Top Posts Tagged with #austin!elvis

ELVIS IS MY DADDY, MARILYN'S MY MOTHER

pairing: austin!elvis presley x wife!reader

summary:elvis's wife finds muse in marilyn monroe, admitting her husband and the late actress are her biggest inspirations.

word count: 2.2k (2280 words)

warnings: media harassment, paparrazzi, power imbalance, “daddy” dynamic in the marriage, public scrutiny of marriage, references to marilyn monroe’s life (failed marriages and speculated suicide), emotional distress

author's note: i don't like to use "daddy" for couples but for this lyrics and fanfic match it works so i will go against it this time. this fic takes place in late 60s, so it fits the general beliefs of people.

The Cadillac door swings open and the rigourous flashing of cameras, clicks before you, raising the white wall of light. They first greet your husband, all six feet of him and his black suit pressed on him perfectly. The collar of it is spread open, having women gasp at just the sight. He looks to you, extending his hand, like he is about to grab his most prized possession, which technically you are.

“Come on, baby.” When your heels hit the sidewalk, his hand firmly covers the small of your back. The world tilts at your presence, the crowd is now in ecstasy. The high squeal of a woman in the back, overlapping the shouts, her yelling Elll-vis! As if it’ll earn her an autograph.

The immense power you two have is getting into your head, but it settles in nicely, like it is home, where it is supposed to be. The reporters push forward, eagerly throwing themselves.

“Mrs. Presley! Over here!” “Who made your dress?” “Is it true you’ve been in talks for a film?”

They all wanted a piece of you. They’ve wanted it since you married him two years ago, but lately it’s been worse. You have not only become known as Elvis Presley’s wife, even if it was your main claim to fame. A brand has been created around you, your look and fashion. The sort that makes women tear your photo from Photoplay and pin it to their vanities.

You smile at them, as you have learned to do. Not with a heavy grin, but a tiny gesturing lift of your lips.

Then, one reporter calls out. “Who inspires you most?”

The question stops you mid-step. This one you wouldn’t mind answering. Especially since you have recently decided to work on that brand of yours. Create a statement, as it seemed fit to do. Even Elvis’s management approved of it. Your husband glances down at you, expecting you to either ignore it or toss out something, maybe a designer’s name or your mother’s. A safe answer.

But your lips curve illicitly, you turn towards the reporter, locking eyes with him in a way the man might think you are daring him to a staring contest. The blinding fleshes reduce.

“Elvis is my daddy,” you say, each word dripping out of you like honey. “Marilyn’s my mother. They’re the only two people I’ll ever look up to.”

The man’s eyebrows jump so high they nearly reach his hairline. The crowd of reporters erupts like a cherry bomb has just been dropped in the middle of them.

“What do you mean by that?” “Did you know Marilyn?” “Do you—”

You just shrug at them, hand sliding into the crook of Elvis’s arm. Once you are inside, the noise outside turns to a muffled hum. You can finally have a proper breath taken, however in here, the heavy scent of perfumes mix, the thickness of it giving little place to breathe in. Elvis takes your coat off you and hands it to the usher, his palm lingering over your bare shoulders.

“You know,” a low turn of his vocals graze your skin, “you’re giving those boys somethin’ to write about for the rest of the month.”

“That’s the point, Daddy.” You tilt your head up, charmed by him, as are all the girls. Expect you were rewarded with his ring and last name.

His jaw tightens, but he acts like it’s nothing. He leads you towards your seats, in the front row, reserved specially for Mr and Mrs Presley. Elvis’s leg brushes against yours as the house lights dim. He leans in once the movie starts playing, casting names of the stars starring in it.

“Marilyn, huh?” You nod, pointing out the obvious.

“She’s dead, baby.”

“No harm in honoring her. She was unbelievably beautiful and smart. I want it to be cherished.” He hums, resting his open hand on your thigh, seemingly in approval. The type you were always chasing to have from him.

The picture starts, but you’re not really watching. Your mind is clouded with the flashes. And reporters. You wonder how long before that sentence you uttered makes it to print. You practically put yourself next to the most famous woman in Hollywood. Soon some editor is going to put your face next to Marilyn’s in a spread titled The Old and New Marilyn. Despite the flattering image it presented, it somehow felt wrong. You didn’t want to replace her. She has been an inspiration, a guide to follow. Even your stylist has been trying to recreate a couple of her looks on you.

By the time the credits roll, you’ve sat through an hour and half of flickering light and music without really remembering much of the plot. You’ve been too aware of the weight of Elvis’s hand, the slow drag of his thumb along your thigh that nobody can see.

When the house lights rise, you smooth your skirt and stand, feeling the dozens of eyes on you. As you and Elvis make your way back to the car, the cameras wait like predators outside. More flashes, more shouts, but you keep your chin high and your smile easy.

Marilyn’s name was mentioned as you went. With a couple of questions you couldn’t fully register due to the quick steps you were taking to the car.

Inside the Cadillac, the door shuts and the noise outside dulls to a far-off buzz. Elvis doesn’t start the car right away. He just sits there, one arm draped over the wheel, the other resting on the back of your seat.

“You like stirrin’ ‘em up, baby. You know what they’ll say when that hits the papers?” He brushes a finger down your cheek with a little laugh. He tilts yout face towards him, studying what you will do next.

“That I’m devoted to my husband and idolize a movie star?” you offer sweetly, batting your eyelashes dollishly.

“Wouldn’t that just be nice?” His thumb runs along your bottom lip, deliberately. The car pulls away from the curb, the streetlights sliding across his profile. You watch him from the corner of your eye, taking in the set of his jaw, the way his hands look on the wheel. He doesn’t say much on the drive back, but every so often, his gaze flicks over to you, as if making sure you are still on your best behaviour.

When you get home, the house is quiet, the air cool. Elvis shrugs off his jacket, tossing it over a chair. Then his eyes find you again, lingering on the way your satin dress clings, the way your hair still holds the perfect curls.

He steps toward you, measuring, until his shadow swallows your figure. “You look perfect,” he says finally, voice low enough that it makes your skin prickle. “But don’t forget,” his hand slides around your waist, pulling you close, “…I’m the only one you’re tryin’ to please.”

You tilt your head, lips parting just slightly. “Always, Daddy.”

His mouth brushes your ear when he answers, approving. “Good girl.”

Two days later, the papers went off the lane. Every headline has your name in bold type, strung next to his and Marilyn’s face printed just above yours. ELVIS’ WIFE CALLS HIM ‘DADDY,’ CLAIMS MARILYN IS HER MUSE. Some of them called it “provocative,” others “troubling.” You’ve read every word.

Now, you’re shopping with one of Elvis’s men looking after you. The sort of big, quiet type who doesn’t talk much, just makes sure you don’t get swallowed by crowds. Elvis insist on them.

The store is airy with a chill creeping on you. The racks of dresses in creams and silks and blush pinks hang all around the place, peaking your interested. You let your fingers drift over them, selecting a few that echo Marilyn’s most famous looks, the halter necklines, the cinched waists, the hourglass shapes that were practically a signature. Might as well own up to the claim.

“You about ready, ma’am?” the man asks, seriously.

You nod, tucking the last box into a bag and stepping toward the glass doors. Outside, you can already see the gathering, a cluster of photographers, ready to storm at you, hunt down as much as they can get.

The moment the doors open, they surge forward.

“Mrs. Presley, over here! Are you buying things to look more like Marilyn Monroe?” “Do you think you’ll be the next Marilyn?” “Is Elvis alright with you dressing like her?”

The flashes blind your path, you keep your chin high, the perfect neutral smile painted on. But they keep coming.

“Do you think your marriage will end like hers?” “Will you take your own life the way she did?”

That one lands like a slap. Your steps falter, breath catching in your throat. You blink against the sting in your eyes, willing it away.

The man with you steps in, pushing a path toward the waiting car. “Enough,” he growls, but the questions still echo over the crowd.

“Do you see yourself as a tragic figure?” “Are you worried Elvis will leave you?”

You don’t answer. Your hands are trembling now, the bags rustling against your legs. You can feel the eyes on you, the lenses catching every flicker of your face, undoubtedly not missing your misery. More so fighting to catch it.

By the time you reach the car, your throat is tight and your smile has vanished. The door shuts behind you, the sound mercifully muting the chaos outside. You don’t even try to hide it then. The first tear slips down your cheek, followed by another, faster. You press your palm to your mouth to keep the sound in, shoulders shaking.

The man slides into the driver’s seat, glancing back at you through the rearview. “You want me to call the boss?”

You shake your head quickly, wiping at your face. “No.”

You lean back against the seat, closing your eyes. But you can still hear them. The way they said her name. The way they said it was a prophecy that will follow you.

It’s past eight when you hear the front door shut, footsteps heavy down the hall. You’re curled on your side in the bedroom, the curtains drawn tight, only the faintest strip of evening light slipping in under the edge. Your dress is in a heap on the floor. You’ve stripped down to your slip, swallowed by the weight of the blankets, your face pressed into a damp pillow.

You hear him before you see him. “Baby? Where you at?” His voice carries down the hallway, searching for you. Then the door opens, and he’s there, filling the doorway in his work clothes, hair mussed from the day.

The moment his eyes find you, he’s moving fast. “Aw, baby…” He crosses the room in a few strides, dropping to his knees beside the bed. His hands are on you right away, smoothing over your back, finding your face under the blankets. “What’s wrong, huh? What happened?”

You shake your head, unable to get the words out at first. He keeps murmuring to you, “Talk to me, baby. It’s alright. I’m here.” His palm cups your cheek, thumb brushing at the leaking tears.

“They—” Your voice catches, and you have to start again. “The press. They… they asked me if I thought I’d end up like Marilyn. If I’d… if I’d kill myself. They asked if our marriage would end like hers have.”

Elvis exhales hard, but he doesn’t let go of you. He pulls himself up onto the bed, sliding in behind you so you’re tucked against his chest. His arm wraps around you, holding you there while he presses his mouth to your temple.

“Baby girl…” His voice is low and careful. “I’m sorry they said that to you. I’m sorry they made you cry.”

You swallow, still clinging to the blankets. “I didn’t mean to cause anything. I just wanted to… I wanted to praise you. And honour her.”

“I know, baby. I know you did.” He rocks you gently, the motion slow and soothing. “It ain’t your fault they’re like that. They’ll twist anything they can to sell a headline. That’s the world we live in now.”

His hand strokes over your hair, careful not to pull at the curls. “But you gotta watch what you give ‘em. Every little thing you say, they can spin it against you. Against us. And I can’t let ‘em do that, you hear me?”

You nod into his chest, your voice small, broken down by the sobs you indured. “I just… I didn’t think...”

“That’s why I’m here.” He tips your chin up so you look at him. His eyes are soft, but his voice carries that note of certainty you’ve always listened to. “People are gonna try to separate us, baby. They’re gonna ask about divorce, try to make up stories, pit us against each other. But we don’t give ‘em the ammo. Not ever.”

You bite your lip, feeling another wave of tears rise. “I don’t want to lose you.”

His arm tightens around you. “Ain’t gonna happen. Not now, not ever. You’re mine, and I’m yours. Long as we remember that, they can’t touch us.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering there. “Now, you’re gonna let me take care of you. We’ll let ‘em talk, and we’ll just keep on livin’ the way we do. Alright?”

You nod again, finally letting yourself breathe in the steady, warm scent of him. Elvis doesn’t move for a long time, just holds you until the shaking in your body stills.

•18+ Adults Only

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i mourn the 2022 elvis era everyday

#elvis 2022 #elvis presley #elvis aaron presley #elvis the king #austin butler #Austin!elvis #priscilla #priscilla presley #pink pilates princess

Heartbreak Hotel | austin!elvis x oc (part 12)

(gif source: theresalwaysep)

plot summary: Angel Casteel is a small town girl who lucked into working as a costume designer at a film studio. Unfortunately, her confidence in herself wavers as she is assigned to work with Elvis on his latest motion picture. Overcome by his star power at first, she slowly starts to realize there is a man behind the fame, a man she understands. But as they grow closer, the world grows more turbulent, especially Elvis's world. Will this Angel be able to save Elvis from himself and the people around him? Or will getting mixed up in his word prove to be her downfall as well?

pairings: austin!elvis x oc

word count: 3,029

warnings/notes: Woo it has been so long since I updated my stories on this account, but I'm back hopefully for awhile. I just started school again so my free time is limited, but I'm working on carving out time for this :) TW: withdrawals

Chapter 12: A Future to Fight For

In the Colonel's suite at the International Hotel, the light of a single desk lamp illuminated his bloated face as he stared at the telephone. The room was unnaturally still, the usual entourage of yes-men and assistants dismissed hours ago. Only Andrews remained, standing silently by the door like a stone sentinel.

"Get me Nick Calabrese," the Colonel ordered, his voice cutting through the silence.

Andrews stepped forward. "Sir, are you sure that's wise? Calabrese isn't exactly... discreet."

The Colonel's eyes flashed with cold fury. "Did I ask for your opinion? Get him on the phone. Now."

As Andrews dialed, the Colonel pulled a cigar from his breast pocket, biting off the end with savage precision. The sweet, cloying smoke filled the room as he puffed, contemplating the chessboard on his desk. The white king had been moved to the far corner, surrounded by protective pieces. The black queen hovered nearby, poised to strike.

"Calabrese is on line one," Andrews announced, placing the receiver on the desk.

The Colonel picked it up, his voice instantly transforming into genial warmth. "Nick, my old friend. I need a favor."

𝐄𝐥𝐯𝐢𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

FLUFF

meeting your family

playin’ house

“Don’t leave me. Don’t you dare leave me.”

“I didn’t know you could sing!”

Elvis the pelvis

“if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes” - PART 1

(part two in smut)

“if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes” - PART 3

first kiss

“mama, will you teach daddy how to?”

worried about you (DDM)

daddy Elvis

“oh good lord, deeper, Elvis!”

“What’re ya doing out at this time by yourself, anyway?”

“Do you have to show off?”

lunch with his family

“Thank you for being brave enough to ask.”

“I’m telling you, honey, you ain’t gon’ like it.”

“I’ve got her, you relax.”

“Are you going to come see daddy’s show, little girl?”

“What are you doing up, little lady?”

"Don't tell me you can't ever again."

“She’s being a real brat.”

“Hey now, don’t you start questioning me too.”

“Elvis, stop it.”

“I wanna go steady.”

“Just a little bit more.”

“Is everyone where you’re from this pretty?”

“I’ve been wanting to do that all night”

SMUT

“got the blood pumping quite a bit there, hey sweetheart?”

finish what you started

“if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes” - PART 2

“Come home, baby, please.”

“Looks like Presley’s got himself a little plaything.”

“I can’t think straight with such a view.”

“I got what I wanted.”

“It’s okay, baby, come.”

I Never Liked Him Anyway

Summary: Reader comforts Austin!Elvis after he fires the Colonel

You were up and out of your seat the moment you heard Elvis yelling, trying to make your way backstage as inconspicuously as possible. You’d noticed that something was wrong with him before the show, drinking more than usual and taking a few more pills than normal, but he’d assured you that he was fine. It wasn’t until he started slurring his words and wavering that you realised just how wrong things were.

A rush of anger filled your body when you heard the things that Elvis was saying; about how the Colonel had been lying to him all these years, hindering his career just so he could earn more money. You hadn’t told Elvis about your feelings towards the Colonel because you had seen how grateful towards the Colonel Elvis was and you didn’t want to ruin that for him, however, you couldn’t help but feel a bit of relief when you heard Elvis tell the Colonel that he was fired.

When you finally made your way backstage, you saw Elvis on his own, on his knees in the middle of the stage and you didn’t waste a single second in rushing over to him, sinking to your knees and wrapping your arms around him the best you could.

‘You okay, baby?’ you asked softly, threading your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp lightly as your other hand began to smooth up and down his arm.

‘Years,’ was all he said in reply, his voice rough but distant, his eyes screwed tightly closed. ‘Years I could have been touring the world, taking my music to my fans everywhere and he stopped all because he couldn’t leave the goddamn country.’ His voice had risen in volume as he spoke and you could feel the anger radiating off of him.

‘I know,’ you replied sadly, knowing that there wasn’t anything you could say to him to make things better at the moment.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, you just being there for him until you felt him calm down a bit. ‘Hey, do you want to know something?’ you asked, turning your head to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

‘Always, baby,’ he replied, picking your hand up and smoothing his thumbs over your knuckles.

‘I never liked him anyway,’ you whispered, making Elvis’ body vibrate with chuckles. He leaned back to sit on the floor, bringing you into his lap.

‘Is that so?’

‘Yeah, I didn’t like the way he seemed to have some kind of control over you. And I know he didn’t like me.’

‘You’re not wrong there, baby,’ he said softly, ‘he didn’t like how I’d always run everything by you, didn’t like how I always wanted your opinion on everything.’

‘Well, then, it sounds to me that you did the right thing by getting rid of him, huh,’ you said, tilting his chin playfully, making Elvis smile softly at you.

‘It definitely is, baby,’ he murmured, leaning down to press his lips tenderly to yours.

‘How about we head upstairs, jump in a bath and try and forget all this, at least for the rest of the night?’ you suggested, tugging on his jumpsuit slightly.

‘I think that sounds amazing, baby,’ he said, standing up before helping you up, throwing his arm around your shoulder and kissing the side of your head as you left the stage.

#austin butler #austin butler imagine #austin butler x reader #elvis presley #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley imagine #austin!elvis x reader #austin!elvis #austin!elvis imagine

•18+ Adults Only

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cherry red blow ! ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

dilfelvis! austin butler x fem! reader

notes if you have a problem with 5-10 year age gaps , do not read 😵‍💫 because when i say i like dilfs... i mean DILFS

warnings smut (18+ only, minors dni), unprotected sex, intoxication, dom! elvis, praise, p in v, unestablished relationship, implied age gap, spelling errors, and obviously sexual themes.

Elvis knew who you were. Hell, all he could think about was you. He wasn't the one to get caught up with one girl, he was the type of guy who would sleep with any woman who offered .

And he was Elvis Presley, he could sleep with any woman if he could - all, but you.

He knew best to not fall under the impression you wanted him, that you were doing all that dressing up for him. You were a nanny hired by Priscilla, you made it clear the first day you were hired that you had no ill intentions of ruining the Presley name.

The way you walked around his home with those satin little dresses that covered only so much. The way you covered your lips in that damn cherry red lipstick. He couldn't help to think you knew what you were doing.

You u loved your job. truly, there was good pay, you got on so well with the presley family, the house was big and luxurious. people would kill to be in the position you were in.

You did what you usually did in preparation of coming in for your job. You made sure every hair was in place, you made sure that your clothes came from the finest sellers, and your lips always were layered in that cherry red lipstick.

You had been hired by Priscilla, her hopes of hiring a nanny to watch Lisa from time to time so Elvis and herself could rekindle the faded spark in their relationship.

You had some knowledge of their difficulties of their relationships, as you got front row view to the arguments they shared every night Elvis came home drunk with a groupie under his arm.

The pills, Elvis never being home, and the women were just helping points on why Priscilla found it so difficult to be in a relationship with Elvis. So it was safe to say you weren't surprised when Priscilla packed up her things and left Elvis, it was bound to happen sooner or later.

A part of you was relieved when you found out Elvis was a single man, another part of you was worried about it. Elvis always made it clear he went for younger girls, and with the ten year age gap between the two of you - you knew he had to think of you in such a dirty way.

it started off as a little crush, but you never pursued in actually doing anything with the older man in fear of risking your job. he was smart, and you assumed he wouldn’t ever go for the nanny of his daughter .

that was until you’d catch him eyeing your cherry glazed lips, the subtle touches near your hips when he would pass by you, and clever flirty comments began to slip out of his mouth.

something in your dynamic just... shifted.

it was one night when he arrived home from a long night of partying, and Lisa Marie was sound asleep in bed — he’d find you with a halfway full bottle of wine in your grasp.

your cheeks flushed, your words sloppily said.

"you've been out all night mr. presley."You giggled with a rasp, your eyes look over towards the door where the man stood, the slam of the front door indicating he just got to Graceland.

you took in his appearance as he came into eye view. the dark messy hair that was messy just in the perfect way, the way his tan chest peeked from the behind the white button up that was unbuttoned slightly, bloodshot eyes indicating that he may have partied a bit too hard.

just as you took him in, he took in the sight of you. your red lipstick smeared from your lips ever so slightly, your hair tousled, and the straps of your little dress falling off your shoulders as your back rested the marble table that stood in the middle of the fancy kitchen.

he began walking towards the small island where you stood, your eyes following every move he made.

"wasn't today your day off, darlin'?" he questioned curiously with that thick country twang, letting out a breathless shot of laughter before looking towards the direction where you were. "priscilla asked to me watch Lisa, she had some plans." you admitted.

he walked towards the the wooden cabinet where he kept his liquor, grabbing a empty small glass and a much larger glass full of burning liquor.

some part of you was telling you two remove yourself from the room, get as far away from Elvis as you could - but another part of you was screaming at you to stay, screaming at you to pursue your dangerous urges.

"If you prefer me to go, I can, Mr. Presley." You offered, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip as you watched Elvis's face for any sign of discomfort.

he stood on the other side of the kitchen island, his body standing right across from you.

you saw the way his jaw clenched at the way you said his name, but that happened everytime the simple saying slipped out of your mouth, "oh, mr. presley."

"no, no, the more the merrier." Elvis's slurred out, pouring a shot of whiskey in his glass, hesitation laced in his voice but he quickly covered it with a shaky scoff.

"you know, it's good to call me just elvis." he met your eyes, cooing out his words. the playful expression that was on his face moments ago replaced with a more hesitant one.

"good for you or good for me?" you murmured out, your lips quirking up so riskily and daringly.

you were writing out a check you couldn't cash.

"it would save us from a whole 'lotta trouble." he raised his brows and tilted his head with a careless shrug, bringing the glass of liquor to his lips. his Adam's apple bobbing as the stinging liquid entered his body.

"trouble? i thought you liked trouble, mr. presley." you cocked your head, your words rolling off of your tounge so surely. you began readjusting your hips, the end of your satin dress riding up with every move you made.

he couldn't read the expression sprawled on your face, but you sure as hell could read his. his knitted brows, his eyes looking at you so intensely... reading you for any source of confirmation that the sinful thoughts in his head weren't only racing through his.

"i like a lot of things, sweetheart." elvis chuckled, setting down the glass of dark liqueur. his eyes taking a quick peek on the dress that was now bunched on your hips - a momentarily peek, a peek that was so quick that he was sure you wouldn't have saw.

"yeah?" you purred, deciding to be the one to make the first move out of the unspoken need you two shared. you decided to grab the glass he sat down moments ago and bring it your lips, the liquor was strong but you wouldn't show him that.

"uh, y... yeah." elvis choked out, clearing his throat as he felt sudden pressure on his cock. "good things cause a lot of trouble." he purred sinfully, he knew what your intentions were, he knew he wasn't reading this situation wrong... the next move was up to him.

he quickly recovered, shaking off the flustered state you put him in and returning to his cocky self. "good girl's, cause a lot of trouble." he teased in a readily manner, he lustfully over where you stood, watching you with nothing but pure amusement.

"oh, mr. Presley, kill me if im wrong. but i would assume your saying im a good girl?" you cooed, you quirked one of your brows, questioning the man infront of you. you sat your body on the counter, legs dangling as you looked at him curiously.

"isn't that you call a pretty little thing such as yourself, a good girl?" he rasped it so readily, his feet moved him few inches, just so he could stand in between your legs and look at your face.

your chest rose up and down in a needy way, your eyes watching the way his slowly wandered towards your bare hips. "i can be whatever your want, mr. presley." you handed him back his glass of liquor, a barely visible coat of cherry red lip stick on the rim of the glass.

"you’re gonna be a good girl for me, yeah?" he purred as he nodded, grabbing the glass from you, but never did he dare to look away from you. keeping his eyes on you as you felt his finger tips tap your soft thighs. those three taps, gesturing for you to open your legs so he could stand in between them.

and you listened, never did you hesitate. he looked down at your parted legs, oh god, how many times has he thought about this exact moment. he didn't know where to start, he just knew by before the night was over he would have kissed every inch of your body.

"how do you want me, baby?" one of his rough hands gently squeezed your hips, while the other finally began reaching the soaking lace panties that covered your pussy.

you felt his duo of fingers applying light pressure to your clit, causing a shaky whimper to leave your mouth.

"i... i just, " you trailed off, you looked down to see his hardened cock poking through his leather pants - you took a peek, a peek so quick you thought he wouldn't even notice.

"just need you inside me, mr. presley." you whimpered, rolling your hips up towards where he needed attention from you most - causing breathy moans to slip from his and your lips as you felt his needy dick rub you through your lace panties.

"that'ta girl." Elvis teased, he began slipping the wet pink lace off, a cocky smirk on his lips as he pickpocketing them. your hands traveled towards the zipper of his black leather pants, the sound of the zipper unzipping could be heard alongside your's and Elvis's needy breaths.

"so eager, baby?" he chuckled, the sound of the leather dropping to the floor - and just as quick as his pants were off, so were his boxers. there was nothing holding him back from fucking you.

precum on the tip of his hard dick, his body telling him he needed this more than anything.

" y'look so pretty like this, mama." he breathily cooed against your neck, placing sloppy kisses all over your collar bones as you and him were chest to chest. you felt his hand gently hover over your lower abdomen, pressing ever so gentle - leaving you slightly confused.

his dick began grazing over the slit of your pussy, his precum mixing with the wetness of your pussy his words he squeezed out of you. your hands gripped his shoulders, getting yourself ready and steady.

he then lined his dick with your hole, he looked at you for confirmation. you nodded readily and quickly, moving your hips that he had been gripping up a few inches. "please." you whimpered, his tip in your hole, you just needed him to completely to enter you.

and as soon as you whimpered, you felt his dick slowly filling you up. his dick was bigger than any other dick that had entered your body before. you felt your walls tighten around him, your nails burying into his shoulders as his hands squeezed your hips.

"pussy was made for me." he didn't move, letting your needy hole get used to the feeling as you both let out incoherent whimpers. his eyes squeezed shut, head buried in your shoulder, and hot and heavy breaths following.

his dick hadn't left your hole all the way when he then snapped his hips into yours, taking you by surprise as you felt his hand lift your thigh around his waist - hoping to get access to the spot that would drive insane even if he slightly grazed over it.

he set a harsh but slow pace, each thrust was better than the other. you felt yourself subconsciously rocking against his, breathy whimpers and moans slipping from his mouth was only encouraging you to continue.

He was making you feel so good, like you expected him to. His dick seemed to be made for you, all of its veins and curves hitting the right spots inside you.

you felt his hand pressed against your lower abdomen again, but this you felt something else other than his hand.

he wanted you to feel him, inside and out. so you saw the bulge of his dick with each time he slammed into you, you could basically feel that familiar Spring coil form.

"s... so damn.. " he cut him self off with a harsh thrust in your pussy, causing you to let out a high pitched moan. " tight, just for ... me."

and just if you thought that was too much, you felt his fingers press against your swollen button. pressing and tracing circles around your wet clit as his dick dipped in and out.

This pleasure filled encounter couldn’t last forever, even if you wished it could. Soon enough your walls began to clench around him, making his thrust slow down to enjoy the way you squeezed. He was choking out moans into your ear, his voice raspy and shaky.

"elvis... m'close." you whimpered shakily, his hands guiding your hips as you felt his dick pulse, the familiar feeling of your pussy getting sensitive with each time his fingers and dick did their most.

and he made sure to touch that g spot, pushing his dick into so deep that you were sure to cum any moment. "fuck!" you breathlessly moaned, everything around you went hot when his dick hit that spongy spot.

"that'ta girl." he pressing down lightly on your lower stomach so you really felt him whilst shushing you.

it was like all of the juices you had been collecting had finally released just by his dick grazing that sweet spot, your vision went white, and your body jerked into his - his arm wrapped against your body, hugging against you as he rode out his high.

you could hear the sound of yours and Elvis's cum mixing, the shaky pants you two shared, something you would never forget.

tag list . . . !

@marinarose12 @rysssaa @domaniquessidehoe @wistoric @givemehickeysplease @mr-aurum @feral4austinbutler @pandora-journey @kissingrhi @ash-omalley @queendelrey @heartsbomb @djarinlgc @austinbutler4life @adoreyouusugar

˚₊✩‧₊◜kinktober 2023! ―

! please remember, in order to participate in kinktober, you must be 18+ as there will be nsfw material involved. anyone not following these rules will be blocked!

✧ hello! it's that time of year again (: I did my first kinktober last year, and it was a success (and still is), except I never fully finished it ): I'm hoping this year will be different because I'm starting as early as feasibly possible. if you think you've seen this post already from another account, you're correct. that's my account, except it is currently shadowbanned. so, I made this new account and decided to redo this masterpost as I'll probably be posting kinktober here. also, the prompt list has been edited as 28.08.2023.

✧ here is the taglist form if you'd like to be tagged in my kinktober works! click meee!♥

✧ prompt list is below!

austin butler - clumsy

warnings ; none

prompt ; in which your celebrity crush causes you to become a flustered, blubbering mess.

a/n ; a little something fun i wrote during the fall but never published! it’s basically anxious!reader and honestly how I imagine myself reacting to meeting aus so enjoy xoxo

Okay, don’t panic.

Do not panic.

It’s just a man. A man with blonde, curly locks, blue eyes, over 6 feet tall… but still, a man. Nothing special. You could probably find ten of him walking down Rodeo Drive.

Except that’s probably not true either.

It is Austin Butler, after all.

#austin butler #austin butler elvis #austin butler x reader #austin butler fanfic #austin butler fluff #austin butler angst #austin!elvis #austin butler smut #austin butler imagine #austin butler gif