You walked into Elvis’ office just as he hung up the phone. He looked tense, rubbing his temple as he leaned back in his chair.
“Kathy’s sick… says she won’t be able to sing with us at the Astrodome,” he muttered. It was his first show outside the International Hotel, and the pressure was obvious.
“I’m gonna have to find another backup singer in the next few days,” he sighed.
You frowned and walked over, gently placing your hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, baby,” you said softly. He reached for you, pulling you down into his lap, arms wrapping around your waist.
He stared at you, eyes distant like he was thinking hard. You raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “What?”
“I want you to do it,” he said.
You blinked. “Huh?”
“I want you to sing backup for me.”
You laughed, shaking your head. “Very funny.”
“I’m serious, mama,” he said, dead serious. “You’ve got a beautiful voice. I want you up there with me.”
“But I can’t,” you said quietly. You’d never sung professionally, mostly because the thought of singing in front of a huge crowd terrified you.
“Yes, you can,” he insisted. “I’ll set up some rehearsals. You can practice with the Sweets.”
“I don’t kn—” you started, but he cut you off with a quiet, pleading, “Please…”
His eyes were soft, his mouth curled into a slight pout. You were a goner. You sighed, defeated—and before you could even say “yes,” his lips were on yours.
“Thank ya, thank ya, thank ya,” he murmured between kisses.
—
February 27, 1970.
You stood on stage beside the Sweet Inspirations, clapping along to the rhythm of Elvis’ set. The lights, the crowd, the enormity of it all—it should’ve terrified you. But it didn’t. Because nobody was really watching you.
They were watching him.
Elvis was a few feet ahead, dancing around the stage with all the energy and charm in the world. You couldn’t help but smile.
The music faded, and Elvis stepped forward, a little out of breath.
“Thank ya, thank ya very much,” he said, flashing that signature grin. “Before we go any further, I’d like to introduce ya to the members of my group.”
He introduced J.D. Sumner and the Stamps Quartet, then turned toward the Sweet Inspirations.
“These are the girls who opened our show tonight—the Sweet Inspirations,” he said as they stood and took a bow.
Then, he walked over to you. Your stomach flipped.
“And the little girl doin’ our high voice singin’ tonight…” He took your hand and gently pulled you to your feet. “…is my beautiful wife, Y/N Presley.”
The crowd erupted in cheers and applause.
You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. Elvis kissed you quickly, whispered, “I love you,” then turned back to the mic to finish introducing the rest of the band.
You sat down, still smiling, heart racing—not from nerves this time, but from pride.
It was early 1967. Elvis had his friends over, as usual—laughing, playing pool, half-watching the football game on TV. The room buzzed with easy conversation, but his focus kept drifting to you.
You were on the floor, gently cradling Joe’s baby girl against your bent legs. She was just a few months old, soft and squirmy, letting out light giggles as you tickled her belly. Your laughter mixed with hers, warm and easy.
Behind you, Elvis sat on the couch, half-listening to whatever the guys were saying. But his eyes were on you—your hands, your smile, the way you looked so natural with the baby. His smile turned lopsided, eyes soft with something deeper than amusement.
He could picture it—your baby, his. That same laugh, but yours together.
Joan came over and crouched beside you. “Time to feed her,” she said with a grateful smile. You nodded, lifting the baby gently into her arms before brushing off your jeans and heading toward the kitchen.
Elvis followed, quiet.
As you poured a glass of iced tea, he slipped behind you, arms wrapping snug around your waist. You felt his warmth before you heard his voice.
“We should have one,” he murmured against your neck, brushing a soft kiss just below your ear.
You blinked, caught off guard. “A baby?” you asked, turning slightly to look at him.
“Mhm,” he hummed with a nod, his voice low, but sure.
A smile pulled at your lips. “Really?”
He met your eyes. “Maybe after I wrap this next movie. We could start tryin’.”
You nodded slowly, the idea settling into your chest like sunlight. “Yeah…” you whispered, smiling.
“I love you,” you added softly.
“I love ya too, mama,” he said, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss as quiet and full as the moment itself.
you got out of the shower, drying your hair and body before going to the closet in you and elvis’ bedroom, changing into a matching cotton pajamas set—soft shorts and a top.
after brushing your hair and teeth, you wandered through the quiet house, searching for elvis. “el?” you called out to no answer, humming as you heard the faint strum of guitar strings.
you went to the front door, peeking out of one of the windows to see elvis on your front porch swing, strumming his guitar lightly as he stared into the moonlight.
you open the door and step out, shivering as the cold breeze hits your bare arms, the sound of the door opening and closing catching elvis’ attention. “hey mama” he says softly.
“hi” you say quietly with a smile. “c’mere” he says, you nod and go over to the swing, sitting down next him, smiling as he moves to lay his head in your lap, your hand finding home in his jet black hair.
“play me something” you say, earning a low chuckle and nod. “what do ya wanna hear?” he asks.
you think for a second. “my happiness” you say, earning a nod before he messes with the tuning pegs and starts playing it.
“Evening shadows make me blue
When each weary day is through
How I long to be with you
My happiness” he sings softly. your fingers drifted through his hair as you watched him sing
“Whether skies are grey or blue
Any place on earth will do
Just as long as I'm with you
My happiness” he sings softly, playing the last few strings before you look back down at him.
“i love you” you say softly. “i love ya too baby” he retorts, grabbing your free hand and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.
“can we go inside? it’s cold” you say, shivering a bit as the breeze hits you again, he chuckles and nods. “yeah” he says, getting up and holding out a hand to help you up.
you take his hand and go inside with him. as the door closed behind you, you glanced back at the swing, already missing the music, the moonlight, and the way he sang for you only.
A/N: When I tell you this was a labor of love, I am understating it. This piece came out of nowhere, took root in my heart, and bloomed out of my very soul. It is my favorite thing that I've ever written. This is my love letter, my declaration, my covenant to him. This is what I've always dreamed of for him. There are remnants of my blood, sweat, and tears here, folks. I hope you enjoy it, my heart on the page.
Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, this has some of the gentlest, most respectful and subtle sex I've ever written. Drug use and addiction are also in there. As is childbirth and death. There are also Christian/Biblical references throughout.
Word count: ~3.4k
Somewhere in Memphis, tucked behind a fence covered in ivy, there's a little white house with a sign outside that reads Sanctuary. The house has fallen into disrepair, with peeling paint and a sagging roof, but when you sit on the porch in the early morning sunlight, you can still see it how it used to be when he was here. It lives in your heart and your memory with the blue shutters intact and the lawn perfectly mowed and him, always him, singing somewhere in the house.
Back then, the now-quiet house was full of noise, especially after the children came along. But even before that, you always had music. From the day he handed you the keys and installed the sign out front, you filled the place with him even when he couldn't be there.
The memory of how you met in 1960 floats up and you close your eyes to really see it. You were cleaning the church when he walked in and sat in a pew at the back. It was after midnight and at first, you were scared. No one ever came into the church this late. You considered going to the phone and calling the minister, but then you heard him. He was crying. And not pretty, quiet tears. No, he was sobbing, his arms wrapped around himself as he rocked, shoulders shaking. You tried to get a little closer to see if you knew him. You'd lived in this town for most of your life, so the odds were good. When you realized it was him, you quickly stifled your gasp.
Elvis Presley.
But not the version you'd seen on your TV in the ‘50s or even on the Frank Sinatra show recently. This man was broken. It cracked open something inside you that never closed again.
You approached him gently, heart in your throat, not because of his fame, but because of his pain. All you did was slide into the pew beside him and wrap an arm around his shoulders. He fell into your embrace like he'd been searching for it, tears soaking the fabric of your dress. There were no words between you in those first few hours. You held him and he clung to you and cried. Eventually, though, he noticed you were whispering and sniffled.
“What?” His voice rumbled low in his chest after all the crying.
“Huh?” He sat up and looked you in the eyes, your own as red-rimmed as his from your tears.
“You're whispering.” For a moment, you considered not telling him what you were doing, but something inside you wouldn't let you lie to him.
“I'm praying.” He kissed you then. But it wasn't sexy or sinful. No, it was holy. A gentle kiss of just lips and tears and all the words you didn't need to say. When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours and took your hands in his. And then he sang.
“There is a place of quiet rest, near to the heart of God.” He lifted your hand and kissed your knuckle. “I don't think I've ever been so near to the heart of God as I am right now here with you.”
His eyelashes were splayed against his cheeks as you watched him press kisses to your hands. You'd never seen anything more beautiful.
“Then stay.” He had looked at you then with a kind of quiet reverence and nodded. You spent the rest of the night in conversation, laughing, crying, and then laughing again. By morning, the two of you had fostered something that he knew the world would never understand.
The ceremony was like a dream, just you and him and the minister and God. Not even his daddy knew. It wasn't legal, but it meant more to him this way and you knew that. You didn't ask to be on his arm in public, didn't need it. You just wanted him and like this, he was yours and yours alone.
After the midnight wedding, he took you to this house. Then, he handed you the keys and made his own kind of vow.
“I promise to keep this house, to keep you, as my sanctuary. My peace. My Shiloh.” He had taken to calling you Shiloh early in the relationship because it meant rest and that's exactly what his soul did with you. You were the only place it was safe for him to exhale and he cherished you for it.
When he made love to you for the first time that night, it wasn't dirty or shameful. It was beautiful. You opened for him like a sacred flower and he honored the gift of your body with his own. But it also wasn't chaste. He whispered verses from Song of Songs into your skin as you came undone in his arms. At the end of it, he held you close to him, both of you trembling with pleasure, and whispered, “I think that's what God intended it to be like, Shiloh.”
You nodded, tears caught in your throat. “I love you, Elvis. I'll always be here for you, no matter what. I don't care what else happens. Here, you're mine and I'm yours. Just like this, Mizpah.”
The name just slipped out of your mouth before you knew what you were saying, but he knew what it meant. Love despite separation. A sacred biblical covenant to love each other even from a distance. He smiled.
“May the Lord watch between me and thee while we are absent, one from another.” And then he kissed you and made love to you again.
That was the other thing this house always had: love. If music was in the air, then love was in the foundation, and you made your home there with him whenever he could get away. It wasn't often, but you made the most of the time you had together.
It wasn't long before the first baby came along. He rushed off a movie set when you called and flew home to be by your side. When he walked through the little white door, the sound of your screams nearly scared him to death, but the midwife assured him everything was fine. She tried to keep him outside the room, but he wouldn't stay. No, he pushed past her and kneeled down next to where you were lying on your side in the bed, holding your hands in his.
“You're okay now, Shiloh. I'm here. You can do this, baby.” You groaned and writhed with another contraction.
“It hurts, Mizpah.” He pushed your sweaty hair back and kissed your forehead.
“I know, Shiloh, I know.” And then he started humming. His humming turned to singing and your son was born to the sounds of his father’s voice and gospel hymns.
The midwife cried at the sight of you both bathed in the golden light of sunrise, your son in your arms wrapped in a blanket you'd crocheted in anticipation. Elvis kissed his head softly and then smiled as he pressed his lips to yours. When she left the three of you alone in the bed, he cried and thanked you.
He stayed for a whole week that first time. It was the longest he'd been there in a long time, and he caught hell for it when he got back to Hollywood, but he didn't care. He'd never been more proud or content in his whole life.
It killed him not to show off his son to the world, but he knew if he did that there would be too many consequences. He wanted to keep you safe and away from his life in the spotlight.
So you stayed hidden in the little house in Memphis and raised your son. He had golden hair and round blue eyes, and he looked at things like he was genuinely curious. Elvis always watched him with pride. “Look at him, Shiloh. He's so smart. He's gonna put his daddy to shame.”
When the twins were born, he missed it. He was in Hawaii, too far away to get home, and it damn near killed him. After the fact, you reflected that it was probably for the better. They'd been born in a hospital and he couldn't have been there anyway. He'd just scoffed and kissed your forehead, each of you cradling a little girl, “That wouldn't have mattered. You know you're my world, Shiloh.”
For the first time, your smile had faltered then. “But I'm not, Mizpah. You have a whole life outside of us. How much longer will it be before you stop coming back? Before that life owns you fully?”
He laid the baby in the bassinet and then took the one you were holding to lay her next to the other. Then, he took your face in his hands and forced you to look into his blue eyes. “That'll never happen. That– that person that I am there? It's not me. It's an act.”
“Then why don't you leave it? I need you here. We need you, Mizpah.” He brushed away the tear that slipped down your cheek.
“Is that what you really want?” A deep sigh escaped you.
“No. You were born for that life, for more than just this. I know that.”
“I'll leave it tomorrow if you ask me to, Shiloh.” You looked up at him and saw the sincerity in his eyes. But no, he had a restless soul that could never be fully happy here with you. He needed his other life and you loved him too much to ask him to land in the nest you shared. You decided in that moment that you'd never ask him to stop flying again.
“No, Mizpah. Just remember where your home is.”
“Always.”
Time passed and he never stopped coming home to you. Truth be told, you were so busy raising babies that you barely noticed his absence. Only in the night, when the moon was high and the breeze was soft, did you ache with missing him. But somehow, like his soul heard you calling for him, he always showed up the day after the hardest nights. There'd be a soft knock on the door, the children would squeal, and he'd be there glowing with the softness that only came from being truly at peace. He held sick babies and played with them in the yard and washed dishes and made love to you in the old four-poster bed. The years slid by and you were happy.
And then one day he came home and something was different. You were sitting on the couch nursing your newest baby, another boy, when he walked in. You'd seen him angry before, of course you had, he was human, but this was different. He had a storm in his blue eyes and your heart jumped in fear.
“Mizpah?”
He tried to whisper and not wake the baby that had fallen asleep in your arms, but he was clearly upset. “They're makin’ me marry her, Shiloh.”
You'd felt like your stomach was full of lead. You stood up slowly and laid the baby down and then turned back to him. This moment had been a looming possibility for years, but the reality of it was worse than you could've dreamed. The silence stretched out between you, and you tried to decide how to respond. He looked at you like he wasn't sure what to expect.
“Say something, Shiloh.” Your mind reeled with the possibilities. Should you ask him to leave his other life? No, you swore you'd never do that again. Should you yell? Be angry? It felt more like sadness than anger, though. You really didn't have any choice.
“You have to do what you have to do.” He fell to his knees and sobbed and you walked to him without thinking. You let him grab you around the waist and cry into your stomach.
“I don't want to, Shiloh. Please believe me. You're my wife. You're my wife.” Sinking to your knees, you took his face in your hands and kissed the tears on his cheeks.
“I know, Mizpah. I know.” You held each other then, both of you crying, baptizing the rug of the little house with your weeping.
He married her a few months later and you did your best not to see it in the magazines. You knew he'd been with other women. It had always been that way, but this felt different. Like he belonged to her now. He stayed away for almost six months, and it felt like you might break. But you had four children to keep alive, so you never let yourself go fully. Instead, you just cried yourself to sleep night after night and prayed that he'd come home.
When he finally did, he looked so different you almost didn't recognize him. It was more than just the sideburns, though. He carried something else now that you'd never seen before: shame. It was close to midnight when he quietly opened the door. You heard it from your bed and sat up quickly, your heart in your throat. He stood in the doorway and stared at you like a stranger.
“You're home.” He nodded silently, and you cocked your head to the side. “Unless you're not?”
“I hate myself, Shiloh.”
“Because you love her?”
“Because I don't.”
“You've been trying to.” He walked over to the bed and settled on the quilt, leaning his head back.
“Yeah. I have. She's pregnant. And I just… I'll love the baby. But I can't love her.”
“Should I let you keep trying?” The question came out of you so small that you wanted to cry when you heard it. He turned to look at you with tears in his eyes.
“You are the one whom my soul loves, Shiloh.” There was a beat of silence and then you opened your arms. He crawled into them and held you, his body wracked with sobs. “I missed you so much it hurts.”
“Oh, Mizpah.” You stroked his hair as the tears slid down your cheeks.
“I can't do this without you. I tried. I-I-I can't.” He held you even tighter as he cried and you kissed his forehead.
“You'll never have to.” And then his lips found yours with a newfound desperation. There were no more words as your hands trembled and you undressed each other. When he slid inside you, it wasn't a departure from his sham of a marriage. It was a homecoming. A sacred return to the only thing in his life that had ever been true. He made love to you like his life depended on it, and maybe his soul did. By the end of it, everything else had fallen away and the only thing that remained was the two of you and the love that bound you together.
He never stayed away that long again.
But something in him had changed. He was torn in a new way. Driven in his career and wearing himself thin physically and emotionally. He was always happy to be home when he was with you and the children in the little house, but you saw the way it wore on him, knowing he had to go back.
He never took the pills in your home. But his stays got shorter as he started to withdraw from them when he was with you. One night, he got out of bed in the middle of the night and started to dress to leave.
“Mizpah? Where are you going?”
“I can't sleep here. Not without– I just can't sleep.” He paced around the room nervously, his hands twitching.
“Come get in bed and I'll hold y–”
“I said I can't! I have to go. I just–”
“Need your pills.” He looked at you with his eyes wide. Did he really think you didn't know? “I'm not stupid. You think I don't see you when you get here, still high from your last dose?”
“Shiloh…”
“You need help. Let me help you.” You opened your arms, praying he'd surrender like he always had. But this was bigger than you, bigger than the love that had always kept you together.
“I need ‘em, Shiloh.” He'd turned and left, then, for the first time leaving you to cry alone. He sat in his car, weeping into the steering wheel, before he shakily poured a couple of pills into his hand and swallowed them.
You hadn't expected him to come back in, but he did. He slept in your arms, like always, but you knew you'd lost even more of him that night.
Your children grew and changed. You grew and changed. And so did he. It hurt so bad to see him destroying himself with the pills and the work. But what could you do? So you did the only thing you could: you loved him through it.
You stayed steady and there, loyal and loving, everything you thought he needed. It got harder and harder to bite your tongue, but you did your best. Still, he drove himself into the ground trying to please the people in his other life. His wife left him, but he was more upset about what it meant for his daughter than anything else. He played tour after tour, engagement after engagement, and every time it took more and more from him. The pills became more than just a necessity. They became a lifeline. His body began to break down, but still he came home to you and the kids whenever he could. They were old enough to know who he was, now, but they also knew to keep it quiet. When they were smaller, you'd told them their daddy was a superhero, and some part of them still believed it. He thrived in their presence. They were the only thing keeping him going.
And then it was 1977.
“I'm so tired, Shiloh.” He breathed against your shoulder one night, just before the filming of his television special.
“Then rest, Mizpah.” You meant that night, but something rose up inside him that he had never really considered before.
It wasn't until he was on stage that he decided. He was singing the final chorus of Unchained Melody and his soul settled. There was only one choice.
On August 16th, 1977, he walked through the door of the little white house and stayed.
He watched on TV with a cigar in his lips as the world mourned, a single tear sliding down his cheek. And then he let them bury Elvis Presley.
You held him through all the worst parts of the detox symptoms. It was hard, and there were several times where neither of you thought you'd make it. But you did. He let his hair go white and the weight dropped off of him with the stress. When he did finally leave the house, no one expected him, so no one recognized him.
He was free.
The rest of your life together was a blur of raising teenagers, and then adults, and then grandchildren. The only one from his other life who ever knew was Lisa Marie. She met her siblings and found her own kind of home there behind the blue shutters.
You grew old together in the little house that was always filled with love and music. The porch swing became your favorite place to watch the sunset. When he died surrounded by those who loved him best in 2012, you buried him in the yard under the peach tree, his final resting place marked only by an old wooden cross.
That's what you're looking at as you sit under the sagging eaves. There's a single word etched into the cross: Mizpah. When you got your diagnosis, you had a matching one made that says Shiloh. You can feel it in your soul. You'll be joining him soon.
But for today you'll sit here and feel him beside you on the swing as the wind blows softly through the trees. Because he's always been here in this place, in your Sanctuary, ready to welcome you home.
It was summer 1970, elvis was on the second year of his international hotel contract and you were packing a suitcase to head to new york to study photography tomorrow.
elvis was sat on your shared bed in the suite of the international, watching you pack. “i don’ see why ya can’t jus’ stay here” he says, you look back at him and chuckle a bit “you know why i can’t, new york has a really good program for photography” you explain.
he groans and lays back. “but i want ya here with me” he says “i know..i wanna be here with you too..but this is a really good opportunity to start a career of my own, i get bored just sitting around” you say, he nods with a sigh.
“ya know they have photography schools here too, right?” he asks. “ya could go to a mornin’ or afternoon class and then come to my evenin’ shows” he explains.
“el..” you sigh. “y/n” he retorts. “you’re gonna be on the complete opposite side of the country, a different timezone..we wouldn’t be able to see eachother” he says.
“you could fly to new york when you’re not doing shows..this leg ends in a few weeks” you say. “you’d learn everything here that you’d learn in new york” he says, you sigh and stare at him, you’re really considering giving up something that could be really big for you, for him.
you move some hair behind your ear and nod a bit. “fine..i’ll look at the schools here i guess..” you give in, he smiles and gets up wrapping his arms tightly around you “thank ya baby” he says, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.
“i’ll make sure ya get the best program that vegas has to offer” he says. you couldn’t help but smile a bit at his joy, you’d do anything to see his pretty smile, to make him happy
You were sat crisscrossed on you and elvis’ shared bed at graceland, reading a random book out of his very large book collection, waiting for him to come back from recording at the studio, a hand resting comfortably atop of your bump.
You looked up as you heard the bedroom door open, a wide smile spreading across your face as elvis walked in. “hi mama” he said softly, walking over to you and pressing a soft kiss to your lips.
“hi..how did it go?” you asked. “it went great” he said, slipping off his shoes and slipping in bed behind you. “whatcha readin’?” he asked as you laying your back against his chest, his arms wrapping around you and his hands finding home on your belly.
“gone with the wind” you answered. “i’ve seen the movie a million times but i’ve never read the book and i don’t really have anything else to do so i thought, why not?” you added with a chuckle, he smiled and pressed a soft kiss against your shoulder.
“how ya feelin’?” he asked, his thumb rubbing gently across your skin, you shrugged. “not too bad today” you answered, earning a nod.
“did ya eat?” he asked, you nodded. “i made pancakes this morning and had a sandwich not long ago” you answered.
“did ya dr-“ he starts, getting cut off by your lips against his. this was a daily routine for him, come home and ask a million questions, making sure you ate, drank water, took your medicine and vitamins, etc.
“i’m okay..i did everything i promise” you say with a chuckle after pulling away. “i worry about ya, ya know that” he says, you nod.
“and i’m very grateful” you say, closing the book and laying it on the side table before laying your hands over his.
“have ya been thinkin’ of any names?” he asks, you nod. “a few” you say with a smile. you had just found out about a week ago that your having a little girl, elvis was ecstatic.
“tell me” he says. you hum, thinking a bit. “i really like paisley” you say, looking up at him.
“that’s cute, i like it” he agrees with a smile. “what about a middle name?” he questions.
“i was thinking love, for your mama” you say softly, making his smile grow bigger. “Paisley Love Presley..it’s perfect.” he says, bringing a hand up from your stomach and laying it on your cheek, pressing a soft and slow kiss to your lips.
“yeah?” you question, he nods. “yeah” he retorts, moving some hair behind your ear before laying his hand back on your stomach.
“i love ya..and our ‘lil girl” he says softly, you smile and press a kiss to his cheek. “we love you too el” you answer softly.
tw: reader having a panic attack, minor cussing, fluff
you and elvis were sitting down on the living room couch together, his arm loosely wrapped around your shoulder as he talked to his friends.
you weren’t paying attention to anything being said, zoned out on the floor as your mind raced through things a million miles per hour.
“baby, you there?” elvis asked with a chuckle, pinching your thigh which broke you out of your thoughts, you looked up at him and nodded with a small, forced smile. “yeah i uh..i’ll be right back..” you said, getting up and going to the back yard to get some air, feeling your chest tighten.
you’ve always had really bad anxiety and kinda felt a panic attack trying to come on all day, but you tried to hold it back. you leant against a wall as your hands started to shake and started to feel like you couldn’t breathe. “shit..” you breathe out, sliding slowly to the ground, running a shaky hand through your brunette hair, closing your watery eyes as you try and catch your breathe.
“mama?” you faintly hear elvis call out from inside, looking up as you hear the door open, he immediately dropped to your side, knowing what was going on “i can’t..can’t breathe” you say in more of a whisper as your breathing got heavier, closing your eyes again
“i know..look at me” he says, grabbing your chin and making you look at him again. “try an’ breathe with me, okay?” he asks, you nod before trying to follow his breathes, keeping eye contact with him, his hand rubbing your leg softly.
“good job..you’re okay” he says softly, wiping the tears from your face as your breathing starts to steady, wrapping his arms around you. “you’re okay, i got you” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your head.
“i-im sorry..i don’t know..i don’t know why that happened” you breathed out, he shakes his head. “ya don’t need to apologize baby” he says softly.
“how about you go lay down for a little bit, hm?” he suggests. “i can tell the guys to go home and we can watch a movie or somethin’” he adds, you nod. “if you don’t mind..” you say, he nods. “i don’t mind at all” he says, getting up and holding his hand out for you. “come on baby” he says, you take a deep shaky breathe before grabbing his hand and getting up, heading inside with him.
I hate Priscilla Presley and I think people who loves her loves her because they know nothing about her and she looks cool but in reality she is an awful mother and person
you hummed a song quietly to yourself as you folded elvis’ towels.
“mornin’” you hear behind you, making you jump a bit. you turned around to see elvis leaning on the doorway of the laundry room.
“good morning mr presley” you say. “elvis” he corrects with a small chuckle, you nod a bit.
“good morning elvis” you say with a small smile, earning one back before you look back at the towels, grabbing another one and folding it.
“ya know..that song you sang last night really reminded me of my mama” he says, pushing himself off the doorframe and walking over to you.
you looked up at him “yeah?” you questioned, earning a nod. “yeah” he retorted in more of a whisper.
“she used to sing it when she cooked or when we sat on the porch at night. i had forgotten about it til ya sang it” he explained, you smiled. “funny how music brings people back” you said, he nodded in agreement.
“i think you’re the only one who understands music like me” he says with a smile.
“well if you ever need someone to talk to, you know who to come to” you say. “thank ya” he answers softly.
“you’re welcome” you said, he stood there for a second before walking out of the room.
and for the first time since you started working at Graceland, it didn’t feel quite so much like work anymore.
an: i was asked to do a part two..do we want a part three?
an: this is not hate to ann margret i love her and lowk think she was elvis’ true love
a tear ran down your cheek as you held a small piece of paper in your hand, a small love note to your husband from another woman, you knew who.
elvis had just gotten back from filming viva las vegas, there had been rumors flying around in the papers about an affair with his co-star for a few weeks now, but elvis told you it was all fake, you didn’t have any proof to back it until now so you believed him.
you sniffed and wiped away your tears and walked out of the room, going to his office. “can we talk?” you asked, he looked up at you and quirked a brow, leaning back in his office chair with a nod. “sure baby, about what?” he asked.
you sighed and held up the piece of paper, you could immediately see the fear in his eyes. “this” you said. “is it from her?” you asked shakily.
he clenched his jaw. “why are ya goin’ through my stuff?” he asked, trying to change the subject.
you shook your head. “i didn’t, it was in your jacket pocket, and as your wife i have every right to read it” you explained.
he sighed. “it’s nothing” he says, leaving forward and grabbing a cigarette, lighting it and taking ba drag. “that’s bullshit, you’re a horrible liar” you said.
“all i’ve done is love you and support you and this is what i get?” you asked, earning a sigh as he takes his cigarette out of his mouth. “y/n-“ he starts.
“no fuck you elvis, i’m done.” you spit out, he stares at you in disbelief. “huh?” he questions, standing up.
“i can’t do this anymore” you said, tears welling in your eyes. “im not gonna sit here while you go and sleep with other woman and act like it’s okay” you added before crumbling the paper and throwing it on the ground, going to the bedroom, elvis following not far behind you.
“where are ya goin’?” he asks, you shrugged. “my parents..a hotel..anywhere” you said.
“baby we can figure this out, you’re bein’ crazy” he says, you stop in your tracks and turn to him. “i’m being crazy?” you questioned. “you’re fucking other woman half way across the country while your wife sits at home, i don’t think i’m the crazy one here” you said before going to your shared closet, grabbing a suitcase and sloppily packing your clothes.
elvis runs a hand through his hair, watching you pack. “please don’t do this..” he says softly, you zip up your bag and look at him. “i can’t keep living like this i’m sorry..” you say. “maybe she’ll be better for you” you added, taking your wedding ring off and handing it to him before walking out of the room and going downstairs.
“i’ll be back to get the rest of my stuff” you say, walking outside and putting your suitcase in your car before getting in, looking at him as he stands on the porch.
a tear rolls down your cheek as you start your car, heading down the long driveway and out of the gates.
you were a maid at graceland, it was a quiet evening other than the rain tapping on the windows, you and elvis were the only ones there which was rare.
you were cleaning up the dining room a bit, looking over as you heard elvis play a few chords on his piano in the music room, he looked upset, tired.
you wanted to ask if he was okay but you’d never really talked to eachother. you went to walk out of the room before you heard him speak up. “ya ever feel like you’re vanishin’?” he asked, you look over at him again, a little surprised he actually said something to you.
“what?” you questioned. he looked over at you, you made eye contact for the first time. “ya ever feel like your vanishin’?” he repeated. “little pieces at a time?” he added.
you shrugged a bit. “sometimes” you said softly. he hummed and played another note on the piano, low, sad.
“i used to play for joy. now i can’t tell if it’s still in me, or if im just echoing someone i used to be.” he explained, you stepped into the hallway, leaning on the doorframe of the living room.
“you still got it, maybe it’s just quieter now” you reassured softly, messing with the fabric of your dress.
he looked back over at you, staring for a second. “could ya sing something?” he asked. “i’ve heard ya singing a little when you’re cleanin’, ya got a pretty voice” he said.
you sighed, looking down in embarrassment, shaking your head. “mr. presley i-“ you started “please” he pleaded softly.
you nodded before softly singing a gospel song you grew up listening to, you looked up at him once you finished, he looked at you in admiration. “that was beautiful baby..” he said almost in a whisper, a small smile growing on your face. “thank you..” you said quietly.
“i uh-..i should probably get back to cleaning” you added, standing up straight, earning a nod.
“alright..uh-..if ya need anythin’ let me know” he said softly, you nodded and walked away.
you and Elvis were sitting on his bed in silence, your head resting on his chest. He was leaving for the army in a few days so you were spending as much alone time as possible since you wouldn’t be able to go with him immediately.
you looked up at him, he was zoned out on the floor. “what’s wrong?” you asked softly, breaking him out of thought.
he looked down at you and shook his head a bit, he looked like a little boy. “just thinkin’ baby” he said, earning a nod from you. “about what?” you asked, searching his face.
he sighed and looked down at his pants as he messed with my fabric. “about goin’ to the army..what if everyone forgets me?” he asked, you frowned, reaching up and laying your hand softly on his cheek, making him look back at you.
“nobody’s gonna forget you..colonel already said he’d keep putting out new songs and you have that one movie coming out soon” you reassured.
“but i-i’ll be in a whole ‘nother country, they won’t hear from me or see me in concert for three years” he replies.
you nodded again, rubbing his cheek with your thumb. “you’ll be back on stage as soon as you come back and it’ll be like you never left” you said softly.
“promise?” he asked softly. “i promise” you replied, pressing a soft kiss against his lips.
Elvis was supposed to be on stage almost two hours ago, he was currently sitting down on the backstage couch with his head in his hands, breathing heavily as his leg bounced up and down.
“el you’ve got to get out there, i don’t think the sweets are gonna be able to stall much longer” you say for probably the 15th time in the last hour and a half.
“i-i can’t, they ain’t gon’ like me..they didn’t like me last time” he said.
“that was thirteen years ago..they’re gonna love you i promise” you reassured him, you hadn’t seen him this nervous to go on stage since the 68 comeback.
you walked over to him and knelt down in front of him, grabbing his hands and making him look at you. “you’re gonna do so good..i’ll be right up front” you said softly.
he searched your face, he looked like a little boy. “what-what if i forget the words?” he asks.
you shrugged a bit “it happens..but i’ve never seen you forget the words to a song” you said, looking over and clenching your jaw as colonel wobbled into the room.
“my boy, what in the world are you doing?” he asked. “he’s just nervous, he’ll be out soon” you answered.
“he needs to be out there now, mrs presley” he said with an attitude, making you roll your eyes. “just gi-” you started before being cut off as elvis gets up and takes a deep breathe, you sighed, you always hated how fast he listened to colonel over you.
“how ‘bout uh-how ‘bout you head out to your seat..i’ll see ya after the show” elvis says as you get up, you nodded and pressed a kiss to his lips. “okay..i love you” you said. “i love ya too mama” he replied before you left the dressing room, not without shooting a glare to colonel.
“Are you hungry?” You ask, getting off Elvis’s lap after he gripes about random stuff.
“Do what?” He asks, quirking a brow. “You’re being grumpy” you say with a sigh
“I a-..yeah..a lil’” he says with a tone of defeat. “Im going to get you food” you say shaking your head and kissing his lips before you head towards the door.
“Burgers, baby…please” he says, you nod and go out to the car in the parking garage—
Once you arrived back at the hotel, headed inside and went to the rehearsal room.
“There she is!” Elvis yells like a child in a candy shop. You smile at him and go over, setting the bag in his lap. “For my princess” you say shaking your head.
Elvis laughs then plants a soft kiss to your lips. “Thank ya mama, i love ya” he says, taking the burger out and taking a massive bite.
“Want a bite?” He mumbles, you nod and take a small bite as he holds it up to your mouth. “I love you too” you say, going over and sitting at the piano, watching him practice his vocals.
Nothing could take the love you have for this man away..no matter how hangry he was, no matter the fights, no matter nothing. He was yours, youre his.
you stretched with a hum as you woke up, groaning a bit as the bright sun hit your eyes through the window, looking around for elvis.
you got up and left the room, looking in the dining room, the den, the living room, anywhere he’d usually be at this time.
you scratched your head a bit as you thought of where else to look, going outside, a smile growing on your face as you saw elvis outside on one of the lawn chairs next to the pool with his eyes closed
you walked over to the chairs, laying down next to him on one of the other chairs. “hi” you said softly so you wouldn’t frighten him.
he hummed and opening his eyes, looking at you with a smile. “mornin’ baby” he said, scooting over some to make more room on the lawn chair and holding his arm out. “c’mere” he said.
you smiled wider and got up, laying down on the chair and laying your head on his chest as he wrapped his arm around you. “i’m surprised you’re out here so early, usually you’re asleep by now” you said softly.
“can’t sleep, need to start tannin’ for my next movie anyway ‘n we ain’t got time to go to hawaii” he explained with a chuckle as he ran his fingers softly through your brunette hair, you nodded a bit with a content sigh.
“i love you” you said. “i love ya too” he replied, moving his free hand up to your chin and making you look up at him before pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “you’re so pretty” he said as he pulled away, moving some hair behind your ear and searching your face.
“thank you” you said quietly with a wide smile, your face heating up from his compliment like always, which didn’t go unnoticed by him, making him chuckle and shake his head, pressing a kiss to to your now red nose.
“why don’t ya go on upstairs and get in your bathin’ suit and we’ll go swimmin’ , hm?” he suggests, earning a nod from you.
you got up and headed inside “grab some cokes on your way back out here!” he yells.
vaporwave
areudirty
theartofmadeline
pixelskylines
janainaart
