Austin Butler imagines

Little E 3: an absolute tantrum

Summary: Elvis has a sore throat at a particularly long studio session and doesn't know who or how to tell anyone so he slips and falls into a destructive tantrum.

You had just gotten in the door when you got a call from Scotty who had accompanied Elvis to the studio and to possibly be the peacemaker if Elvis and the Colonel possibly got into it.

"Hey, Scotty. I just got in, what's up?" You asked, dropping your bags by the door. You could hear some screeching in the background that you could only guess was Elvis. "Hey, hey. E is fuming and screaming. I think he's slipped too. We've tried pretty much anything. I think you're the only one who can get him calm at this point.. Can you just get here?" You nod, turning right back around out the door and to your car.

"Alright, tell him I'm on my way." You tell Scotty just as you're pulling out of the gates again.

You walk into the studio twenty minutes later, and it's very clear Elvis has slipped and he's in a full blown tantrum, tossing things around, kicking at the floor, popping his thighs with his fists and absolutely screaming.

You send everyone out so that it'll just be you two and hopefully it'll be easier for him to calm down. "E? Hey baby. What's going on?"

Elvis ignores you, grumbling to himself and pacing back and forth."I don't wanna! I don't! I don't wanna! No! Don't wanna!" He keeps screaming tossing everything he can get his hands on to the floor. You come up to him, grabbing his hands and holding them. "Nope, no, we're not going to make a mess baby, okay? That's not nice. Let's just sit okay? Have a cuddle with mama?"

Now not being able to use his hands to cause destruction, Elvis gets inches from your face and roars, tears streaming down his face. You keep your face neutral, calm until he stops screaming and stops fighting to get his hands out of yours.

Elvis plops himself down, hands still in yours and roars yet again. "No, I done! Done, done, no more!" You sigh, sitting with him, squeezing his hands trying to ground him, remind him where he is and trying to get him to focus. "Elvis.. are you done? Huh? Now making a mess of someone's studio and screaming at me is not the way to get what you want. You know that, baby. And I know you also know I can't help you unless you calm down and tell me what's the matter okay?"

You rise on your knees so you're slightly hovering over him and place both of your hands on his face, shushing him while he just cries, getting his breath back. He nuzzles his head into your chest as you card your fingers through his messy hair, waiting for his cries to die down and he's finally able to speak and tell you what's wrong.

It takes a few minutes but over time, he's reduced his sobs to just sniffles and hiccups. "Can you tell me now baby? What's got you so upset? What happened?" Audibly swallowing the lump in his throat, Elvis brings his fist up to knuckle his eye. "Tired mama. And my voice's no good t'day." He mutters.Your eyes bug a bit. His voice is no good? What does he mean? His voice is obviously wonderful to name him the king of rock and roll.

He takes a few deep calming breaths and you realize when he's doing that that he's also grabbing at his throat. Oh. "Baby, your throat is sore? Why didn't you tell Scotty, Sonny or Red?" You know why he obviously would never tell the Colonel he's feeling unwell. Big or Little Elvis would never confront the Colonel. Even to stand up for something he needs. Now you know why the tantrum started. In his little mind he didn't know what to do and how to make the situation better and didn't know who to tell or what to say to be able to get out of his duties today.

Petting his hair, you pull Elvis into your lap and ask him, "Did your throat hurt when Scotty came to get you this morning baby? You should've said something bubbas." He shakes his head, leaning into your hand that's still on his cheek and treating it like it's a pillow. "No mama. Only after the fifth song we sung, mama. Promise."

You nod. "I think a nap and some tea are in order, love." You walk over to the table and grab the box of Kleenex and bring it back over to Elvis who is an absolute exhausted puddle on the floor and you wipe his sticky tears from his skin.

After tossing the kleenex's, you take his hand and pull him up to full height and he hugs onto you, too clingy, wanting just one last cuddle before you both went home. "Momma, am I going to the step when we get home?" Elvis asks, lip wobbling once again. You shake your head no. "No bubbas." It wasn't his fault he didn't trust to slip in front of his employees and friends and didn't know how to tell them what he needed in fear of getting yelled at. "No but we are definitely gonna have a lie down for a while and some tea. Is that okay?"

He nods. "Yes mama. Home now?" He completely trusts you to talk to the big bad bosses telling them you're both leaving.

Not hearing any more commotion, Scotty knocks on the studio door lightly and peeks his head in. "Everything okay?" Elvis takes a step back, hiding behind you fully despite towering over you. He's hiding in plain view.

You swallow putting up the boss woman front you have to use when Elvis is little and he needs to know you're the boss. You take Elvis' hand behind your back and squeeze; silently letting him know he's okay, not to worry.

"Scotty I don't care what you have to tell the Colonel and the others but E's going home to rest. His throat's already irritated and I don't want it to get worse because then the tracks will suffer." He nods, understanding not to argue with you. "You got it, love." He hands Elvis his shades to hide the fact that he's been crying. "Here, E. He won't know."

Elvis nods and places the dark shades over his eyes with a small 'thank you'.

Once you both pass all the song writers, the mafia and everyone else and get in the car, you put Elvis in the back just in case any fans had seen any part of his team enter the studio and were perhaps were waiting for to possibly see a glimpse of him.

Right before you take off you reach into your glove compartment and find a red pacifier you put in there just for situations like this. "Here little one. Look what I got." Elvis takes it and pops it into his mouth, sucking hard on the rubber. "T'ank 'oo mama. Roxy too?" He asks. You shake your head, pulling out of the studio lot. "I don't have Roxy love but he's at home waiting with the others for you. We'll be there soon." He nods, looking out the window.

*
Someone asked for more little e from my tumblr so I decided to post this here too! ❤️🥺