hi! I have a request. Could you please write a one shot where Elvis is smoking a cigar and the reader wants to try it? I think it’ll be cute. Thanks!
hiii!! i love thiss. yes this would be so cute, an idea popped in my head straight away when i read this. anyways i hope you like it! x
❀ summary-you’ve always watched Elvis with his cigar—tonight, at Graceland, you finally decide to try it yourself.
❀ pairing- elvis presley x fem reader
Graceland always had a way of feeling alive at night.
Even when it was quiet—when the phones finally stopped ringing, when the laughter from the living room faded, when the house settled into its familiar creaks and sighs—it still felt like it was breathing. Like it was watching.
You loved nights like this.
You were curled up on the couch in the den, legs tucked beneath you, wearing one of Elvis’s shirts—an oversized, soft thing that smelled faintly like his cologne and something warmer. Something unmistakably him. The television was on but muted, some late-night show flickering uselessly as background noise.
Elvis sat in his favorite chair, legs stretched out, one arm draped lazily over the side. He looked… comfortable. Relaxed in a way he didn’t always allow himself to be.
And he was smoking a cigar.
That was what had your attention.
Not the TV. Not the soft hum of the house. Not even the way his dark hair curled slightly at the nape of his neck.
It was thick, held between his fingers with casual confidence, the end glowing softly every time he took a slow drag. He didn’t rush it. Never did. Elvis treated cigars like a ritual—slow inhales, gentle exhales, smoke curling lazily around his face.
You watched, fascinated, as he exhaled a perfect ring.
It floated in the air for a moment before dissolving.
Elvis glanced over, eyebrow lifting slightly. “Okay what, baby?”
You shifted on the couch, biting your lip, eyes still locked on the cigar. “I think I wanna try that.”
The room went very still.
Elvis lowered the cigar slightly, turning his head fully to look at you now. His expression was… unreadable. Somewhere between amused, surprised, and suspicious.
“You wanna try a cigar?” he asked slowly, like he wanted to make sure he’d heard you right.
You nodded, a little sheepish but determined. “Yeah. Just once.”
He stared at you for a second longer, hesitation clear in his eyes. He tapped the cigar lightly on the ashtray, then ran a hand through his hair. “I dunno, baby… They’re kinda strong. I don’t want you coughing your head off.”
You smiled softly. “I’ll be careful. I just… wanna try it with you.”
He studied you, his blue eyes warming, and then let out a long, low chuckle. “Well… alright. But don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, shaking his head. “Didn’t take you for the cigar type.”
“I didn’t take me for the cigar type either,” you shot back. “But you make it look… nice.”
His lips curved slightly as he leaned back in the chair. “That so?”
You shrugged, trying to look casual while absolutely failing. “You look all… relaxed. Mysterious. Like some kind of movie star.”
He laughed properly this time. “Baby, I am a movie star.”
You rolled your eyes. “You know what I mean.”
Elvis studied you for a moment, his gaze softening. There was affection there—deep and warm—but also something protective. He took another slow drag, then tapped the cigar gently against the ashtray.
“Y’know these ain’t exactly candy,” he said. “They’re strong.”
“I’m not asking to smoke the whole thing,” you said quickly. “Just… a puff.”
He hummed thoughtfully, eyes flicking back to the cigar, then to you again. “You ever smoked anything before?”
You shook your head. “Uh-uh.”
He laughed again, disbelief clear in his voice. “Lord have mercy. Twenty-four years old and still pure as the driven snow.”
“Hey!” you protested. “That is not true.”
He smirked. “Could’ve fooled me.”
You grabbed a throw pillow and lobbed it at him. He caught it easily, still grinning.
“Alright, alright,” he said. “Don’t get feisty.”
You scooted closer on the couch, eyes hopeful. “So… will you let me try?”
Elvis sighed dramatically, like he was being asked to hand over a state secret. He stood up slowly, crossing the room toward you. Up close, the smell of the cigar was richer—earthy, smoky, oddly comforting.
He stopped in front of you, looking down with a fond shake of his head. “You’re gonna cough,” he said, teasing. “And you’re gonna look all cute while you do it.”
“Probably,” you said, grinning.
“You’re gonna make a face.”
“And then you’re gonna tell me it’s gross.”
He chuckled. “Still wanna try?”
He leaned down, bringing himself to your level, and held the cigar out carefully. “Alright. But listen to me, sweetheart.”
You met his eyes, suddenly very aware of how close he was. His gaze was intense, but there was a sparkle of mischief there too.
“Don’t inhale—well, just a little, alright?” he said gently. “Just don’t overdo it.”
“Okay,” you said, smiling nervously.
He paused, his eyes scanning your face. “And if you hate it, you don’t gotta pretend you like it just ‘cause I do.”
Your heart softened. “I know.”
He smiled at that—really smiled—then positioned the cigar properly between your fingers.
It felt strange. Heavier than you expected.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “Just like that.”
You brought it to your lips, glancing at him nervously. “You’re watching me like I’m about to defuse a bomb.”
“Feels about right,” he teased, giving your hip a playful nudge.
You took a small pull—and inhaled.
Immediately, your eyes widened and a coughing fit hit you. Smoke burned your lungs, but there was also a strange thrill to it. You gasped, waving your hand in front of your face.
“Oh—wow—okay—oh gosh!” you laughed between coughs, tears prickling your eyes. “That is—oh my god—that is strong.”
Elvis burst out laughing, stepping closer and rubbing your back. “Easy, baby, easy! You did it! Look at you.”
“It tastes like—like wood and fire and regret,” you managed between laughs.
He laughed so hard he had to turn away for a second. “Regret, huh?”
You nodded emphatically. “Immediate regret.”
He took the cigar from you, still smiling, and set it down safely before pulling you gently to his chest.
“You alright?” he asked, amused but concerned.
“Yeah,” you said, still giggling. “I don’t think I’m built for cigars.”
He wrapped an arm around you, pressing a kiss to your temple. “That’s okay. More for me.”
You leaned into him, grinning. “But I get why you like it.”
“Yeah,” you said softly. “It suits you.”
He looked down at you, eyes warm and affectionate. “You suit me.”
You smiled, resting your head against his chest as the room settled around you again—quiet, comfortable, full of love.
And somewhere in the air, a faint trace of smoke lingered—sweet, warm, and just a little bit funny.
