Austin!elvis Smut - Tumblr Posts

This was everything

Just Let Me Adore You.

[ you can't watch what their doing to him any more. He's overworked. Exhausted, and pumped full of pills to keep awake. ]

TW: mention of drug use, vomiting, blood, mild sexual content.

Elvis/YN, or Austin!Elvis/YN if preferred

"Where is he?"

Your voice is sharp, demanding, and Vernon looks fearful almost as he takes a small step behind the colonel.

"Don't get all twisted up, sweetness. He's resting, was a big show tonight."

You didn't think you could hate anyone quite as much as you hated the man in front of you. From the minute he stepped into the picture, he only had one intention: bleed Elvis dry for everything he had.

It didn't matter how much you tried to warn him. Elvis saw him as a second father figure of sorts, and refused to say a bad word about the old bastard.

You had no such qualms.

"I want to see him, you twisted monster," you spat, glare hardening.

The ridiculous show schedule they had him on was taking its toll. Tonight more than ever. He looked awful up there, even if he did sing and perform just as perfect as ever, but even that made your chest ache. He would kill himself before he would let down his fans. You could see it backstage, between songs, where he would all but stumble to the waiting chair, letting them slip him pills and needles and shoving his face in ice water until he was gasping for breath, hurriedly reapplying his eyeliner before the next song.

He was dead on his feet. A puppet on strings doing everything he was told, consequences be damned.

"Now listen to me-"

"Let her in," that was Vernon's tired voice cutting in, avoiding your face, but you could see the guilt there anyway. "She might be able to settle him down," he continued, even softer, and you felt your concern grow worse.

Parker huffed, muttering something incoherent but stepping aside away from the door to the penthouse. You kept your posture tall, giving him a brief nod before pushing past and locking the door behind you.

There was silence for a few moments, and then a half moan, half sob. It was unmistakably him.

You followed the noise to the bathroom, and found your lover on the floor covered in vomit, sobbing dejectedly over the bathtub.

"Elvis, sweetheart," you gasp, dropping to your knees. He recoils almost, curling in on himself miserably.

"You need to go, mama. Can't- Can't be having you 'round when I'm like this," he moaned, burying his face away in his legs.

"No, baby. This is exactly the times I should be around," you say, moving close enough to wrap your arms around him. His reaction is almost automatic, even if he does try to fight it. His arms curl desperately around your waist, face buried in your chest as he cries, begs for unnecessary forgiveness.

"Hate myself, baby. I'm- I can't- I need to let you go, mama. You need'a run. Run far a'ay, you hear me?"

You shook your head, rocking him and pressing kisses to his damp hair, running your fingers over his back.

"Don't say those things. Please, Elvis. Don't say those things. You're amazing, baby. You did so well up there tonight," you knew it was what he needed, ultimately. He was so terrified of failing, of disappointing those flocks of people who scream and cry for him, as if he ever even could. You were convinced he could sit and talk for a few minutes about the blandest topic in the world and they would still go wild.

It was his greatest fear. That's why he let them fill him with drugs and take half his money. Consequences be damned, as long as he was making the people happy.

He all but mewled against you at the praise, slumping further into your warmth, mumbling a broken "you rea'ly think so?"

It shattered your heart, and you nodded, kissing his forehead.

"So good baby, but you need to rest now, for a little while. Till you're all nice and better, sweetheart."

Predictably, he shook his head, although anything he planned on saying was cut off with a harsh gag, and he was pulling away from you quickly to cough up a sickly mix of bile and blood over the tile floor.

He was pale, skin clammy, and while you winced in sympathy you couldn't help but be slightly relieved at the ejection of those horrible pills from his body.

He was apologising again, words slurred and body wracked by violent shakes.

"'Nother show, a-at t-ten. Colonel said demand was enough for it, I'm gettin' two shows a night," he sounded proud, despite being half dead on the floor like a weakened animal, eyes half shut and muscles tense, twitching incessantly.

"No," you spoke firm, leaving absolutely zero wiggle room for compromise, "you can't go back out there tonight. A few nights, maybe even a few weeks. You're going to kill yourself," it was brutal, perhaps a little harsh, but what else could you do? How else would he ever come to accept how bad the situation was, if not even one person in his life could be honest?

"If it's how I go, it's how I go."

Anger fluttered in your stomach, and you pulled him up to sit against the wall, sitting directly in front of him, hands clamped on his shoulders. You watched his eyes drift and struggle to focus on your face despite the close proximity.

"Don't you dare! What about Lisa, huh? You gonna have me explain to her where her daddy's gone? Want me to tell her how he loved them more than her? The Colonel, the fans, whoever the hell else! And- and what about me?! You just- you just gonna leave me, like that? After everything?!"

You didn't realise quite how worked up you had gotten, nor the tears streaming over your face, until he lifted a hand to cup your cheek, trying to thumb the wetness away as if he could make it all better just by cleaning up your hysterics.

It was him pulling you in this time. You wanted to fight. You were so damn furious, still - but his hands left you powerless, reducing you to a palatable mess who sunk against him in a bone heavy heap, hiding your face in his neck.

"Sorry, mama. Sorry. Not leaving either of yas, what kinda man would that make me, huh? What kinda daddy, or husband? Needa look after ya better, don't I? Look after my best girls."

You nod against his damp skin, a mix of tears and sweat as his body struggles. Your breath hitches when you feel how shaky his hands are running through your hair, and you pull back enough to wipe at your eyes.

"Let's get you to bed, baby. Let me look after you this time," you say quietly, running your thumb over his jaw. He blinks at you, a small smile tugging his lips, even if it is a little forced.

He looks pained and so, so exhausted. You never thought yourself capable of violence, but you wouldn't hesitate to kill Tom Parker for what he's done to your man. You remember those early days, back in memphis, back when his momma was alive. He was so bright then - so happy and carefree.

The years since had only served to beat him down. The shows and the fame and the fucking colonel- they only ever served to break him, and here he was now. Broken. He would never again be that nineteen year old starry eyed boy you first met, but that was ok. You loved him no matter what, just like you always swore.

You help him to his feet, and between yourself and the bathtub he makes it up on trembling legs. You wrap your arm secure around his waist, and you notice his slight wince, an insecurity spurred on by those awful pills. You tighten your grip, kiss his cheek to reassure him you don't care in the slightest.

It's slow, but you get him to the bed. He all but collapses into it with a groan, eyes already fluttering shut.

"Let's get you some clean clothes, baby," you encourage, and he obeys so easily as you strip him out of the soiled jumpsuit, tugging on some briefs in its place and some softer sleeping pants.

"Shirt, mama?"

It's not cold in the room, and the vulnerability in his eyes makes the shattered pieces of your heart burn.

"Don't need one, baby. I promise. You're gorgeous. All my gorgeous man, daddy," you assure, kissing his collarbone all tender and letting your hands move careful over his sides.

He shivers, squirming a little on the bed under your touch.

"You sure baby? Not quite as pretty as I useta be," he mumbles, and you huff a little, continuing to kiss downwards, on your knees all but worshipping every piece of visible skin.

"So gorgeous, daddy."

"What'd I do to deserve ya, huh?" Elvis whispers, and you chuckle a little against his skin, and his smile this time feels much more real.

"Somethin' diabolical, I'm sure," you tease, pushing him gentle until he lies down.

"Think I must'a been a saint or somethin," he drawled, and you smile.

"Or somethin."

You dip to press a kiss to his forehead, which still feels awfully hot. You decide a cold towel might help, but as you go to grab it he grips your hand.

"Where ya goin?"

He's giving you those puppy eyes, fingers linking with yours.

"Gonna get a towel, try to cool you down some. You're burning, baby," he shakes his head, whimpering a little, pressing his lips to your hand.

"Stay, mama. Ya all I need, you'll fix me right up with ya pretty lips. Just wanna hold ya, is all. Ya my medicine," he murmurs, and you sigh softly, perching on the bed and running your fingers through his hair.

"I'll only be downstairs, baby. Just one moment, ok?"

Reluctantly he loosens his grip, pressing a weak kiss to your thigh as an almost wordless agreement.

You rush downstairs and search for a towel, wetting it with cold water. You grab a bowl from the kitchen incase the nausea hits again, and a glass of water. You're just gathering up the things to take upstairs when you hear voices from the bedroom.

You quickly grab the supplies and go up, only to find Elvis now half sitting, struggling to get all the way up, breathing rough like he's panicking and trying not to cry. The colonel stands at the foot of the bed, cigar between his lips puffing clouds of smoke, arms folded over his chest as he watched, almost bemused.

"What the hell are you doing?" You spit, almost dropping the glass in your haste to reach your man. You place the water on the bedside, the bowl on the floor, and ease the towel around his neck, whispering reassurances as you direct him to lie back down. You can see in his eyes that he doesn't necessarily want to, but his body is far too weak to fight your guiding hands, and his head lands back onto the pillow with a soft thump.

"He's got a performance in a half hour. We need him downstairs for sound check and wardrobe," Parker states, voice void of any sympathy. He's looking at the sick man with something akin to frustration and anger, and you can see how it hurts him, can feel him try to sit again under your hands only to be physically incapable.

"He's not going on that damn stage," you growl right back.

"It's none negotiable, little girl. He signed a damn contract, he honours it!" Tom hissed, getting into your space.

You didn't back down, grabbing your lovers hand to assure him you were ok when you felt him try to struggle to his feet again.

"He's half fucking dead, you dimwit! You're working him to death, can't you see that? He's a human being! You can't just stuff him with drugs and push him onto a damn stage night in night out! He needs rest!"

The Colonel shook his head, chuckling. He looked at Elvis, who was glaring up at him now.

"You letting your girl fight your battles now? Letting her make the rules?"

He glances your way, tightening the grip on your hand.

"She's right. It's too much," it felt almost relieving to hear him finally say it. "Tell them I'll resume I'm a few days but not tonight."

You hoped you could convince him for a little more than that, but it would do for now.

The colonel seemed to of realised he lost, storming out with a promise to make us both pay.

The door slammed, and you climbed onto the bed immediately, wrapping yourself around him and kissing his lips sweetly, letting your hands draw patterns over his bare arms.

"I do good, baby?" He hummed quietly, and you nod, the tension melting from your body as he nuzzles into you, linking your legs and bringing his arms around your waist to tug you closer.

"The best. I'm proud of you," you murmur into his hair, peppering his face with gentle kisses.

You both lie like that for a little while, and eventually you can feel him snoring softly against you. You let yourself drift off too, feeling impossibly safe in his arms.

I-i..... I need air...

Payback

Austin!Elvis x fem!reader

Summary: You and Elvis despise one another, and when you get the opportunity to embarrass him during a business meeting, you can't help but take it.

Warnings: everything- smut, swearing, oral (m. recieving), 18+ only plz

word count: 2k

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“Are you fucking kidding me right now” Elvis screamed at you as he paced around his hotel room at the International. “Fuck, Elvis what do you want me to say! I’m looking at your accounts and the money that’s coming in can’t compensate for how much you’re all spending” you reply. 

Elvis had hired you as his financial advisor a few months ago, and you worked tirelessly to clean up the financial mess he and his family had gotten themselves in. You and Elvis had come to despise each other- he was a stubborn asshole that wouldn’t follow the budgets you set for him, and you were sick of having to deal with a hillbilly with a god complex. 

Today you woke up to a beautiful charge on his account for a new carpet on his plane, but of course, Mr.Presley is always right. “Jesus woman what do you want from me” he exclaimed, slamming his drink on his large oak desk and sitting down behind it. You walk up to his desk and slam the bills down on it “why did you hire me in the first place then huh? If you had no intention of following a single fucking thing I say”. You say, shoving the papers in his direction. He picks them up and looks at them, rubbing his temples as he sighs, defeated. “Fuck look I'll talk to Jimmy about this ok?” You take a deep breath, lifting his drink from the table and taking a long drink from it. You feel his eyes on you as you drink the amber liquid, enjoying the burn as it goes down your throat, leaving your insides warm. “I’m on your side here Elvis” you explain, putting the drink down. “If you don’t listen to me, the only person you’re hurting is yourself”.

He gets up from his desk and walks slowly around to you. His eyes are burning into yours as he makes his way around to you, standing so close you can smell his cologne. You feel your heart beat out of your chest, doing everything in your power to be calm. You hate this man, why is your body betraying you? He lowers his mouth down to your ear, feeling his lips brush your skin, and he whispers “you sure think mighty highly of yourself don’t ya darlin'?” You feel your blood boil as you step closer to him, bringing your lips so close to his that you can feel his breath on you. looking him directly in his eyes you smirk, whispering “you may sing pretty Mr.Presley, but you don’t know the first thing about economics- and your bank statements show it”. He sneers at you and you step away from him, going back to his desk to collect the statements.

He comes around and sits on his chair again. He goes to pick up one of the statements, sitting back with it in his hand, taking a big swig of his drink as he looks at you with a defying smirk. “Give it” you say harshly, stretching out your hand. “No” he says, feigning boredom as pretends to read over the statement. You roll your eyes and walk around his desk to pull the paper from his hand “can you stop acting like a five year old for two seconds?” You sigh exasperated as you two both grip the piece of paper back and forth. The battle goes on for a while until he pulls too hard and causes you to drop all of your papers on the floor, falling all around and under his desk. He has the audacity to sit there in his chair with a smug expression as you crawl around picking up the papers. “I fucking hate you” you mumble as you get them all. “The feeling is mutual sweetheart” he says between sips of his drink. 

You are about to reach for the last paper that was under his desk as you hear the door-handle turning to his room. He turns his chair to you and whispers “get up”. You crawl deeper into his desk and whisper back “I can’t what if they see me getting up from under your desk”. He’s about to bite back when the you hear his door opening and hear voices. Elvis sits further down on his chair, “come on in and have a seat gentlemen” you hear him say. The only voice you recognize is the colonels, and after listening to the conversation go on for a minute, you realize it’s just a boring meeting between them and the hotel owners. 

At least 10 minutes have passed and your legs are getting numb from having them tucked under you. Elvis of course has both of his legs comfortably spread out, leaving you no room to move around. You harshly push one of his legs away from you to allow more space for you to stretch your legs, but in turn he returns the favor by giving you a light kick, spreading his legs again. Against your better judgement you decide to crawl to the center of the desk, as its the only place you can have some space. You stupidly didn’t consider that this new position would have you staring straight at his crotch- too late now. You can still hear their conversation going on, and it doesn’t seem like its gonna end anytime soon. Elvis noticed your change of position, and decides to piss you off by scooting his chair closer into the desk, once again leaving you with no space. You have each one of his thighs on either side of you, and you have a perfect view of his member straining against his pants. You could see the outline of his dick, and you couldn’t help but notice that it looked gigantic. 

In that moment you had an idea. Never in hell would you actually put your mouth on him, but it would be fun to tease and distract the “king” during his business meeting with his employers. You repositioned yourself so that you were closer to him, and lightly traced your finger from his calf, all the way up to his inner thigh. You heard him stumble over his words, and smirked to yourself- its working. You laid your cheek on one of his thighs, lightly rubbing up and down on it, while still tracing patters on his other thigh. He opened legs a little bit more, and you looked forward to the outline of his cock, bigger and harder than a few minutes ago. You smirked to yourself as you lifted your finger to trace the outline, and you felt heat rush to your core, cursing yourself for letting this have an effect on you. You’re just teasing him, embarrassing him as payback. Nothing more. You traced him with more confidence now, using your full hand to rub at his length. You felt him cover up a moan with a cough, and smirked, bringing your lips to his covered length and peppering it with kisses. You rub your thighs together trying to release some pressure, and you find yourself needing to be closer to him. You rub your face confidently on his crotch, loving the feel of his leather pants on your skin. 

You promise yourself that you’re not actually gonna touch him, just leave him a horny mess. His voice still sounds way too stable, so you reach up and undo his zipper. He then lightly lifts his butt up from the chair, pretending to show the men some papers, allowing you time to pull his pants down. Poor thing he actually thinks he’s gonna get sucked. 

He sits back down and you go back to work, rubbing him through his boxers. You bring your face close to him, peppering kisses on his dick and fondling his balls. You take a big whiff of his covered dick and you’re intoxicated with the smell of him. There’s a wet spot on his covered tip and you lick it. You’re not thinking clearly anymore when you reach in and pull his dick and his balls out of his boxers. He’s so big it slaps you in the face. You remind yourself that this has gone much further than you intended, but you don’t care when you have such a perfect cock mere inches away from your mouth. His dick is red and veiny and so very hard. You take his head in your mouth and have to stop yourself from moaning. He tastes so good and stretches your mouth out so nice. You take him further into your mouth, sucking him harshly as you go down. You hear his speech becoming more breathy and disoriented the more you suck, but in all honestly you hoped he wouldn’t stop you from what you were doing. You were enjoying yourself far too much. You resist the urge to touch yourself, knowing you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from moaning. 

You decide to give his cock a break and move onto his balls, you spit on your hand and jerk him off as you alternate between sucking his balls into your mouth. They feel so pillowy and soft, you couldn’t wait to drain them and feel his babies down your throat. You continue sucking him, loving the smell of his junk as your face presses into his pubic bone. After a few minutes of making love to his balls you pop them out of your mouth to give his dick some much needed attention. You feel his hand sneak under the desk twisting in your hair, silently begging you to go deeper. You could never deny him, so you relax your throat and take him all the way down. That’s where you stay for a while, savoring the feeling of his head kissing your throat. You hear a man ask Elvis if he’s okay, and he tells the men that he is feeling under the weather and that he would like to reschedule the meeting. You only take that as encouragement rub your face on him, and then back off a bit to go back to bopping up and down. You suck him like your life depended on it, never wanting this to end but also desperately needing his cum. You lift your hand to fondle his balls, and suck him harder and faster than ever, feeling him tense up. You then bring his head to your tongue, wanting to taste all of him. You feel the first rope of cum hit your tongue and you can’t hold back your moan. He tastes so good and you know you’re addicted. You swallow it and feel him slide down your throat, only to be met with more and more ropes of cum, feeling his balls get lighter by the second. After what seems like minutes of nonstop cum-shots, he finally removes himself from your mouth, pushing his chair back to look at you- apparently the men had left. 

You look at him through your eyelashes and open up your mouth, showing him all his milk that was still in there. You slosh it around, gargle it, and try to blow a bubble with it. Some drips on your chin but you pick it up and shove it back in your mouth. He looks at you through hooded eyes and says “for someone who seems to hate me you’re sure havin’ a lot of fun with my cum aren’t ya mama”. You nod as you finally swallow it, loudly moaning as it goes down your throat- feeling full with his babies in your tummy. He sneers as he lifts you off the floor and places you on his lap. “You think this is funny whore? Suckin’ my soul like that while I’m in a business meetin’, tryna make a fool out of me”. You lick your lips and look at him innocently “I have no idea what you’re talking about”. He laughs darkly as he grabs you by your hair, lifting you off of him and slamming you down on the desk. He lowers himself down so he’s flush against your back, whispering against your ear “you knew exactly what you were doing you little cockslut, and now you’re gonna pay”.

Imagine:

You and Elvis are in a bar and you just got up to take a drink, a little later a guy approches you and you start talking with him waiting for your drink to get ready, he was charming and very funny and you were laughing at his jokes, he was really a funny guy.... But... At the table there was your boyfriend,Elvis,that was not so happy with the view...

Imagine him looking at you like that and when you turn around you felt chills down your spine and you were like: "oh shi-"....

————————————————————————

SIR... SIR....🥵

IM NOT OKEY RIGHT NOW

Edit 2

It's something that i wanted to share since on istagram if i dare i will be blocked so appreciate it.

Please, like this

DESTROY ME BAD

𝗹𝗲𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗮𝗳𝘁. elvis presley

PAIRING ➨ elvis presley x f!reader

GENRE ➨ smut

SUMMARY ➨ when you get accepted to play the role of ellie corbett in blue hawaii, you never knew how a single role in your entire career could change your life.

WARNINGS ➨ smut, oral (m receiving), spanking, fingering, multiple orgasms.

SELENE NOTE ➨ another spur of the moment thing, you can imagine it with either austin butler!elvis or irl!elvis, but it's supposed to be elvis, nonetheless.

MASTERLIST

you seemed to be getting bent over things recently. just yesterday, elvis had you bent over his knees, spanking you as hard and fast as he could for the scene the two of you had to shoot, and today, once filming had been done, he had your head bent over the side of his bed, dangling off as he thrusted himself deep into your mouth, your hands gripping onto his thighs as tightly as you could without stopping any circulation. his skin tasted sweet, rubbing along the length of your tongue, while the tip was salty, precum dripping along your tongue to the back of your throat. 

a while ago you stopped taking the deep breaths your lungs screamed at you for, burning deep in your chest as your esophagus was being abused by the singer. any other man and you wouldn’t have allowed them to use you like this, wouldn’t have allowed them to brandish their teeth marks against your skin as their cock imprinted its size and shape into your throat. but here you were, doing just that, and you would feel elvis’ guitar fingers rub against the folds of your cunt, going in fast circles against your clit to give you the pleasure you so greatly sought, and whenever you would gag around him, the firm slaps he would place against them. he’s brought you to however many orgasms to the point where you could feel the now cool cum pooling underneath your ass, sticking to the inside of your thighs, all while your throat has taken so many of his own orgasms to the point where all you could feel was the viscous liquid keeping your passageways lubed up for him. 

he would often pull out to let you breathe and regain your composure, as well as releasing his cum onto your cheeks or tits, taking his free hand to rub it into your skin. you knew for sure that you weren’t going to be able to speak as well as you normally would the next day, the abuse he had put on your poor throat would eventually show up as soreness and the occasional rasp you would surely have. 

but as of right now, with elvis singing praises into the night air, you really couldn’t give two shits. not when he was saying your name in such a way that brought tingles to your pussy.

you had started as a minor actress in large movies, usually playing background characters, before you finally got your big break in a streetcar named desire next to marlon brando, and shortly after that, loving each other’s performances and the casting directors noticing the natural chemistry the two of you had, they began casting the two of you opposite each other in other films, usually as the leading couple.

despite the slight repetitiveness of it, the two of you had remained good friends, and even having to go as far as the repeating that many times whenever you two would give interviews to the press. not a single person bought it, of course, as they only ever saw the two of you on-screen, and not in your day to day lives. he usually lived in his mansion in los angeles while you lived in a quaint apartment in new york, preferring to save your money in case any career problems arise. it was finally in 1960, almost nine years since continuously filming romance movies with marlon brando, with the odd role where you were just friends, you had finally landed the role of ellie corbett in blue hawaii opposite elvis presley, and to say that you were excited was an understatement. in all honesty, you have left a nice y/n sized hole in your bedroom ceiling after having jumped on your bed too high. 

not that you would tell elvis that. 

meeting him had been a fever dream. the man that had been around since 1956, making it big within a couple of weeks of releasing his first album, was incredibly down-to-earth and polite. he made sure to shake your hand and ask your name when you were introduced as his co-star. 

when everyone had down time from filming, he would pick up his guitar, immediately strumming a familiar tune to everyone, and he would sing, loud and clear, for everyone to hear before the director called for everyone to get in their places. 

the scene you were most anxious to film was the drowning scene, where your character would run out into the water before elvis saved her, giving her a punishment shortly after for doing such a thing. however, it wasn’t the fact that it would be elvis spanking you that made you anxious, it was your reaction to it. something that you had found out years prior was the love for the feeling of someone marking their handprints on your ass, and seeing elvis strum his guitar did nothing to help that. his hands were big, strong, capable to lifting both yourself and your co-stars whenever the scene called for it. 

you had gotten obsessed with the way they felt, when they would push you away from him, as the script said, and whenever they pushed your hair back from your face when the wind picked up. they were warm too, you realized, when you had to be picked up onto a counter, and he had gotten a little too close to your breasts, thumbs rubbing against the bottom as his hands encased your ribs. he surely felt all of the air rush out of you, leaving you breathless and peering deep into his eyes, trying to seem like a scolded child and not a some aroused woman.

“you know what you need?” he asked, anger pouring through his eyes. he was indeed a good actor, you had realized these past few months. “a good ol’ fashioned spanking.” this had awakened something in your core, and you tried everything in your power to not let the smirk make its way across your face. 

“m- maybe i do,” you had cried, letting the tears fall down your cheeks. “nobody ever cared enough about me, even for that.”

“alright, eleanor, if that’ll prove that somebody does care,” he roughly pulled your arm, causing you to bend over his lap, gripping onto his thighs as you looked down at the ground. “you wouldn’t dare!”

“wouldn’t i dare? wouldn’t i?” his hand raised up, landing firm smacks against your soft bottom, and you cried as you were told to do, but sometime in the middle, when you had finally stopped caring for the noises you were making, a moan had finally erupted from your mouth, and with burning cheeks, you realized what had made you do that. 

sometime during his harsh spanks, elvis had lost his hand placement, and had landed a firm smack against your cunt, sending pleasure shooting along your already too-stimulated body. thankfully, none of the others caught on to it, and the two of you continued the scene like nothing happened. when norman taurog finally called, “cut!”, you scrambled out of the singer’s lap, looking down at your feet as you rushed to your dressing room. 

embarrassment burned against your cheeks, and you wished that a hole would swallow you up to get away from elvis. you knew he had heard your moan, as when it had come out, he landed another firm smack against your cunt and you had seen him do his little left-sided smirk when you looked back at him. “please don’t,” your eyes had pleaded to him. he knew of your crush on him, one of the crew members had told him one drunken night while they watched everyone else ate s’mores around a fire.

he could tell from the way your eyes looked at him during certain scenes, when your character was trying to find a way to get his character, chadwick, to fall in love with her. 

he decided to follow you back to your dressing room, quietly as he followed the pink chiffon robe you had been forced to wear. when you had tried closing your door, he stuck his hand out to stop it, a loud bang! emerging from the interruption, and you had jumped around to face him. “elvis, what are you -” you had only begun before he smashed his lips against yours, his long arms wrapping around you to get you closer to him. 

his hand had come down to grip your ass, and he felt himself smirk when he heard you moan against him. 

“maybe you really do need a good ol’ fashioned spanking.”