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cryptidghostgirl · 3 months

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Make You Wish (Alastor x Reader) Chapter One -- Seven Years

Pairing: Alastor x Reader (Hazbin Hotel)

Warnings: Um, language?????? no gore in tis one. Tbh, this chapter is pretty chill.

Word Count: 1,278

Master List Links:

Master Lists

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Make You Wish Master List

A/N I'm back from the dead. Hi.

"Love you... Bye." Charlie hung up the phone.

Quietly, she slipped back inside the hotel, shutting the door behind her. Things had not gone as planned today and they had not gone well either. She wanted this hotel to work, more than anything in the world she wanted to do what she could for her people. At the same time, it was hard not to feel hopeless after the mess on TV earlier and the lack of response from her mother. Letting out a protected sigh, she shut her eyes, leaning against the door.

As soon as Charlie's back hit the stained glass paneling, there came a quiet knock. Opening her eyes, she pulled herself from the door and tentatively turned towards it. Hope and a twinge of fear battled for control of Charlie as, at the sound of the person knocking a second time, she opened the door.

"Hel-"

Charlie shut the door right in the Radio Demon's face. Brow furrowed with confusion, doubt at what she had seen obscuring her mind, she opened it again.

"-lo!"

Charlie shut the door once again. Turning slowly, her eyes wide and her mind whirling, she headed into the main sitting area of the lobby.

"Hey Vaggie?" Charlie called for her girlfriend as she entered.

"What?" Vaggie asked, throwing her head over the back of the couch she was resting on as she did so, meeting Charlie's anxious eyes.

"The Radio Demon is at the door!" Charlie replied, her tone hiding nothing as she mocked the demon's well known smile, pointing back to the hotel entrance.

Vaggie straightened up immedeatly.

"What!" she exclaimed.

Angel, who was sitting on the couch beside her enjoying a popsicle, looked over in mild confusion. Shrugging, he decided he didn't really care and returned to his treat.

"What should I do?" Charlie practically begged.

"Well, don't let him in." Vaggie almost seemed more stressed by the situation than her girlfriend.

Charlie sighed, turning to look back at the door. Slowly, ignoring Vaggie's protests, she approached it once again. Steeling herself, Charlie opened the door.

"May I speak now?" the Radio Demon asked.

Charlie crossed her arms over her chest, looking up at him with an unamused expression.

"You may."

The speed with which the demon shot out his hand to shake her own took Charlie aback.

"Alastor." he announced, bowing so that they were eye to eye, "Pleasure to be meeting you. Yes, quite the pleasure."

Y/n's life had changed a lot in the past seven years. From the top of Hell to the bottom, her own personal fall. Not that she'd ever really been at the top, no. Just next to it. The spotlight had never really been her thing.

Hell had been Y/n's home for nearly seventy years. The picture perfect housewife gone mad. In life, she had secured her place after death in blood. Abusive didn't look good on her dearly departed husband after all and what was the point of life if not ridding out the rot to save the flowers?

Death had not come easily or without pain. After the police had caught her, she'd been found innocent for reason of insanity in the courts and sent to an asylum. No one seemed to want to hear or believe her part of the story. Just a year or so after her husband's death, she found peace through a failed lobotomy in 1955 and woke up to red skies.

Thankfully, Hell was large and inhabited enough that she never seemed to run into him down here. Y/n wasn't proud of what she had done in life, but she didn't regret it either. The truth was, she loved Hell. It was vibrant and lively. It was interesting. She had quickly found friends, moved up in the world. Then, the world had changed.

Seven years nearly to the day. Things had been rough at first, there was a new way in which she had had to learn to interact with the world around her. That was when she'd met Blitzo, in those early days of being on her own. Y/n would've thanked god but, god didn't come around these parts and far too many awful things had happened since then anyways but, she still saw their meeting as an odd sort of blessing. She had never been very good at being alone and he did save her, in a way. Even gave her a job at I.M.P., his business.

It was odd for a sinner to be working subservient to an imp in Hell, but not unheard of. Y/n got some looks on the street, sure. Some clients asked some rude questions and she wasn't technically allowed in the human realm but, neither were any of them really. Overall, she found her new life to be quite enjoyable, the good with the bad. Not as cushy or pleasant as her old life, but she saw no use in dwelling on any of that. It had been seven years, for heaven's sake. She couldn't hold out hope for something that would clearly never happen. Besides, she had always had a bit of a mean streak and the job helped deal with that.

She was a sinner, it was obvious. About a head taller than Blitzo, she was a 1950s dream: all movie star hair and legs. When he had first joined I.M.P. a few years ago, she'd even worn the dresses to match. Once they started getting actual jobs, once Blitzo had found a way to travel to the human realm, that had changed. Y/n had seen the fashions of the knew world and enjoyed them quite a bit.

Rings on five of ten fingers, heaps of necklaces, even a tattoo or two. She topped off the whole look with black cargo pants, tank tops, and a choker with spikes and a ring on it. It all went rather well with the attributes she'd acquired once arriving in hell.

She come off lucky in regards to changes in her body when she had died. When people fell into the pits, they received attributes that somehow related to the person they were on earth as well as how they died. Y/n had been harmless on the outside, and able to cause real harm if pushed to it. Docile and gentle, but angry. So she'd ended up like this, with little freckles and a white dots of various sizes marring her now grey skin. Sweet little horns perched on the top of her head, a thin forked tail, and sharp teeth when she was provoked. It made sense, if it was a bit stereotypical. Overall, she couldn't complain.

She had been lying in bed in the apartment she now shared with Blitzo and Loona when she'd felt it in her bones. It was an odd sort of shiver that went down her spine, a tingle at the back of her head. The world had changed again. Y/n didn't know how she knew that, or why, or even in what ways things had become different, but laying there in the dark, something shifted.

She sat up, looking out the window over the darkened landscape of pentagram city. Off in the distance, she could just barley make out the lights of the Princess of Hell's new passion project, some rehab center for sinners or something of the like. Y/n let out a sigh.

The last time she felt this way, her whole life had fallen apart. As she laid back down, she couldn't help but pray to whoever was listening it wouldn't be happening again.

----

Next Part -> Chapter Two -- Where Is She

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jhoneybees · 14 days

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Desire

Hi!! Here's a sweet but also savoury fic that I might write a part 2 for🤭

Tagging: @elvisalltheway101 my doll🫶

Characters:50s!Elvis X Older!reader

Warnings/triggers: 5 year age gap (A/n: The fic is set in 1955 so Elvis is 20 years old and reader is 25)

_____________________________________________

Elvis has always had a taste for younger girls and their chatty personalities but when his head did a whole 180 after laying eyes on a matured gal like you that is more quiet and not as chatty, he learnt what his real taste is.

His family knows you from living in the apartment next door and they adore how friendly of a person you are. His mama would often praise you during family dinners to his daddy and him which usually he would get embarrassed about her rambling on about girls that could be a potential partner for him but now getting to hear about what you said during a conversation you had with his mama, he didn’t say a thing.

Even though he sees you with his mama quite often, he doesn’t know a lot about you. He knows you came from a privileged family in Texas and when you graduated highschool, you moved to Memphis when you were 22 to have a fresh start into adulthood but that’s all he really knows from what his mama told him.

He finds you very pretty and your laugh and smile are so contagious but the thing that gets him almost trembling is how mature you look in those dresses you wear, it does…something to him.

Especially when he saw you from across the road as you were walking into the building complex you two live in, wearing that red halterneck dress with cherries on it.

His bottom lip just couldn’t help but fly in between his teeth, those damn curves are something else.

He’s had quite a big crush on you ever since you moved into Lauderdale Courts and for a long time he thinks he wouldn’t have the courage to confess to you because he’s scared that you might get disgusted and shut him down or go off telling his parents to scold him for having such feelings for someone that they look so dearly as a close family member so to save himself from that humility, he’ll just watch you from afar.

_____________________________________________

“Nah, you guys can go on without me” his friends groan in disappointment, they asked him if he wants to go to a party with him but he’s already been to 5 in the past 2 weeks, he wants a break so with another shake of the head, he bids them a farewell and turns on his heel.

He hums quietly, he thought he would be running around Memphis for the night with his buddies for a bit of a laugh but he’s a bit disappointed to find out they want to go ogling at girls at a party over at someone’s parents’ house, knowing that the adults don’t know about what their kids are doing because of them being out of town.

It just leaves him the option of just walking back home and finding something interesting to do there.

As he walks along the footpath with his hands in his pockets and head lowered down, he watches as his shoes lazily scrape along the concrete. He sighs out of boredom, he’s bored so what could he do when he gets home?

Just then when that question pops into his head, his ears perk up to the sound of a piano. Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he lifts his head towards the neon lit sign noticing he’s outside of a night club. Maybe he could go and have a bit of a listen to the music? he shrugs his shoulders.

Why not?

Quietly, Elvis scans his eyes around the dimly lit bar room, seeing only a few black middle aged ladies in their best attire, smiling and laughing with each other with dainty little glasses in their hands. It’s not as busy as he thought it would be.

Then as he hears a piano play again, he looks towards the sound and his breathing comes to a halt. You’re on stage with a microphone in your hand, he didn’t know you worked as a bar singer. He gulps as he sees you in that black sparkly cocktail dress and your hair flowing down your back. Good Lord.

Elvis shakes his head and realises he might be staring too much so clearing his throat, he glances around to find a seat.

He sits at a two person table and decides to keep his head lowered, he might embarrass himself somehow, he doesn’t know how but it’s better being safe than sorry but as Elvis presses his lips together, the gravity pull of your voice through the speakers just demands him to look at you.

Is he gonna be able to look away?

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen.. The song I’ll be singing for you tonight is a song that I have always called a favourite when I was little…and it goes something like this” you chime with a soft smile.

Oh that smile.

The piano starts the song off and as the bass soon follows after, the cheerful sounds of the song fills out the room. The first word you sing makes Elvis physically melt.

“I don’t want to set the world on fire”

You smile sweetly and the older ladies there cheer you on with “That’s my girl!” and “That’s right!”

“In my heart I have but one desire”

His eyes soften.

“I’ve lost all ambition, for worldly acclaim”

Elvis brings his arms up to rest on the table, grasping his hands together and looking at his hands to try to just listen to your voice.

“I just want to be the one you love…”

Oh your sweet fluttery voice

He really can’t look away.

As you sway your hips subtly and bring your hand up to rest on the pianist's shoulder, Elvis bites down on his tongue. Gliding across the stage you walk down the steps and onto the bar floor, Elvis’ eyes darting all over you from your jaw to your hips and down to your ankles.

He lets out a stiff sigh and leans back in his chair.

“I don’t wanna set the world on fire, honey”

You sing with a giggle, taking slow and elegant steps towards the bar where the other women are, yelling and giggling at your cheeky little smile.

Elvis’ hand twitching, he sighs again while he lifts his hand to drag down the bottom half of his face.

“I love you too much” you add, making the ladies whistle playfully.

Elvis doesn’t even notice how his leg is bouncing nervously under the table, all he can think about is his heart floating across the room to the palm of your hand for you to squeeze, break, just do anything with it.

“You see…way down inside of me”

His heart pumps loudly in his ears as you turn your head and look into his eyes, walking slowly towards him.

“Darlin’ I have only one desire….and that desire is you” His heart clenching in the softest way as you give him a happy smile, realising who he is.

The small thumps from your heels make him hold his breath, sensing you walking behind his chair, a shiver drips down his spine as you place your hand on his shoulder.

Feeling you bend down over his shoulder, he lets out a small breath through his slightly parted lips.

“And I know…nobody else ain’t gonna do”

His chest almost stutters as he breathes in, your soft, sultry voice sending ticklish waves into his ears and into his brain. Feeling your warm breath lingering below his ear onto his neck, his hands adjust over the center of his pants.

“Did you like that, Presley?”

#elvis presley #Hope you like it lovelies!💕#elvis #elvis fans #i love him #elvis imagine #50s elvis #elvis fandom #elvis presley x reader #elvis fanfic #elvis fanfiction #Spotify

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somethingusefulfromflorida · 6 months

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In Terry Pratchett's Soul Music, a literal band of misfits accidentally introduces rock and roll to the Discworld. They call it "music with rocks in" because the drummer is a troll who bangs rocks together. The lead guitarist is a curly-haired bard named Imp y Celyn, a fantasy name in a gibberish language Terry Pratchett invented called Welsh, which roughly translates to "Bud of the Holly." He quickly adopts the stage name Buddy.

(I'm only 250 pages in, but the narrator has already mentioned "the day the music died," so Buddy might want to avoid airplanes (if such things exist on the Discworld))

The band that plays the music with rocks in, appropriately named the Band With Rocks In, has such hits as

Don't Tread On My New Blue Boots (Blue Suede Shoes, 1955)

Good Gracious, Miss Polly (Good Golly, Miss Molly, 1958)

Sto Helit Lace (Chantilly Lace, 1958)

They're clearly supposed to represent the early days of rock music, but they have the aesthetic and fans of 1970s punk rock mixed with 1980s glam rock; lots of sequins and glitter and leather and mohawks, and the philosphy that louder is better. The celibate wizards of Unseen University turned red in the face when they heard that some of the lady fans had started throwing their unmentionables onto the stage, which is a considerable feat when you remember the average fantasy costume has like 10 layers.

I'm interested to see where this goes.

#discworld #terry pratchett #soul music #rock and roll #rock music #the band with rocks in #music with rocks in #imp y celyn #buddy holly #the day the music died #bye bye miss american pie #that comes later

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vettelsvee · 15 days

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YOU SCARED ME | Lando Norris

f1 masterlist | wattpad | ao3 | instagram

lando norris x reader

word count: 1955

warnings: accident on a race involving two drivers due to a collision. anxiety. use of y/n y/l/n

you can send your one shots requests here! feedback is truly appreciated! <3

Lando Norris was locked in a tight battle, alongside Checo Pérez, for P8 in the Canadian Grand Prix. With each maneuver and overtaking attempt, the tension escalated throughout the race.

However, everything changed on lap 38 of that cloudy day in Montreal. As they approached one of the trickiest sections of the circuit, precisely where Carlos Sainz, Norris's former teammate, had crashed during Free Practice 3 the day before, there was a mechanical issue that affected Pérez's car. Trying to avoid losing control due to constant wheel vibrations that prevented him from securely holding it, Pérez instantly faltered.

Meanwhile, the McLaren driver, still unaware of the situation, attempted to overtake to avoid the collision, but failed miserably in the attempt.

Unable to prevent it, the vehicles violently collided nose-to-nose, immediately crashing into the safety barriers and scattering debris everywhere, including some larger pieces.

Both drivers were trapped, and although the Mexican responded immediately to Horner's calls, the British driver's situation seemed much worse. The race was immediately halted, signaling the seriousness of the situation with numerous red flags waving along the track as a warning to the rest of the grid.

Security personnel and medical staff immediately rushed to the scene to assist both men. Concern and silence filled the air as the rescue team worked, almost like robots, to extract the drivers from the wrecked vehicles.

The broadcast replayed the crash, which in slow motion was even more shocking; all spectators, both at the circuit and those watching from their homes, gasped at the incident as if it were the first time they had seen it.

At that moment, nobody knew what would happen to the McLaren driver.

While the track marshals worked swiftly and efficiently to secure the area, the papaya team members tried to calm each other's nerves. Especially affected was Y/N, the British driver's girlfriend, who anxiously watched, from the garage, not only the replay of the accident but also checked her social media accounts for any updates on her partner's condition.

For the time being, the situation was unknown, and it would possibly remain so for some agonizing moments more.

With glassy eyes, the girl held her mobile phone with one hand and tightly gripped the seat where she had been sitting just minutes before the incident with the other. The unease of seeing her boyfriend, motionless in his heavily damaged car, heightened her concern: her hands began to tremble to the point that her smartphone landed on the floor, and she noticed a growing anxiety that caused her to start hyperventilating.

Norris's race engineer, Thomas, tried, with increasing persistence, to elicit any sign of life from the brunette, but silence was the only response he received.

"Lando," the man said again, aware of the situation. "Copy? Please, answer."

As there was barely any response from the other end, Y/N's anguish grew with each passing moment. Her thoughts were becoming increasingly negative, reaching the point where she believed Lando had died instantly as a result of the collision.

Immediately, the girl took the man's headphones, quickly putting them on and speaking into the microphone as calmly as she could:

"Please, Lando..." she announced with a trembling voice, "answer. I need to know you're okay."

Once again, silence.

"Damn it!" she shouted, furious with the situation. "Doesn't anyone here know how to do their damn job?! Please, tell me if Lando is okay! It's not that hard, for God's sake..."

With tears in her eyes, Y/N fell to the floor, desperate at the lack of knowledge about Norris's condition. At that moment, Zak Brown approached her, trying to avoid physical contact at all costs, and assured her that her boyfriend was okay. He just needed some time to "get back to his senses."

Every second without a response from Norris felt like living a thousand lives.

Finally, after the engineer's constant insistence, a trembling voice came over the radio, echoing through the speakers in the garage for everyone present to hear:

"Yes... I'm here."

Lando's speech sounded quite weak, but understandable. Finally, Y/N could breathe a sigh of relief, although the anxiety had not yet dissipated.

“Norris, are you injured?" Thomas continued to ask. "Can you speak?"

"I'm... let's say a bit sore, but I think... I think I'm okay," the driver replied with difficulty. "The impact with Pérez was pretty strong, but I can move. I don't know what that bastard was thinking."

Brown thought to himself that Checo must have been thinking the same thing at that moment.

Once the race marshals ordered the paramedic teams to attend the guy and they took him to the medical wing of the paddock, Y/N quickly left McLaren's garage to approach the place where she might not be allowed to enter.

"Lando?" she asked, peeking her head between the medics surrounding the stretcher and the guards protecting the safety of the driver. "Lando, are you okay? It's me, Y/N!"

Lando, lying on the portable bed, was already conscious, although still dazed by the impact. With great difficulty, he sat up slightly and fixed his gaze on his girlfriend, giving her a weak smile. He also directed a few words to the police officer next to him; upon hearing the British driver's communication, the officer approached the crowd and gave permission for Y/N to enter, who ran to her boyfriend to make sure he was still there, alive.

"Oh God, darling," she whispered with a sweet but shaky voice, "you have no idea how scared I was. Seriously, it may sound like a joke, but I thought the worst..."

"Don't worry, you still have Lando Norris for a long time," reassured the doctor who was conducting his thorough assessment.

Although the race had ended for Lando, the well-being of his boyfriend was what mattered most to the girl. The same went for him, who was more concerned about the girl beside him than himself. He knew that his girlfriend must have been really distressed when she didn't get a response from him; at the same time, he knew that if he had been in her place, he would have been much worse off than her.

He knew Y/N was a really strong person, but this event had confirmed it.

"I'm okay, Y/N, I promise," Lando said, offering her his hand, which Emma took and held tightly.

"Now I'll be your personal nurse," she declared, trying to calm her boyfriend, who seemed to be enjoying and mischievously interpreting the situation with the mischievous smile he gave at that moment. "And no, we're not going to roleplay. It's surreal that you're thinking about sex when, literally, you could have died!"

"If you're afraid of dying, then don't be born, Y/N Y/L/N."

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wordfromoursponsor · 12 days

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"If you listen to people talking about TV commercials sometimes you wonder why they haven't chopped their TV sets up before this. They're *that* mad." (1955 Y&R house ad)

#vintage #retro #advertising #vintage ad #black and white #old ad #1950s #TV #TV set #1950s TV #TV commercials #cartoon #Y&R #house ad #Young & Rubicam #ad agency

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infinitegalahad · 9 months

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AMERICAN PROMETHEUS AND HIS ATHENA - EPILOGUE

Pairing: J. Robert Oppenheimer x Female Indentifying! Reader Summary: Looking up at the chalkboard, you see him. He’s Dr.Oppenheimer, but to you, he’ll always be Robert or Oppie. Word Count: 2.7k Warnings: Warnings are very spoiler, so well...be warned! Cancer, death, alcoholism, mentions of suicide (not by main characters and is mentioned once at the end), and overall a very bittersweet ending. Beware! This is in fact sad! Notes: for real, the end? it's here. not going to lie, i did get a little emotional writing this. the epilogue is loosely inspired by american prometheus, which made me cry in it's epilogue, just as it is doing to me now. this story has been such a rollercoaster, and I've had an amazing time writing it. thank you all for the amazing support, you guys really rock. I'm starting school soo and I'll be busy, but I'll get back into writing once i find my routinr. i hope you can enjoy this conclusion, and as a warning, apologies in advance! I love you all very much, and thank you so much for all the love! Taglist: @forgottenpeakywriter @queenshelby @chloriine36 @kodzuvk @amanda08319 Taglist | Masterlist

Marriage Certificate

Jurisdiction: Charlottesville, Virginia

Certificate Number: MCS123456789

Date of Marriage: June 1st, 1955

This is to certify that on the aforementioned date, in accordance with the laws of the City of Charlottesville, the following individuals entered into marriage:

Groom:

Name: Julius Robert Oppenheimer

Date of Birth: April 22, 1904

Residence: 91 Olden Lane

Bride:

Name: (Y/n) (Y/m/n) (Y/l/n)

Date of Birth: (Y/dob), 1921

Residence: 105 Ivy Dr

Marriage Ceremony:

Date and Time: June 1st, 1955, at 5:00 PM

Officiant: Dr. Allen Hill

Title: Authorized Officiant

Witnesses:

Name: (y/b/n) (y/b/m/n) (y/l/n)

Address: 10 Pennsylvania Avenue

Name: Hatomi Haruka Yamamoto-Bell

Address: 600 Dittmar Oaks

Under penalty of perjury, the undersigned parties declare that the information provided above is true and correct to the best of their knowledge.

Signatures:

_____________________________ _____________________________

Julius Robert Oppenheimer (Y/n) (Y/m/n) (Y/L/N)

Groom's Signature Bride's Signature

_____________________________

Dr. Allen Hill

Officiant's Signature

_____________________________ _____________________________

(y/b/n) (y/b/m/n) (y/l/n) Hitomi Haruka Yamamoto-Bell

Witness's Signature Witness's Signature

Seal: City of Charlottesville, Virginia

–

You and Robert married the same day of your graduation at UVA on June 1st, 1955. You let your parents know about your marriage and plans to move to Princeton. It took them time to process that you married your Physics Professor, but they accepted it once they met Robert and were impressed. They also enjoyed that you were only a train ride away from the city of Princeton.

Robert kept to his promise of no more games. He stayed loyal and steadfast and was honest and loving to you. He doted on and adored you, showering you with both affection and gifts. You had kept all of the gifts he had given you at Berkeley, occasionally using the new perfumes if you couldn’t look for all of the new floral scents Robert had bought for you. Despite you both being busy with your jobs at Princeton and the local private high school, you two found time for each other.

Your time together reminded you of those Friday study sessions at Berkeley, where you were a young girl and Robert was your professor who had been struck by “one of the most beautiful creatures he had ever seen”. Robert had helped you become a woman, and despite how many times you and he tried to move, you always fell back to each other.

With your newfound marriage, you and Robert could be in public together. Of course, there was scrutiny and controversy of the age gap and both of your involvement with the Manhattan project. Still, Robert could hold your hand, and you could lean on his shoulder. Sure, there stares, but those could easily be ignored. At the many lavish dinners you attend, Robert would put his hand on your hip and whisper into your ear nothing but sweet yet dirty thoughts. You’d look at all of the judgemental onlookers, and simply hugged Robert, brightly smiling at them.

It was one of those nights. It was like your Friday nights, but extended; talking about the day full of academics, making a delicious dinner, cleaning up said dinner, fucking either by the fire or on the bed, and lazing in each other’s embrace.

You had your back curled to Robert as he held you. That one night, he let go for a short second, before you felt a cold metal on your neck and the sound of a clink of a clasp.

“I saw this, and it made me think of you and the Bhagavad Gita,” Robert explained as he moved your hair back forward, “Do you like it?”

The necklace was a short gold chain with a pendant of the seven Chakras. You run your hand hovering the expensive gold and gems inside, smiling to yourself. You turn to Robert and place a peck on his lips, admiring the beautiful necklace.

“It’s beautiful, Robert. Thank you, thank you, thank you-”

You repeat this sentence over and over as you wrap your arms around his neck, throwing him down to the bed and decorating his body with kisses. Ultimately, the two of you end of lovemaking once again, and remind yourselves to rewash the sheets. Again.

The next week, you are forced to rewash your sheets as Robert, per usual, fucks you after the University of Washington last minute declines his offer to speak at their commencement ceremony. Like old times, you claw your nails down his neck and scream his name until he finishes inside of you, making your belly feel all warm. You smile and hope, for once, there’s some good news for the future continuation of you and Robert.

It takes many tries, but on January 5th of 1958, you give birth to Thaïs Jackie Oppenheimer. She’s a healthy baby girl. You nearly died giving birth, but it was worth seeing her curl into Robert’s arms as if it were a natural instinct. Even as a child, she’s got the blue Oppenheimer’s eyes and your fiery personality. After Thaïs birth, you remained in the ICU for a while. In a window outside of your room, you would see Robert in the distance as he overlooked Thaïs bed, talking to her and promising her nothing but the world. In your recovering pain, it made you cry.

Eventually, you returned back to work as a school-teacher, splitting your time with the au-pair while taking care of Thaïs. She’s a very vocal child, and like Robert, highly precocious. By the time she’s six, she can name every rock and flower in your garden by their scientific name. Not to mention, she can hold more basic conversation in Latin and Greek than you, thanks to Robert and his bedtime stories of Ancient Latin and Greek myths.

Dinner is a family affair. As the three of you all cook, you find it hard to keep up with Robert and Thaïs’s long conversation that switches between Greek and Latin, ranging from what to next in meal prep, the rocks Thaïs’s collected at school today, and what toy Robert will buy her next if she behaves. You can follow the basics, but you smile and keep yourself, cooing and kissing your newborn baby boy, Elias.

Each night, Robert worships you like you’re a goddess. As you read his book recommendations, he decorates your body with kisses and calls you his “temple”, thanking you for being the Athena to his Prometheus and giving him life. You could not be happier.

But bliss is temporal, not everlasting.

First, it’s the apparent hoarseness. Robert thinks it’s cold, but that’s until he’s coughing up blood two weeks later. Also, with the neck and ear pain, you grow worried, and unfortunately, your worst fears come to light. Robert’s heavy smoking did not help his case, and in late 1965, he was diagnosed with throat cancer.

You had quit smoking a long time ago, long before the birth of your children, but Robert continued. Since you had met him, he had always been a smoker no matter what, falling from a cigarette pack to multiple pipes a day. The cancer is infectious and both of you know it’s in fact very bad, and it’s only going to continue to get worse but not fast, but slowly and painfully. Robert has a persistent cough in which he tries to hide from you and the children but fails to. His skin becomes as gray as his thinning hair, and he’s losing weight faster than you can count.

After his diagnosis, there are many sleepless nights between you and Robert. You are both worried about each other in your own ways. One particular night, Robert sits on the edge of the bed. The bones in his back are visible, and you feel like you can see the bones in his back. He’s handsome, but so terribly sick all at once. Crawling from under the sheets, you quietly crawl toward him and hug him from behind. You sob into his shoulders, and he grabs your arms.

“Stop worrying,” He reassures you as he kisses your shaking palm, “You’ll be okay, love.”

“Robert, stop. It’s not about me. It’s about you,” You sob uncontrollably, “I’m scared, Robert. Not for you, for me.”

That night, Robert holds you and tells you that things will improve. He doesn’t promise it, though.

In late 1966, Robert underwent surgery, radiation, and chemotherapy, which were all unsuccessful.

Robert has done so much for you and protected you from so much. Now, it’s your turn to do so.

When he breaks the news that, realistically, he’s going to die within the next six months, you and his plan to bring Thaïs and Elias to Saint John.

Robert can’t do the things he used to do. Robert is still as handsome as he always has been, but he’s more frail and sickly looking, a shell of the man he once was. The only thing he can do is spend time with you and his children, valuing his time, which is running out faster than he can count. He builds wooden lodges with houses with Elias, collects seashells and rocks with Elias, and lies in your lap as you read him all of the old books and Greek myths the two of you used to read together.

Robert tries to make you a Martini one night, but he struggles in the kitchen. A glass drops and you run in, to find both of his hands shaking. He confesses to you that he can’t keep his hands still, and he can’t stop apologizing after. You smile, holding back tears, telling him it’s okay.

You, Robert, and your family soon return to Princeton. At that time, you call and invite people who are close to you, Robert, so he gets the chance to say goodbye. Kitty and his children come by. They're as devastated as you are, but they thank you. Kitty, for the first time, cries in front of you, and says you have a beautiful family; thanking you for taking care of Robert. You break down in front of her, and Kitty hugs you.

It’s clear that Robert’s in his final days of life. He can’t remember or speak coherently as he used to. Your children are very aware of this, and you prepare them for the worst that is to come.

It’s nighttime, and Robert’s in bed, saying he’s going to read a book that you’d enjoyed. You make him peppermint tea downstairs to help him fall asleep. As you make the tea, you can hear Robert’s horse voice as he talks to their children. If you bend your ear further, you can hear his voice shaking as he tells his children that he loves them more than anything, and to treat you, their mother, with nothing but love and respect.

You go upstairs with the tea you’ve prepared for Robert. He thanks you and smiles as if he’s seen you for the first time, refusing to let go of your hand with a weak grasp. As you change quickly into your pajamas, you jump into bed with him and hold him carefully, not wanting to hurt him.

“Sweetling?” He says your term of endearment in a sing-song voice. You look up, fully attentive.

“Yes, Oppie?”

With a trembling hand, he holds out an aged navy book with gold print; Hades and Persephone.

“Can you please read this to me?”

Once you grasp the book, tears begin to form in your eyes. As much as you want to cry, you hold your tears back and nod your head. Leaning against Robert, you open to the book’s preface and see all of his annotations inside. Some of them are about you. You’re about to start reading when Robert, in his classic fashion, grabs your hand and holds it to his chest.

“Y/n?”

You don’t look over as you close your eyes.

“Yes, Robert?”

“I love you, y/n”

A tear falls down your cheek, but you don’t let Robert see it.

“I love you too, Robert.”

That night, Robert falls into a coma. Three days later, he dies. He was sixty-two years old.

Once you have the funeral and dump his ashes into the US Virgin Islands water, you and your two children move down to Williamsburg, Virginia. You don’t want to be in Princeton anymore, as if it reminds you of Robert. Your family recommends you move back to New York City or Charlottesville, but you refuse; they all have Robert’s name written on it.

In Williamsburg, you grieve heavily at losing your first and only love, but motherhood keeps you busy. You get a job as an assistant professor at William and Mary, and just as you usually do, you cope with the pain until it becomes numb, losing yourself in your work and children. It’s what Robert would want for you.

Each night, after you make dinner by yourself, you go to your room and drink, reading all of Robert’s books from his reading list that shaped his mind.

One night, you’re drunk and sad. You’re primarily drunk at night, hazy and unaware, but some nights you are sad, not always. A ten-year-old Elias walks into your room, asking why you are crying so much.

For a second, you think he’s Robert with his big blue eyes and puff of dark hair, which makes you sob even more.

After Robet’s death, Kitty writes to you frequently to ensure you’re doing okay alone with the kids. You write back, and in her final years, the two of you build a friendship until her untimely death in 1972. You speak at her funeral and say in your speech that you hope she’s reunited with Robert.

Thaïs and Elias both grow into fine adults. Thaïs goes to study chemistry and history at Davis while Elias studies nuclear physics at Princeton, which you know would make Robert proud of both of them.

Toni, Oppenheimer’s daughter from Kitty’s marriage, committed suicide in 1977. Robert gave her the ranch in New Mexico. Peter refuses to take it, so it’s given to Thaïs. For Thanksgiving and Christmas, you meet Thaïs and Elias there to celebrate the holidays, taking them horseback riding to explore the beauty of New Mexico that Robert once showed to you.

Thaïs and Elias grow old, and have their own lifes. They stop visiting for holidays, as they are preoccupied with their own families and affairs. You never get angry at either of them for doing so; it’s human nature.

And so you retreat back to the island of St.John, where your beach house is. It holds both fond and sad memories of Robert, especially within his last years. It’s probably not the best idea if you are out there alone, but you manage to keep yourself distracted with the television, books, and old photos surrounding you. You keep yourself busy and entertained, only getting sad at night about Robert.

One night, you’re reading on Robert’s old chair. There’s a peppermint tea that’s untouched by your side, along with a fully drinken bottle of wine. With a blanket over you, you read Robert’s old, annotated copy of Hades and Perspehone. You’ve read it a thousand times by now, but the story never gets old to you. It will never get old for you.

As you reach the end, in which Persephone stays with Hades, your eyes begin to feel heavy. Your hands and fingers feel tingly and heavy. With your eyelids feeling droopy and breathing feeling short, you rest your head back and into the chair. Everything slowly goes back. You're not sad to be going; infact, you’re happy.

Sometime later, you awaken in a hazy world. It’s an alternate reality since you feel much younger, sitting at a desk, and looking down at your book; it’s an introductory book to Physics with your navy notebook, your name taped on the side.

Looking up at the chalkboard, you see him; Robert. He’s Dr.Oppenheimer, but to you, he’ll always be Robert or Oppie. He’s got his cigarette in hand, and those damn blue eyes that you loved. Oh, how you’ve missed them. He looks directly at you in the class, and you directly at him. There are people talking, and while they are close, their voices are nothing but mindless mutters.

Robert smiles at you.

Your heart skips a beat.

You sigh and smile right back at him. At last, you’re home.

#carrie writes #cillian murphy #oppenheimer #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x reader #oppenheimer x reader #robert j oppenheimer #j robert oppenheimer #robert j oppenheimer x reader #j Robert oppenheimer x reader

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vintagehellfire · 9 months

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All For Show - Series Masterlist

musician!Eddie x showgirl!reader

Summary: 1955 New York City, where dreams come true. You get to dance and perform for crowds every night, bringing in good money for yourself and for daddy’s jazz club. The regulars love you, the women envy you, and the musicians are strictly banned from flirting with you (and the other dancers of course). This wasn’t a problem until your father up and coming musician Eddie Munson to perform at his jazz club. Eddie was the first man to catch your eye, and you the first performer to be worth his time, and your father’s wrath.

Warnings: implied female reader, mysoginy, eventual smut, swearing, no use of y/n, nudity, drugs, smoking, slow-burn, alcohol, anger issues, controlling father. 18+ only. mdni

Chapter I: People are Strange

Chapter II: Devil Woman, You’ve Cast Your Spell

Chapter III: Nightmare

Chapter IV: I’m Getting Nervous, but it Sure is Fun

Chapter V: Put the Blame on M(am)e

Chapter VI: Fallin' (Coming soon)

#all for show #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #reader insert #eddie x reader #heartbreak #music #1950s #1960s

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chicinsilk · 1 year

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❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Dovima on the steps of the Grand Palais in Paris wearing a creation by Christian Dior belonging to the Haute Couture Collection, Fall-Winter 1955-1956. Photo Richard Avedon August 1955. "Y"line.

Dovima sur les marches du Grand Palais à Paris portant une création de Christian Dior appartenant à la Collection Haute Couture, Automne-Hiver 1955,1956. Photo Richard Avedon août 1955.

#christian dior #collection haute couture #fall/winter #automne/hiver #1955 56 #fashion 50s #french designer #french style #dovima #richard avedon #y line #ligne y #grand palais #paris

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sissylittlefeather · 9 months

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A/N: here it is! I finally finished it! This could be a prequel to my other two, if you want it to be. Otherwise, it's just a fun 2nd person Elvis x fem!reader one-shot about a young and innocent Elvis on the night he becomes a man. There are most definitely historical inaccuracies, but let's just let those slide please 🥺. I'd love feedback, if you have any!

Warnings: Virgin Elvis, f/m p in v sex, fingering, lots of kissing, kind of a slow burn, unprotected sex, cussing, etc

Last thing: I'm using a gif of Austin Elvis and one of the real deal EP because you can imagine either one. Whatever makes your heart happy.

Baby, What's Your Name?

You've always been bold for a girl of your generation. Your first kiss was your idea and you haven't been "innocent" for a while now. Not that you are open and available for anyone, you just don't hold back when it comes to falling in love.

The year is 1955 and your friend Margie has begged you to come with her to a concert tonight. You have class the next day, and you take your college studies very seriously, but you figure you can still get home at a decent hour. Apparently, there's a new singer that Margie is gushing over. She's heard from other girls that he's supposed to be "something to see". Margie doesn't have much else going on; school isn't exactly her thing. She'll tell anyone who'll listen that she's only there to find a husband. You roll your eyes at this thought and go back to flipping through your closet for something to wear.

"Y/n, just pick something! We're going to be late!" Margie begs, pouting. You settle on a pink and white gingham sundress, sweeping your hair into a ponytail and tying it with a matching pink ribbon. You barely get your shoes on before Margie drags you out the door of your room on campus.

******

The crowd is almost entirely female. "Who is this guy?" You think to yourself. Oh well, no matter. Hopefully it'll be over soon and you can go home and get in bed. It's already late and it's a warm night for September. Margie is bouncing around next to you in her seat.

"Oh my gosh, I just can't wait until he comes out! Eliza said he's the cutest thing she's ever seen!" You roll your eyes again. You do that a lot around Margie. You didn't pick her to be your roommate; the university did. Still, she's been a decent friend, even if she's a little ditsy and boy crazy.

Finally, the other acts are finished and the announcer comes out to let you know this new artist is coming out.

"Please welcome to the stage Elvis Presley!"

The crowd goes absolutely insane. You start to wonder if maybe you've been studying too much. How could you not know this man that everyone else is so crazy for?

He walks out to the middle of the stage. He's wearing a pink jacket that matches the color of your dress. You're surprised to find that he's much more attractive than you imagined he would be, with his boyish smirk and black hair. You sit up a little straighter in your chair, but a group of girls has gathered in the front standing up, so you can't really see anymore from your seat.

Margie grabs your hand, "Come on! Let's go up there!"

"No, no I'm okay here."

Then he starts to sing. Your heart skips a beat and something deep in your stomach turns over. You stand up without even thinking, trying to see better. Margie takes the opportunity and grabs your hand. You don't fight back as she drags you up to the stage.

When you get close enough to really be able to see him, the thing in your stomach flip flops again. He's moving. And not just, like, tapping his foot. He's moving his legs and his hips in ways you didn't even think was possible... not in public, at least. The thing in your stomach moves deeper in your body to the place between your legs. You are drawn to him like he's got some kind of spell on you. More girls press in behind you, but thanks to Margie, you were up there pretty early and you're only one row back from the stage.

You need him. You need him to notice you and want you too. You start racking your brain for what you can do to get his attention. Every other girl around you is screaming like a fool. That won't work. They're also reaching for him like they might pull him off the stage if he gets close enough. He's moving around the stage quite a bit, but he's very careful never to get too close. If only you had something to throw... but you don't have anything in your hands, no bracelets or anything, and the ribbon from your ponytail isn't heavy enough to make it all the way to the stage. He's singing a slower song now, playing his guitar and looking around the crowd. Somehow, his blue eyes make contact with yours and your heart stops. You become acutely aware of your panties and the place on your body directly under them.

Wait. That's it! That would certainly get his attention. And you could easily get them off with the crowd surrounding you. Also, your full skirt that goes all the way to your knees will keep anyone from really knowing they're missing. You start working them down your thighs and Margie notices you wiggling next to her.

"What are you doing?!"

"Don't worry about it."

Finally, you feel your panties hit your ankles and rest on your shoes. It's nearly impossible with the crowd pressing in around you, but you manage to get them off your feet and into your hand. You take a second to thank the heavens that you were wearing pretty pink ones with lace, and not your laundry day undies. You look up to the stage, assessing how hard to throw them to make it right to where he's standing. After spending years playing baseball with your brothers as a kid, you're pretty confident you can get them there.

You take one last look at him; he's holding the mic at an angle, leaned over it and singing with his whole body. The second he finishes the song and stands up, you use all the strength in your arm and calculations you've just done and throw...

They land perfectly at his feet. You couldn't have possibly done any better if your life depended on it. Margie and the other girls directly around you stop and look at you, trying to figure out what you've thrown on the stage.

"Now, what's this?" He asks, picking your panties up from his feet and holding them up. When he realizes what they are, he blushes deeply.

"Well, that's something I didn't expect." He laughs into the mic and looks out into the audience to try to figure out who has given him such an awkward gift. The other girls are staring at you with their mouths open, so it's not hard for him to figure out. Your blush matches his, though, so he simply nods his head slightly in your direction, puts your panties in his pocket quickly and quietly, and moves on to his next song. The girls go back to screaming and you feel various others in the crowd wiggling like you did just minutes ago. Before he can even finish the song, panties are flying on stage left and right. He starts laughing, "ladies, I'm very flattered, but this is really unnecessary!"

The announcer rushes back out onto the stage, stepping between Elvis and the microphone.

"Thank you, Mr. Presley, for such a lovely show! Now, that's the end of our program for the evening, everyone. Thanks for coming out and be safe on your way home!"

You feel a little guilty for ending his set early with your panty-throwing, but you didn't make all those other girls go crazy. Still, you wish he would stay up there forever, singing and moving his hips. You're not ready for this feeling to go away. Another crazy thought enters your head. Maybe you'll try to get your panties back...

******

It wasn't hard to figure out where he is staying. There's really only one nice motel in town and the cars from his tour caravan are in the parking lot. You managed to convince Margie to go on home, so you're alone. You're a little nervous, walking into the motel office, but your boldness wins out.

"Hi. I need to know which room Mr. Presley is in."

"Yeah, you and every other girl in town."

"Right, but he asked for me. Call him. I just forgot the room number." It's a flimsy lie and you know it. The motel worker picks up the phone and dials "121".

"Never mind, I was lying. You caught me. I had to try though, right?" You chuckle softly as you back out of the office. Once you're outside, you head straight to room 121. When you get there, you have a sudden attack of nerves. It's so late at night and you're about to knock on the door of a man you've never actually met. This is crazy.

You're standing there trying to decide what to do when the door opens and he almost walks straight into you.

"Oh, I'm sorry darlin', I didn't even see you there." You're frozen to the spot, speechless at his closeness to you as he stands in the doorway of his motel room. He explains something about wanting to talk to someone about how to keep the show going, even if the crowd gets rowdy.

"But I'm not sure why I'm telling you this. Why are you here?" His brows knit together in the center of his forehead.

"Me? I'm just... well... I believe you have something of mine." Again, your boldness beats your fear and you walk past him into his room. He looks out the door and around nervously before closing it gently and turning around to face you. The curtains are pulled shut tightly and the glow from the lamps makes everything in the room kind of orange.

"Something of yours? Honey, I'm not sure I know what you're talking about."

"Something I threw on the stage." You look him dead in the eyes, hoping he'll recognize you.

"Oh. Oh! It's you!" Thank heavens, he does recognize you. He blushes again, not as deeply this time, but the memory is affecting him.

"I do have something of yours, but I have no intention of giving them back." He smiles playfully and walks across the room to where his jacket is hanging on the back of a chair. He pulls your panties out of his jacket pocket and holds them tightly in his fist.

"The way I see it, you gave me these, fair and square."

"Well, I wasn't really thinking, and it's weird not wearing any..." you realize what you've just told him and his eyes slowly drift to just below your waist before he snaps them back up to meet your eyes again. He swallows hard and you stand there awkwardly, not sure what to say next. You walk across the room to him and reach for your panties. He holds them up high over your head and pouts.

"Do you really want them back?"

You're standing so close to him now that you can feel him breathing. Your heart is in your throat with the sensation of his closeness. You don't want your panties back. You want something else entirely.

"No..." you whisper quietly, trying to signal him that he could kiss you if he wants to, that he should kiss you.

Somehow, he reads your signals correctly and leans in slowly. He moves carefully watching for signs that this isn't what you want, but your upturned face and eyes closed softly are exactly what he's hoping for. When his lips finally touch yours, they're gentle, but soon after he drops your panties on the floor and grabs your face with both hands. His lips part yours and his tongue dips into your mouth hungrily. He moves his hands to your waist and you throw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a more passionate kiss. You're locked together like this for some time, kissing, before you realize his hands are shaking lightly. He pulls out of the kiss and puts his forehead on yours, breathing heavily.

"You kiss me like this much more, darlin' and I'm not sure I'll be able to stop."

"I don't want you to stop."

He pulls back and looks at you, his mouth hanging open in mild shock. You can't figure out why he's so nervous. You're saying "yes" in every way you know how. He swallows again deeply and blushes a little.

"Aw, now, honey, don't say things you don't mean. I've never..."

Your eyes widen in disbelief. His nervousness is starting to make sense. He's never done this before. He's a virgin.

The realization makes you smile and you giggle a little at the thought. This man, who dances on stage like he does this every other night, has never actually been with a woman.

"Well, it's not that funny." He pouts again.

"No, I'm sorry, it's not funny at all. But if you don't want to do this, tell me now. Because I won't let you if you really don't want to." You smile reassuringly, but your body is aching for him to touch more of you.

"I didn't say I don't want to." He goes in for another deep and passionate kiss, his tongue moving in ways you'd never imagined. All you can think about is his tongue touching you in other places and that warm spot between your legs gets even warmer. He picks you up by the waist, lifting your feet off the floor just enough to carry you to the bed. Laying you gently on the bed, he stops for a second and looks at you laying there in your pink gingham dress. You prop yourself up on your elbows and kick off your shoes.

"What?"

"Nothing... I just... pink is my favorite color." He mumbles before laying on the bed next to you. You're both laying on your sides facing each other and he begins to undress you carefully, first untying the ribbon in your hair. Then he slides his hand down your back to unzip your dress. The zipper ends where your panties should be, but aren't, and as his fingers brush your skin, you tingle all over. His hand travels back up to the latch of your bra. He fumbles with it for a bit, his fingers trembling, before he finally gets it unclasped. You become keenly aware that all he has to do is slide your dress forward and down and you'll be completely naked. You can see by the bulge in his pants that he's had this thought too. You put your hand up to his face, cupping his cheek.

"You're sure this is what you want?"

"Honey, I've never been more sure of anything in my life." He pulls your dress and bra forward and off of you, standing up to drop it on the floor with your shoes. Now you can really see his hardness pushing against his pants. He takes his shirt off and you sit up to unbutton his pants, letting them drop to the floor next to the pile of your clothes.

Now you're both naked. You touch him gently and he sighs and looks up at the ceiling. After a few seconds of this, he almost can't stand it anymore, so he lays you down on the bed, crawling on top of you, still trembling, but obviously gaining confidence. He presses his lips to yours again and you rub your tongue along his bottom lip before he opens his mouth into a deeper kiss. His hand moves down your body, stopping to caress your breast and run his thumb over your nipple. His hand shakes less and less as he moves further down your torso to your hip. He rolls to the side a little and walks his fingers over to the place between your legs. You open them just enough for him to slip a finger inside you. You let out a small moan against his mouth as he moves his finger in and out and in again. You stop kissing him and look into his eyes, reaching down to his hand. Gently, you guide his thumb to the spot that makes your stomach turn over and your heart beat faster.

"Here. Do circles." He listens eagerly and does exactly as you tell him. He feels the knot harden as he massages it, so he keeps up a consistent rhythm. You lose the ability to give him further instruction-- he doesn't need it anyway-- as the pleasure builds up between your legs. You can feel yourself approaching your climax and prepare yourself for the fireworks. He's watching you so closely, taking cues from your body about what to do next. He puts his finger back in you, doing a tickling motion with his fingertip against your insides. You might burst with all the electricity flowing through your body.

"Oh! Yes! Fuck!" You cry out as the ecstatic release washes over you and you begin to pulse around his finger. He smiles widely, amused by your cussing and pleased with his ability to give you an orgasm on his first try. You're not exactly sure how he managed it, but you really don't care. You're still riding your body high. He moves his hand back to your hip and you feel your wetness on his fingers. He's kissing you again, grinding his hardness against your thigh. Despite your release, you're ready for more of him inside you. You reach down again, wrapping your hand around him softly and moving his hips to line up with yours. You put his tip against yourself and pull back from his kiss.

"Last chance to back out." He smiles and looks directly into your eyes. Then, he pushes forward with his hips, just like he did on stage, filling you entirely. The sensation almost overwhelms him and he sets his forehead on your shoulder.

"Oh fuck, baby." Now it's your turn to smile at him for cussing.

"It actually gets better." He lifts his head off your shoulder to look into your eyes and there's an excitement in his that almost makes you laugh out loud. Instead, you plant a kiss on his lips and wrap your legs around his waist. He starts to pump in and out rhythmically. You're not surprised that he's good at this part. You've seen him move on stage. Still, you know he probably won't last too long, since it's his first time, and there's more you want to show him. You release him from your legs and push him off of you and onto his back.

"Oh no baby what...?" With one leg on either side of his hips, you lower yourself onto him. He nearly loses his mind as the change in angle changes the sensation. He moans deeply and grabs your hips, guiding your movement as you ride him. His pleasure is building up and you know he's close as you slide up and down. You move faster and faster, pushing him toward his climax.

"Oh fuck, shit, fuck baby!" He yells as you feel him shudder underneath you and fill you with his warmth. He moans loudly as you move up and down a few more times to really push him over the edge. With him still inside you, you lean forward and lay on his chest. He wraps his arms around you.

"Wow, honey, that was... wow." You smile against his chest, satisfied with your work. After a good amount of time in this position, you move off of him and lay down next to him on your back. He props himself up on his elbow and turns to face you.

"How soon can we do it again?" You chuckle at his eagerness as you realize you won't be making it back to your room tonight. Suddenly, his eyebrows come together on his forehead in worry and you rearrange yourself to look him in the face, mildly concerned at his expression. You brace yourself for some kind of confession. Instead, he smiles and innocently asks:

"Baby... what's your name?"

You erupt in peals of laughter, wrapping your arms around him and rolling over on top of him. You think of the panties on the floor of his motel room, so glad that Margie dragged you to the concert tonight. This might be the beginning of something wonderful.

"My name is..."

#elvis fans #austin butler elvis #austin elvis imagine #elvis presley #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley x reader #elvis smut #elvis x reader #austin elvis x reader #elvis fanfic #elvis presely smut #elvis presley x y/n #50s elvis #elvis x y/n #austin elvis smut #elvis fanfiction #austin!elvis fanfiction #elvis presley fic

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