has you clenching tightly around his fingers nestled inside you, coming harder than you have in a while, your high-pitched whine turning silent as you stop breathing for a moment. He groans above you and you feel him shaking slightly as he bends over your body - you know it’s taking everything in him to hold it together. After a few moments, he slowly releases you, helping you stand and your legs immediately buckle underneath you. Elvis grabs you under your arms to try and keep you from falling but you’re both so weak with spent energy and desire - yours fulfilled, his aching - that you both tumble to the ground in a heap.

"There. All sorted out, sweetheart?" Elvis smiles down at you as your head rests against his shoulder, his arm encircling your waist. His voice is rough but tender as he smoothes the hair back from your face. "How did daddy do?" he asks, a smirk pulling his lush lips up into a lopsided grin. You blink dazedly, trying to form a coherent thought.

“Daddy?” you finally say, rolling the unfamiliar word around on your tongue. “Hmm, I could get used to that, I think.” You smile softly as your hand reaches up to cup his face, your thumb brushing the scratchy stubble across his jaw as your eyes turn serious. “I am sorry, Elvis. For all of it,” you whisper, blinking back tears.

“Shh, little one, I know,” he says, kissing your forehead softly and pulling you closer into himself, cradling you on his chest as your hand nestles in his chest hair, right above his heart that beats only for you.

And at book club the next day, when you’re settled on a mountain of pillows, no one even bats an eye.

-

Tags - I don’t have a general tag list so I’m just tagging some lovies who have enjoyed my previous fics: @jelliedonut @elvisabutler @precious-little-scoundrel @butlersxbirdy @missmaywemeetagain @headfullofpresley @powerofelvis @notstefaniepresley @amydarcimarie @prompted-wordsmith @dkayfixates @sillybookmarks @melancholicbutterflies @thatbanditqueen @eliseinmemphis @godlypresley @ccab @richardslady121 @rjmartin11 @claire-elvisgirl @literally-just-elvis-fics

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis fanfiction #elvis x you #elvis x y/n #elvis x reader #elvis presley x you #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley x reader #elvis imagine #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley fic #elvis smut #ain’t that loving you baby #written by ab4eva

[ab4eva]

‘You Ain’t Shy, Don’t Lie’

Summary: Austin Butler x Reader // You decide to try something new and surprise your boyfriend with a special request.

Warnings: NFSW 18+ only, thigh riding, smut with little to no plot, titty play, dirty talk, tickling, established relationship, language, fluff, bad puns.

Word count: 2k

Authors note: Welcome to my Lazy Ghouls’ Kinktober, where I write one prompt each week of October. Thanks to @chestharrington for the great idea and for putting it together! I knew I couldn't commit to writing one fic each day, so this seemed like the perfect way to participate. Special thanks to @prompted-wordsmith for agreeing to write me a sentence prompt for each kink I chose 🩵 And thanks to Elvis who definitely messed with me while I was writing it and tried to get me to call Austin’s *ahem* “Coco” - just like we call his 🤭

Kink #1: Thigh riding

Prompt (via @prompted-wordsmith): “C'mon now, baby, sit on my lap. I won't bite... unless you ask me to.”

-

Austin is drained after a long day of meetings, but when he walks in the front door to find you curled up on the couch, looking as cozy as he’s ever seen you, all of his exhaustion seems to just melt away. Glasses on and hair thrown up in a messy bun, wearing your favorite oversized Journey tee and fuzzy socks, you’re a sight for sore eyes, and it feels like he’s coming home in more ways than one. He leans against the doorframe, hands in his pockets and grinning like an idiot until you finally notice he’s there, looking up to return his smile.

“Hey you,” you say, setting aside your copy of Persuasion and stretching, taking off your glasses and rubbing the bridge of your nose. You expect him to be sitting down beside you by the time you look up at him again, but he’s still just holding up the doorframe like it’s his job, his long and lean body casually slouched, his eyes dancing with a sort of mischief. You stick out your bottom lip, pouting a little, and make grabby hands at him. He chuckles and launches out of the doorway and towards you so quickly you don’t have time to prepare before he’s on top of you, tickling you without mercy. You squeal and thrash, trying to wiggle out from underneath him, but his long fingers dig into your ribs relentlessly. You can’t stop giggling long enough to get a word in edgewise but you do manage to wrap your legs around his waist and slide to the floor, dislodging his attack for a split second, which you use to crawl away from him, holding up a couch pillow in defense.

“Hey,” you say breathlessly. “Hey now, is that any way to treat someone who has a surprise for you?” Your hair has fallen out of its bun and hangs loosely around your shoulders, your eyes sparkle with laughter and your cheeks have the prettiest pink tint to them - Austin thinks you’re the loveliest thing he’s ever seen.

“Mmm…is that right, baby? You planning on giving me something extra special to end this day on a really good note?” He starts to crawl towards you on his hands and knees, his blonde curls mussed and standing on end after your tussle. He looks like the cutest puppy you’ve ever seen and you can’t help but bite your lip to keep from laughing.

“Mm hmm…be a good boy, now, and you’ll get your treat.” His face flushes crimson and you stand, holding out your hand to him. He grabs it without hesitation, letting you pull him up and lead him to the bedroom. His hands are on your hips, squeezing gently and he whips you around the moment you’re near the bed, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. You feel how excited he is already and your hands move grab his ass, pulling him closer to you. He plants a kiss on your cheek, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear before moving to your neck, starting to nibble softly there with his teeth. You let out a low whimper, your breath leaving your body in a rush as you melt into his touch and he feels you start to squirm a little against him. He smiles into your neck as he continues to kiss and nibble gently at the sweet spot just below your ear that he knows sends electric sparks shooting through your body.

“Babe,” you pant, and it takes everything in you to pull away, “the surprise…” He groans at the loss of contact but keeps his hand firmly planted on your hips. He cocks an eyebrow curiously at you, his mouth curving into a half-smile, his blue eyes deepening a shade darker to navy, his pupils already blown wide.

“It’s…actually two-fold, this surprise. So, first of all…” You take a step back, out of his reach, and grasp the edge of your t-shirt, pulling it up and over your head to reveal a new lingerie set. A sheer black bra and panties, edged with lace, cling to your curves and you bite your lip as you wait for his reaction. His eyes go wide as he takes you in, from head to toe and back again. You see his chest heave, drawing your eyes to that little bit of chest hair peeking out through his open collar and suddenly you need him naked. You almost forget that he hasn’t said anything yet.

“You are so goddamn sexy, babe,” Austin breathes as he closes the distance between you again, grinning as he looks at you and moves to kiss your lips, letting the passion slowly build as he kisses you languidly. His fingers brush across the silky skin of your back, making you shiver and he lets out a groan of pleasure as his hands begin to roam the soft curves and smooth skin of your body, like he can see you better if he feels you.

“You like it?” Your voice is expectant and a little breathless.

“Like it? Sweetheart, I love it. You're so fucking beautiful…and I'm gonna to show you just how much I like it right now...” His head dips to lick a long stripe up your throat and your breath catches. You grab onto his broad shoulders to steady yourself.

“Babe, can we try something tonight?” You whisper, ducking your head a little. “I was thinking…that is I…want to…” you trail off, suddenly a little shy.

“You want to what, babe? You can tell me.” He raises his eyebrows as he lifts your chin with his finger, causing you to meet his gaze. “Don’t be embarrassed.”

“Well…I think…” you take his hand and lead him to the bed, pushing him down onto it gently to where he’s leaning against the headboard. “You’re here…and…bend this leg for me?” you say, tapping his right leg, and he obeys, bending it up and placing his foot flat on the bed. “And I want to…” you stop, suddenly shy again.

“You want to what, shy girl? Go on, whisper it in my ear.” Austin smiles, grabbing your hand and pulling you closer, causing you to lean over him, your ample chest in his face. You blush and lean down to whisper in his ear. “I want to ride your thigh…” you bite your lip and pull away, looking at him expectantly. Austin feels the air leave his body for just a moment and his heart starts to beat a little bit quicker. The blush on your cheeks and your timid smile, in contrast with the almost sinful lingerie you have on, does something to him.

“C'mon now, baby, sit on my lap. I won't bite... unless you ask me to,” he murmurs as he nips your bottom lip with his teeth and pulls you in for a heated kiss, grabbing some of your hair in his hands and pulling lightly. You moan and start to unbutton his shirt, as his hands make quick work of his pants. You help him shed his clothing until he’s naked and in position again, his cock straining and standing at attention. You can’t help but lean down to plant a kiss on his pretty pink tip and it waggles in appreciation. You giggle and his cheeks color slightly.

“One more thing,” you say with a chuckle.

“Ok, pretty girl, name it,” he says with laughter in his voice as well.

“Well…I know how much you love my ass. And I was thinking…what if I faced away from you? And we can watch each other in the mirror….” you trail off. Instead of a verbal answer, Austin just growls and pulls you onto his lap so that you’re straddling his thigh and facing away from him, settling his hands on your hips and leaning in to trail little kisses across your back.

“My inventive girl. I'm going to love seeing you this way.” His hands travel up from your hips and grab onto your breasts as he gently pinches your nipples, making you gasp and grind down on his thigh a little. “And seeing you watching me as I watch you...” He bites your shoulder and you grab onto his knee to steady yourself. Austin starts to kiss and nibble your back, his hands sliding up and down your body as he slowly makes his way to your hips again. He grips them tightly, fingers digging into your soft flesh. You let a breath out as you feel his firm thigh beneath you, already pressing against your sensitive clit. His eyes meet yours in the mirror and a heated look passes between you. His face is filled with anticipation and he can see the pleasure you're already feeling.

“Alright, my princess, let's have some fun,” Austin says as he looks at you in the mirror, kissing your earlobe and nibbling that spot just below it to send a jolt through your body. You moan a little as you start to move on his thigh, the friction sending a shockwave through you. You’ve already soaked through the sheer panties you’re wearing, the wetness of the thin material only adding to your pleasure. Austin let’s his eyes travel down your body, stopping at your breasts as he moves his hands to cup them, kneading gently before slipping his fingers inside your bra, toying with your nipples, teasing them into stiff peaks. He pulls your heavy breasts out of the bra completely, gripping one in each of his large hands. Your head arches back and you slide down his thigh, pressing harder, the slickness from your arousal easing your way.

You look at Austin in the mirror, his face clouded with lust and watching yours intently, his hands on your breasts, his hot breath panting heavily in your ear. Your eyes travel to your own face and are surprised to see how fucked out you look - your face is flushed, brows drawn together in concentration and your mouth parted wantonly. Something about seeing you and Austin entwined like this in the mirror sends a rush through you and you start to speed up your movements.

“That’s it, baby girl, just like that. Ride me good and hard. Put me away wet, just how I like it. Leave your cum smeared all over me. Soak me,” he whispers in your ear, his fingers pinching your nipples harder and that’s all you need to break apart, to push yourself that last little bit until you feel the familiar wave crest and wash over you as you come, squeezing your thighs together against his. Austin’s hands keep you from falling forward. Instead, he hauls you back again his chest, settling you in his lap as his arms wrap around you and your head rests on his shoulder, catching your breath.

“Jesus. Austin. That was…” you can’t finish your thought, still coming down from your high.

“Incredible,” he finishes for you, kissing your temple and smoothing the hair back from your forehead. “You trickster, you. Bet you had this whole thing planned, right down to the book you were pretending to read when I got home.” He squeezes your waist lightly, making you jump a little.

“Hey,” you say indignantly, “I never joke about Jane Austen.” You grin at him in the mirror. “But I’m glad I could surprise you, baby. End your day on thigh note,” you tease. He groans at your bad joke.

“Just for that, missy, looks like I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson,” he whispers in your ear, before flipping you over on the bed, pinning you down and tickling you right in your ticklish spot. You yelp and giggle, but there’s no getting away this time.

-

Tagging some Austin lovers who might be interested, since I don’t have an official tag list: @elvisabutler @butlersxbirdy @precious-little-scoundrel @jelliedonut @missmaywemeetagain @eliseinmemphis @slowsweetlove @purejasmine @prompted-wordsmith @austinsmutler @klizzie93 @burninlovebutler @steph-speaks @austiebuttbutt @areacodefan @stylespresleyhearted @austinstyles @blurredcolour @richardslady121 @joshuntildawn13

#LazyGhoulsKinktober2023 #austin butler #austin butler smut #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler fic #austin butler imagine #austin butler fantasy #austin butler x y/n #austin butler x you #austin butler x reader #written by ab4eva

[ab4eva]

‘If It’s The Beaches’

Summary: A moonlit beach stroll on your vacation with Austin leads to you taking control, which you don’t often do.

Warnings: NFSW 18+, smut with little to no plot, established relationship, language, slightly subby Austin, light dom/sub dynamics, sex-ish in the ocean, biting, marking, titty sucking, slipin’ & slidin’ (as Marina calls it - aka, riding each other without actual p in v), fluff.

Author’s note: Guys, I don’t often write just pure smut but…this came to me and I had to write it. Eeee, I’m a little meh and shy about it, but I hope you enjoy. Also, they’re in the ocean at night and that is scary to me but I don’t make the rules.

Word count: 2,174

-

When Austin told you he wanted to take you away for a relaxing getaway, you had no idea it would be halfway across the world, to a sun-kissed bungalow with your own private beach. You’d spent the last few days doing everything and nothing - reading, snorkeling, napping, swimming and fucking. Lots of fucking. Sometimes it was lazy, when he kissed you awake in the morning as he climbed on top of you, his heavy weight a familiar blanket as you opened your legs to wrap him in your warmth. Sometimes it was desperate - fast and hard and wild, leaving both of you shaking, sweating, out of breath. Sometimes it was playful, sometimes intense - but it was always full of love. Now, you take Austin’s hand, slowly meandering down the path to the beach, smiling as you look over at him. His thumb rubs a slow circle on the inside of your wrist, sending an electric chill through you.

“A little swim sounds really good right about now,” he murmurs, and you can hear the smile in his voice, the wind carrying his words toward you in the night. After your lazy and relaxing beach day, you’re feeling a little playful, a little mischievous - possibly spurred on by the drinks you had with your picnic supper, or maybe the salty air, or the steady crash of the waves. Whatever it is, it bubbles up in you without warning.

“Last one in the water has skinny dip!” You suddenly say with grin as you take off in a sprint towards the ocean without a backwards glance, your long hair flying out like a ribbon behind you.

“Oh, it’s on baby…you better run!” He yells as he takes off behind you, his long legs giving him a slight advantage, and he passes you easily, grinning cheekily as his teeth flash white in the moonlight. He hears you laughing behind him as you speed up, reaching out your hand to grab the back of his shirt, tugging him backwards a little. “Hey, no fair!” He huffs out a laugh as you pass him and he playfully slaps your butt. You let out a yelp and run faster, giggling as you make it to the water a second before he does. You whoop and holler, dancing, triumphant in your victory and Austin splashes you a little, both of you out of breath. You squeal and splash him back as he gathers you in his arms, pressing you to his chest.

“You’re a little cheater, you know that,” he says with an amused smirk, peppering your cheek with tiny kisses and tightening his arms around your waist, slowly kissing his way down your neck. Your head falls back to allow him better access and a shiver runs through you. It takes all of your willpower to pull away.

“Uh uh, you’re not distracting me this time. A bet’s a bet, Butler.” You smirk as you place your hands on his chest, pushing a little to break free. Your hands settle on your hips as you raise an eyebrow. “Strip.”

“You look like the cat that got the cream, babe. Could you be a little less smug about it,” he says teasingly, his eyes glittering in the dark as he undoes his shirt at an agonizingly slow pace, one button at a time. He walks towards you, the soft shush of the waves lulling you both as you stand in the ocean with nothing but the stars overhead and the moon in the sky to light up the water. He lets his shirt fall from broad shoulders and tosses it ashore, continuing his slow stalk towards you. You walk backwards, never letting him quite catch up. He hooks his fingers in his swim trunks and stops, his eyes roaming languidly down your body and back up again in the most sensual eye fuck you’ve ever seen from him. You can barely breathe as he takes a step towards you, and then another. You’re frozen to the spot, his eyes pinning you to the soft sand beneath the shallow water.

“Help me?” he says innocently, biting his bottom lip. The moonlight is bouncing off the waves and sliding it’s way through his golden locks and you think he’s the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen. You walk towards him, your hands sliding up the smooth planes of his chiseled body the moment you reach him. You press yourself into him, crushing your breasts against his hard chest, your nipples pebbled against the cold, his warmth spreading through you like wildfire. His eyes wander leisurely from your face to your slightly heaving chest where your new swimsuit is doing a fantastic job of showing off your assets. His eyes snap back up to yours as he gently grasps your hand and pulls it to his waist, settling it on his ass. You squeeze a handful and pull him into you, your hips slowly grinding against his, surprised at just how hard he already is. A sharp inhale is the only indication you’ve hit your mark.

“Oh really?” you say with a coy smile, tilting your head to lick a deliberate stripe up his neck, feeling him shiver. “Baby boy needs some help? Needs me to take care of him?” you purr as you bite his neck gently.

“You're perfect, you know that?” he whispers, his mouth against your hair, his fingers tangling in your waves. “I love how you just take control like this. You should do it more often, babe.” He lets out a little moan as you bite his neck again, a little harder this time.

The sound of his moan makes your heart speed up, it shoots lightning straight to your core, it makes your pussy clench and flutter around nothing. You grasp his chin in your fingers and pull his head down to look in your eyes. “Babe? I think you mean ma’am, don’t you baby boy?” you say as you suck the soft flesh of his neck into your mouth and bite down a little harder than before, licking the spot gently when you let go, admiring the slight bruise you can see beginning to form.

“Gonna let everyone know you’re mine. You belong to me,” you say breathlessly.

His lidded eyes burn right through you and you momentarily second guess yourself, second guess this game you’re playing. You’re not used to taking control, being the dominant one but it somehow feels right in this moment. His plump mouth quirks up in a half smile as he lowers his lips, pressing them gently to yours.

“Please, baby..I mean ma’am,” he whispers between kisses, taking in a ragged breath, his deep voice dropping even lower. “I should have known better than to forget that...”

You smirk again, kissing him hard as you tug his swim trunks down, they fall to his ankles with a splat and he kicks them to the shore. He smiles against your lips and his nimble fingers reach around your back, untying your bikini top before hurriedly tugging down your bottoms. You cling to him as you step out of them, never breaking the kiss. You can feel him growing more excited by the minute and your grab his ass again, pulling him into you and grinding your hips into his hard cock, more urgently this time, your wet, naked bodies gliding against one another. Your arms wrap around his broad shoulders as you kiss your way across his face, paying special attention to each freckle in the constellation that dots his cheek, before sucking his earlobe into your mouth and biting down gently, causing a groan to rumble through his chest and reverberate into yours.

“God, that feels so good,” Austin rasps, his hot breath tickling your neck, his lips finding your ticklish sweet spot just below your ear, pulling a shiver from your body as you press closer into his.

“Yeah? You like that?” you murmur, kissing your way down his body, nipping little bites as you go and running your nails down his chest and across his nipples. He sucks in a hiss through his teeth and you do it again, admiring the feel of his heaving chest and the way his stomach curls in on itself.

“You know exactly how to make me feel good, don't you?” His fingers tangle in your hair again, tugging gently, making your scalp tingle deliciously as his mouth devours every possible inch of your salty skin.

“Just let yourself go, baby…” you breathe, as your arms encircle his neck and you can feel his muscles rippling just below the surface as he lifts you up, his large hands cradling your bottom as you wrap your legs around his narrow waist and kiss him again, biting his bottom lip as you pull away. He moans and you feel yourself gush a little, your familiar slick mixing with the salt water and coating his stomach as he carries you a little further into the water, the soft waves crashing around your thighs.

“Do you know what you're doing to me right now? Are you trying to kill me?” Austin says in a strained voice, all the blood rushing to his cock while it takes all of his strength to keep you both upright. You dig your heels into his butt, using the strength of your thighs to slide up and down against his stomach, delicious friction against your throbbing clit causing you to whimper a little. You grasp a handful of his hair and pull his head back so you can look into his unfocused eyes, an unspoken request. A command. He knows what you need without asking and dips his head to your breast, his tongue slowly circling your chilled nipples, causing them to harden even more into stiff buds. He delivers little kitten licks to each one, his darkening eyes never leaving yours. You pull his hair, demanding more and he finally takes one of your cold nipples into his warm mouth and start to suck, softly at first then harder, knowing it drives you wild. One of his hands moves to splay across your back, drawing you closer and you cradle his head to your breast as he switches to pay attention to the neglected one.

You arch your back, clutching his shoulders, a whimper escaping your lips and you have the foresight enough to reach between your bodies, gripping his hard cock and guiding it to nestle between your slick lips, encasing it in your wet heat as you begin to slide along his length slowly. His leaking, baby pink tip nudges your aching clit, over and over, unrelenting. You gasp and bite his shoulder to keep from screaming as you feel yourself begin to lose control. Austin takes a shattered breath and thrusts harder, his swollen head sliding through you, bumping your little button insistently, knowing just how you like it. Your hips increase their speed, your pussy gliding over his shaft easily, a familiar rhythm taking over.

“Does my kitty feel good, sweet baby?” you say, barely able to get the words out before a whine falls from your mouth. You feel him tense beneath you, his thrusts losing their precise rhythm and becoming sloppy.

“So good. So…close…” he gasps, shuddering and clutching you tighter.

“Ask me,” you manage to command. “Ask me for permission to come. Beg me.” You bite his chest, hard, leaving behind two perfectly mirrored semi-circles.

“Please,” Austin chokes out, over and over again like a mantra or a prayer. “Please baby…” he moans, forgetting the game, forgetting his name, floating somewhere far above. “Please, I need you to let me come. Need my girl to make me come.”

You lean your forehead against his, smiling faintly, licking your fingers and reaching down to touch where you’re joined, your thumb gently circling his throbbing tip. He jerks, groaning in your ear and you feel his warmth gushing and coating your stomachs. Your eyes squeeze shut as his hands grip your ass so tightly you’re sure there’ll be handprint bruises there tomorrow. He roughly slams your hips, your clit, into his still hard cock, once, twice and you’re gone, crying out, gasping for the air that’s suddenly left your lungs.

“Fuck. Oh, fuck me,” Austin whispers against your neck, breathing heavily, staggering back to shore, letting you down gently as you both collapse on the sand. He pulls you in close as you lay your head on his shoulder and your hand comes up come play with the hair on his slightly sunburnt chest.

“I love you,” he mumbles sleepily, tightening his arms around you. “Ma’am.” You can hear the teasing laughter in his voice.

“Hey!” you say, pounding his chest lightly, pretending to take offense, before moving your hand down to his sensitive cock and squeezing. He hisses and grips your hand to keep it from moving any more. “Mm hmm, that’s what I thought,” say with a yawn. “Don’t test me, baby boy.”

-

Tagging some Austin lovers who might be interested. I’ve been so EP focused I’m not sure who all I should tag for this: @elvisabutler @butlersxbirdy @precious-little-scoundrel @jelliedonut @missmaywemeetagain @eliseinmemphis @slowsweetlove @purejasmine @prompted-wordsmith @austinsmutler @ccab @klizzie93 @burninlovebutler @steph-speaks @austiebuttbutt

#austin butler #austin butler smut #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler fic #austin butler imagine #austin butler elvis #austin butler fantasy #austin butler x y/n #austin butler x reader #austin butler x you #written by ab4eva

[ab4eva]

‘Boy, When I’m With You’

Summary: Austin Butler x reader - You didn’t expect your boyfriend to turn into Elvis Presley while drunk, but that’s exactly what happened.

Warnings: NFSW 18+. Smut, slight dom/sub dynamics, use of “daddy”, titty fucking, oral implied (f. receiving), light choking, aftercare

Author’s note: This is for @cryingabtab , whose name I drew for @foreverdolly’s Discord Secret Santa fic exchange. I hope you like it, Faith!

-

“Austin…” you said with a warning in your voice.

“What, lil mama?” He replied back in Elvis’s signature drawl, a smirk on his beautiful face.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” you warn. You can’t pinpoint the exact time tonight when things had started to take a turn. Maybe it was at the bar, after a couple of drinks, as Austin started to loosen up and when that happens he falls back into his Elvis accent easily, almost without thinking. The King never left him, not really. Or maybe it was in the Uber on the way home, when you began to tease him by quoting Priscilla’s lines from the film, and he started replying in turn as Elvis. Or maybe, maybe it was the fact that when you got home, both more than a little tipsy, you begged him, dared him, to put on the black leather ‘68 Special outfit that he had kept from the film.

And that’s how you found yourself here, with Elvis Presley, instead of your boyfriend, Austin Butler. There’s something in his eyes you’ve never seen before - something wild and almost…feral. Like he wants to break you and bruise you but in such a way you’ll thank him for it and beg for more. Your heart bangs in your rib cage as he starts to advance towards you, his eyes pinning you to the bed - you couldn’t move even if you wanted to. You forget to breathe for a moment, completely under his spell. He’s standing over you now, dark and beautiful. The black leather hugs his lithe body perfectly and not for the first time you send a silent thanks to Catherine Martin.

“On your knees. Now,” he says with quiet force. Oh. This is new. He’s always mild and sweet, gentle even when he’s destroying you. The way he commands you now leaves no room for argument and you drop to your knees immediately, ready, willing and breathless. You reach your hands up towards his hips eagerly and he gruffly swats them away.

“Did I say you could touch me, honey?” He stares down at you and something like anticipation mixed with dread fizzes in your chest. You shake your head timidly, words failing you. He unzips his pants and pulls out his throbbing cock, stroking it lazily while he eyes you. He smirks, the caged animal look in his eyes sending a shiver through you, and it’s like he’s been holding something back the entire time you’ve known him.

“Take your tits out,” he orders. Your eyes widen and you hold back a gasp - he’s never said that to you before, not once, and it has you clenching around nothing and squeezing your thighs together. You do as he says, quickly shedding your t-shirt and bra. You look up at him, waiting for further instruction. He takes your hands, placing them on either side of your breasts, and squeezes them together.

“Just like that, darlin’. Stay just like that for me,” he says a little breathlessly as he spits in his hand and smears it to the glistening mess made by the pre-cum leaking from his tip. He guides his cock into the crease made by your soft, plush breasts and begins pumping in and out. You wish you could grab onto his thighs, his waist, anything to anchor yourself as his movements rock you back and forth into the bed, the wooden frame digging into your back with each thrust, your knees starting to rub and burn on the carpet. Austin is groaning, coming apart at the seams and he leans into you, grasping your neck for support, hand tightening around your throat just a little. His other hand grabs your hair and roughly pulls your head back, forcing you to look up at him, your eyes watering from the strength of it. The burning look in his eyes as he stares down at you sends a fire ripping through your body, blazing from the inside out, and you think it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Goddamn, baby, look at ya, all pretty and willing on your knees for me, ready to take whatever I give ya.” His breathing is ragged and his hips start to stutter, noises you’ve never heard from him before are escaping his delicious mouth. You look up at him, tears tracking down your face now and falling into your ears, his grip on your throat squeezing a little more air out with each thrust, his hand in your hair is like a vise, shooting a pleasing pain through your head and down your spine. He’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen - head thrown back, the prettiest flush creeping up his neck to his cheeks, mouth parted in ecstasy. God you just want to feel his mouth on you. Maybe later, if you’re a good girl and give him what he wants, maybe he’ll lay you out on the bed, ever so tenderly, and kiss every inch of you and use his tongue and his mouth to bring you to tears again.

“Come for me Daddy,” you manage to choke out, and he gasps then and pulls his length out of your warm, heavy breasts, and strokes himself roughly as he spills his pearly essence onto your neck and chest. He falls forward a little, legs wobbly and completely spent and you grab his hips to keep him from falling. You rest your forehead on his stomach as you both try and catch your breath. You chuckle a little, unable to believe what just happened and Austin looks down at you, a sheepish look on his face as he helps you stand up.

“You ok, babe? I….I don’t know what came over me,” he says, face flushing red. “Let me…hold on, don’t move, just sit right here.” He takes you by the shoulders and sits you down on the bed and disappears into the bathroom a moment before returning with a warm, wet washcloth. He kneels before you and gently wipes you clean before using his long, cool fingers to dry the tears that still linger on your cheeks.

“My sweet baby,” he coos, stroking your hair, “you did so good for me. Look at these poor, little knees, all red and raw from letting me have my way with you.” He places a tender kiss on each stinging knee, his hands moving up your thighs slowly before coming to rest under your skirt, placing a warm palm on your mound. “Now it’s Daddy’s turn to take care of his bestest girl.” His deep voice sends a shiver through you as his other hand pushes you softly down on the bed. You lay back as you feel him place wet little kisses all along your legs. Maybe you should get Austin drunk more often, you think hazily. You could think of a few more things you want to try with Elvis, but all of those thoughts are driven from your mind the moment you feel him tugging down your panties. You lift your head with effort and see your boyfriend, at least you think it’s your boyfriend, smirking at you from between your thighs.

“You ready, lil mama?”

-

Tags: @aconflagrationofmyown @jelliedonut @elvisabutler @butlersxbirdy

#austin butler #austin butler fic #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler imagine #austin butler elvis #austin butler smut #austin butler fantasy #austin!elvis smut #austin butler x you #austin butler x y/n #austin butler x reader #elvis 2022 #cryingabtab #written by ab4eva

[ab4eva]

‘Gold Rush’

Summary: You and Elvis have a bit of fun after one of his Vegas shows. (Written with Big Daddy Elvis in mind but could also be any 70s Elvis, pick your poison)

Warnings: NSFW 18+ only. Smut, daddy kink, oral (m. receiving), p in v, angst, fluff, language, established relationship

Word count: 3k

Author’s note: Thanks to @jelliedonut for telling me to write this fic after I texted her pictures of 70s Elvis and went on and on about what I would do to him in one of those jumpsuits 😏 And thank you to my Lovely Ladies of Graceland - @aconflagrationofmyown @elvisabutler & @butlersxbirdy - for the workshopping, support, being sounding boards in general and especially to Birdy for the pics that started this whole thing off.

-

But I don't like a gold rush, gold rush

I don't like anticipating my face in a red flush

I don't like that anyone would die to feel your touch

Everybody wants you

Everybody wonders what it would be like to love you

Walk past, quick brush

I don't like slow motion double vision in rose blush

I don't like that falling feels like flying 'til the bone crush

Everybody wants you

But I don't like a gold rush

Gold Rush - Taylor Swift

-

“Daddy?” you call out tentatively, stepping into the gold-gilded and opulent hotel room in the penthouse of the International Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas, Nevada. Your pink satin kitten heels sink into the plush emerald carpet as you cross the threshold into Elvis’s suite, still finding him nowhere in sight. You puzzle your eyebrows together as your mouth quirks up in question. Your curious eyes survey the room as you spin in a slow circle. “Daddy?” You call out again, placing your hands on your hips. Jerry said he was already in here, and you had ridden up the elevator together, so you know he can’t be far. Then it hits you, like a lightbulb going off. Oh. He was in one of those moods. That surprises you, given the circumstances. The man was full-grown but he still held onto his childish nature and sense of playfulness, something that never ceased to amaze you.

“Oh, Elvis…..” you say in a song-song voice, and slowly start to pace around the room. “Come out, come out, wherever you are…” You hear a quiet snort of laughter from the other side of the room. Your lips curl into a smile - you had him now. Quietly you stalk towards the part of the room the laughter came from, slipping off your heels as you do so. There’s a corner of the window, hidden behind heavy curtains and guarded by the piano, that’s his favorite hiding spot, and you approach on tiptoe, ready to pounce. You lightly grasp the curtains and give them a fast tug.

“A-ha!” You crow gleefully. Your mind is momentarily confused at finding the window empty until you hear Elvis roar behind you, “Gotcha!” as he grabs you around the waist. You shriek and then start giggling as his strong arms tighten around you from behind. You feel his laugher more than hear it, it rumbles through your body and you both gasp for breath as you finally still in the quiet of the room. “Don’t scare me like that, Elvis!” You playfully swat at his arm and he grabs your hand and holds it in his.

“Come on now honey, you know I can’t resist a chance to make you squeal,” he says with a devilish tone in his voice. You see yourself and Elvis reflected in the hotel room window, 30 stories high, the lights of Las Vegas sparkling like a blanket of stars laid out at your feet. He’s still wearing the jumpsuit from the show he just finished, the softest creamy white embroidered with a brilliant gold and gemstone sunburst on the chest, looking ever so much like an Egyptian sun king brought back to life just for you. His black hair is mussed and sticking slightly to his forehead, the sweat on his skin now cooling in the air-conditioned suite. His lips turn up in a smile as his eyes meet yours in the glass and he nuzzles into your cheek, rough sideburns scratching you pleasantly and sending a spark of desire through your core. He places a large, warm palm over your heart, the cool metal of his rings make you jolt and the thin strap of your dress falls down your shoulder as he strokes your skin reverently. He’s pressing at your back and you lean into him, relishing the feel of his body wrapped so tightly against yours.

“Look at us, baby,” he whispers against your ear and you shiver a little in his arms. Six months ago when you stepped off the bus in Los Angeles, California, you would never have guessed you’d be here, in Elvis Presley’s arms. It must have been fate that brought you together - as corny as that sounded. You’d been caught in the rain - a torrential downpour was more like it - dragging your suitcase behind you, trying desperately to find a cab. You were wary when the black Cadillac pulled up next to you, window rolling down smoothly to reveal the King of Rock and Roll himself, hair perfectly coiffed and oversized shades tipped down his nose, revealing the bluest eyes you’d ever seen. You must have looked a mess, soaked through and shell-shocked. Elvis would never admit that’s what drew him to you in the first place as he cruised down Sunset Blvd. and saw you looking so lost and forlorn, like you hadn’t a friend in the world. He promised you then and there that he would take care of you, that you’d never be lost again. He had found you, and he intended to keep you.

Now his sparkling eyes reflecting in the window still hold a hint of playfulness from before and his hands begin to slowly move towards your hips. Your mouth parts in readiness, your nipples already beginning to harden under his lidded gaze. Until he tweaks you in your ticklish spot and you squeal, immediately curling away from him. His hands grip you harder, fingers digging into the sensitive flesh of your side as you giggle and gasp for breath.

“Daddy, please!” You manage to choke out through your laughter. His deft fingers, usually used in more pleasurable ways, continued their relentless onslaught, now reaching for the backs of your knees. You screech and manage to break free, running towards couch like your life depended on it. Elvis follows at a slower pace before stopping to lean on the couch and catch his breath, shaking with laughter and eyes filled with mirth.

“OK honey, OK,” he says, raising his hands up in the air. “I surrender. Pretty little baby’s too quick for Daddy.” You give him a triumphant grin and sit down on the couch, pulling your long legs up under you and patting the seat next to you. “Come let me take care of my sweet man,” you say. He makes no objection as he drops down beside you with a heavy grunt and leans his head back, a deep sigh escaping his pink lips. You rake your fingers through his dark hair, gently scratching his scalp as you do. He shivers a little and his eyes flutter closed, impossibly long eyelashes coming to rest on tan cheeks. You move to straddle him, itching for a better angle to tend to him, hiking your slip dress up around your thighs as you swing your leg over his body and settle in his lap. His mouth curves into a lopsided smile at the feel of your weight descending onto him but his eyes remain closed. He groans as your cool hands massage his head, thumbs circling his temples rhythmically, making him practically purr like a little kitten. Your big, strong man is putty in your hands and it sends a flush of pride through you. You can’t help but nibble a soft kiss on his inviting jaw, his pulse quickening under your touch. You see it beating wildly beneath flesh and bone and blood and place your mouth to the spot, feeling his steady thrum under your plush lips. You open your mouth and lick, ever so slowly, tasting salt and sweat and his own particular flavor, feeling his heartbeat pulse on your tongue. His hands move to your bare arms just below your shoulders, warm fingers gripping soft flesh and he begins to lazily stroke your skin, fingers dancing lightly, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

“You’re so soft baby, never wanna let you go. Just wanna keep you right here in my lap, where you belong,” he murmurs against your hair and you feel so loved, so wanted you think your heart will burst wide open. He always knows exactly what you need to hear, the way you need to be touched.

Elvis’s breathing slows and he lifts his head a moment - eyes unfocused and slightly dazed - and you let out a little huff of pleasure as he relaxes again, his head heavy in your hands as your lips find his. You’ll never get over the feeling of kissing him - the way his mouth feels under yours, soft and pliant, the way his breath comes out in shallow little spurts, the way his plush bottom lip fits perfectly in-between yours. You toy with the zipper of his jumpsuit before slowly pulling it down little by little, revealing inch after inch of dark, swirling chest hair. You open it up just enough so that you can wiggle one of your arms inside and around his waist, his flesh hot and tacky to the touch. Laying your head on his chest and running your other hand through his chest hair, your elbow rests on the soft swell of his belly as you curl little tendrils around your finger and you snuggle your head underneath his chin as his fingers continue to graze you sweetly. His steady heartbeat lulls you for a minute until you feel a twitch beneath you, his already hardening cock straining against his jumpsuit and the thin cotton of your panties, damp with desire. You feel him raise his head and he looks at you then, eyes flashing the deepest navy, a look of intense desire burning inside. You know what he wants, what he needs, in this moment. He doesn’t have to ask, he doesn’t have to say a goddamn word. You just know.

You slither out of his lap with a smirk and sink to the floor where you kneel between his spread legs, never breaking eye contact. You place one hand on his chest as you grasp the zipper of his jumpsuit once again and bite your lip as you begin to slowly pull it further down. At last it’s open far enough for you to reach in and grab his steadily growing cock and he lets out a groan, placing his large hand over yours. He begins to move your hand with his, stroking up and down his shaft at a leisurely pace, the velvety skin dragging and pulling lightly with each tug. He squeezes your hand, forcing your fingers to contract around his girth and he lets out a quiet hiss.

“Just like that, little girl,” he breaths as the calloused fingers of his other hand slip the strap of your dress down your shoulder, the silk falling easily below your breast. He grasps your taut nipple, rolling it between his fingers, pressing lightly as he does. A shockwave runs through you, a whimper escapes your lips and your hand on his cock goes slack but it doesn’t stop moving, he doesn’t let it. His hand is still wrapped around yours, and he guides your fingers to his foreskin. You gently grip it and start to massage, his leaking head peeking through every now and again as the skin retracts. You caress it lovingly, looking up at him for approval. He nods, in a daze, “Feels so good baby, you’re making Daddy feel so good.” Your hand keeps up a steady pace but you’re growing impatient, wanting to feel his hot and heavy length in your mouth.

“What do you want me to do now, Daddy,” you say innocently, slipping your hand out from under his and off his throbbing member. You place your hands on his inner thighs, stroking up and down with the softest touch. His hips involuntarily buck up, his red, straining cock pressed against his stomach. His eyes shine with love and lust and hunger. His lip curls up into his signature smirk and it makes your insides flutter.

“You know what I want, darlin’,” he growls, and you can’t help but chuckle a little. Teasing Elvis is one of life’s little pleasures and you’re not about to rush through it. You need to hear the noises he makes when you’ve got him on the edge, and then over it. You crave the way his face looks as he finds his release, you’re jealous and selfish and want to keep it all for yourself. You bat your doe eyes at him and lower your mouth to his belly button, the coarse hair tickling your nose as you kiss and lick your way down his stomach. His hands tangle in your hair and the moment your mouth finally closes around his length, he grips your strands so tight you think he might actually pull some out. You work him lovingly, slowly, just how he likes it. Despite being sexually experienced when you met him, there are things Elvis has taught you, things you never would have known if he hadn’t taken the time to instruct you. You put it all to good use now, knowing he needs to relax after the headiness of his show, the absolute rocket ship that takes him to the moon and back, every night - twice.

“Darlin’,” he gasps as he pulls your mouth off of him, “Wait, I wanna…I need to come inside you. Don’t wanna do it alone, not tonight. Need to take care of you, too.”

“You’re so good to me, my love,” you whisper, reaching up to cup his cheek, scratching his sideburns a little with your nails, touched that he is thinking of you, even now, when his own pleasure is so close. You stand and reach for his hands, pulling him up. “Where do you want me, Daddy?” His hands circle your waist and he maneuvers you backwards, around the couch and towards back of of it. He spins you around easily so that you’re facing the couch, and he bends you over it, lifting your silky dress slowly, his fingers brushing your thighs as he does. It sets you quivering, already anticipating the feel of him inside you. He lifts your dress further and uses a fist to gather it at your back, as his other hand pulls your panties down and you step out of them dutifully. You lean over further, arms spanning the back of the couch, and you push your ass back against his pelvis, desperate for him. You hear him chuckle breathlessly as he pushes into you without warning, sliding home easily, the familiar feel of him grounding you. You groan as he begins to thrust, leaning over you and taking what he needs.

You feel his breath on your neck, feel his lips placing little kisses all along your shoulder before one of his arms crosses your chest and grasps your breast as he brings you up and holds you flush against him. You whimper and lean your head back on his shoulder as the fingers of his other hand finds your clit. “You close, little girl?”

“So close….I need…Elvis” you gasp at a particularly sharp thrust, “wanna to see your face.” He stutters to a stop, breathing heavily and slightly shaking with effort, before pulling out and spinning you around quickly to face him. He hooks one of your legs over his arm and rests it on the couch as he enters you again. You wrap your arms around his neck, and concentrate on his face, watching as his eyes droop in ecstasy and he bites down on his lower lip. High-pitched whines escape your lips as his movements jolt you forcefully against the couch. You can tell he’s getting close and a pain squeezes in your chest.

“Look at me,” you whisper, grabbing a handful of his hair, forcing his eyes to meet yours, and when they do there are tears in them. “Go ahead, baby. Fall apart for me…one last time. It’s ok.” The unshed tears spill down his cheeks and his eyes he tell you all of the things he cannot speak out loud. How he loves you so much it physically hurts. How he wishes you two could stay in this place forever, high above the stars on the 30th floor. How damn much he’s going to miss you. How sad he is that by this time next week he’ll be fucking a new girl right here, on this couch, and thinking of you and how you smell and taste and make him feel. He doesn’t say any of this, but that doesn’t matter. His heart tells yours all of these things and you hear every last one.

“I love you, Elvis Presley. You are good and kind and the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I don’t know how I got so lucky,” you say through your own tears, and you feel him tremble as his warmth fills you deep inside and you watch his face for the last time. You feel jealous and happy and devastated all at once. You did this to him, and the thought that someone else will see him this way soon shatters your heart into a thousand pieces. He kisses you then, deep and slow, the salt from your mingled tears fresh on your tongues as he slows his movements and you clench around him and come harder than you ever have before. It leaves you gasping. And then you’re sobbing, unable to hold it in any longer. You’ve been so strong for him tonight, like he needed you to be. He draws you tight against his chest, strong and sturdy, and you feel him crying, too.

Later, much later, as you’re lying awake in his arms, unable to sleep, wanting to cherish every fleeting moment you have with him, you feel him stir. You lift your head and rest it on his shoulder, and he looks over at you, the glint of his eyes flashing in the darkness and he lets out an amused snort.

“I was just thinkin, little girl…you think they’ll let lil ol’ me come to your big, fancy movie premiere?”

“I think that depends, Daddy,” you say playfully.

“On what, darlin’?”

“Well, on if the lead actress puts you on the list, of course!” You giggle and tickle him under the chin.

He growls and hugs you fiercely, pressing his cheek to your head and tears threaten your eyes again.

“You’ll always be on my list, Elvis,” you manage to whisper, “I’ll be lost without you.”

-

@eliseinmemphis @powerofelvis @burninlovebutler

#elvis #elvis presley #elvis fanfic #elvis fanfiction #austin elvis imagine #austin elvis x reader #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #elvis presley x reader #elvis smut #gold rush #70s elvis #big daddy elvis #written by ab4eva

[ab4eva]

‘Just Like A Woman’

Summary: A Las Vegas showgirl falls in love with a heartbroken Elvis Presley. He is unwilling (or unable) to love her back.

Warnings: angst, alcohol consumption, will eventually be nsfw, Priscilla doesn’t exist in this timeline.

Word count: 3k

Author’s notes: This idea came to me after reading the wonderful @missmaywemeetagain’s Pink Scarf series. Elvis and Reader were made for each other, and my brain went (spoilers sweetie) what if they didn’t end up together? What if Elvis had a love of his life that didn’t work out? He would be a completely broken man. Enter my little Vegas showgirl. This was going to be a one-shot, but I was itching to put out something new, so it will now be a 2 or 3 parter. Thanks to my Lovely Ladies of Graceland for the input, encouragement and love.

-

Las Vegas - August 1970

The door to your apartment slams and you cringe. Damn. You were hoping to be ready and gone before your roommate, Jane, got home. You sigh a little and continue applying your mascara carefully.

“Yoo-hoo, anybody home?” You hear her call out before answering with a “Yoo-hoo, in here!” of your own, steeling yourself for the inevitable barrage. She peeks around your door, her face bright and open, before observing your actions. Her face darkens a smidge but she keeps her tone light, “Where ya goin?” You hesitate a moment before answering, momentarily disappointed that you hadn’t come up with a better excuse, just in case.

“Just out,” you say, cursing yourself for sounding cagey. You are, and she knows it. She latches onto your tentative, vague answer and crosses her arms, looking surprisingly like your mother in this moment.

“Out,” she says pointedly, a statement.

“Mm hmm,” you hum, unwilling to take the bait. You don’t feel up for a fight, not tonight. You’re exhausted, it’s your one day off and you just want to live your life in peace, her distaste in your decisions be damned.

“Tell me again just why you think it’s a good idea to see Elvis tonight? Or any night?” She throws her hands up and the tone in her voice is one of disappointment and slight desperation. This argument is an old one, and you’re both tiring of it. You sigh, catching her eye in the mirror and put down the mascara wand in your hand.

“Jane,” you say pleadingly, “please. Please don’t start. I can’t do this tonight. I know how you feel about him, and I respect that. But…” you trail off, unable or unwilling to explain your reasons to her, again. Something in your face must stop the words that had been forming in her mouth, because she doesn’t say what you think she will. What she always says when you have this fight. She holds up her hands in surrender.

“OK. OK. I just….I just care about you, babe. And I…” she trails off.

“Don’t want to see me hurt,” you finish for her, your eyes still locked with hers in your bedroom mirror. “I know. Thank you,” you whisper. She sighs and shakes her head before turning and walking away, muttering to herself. You appreciate her concern, really you do. And if it was any other man she didn’t approve of, you might consider her words. But it isn’t any other man. It’s Elvis Presley. And his hold on you is so strong, so finite, you think even God himself couldn’t pull you away.

-

A black sedan is waiting outside your apartment building, right on schedule. The sweltering, late summer Las Vegas heat hits you full blast as you make your way to the car, and you’re thankful you wore one of your skimpiest dresses as sweat starts to collect on your skin during the short walk from door to car. Elvis always likes this dress on you. Not that he’s ever said as much. No, he isn’t really one for compliments. Or observations. Not with you, anyway. But you’ve seen the way his eyes grow a little wider whenever he looks you up and down in this dress, the way his jaw clenches taking in your long tan legs and bare arms, the small piece of silky fabric that barely covers your torso and not much else. You know when you’ve excited a man, and Elvis is always excited to see you in this dress. Besides, you want to look nice for him tonight. You haven’t seen him in a couple of months, not since he flew you out to Los Angeles just because he was a little lonely. Your stomach turns at the memory, that trip hadn’t gone as you’d expected. But you push those thoughts, and hurt that goes along with them, down. You don’t want to focus on that right now. You get to see Elvis again, and that’s the most important thing. The closer you get to the International Hotel the more the butterflies in your stomach start to flutter. You try and tamp down your expectations but you can’t, your excitement gets the better of you.

Elvis always invites you to the opening night of any Las Vegas engagement he does and it gives you a certain thrill to see him onstage, in his element, doing what he does best. Sure, you could attend more performances if you wanted, he’d arrange it in a heartbeat. But as it is your showgirl schedule at the Stardust keeps you busy, and when you’re not working, you’re with Elvis. And you’d rather be with him than watch him from afar. So it makes tonight a little special that you get to be in the audience, to take in the whole truth of him, to see him as he is meant to be seen. As the sedan rolls smoothly up to the entrance of the hotel, a valet hands you out of the car and onto the waiting arm of a member of the Memphis Mafia. This one is rather new, you’ve met him a couple of times but still don’t know him well. He’s young and kind of cute when he smiles at you, tucking your hand into the crook of his arm securely as he leads you into the hotel.

“Ready for the show, ma’am?” he drawls in an unmistakable southern accent, his hand moving to your back chastely as he guides you through the madness of the crowd. You swallow a giggle at being called ma’am and smile up at him, the excitement apparent on your face.

“Been looking forward to it all summer,” you say a little breathlessly. “I heard he’s added some new songs to the set?”

“Oh yes ma’am, you’re in for a treat tonight. The boss is fired up and ready to go.” You arrive at your designated seat, somewhere in the middle with a good view, and he holds onto your hand as you settle into the booth. “Do you have everything you need? I’ll be back after the show to take you upstairs.”

“You’re very kind. Thank you. Tell me your name again? I’m sorry, I’ve already forgotten it.”

“Alex, ma’am,” he says before nodding his head at you and disappearing into the crowd. You almost feel as if he should be tipping a cowboy hat in your direction, so southern and gentlemanly is he. These thoughts are interrupted by the showroom lights starting to dim and the heavy, gold curtain moving slowly upwards, revealing the massive stage. Your stomach drops and your heart beats a quick thrum in your chest. You shouldn’t be this excited to see him onstage again, not after what you and he get up to when you’re alone together, but you feel almost giddy, like a schoolgirl, at the prospect. Almost out of nowhere, Elvis saunters out of the wings and the audience goes absolutely wild. Women are yelling his name, already running past you towards the stage, eager to be as close to him as possible. The opening notes of “That’s All Right” start to thunderous applause and Elvis struts around the stage, a man on fire. He’s in top form tonight - witty, silly, energetic, engaging and sexy as hell. The truth you are unwilling to admit, even to yourself is - this is the Elvis you crave. The one you love. The one you want. But this is not the Elvis you have.

You push these thoughts to the back of your mind, along with every admonition Jane has ever given you. Elvis is back in town for a whole month, and you mean to make the most of your time together. With a little effort, you’re able to lose yourself in the music and the spectacle - laughing with the audience when he makes a joke or mouthing the words to “Viva Las Vegas.” A white hot flash of jealously sears through you when “Love Me Tender” starts, you know what’s about to happen and you feel a little sick at the prospect. Elvis begins making his way through the audience, kissing as many women as humanly possible as he does. You hold your breath as he gets closer and closer to your table. The crowd is a crush around him, reaching for him every step of the way and you put on your most dazzling smile, waiting for the sun to shine on you. Maybe he’ll kiss you this time, maybe he’ll treat you like one of the many nameless, faceless women he kisses every night. But he only glances at you as he passes, mild recognition dawning on his face too late, no love present in his glittering blue eyes. Bitter disappointment stings at your insides and you try and soothe yourself with the fact that you get him all to yourself tonight, in between shows and afterwards. The burning in your heart subsides a little, but a small, dull ache remains, a reminder that no matter how much you love Elvis Presley, he doesn’t - and can’t or won’t - love you back.

You really shouldn’t dwell on such thoughts, you knew what you signed up for. He’s holding up his end of the bargain and you’re trying like hell to hold up yours. You thought you could be one of those girls who just casually slept with someone and didn’t catch feelings. You desperately wanted to be one of those girls. It became apparent about 3.5 seconds after he first held you in his arms that you were a goner, well and truly lost. You should have walked out, right then and there, saved yourself a world of heartache. It must have been a cruel sort of fate that led you to a party at his penthouse one night, tagging along with friends, not expecting much. He’d just lost someone less than a week before. His true love, the love of his life, if whispered accounts by members of the mafia were to be believed. Oh, she wasn’t dead, but she was long gone. Gone from his life like she’d never even been there. Gone and left him a shell of a man, left you to pick up the pieces and put him back together again. You’d done a good job, as good a job as anyone could do when faced with an angry, bitter, devastated creature…not even a man, just a wounded animal lashing out at anyone who got too close.

He needed you, that much you could see in his eyes, plain as day. And if some small part of him needed you, maybe that wasn’t all bad. Maybe something could grow between the two of you - love, or something like it. Tonight all of these feelings come crashing down on your head, and it’s almost too much and you almost leave. But the promise of him holds you fast in your seat - the feel of his hard chest against your own bare one, the way his toned biceps flex and move under your hands, his soft, plush lips he uses anywhere on your body…anywhere except your mouth. It’s too intimate, he’s reasoned to you a dozen times, too painful, is what he really means. Too painful for him to kiss someone who isn’t her in his bed. It’s this thought, combined with the fact that you just saw him kiss two dozen women, all on the lips, that spurs you to order another drink. And another. Soon, you’re feeling very toasty, and more than a little giggly.

When Alex reappears at your side after the show, to take you upstairs, you’re more than a little wobbly on your feet, and he puts his arm around your waist to steady you.

“You ok, ma’am?” You see the concern in his eyes and wave him off.

“I’m fine…just fine. You’re sweet to worry, lost count of my drinks is all. I’m grand.” You giggle as you stumble a little and he catches you. “Take me to the boss man!���

He eyes you dubiously but helps you to the elevator and up to the penthouse suite, where he deposits you on the couch in Elvis’s room to wait for the man himself. Your head lolls back on the couch and the room is spinning and you really start to regret having so many drinks. You’re so out of it you don’t notice the door opening and closing quietly.

Los Angeles - 3 Months Ago

Elvis had called you in the middle of the night, the shrill ring of the telephone waking you from a dead sleep. It took you a minute to even register who was talking on the other end of the line, so excited and manic was their voice, their speech, talking a mile a minute.

“Elvis?” You’re still half asleep, groggy and unfocused, struggling to sit up in bed. “What’s wrong? Are you ok?” He didn’t usually call you, preferring instead to send telegrams or messages through his emissaries, so your heart was pounding with worry for a moment, before you finally grasped what he was saying.

“I need you…I-I-I need you in LA. Tomorrow. P-p-please darlin. I’m so lonely. I can’t sleep. I’m goin crazy out here…got some stuff I gotta be out here for and I just…I just can’t handle bein’ alone. Will ya come? Please?” He was practically begging you. He needed you.

You said yes, of course. One doesn’t say no to Elvis Presley. It wasn’t easy, arranging time off from work. You had to get several of the other girls to cover for you and in the end could only manage 4 days off. But he was happy enough to have you even for a couple of days, he said. He booked you first class on the first flight out the next morning and didn’t that make you feel special? Some random member of the mafia met you at the airport to pick you up, the first drop of disappointment landing coldly in your stomach despite the balmy California breeze. He had wanted you there so badly, had begged you to come…and he wasn’t even there to greet you? You convinced yourself you understood his reasoning on some level and pushed the feelings down, somewhere deep inside. You were in Los Angeles, you would have Elvis all to yourself for four whole days - nothing but sun and sex and sleep.

You could hardly wait as the car rolled to a stop before you were tugging the handle of the door open, practically flying out of the car and up the steps of Hillcrest House. You barely registered your beautiful surroundings, so excited to see Elvis you could barely stand it. It had only been three months since his last show in Vegas but that was three months too long for you.

“Elvis?” you called out, circling the living room, the kitchen, outside to the pool. It was almost a ghost town, the house so quiet and empty. Where the hell was he? Or any of his friends, at the very least?

“Miss?” someone said behind you and you jumped, turning around to see a kindly maid, holding out a telephone. “Mr. Presley is on the line for you.”

“Elvis? Where are you…I just got here and…” He cut you off, not even waiting for you to finish.

“Listen, honey, I’m sorry, I wanted to be there when you got in but the guys and I started talkin’ this morning and decided we felt like being in the snow today - we took the plane up north but don’t worry, I’ll be back by dinner. Just relax, make yourself at home and I’ll see you tonight, ok honey?”

The growing dread you’d felt ever since stepping off the plane was threatening to overwhelm you. But you swallowed your feelings, your disappointment, your hurt and cheerfully agreed to see him later. After all, isn’t that what he wanted? Isn’t that what you were there for? You’re supposed to be his good little girl who is happy and cheerful and doesn’t let her feelings get in the way. That was the arrangement. Something you had to remind yourself of more and more lately. You should have walked out of his hotel room last year and never looked back.

When dinnertime comes and goes that evening, you try not to worry. When midnight comes and goes, you try not to panic. When the next day comes and goes and you don’t see Elvis and you don’t hear from him and you’re just stuck in this goddamn California mansion alone, you try not to break down. You try and you fail. And when he doesn’t show up at all, you vow you’re done. No one deserves to be treated this way, not even a Las Vegas showgirl who is just one of Elvis’s many women. You’re on your way out the door to the airport, bag in hand, when the phone rings, and the maid answers - of course it’s for you. It’s him. You hesitate just a moment, your hand hovering over the receiver, before picking it up and slamming it right back down again. Damn the arrangement. And damn Elvis Presley. You were through.

Las Vegas - August 1970

The feeling of hands in your hair doesn’t startle you. In fact it has the opposite effect, it only serves to melt you further into the couch. Elvis’s fingers are long and cool and expertly move across your scalp, knowing the spots that make you purr, just like a damn cat. He’s had enough time over the past year to learn your body inside and out, learn what sends you to the moon, learn what breaks you. He takes great pleasure in watching you squirm, listening to you gasp and plead, feeling you tremble underneath his body.

“Someone’s feelin’ a little tipsy, hmm darlin’?” he murmurs. You blink your eyes open and Elvis swims into view above you. Your breath catches in your throat and your face flushes with heat. Turns out you aren’t through with Elvis Presley. Not even close.

-

PART 2

-

Tags (I used my taglist for my Tomorrow series - if you want to be removed from this one just let me know!): @jelliedonut @butlersxbirdy @elvisabutler @precious-little-scoundrel @eliseinmemphis @powerofelvis @richardslady121 @meladollsims @godlypresley @isthlsfate @rjmartin11 @thatbanditqueen @ccab @mslizziesblog

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis fanfiction #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #elvis imagine #elvis presley fic #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis smut #austin elvis x reader #austin elvis imagine #just like a woman #written by ab4eva

[ab4eva]

Prompt “Safe word” can I get an AustinX reader where Austin gets a little to dom and the reader has to use the safe word.

‘Peach’

Warnings: 18+ only! spanking, oral (m. receiving), dom/sub dynamics, safe word, aftercare, established relationship.

a/n: Thank you for the request, dear anon (my first)! I haven’t written this dynamic before so I hope it’s what you were looking for and you enjoy!

-

After Austin has made you kneel, naked and unmoving, on the cold tile of the bathroom floor while he showers and shaves and dries his hair. And after he has handcuffed and blindfolded you, knees aching and still pressed to the unforgiving tile, and rammed his cock down your throat, again and again, until the blindfold is soaked with tears.

After he has bitten and bruised your entire body with his mouth. And after he has braced you over his knees, ass in the air, his left arm holding you firmly to his thighs, your face pressed into the pillow that is muffling your cries.

You feel him raise his right hand and you brace for another smack, your behind already red and stinging, surely stamped with Austin’s handprint. You grip the soft pillow harder as his palm makes unflinching contact and you wail from the impact, unable to stop yourself from bucking up, kicking your legs.

“Be good for me, baby, and it will be over faster,” Austin rasps in your ear, his voice shaking slightly with restraint. “This is what you get when you’re so sexy for me.”

You’re shaking, trying to hold on for the last couple of spankings. Austin doesn’t get in these moods very often but when he does, you want to give him everything he asks for. You would give him the world if you could. You squeeze your eyes shut, thighs tensing, biting down on the pillow, knowing any second he’ll bring his hand down again.

And he does. And it’s hard. Harder than the past few times. Your eyes fly open, your breath stolen from your lungs.

“Peach!” you gasp out, “Peach, peach, peach.” Again and again, anything to make it stop.

“Oh baby girl,” Austin says, as he immediately releases his hold on you and pulls you into his lap, gathering you into his arms and holding you to his chest.

You grasp his t-shirt in your hand as you cling to him, his heartbeat and yours pounding in your ears - you take big, gulping breaths. He rocks you back and forth, smoothing the hair back from your face and wiping your tears away with his thumb.

“You did so good for me, sweetheart,” he’s kissing your forehead, your eyes, your cheeks. He’s looking at you with such love and devotion and your heart feels like it might burst. You would do anything for him.

#austin butler #austin butler fic #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler smut #austin butler imagine #austin butler x reader #austin butler elvis #austin butler blurb #anon request #austin butler x y/n #austin butler x you #austin butler fantasy #written by ab4eva #ab4eva answers

[ab4eva]

‘Prettiest Thing’

Summary: Austin Butler x Reader / You and Austin slip away during a family dinner for a little one-on-one time in the car.

Warnings: SMUT! 18+ only! Oral (m. receiving)

Author’s note: Y’all. I wrote smut. Honestly, I tried writing this 3 weeks ago, hated it and deleted it. Thought about it yesterday, undeleted it, didn’t hate it anymore and finished it. This is my first time writing smut so….eeeeeee, I’m a little scared to put this out there but here it is. Thanks to the following for their indirect guidance (aka writing some of my fave Austin / Elvis fics that include amazing smut): @elvisabutler @dreamersparacosm @aconflagrationofmyown @missmaywemeetagain

-

“This doesn’t feel pretty in my mouth,” Austin says, making a face.

“What, baby?” you say, with an amused smile, looking at him questioningly.

“This salad…I don’t like it. It doesn’t feel pretty in my mouth,” he says again.

You chuckle at the funny expression before a thought pops into your head.

You lean in and whisper in his ear, “I know something that feels pretty in my mouth,” biting your bottom lip as you look him in the eyes. You place your hand discreetly on his thigh under the table and slowly move it up, lightly squeezing his cock through his pants. He’s not wearing any underwear tonight, he doesn’t like being constricted, so he’s bare under his thin slacks.

He goes completely still, the half-smile frozen on his face as he does his best to swallow the bite of salad he’d been chewing and not choke. You give him another squeeze then release your grip and pat his thigh before returning to your own salad.

You sneak a glance over at him - he’s taking a sip of water, a faint blush tinting his cheeks, trying to rearrange his face into something resembling normal before turning to answer a question from his uncle on the other side of him.

You really shouldn’t have been so naughty just then, not at this nice restaurant with Austin’s aunts and uncles and cousins. But sometimes you can’t help yourself…let’s be honest, most of the time you can’t help yourself. You want to jump his bones 24/7 and even when you and Austin aren’t having sex, you're thinking about you and Austin having sex…like all the time.

“Babe,” you say to Austin, an idea forming, “I left my jacket in the car, and I’m a little chilly. Will you run get it for me, please?”

You lift an eyebrow enticingly, making sure he understands your meaning.

He narrows his blue eyes at you, the faint hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Of course, sweetheart. Be right back,” he says as he stands from the table, buttoning his jacket quickly to hide his growing erection. He excuses himself, glancing back at you, a look of arousal and anticipation on his face.

You wait a minute before excusing yourself to the restroom but head to the dark parking lot instead. You find your SUV and pull the back door open, finding Austin ready and waiting for you, long legs spread wide, one hand absentmindedly palming himself over his pants, anything to get a little relief while waiting for you. You smirk at the sight of him.

“So needy for me, huh babe? Couldn’t even wait one minute?” you say as you move his seat back as far as it goes, take your shoes off and step inside the car.

“Look what you do to me,” he breathes, his hands reaching for your hips in the tight space. In the darkness you can see the glint of his eyes, the quick thrum of his pulse beating beneath his jawline.

You hike your dress up around your thighs before straddling Austin and settling on his lap. You can feel how hard he is as he grabs your waist and bucks his hips up, trying to get some friction to ease his throbbing cock. But you lift your hips a little, teasing, not giving him what he wants just yet. He lets out a frustrated sigh and moves his hands up your back to your shoulder blades, and buries his face in your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there, your sweet spot that drives you wild. You gasp as he latches on, sucking hard, using his teeth, sure to leave a mark.

You regain control of the situation, regrettably disentangling yourself from his sweet mouth on your neck and take his face in your hands, desperate to feel his lips against yours. You kiss him slowly at first, taking your time but he grows impatient and deepens the kiss with a growl, tongues and teeth clashing. You rake your hands through his sandy blonde curls and grip a handful at the nape of his neck. A moan escapes his lips and you finally grind down on him, your hot core meeting his hardness through too many layers of clothes.

Realizing you don’t have much time before people start wondering where you two are, you leave the warmth of his arms and quickly kneel on the floor of the car, between his legs. He’s already undoing his belt as you unzip his pants and pull them down a bit, reaching a hand in to grip his heavy, hot length. A sigh escapes his lips as his head rolls back, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists on his thighs.

You smirk as you plant slow, soft kisses across his stomach, blonde hairs tickling your nose, gently squeezing his cock while you do. You run your thumb over his swollen tip, precum glistening in the darkness. He whines a little, hips thrusting up a tiny bit. You’re teasing him, and he grips a handful of your hair, signaling that he needs your mouth on him, now.

“Please, baby,” he whispers, as he looks down at you.

You’re just as ready as he is, desperate to feel his velvety hardness in your mouth. You catch his eye as you lick the tip, swirling your tongue around it, again and again, before licking long, wet stripes up from the base, using your tongue to trace the vein that throbs underneath.

His grip on your hair tightens and he sucks in a hiss as you take him fully into your mouth, wrapping your hand around the rest of him that won’t fit, slick with precum and spit. You move your head and hand in a twisting tandem, a slow rhythm that has his chest heaving and his breath speeding up.

His glassy eyes are locked onto yours in the darkness, his full mouth parted, occasionally biting his bottom lip through the groans he can’t hold back any longer.

“That feels so good, pretty baby. I love you so damn much,” he says between pants.

You reach your free hand up to his and intertwine your fingers, your connection in this moment almost overwhelming you.

You hollow out your cheeks, sucking harder, working him faster with your mouth and fist, head bobbing up and down furiously now. You know he’s close by the way the muscles in his abdomen start to spasm and his breath hitches in his throat. His fingers in your hair are opening and closing in a steady rhythm, pulling at your scalp in the most delicious way.

You feel his cock swell even more and begin to pulsate on your tongue. You grab his ass with both your hands to hold him in place as he adds another hand to your hair and bucks his hips up slightly. You hum around his girth and that’s what finally sends him over the edge with a gasp and a moan that has you clenching your thighs together. His hot seed spills into your mouth and you hold still a moment before slowly swallowing in little increments.

You’re both breathing hard and you lay your cheek on his clothed thigh, still slightly jerking beneath you from the strength of his orgasm. His hand drifts over to your cheek and gently thumbs it as he smiles down at you before closing his eyes.

“Damn, baby. That was so hot. You’re so good to me,” Austin says shakily, voice raspy.

“Prettiest thing I ever felt in my mouth,” you say, and you mean it.

#austin butler #austin butler elvis #austin butler fantasy #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler fic #austin butler imagine #austin butler x reader #austin butler x you #austin butler x y/n #austin butler smut #written by ab4eva

[ab4eva]

‘Tomorrow Will Be Too Late’

Part 5

Summary: Elvis Presley x Reader / For as long as you can remember, you’ve loved two things - Elvis Presley and time travel. After seeing the 1968 Comeback Special for the first time, you decide to try and get back to him for one incredible night, by any means necessary.

Author’s note: I must thank my darling Marina for helping me really flesh out the storyline in this chapter. I came to her with my idea, and she said “Darling, now we’re talkin’ southern gothic and that’s my jam.” She really helped me get the vision for it, talked it out with me and for that I am incredibly grateful. She also contributed a couple of lines so thank you baby! Also gotta shoutout my other two wives, Ally & Birdy, for their constant support, love & creativity. And last but never least, all of you who are invested in this story. You keep me going when I feel like I can’t go on with it. I cherish your screams and your support. 💕

Warnings: Angst, mention of death, sad Elvis, language.

Word count: 4.4k

TWBTL masterlist

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I love you more today

More today than yesterday

But I love you less today

Less than I will tomorrow

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Elvis grips her shoulders, her body trembling under her thin, white nightgown, her eyes haunted and wild. She lifts a hand and presses a soft, warm palm to his cheek, looking for all the world like she knows him, really knows him, and is sorry for him. Like she’s trying to comfort him. At her touch, the hearing in his left ear vanishes, the chirping birds and crickets filtering through lopsidedly. Elvis shakes his head and a ringing noise slowly filling his ears as his hearing returns, a calmness settling over him. The feeling of deep grief, that heavy ache in his heart, has subsided a tiny bit, the tears that had tracked down his cheeks earlier are dry. Her hand slips from his face with a sigh, and her eyelashes flutter closed as she slumps in his arms. He gently lays her on the grass, smoothing the hair from her forehead and patting her cheek gently.

“Aw hell, honey. Wake up. Please wake up.” A familiar voice floats somewhere above you, a desperate, pleading edge coloring the words. “Aw hell,” you hear him swear again, and struggle to open your eyes. A large, warm hand cups your face, alternately patting lightly and stroking. It feels so nice you’re tempted to let the nothingness pull you under again. There’s a reason you want to let it…you just can’t recall what it is. And that voice, so familiar, yet - not as you remember. It’s higher, for a start, not the deep, rumbling tone you’re used to. And quicker, running words together almost as if he can’t get them out fast enough, like his mouth can’t keep up with the ideas tumbling from his head. You’re used to the slow and steady pace of his thoughts made manifest.

“Come on, be a good girl and open those pretty little eyes for me. I saw ‘em lookin’ at me before, like you’d seen a ghost or somethin’. Now why would you look at me that way, honey? I ain’t ever seen you before in my life.” He carries on a one-sided conversation and somewhere in your foggy brain you find it amusing. “Now, I-I-I don’t know what’s wrong with ya, why y-y-you’re actin’ like this but I-I-I need ya to get up now. You hear me? Wake up, dammit!” He shakes you gently by the shoulders, then a little more forcefully and you can hear the fear in his voice. He’s scared. You hate that he’s scared, hate that you’re the one that’s made him this way. This, more than anything, breaks you from your fog and your eyes blink open. He’s backlit against the pale, misty morning light and for a moment, you can believe it’s your Elvis staring back at you, so eerily similar in their shapes and contours - the sharp curve of cheekbone and strong jaw. The swooping hair and broad shoulders. But…he isn’t your Elvis. And everything comes flooding back in a painful flash that has you sitting up and doubling over, all at once. You feel a light hand on your back as you clutch your stomach, trying to breathe in and out, trying to still the racing of your heart, not to mention the terrifying cacophony of thoughts jumbling your mind.

“Just breathe, baby. Good girl,” he whispers, and it makes your stomach turn. For a moment you’re jolted upside down and back again, his words ringing in your ears, and you’re filled with a coldness so deep you begin to shake. You remember the last time you heard him speak those exact words to you…in the hallway of NBC studios, when he knelt beside you just like this, hand on your back, murmuring quietly as if to a skittish colt. Now his hand begins to rub slow circles between your shoulder blades, his palm barely meeting your skin, an attempt at calming you…but it burns like fire. “You must be cold,” he continues quietly and it makes your arms tighten around your middle as you bend further in on yourself, silent tears falling, short gasping breaths only adding to your chill. You wish he’d stop touching you, wish he’d take his hand off your back. His palm is so feather-light, as if he’s afraid of too much contact now that you’ve come around. It’s a reminder that he isn’t the Elvis you left. Your Elvis would have his arms around you in a heartbeat, he’d be pulling you into his lap, truly comforting you. Your Elvis wouldn’t be afraid to touch you. You scoot forward a little, desperate to get away from his scorching touch.

She’s a curious thing, isn’t she? Elvis thinks, wondering why she’s leaning away from his touch, when he’s used to women doing the opposite. For the moment, his grief is forgotten, moved to the back of his mind. How did she get here? And why? Who is she? These questions and so many more are doing somersaults in his mind, slicing through the overwhelming sadness he had been trying to escape. Early morning walks in the back pasture at Graceland had been the only thing that seemed to calm his spirit since his mama got sick. Since his mama went and left him, went and left him to spend the rest of her time with Jesse. Somewhere in his heart he knew it was selfish to try and keep her from her other son. Jesse needed Mama too, and Elvis took a tiny bit of comfort in knowing they were together again. It wasn’t much but it was all he had to cling to these days.

And then this woman had just…appeared. Out of nowhere, out of thin air. He’d been been walking and crying, talking to God, begging him for a sign that he hadn’t been fully abandoned, completely forsaken. A sign that things would be ok somehow. He had felt so utterly alone since his mama left this earth. He had so much love left for her and he didn’t know where to put it now. Didn’t know what to do with all this love that was running through his veins for her. And then there she was…she knew his name, she seemed to know him. Not like the world knew him, not “Elvis the Pelvis” or “The Memphis Flash,” not even “Elvis the Movie Star.” Just him, just Elvis. Her wild eyes had held so much…love. And pain.

When she touched him he had felt - like he was floating above his grief instead of walking hand in hand with it. A small reprieve. Had God seen fit to take his mama but send him another instead, someone to help him? Help him see a way through this darkness, this despair that was eating him alive, tearing at his insides day after day? A way through the troubled thoughts that too often swirled uninvited in his mind. Dark visions of a river rushing over him, of letting it pull him under, letting it take away the pain. It was almost as if…as if her touch had absorbed his grief, as if she had taken some of it from him and into herself. That must be why she had passed out, why she couldn’t stop crying now. An angel. Angel of Grief. An answer to his prayer. He wasn’t alone, not anymore.

Elvis suddenly wraps his arms around you and the heat radiating off of him warms you almost instantly. You freeze, not expecting the sudden closeness. But you shiver in his arms, and the familiar feeling of them comforts you. His arms are the same - same strength, same bones, same flesh. He’s mumbling something into your hair, you can only make out snatches of words. You hear him whisper “mama” and “…sent me an angel.” On instinct you wrap your arms around his waist, spanning his back as your head falls onto his shoulder and you melt into his embrace. You sit there a minute, each comforting the other, until he pulls away and looks at you, wonder and awe and a little bit of shyness lighting his features.

“You alright? You had me scared there for a minute. You’re not hurt, are ya?” His hands flutter lightly over you, as if to make sure that you aren’t physically injured. His concern makes your heart skip a beat and you open your mouth to respond but your breath catches in your throat. This is as close to young Elvis as you’ve been and you take him in, fully, for the first time. He’s familiar of course, you know him too. Just not in the same way your knew your Elvis. This one you know from his movies, from the countless pictures you’ve seen of him from this time period, from the TV performances. He’s different entirely from the man you left, and now that you’re getting your bearings, you don’t feel quite so shocked by him. His cobalt eyes are red-rimmed, dark circles underneath marring his his beautiful face.

“Is she ok?” he asks suddenly, looking at you expectantly, his eyebrows drawing together as worry etches across his pretty features. You’re confused by this question, seemingly out of the blue.

“Is she…” you start, unsure of what he means.

“Mama…is she ok?” he asks again, waiting for an answer like you’re the only one who can give it. And it dawns on you, remembering his whispered words a minute ago, his sudden closeness. It can’t be. Can it? Does he really think you’re…an angel? You knew Elvis was a spiritual man, always in tune with things not of this world. It makes perfect sense from everything you’ve ever read or heard about him. It just- fits. But how will you explain it to him in the future, your presence here. Does he not remember… Oh. Your stomach drops and you think of all the times he said he remembered you but couldn’t place you. How he insisted that you’d met before. And you passed it off as a man who had met too many people, seen too many faces and you just reminded him of someone else. In his haze of grief he’s convinced himself you’re an angel. You swallow, unsure of how to proceed, unsure if you can actually pull this off. Let him believe you’re not human, an angelic being. It makes you uncomfortable, like you’re lying to him. But the hopeful look on his face and the fact that you have no good reason for being here makes up your mind for you. He’s still looking at you expectantly, waiting for an answer.

“She’s fine, Elvis. She’s just fine,” you whisper, blinking back tears that threaten to fall again as you cup his cheek, your thumb running over the rough stubble gathered there. “I know how much you loved your Satnin. I know how hard this is for you.”

Elvis looks at her, startled. How did she know…Satnin? No one but family and close friends knew he called his mama that. There’s no way she should know this, but she does. He shouldn’t be surprised, shouldn’t be shocked but he is. It’s just further confirmation that this woman, this angel, was sent here to help him, comfort him.

“You’re in pain,” he says, eyebrows drawing together again, this time with concern for you. “You took it didn’t you? When you touched me? Took my sadness, took it upon yourself knowing I’d have a chance to heal a little bit. It nearly killed ya in the process.”

This man, your man. Only he would be concerned for a angel, a supernatural being. It’s the first thing that endears you to this strange version of the man you love. He can’t understand the complexity of your pain, the part of you that aches for this boy who just lost his mother, who would do anything to take away his sadness. He thinks you’ve done just that - a small mercy. And the other part of you that aches for the man you love, the man you left, the man you might never see again. And so you say the only thing you’re capable of at the moment - “I’m alright. I’ll be alright,” you reassure him, shivering again, the dampness from the ground seeping through your nightgown. It’s unseasonably cool this morning, a rare summer dawn that holds more chill than warmth at this early hour. Elvis notices and helps you stand, holding onto you while you get your balance.

“Let’s go for a drive,” he says suddenly. “Always helps me clear my head. ‘Sides, got a blanket in my car so you can warm up.” He gently takes your hand in his, tentatively at first but when you instinctively lace your fingers through his, he smiles at you, a small sad smile, and squeezes your hand. Another little piece of your heart clicks into place.

It’s quiet on the road, you wrapped in the scratchy wool blanket Elvis has pulled from the trunk and him in the driver’s seat, absentmindedly tapping out a rhythm on the steering wheel to a song only he can hear. He keeps looking over at you, as if to reassure himself that you’re still there, that you’re not gonna disappear on him. You see him breathe a sigh of relief every time, his shoulders relaxing, the small exhale of breath a constant, soothing reminder in the silent car. You’re not sure how to talk to him, still disoriented and shell-shocked as you traverse the empty Memphis streets, the ten-year gap from this boy in 1958 to the man in 1968 becoming ever more apparent the more you drive through town. Mercifully, he breaks the silence with a question.

“Jesse?” A word. Just one word. A word that holds so much hope, and a great deal of fear. It reaches out and takes hold of you, this word, heavy with meaning and love and a strange sort of grief. The kind of grief that is placed upon you by others. Well-meaning, intended with love, but forced upon you nonetheless. It’s mixed with his own grief, the kind he has come to recognize with time and self-reflection and that unknowable ache that is always with him, as near and dear to him as the brother - twin - he lost. You realize he’s asking if Jesse is ok.

“Jesse’s happy. He’s with your mama now…they have each other and they’re ok. They both miss you something awful, though. Your daddy too.” You glance at him out of the corner of your eye and see him blink rapidly, futilely willing the tears that threaten to fall to stay put. You bite your lip and look back out the window, feeling like a intruder on his heartache. He sniffs and clears his throat, hurriedly swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.

“You alright? Elvis?” you murmur quietly as you cover his hand resting on the seat between you with your own, running your thumb in gentle circles over his skin. He nods, still too choked up to speak, and gives you a quick, watery smile.

“I’m gonna be alright, darlin’,” he pauses, unsure of how to go on. “If I don’t get a chance to tell you before you go…thank you.” You smile, entirely charmed by this sweet and gentle boy, so unlike the man you know.

“She was very special, wasn’t she? Your best girl,” you press his hand, gently encouraging him, thinking maybe it’ll do him some good to talk about his feelings.

“Mama is…was…my best friend. She took care of me, like no one else could, not even Daddy, not even Dodger.” He tries to keep his voice steady, tries and fails.

“You were her special boy, her whole life. She put all of her love and care into you, didn’t she? Couldn’t bear to be parted from you, not even for a little while. Took you with her when she worked the cotton fields…you couldn’t have been more than a few months old when she was dragging you in a sack beside her, picking cotton til her fingers bled. That’s true love.”

He pales, the blood draining from his face as his mouth opens, a sharp inhale of breath the only sound in the car except the pounding of your own heart. You realize your mistake almost immediately. You shouldn’t know that about him. It’s too intimate, too personal. He isn’t so far removed from that life. The problem with Elvis having been dead for over forty years is that every single person who ever knew him feels the need to talk about him. Even those that didn’t know him talk about him, write books and articles and papers about him. Research his life and his parent’s life and on and on.

“How did…” he starts to say, looking spooked, but then his face relaxes and he lets out a ghost of a laugh, a little huff of air that leaves his half-upturned lips and he shakes his head. “Gosh, it’s good to talk about mama with someone who really knew her. Daddy can’t bear to talk about her now…and he’s the only other person who really knew her like I did. Loved her like I did.”

You take his hand again without a word and grasp it lightly, encouraging him to go on. He does, and you talk about his mother with him while he drives and cries, and the sun comes up fully, painting Memphis a beautiful rosy color, the late summer sun bouncing off the brick buildings, the leafy green trees waving to you as you pass. Before you know it, hours have gone by, and you see the gates of Graceland come into view. You can see a crowd gathered there, and it’s a shock to your system after the quiet, cozy drive. You start to panic, there are women with cameras everywhere. You can’t be photographed with Elvis, in 1958. You simply can’t.

“Elvis, I can’t…I don’t…” you aren’t able to finish your thought, you’re getting closer to Graceland by the second and you’re frozen in fear, powerless to do anything about it. Somehow Elvis understands what you’re trying to say, how you feel.

“Just lay down, darlin’, I’ll cover you with the blanket. No one’ll see you, I promise,” he glances at you knowingly, and you slide to the floorboard, your knees hitting the carpet as he pulls the blanket over your head. You peek through your cover and watch him as he pushes his sadness to the side as he pulls into the drive, his fans a comfort to him now more than ever before. Showering him with love, not the kind that he used to get from his mama, but love all the same. And he soaks it up like drought-stricken earth.

You realize with a start that you’ve seen this photograph of him, have alway been enchanted by it. The slender figures of the women outside his gates, cameras raised to hide their faces. Hiding their faces while capturing his. His long, slender arm hanging outside of the open Cadillac, hand drooping lazily as if in invitation. That hair, those sideburns. You’ve seen this photograph a dozen times…you just didn’t realize you’d be next to him when it was taken. And the oddest feeling courses through your veins, not quite deja vu but something hauntingly similar. In a flash, you see all the men he will become. The all-American Army boy: soft and young when he leaves for Germany, lean, older and wiser when he returns. The slick, Hollywood Ken Doll: singing and dancing his way through film after film, a continuous montage of tiny white shorts, red windbreakers and cowboys hats on an endless loop. The slender ‘68 Comeback Special man: a gritty, leather-clad force of nature reminding everyone why he was a star in the first place. The glittery gaudiness of Las Vegas: jumpsuits and karate moves, hundreds of women kissed each week and left begging for more. And finally, as if he somehow knew he was nearing the end of his life, a return to the soft and round form much like the one he had entered the world in.

But all of that was before him still and only you have the privilege and pain of seeing all that he was, all that he would become. Beside you now sits the young and eager boy with his whole life ahead of him. Only you can look into his eyes and see the man you knew and didn’t know. The man you loved and didn’t love. The man who would become more than an icon, almost god-like in his legacy. You ache to tell him all these things, to spare him pain and save him in some way. But you risk losing everything you’ve gained so far if you do, and so you simply hold his hand as he drives you through the gates of Graceland, posing for the girls outside as he does.

In a moment it’s over, this flash of past, present and future that leaves you reeling, suffocating under a blanket and heaped on the floorboard of Elvis’s car. Just when you think you might panic, he pulls the blanket off your head and pats the seat next to him. You manage to crawl back onto the seat just as you’re pulling up to the house and it hits you, why it was so familiar before. This moment has simultaneously not happened yet and already happened, sixty five years prior. Time travel is trippy, you can’t even begin to wrap your head around it.

Elvis feels a little bit lighter now, like a tiny sliver of sun peeking through the clouds on a stormy day. Still heartbroken, but maybe like he can go on somehow. The ache is still there, it would always be there. Seeing his mama the past couple of days in the hospital had been unbearable, he had felt so helpless. And then his heart had been ripped from his chest, and everything he had ever loved, everything he had ever held dear was gone in an instant. But this woman - this angel - had helped him when he needed it most. He wishes she could stay forever, he feels so at peace with her near. He knows it’s too much to ask, but he hopes she’ll stay a little bit longer.

In the few hours you’ve spent with Elvis this morning you’ve come to realize that he isn’t so different from the one you love. His spirit is the same, his humor and wit, his love of life and all that it offers. He’s the same man, and you find yourself wanting to inch closer to him, to close the distance between you on the car seat. It hits you like a lightening bolt - you…god help you but…you love him too. Of course you do. Is this why you have an almost unnatural possessiveness over him? When it seems like you shouldn’t, like you haven’t any claim to him. But…he hasn’t met his future wife, not yet. It’s you. Here and now. He’s meeting you for the very first time. Before he even lays eyes on her. Somewhere in the ether you must have known it, in your bones, deep down. He was yours first. You loved him first.

A fire blazes through you at this revelation, taking your breath with it. It’s all starting to makes sense and it frightens you to your core. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. You’re not supposed to love Elvis Presley, not like this. He isn’t supposed to know you and you’re not supposed to be here. It’s not in the history books, it’s not what happened. You have to leave. Now. You can’t stay any longer and risk messing things up - messing his life up. He’s too important to too many people, you included. He’s staring at you now like you're the only lifeline he has, like you’re the answer to every problem and every question he has. That heart that was being pieced back together earlier, your heart, now shatters apart. It breaks to think about leaving him like this, so entwined with his grief, so overcome with the hand life has dealt him - cruel and kind at the same time. Your tears pool and fall down your cheeks as you reach a hand out to him, needing to feel his touch again, maybe for the last time. He takes your hand, placing it on his cheek, his warm palm covering yours. He nuzzles it, the scratchy hair of his unshaven jaw tickling you lightly, before he gently places a soft kiss to the inside of your wrist, his tender lips branding you, claiming you. You didn’t think it would be this hard, leaving him. You didn’t think you’d be torn, that you’d actually give a thought to staying. Not when you had someone to get back to. And yet…

“Elvis…sweetheart…it’s time. I have to go now,” you say through your tears, surprised when you feel something hot and wet drip onto your hand still holding his cheek. He’s crying now too, as if he knows this moment holds more significance than he can fully grasp. He shakes his head, no, always stubborn, and pulls you to his chest, clutching you there tightly. Your arms encircle his waist as you hang on for dear life, the waves crashing over you both threatening to pull you under.

“No, no, no….please don’t leave me. Please don’t go,” he cries against your hair, your bodies wracked with sobs as you cling to one another, each mourning the loss for a different reason. You know you’ll never be the same after this. You can never again be who you were before you held a broken Elvis Presley in your arms on the day his mother died. Before you realized that you'd gone and truly fucked up the one life you have. Because now you know. Know that you can’t have a life that Elvis isn’t a part of. You’re breaking in two and he is holding you. And everything is exactly as it should be. And everything is all wrong.

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