Elvis One Shots/Imagines

I Just Can't Help Believin' - Elvis

A/N : my fics always get lives of their own I swear

When you woke up, you were surprised to find Elvis in your bed. Sure, he was your husband and you did share a bed with him. But you had expected to have woken up when he got in last night, but you suppose that wasn't the case.

He was tucked up tightly in the bed, only his eyes and nose peaking out from under the blanket as he softly snores. His suitcase was against the door. Based on the way he was sleeping, you figured he'd be out for a while. Elvis had been working his ass off at the International Hotel for what felt like ions. He needed rest, lots of it. And you did not want to deprive him of that.

So you gently slid off the bed, careful to not disturb him. You closed the bathroom door as you did your morning routine of brushing everything and prepping your face, then you tiptoed to the closet to pull an outfit off. Right before you were about to dip into the hallway where you were going to get dressed, you decided to take his suitcase with you. Might as well do some laundry for him.

You knew Elvis didn't expect this of you. You could have woken him up right now and shoved his suitcase in his face and told him to do it and he'd accept it for what it was. But you loved him, and you wanted to make his life easier. You'd seen him perform, he put his everything into it. And his everything could be absolutely exhausting. If the little things like laundry or sleep were what you could do to help him out, then you'd rush to do it.

You got changed in the hallway, laying your robe on the suitcase to just add to the laundry for the day. Then you took it downstairs, unclipping it and sorting through.

Elvis often wore elaborate costumes for his performances, which were loved by many. But you had to divide what needed to be washed a certain way so as to not destroy it. Right now you were focusing on his more clothing items, underwear, shirts, pants. Not his jumpsuits.

You found yourself humming one of his songs as you worked, starting the washing machine and setting other things aside. You began to pick up the house, folding the blankets that had gone everywhere and dusting the surfaces. Again Elvis's music flowed throughout your head. You couldn't pinpoint what the title of this song was, or even what the lyrics were. It just silently hummed throughout you without a care in the world.

Around noon you thought it might be nice to get some of Elvis's favorite foods ready for him when he wakes up. So you dashed to the grocery store to get peanut butter, bacon, banana and Pepsi.

You put those items away for later and continued to do his laundry and clean the house. Graceland was massive and you usually didn't do all of the work yourself. But you'd told most of the staff to take the weekend off when Elvis got back so he could sleep throughout the day, and you didn't mind doing the chores.

At around four you had gotten the iron out and was carefully ironing each of his jumpsuits so they would look presentable for him, even though he rarely wore any of them twice. You heard Elvis come down the stairs and saw his sleepy figure in the archway.

"Y/N?" He asked, his voice groggy.

"Afternoon," you said, continuing on with your iron.

"You didn't wake me..." he sounded a little confused and kind of sad, but you knew he was still in that hazy sleep phase.

"You needed to sleep, baby."

He pouted his lips but didn't say anything to argue, he just sat down on the couch and turned on the television. He hadn't seemed to notice the ironing either. You stopped with his last suit and went into the kitchen to make him his favorite sandwich, grabbing a cold Pepsi.

"Here you go, baby."

He immediately dug in, gulping half the Pepsi and eating quickly. Then he paused halfway into the sandwich, looking at the sandwich and looking at the now fully done laundry and ironing. Elvis gulped, placed the dinner on the table and stood up.

"Y/N..."

"Yeah baby?" You answered, half listening as you were folding.

"You did this?"

That made you look up, suddenly worried that you had done something wrong. "Did I wash the suit wrong? Was the sandwich-"

Elvis cut you off with a tight hug, his large arms pulling your body tightly to his. "Thank you."

You relaxed into his touch. It was nice to have your husband back. God you had missed him, the thought almost made you tear up.

"I can't believe you did all this for me, it's so kind. Makin my sandwich, doing chores, it's mighty sweet. I just can't believe it."

"Oh that's the song!" You blurred out, then immediately slapped a hand over your mouth. Damn it, you had ruined a perfectly good emotional moment between the two of you.

He cocked an eyebrow, a little confused but also amused, "say what?"

"Oh it's nothing, I've just had one of your songs stuck in my head all day and I couldn't remember."

"And?" He asked, prompting you again.

"It's 'I Just Can't Help Believin.'"

He smiled, kissing your forehead, "I can't believe you're my baby."

You smiled, leaning into his hug. You couldn't believe he was yours. But you knew you loved him. And if that meant days of doing laundry and making peanut butter sandwiches, you'd do it over and over again just to have this experience.

Elvis started to hum 'I Just Can't Help Believin', his hands resting on your waist as the two of you slow danced in the living room. You had your arms around his neck, head on his chest as you felt the rumble of his deep voice. It was perfect.