Hey, sorry to bother you but imagine this Elvis Presley having baby fever with the reader basically after Lisa Marie is born Elvis starts having baby fever when Lisa Marie turned six years old what do you think about that? To be honest with you I think the reader would be a better mom than Priscilla and I think Lisa Marie deserves a better mom.
a/n : ok so this one is kinda long and messy but i actually liked writing it more than i expected 😭 it’s a mix of fluff, smut, pregnancy/domestic stuff and lisa being the cutest ever. the “LOVE” name idea is really what tied it all together for me bc it just felt… right yk. anyway i hope it makes sense and that you're gonna like it!
tws : smut (explicit sexual content), pregnancy, implied breeding kink, slightly dominant/possessive behavior, mentions of childbirth/pregnancy complications (nothing graphic), swearing, slight jealousy themes, emotional themes related to grief (mention of deceased parent), very soft domestic family dynamics, reader is pregnant throughout most of the fic
Lisa’s door clicks softly behind you as you make your way downstairs, the house quieter now, settled.
The TV is already on when you step into the living room at Graceland, low volume, some late-night show flickering across the screen. Elvis is stretched out on the couch, one arm draped over the back, a glass of whiskey in his hand.
He looks up the second he hears you.
“Yeah,” you murmur, walking over. “Didn’t last long.”
You sit down beside him, not too close at first, just enough that your shoulder almost brushes his.
He hums, taking a slow sip, eyes lingering on you longer than usual before looking back at the TV.
“You’re good w'her,” he says after a moment.
You shrug lightly. “She’s easy.”
He shakes his head a little. “Ain’t that.”
You glance at him now, catching something in his tone.
He doesn’t answer right away. Just sets his glass down on the table, leaning forward slightly, elbows on his knees.
“She always talks bout' you,” he says.
You smile faintly. “Hope it’s all good things.”
He lets out a quiet breath, something heavier than a laugh.
“Called you mommy earlier.”
You look at him, searching his face. He’s serious.
“Elvis…” you start, softer, “you know she didn’t mean it like that.”
“Maybe not,” he mutters. “But she said it.”
Silence settles between you, thicker now.
You lean back a little, trying to ease it. “She gets attached. Kids do that.”
“Yeah,” he nods, but his jaw tightens slightly. “Guess that’s what happens when a kid's mom ain’t 'round enough.”
You don’t push that. You know better.
Instead you say, quieter, “She just needs someone steady.”
His eyes shift back to you at that.
The way he says it makes your chest tighten a bit but you don’t answer right away.
He leans back slowly, turning his body more toward you now, his gaze not leaving yours.
“I been thinkin..” he adds “‘bout havin anotha one.”
Your breath catches slightly. “Elvis…”
“I mean it,” he cuts in, low, steady. “Not just sayin it.”
You shift a little, suddenly very aware of how close you are.
“Yeah,” he says. “And I’d do anything fo' her.” A pause. “But I think 'bout doin it right. Start t'finish.”
The air changes. You feel it before you even process the words.
“Elvis…” you repeat, slower this time.
His eyes drop briefly to your lips, then back up.
“I see you w'her,” he says, voice quieter now. “How she looks at you. How easy it is for you.”
“You don’t know that,” you say, but it comes out softer than you intended.
“I do.” There’s no hesitation in it.
He shifts closer, not rushed, not forceful. Just enough that your knees almost touch.
“Y'think I don’t notice?” he murmurs. “the way y'take care o' her. The way she runs to you.”
You don’t move. Neither does he.
“And I keep thinkin…” he continues, slower now, voice dropping, “what it’d be like if it was ours.”
That lands harder than anything else he’s said.
Your breath hitches slightly, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.
His hand moves then, resting against your thigh, firm but not rough.
“You ever think about that?” he asks quietly.
You should probably say something. Stop him. Laugh it off.
Because part of you has already gone there. “I…” you start, but your voice trails off.
His thumb shifts slightly against your thigh, slow, deliberate. “Tell me t'stop,” he says, even as his hand slides just a little higher.
You don’t, Instead, you look at him.
His grip tightens just enough as he leans in, voice low against your ear,
“Yeah… that’s what I thought.”
Elvis didn’t just carry you to the bedroom, like he owned every step.
His grip on your thighs was firm, fingers digging in just enough to make you feel the power in him. As soon as the bedroom door shut behind him with a soft click, he threw you onto the bed like he’d been holding back all day.
“Y'have no idea,” he growled, voice low, thick with want, “how long I’ve been thinkin' 'bout this. 'bout you. With my baby inside ya.”
You didn’t even have time to respond. Elvis was already on top of you, hands sliding up your sides, lips devouring your skin, rough and reverent at once. You moaned as his mouth found your nipple, swirling his tongue around it before biting down just hard enough to make your hips buck.
You obeyed, breath coming faster now. He slid his hand between your thighs, fingers brushing through your wetness.
“Already soaked f'me,” he murmured, almost smug. “You want it, don’t you? You want me t'put a fucking baby in you..”
“Yes,” you gasped, clutching at his shoulders. “Please, Elvis. I want all of it. I want you.”
He growled again, primal, hungry. “That's m'girl...”
He dragged the thick head of his cock through your slick folds, teasing you mercilessly. “You’re goin' t'take every inch of me. No pullin' out. No stoppin'. You’re going t'lie here and let me breed you 'til you’re full of me.”
You whimpered, back arching under his body. “Do it, El. Make me yours.”
With one deep, hard thrust, he sank into you, filling you in one go. You cried out, the stretch overwhelming, perfect. He didn’t give you a moment to adjust instead, he started moving, deep, slow strokes that hit every spot inside you with maddening precision.
“Y'feel that?” he whispered against your ear. “That’s where I’m goin' to come. Right there. You’ll feel it f'days.”
You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, nails digging into his back. “Don’t stop.”
“’m not fuckin' stoppin',” he growled. “Not until I feel you clench 'round me and soak m'cock. Not until I know you’re mine in every. fucking. way.”
His rhythm grew faster, more punishing, the sound of skin against skin filling the room along with your moans and the low groans that rumbled from his throat. He was rough, dominant but his gaze never left yours. When he kissed you, it was like he was sealing a promise between your bodies.
“I want t'see you pregnant,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “Swollen with our baby. Waking up next to you every morning, touching your stomach, knowing I put it there.”
You gasped, a high-pitched whimper catching in your throat. The idea of Elvis claiming you like that, so fully, so permanently sent heat rushing through your entire body.
“I’m close,” you choked out. “Please, E-”
He slammed into you deeper, harder. “Then come f'me, satnin. Come on my cock like you want me t'breed ya.”
Your climax hit like lightning, your body convulsing around him as you moaned his name over and over, nails raking down his back. Elvis held nothing back he drove into you through your orgasm until his own overtook him.
With a guttural groan, he buried himself deep and stilled, his release spilling inside you in hot, heavy waves.
He didn’t pull out. He stayed right there, chest heaving against yours, forehead pressed to your temple.
“fuck,” he whispered. “You were made for this. Made f'me.”
You could feel him inside you, thick and still twitching slightly as your bodies stayed locked together. He kissed your jaw, your cheek, then your lips, a gentler rhythm now, one that pulsed with something deeper.
“I meant every word,” he said quietly, brushing your hair back from your face. “If y'ready… we start tryin'. For real.”
You looked up at him, dazed and blissed out, but more certain than ever.
He smiled wide and unguarded before rolling to the side, pulling you into his arms, his hand resting on your stomach with quiet reverence.
“I think I’ll have t'fuck a baby into you at least a dozen more times… jus' t'be sure.”
You laughed breathlessly. “Well… you better get started....”
Months have passed in a way that feels strange to Elvis.
Not fast. Not slow either. Just… different.
The house isn’t as loud as it used to be, but it’s not empty either. It’s softer now.
And you’re the reason for most of that.
You’re sitting on the floor in Lisa Marie’s room, back against the side of her bed, one hand resting on your belly without even thinking about it anymore. It’s just habit now. Six months along and it still feels weird sometimes to say it out loud.
Lisa Marie is right in front of you, fully focused, explaining something serious about her dolls like it’s a business meeting.
“And she said she doesn’t like the tea party,” she says, very offended.
You nod like this is important global information. “That’s rude of her, honestly.”
“Right?!” she says, relieved you agree.
Elvis is leaning in the doorway, watching the two of you. He’s been doing that a lot lately too. Just… watching. like he still can’t fully believe this is real.
You shift slightly, adjusting your position.
Not sharp at first. Just a tightening low in your stomach.
Lisa is still talking, not noticing yet.
Another one. A bit stronger this time.
“Okay,” you murmur under your breath, mostly to yourself.
Elvis notices immediately.
He’s moving before you even finish your sentence. “What?” he asks, voice already alert.
You try to brush it off at first. “It’s fine, it’s just” But you stop mid sentence, breathing out slowly as you press a hand lightly against your stomach.
Lisa Marie looks up now. “What’s wrong?”
You force a small smile. “Nothing, baby. Just sit tight for a second.”
Elvis is next to you now, crouching down immediately. “Hey,” he says softer, but focused on you. “You alright?”
You nod, even if your face probably gives you away a bit. “Yeah. it's just the baby kicking and some contractions...It’s not bad.”
He doesn’t look convinced.
Lisa tilts her head. “Is the baby kicking?”
You let out a small laugh despite yourself. “Yeah… she's being annoying for a minute.”
Elvis lets out a breath, but he’s already shifting his attention.
“Alright,” he says, turning slightly toward Lisa Marie, still keeping one hand near you like he’s not fully letting go of the situation. “Hey, come here a second.”
She crawls closer immediately.
He takes a second, then speaks gently, like he’s choosing his words carefully.
“She’s gonna need to rest a bit, alright?” he says.
“Cause your little sister’s bein’ a bit dramatic in there,” he says, nodding lightly toward your stomach.
That makes Lisa giggle instantly.
You roll your eyes softly. “She is not dramatic.”
“She’s got your temper already,” he mutters under his breath.
You elbow him lightly, and he finally smiles.
Lisa leans closer, serious again. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah,” Elvis says right away. “She’s fine. Just needs some quiet for a bit.”
Lisa nods like she’s accepting official medical advice.
“Do you want me to help?” she asks.
You soften instantly. “Help how?”
She thinks for a second. “I can be quiet.”
Elvis laughs a little under his breath. “That’d be a first.”
She ignores him completely and climbs up carefully onto the bed beside you instead.
“I’ll stay with you,” she decides.
You smile, adjusting so you’re more comfortable, leaning slightly back against the bed frame now.
“Okay,” you say softly. “That helps a lot actually.”
Elvis watches both of you for a second, then shakes his head like he’s still not used to this level of softness in his house.
But he doesn’t interrupt.
Later, things settle again.
The moment passes like it was never really a problem.
Lisa Marie eventually gets distracted by something else and runs off down the hallway again, full energy restored like nothing happened while you go downstairs, to have a little moment alone in the living room.
You stay sitting on the couch for a while, one hand resting on your stomach, breathing more evenly now.
Elvis comes back in after a bit with a glass of water for you.
“Here,” he says, handing it over.
He sits down next to you this time, quieter.
“Scared me for a second,” he admits.
You glance at him. “I told you it was fine.”
“Yeah, well” he says. “Still scared me.”
That makes you pause a little.
Then you lean your head lightly against his shoulder.
He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Just lets you.
Minutes pass like that. Quiet. Normal. Domestic in a way neither of you ever really had before this.
Then a voice from upstairs breaks it :
You lift your head slightly. “Yeah?”
Lisa Marie is leaning over the railing, practically bouncing.
Elvis looks up too. “What for?”
“It’s a surprise!” she says quickly. Then she points at you very seriously. “Not you, Daddy ! Just her.”
He squints a little. “Rude.”
She disappears back into her room.
“I’ll go check,” you say, starting to stand slowly.
He immediately shifts with you. “I’m comin’ too.”
Lisa Marie’s voice comes back down instantly. “NO!”
He sighs. “Alright. Fine. I’m bein’ banned from my own damn house now apparently.”
You smile a little. “I’ll be fine.”
He hesitates, then nods once. “Call me if you need anything.”
You head upstairs slowly, one hand resting on your lower back now, and Lisa Marie grabs your hand the second you step into her room.
“Okay,” she says very seriously. “Close your eyes.”
You laugh softly. “That’s usually a good sign or a terrible one...”
“Close them!!!” she insists.
You hear rustling. Paper. Whispering. Concentration.
“Don’t drop it,” she mutters to herself.
“I’m not,” you whisper back.
“I am literally standing still.”
Then she goes, “Okay. Open.”
Messy crayon, but careful in its own way.
Elvis, you, Lisa Marie holding your hand.
And in your stomach drawn in the picture, a small baby shape.
Under it, written carefully in big letters :
You blink, then look at her.
She nods proudly. “And I fixed it three times!”
You laugh a little, genuinely soft. “It’s really good.”
Then she grabs your hand again. “We gotta show Daddy.”
She nods like it’s obvious. “He’s gonna cry. Probably.”
That makes you laugh harder.
She grabs the drawing and pulls you carefully downstairs like it’s the most important mission in the world.
Elvis is still on the couch when you come back down.
Lisa Marie steps forward first, holding the paper like it’s sacred.
“I made something,” she announces.
He leans forward slightly. “A'right…”
You stand next to her, holding the edge of the drawing with her.
“Show him,” you say gently.
His face changes first in the smallest way. Like something in him went still.
He reads the name, “Love”
Then looks at the drawing again. Then at you. Then Lisa Marie.
And he doesn’t say anything for a second too long.
“You like it?” Lisa asks.
He clears his throat a bit, like he didn’t expect it to hit him that hard.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I like it.”
He looks at the drawing again, more carefully now.
Then he sets it down on the table like it matters more than anything else in the room.
And he reaches for both of you without saying anything.
Lisa climbs onto him immediately.
You sit down next to him, slower, your hand instinctively going back to your stomach.
He wraps an arm around both of you, and for a long moment, he just sits there like that.
The room stays quiet after Lisa Marie’s excitement fades a little, like even she can feel the moment turn softer.
She’s still half curled up against Elvis, already getting sleepy again, fingers messing with the edge of his shirt like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
You’re sitting close too, hand resting on your stomach, the drawing still on the table in front of you.
Elvis keeps looking at it.
Not in a distracted way. In a fixed, almost distant way.
Like something about it is pulling him somewhere else.
You notice the shift first.
“Hey,” you murmur gently. “You okay?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
Just swallows, jaw tightening a little like he’s deciding whether to say something out loud or leave it where it is.
“Love,” he says quietly, almost like he’s testing the word.
Lisa Marie hums sleepily. “Yeah. That’s her name.”
Elvis nods once. But his eyes don’t leave the paper.
You glance between them, slower now.
“Why that?” you ask softly.
Lisa shrugs like it’s obvious. “It felt nice.”
That makes you smile a little.
Elvis lets out a short breath that isn’t really a laugh.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “It does.”
But this time it’s different. He’s not just looking at the drawing anymore. He’s somewhere else in his head.
“Do you not like it?” you ask carefully.
That pulls him back slightly.
“No,” he says quickly. “No, I do. I do.”
And that’s when you realize it ; this isn’t about liking or not liking anything.
Lisa Marie is almost asleep on his shoulder now, eyes heavy.
Elvis adjusts her slightly without thinking, more careful all of a sudden.
His hand goes back to the drawing.
His thumb brushes over the name again.
“Love…” he repeats, quieter this time.
He doesn’t usually get like this unless something is sitting heavy.
After a moment, he leans back slightly, eyes still fixed forward.
“That was my mama’s middle name,” he says finally.
Your expression softens instantly.
Lisa doesn’t react, already drifting.
Elvis nods a little, like he’s talking more to himself now than anyone else.
“Gladys Love Presley,” he says.
He swallows again, slower this time.
“I ain’t heard it in a long time,” he admits.
The room feels quieter after that.
You glance at the drawing again, then at him.
“I didn’t know,” you say softly.
He shakes his head slightly. “You wouldn’t.”
Another pause, then he finally looks at you properly again.
“And I think…” he starts, then stops, like he’s choosing it carefully.
Lisa shifts in his arms, half asleep.
He lowers his voice even more.
“I think she would’ve liked that.”
You don’t answer right away.
Because you understand what he means without him having to explain it.
The name isn’t just something sweet Lisa picked. It’s something that connects all of you to someone he lost a long time ago.
Something he didn’t think would come back into his life like this.
You reach over slowly and place your hand over his for a second.
Not saying anything. Just there.
He looks down at it. Then turns his hand slightly, holding yours back.
Lisa mumbles something in her sleep and curls in closer to him.
Elvis lets out a quiet breath.
“Love,” he says again, but softer now. Different now.
Like it means more than one thing at once.
And his voice drops just slightly.
“I guess she picked it better than she knows.”
“Yeah,” you whisper. “I think so too.”
And for a moment, nobody moves...because for once, there’s nowhere better to be.
