Elvis is overwhelmed with stress and accidentally neglects his girl, who begins acting out for his attention. After he snaps at her, she runs off heartbroken, and hours later, he realizes she’s gone. When he finds her, their emotional reunion brings them closer, with heartfelt apologies and renewed affection.
tw: This story includes themes of emotional neglect (temporary), verbal snapping, emotional distress, runaway behavior, and elements of a caregiver/little dynamic (DD/lg). Reader discretion is advised.
Word count: 4,200 (approximately)
Graceland didn’t feel warm when Elvis was angry.
And he wasn’t yelling—not yet. But the weight in his voice, the set of his jaw, the way he moved like he was walking through a storm—it all told you enough. Elvis was mad. Not at you, exactly… but it didn’t matter. His anger filled the house like fog, sharp and cold and heavy on your chest.
You’d been good for the past two days. As good as you could be. Staying upstairs while the meetings happened, coloring quietly in the corner of his bedroom. The door to his office stayed shut, voices echoing down the hallway while your toys lay untouched. He’d kissed your forehead once. That was yesterday. This morning, he didn’t even look at you.
You even wore his favorite little outfit—the soft baby blue romper with the white lace trim. You brushed your hair with the pink brush he gave you. You even brought your lambie to the kitchen and sat politely with the cook until lunch ended.
But patience was running out.
By mid-afternoon, the ache in your chest was too big to ignore.
And he wasn’t paying attention.
You peeked around the corner near the staircase, clutching your lamb. His voice was low and tight, talking to Red near the dining room. There were folders in his hand, a thick pair of sunglasses still perched on his face even though you were inside. His jaw was clenched, fingers flexing restlessly.
“Red, I told ’em I’m not doin’ another press thing this week. They can wait. I don’t care what Parker says.”
“Hi Daddy,” you said sweetly, trying to sound small and cute.
Elvis didn’t even glance at you.
Then—just a flicker of his sunglasses your way. “Not now, baby,” he muttered, voice low and tired.
You tilted your head. “But I was thinkin’… maybe you could come sit with me after your talkin’? I got snacks ready. I got juice boxes too. The apple kind.”
“Elvis,” Red interrupted, trying to hand him a paper. “They’re pushin’ for a rehearsal date too. You wanna move the August show to—?”
Elvis’s voice dropped into something harsher. “Not now.”
Was that to you… or to Red?
You took a deep breath and stepped closer.
“I’ve been real good,” you said, tugging gently on the hem of his jacket. “I even made a picture for you. Wanna see it?”
His hand twitched—like he wanted to reach for you, but didn’t.
Then he pulled away, turning to Red again, dismissing your touch like it meant nothing.
“We’ll do the call in the damn kitchen. No one’ll bother us there.
Like you weren’t even real.
You weren’t trying to be bratty.
But when he passed you again ten minutes later—head down, shoulders hunched, still not even glancing your way—you felt something in your chest twist. Anger and sadness and confusion all curled up together. You’d waited for days. You’d been sweet. Quiet. Patient.
Now you dropped your juice box on the floor.
Spilled a little water on the table.
Threw your sock bunny at the stairs.
And when that didn’t bring him back—you took the biggest marker in your craft box and drew a big, swirly blue heart on the hallway wall.
You stared at it for a second.
And then you smiled. Now he’d see you.
“Elvis—hey, she—she’s drawin’ on the walls, man,” Jerry’s voice called from down the hall an hour later.
You didn’t hear the steps.
Didn’t hear the growl in his throat.
Just felt the cold sting of his voice as it dropped hard and sharp behind you.
“Are you kidding me, little girl?”
You turned, heart in your throat.
Elvis’s face was flushed. His eyes were narrowed behind those dark shades, jaw tight, voice practically shaking.
“I’ve been workin’ all damn day. Burnin’ through calls, gettin’ pulled ten different directions—and I come out here to see you actin’ like a damn wild child?”
You shrank back. “I just… wanted you to see—”
“Oh, I see it,” he snapped. “I see you throwin’ tantrums, makin’ a mess, ignorin’ everything I asked for. Grow up already, sugar.”
You weren’t in big space. You weren’t even halfway there. But the words cut deep anyway.
You looked down, swallowing hard. “Sorry, Daddy,” you mumbled, dropping the marker.
He sighed. Ran a hand through his hair. “Clean it up.”
And he didn’t see the tears you were holding in.
Didn’t see the way your fingers trembled as you picked up your bunny and quietly walked down the stairs.
Didn’t hear the gate creak open behind the pool house.
Didn’t see you slip through it, barefoot and quiet, disappearing into the wide green backyard, away from the noise, the voices, the house that didn’t feel safe right now.
Didn’t see you vanish into the trees behind the garden path.
It had been over two hours.
The sun had started to dip behind the trees lining the back of the property, and Graceland’s golden warmth had shifted into a heavy, dusky gray. The air felt thick. Still.
Elvis leaned over the upstairs banister, rubbing his forehead with a groan, sunglasses now shoved into his shirt pocket. He was tired—bone-deep, soul-aching tired—but something was… off.
The house felt still, but not in a peaceful way. Not in a settled way.
He glanced toward the hallway. Your room door was slightly open, a little light leaking out through the crack.
“Baby girl?” he called, voice low, worn out.
The bed untouched. No toys scattered around. No music, no cartoons playing softly. No sign of your soft slippers or your bunny. Even your pink sippy cup was gone from the bedside table.
He moved faster, checking the bathroom. Then the closet. Then under the bed.
Now his heart was climbing into his throat.
“Baby,” he said again, louder this time. “Come on now. You mad at me, huh? Where you hidin’, sugar?”
He went downstairs fast. Faster than he’d meant to. The kitchen was empty. So was the front sitting room. Even the Jungle Room was quiet.
His voice rose. “Anyone seen her?”
Jerry looked up from the couch. “I thought she was in her room, man. I saw her earlier—little thing had her lambie with her. Looked upset.”
“She’s not in her room,” Elvis snapped, the sharpness in his voice back again—but this time it was panic, not anger.
He was moving quickly now, calling your name louder. “Honey? Where are you?!”
Charlie popped in from the back hallway. “Maybe she’s by the swing outside? I heard the gate creak a while back, figured it was one of the guys—”
He bolted through the back door, his footsteps heavy on the concrete. The breeze hit his face, cooler now, but it didn’t soothe him. Nothing did.
He called your name again, louder this time.
“Come on, darlin’. Come out. This ain’t funny now. Daddy’s worried.”
The garden was empty. The swing was still. No sign of your bare feet on the steps, no toys by the gate.
You left. You really left.
And suddenly, the hallway scene replayed in his head—your small voice offering a picture, the way you shrank when he snapped. That broken look in your eyes. The soft apology. The tears he didn’t even stop to notice.
“Goddammit,” he muttered under his breath, his chest tightening.
What if you were scared? What if you thought he didn’t love you anymore? What if you got lost—or hurt?
He moved toward the far end of the yard, past the pool, past the rose garden. The grass was a little overgrown along the path near the trees. His boots crunched the gravel, his voice hoarse as he called again.
Not loud. Just a sniffle. A soft, stifled hiccup of breath.
Elvis turned sharply toward the willow tree in the corner of the yard, heart in his throat.
Curled up in the grass, knees pulled to your chest, your little blue romper stained at the hem. Your bunny was clutched tight in your arms, tear streaks running down your cheeks. You looked so small. So far away.
And Elvis felt like the worst kind of man in the world.
He didn’t say anything at first.
Just stepped quietly over the grass.
You looked up, startled. Eyes wide, red-rimmed.
You just looked down again, curling in tighter.
Elvis dropped to his knees in front of you, breath shaking.
“Baby,” he whispered. “Oh, sugar. What have I done?”
You didn’t answer. Just squeezed your lambie tighter.
“I was so damn tired I didn’t even look at you,” he said, voice low and cracking. “I didn’t see you. And then when you needed me most, I pushed you away. I hurt you.”
Your bottom lip quivered, but you still didn’t speak.
So he did what he should’ve done hours ago.
He reached out, cupping your tear-stained face with both hands, gentle as if you might break.
“Daddy didn’t mean those things,” he whispered. “I wasn’t mad at you. I was mad at the whole damn world and I took it out on my sweet baby girl. You didn’t deserve that.”
You sniffled, finally looking him in the eyes.
“You told me to grow up,” you whispered, voice cracking.
“I know,” he said. “I know, angel. And that was wrong. That was so wrong. You’re my girl. You don’t ever have to grow up with me, you hear? You get to be little. You get to need me. That’s the whole damn point.”
This time, you didn’t pull away when he wrapped his arms around you.
You buried your face in his chest, your little fists bunching into his shirt, and finally let the sobs out—deep, aching ones that had been stuck in your chest all day.
“I missed you,” you cried into his chest. “I missed you and you didn’t even care.”
He held you tighter, resting his cheek against the top of your head, rocking you slowly in the fading light.
“I do care. I love you more than anything in this world,” he whispered. “I let work take too much. I forgot what matters most.”
Elvis didn’t say anything for a while.
He just held you under the tree, arms around your small frame, pressing soft kisses to your temple like he was trying to kiss the hurt away. You’d cried so much your throat ached, but you didn’t want to pull back. You didn’t want him to let go.
When he finally did speak, his voice was soft and firm—like Daddy again.
“Alright, sweetheart. Let’s go home.”
You whimpered a little, clinging tighter.
“Don’t wanna,” you whispered.
He stroked your hair gently. “I know, baby. But Daddy’s gonna take care of you now. Promise.”
He stood up slowly, then bent and scooped you into his arms like you weighed nothing. You buried your face into his chest, legs curling up, arms still tight around your bunny.
“I was scared,” you mumbled, your voice barely there.
Elvis pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I know, angel. And Daddy’s never gonna let you feel that way again.”
The walk back to the house was quiet. The sky was a deep purple now, the first stars beginning to blink through. The house lights glowed warm through the windows. As he stepped inside with you in his arms, Jerry looked up—but Elvis just gave him a small shake of his head.
He carried you straight upstairs and into the master bathroom, gently placing you on the little stool by the vanity. You rubbed your eyes with the sleeve of your romper, still sniffling, watching him as he turned on the warm water in the big tub.
“You wanna take a bath with bubbles, baby girl?” he asked gently.
You nodded, voice tiny. “Yes, please.”
He gave a soft smile. “That’s my good girl.”
The tub filled slowly, warm water and vanilla-scented bubbles rising in gentle clouds. Elvis helped you out of your clothes, careful not to rush. His hands were warm and sure, and he kissed your shoulder when he noticed a little scrape on your knee from sitting in the garden.
“You were out there a long time,” he murmured.
You nodded, your voice quiet. “Didn’t wanna come back unless you wanted me.”
Elvis shut his eyes, jaw clenched.
“Oh, baby. I always want you. Even when I forget how to show it.”
He helped you into the tub, the warm water hugging your body. You let out a soft little sigh, relaxing for the first time all day. Elvis rolled up his sleeves and sat on the edge, his fingers combing through your wet hair gently, untangling it without hurting you.
He washed you slowly, softly, humming one of your lullabies under his breath.
When the bath was done, he wrapped you in the fluffiest towel he had, carrying you to the bed. Your favorite pajamas—soft cotton with little kittens on them—were already laid out. He dressed you like you were made of porcelain, kissing every finger and every cheek, murmuring little apologies between each motion.
Once you were all tucked in, bunny in your arms and your favorite blanket wrapped around you, he climbed into the bed beside you, fully clothed.
You blinked up at him. “You’re staying?”
Elvis smiled, pulling you close to his chest. “Ain’t going anywhere, darlin’. Not tonight. Not ever.”
You nestled into him, the scent of his aftershave, the warmth of his body, his heartbeat thumping steady in your ear.
“I was bad today,” you whispered.
His hand smoothed over your back. “No, sugar. You were hurt. You missed me. And you needed me. That’s not bad.”
You sniffled again. “Still yelled.”
He nodded. “You were upset. And Daddy should’ve listened. That’s on me, baby girl.”
You clutched at his shirt, like he might vanish. “I need you to look at me. To see me. Even when you’re tired.”
He cupped your face, kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your lips.
“I see you now, baby. Loud and clear. And I ain’t gonna forget again.”
You let yourself melt against him, feeling safe for the first time in days.
“I love you more, little one. Now go on to sleep, baby girl. Daddy’s right here.”
Tags 🏷️: @jhoneybees @i-r-i-n-a-a @gyratingpresley @kxnnxy @iloveelvisss @buglass @rjmartin11
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