Elvis Fanfics - Tumblr Posts

Hello!! Oh my goodness you follow me!! It feels amazing that people who write fanfictions follow me and you seem so lovely!!

I just have to ask if I could have the honor of being your first requester of a fiction to go on your materialist?

If so, then I was just thinking of someone fluffy, what if the reader has like really bad flight anxiety and is all nervous to get on the plane when they have to leave (70's Elvis please!) and so she pretends that she left something in the car confusing Elvis so he waits for her so they can walk up the stairs together and just talks to some of the fans. Eventually when she realizes he doesn't catch onto her hint she just get's up and walks up the plane with a fake smile. Eventually they sit in the back of Elvis's plane (Can be the Lisa Marie depending if this is set accurately.) and then all of a sudden the nerves hit when she's sitting down. Elvis is talking to some of the guys and stuff and doesn't notice your worried (I have a really bad habit of picking at my fingers when I'm nervous. So maybe reader does too?) and then when he realizes she's shaking her foot he asks if she's ok, and she tries to lie but he knows her too well. Anyway fluff/comfort please?

I know this is long and you don't have to but it would be greatly appreciated!!

Thankyou!!💗💗💗💗

Breathe in, Breathe through, Breathe out.

Pairing: 70s!e x reader

Genre: fluff, angst

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, panic attacks, fear of flying.

Word count: 1743 words

A/N: Well hello @elvispresleywife ! Thank you for trusting me with your request, although I am still new. I hope this lives up to your expectations! 💋

@literally-just-elvis-fics

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The car stops, a differ from your racing heartbeat. You feel your throat become dry, as your mind frantically screams at you to turn the direction, to not be here right now, to just not be. You knew what you were getting into before beginning this relationship, of course you knew. Your life and Elvis’ life couldn’t be more different. But out of all the factors that contrasted to your life, the one thing you could not fully grasp is how Elvis is constantly flying from state to state. 

Not because it sounded exhausting and busy, but the concept of flying itself. The sheer thought of stepping foot on a plane, being essentially stuck there in your seat for who knows how many hours, and then the movement of the plane landing. The very thought of it all made dread stem in your chest. 

You had flight anxiety. 

Elvis has done this routine hundreds of times, and this is the first time since being with him that you agreed to come with him to his next concert. You’ve only known each other for a few weeks, and really, you would make an ample amount of excuses not to go with him out of state. But soon enough, you felt guilty for lying to him and so when on a telephone call with him - you finally agreed. You did notice the faster thump of your chest after you agreed. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to tell Elvis that you have terrible flight anxiety. You didn’t want to worry him, as you know he already has a lot on his plate. You also see yourself as a fairly confident person, and you don't want people to judge you for this glimpse into something that you see as vulnerable. After all, it wasn’t only Elvis and you that will be on the plane. He is constantly surrounded by his entourage, the Memphis Mafia. And sometimes some of his backup singers, the Sweet Inspirations. You feel like if you show even a glimmer of vulnerability, there will be judging eyes. 

Elvis’ tug on your hand snaps you out of your thoughts, “Ready, honey?” He asks, an easy smile on his lips and tinted sunglasses covering his eyes. 

You almost say no. Almost let go of his hand and ran. But that is unfair to him, you know that. You don’t want to be the reason the smile of his disappears. 

So, instead, you nod and attempt to smile. 

The door is opened and you both step out. The wind hits your face, it’s greeting not helping with the nervous feeling at the pit of your stomach. A large crowd of people, his fans, were all excitedly chattering and streaming at the sight of their idol. You don’t blame them, but the sound and the noise from the plane elevate the fear within you. The web of fear grows larger as each second passes. 

 You need to do something. You need to do it now. 

You lean forward to whisper into Elvis’ ear, “Babe, I uh. . . I think I left my lipstick in the car. I’ll be back, okay?” You lie, hoping that he does not notice the subtle tremble in your voice. 

He raises an eyebrow confused before slowly nodding.

You hope that he got the hint. The hint that you may need to step back and sit this one out. You walk back to the parked car and explain to the driver that you forgot something, which you didn’t. He simply nods and unlocks the car for you. 

Your legs get the best of you and you practically collapse into the car, hurriedly shutting the door behind you. You can almost hear your head pounding at an insane speed, matching the beat against your chest. You attempt to breathe normally, but fail. The windows are tinted in this car, so no one can see you, definitely not looking for lipstick. 

You wait a while. Hoping that Elvis got the hint and will soon join you. You didn’t want him to stop everything and stop the entire plan. But more so for him to open the car door, see the state that you are in, and for him to be okay that you won’t be joining him. 

But it doesn’t happen. You peer at the window again, and see that he is halfway through the flight of stairs attached to the plane. He is happily chatting with fans, but you can feel that his eyes are darting towards the car - waiting for you. 

So, instead, you sigh. You leave the car and thank the driver. You then soon catch up with him, going beside him up the stairs. Your legs are trembling, and you feel yourself bite on your bottom lip - as if you forced a fake smile. A smile that signified anything but the anxiety that coursed through your body. Elvis was quick to wrap his hand around your waist, waving a goodbye to the fans before settling into the plane. 

You don’t know what’s worse - a private jet or a normal commercial plane. Both, you suppose. You guess that it’s good that Elvis has his own private plane, it makes things easier for him and his privacy. But now that you, yourself is observing the interior of it all - you feel your breath pause. The plane was remarkable in having essentially anything and everything that you could possibly have on a private, luxury plane. But it also emphasises just how much smaller it is. 

A small, tiny metal tube that you will be stuck in for the next however many hours. You both make your way to the very back seat, Elvis sitting next to you. Everyone is offered refreshments, and Elvis is engaged in conversation with Charlie and Red about a topic that you are unsure about. You don’t even know, their words are all inaudible to you and the laughter adds to the dreaded feeling. 

The reality of it all hits you as you are sitting down. Of course you immediately buckle your seatbelt, but you curse yourself mentally for taking the window seat. You were too in your thoughts to not notice that’s where you sat down. A direct, clear view of when the plane takes off and lands. You quickly pull the curtain over it. 

You try to look straight ahead, try to distract yourself. But you fail. You nervously pick at your fingers, a bad habit of yours whenever you are anxious. The trembling of your legs moves to your feet, the way that your foot is shaking. This time, Elvis surely notices it. He stops his conversation with Charlie and Red, “Let’s talk later.” He tells them, in which they both walk away and sit in their seats further to the front. 

He turns to you and he just knows that something isn’t right. 

“What’s wrong, darlin?” He asks, voice full of concern. 

You look at him and attempt to keep up your fake smile, “Nothing. I’m fine.” 

He doesn’t believe you. Of course he doesn’t. He knows you too well.

Elvis shakes his head, “I know you too well, Y/N. That foot of yours and your fingers, you're shaking like a leaf.” He points. 

“It’s stupid.” You say. 

“I don’t think so. Tell me, please.”

His gaze sees right through you and you know that there is no use in lying now. So you tell him about your terrible flight anxiety, and once you start spewing out all the words everything begins to click in his mind. All those times that you’ve made an excuse on how you wouldn’t be able to join him on the plane. On how you told him you forgot something from the car. It finally made sense, and he felt like mentally kicking himself for not figuring it out sooner. For not realising it all sooner. 

But he can’t reverse the past, all he can do is focus on you now. He wraps his hand around yours tightly, trying to ease the nervous energy. The stewardess announces to everyone that they should fasten their seatbelts and take off in five minutes. This only heightens your anxiety. Elvis places his other hand on your thigh, squeezing it in reassurance. 

Once you feel the plane begin to rumble into take off little by little, you feel tears prick your eyes. 

“Hey, I’m here, baby. I’m here.” He says softly. His fingertips under your chin, turning you to face him. 

The plane is now fully in the air, and you feel the beat of your heart relax the slightest bit. But not quite. 

“How are you doing?” Elvis asks, finding your silence uncertain. 

“I-. . . E what if it crashes? We are s-so high up.” You mutter, struggling to form a sentence. 

He shakes his head, “That ain’t gonna happen, y/n. Trust me. “ He says, but can tell that you are still not convinced. 

You find yourself leaning into his neck as you mumble, “I don’t want them to see me like this.” You glance at everyone else, who are not paying attention to the both of you at all, but your anxiety is getting the best of you. 

You think Elvis doesn’t hear you, but he certainly does. He abruptly stands up, pulling you up along with him. His arm wrapped around your waist as he tells everyone, “Y/N and I will be resting. Don’t disturb us.” He says briefly, and they nod. Some of the guys wink at Elvis, thinking that the opposite will be happening between you. 

You both walk over to the very back of the plane, and he settles you into the bed. The sheets are warm and inviting. You are both sitting down facing each other. 

“Breathe with me, okay?” He says, hands soothingly running up and down both of your arms. 

You nod. 

“Breathe in, breathe through, breathe out.” He instructs. 

You follow, despite the stinging pain of anxiety in your chest. You do this for a while, for the next few minutes, and eventually it calms down the racing heart beat against your chest. Your head is no longer pounding, and you can finally gain sense of eveything. 

Elvis sees your eyes grow heavy, you both are now lying down beside each other as you face each other. But his arm is gripping tightly around your waist. 

“Thank you. . . “ You say after a while, your voice is steady now. 

Elvis’ eyes are soft as he looks at you, “Of course.”

You feel your fingers tracing his jaw, and his face and Elvis finds himself closing his eyes at your touch. You lean forward and grant a kiss on his lips, “I love you, E.” 

Before he could even respond to your words, all the nervous energy from earlier catches up to you and pulls you in a quick slumber. Despite this, with your eyes closed, Elvis leans forward and plants a kiss on your forehead, cheek, and then lips. 

“I love you too, y/n.” 

And this time, your heart speeds up but with a reason your mind welcomes openly.

Hello? Is anyone there?

Hi all. I know it has been. . . a while since I've last uploaded any new writings. I apologize for that, I have no other excuse aside from life happening and being accompanied by agonizing writer's block. Do not worry, I am still very much in the ep fandom. Well, I come bearing good news. . . my writing brain is back again, and I am working on posting a few things very, very soon.

I have edited my masterlist. I made it simpler, might help in navigating through it.

Whilst you wait for my writings, please do give my on-going series 'Yours Truly' a chance. I initially posted it on Wattpad, and brought it over here - but it has received a lack of feedback. I know that we write for the love of it, but also feedback is the lifeblood of writers. It would mean the world if y'all would give it a chance. I've changed the summary of it, I feel it now sounds more straight to the point:

"In which a 21-year-old girl suddenly finds herself having consecutive dreams of a particular rock ‘n’ roll star whom she has never met and who died 45 years ago."

*cue mysterious music*

Love, Rose