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

𝑆𝑊𝐸𝐸𝑇 𝑆𝑀𝑂𝐾𝐸

❀ 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.

The cigar.

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.

You blinked.

“…Okay,” you murmured.

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.”

You grinned. “I won’t.”

“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.”

That earned you a look.

One of those looks.

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?”

“Nope.”

“Not even a cigarette?”

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.”

“Definitely.”

“And then you’re gonna tell me it’s gross.”

“Maybe.”

He chuckled. “Still wanna try?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

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.

“And don’t rush it.”

“Okay.”

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.

“Like this?” you asked.

“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.”

“Oh yeah?”

“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.

pretty for him — elvis x reader blurb

your fingers knot desperately into his thick, dark hair, pulling him closer as the heavy heat of his body pins you deep into the mattress. every slow, deliberate roll of his hips is sending electric shocks straight to your core, making you twist beneath him with a soft, needy whine.

‘easy sweetheart… i got ya’

he murmurs against your jaw, his deep southern drawl thick and gravelly with desire. his large, calloused hands slide up from your waist, fingers splaying wide across your ribcage to hold you steady as he draws back slowly, pulling almost completely out before sinking right back in, burying his full length into you until you gasp.

‘look how pretty you look for me, baby.’

he coos, a dark, lazy smile tugging at his lips as he watches your face flush. your eyes flutter shut, your cunt clenching tightly around him in a desperate, pulsing grip as the slick, velvety walls of your core cling to his heavy girth. you are completely overflowing for him, trembling from head to toe as he picks up the pace, his thrusts turning harder, more rhythmic and demanding.

‘you feel so good... so tight...’

he grunts out, his chest heaving as the coarse hair of his chest frictionizes against your sensitive skin. your nails dig into his back, scratching over his skin as he drives deep, hitting that exact spot that makes your brain go entirely fuzzy. you’re crying out his name now, completely undone by the sheer force of him filling you up.

‘gonna give it to ya now...’

he pants, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear as his body goes entirely rigid. with one last, bruising plunge, a guttural groan tears from his throat as he empties his hot seed deep inside you, pulsing into you until you’re completely spent and shivering under his weight.

heyyy!! omg no i haven’t abandoned it 😭 i’m on here all the time, i’ve just only posted like… one fanfic and my brain decided that was enough work for a lifetime

every time i try to write something new it just goes completely blank like ?? hello?? thoughts?? where did you go

also i genuinely have no idea what you guys wanna read 😭 so if you have any requests or ideas please don’t hesitate to send them in, i’d love that and it might actually convince my brain to function 💕 x x x

I wake to the gunshot fireworks The eternal celebration of war; It rattles me. 

  There is a bus that takes me, I cannot move for the quash of sunken faces amid doll-like beauty, And the yellowy teeth baring through the bars, Outside the window, blossom continues                                                                                                          

 even in the scant dirt of crouching children’s piss.

  Even as i walk buildings seem to rise around me,                                      

 great monstrosities for the ant-like workers; And the hunched backed elderly wrinkle in the sun to sweep the roads. And yet the blossom continues. 

  In the school, where ant-like children march and bow;                            

 who scramble apart and yell and laugh when given the chance              

and are knocked apart for it.  I hear Christmas music still as the blossom grows                                    

and I think of hope and meaning. 

  For meaning is a sort of remembrance; And my blossom is the remembrance of light in darkness                        

and beauty to shade the ants                                                                    

as they scuttle to make a world for themselves,