Elvis Presleys Wife

request: dad!Elvis coming back from a long tour, just wanting to be back in his wife’s arms in Graceland and she isn’t there to greet him like usual. He’s looking for her and she’s sat with little Lisa Marie in the jungle room playing a guitar and singing Elvis’ songs (link)

A hand pushed him into the car, the screams faintly fading in the background. Elvis' breaths were uneven, rushed.

"C'mon E, deep breaths, man.", Elvis' ears muffled all the noise for a moment, his fingers reaching to pinch the bridge of his nose. Jerry grabbed a water bottle and handed it to him — there was no concern masked over his face, this was normal. Elvis was on the verge of passing out — that was normal.

The singer's eyes were shut as he blindly reached for his drink.

"—hell of a show, EP."

"Yeah, absolutely incredible."

Elvis nodded with a hum, his jaw set and his head leaned against the window. The chattering continued, his friends talking about the show and people who had attended. Eventually someone passed him his glasses and he instantly felt a little better, maybe it was a psychological thing, but that was a ritual. Something that settled him into reality.

Then he'd go to the hotel, take his pills and drowsily call you, asking for his little darling. But he wasn't going to that today, no.

"Make a turn to the left."

The chattering stopped immediately. All eyes settled on Elvis, whether it was through the rearview mirror or even a glance over their shoulder.

"The hotel is—"

"I ain't spending another night by myself. Take me back to Graceland."

There was no please and thank you, those were orders and they were to be followed blindly. Elvis was no uncaring man — he was kind, generous and good-hearted. But people took advantage. His drowsy mumbles to his daughter on the phone were nothing in contrast to the laughter at the bar on the first floor.

It was finally time to get a hold of his life. And he was going to do that. 

The gates of Graceland opened unexpectedly. The maids and cooks looked out of the window and exchanged confused glances. Should they start on a late dinner? Should they prepare a snack or drink ready to go? No one acted until orders were given.

"C'mon darling.", you wrestled your daughter, but she squealed, not tired at all. "You know your daddy is gonna call— And if he finds out you ain't in bed, you're gonna be in trouble."

"No!", her giggles filled the room as she dodged you with speed. "I wanna call daddy!"

You groaned and shook your head. "Daddy is the one that calls us, darling. We can't call an empty room, can we?"

The little girl ignored your words and grabbed the door handle, pushing it open.

"C'mon baby!", you called and winced as your voice echoed in the hallway. But your little girl was off, and you already knew where she was headed. She was much like her daddy, calling for music when she needed comfort. There was a fine thread that connected your baby, Elvis and music — a thread that was so fragile when being pulled, yet so strong when being tested.

Elvis didn't expect you to go on tour with him, especially since your little terror-baby had been born, but those were the times he needed you both the most. When everything was flashy and loud, he needed his two girls. His best girls. Only you were able to make him feel like Elvis, the human, and Elvis, the entertainer could finally take a breather.

You weren't surprised to find your daughter in the Jungle Room. A faint smile found your lips as you leaned against the doorframe, staring at your kid fiddling with her daddy's guitar.

"Mama?", she mumbled, her voice a low hum. "Can you play?"

You pulled yourself off the door and approached her. "Of course. What song would you like to hear?"

"I'm good, thanks Mary.", Elvis smiled at his cook, brushing his hand on her arm. "I'm just gonna go lay down with my girls."

Mary chuckled, pointing to the hallway. "Little Miss Presley wouldn't go to sleep. I'm pretty sure she's found her way to sneak in your music room. That kid."

Elvis shook his head, but his ever growing grin couldn't be held back. That definitely sounded like his daughter.

"I'll go see what they're up to. Good night, Mary.", he didn't need to guess where his two girls were, for the sound of music led him straight to them. Soft guitar strings being tickled and pulled, two singing voices melting in one, creating the most angelic sound he had ever heard.

"—your kisses lift me higher, like the sweet song of a choir.", you sang. "You light my mornin' sky with—"

"Burning love!", your daughter squealed with the biggest smile on her face. You kept singing, your lips twitching into a half smile at her reaction.

Elvis smiled at the sight, his lips pressed together to withhold him from singing.

Your daughter was patiently watching you play and sing, eventually singing her own version of the song, when her blue eyes raised and widened in a split second.

"Daddy!"

Your fingers stopped playing as an exhausted sigh fell from your lips.

"Darling. Your daddy is—", You slowly turned around to reprimand her, but your words were suddenly caught in your throat.

"Elvis?", you barely made out, the sight of him holding your daughter in his arms enough to take your breath away. "I thought— I thought you were in..."

You couldn't even finish your sentence, the guitar long ditched, unable to tear your gaze away from your husband.

"Good god, are you real?", you slowly approached the grinning man, raising your hands to his cheeks. Your daughter found it all amusing, hiding her chuckles in Elvis' neck.

"I'm real, baby, feel me.", the easy grin turned into a cheeky smirk as he pressed himself closer to you. "Whenever, honey, take your time."

That drawl, that lip curl... God, it really was him.

"Oh my god.", you threw your hands around his neck, breathing in his familiar scent as your eyes shut. "I missed you. So much."

Elvis tightened his grip on your little girl, his other arm extending to hold you as well. He breathed in and out, feeling his jaw unclench and shoulders fall loose.

That was all he had ever needed.

A/N: thank you for reading! hope you enjoyed 💋⚡️

tag list: @pearlescentswirls @wifetomanyfictionalmen

There are so many layers there. I think his voice is otherworldly. It has a soulfulness that I find very, very moving. And his beauty, his exquisite beauty. That voice, that beauty, it feels like such a gift to the world. - PJ Harvey

Elvis hadn’t said much all evening.

That alone was enough to worry anyone who knew him well. The house was quiet in that strange, hollow way that only happened after a long day—after too many voices, too many expectations, too many people wanting pieces of him. He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands loosely clasped together like he wasn’t sure what to do with them anymore.

y/n lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching him from behind. His shoulders were slumped, curls falling forward as his head stayed bowed. He looked smaller like this—not the larger-than-life figure the world saw, not the man on the stage bathed in lights. Just a tired boy from Tupelo, worn thin.

She closed the door quietly behind her.

“Elvis?” she said softly.

He didn’t look up right away. Just breathed out a slow, heavy sigh, the kind that came from deep in the chest, like it had been sitting there all day.

“Hey,” he muttered. His voice was low, rough around the edges.

She crossed the room without rushing him, sitting beside him on the bed. Their knees brushed, and even that small contact seemed to ground him a little. He shifted, but he didn’t pull away.

“You don’t gotta talk if you don’t want to,” she said. “I just didn’t wanna leave you alone.”

That got his attention. He finally lifted his head, eyes tired and dark, rimmed with something that looked dangerously close to hurt. He gave a small, humorless smile.

“Funny,” he said quietly. “Feels like I’m never alone. Not really.”

The words sat between them, heavy.

She didn’t argue. She didn’t tell him how loved he was, or how millions of people adored him, because she knew better. She knew that wasn’t what he needed to hear—not tonight.

Instead, she reached out and gently took his hand.

His fingers twitched under hers, then slowly curled around her own like he was holding on without realizing it.

“They expect so much,” he went on, voice barely above a whisper now. “Sometimes I don’t even know who I’m s’posed to be anymore. Everybody’s got an idea of me. Everybody wants somethin’. I get so tired of tryin’ not to disappoint.”

His jaw tightened, and he looked away again.

She watched him for a moment, heart aching. Then, without thinking too hard about it—without planning it—she spoke.

“Hey… satnin.”

The word slipped out soft and warm, like it belonged there.

He froze.

Not dramatically. Not all at once. Just… still. Like the air had changed around them and he was trying to figure out why.

She realized what she’d said a second too late. Her breath caught.

“I—I’m sorry,” she started. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” he said quickly.

She stopped.

He turned to look at her fully now, brows drawn together, eyes searching her face. “Don’t apologize,” he said. His voice sounded different. Thicker. More careful.

There was a long pause.

“Say it again,” he added, almost unsure.

Her heart fluttered, nerves sparking under her skin. But she nodded, voice gentle as she repeated it.

“Satnin.”

Something in him broke open.

His shoulders sagged as if he’d been holding himself upright through sheer will alone, and now he didn’t have to anymore. He swallowed hard, blinking rapidly, and let out a shaky breath that sounded dangerously close to a laugh and a sob all at once.

“Lord,” he murmured. “Ain’t nobody called me that in a long time.”

She squeezed his hand. “It just… felt right.”

He nodded slowly. “It does.” A small smile tugged at his lips, soft and real this time. “My mama used to say that. When I was real little. When things got hard.”

His voice wavered, just slightly.

“It feels like…” He trailed off, searching for the word. “Like you ain’t seein’ all that stuff out there. Like you’re just seein’ me.”

She shifted closer, shoulder pressing against his arm. “That’s because I am.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then he leaned into her—just a little at first, like he was testing whether he was allowed to. When she didn’t move away, he rested his forehead against her temple, eyes closing.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

She lifted her free hand and brushed it gently through his hair, slow and careful. He let out a quiet sound at that, something relieved and vulnerable, and his grip on her hand tightened.

“You don’t gotta be strong all the time,” she said softly. “Not with me.”

His breathing evened out, the tension slowly easing from his body.

“Feels nice,” he murmured. “Havin’ somewhere to rest.”

She smiled to herself, continuing the gentle motion through his hair.

“You can rest here as long as you need, satnin.”

This time, he smiled fully—eyes still closed, expression peaceful in a way she hadn’t seen all day.

Elvis is gifted a stuffed animal version of himself by a fan!