#Vegas Shadows 1 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dilemmaontwolegs · 11 months ago

Text

For the love of god(dess) || CL16 {1}

A/N & Summary: Greek God/dess AU. This was a draft I had wasting away with reincarnation trope. Reader is the goddess of love. I don't even know what I am doing anymore lol Warnings: reader injury, blood WC: 2.2k Part One || Two

“Do you ever stop working?”

You leered across the scrying bowl to the unwelcome guest waltzing into your sanctum. “Unlike some, my work never ends.”

“Come now, I remember a time when you used to love my little soirées,” Dionysus whispered in your ear as he dipped his finger in the bowl, disturbing the still waters. The god of debauchery had never held just a little party, there was a reason hedonism and excess had been celebrated for millennia. “Take one night off. It will be one to remember.”

“Liar,” you said with a smile despite yourself. “I still don’t have any memory of the last one.”

He winked and flicked the droplet of water from his finger at you playfully, “Then I am doing my job right. It’s on earth…”

Damn, the god knew how to pique your interest. Thousands of years watching through the haze of the scrying bowl did little to capture their humanity. Whenever you could, you used to walk among them to see the fruits of your labour.

“Love, you are eternal - yet you waste away in this…” he drifted off as he looked around the empty stone room, carvings depicting your greatest champions along the walls, “place.”

While the other gods had their golden palaces you were content in the temple that had once been filled with priestesses who served the deity you once were. A shell of who you used to be reflected back in the still water. What was the Goddess of Love with a broken heart? Cold and empty like this temple.

Your thoughts darkened and shadows crept along the walls before you took a deep breath. It had been a few decades since you had some fresh air, maybe it was for the best to get out. “Fine. One night.”

Dio grinned and swept an arm around your waist before leading you to the door. The sunlight hit your face and you cursed Apollo until your eyes adjusted to the brightness. The drunken god took one look at the white robe you wore, a silver sash tied at the waist, and tutted.

“I know beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but this won’t do.”

“Any other insults?” you dared as you cast a hand over yourself, the white cotton bleeding to a deep red leather skin that hugged your body and accentuated your assets. A black corset snapped at the contours of your waist and pressed your breasts up, the armour unnecessary but as familiar as breathing. The others may have forgotten the great war but your heart remembered the loss and you swore you would not leave yourself vulnerable again.

He let out a low whistle and shook his head.

“Oh, one more thing.” Your bow and quiver snapped into place across your back and drew a groan from Dio. “What?” Your eyes darted to the chalice that was forever held in his left hand. “You have your attachments, I have mine.”

He held his cupped hand up, wine sloshing over the rim, and pointed a finger at you. “Firstly, this is a curse - not a choice. And secondly, this is useful to drink out of.”

“Maybe you should have been more careful where you stuck your dick.”

“I didn’t know the nymph was one of Zeus’ favourites, obviously,” Dio grumbled before setting off down the path that would lead to the mortal realm.

–

Las Vegas, Mortal Realm, 2023 PIW (Post-Immortal-Wars)

You already knew the party would be a large one, but this was big even by Dionysus’ standards. Thousands of people imbibed in the free flowing alcohol and danced under strobe lights in Sin City, his favourite playground. Dio sent a mischievous wink before he touched the champagne tower and his power imbued with the liquor to increase the effect and ensure everyone was on the same level as him.

“Drink, Love,” he ordered as he tipped the rim of his glass to your lips. Sweet wine warmed your throat as much as his power did and you drank it down knowing that for at least a few minutes your cares would be diminished - but they always came back too soon. “Now dance.”

Your hips swayed and your hands found themselves moving above your head as the lights mesmerised you. Human scents came and went as they moved around you, their pheromones calling to your power as they found lovers, if only for the night. One particular scent caught your attention and you followed it to find Dio talking to the human. He had been god touched and the mark glowed on his brow - not that the mortals could see it.

“Love, this is the man of the hour,” Dio gushed, casting a hand to the party as if it were all for him. “Max here won the race.”

You didn’t know what race he was referring to, nor did you care. “Of course he did,” you stated dryly. Max was Nike’s champion and Nike was the Goddess of Victory in everything except what mattered. “Congratulations.”

You grabbed Dio’s hand and drank your fill from his cursed chalice in the hopes it would douse the fire that ignited in your veins. If Nike had fought alongside you in the war instead of wasting her time with her Olympians and their silly sports then maybe Károlos would have survived. Maybe you would do more than just survive eternity alone.

“Sorry, she doesn’t get out much,” Dio joked, clapping the victor on the arm. “Drink, my friend. The night is young and life is short.”

You slipped away into the sea of bodies, drifting through until a cool breeze called from the balcony and you escaped to the quiet. Your breath exhaled with a heaviness only an immortal could carry and a chuckle startled you.

“Fuck, not another one. Can’t I have one moment of peace?” you groaned as his scent found you before the handsome man stepped out of the shadows of the corner he had been hiding in.

“Sorry,” he apologised. “This was my hiding place first.”

The mark of the Adonis glowed beneath the dark hair that fell over his forehead and you internally scoffed at the god’s vanity. The man standing before you would have been stuck down if he showed his face in Olympus, he was far too good looking it would be considered an offence to the petty gods. And those eyes, green eyes just like...You had to look away before you could finish that thought.

“What do you have to hide from?” you asked, leaning against the rail as you watched fireworks explode among the stars. “You’re a champion.”

“You must have me confused with someone else,” he laughed bitterly.

“I know a champion when I see one.” You felt Dionysus breeze onto the balcony before you heard his drunken laugh behind you, the bitter smell of blackthorn root on his breath from the drug he had smoked.

“Love, eternal Love, I found you,” he slurred as hugged your back, the feathered fletches from the quiver of arrows irritating him. “Must you wear these prickly things?”

Before you could stop him, he ripped an arrow out, the sharpened point catching the side of your neck. A hiss of pain escaped your lips as blood trickled down your throat and the power that kept the weapons hidden from mortal sight broke with the bead of blood on the tip.

Adonis’ champion gasped as his mind raced to piece together what he was seeing. A woman bleeding and a man holding the weapon. His eyes narrowed and he leapt at Dio, trying to wretch the bloodied arrow from him before he could attack you again. You could have laughed at how futile the attempt was for a mortal to attack a god but said god was higher than Zeus’ perch in his palace and rotten drunk off his wine.

The fates must have been laughing their asses off as the mortal and god collided, both tumbling to the floor before the mortal screamed in pain.

A hand reached into your chest, at least that was how it felt when the fire exploded inside you. “No, no, no, no,” you cried as Dio fell away from the mortal and you saw the arrow buried in the champion's chest. “What have you done?”

The fire faded as the bond snapped into place and you hated how you suddenly feared for the mortal. That fear had you rushing to his side and falling to your knees as Dio stared at his hands. “I, I didn’t mean to,” he stammered.

Even the mortals knew the power those arrows held, the stories were told throughout the ages of how just a nick from one could make strangers, enemies even, fall for each other in an instant. The greatest weapon of all was love and it had the power to destroy even the immortals. And Dio had just stabbed the mortal with one, coated in your blood. Blood that bonded.

You gripped the shaft and tugged the arrow out of his chest before slamming your hand over the wound and pouring your energy into it, sealing it closed. He reached for your hand that was slick with his blood and you let him hold it, unable to fight the love that came from your own power.

“You’ll be okay,” you promised him before narrowing your eyes at Dio. “You, not so much.”

“It was an accident, I swear, it was like I couldn’t control myself. Charles just jumped-”

Your eyes flared silver as you looked back at the unearthly green shade of his eyes. Same eyes, same name, Adonis’ champion. You had foolishly thought Adonis had chosen the mortal for his beauty, but if the mortal was reincarnated then he would also bear the mark on his brow.

“Károlos,” you whispered as a feeling of rightness settled across the universe.

Charles frowned at the name but understood the tenderness in the tone, such a sweet sound. His chest no longer burned and smooth skin met his palm as he felt for the wound that had healed, but the blood on his shirt was proof he had not imagined it all.

“Who are you?” he asked as he rose to his feet, tasting his blood on his tongue.

You flinched at the question and looked to the stars. “I go by many names, but you may call me Y/N.”

“You called me Károlos.”

“That was your name the first time you walked the earth,” Adonis said, appearing on the balcony in a flash of light. “Károlos, Karlaz, Carl, Charles - it’s always the same. A hundred lifetimes lived, always searching, always waiting. All for this moment.”

When Károlos had been killed you had stormed to the Underworld ready to bargain with Hades, but he had said Károlos wasn’t in the Elysian Fields. You hadn’t believed him in your anger. All this time, Adonis had kept his soul safe.

You reached behind to your quiver and drew an arrow, grabbing your bow and notching it. “You had two thousand years to tell me he was alive.”

Adonis held his hands up, shifting closer to Dio ready to sacrifice him as a shield. “You think the fates would let me tell you! I did what I could but you were happy to grovel alone in your temple.”

“Can someone please tell me what’s going on?” Charles asked, wondering why no one had come to see what was going on, except when he looked at the party everyone was frozen like the time had come to a stop.

“I was grieving! And now I will have to mourn him anew, because he’s fucking mortal!”

Adonis grinned and you debated releasing the arrow. “Are you sure about that? Is that not your blood that runs in his veins now? I can smell it on him.”

You paused. Your blood had been on the arrow, immortal blood. You and Charles had gravitated to each other without realising it and you inhaled as you leaned a little closer. There was still a hint of that fresh mortal scent but it was an undercurrent to the aether that grew stronger with each breath.

“What the fuck is going on?” Charles snapped as you dissected him with your eyes like an experiment. “And why is no one else moving?”

You unnotched the arrow and waved the feathered end at Adonis. “We are going to have words about this later.” The beautiful god nodded before disappearing in a flash of light.

“So I'm forgiven, right?” Dio asked with a shy smile. “Told you it would be one to remember.”

You held a hand up to silence him and looked at Charles. “I don’t know how to answer your questions without making more. It might be easier if I show you.”

He accepted your hand without hesitation and you wondered how much of that was the force of the bond or because on some unconscious level his soul recognised yours. Either way, you smiled at the warmth between your skin before leaving the mortal realm behind.

“Where are we going?” he asked as the stars faded with the lights of Sin City.

“Home.”

–

For Reference: Dionysus - God of Wine and Pleasure Nike - Goddess of Victory Adonis - God of Beauty, Desire and Rebirth Károlos - (Old derivative for Charles) A warrior who was fated to be your soulmate before being killed protecting you in the Immortal Wars. Reincarnated as Charles Leclerc by Adonis. Olympus - Immortal Realm

Click here for part two.

#greek god au #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula one imagine

731 notes · View notes

flaticeball · 1 year ago

Text

a jew review of: nhl team happy hanukkah posts

good evening and chag sameach to my hanukkah-celebrating pals out there on hockeyblr. today i bring you: a non-comprehensive and entirely subjective review from one (1) jewish hockey fan of the graphics posted by various nhl teams in celebration of the first night tonight. i definitely missed some, and some teams didn't post any at all, so it's a bit patchwork. here we go.

vancouver canucks: this is an extremely serviceable graphic. love the blurred dreidels to give the effect that they are spinning. very funny. props for the detail that there is a shadow of the menorah on the ice. straightforward. icemenorah is a themeTM but some did it better than others and this is a classic. 7/10

post continues under the cut for the sake of your dash and mine.

carolina hurricanes: obsessed with what the canes have done here though i cannot comprehend it. the weird techno style textured background. the out of focus magen david around. THE HURRICANES. IN HEBREW. WITH THE LITTLE CANES LOGO THING I FORGET THE NAME OF ON THE HEI? INCREDIBLE. points for creativity. overall baffling vibes. 6/10.

pittsburgh penguins: this is just adorable. you hired someone to draw this. spectacular work, guys. it's giving a bit of 'we browsed the target hanukkah deco section for inspo' but it's too adorable for me to care. it's team themed, it's hockey themed, it's holiday appropriate. love everything going on here. they get points for doing what very few other teams are doing and remembering this is night one, so only one candle is lit. most everyone else is getting a bit a head of themselves. 9/10.

washington capitals: and here we have another edition of the icemenorah, with a minimalist twist. this graphic screams 'oh fuck wait is that tonight' which to be fair is also how i, a jew, felt about realizing tonight was the first night of hanukkah. could'a done more, but it's perfectly fine. 6/10.

new jersey devils: this fucks. it's got devils themes. it's got a cool style. it's got vibes. it's got: more hockey stick menorahs which i am always excited about. that shamash candle is a graphic design nightmare but other than that i am all on board. 8/10

vegas golden knights: i love the gold foil effect and that you remembered there was more to hanukkah than candles, that's nice, as is involving the other affiliates! however. where are the vibes. this is not the vgk wishes you a chag sameach, this is a greeting card i got on etsy. 6/10 just bc i KNOW you can do better. where's the neon, babes.

los angeles kings: oh this is fun. it's icemenorah: WITH A TWIST. the art style is cute, it's got plenty of hockey theme, it's also very obviously LA-y, i'm giving them points for this one. the shadow is insane but that's okay, it's ~stylistic. it's cute. 7/10. UPDATE: definitely AI. boo hiss. 0/10.

montréal canadiens: this is probably my favourite for sheer vibes. you got: levitating icemenorah. you got: action-shot candle lighting. you got: remembering this is night ONE. you got: the implication that the torch is the shamash candle????? you got: JOYEUSE HANOUKKA!!!!!!!! (and like happy hanukkah or whatever i guess). obsessed. it's so funny. it's amazing. 9/10.

#long post #happy hanukkah besties here is: SOME THOUGHTS #chag sameach!!!#vancouver canucks #carolina hurricanes #pittsburgh penguins #washington capitals #new jersey devils #vegas golden knights #los angeles kings #montréal canadiens

774 notes · View notes

puck-luck · 2 months ago

Text

this was born out of a text exchange between me and cappy where i rewatched the "coming home" youtube video and quinn had the audacity to bend over the edge of the table like a SLUT. my message about that moment was "I HATE him for putting his leg up on the edge like this (and you know what? Bea would fuck him on the pool table fs)". Cappy replied: "also - circling back to the fucking on the pool table. yes i do think that should be included in bea’s book. love that both girls fuck their men on the pool table". then I discussed how Bea is going to ask how it was for Honey because position-wise, she wasn't super comfy "And then honey’s going to be like “bruh” and then bea will be like “aw that’s so cute of us, we fucked our guys in the same place 😊 we’re basically semen sisters” and honey is going to be so affronted". So that's what inspired this. I started having visions when I was supposed to work on my grad school essay, so I needed to write it down to get it out of my mind.

HERE! is the beaquinn pool table sex. if you want to know what's happening with honeytrev at the same time as this, you can reread days 30-33 in Chapter 5 of stg. LOVE YOU! say it back. ENJOY!

[5.1K WORDS]

Bea almost doesn’t want to leave Quinn’s bed when she hears the front door creak open, signaling the brothers’s return from Las Vegas. It’s warm in here and the pillow smells like Quinn. Her t-shirt will have to do. It’s Quinn’s old yellow Michigan t-shirt, which falls big on her but not big enough to cover her behind. The hardwood floor is cold as she makes her way out of bed and throws the sheets back into place, tiptoeing down the hall and the stairs without making the floor creak too much. Bea undoes the messy braid on the back of her head, knowing how Quinn likes it when her hair is loose for him to play with. She shakes out her hair as she creeps down the stairs, the whispers of the brothers getting louder with each step.

“Jack, the door–” Luke hisses just before the front door bangs shut.

Bea stifles a giggle by pressing her fingers over her lips, still hiding in the shadows of the staircase.

The boys stand in almost identical poses, shoulders tense and heads ducked. They’re waiting for one of their housemates to wake up and get mad at them for making so much noise. They’re lucky– Cole’s been dead to the world since about 10:30 and Trevor went to bed around 11 after he talked with Honey. Bea doesn’t know exactly what happened, since Honey is still so unsure about this Trevor thing, with good reason, but she knows that Honey had to remind him to think before he speaks. Bea is so glad she doesn’t have that problem– Quinn loves to think before he speaks. The other boys are less thoughtful, but she’s never had to chew them out for saying something stupid.

“Close one, eh?” Jack whispers, although he’s bad at whispering, so his voice just seems softer than normal.

Bea steps out of the shadows, staying close to the wall like it’ll camouflage her bright yellow shirt.

“Bea,” Quinn breathes out, noticing her immediately. He sets his suitcase down next to him, a smile growing on his face when he recognizes her outfit.

“You’re late,” Bea whispers, matching his grin. “You said 1:30.”

“Sorry,” Quinn says, but he doesn’t seem all that sorry.

“There was a crash on 77,” Luke adds. “Pretty bad. Probably better that it happened in the middle of the night, since there weren’t as many cars on the road.”

Bea hums. “That’s sad.”

“Have you been up this whole time?” Jack asks. “It’s late.”

Bea shakes her head. “Slept a little bit.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jack grins. “Whose bed?”

Stupid. Bea snorts, taking a few more steps until she’s in front of him. She lifts her hand and squishes his cheeks between her fingers. “Not yours,” she says. “G’night, Jacky.”

He makes a kissing noise at her, then steps back and bumps into the table in the hall. “Oops,” he mumbles. “Night, Bea.”

Luke echoes a goodnight and pats Bea on the back, holding both his and Quinn’s suitcases in his hands. The brothers squeeze past her, leaving Quinn and Bea in the dark alone.

She grins at him, bouncing a little bit on her tiptoes out of excitement. She’s missed him. Quinn smiles back, his eyes glinting in the darkness. He’s the first to step forward, sweeping her up into his arms in a tight hug. He buries his face in her neck, letting his arms push her shirt up so that he can touch the smooth expanse of her back. Bea wraps her arms over his shoulders and plays with his hair, breathing him in. He smells a little bit like airport, but the scent of his sandalwood shampoo is stronger than ever.

“You shower this morning?” Bea asks, pinching the close-cut strands on the back of his head between her fingers.

“God, I knew you were going to comment on that,” Quinn groans, pulling away from her. His hands rest on Bea’s waist, pinkies brushing the band of her cheeky underwear. “I was on a plane for like five hours, babe.”

Bea’s stomach twists at the pet name, her cheeks turning a little red and her mouth widening somehow further. She admires Quinn for a moment, eyes cataloging how his face looks sharper with his stubble only just growing back. Her eyes pass over the scar on his cheek. Honey only just noticed it the other night. It’s one of Bea’s favorite things about his face– tied for first with, well, everything else.

She realizes that she’s gone too long without replying, mostly because the edges of Quinn’s lips are tilting upward in an amused way.

“Hey, winner,” Bea greets, tilting her head to kiss him hello. “Missed you.”

Quinn breathes out a tiny laugh, kissing her again like a reply. “I missed you, too. Was thinking about you the whole time.”

Bea faux-gasps. “You were thinking about me, but you didn’t even thank me in your speech?”

Quinn chuckles, a little louder this time. His thumb runs along her hip, petting the skin there. It makes Bea’s sides feel warm, like the friction is sending shocks through her body. “Oh, come on. How would that have sounded?”

“‘And thank you to Bea McLean, the best person I’ve ever met’...?” Bea teases, blinking at Quinn. “Obviously. Sounds pretty good to me.”

Quinn shakes his head, still smiling fondly. He rolls his eyes a little bit, but he concedes. “I’ll work it in next time.”

“I’m expecting it. First back-to-back Norris winner since Nicklas Lindstrom, yeah?”

“Lidstrom, baby,” Quinn corrects. He pulls Bea close again, hugging her for the second time. His hands rub up and down her back again and Bea swears that she can feel his fingerprints as he moves. “You tired?”

“I slept a little. Are you tired?”

“Had a coffee at the airport ‘cause I’m stupid,” Quinn replies. His voice turns sarcastic, overly dramatic and trying to get her sympathy. “And the boys were draining me, they’re so annoying.”

Bea pats his chest. “You love them,” she reminds him.

Quinn’s easy to break. “Yeah,” he agrees. “They’re pretty great.” He pauses, eyes flickering over her face akin to how she surveyed him earlier. “Wanna go watch a movie?”

“Movie will put me to sleep. We can play a round of pool, if you want. Keep your winning streak going,” Bea teases.

“You just want to bend over in front of me,” Quinn bites back, laughing. His hands go to her behind, covering Bea’s cheeks with his palms. “Distract me with your panties.”

“It would be more distracting if I wasn’t wearing them,” Bea points out, wiggling back into Quinn’s touch.

“I think you’re already distracting enough in my Michigan shirt,” Quinn says. “C’mon. Let’s go downstairs. You can fill me in on the past couple days while you lose.”

He’s got that playful tone in his voice again, the one that Bea loves. It’s so domestic, the way that she and Quinn talk to each other. They’ve got a vibe about them, something that fits like a puzzle piece, but Bea is getting too far ahead of herself. It’s not even July. They’re just having fun, by her own design. So what if he calls her ‘baby’ and it makes her stomach flip-flop every time?

They’re still trying to be quiet as they head down to the basement, making sure to close the door behind them. Quinn racks the balls and Bea chooses her usual stick– she only knows which one it is because it’s got a chip about ⅓ of the way down the shaft– and starts to tell him what he missed.

“Honey tried to ban Trevor from the store because he’s bad at being a person,” Bea starts. “I don’t know the drama, but apparently he doesn’t think.”

“Have they fucked yet?” Quinn asks, rounding the table and stationing himself to break the rack. Bea never breaks when they play. She’s not very good at hitting one ball, much less strategically breaking up a group of fifteen. “Or are they still stuck on him fingering her in the back room?”

“They’re still stuck. She likes him so much, though, she just won’t admit it,” Bea continues. She looks at the table. Quinn made one of the stripes in off of his break– 14 maybe– so he’s trying to pick his second ball now.

“She’ll get there. It’s kind of like a tree falling, isn’t it,” Quinn says. He lines up the 11-ball with the pocket and knocks it in, then purposefully bumps off the wall in a meaningless shot so that Bea has a chance. “Takes a while, but once she’s down, she’s down.”

Hmm. “I’ve never thought of it like that,” Bea tells him. “That’s smart, Q. You’re right.” She eyes the 5-ball, since it’s kind of in the way of all of the ones she wants to get to. Might as well move it. Bea crosses the table and shoots it off to the other side of the table. A problem for later.

“You can’t try to lose on purpose,” Quinn chides.

“I’m not trying to lose on purpose, I just wanted to get that one out of the way,” Bea argues back.

Quinn rolls his eyes and sighs. “You should’ve shot at the 7.”

Bea side eyes him. “Don’t tell me what I should’ve done. Mansplainer.”

Quinn shrugs. “Just trying to help.” He focuses on his next shot. “What’d you do after we left?”

“Worked. I dragged Honey here to watch the Awards, we played Uno– I won, by the way, and I’ll school you next time we play–” Quinn interrupts her with a laugh, narrowly missing a pocket when the ball bounces off the corner edge. “I called you after you won, and then we broke out the hot tub earlier today.”

That catches Quinn’s interest. “Oh, yeah?” He asks. “You took a dip? Did Cole try anything stupid?”

Bea hears the insinuation immediately. “No, Cole and I didn’t hook up while you were gone,” she says with a tinge of fake exasperation in her voice. “I told you over the phone on Thursday, I only have sex with men who have won the James Norris trophy.”

Quinn laughs aloud, throwing his head back. “How long is that going to last?” He teases. “Just so I can know when I’m back to graciously sharing you with the other boys.”

Bea groans. When they’re alone, Quinn always flaunts how he was the first and how he’s her favorite. He gets a kick out of acting like he’s special and Bea pretends to hate it. He is special, but he doesn’t need to know that. “I can still go up to Jack’s bed now, you know.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Bea leans over to shoot at one of her solids. It bounces off a wall and changes directions. “That’s all that happened this weekend, really. Tell me about Vegas. Lose any money?”

“Tons,” Quinn confirms, but the cheeky grin on his face tells her that he’s stretching the truth. He starts to talk about how he and his brothers snuck Luke into the casino with a well-placed bribe to the doorman and autographs for his kids. The stories from the weekend pile up as Quinn and Bea mill around the table, taking shots and sinking them in Quinn’s case, missing them in Bea’s. He tells her about the people he saw, the things he did, the interviews he had, that he got an offer to be on the cover of NHL 25 but he’s going to hold out until they let him bring Jack and Luke with him, and that he’s happy he got to see his mom and dad. He officially tells Bea that they’re coming for Fourth of July, although that surprise had already been spoiled by Trevor on Thursday.

Quinn wins– of course. Bea wasn’t going to win this game unless he intentionally threw it, like her first time playing him. They’re past the intentional throws now. Bea goes to update the board– honor code is highly valued in this house– and Quinn pockets the rest of the balls so that everything is nice and clean for tomorrow. There’s no sense in leaving them out. She can hear Quinn sneaking up behind her.

“You look good in my shirt, sweetheart,” Quinn murmurs, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and kissing Bea’s shoulder. “I gotta get you in Michigan gear more often.”

“You know, if they ever play Carolina again, you’ll have to pry my UNC gear from my cold, dead body,” Bea says, reaching a hand around and threading her fingers through Quinn’s hair again.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I pried the clothes off this body,” Quinn says, self-satisfied smirk evident in his voice. He turns Bea in his grip so that she’s facing him. He kisses her, more than a greeting peck this time. “You tired yet?”

Once again, Bea can see right through his question. “Not a chance. I’ve been waiting for my winner to get home.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Quinn praises, voice low. He captures Bea’s lips again, moving against her in the comfortable way that they’ve adopted in the weeks since they’ve been seeing each other.

Bea lets Quinn lead this time, his hands guiding her closer. He’s got a palm under her shirt, resting on the small of her back, and the other cradles her face gently, like something precious. Bea knows that it’s a casual thing, but she likes to lose herself in moments like this. Quinn is just so… all-consuming. He’s like a really loud and unexpected clap of thunder, one that rumbles on for longer than you expect. His touch makes Bea jump, sometimes.

Her hands explore him a bit, like she doesn’t get to touch him all the time. The difference is that Bea finds something new every time and she never tires of getting her hands on Quinn. She knows that he tends to be insecure when it comes to his build, which comes from years of being an awkward teen with a nose that seemed too big for his face and acne that riddled his forehead, but Bea can’t imagine Quinn as anything other than perfect.

He’d be slightly more perfect if he had a bedroom to himself.

“I feel bad kicking Luke out,” Bea whispers to Quinn when they break for air. “You guys got in so late. He’s probably asleep.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Quinn replies. He brings his hands to the backs of Bea’s thighs and lifts her up, guiding her legs around his waist. “We don’t need a bed.”

Bea makes a face. “We stay fuckin’ in the bed, Q.” Lord knows she’s not against having sex in an odd place– the back of Griffin’s patrol car, for one– but she and Quinn haven’t really branched out yet. “I didn’t know you were so adventurous.”

“What can I say,” Quinn teases. “You bring something out in me. Let’s try something new.” He nips at her bottom lip, then drags his tongue against the area he bit. “It’ll be fun.”

Bea giggles. He gets so flirty and touchy, sometimes. “What are you thinking, Crazy?” She teases him right back with the nickname, bringing her index finger to the curve of his nose. It really is the perfect size and shape– so appealing.

She’s distracted by a memory, from the second time they hooked up. Quinn had told her that he didn’t get to do everything he wanted the first time, and when she asked what he meant, he’d licked his first two fingers and slid the wet digits against the fabric of her underwear. She’d gotten much more wet when he made his way between her legs with his mouth, kissing and licking over her folds and entrance as the fabric molded to her anatomy. It was only then that he’d removed the panties and gotten his mouth on her properly– the vision often comes to her when she’s trying to sleep at home, alone. His nose had been so nice then, bumping against her clit as he’d ravished her.

Bea’s stomach grows a little warmer at the reminder.

“I want you right here,” Quinn says, breaking her from the spell. He sits Bea down on the edge of the pool table, the cool wood of the edges pressing against her thighs while the felt of the table scrapes against the hem of her shirt. He stands between her legs and places a hand behind her head, kissing her and leaning forward so that she’ll lay back. Once Bea is laying down, flat underneath Quinn, he pushes her shirt up and takes it off.

The felt of the table feels weird under her bare skin, but it’s not bad. The bite of the ridge of the table is worse against her thighs, but Bea doesn’t speak up about it because Quinn’s removing his shirt.

The moonlight from outside makes him seem paler than he is, but it creates a beautiful series of shadows across his body that emphasize his muscles. His arms seem like they’re bulging more, his chest has more definition, and his jawline– oh, his jawline. Bea didn’t realize just how much his long hair hid that from her.

“I like your haircut,” Bea says, not realizing how silly and belated it sounds when she’s almost entirely naked on the pool table below him.

Quinn chuckles, smiling at her. One side of his lips lifts higher than the other, which is how she knows that he’s blushing, even when the moonlight hides it. “Thanks, baby,” he says softly, leaning down again to find her lips. His cock, still trapped by his pants, fits perfectly against the place where she wants him most.

She grinds up against him, drawing a low moan from the back of Quinn’s throat. He placates her with kiss after kiss down her neck and between her tits, as far down as he can go while he keeps his pelvis in line with her own. He’s fiddling with his zipper with one hand, kneading Bea’s right breast with his left hand. The skin of his fingertips is a little dry, but his thumb catches her nipple just right and Bea keens, her vision getting a little darker.

“Missed me that much, hm?” Quinn teases in his low voice. “Two days I’m gone, baby, and you’re this needy? What am I going to do with you when I’m gone for a week, or two?”

Bea reaches to his hair and brings his lips to hers, to silence him. She’s beyond talking and beyond teasing. She wants him inside, like, yesterday.

“Relax, I’m coming,” Quinn assures Bea, mumbling his words against her lips. He finally takes his hand from her breast to shove his pants and underwear down, stepping out of them so he can move better. He drags his tip through her folds, her wetness gathering along his skin. “Did you mean it?” He asks. “What you said on the phone?”

Bea pauses, wracking her brain. She said a lot of things on the phone to Quinn. She meant them all. She’s about to say yes, just so he can get on with it, but then she spots the way he’s biting his lower lip and his eyes have turned hungry. They’re trained on the place where he’s nudging his tip against her clit, slit bubbling out precum and dripping on the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“What part?” Bea asks, captivated by the look on Quinn’s face.

His eyes rise to hers and he looks positively intoxicated by whatever he’s thinking. Bea’s skin crawls a little, but not in a bad way. In an excited way– whatever Quinn’s referring to, he wants badly. Bea wants to see him give into that.

“That you’d reward me for winning,” he prompts, eyes darting from her gaze to her lips, which have parted in recognition. “By letting me fuck you bare.” His jaw clenches a bit once he says it, but Bea reads him. He’s not sure what she’ll say and he seems cautious to show his deeper thoughts on that, but his caution is betraying him anyway. Bea knows Quinn. She speaks his language, reads his tics, and understands him. He wants this.

“Norris winners get to come inside me,” Bea says, repeating the exact words that she whispered into the speaker while he stroked himself in the Las Vegas hotel bathroom. It was his tipping point, and now she understands why. “Since you won, you get to feel all of me.” Her throat seems drier than before when she swallows. Bea’s never had that before– she’s thought about it, hence why she brought it up to Quinn in the first place. It’s why she gets the shot every three months instead of relying on condoms– in case, one day, there was a man that she wanted in the most intimate way. That day is today. “Fuck me, Quinn.”

His mouth is insistent when it joins hers, tongue dragging over her own and filling the space between her lips. “Baby,” Quinn groans. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Preferably not right now,” Bea jokes, lifting her hips to remind him of the task at hand.

Quinn laughs at the joke, smiling into his next kiss. “You’re so perfect,” he says. “Can’t believe I met you.”

Bea feels his words on her heart like a prick of a rose’s thorn. A little bit of herself seeps out, flooding her chest and making her eyebrows furrow with the sudden rush of emotion. “Quinn,” Bea says, feeling like she’s whining a little bit.

“Okay, okay, I won’t say it anymore,” he says, returning his focus to the space between her legs. He wastes another few seconds, entranced by his tip going through her folds, before he lines himself up and starts to shift forward. He moans quietly at the feeling, just expelling the breath from his lungs.

Bea’s surprised by the feeling too– at least, she thinks Quinn’s feeling some sort of surprise. He’s certainly relishing in the experience, trying to catalog how she feels around him with the way his eyes have drifted shut and his mouth has fallen open. She closes her eyes to do the same– and finds that it’s not that different, all in all. She just feels closer to him.

“Please, move,” Bea whispers, resting her hand on Quinn’s bicep, giving it a squeeze to prompt him. Well, that, and she wanted to feel the muscle beneath it. The moonlight had her wondering if it was really that much more defined.

“Gimme a sec,” Quinn grits out, taking a breath. “You just feel so–” He exhales a sharp breath. “Fuck, you feel good.”

Another thorn to the chest– Bea has to breathe in deep to steel herself. This doesn’t feel like just fucking anymore.

She’s able to put that aside when Quinn starts to drag himself out of her heat, then push back in. His hair is tickling her nose with the way that his head has fallen forward in pleasure, so Bea pushes it out of the way with her palm. Quinn’s forehead has started to bead with sweat, but only barely. His eyes catch hers.

His eye contact has always made the hair on her arms stand up, increasing her pleasure tenfold. He’s so attentive to her needs, crowding into her space and touching her tits and sides in the way that makes her feel like a lighting rod gearing up for a strike.

Quinn breaks first. “Bea,” he murmurs, dipping his head to mouth against her neck. He leaves a wet spot there, which dries in the cool, early morning air. His hand moves from her side to her thigh, spreading her legs further so that he can inch closer. He seems determined to be as close to her as he can, touching her in every way.

“I know,” Bea replies. “Harder, Quinn. Take it. Make me come. Need you to feel my pussy when it comes on your bare cock.”

His moan is choked but loud when she says that. Quinn’s hips start to move the way she’s used to– harder, faster, determined. He’s louder like this, or maybe it’s the silence of the basement and the night that surrounds them playing tricks on Bea’s mind. It’s just– his breath is warmer and she feels like she can feel him moving in her bones. This is more.

Quinn brings his thumb to her mouth, which Bea takes greedily. She knows his moves– he wants her to get him all wet so that he can touch her somewhere she needs. She swirls her tongue around the digit, leaving as much saliva as she can on his thumb before he pulls it from her mouth with a pop.

His hand drifts to her boobs again, finding one of her nipples and pinching it with his slick finger. He tugs a little, which prompts Bea’s spine to arch like her body is begging him to do it again. Quinn does, but he switches nipples, wiggling his hand between their bodies and taking hold of her. He kisses her again, distracting her from the mixture of pain and pleasure. All the while, he’s bucking into her desperately, displacing her on the pool table.

Her thigh starts to spasm under his hand, twitching because she’s close. Bea wraps her arms around Quinn’s shoulders, a mirror image of the hug she gave him at the beginning of their night. He’s not the only one who wants to be close.

“Fuck, Quinn, keep going,” Bea pleads, shifting as best she can to remove the pressure of the edge of the pool table from her body. It’s a dull ache, distracting her from Quinn’s cock and the way it moves in her cunt. His tip meets the cartilage of her cervix relentlessly, turning her vision spotty with the sensation. It feels so wet with him unprotected inside of her, leaking and mixing with her own slick.

He shifts so that he’s hovering just a few inches above her body, hands going from her thigh and her breast to both of her hips. He grips her skin, biting his lower lip to stifle his grunts. His eyes have grown focused, narrowing the way they do when he evaluates a shot on this very table or when he tries to dance between the boys on the hockey rink outside to score. He pulls her back into him, all while thrusting his hips forward, and Bea’s falling into an unfamiliar space where only Quinn has ever placed her.

“Fuck,” Bea whines, reaching for Quinn and coming up with nothing, so she clutches at the pocket of the pool table instead. She holds the wood between her fingers, sure that she’ll either warp the table or break her fingers from the force of her grip. “‘M coming, Q.”

“Good girl,” Quinn says through his teeth, his voice gravelly. “Let me feel it.”

Bea lets out a short cry, legs still shaking beneath Quinn. The bruising pain of the edge of the table is nothing now, not when there’s a chill making its way from the depths of her stomach to the tight coil in her stomach.

“So perfect,” Quinn says again, praising Bea as she starts to come undone on his cock.

“You,” Bea corrects, breathless and reaching for Quinn again. She finds his forearm this time, circling her fingers around his wrist. She squeezes, trying to get her point across. He can say it all he wants, but she’s going to make sure she says it back, because he is.

Her touch sends Quinn over the edge, which only intensifies the aftershocks of her own orgasm. Bea keens lowly in the back of her throat as Quinn’s jaw drops once again, eyes falling shut as his seed flows from his cock and paints her walls. The sensation surprises Bea, much like her original reaction to his raw form, and she constricts against him by accident. That spurs Quinn on, making him choke and plaster himself against her body as his cock releases the last of his cum.

His hips twitch inside of her after he’s done and Quinn has to clear his throat and shake his head to come back to himself. Bea pets his hair through it, focused on the feeling of his freshly cut ends between her fingers.

“You should know that I really liked that,” Quinn says first.

Bea giggles, tugging his hair. “Really? I couldn’t tell.”

Quinn bites the side of Bea’s neck to chastise her for teasing him. “You think you’re so funny.”

“I think I’m about to leak all over the pool table in your rented house if you don’t get me to a bathroom soon,” Bea replies. “Chop chop, babydoll.”

Quinn groans with the effort, but he lifts Bea from the pool table and awkwardly walks toward the basement’s bathroom, settling her on the already-lifted toilet seat– perks of living with a bunch of fucking boys, Bea thinks– and then he starts to wash his hands.

“Tired yet?” Quinn asks for a third time, looking over at Bea and grinning as he continues to rub the suds all over his hands and wrists. “Wanna watch a movie?”

Bea makes a face. “Are you trying to wash me off or something? Damn, Q, it’s been twenty seconds,” she replies instead, pretending to be offended and hurt. She doesn’t actually want to start watching a movie at 3 a.m. and Quinn should feel similarly. She wants to go to bed with him.

Quinn looks down at her vagina, very obviously, and quirks an eyebrow. “I mean, I just came in you, so I feel like that’s hard to wash away.” He rinses his hands and towels them off. “So no movie?”

“Oh my God, get out of the bathroom so I can pee,” Bea exclaims, starting to laugh a bit. “You’re so weird. No movie.”

“Episode of Love Island?” Quinn asks. “Any drama I missed between Leah and Rob?”

Bea points an accusing finger at him. “I knew you enjoyed my trashy shows,” she says. “And all this time you’ve been grumbling about them.”

Quinn shrugs. “No one will believe you,” he whispers conspiratorially.

Bea purses her lips at him. “Well, good, because that’s my thing with Cole.” Quinn acts like he’s wounded, so Bea sticks her tongue out at him. “Not everything can be about you, Q.”

“I’ll get over it,” Quinn says. “You still like me best.”

Bea matches his previous whisper. “And no one will ever believe you.”

Quinn leaves the bathroom laughing. Bea hopes he goes upstairs to get one of the good blankets for them to share when they inevitably fall asleep on the couch after Quinn turns on a movie that Bea does not see the point in watching.

The background noise does help her sleep, though, and she thinks Quinn knows that.

sigh i love beaquinn they're so dreamy best couple ever can't believe they break up at the end of the summer OOPS SORRY SPOILERS (y'all already know that, i haven't been keeping that under wraps)

#puck-luck's fics #andy writes anything🍄#small town girl x tz #beaquinn!!#quinn hughes #quinn hughes smut #quinn hughes x oc #qh43 #nhl #nhl fanfiction #nhl smut #nhl fic #hockey smut #hockey romance

125 notes · View notes

sissylittlefeather · 11 days ago

Text

If You Talk In Your Sleep

Chapter 1

A/N: I wouldn't be me if I only wrote one series at a time. So here is Elvis x reader in Vegas in 1969. It's going to get dramatic, so hang on tight, friends. Hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: 18+ minors absolutely DNI, smut, kissing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, also a tad bit of angst and mentions of domestic violence (not Elvis)

Word count: ~3.8k

The only thing that glitters more than Las Vegas in 1969 is you. Your dress, your shoes, the insane amount of jewelry you're wearing, even your purse shimmers under the lights. It's almost like you're trying to catch someone's attention. And truthfully, you are. Your husband is a cruel man and although he keeps you dripping in diamonds, you'd be lying if you said you weren't lonely. He's what they call a “Casino Boss”. You're not exactly sure what that means, but you know it's hard and violent. It must be pretty stressful too because he yells at you constantly. He's never hit you, but he has pushed you and grabbed your face and you do everything in your power to keep him happy. Despite his anger issues, he swears that he loves you more than life itself, so he always comes back to you with presents after he's particularly harsh. Still, you're tired of it. Tired of walking on eggshells. And as much as he says he loves you, it's more like he loves the idea of you. He never listens to you or treats you like anything beyond a pretty little trophy that he can smother in jewelry and ignore. It's not an ideal existence, but what can you do?

Most nights you dress to the nines and sit somewhere in a casino waiting for someone to see you. In the beginning, your husband made you come to work with him, but as time has passed, he wants you near him less and less. You're not sure if he's messing around or if he's just secure in the fact that you aren't going anywhere, but you spend most of your time alone. Men approach you all the time, but they've never been interesting enough to tempt you into anything dangerous.

Tonight, you sit here in a gold dress, your hair in big waves as it cascades down your shoulders. You swirl a straw in your drink and take a sip, bored. It feels like you might suffocate if you sit here for another second, so you stand up and walk away, headed for a back door to get some air. As you walk, the reality of your life overwhelms you, you feel the tears start to gather, and by the time you make it outside, they're running down your face. You wrap your arms around yourself and sob. It's cold in the desert at night and the emptiness is overwhelming.

Elvis sits at the blackjack table surrounded by pretty girls and all of his best friends. But even with all the company, he stares at his cards and soaks in the loneliness. His career has finally started to take off again and on stage he feels like he's found himself. But when he's not on stage, he feels trapped. Trapped by a marriage he didn't really want, forced into curated friendships with people that seem to like their paychecks more than they like him. He somehow feels completely unseen, despite the constant attention.

“Sir…?” The dealer asks him hesitantly. He shakes his head and slides his cards forward. Then he stands up and half of the men at the table stand up too.

“Where we goin’, boss?” Several of the girls stroke him and whine that he's leaving so soon. Their hands feel cold and all he sees is dollar signs in their eyes.

“Bathroom. Don't follow me.” He turns from the table and walks away. Several of the men try to and he dismisses them. He heads down a hallway, but doesn't turn into the restroom. Instead, he heads for a door to the outside. He doesn't even care if he'll be able to get back in as he pushes it open aggressively and steps out into the darkness.

You try to wipe your eyes and fade into the shadows, praying he won't see you. But of course he does.

“Oh, honey, I'm sorry. Is this spot taken?” He smirks playfully and then notices your face. His eyebrows come together in concern and he takes a step closer. “You okay?”

“Oh, I'm just peachy.” You shiver and wish you had a cigarette. He pulls a cigar out of his pocket and lights it, watching you closely.

“You don't look peachy. I mean, you look beautiful, but not happy.” He takes a drag from the cigar and you look into his face. You know who he is, but you're not in the mood to acknowledge his celebrity status. You need a human.

“Well, thank you. But no, I'm not happy.” As you say it, more tears slip down your cheeks. His heart breaks a little for you and he reaches into his breast pocket, pulling out a white handkerchief with “EP” embroidered on it in dark blue.

“Here, doll.” You take it and dab at your eyes and he notices how you shiver. He has a thought to take his jacket off, but he can't. “I'd give you my coat, honey, but I've got nothing on under it. Here. C’mere.”

He holds the cigar in his teeth and reaches for you, running his hands up and down your arms in an attempt to warm you up.

“That better?” You smile a little, but you're still freezing.

“Thanks.”

“I'm Elvis.” He smiles and holds his cigar in his fingers as he continues rubbing on your arms.

“You don't say.” You giggle and he chuckles. Then, emboldened by your drinks and the privacy of your location, you gesture to his cigar with your head. “Can I get some of that?”

His eyes widen in surprise, but he nods.

“Sure, honey.” He hands it to you and watches as you take a few drags and exhale slowly. After you do, you shiver again and he clicks his tongue. “You're still freezing.”

He flicks the cigar, there wasn't much left anyway, and unbuttons his jacket. When he holds it open for you, exposing his naked upper half underneath, you blink several times.

“Get in here. I'm warm, I promise.” You look at him in awe and wonder if he's noticed the ring on your hand. It's 7 carats, so it's hard to ignore. “I won't bite ya, honey.”

You look around and realize that no one would ever know. Then, you decide you don't care if they do and step towards him, sliding your arms around his waist. He wraps the jacket and himself around you.

“Ain't that better?” You nod against his chest. He really is warm and it feels so nice to have him around you like this. Add to that the way he smells and you're practically swooning. “You wanna tell me what's got you so upset?”

You take a deep breath and try to decide what you should say.

“I really don't.” He nods and looks down at you.

“I understand that, honey. Better than you know.” For a minute it looks like he's going to kiss you, but he doesn't. Instead, he sighs deeply. “I should go back inside.”

You nod and start to pull away from him, but he squeezes you tighter.

“Just a second. This is nice.” He doesn't say how badly he needs the affection, but you can sense that he needs something from you, so you snuggle into him again. “What's your name, doll?”

You tell him and he whispers it back to you. To your utter shock, he kisses your forehead before he backs away.

“Okay. It's probably time.”

You nod and pull away as he turns back to the door. But there's no handle and he stares at it in disbelief.

“How were you plannin' on getting back in?” He asks, still looking at the door. You miss his arms around you, but you shrug.

“No idea. Hadn't thought that far.” He chuckles and then takes your hand.

“We better head around to the front of the casino.” He guides you back to the entrance of the building and then stands there with you in front of the doors. After a few beats, you pull out his handkerchief and try to hand it back to him.

“Thank you. For everything.”

“You keep it, honey.” You stand there for another couple of seconds.

“Well, I guess I should go back inside–” As you say it, his crowd of followers busts through the door and there's a flurry of activity as they fuss over him and scold him for leaving them. You think to yourself that he seems like a child being admonished for running away. When your eyes meet his, they're full of bitterness and he shrugs.

“I'm fine, y'all. Let's just go.” He calls for his car and you turn to make your way into the hotel. “Wait, honey.”

He jogs over to you at the doors and takes your hands in his.

“Come with me.”

“Elvis, I can't.”

“Why not?” You hold up your left hand for him to see your ring.

“Yeah, I saw that. Something tells me you need to take it off for the night.” He looks at you, his blue eyes piercing your soul. For a second, you wonder how he knew, and then you don't care anymore, not one bit.

“That would be nice.”

“I thought so. Come on.” He slips the ring off your finger and into his pocket and then takes your elbow, leading you towards his car. A bunch of the other guys pile in with you, but they don't say anything about the fact that you've joined them. You ride along in silence with his arm around your shoulders, his hand intertwined with yours. It doesn't take long at all to get back to the International hotel. At the elevator, the guys try to come with you expecting a party like they've had almost every night, but he shakes his head. That's all it takes for them to stay behind. Once the doors close, he turns and leans against the wall of the elevator. You know he's married too, but you hate to bring it up. Instead, you smile awkwardly.

“C’mere, honey.” He holds his arms out to you like he did behind the casino and you go to him, wrapping your arms around his waist again. You stand like that, snuggled together, until the doors slide open and he guides you into his suite with his hand on the small of your back.

“You wanna drink?” He asks, walking to a bar at the side of the room. You've never cheated on Carl before. A drink would probably help.

“Sure.”

“What do you want?”

“Whatever you have.” You hear him put ice in a glass and then pour some things in it. He brings it to you and you immediately recognize it as a screwdriver. “Thanks.”

“You're welcome, honey.” He watches as you take a small sip. “Do I make you nervous?”

“No.” You shake your head. “The situation does. But you don't really.”

He smiles warmly and then settles himself next to you on the couch.

“Please talk to me. No one ever talks to me.” He looks over at you with a look somewhere between bitter and sad.

“You have so many people–”

“They talk at me and about me. No one ever talks to me. Not really. Not about anything real.” You take another big gulp of your drink and then turn to face him, kicking your shoes off and tucking your feet up under you.

“I don't wanna be married anymore. My husband is not… nice. And I miss being a person.” He looks into your eyes with more understanding than you expected.

“My wife is cold. She wasn't before we got married, but after? She's just… cold.” You lean forward and push your fingers into his hair.

“You seem like the kind of man that needs warmth.” He nods.

“I really am. So I guess what I'm sayin’ is I understand not wantin’ to be married.” He sits in silence for a bit, reveling in the feeling of your hand in his hair. Then, he looks at you again. “Does he hurt you?”

You pull your hand back and move away, but he gently grabs you and pulls you almost into his lap.

“Sometimes. Not bad. No bruises or anything.”

“Honey, he doesn't have to leave marks on you to hurt you.” He grits his teeth a little, obviously angry that anyone could ever hurt you. “What's he do?”

“He's the Casino Boss at the Flamingo.”

“Oh.” Elvis understands that means he's dangerous. But he doesn't let go of you or anything. Instead, he buries his head in your neck and leaves soft kisses there. He continues pressing his lips to your skin, moving down your chest.

“Elvis…”

“Yes, doll?” He asks between kisses on your breasts.

“This could only ever happen once.”

“I'm not known for my faithfulness to women.” He murmurs and you take that as him understanding what can and cannot happen. You pull away from him and stand up, his eyes wide as he watches you. Then, you push the straps of your dress off of your shoulders and let it fall into a shiny pool at your feet. This leaves you in just your panties, so you turn and walk towards what you assume is the bedroom. It doesn't take him long at all to stand up and follow you. At the doorway, you turn and wrap yourself around him. He leans down and kisses you deeply.

“Tonight is a vacation.” You whisper.

“Viva Las Vegas…” He whispers in return before grabbing the backs of your thighs and lifting you into his arms. You whimper as he carries you to the bed and lays you down on the satin sheets. His jacket and pants are off before you even know what's happening and then he's on top of you, pressing his lips to every inch of you that he can reach.

His mouth finds your nipple and he teases it with his tongue before pulling it into his mouth. He moves to the other one and gives it the same attention. You haven't been this turned on in years and your body responds as such, making a damp spot on your panties. He continues to kiss down your body and then rolls your underwear down your legs and off, leaving you completely exposed to him.

“Need to taste you, doll.” He moans softly, dropping hot kisses on your hips and thighs. You spread your legs for him and he groans at the sight of your glistening pussy. He settles his body into the space between your open thighs and teases your slit with his fingertip. “So wet for me, honey. Such a pretty pussy.”

Two fingers slide inside you and you gasp at the sensation. When he lowers his mouth to your clit and begins to lick you, you damn-near pass out. Carl hasn't gone down on you since before you were married. And even when he did, he wasn't this caring or skilled.

“Oh God, Elvis…” You moan, your hand grasping the front of his hair.

“That's it, baby. Let me give you what you need.” He growls against your sensitive flesh and you tremble with desire. You feel the edges of your orgasm as it starts to approach.

“I'm gonna cum…” You whimper and roll your hips against his face as he eats you. He groans and nods, looking up at you with his face buried in your pussy. His tongue moves so fast that you'd swear it was detached from his body. But it's not and the delicious sensation of him working you with his tongue has you so close you can almost taste it. “Fuck! Elvis!”

You scream as your climax washes over you, filling your body with electricity as you pulse around his fingers, curled just right to hit your g-spot. He licks you until he feels you relax and then pulls back, his lips and chin shiny with your arousal.

“You taste like heaven, doll.” He whispers as he presses his lips to your body again, rolling his hips against your thigh. His cock is rock hard where it presses into you and you moan softly when you feel it.

“I wanna make you feel good, baby.” You murmur to him as he makes it back to your mouth. He kisses you deeply as your hand trails down his chest and you take his member in your hand.

“Mmm, honey, just like that.” He moans softly as you pump him, sliding his foreskin back and forth.

“Please fuck me, Elvis. Please.” You moan and nibble on his earlobe. He groans and nods.

“That what you want, doll? You want this cock?”

“Yes, please.” He hovers over you, lining himself up with your entrance. You whimper as he slides his tip through your folds. Then, he slowly starts to push into you.

“Fuck, honey, you're so tight. Breathe for me.” You take a deep breath in an attempt to relax, but all you can think about is the fact that Carl will kill Elvis if he ever finds out about this. “You okay?”

He lifts his head up and looks down at you with his eyebrows pulled together in concern.

“I-I'm scared.” You whisper.

“Of me?” He pulls out and settles beside you.

“No. If my husband ever finds out… he'll kill you.” Elvis sighs deeply and runs his hand through his hair.

“So he won't find out. Do you not want this?” He gently runs his fingertips up and down your body as he speaks.

“I do. I really do. I'd just hate to read about you being found in a hole in the desert.” You turn your head to look at him and he smirks.

“Honey. I'm Elvis Presley. You think I'm afraid of your husband?” It dawns on you that he has no idea who he's dealing with and what it would mean for anyone to find out about you.

“Elvis, my husband is a dangerous man. And he works with a lot of dangerous men who live to beat people with baseball bats. I'm not sure you want to do this.” He moves his hand up to your cheek and looks you in the eye.

“Honey, listen to me. I'm not scared. I have a lot of bodyguards and I know how to protect myself. If you don't wanna do this, I understand, but if you do, you’re safe.” He pushes a strand of hair behind your ear and then kisses your cheek softly. There's a strange amount of intimacy between the two of you, considering you've known each other less than 6 hours. You look into his eyes and think to yourself that it's not you you're worried about. But his eyes are so reassuring that you decide you'll cross that bridge when you come to it. For now, you need him.

“I want this.” You whisper as you roll him onto his back and straddle his hips. Again, you drag the head of his cock against you and then sink down onto him. It takes a bit for you to slip all of him inside you, but it's worth it. When he fills you fully, you moan in unison, throwing your head back in pleasure. “Oh God, Elvis.”

As you begin to move on him, his hands go to your hips and he guides you, moaning. He rolls you deep and slow, rocking you back and forth like a ship on the ocean. The speed, depth, and angle of his movements have your eyes rolling back in your head.

“That's good, doll. Fuck, that's good.” He moves you on him with more speed and more pressure as he races towards his high. You feel another orgasm start to gather in your belly and lean forward onto his chest as he starts to fuck you from underneath. He punctuates each thrust with a soft moan. “Cum for me again, honey. I wanna feel you.”

It doesn't take much more for you to do exactly as he asks and tumble over the edge into another climax, your pussy squeezing him just right.

“Oh, fuck.” He fully intends to pull you off of him, as he always does with his one-night girls, but something keeps him right where he is and he cums deep inside you, his cock throbbing with his release. You relax into each other, panting and sweating and he wraps his arms around you. What is it about you that's making him like this? After several minutes in this position, you peel yourself off of him and start to get dressed. “You have to leave so quick, honey?”

You glance at the clock on the wall. It's almost three.

“My husband gets off around four. I have to be home when he gets there.” He tries not to sigh too deeply. For some reason, he had kind of hoped you'd stay and sleep with him.

“Where do you live?”

“The Flamingo. We have a suite.” He nods and watches as you put yourself back together again, walking to the living room to fetch your dress. You walk back into the bedroom fully dressed and look at him in the bed.

“Elvis, I told you. One night only. This can't be a thing.” He nods reluctantly and holds his hand out for you to walk closer and take it. You do, kissing his knuckles softly.

“I know, doll. But it was fun while it lasted.” You sit on the bed and he pulls you into his arms, not wanting to let go.

“How long are you here?” You ask quietly.

“As long as I want to be. But it doesn't matter. Does it?” He asks with a sliver of hope in his voice.

“No. It doesn't.” You stand up away from him and move towards the door. “Goodbye, Elvis.”

“Goodbye, honey.” He watches as you disappear through the bedroom door and then listens for the front door of the suite to close. He lays back, looking up at the ceiling for a while, missing you. On the street, you hail a cab and make it home just in time. You're in bed, almost asleep when you hear Carl open the front door. He doesn't disturb you, but instead gets undressed and slips under the covers. Every single part of you wishes he was Elvis and you squeeze your eyes shut to keep the tears from falling.

Back in his room, Elvis tries to go to sleep without thinking of you, but he's wildly unsuccessful. There's something about the way you seem to understand his loneliness that makes him wish he could see you again.

Still, you both lay in your respective beds trying to go to sleep. But the sun comes up on both of you still awake.

Elvis sighs deeply and drags himself out of bed, resigned to the fact that sleep is not happening. He walks to his jacket, picking it up off the floor and shaking it. Something falls out and hits the floor with a small thud.

“What the…?” He picks your ring up and holds it up to the light, a sly smile spreading across his face. Now he'll have to see you again.

******

Do we need more?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @atleastpleasetelephone @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @searchingforgravity @msamarican @angschrof @lustnhim @polksaladava @librababe99 @hooked-on-elvis @theelvisprincess @makethemorning @peaceloveelvis @mrspresley69 @pxpresley @kxnnxy

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis presley fic #elvis fanfiction #elvis smut #elvis fic #elvis presley smut #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley fanfic #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley x you #Spotify

113 notes · View notes

ikroah · 8 months ago

Text

I pushed my soul in a deep dark hole, and then I followed it in, I watched myself crawling out as I was a-crawling in. I got up so tight, I couldn't unwind, I saw so much, I broke my mind… —“Just Dropped In (to See What Condition My Condition Was In),” The First Edition (1968)

It Keeps Right On A-Hurtin’ #28 - Ring-a-Ding-Ding VII

Archive Links

«« First | « Previous || Next » | Last »»

Read IKROAH on Archive of Our Own

Notes / Original Pencils / Transcript:

Notes

Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to type those words? "End of Volume 2?" We have been on Volume 2 for just over three years. Obviously it's unfair to compare it to the breakneck pace of Volume 1, because... I got burned out (I got better), I got divorced (I got better), and most importantly, I've spent all three of these years overhauling my approach to art, which is to say, I got better. My canvas size doubled because my initial naive approach of "smaller pages means less art, which means faster art" was holding me back: I wanted more art, and the subjects of too many panels had gotten flubbed due to what was basically a pathetically low rendering distance. I revamped my approach to coloring entirely, leaning into a vibrant, saturated, and faux-comic halftone style that I vastly prefer to my more grounded, gradient-driven work beforehand. I changed IKROAH's font (Unmasked!), I changed Agnes's appearance slightly (she's far less gaunt, which was an early design choice I've thrown away, plus I think I'm much better at drawing her consistently now), and so much more. Comics are a time-consuming artform and while a lot of what made this volume take so long was out of my control, and well worth not pushing myself through, the total reinvention of how I actually make comics was the single best thing to come out of Volume 2.

It's a lot of lessons and groundwork that I'm very eager to take into Volume 3, which I have spent every single one of these years viciously impatient for. Now, it's finally here. See you at the cover reveal.

Original Pencils

Something that I have been working a lot harder on with my art lately is inking: actual inking, not merely "outlining" and figuring out the rest by the seat of my pants digitally. I've come to realize that the fewer steps of my production process that I try to do digitally, the more fun it is to make art as a whole, and inking was something that I was very intimidated by for the longest time. What happens if I mess up! It's permanent marker, after all! But after all the practice that I've done, I'm really happy with how bold and confident the shadows are on this issue, and they're perfect for how moody and dramatically lit the whole thing is. You can compare the pencils to the inks to the final products and really see how I planned out the overall composition.

Transcript

INT. LUCKY 38 PRESIDENTIAL SUITE, VERY LATE AT NIGHT. The lights are all off in this luxurious, distinctly pre-war abode. It is almost empty.

RADIO: Welcome back to the program, folks. This is Mr. New Vegas—and I hope I'm not coming on too strong. We've got some news for you, coming right up.

The only real light in the suite comes from the glowing screen of the Securitron VICTOR, standing in front of the private elevator.

RADIO: Tops Hotel owner Benny has been killed by an unidentified assailant. According to his fellow Chairmen, shots were heard in his private suite, and his body was found inside. They are urging all visitors to please keep an eye out for suspicious individuals and behavior on the New Vegas Strip. The new head of the Chairmen, Benny's former right-hand man Swank, consoled mourners: "If I know my pal Benny, he's swinging with the Big Cat Upstairs as we speak. Or he's chasing some angel broad with cans as big as her halo!"

RADIO: In other news—

In a guest bedroom off to the side, ROSE OF SHARON CASSIDY is sound asleep. Her belongings are neatly folded on the dresser, except for the cocktail dress that she was wearing, which has been thrown onto the ground.

RADIO: —refugees at Bitter Springs are giving startling accounts of the legate known as Lanius, who is said to be Caesar's top field commander. One refugee told us the legate took over an underperforming squad of troops by beating its commander to death in full viw of everyone. The legate then ordered a tenth of his own force be killed by the other nine tenths. And you thought your boss was a pain!

RADIO: You know, I think all news, whether it's good or bad, brings us closer together. Don't you?

Directly across from the elevator, across from VICTOR, are the shut doors to the master bedroom.

RADIO: These headlines, brought to you by Vault 21...Vault 21! Everything is better when you experience it...in a vault.

Inside the master bedroom, AGNES SANDS sits on the edge of the bed, wide awake. The RADIO plays from her PIP-BOY, which provides a slight amount of light in the dark room.

RADIO: Gonna play a song for you right now—it's about that special someone, that you can only find once...in a "Blue Moon."

"Blue Moon" begins to play from the radio. AGNES's head remains lowered in rumination.

Suddenly, the radio broadcast cuts out.

SFX: KZZRRRSSHHTTZ

RADIO: Has your life taken a turn?

A NEW VOICE speaks on the radio. It's dreamy, seductive.

RADIO: Do troubles beset you? Has fortune left you behind?

AGNES remains in thought.

But then: she lifts her head.

And she looks over at the radio.

RADIO: If so, then the Sierra Madre Casino,

The PIP-BOY displays: 11.09.81, 4:13. <<Signal Unknown>>

RADIO: in all its glory, invites you

AGNES listens.

RADIO: to begin again.

AGNES is now somewhere else.

EXT. MOJAVE DESERT. At sunrise, AGNES SANDS is perched atop a ridge somewhere in the desert. Her overcoat billows behind her, and her shoulder-mounted flashlight beams straight ahead. She looks manic. In one hand, she clutches her duffel bag, full of every belonging she has. Her other hand is wearing her PIP-BOY, and the radio broadcast continues:

RADIO: Come to a place where wealth, excitement, and intrigue await around every corner. Stroll along the winding streets of our beautiful resort. Make new friends...or rekindle old flames. Let your eyes take in the luxurious expanse of the open desert, under clear starlit skies. Gaze straight on into the sunset from our scenic Villa rooftops. Countless diversions await. Gamble in our casino, take in the theater, or stay in one of our exclusive executive suites that will shelter you...and cater to your every whim.

Below the ridge is a pile-up of wrecked shipping containers. One of them opens up toward the surface like a gaping throat of metal. It leads somewhere, deeper into the earth.

RADIO: So if life's worries have weighed you down—if you need an escape from your troubles—or if you just need an opportunity to begin again—

The source of the broadcast signal is coming from INSIDE.

RADIO: —then join us.

AGNES descends into the container, revealing a makeshift staircase of sheet metal that leads into darkness.

RADIO: Join us, let go, and leave the world behind...

The signal from inside the tunnel is now audible. It overlaps with AGNES's PIP-BOY...

RADIO: Join us, let go, and leave the world behind...

Until she sees it.

RADIO: ...at the Sierra Madre Grand Opening.

A pre-war, art deco type radio, sitting on a metal pedestal. It speaks to her.

RADIO: ...at the Sierra Madre Grand Opening.

AGNES stares at the radio, bewildered.

She barely notices the HULKING FIGURE about to grab her from behind.

RADIO: We'll be waiting.

END OF VOLUME 2

#fallout #fallout new vegas #fnv #dead money #agnes sands #it keeps right on a hurtin #ikroah archive #volume 02 #28

198 notes · View notes

niallerspayno · 30 days ago

Text

Black and White - Part 3

Masterlist

As One Direction’s hair and makeup artist, you’ve always had a flirty friendship with Niall. But one wild night in Las Vegas changes everything when you wake up married—and management insists you stay that way. Will you keep hiding your feelings, or finally admit there’s more than friendship between you?

Tags: Niall x reader, friends to lovers, forced proximity, fluff

Part 1 | Part 2

...

The day unfolds in a blur, and you do your best to avoid Niall. It’s not that you don’t want to see him—it’s that you’re scared of what might happen when you do. The morning’s kiss lingers in your mind like a ghost, haunting you with its sweetness and the vulnerability it demanded.

You stick to the crew, throwing yourself into the tasks of the day: managing schedules, prepping supplies, and assisting with the stage setup. Every time you catch sight of Niall, he’s looking for you. His eyes scan the room with a focus that makes your heart race, but you always manage to duck behind someone or slip out of sight.

Niall, however, isn’t making it easy.

When lunch is delivered, you find your favorite sandwich waiting for you at the catering table with a small note in Niall’s handwriting: Don’t forget to eat, love. -N.

Your cheeks burn, and though you try to ignore the flutter in your chest, you find yourself clutching the note tighter than you should.

Later, during the soundcheck, you linger in the shadows at the side of the stage, watching the boys run through their songs. Niall’s voice rings clear and confident, his presence on stage magnetic as always. But between verses, he glances toward where you’re standing. His eyes meet yours, and the smile that spreads across his face is enough to make you duck your head and retreat further into the wings.

By the time the concert rolls around, you’re emotionally exhausted from dodging him all day. You station yourself behind the mixing desk, far from the stage where Niall’s charm feels almost weaponized against you.

But you can’t avoid him forever.

Midway through the set, Niall’s voice comes through the speakers, quiet but purposeful. “Alright, this next one’s special.”

The crowd cheers wildly, and Niall steps closer to the mic, his guitar hanging loosely around his neck. “I want to dedicate this song to someone who’s been with me through thick and thin. She’s smart, funny, and way too good at avoiding me, but I think she knows how much she means to me.”

Your heart stops.

Liam shoots you a knowing smile from his spot on stage, and Louis, ever the instigator, points right in your direction. The fans pick up on it immediately, and a wave of cheers and screams ripple through the arena.

Niall chuckles, his eyes locking with yours across the distance. “This one’s for you, love,” he says, his voice low and earnest.

As the opening chords of Little Things fill the air, your chest tightens. Every lyric feels like a confession, a quiet declaration of everything he hasn’t yet said out loud. Tears sting your eyes, and you turn away, suddenly overwhelmed by the intimacy of the moment shared with thousands of strangers watching.

When the concert ends, you slip out before Niall can corner you. But back at the hotel, you know you can’t avoid him forever.

...

Back at the hotel, you pace outside the door to your shared room with Niall, your heart pounding in your chest. You can’t face him, not after the dedication, not after dodging him all day. The sincerity in his voice, the way his eyes had found yours even among the chaos of the crowd—it was too much.

Without thinking, you turn on your heel and make your way down the hall to Lottie’s room. She opens the door almost immediately, her brows furrowing in concern when she sees your face.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, stepping aside to let you in.

“I can’t…” you begin, your voice cracking as you slump onto the edge of her bed. “I can’t stay in that room with him tonight.”

Lottie closes the door and crosses her arms, leaning against the wall. “Why not?”

You bury your face in your hands, frustration bubbling to the surface. “Because I’m a mess, Lottie. He’s… perfect, and I’m…”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Lottie says sharply, moving to sit beside you. She places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You need to stop tearing yourself down like this.”

You shake your head, unable to meet her gaze. “You don’t understand. Niall deserves someone who—”

“Stop,” Lottie interrupts, her tone firm but kind. “What Niall deserves is someone who makes him happy. And that’s you. You’re so caught up in your insecurities that you can’t see how much he loves you.”

Your stomach twists, her words hitting too close to home. “He doesn’t love me,” you mumble, though the words feel hollow even as you say them.

Lottie scoffs, standing up and pacing the small space. “Oh, come on. You heard him tonight. He dedicated Little Things to you. Do you think he does that for just anyone?”

“He was just trying to—”

“To what?” Lottie cuts in, turning to face you. “Embarrass you? Show off? No, he was trying to tell you how he feels because you’re too stubborn to listen when he says it outright.”

You let out a shaky breath, your hands twisting in your lap. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” Lottie says softly, sitting back down and taking your hands in hers. “You’re the one making it complicated.”

Before you can respond, your phone buzzes on the bedside table. You glance at the screen, your heart skipping a beat when you see Niall’s name.

Goodnight, love. Wherever you are, I hope you’re okay. I’m here when you’re ready to talk.

Your throat tightens as you stare at the message. The simplicity of his words, the patience and care behind them, is enough to bring tears to your eyes.

Lottie leans over, reading the message, and lets out a soft sigh. “See? He’s not giving up on you. And you shouldn’t give up on him—or yourself.”

You swallow hard, the weight of her words settling in your chest. “I just… I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You can,” Lottie says firmly. “And you will. But maybe you need to stop running long enough to let him show you how much he cares.”

As you lay down on Lottie’s spare bed that night, Niall’s message still glowing on your screen, you can’t help but wonder if she’s right.

...

The soft morning light filters through the curtains, and you stir awake in Lottie’s room, stretching against the unfamiliar sheets. A glance at the bedside table reveals your phone buzzing incessantly with notifications.

Groaning, you reach for it, only to see your lock screen flooded with mentions and retweets. Your stomach twists with unease as you swipe to unlock it.

Your heart sinks as you spot the culprit: Lottie’s tweet, sitting proudly at the top of your feed.

“Couldn’t be happier for these two❤️ Congrats to Mr. & Mrs. Horan! 🥂 #CoupleGoals”

Beneath the caption is a photo. You blink in surprise when you realize it’s from months ago—a candid of you working on Niall’s hair in the dressing room. You’re mid-concentration, a comb in one hand and a bottle of spray in the other, while Niall sits relaxed in the chair. But it’s not the act of you doing his hair that catches your attention—it’s the way Niall is looking at you.

His blue eyes are soft and adoring, the faintest hint of a smile playing on his lips, as though you’re the only person in the world. The sheer intensity of the expression makes your breath hitch.

“Lottie!” you exclaim, sitting up abruptly.

She groans from her bed, half-buried in pillows. “What?”

“This,” you say, holding up your phone. “What the hell is this?”

She cracks an eye open, smirking when she sees the screen. “Oh, that? Just a little public service announcement.”

You glare at her, your face heating. “A public announcement? Lottie, this is—”

“Beautiful,” she interrupts, sitting up and stretching. “It’s beautiful, and so is the way he looks at you in that photo. Don’t even try to deny it.”

Your protests falter as you glance at the picture again. The comments are filled with excitement and positivity:

“They’re so cute together!” “Honestly, this is the most wholesome thing I’ve seen all day.” “Niall looks like he’s totally smitten.”

A lump forms in your throat when you see that Harry has retweeted it with, “Finally. #TeamNiallAndY/N” Liam’s retweet simply reads, “Told you it was true love.”

Even Zayn, who rarely gets involved, has chimed in with a single heart emoji comment.

Your heart aches as you lower the phone, the reality of the situation settling heavily on your chest.

“I thought you wanted people to think the marriage is real,” Lottie teases, sitting cross-legged on her bed.

“This isn’t about that,” you mumble, clutching the phone.

“No,” she agrees, her tone softening. “This is about you finally realizing that maybe the rest of us aren’t crazy for thinking you two are perfect for each other.”

You don’t respond, staring down at the photo again. The way Niall looks at you is overwhelming, like he sees something in you that you can’t bring yourself to see in yourself.

“Do you hate it?” Lottie asks gently.

You shake your head slowly, your thumb brushing against the screen. “No. I don’t hate it.”

“Good,” she says with a smile. “Because neither does Niall.”

Your chest tightens as her words sink in, and for the first time, you wonder if maybe—just maybe—he’s right about you being enough.

The room feels quieter than usual as you gather your things from Lottie’s bed, trying to ignore the way your heart is fluttering at the thought of Niall. You’re grateful for the space you’ve had overnight, but now that it’s time to pack, you can’t help but feel the weight of the conversation still hanging between you. It’s been a difficult few days, but the photo Lottie posted earlier has somehow shifted something inside you. You can’t put your finger on it yet, but something feels different.

You take a deep breath and finish packing your bag, taking your time so you don’t have to face Niall just yet. You know you can’t keep avoiding him, but part of you is terrified of what will happen when you do finally face him.

When you walk into the hallway, you spot Niall just outside the door to your shared room. He’s standing with his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, looking down at his phone. His hair is messy, as if he’s just woken up, but there’s a smile playing at the corners of his mouth as soon as he spots you.

“Hey,” he greets, his voice warm and a little too hopeful for your liking. You feel your heart race, and you can tell he’s trying so hard to close the distance that’s been between you these past few days.

“Hey,” you reply quietly, avoiding his gaze as you make your way past him to the elevator. You feel the subtle pull of his presence, and though you don’t look at him, you can sense how close he’s standing.

He catches up to you before you can escape, placing a hand gently on your arm. “Listen, I wanted to talk,” he begins, but you cut him off before he can say anything more.

“I’m fine,” you mutter, still avoiding his eyes. “Just… let me get to the airport.”

Niall looks at you for a moment, his hand lingering on your arm as if he’s searching for something in your eyes. Then, with a deep sigh, he lets go and nods, his voice quieter than usual. “Okay, yeah. I just… I’m glad you’re back with us today.” He hesitates, as if trying to find the right words. “You’re coming with me and the boys on the jet today, by the way.”

You pause mid-step, confused. “What? I’m not—”

“You are,” he interrupts, smiling at the disbelief in your voice. “You’re flying with us. This time, it’s not commercial. I’ve been thinking about it, and I just… I want you around. I’m tired of not being able to see you.”

You blink, trying to process the change. You’ve always flown commercial with the crew, a quiet observer of the chaos that comes with touring. But now? Now, Niall’s pulling you into his world—his world with the boys, a private jet, and the kind of attention you’d never expected.

“I—Niall, I didn’t expect—”

He cuts you off with a gentle grin. “I know. But I’ve missed you, and I figured you deserved a little upgrade. You’ve been working so hard, and I just want you to be a part of everything. I don’t want you to be so far away.”

The sincerity in his eyes makes your chest tighten. “Niall, you don’t have to do this,” you say softly, still unsure of your place in all of this.

But Niall shakes his head. “I want to. I need you there, Y/N. You’ve been an important part of all of this for so long, and I don’t want to make you feel like an outsider.”

You’re caught in the warmth of his words, the weight of his care settling around you like a blanket. You open your mouth to respond, but the words catch in your throat. Instead, you nod, and that’s enough for Niall.

“Great,” he says, his smile widening. “It’s settled, then. I’m just happy you’ll be with us.”

He steps closer, brushing a hand over your shoulder briefly. The touch is gentle, filled with a tenderness that leaves you breathless. Niall’s always been this way—open, kind, and unafraid to show you how much you mean to him. But the way you’ve been pulling away has left a gap that you’re not sure how to close.

“Ready for the flight?” he asks as you walk together toward the door. “We’re gonna have a blast.”

You nod, but you can’t help the swirling uncertainty that still tugs at your insides. You know Niall’s trying to break down your walls, but your fears still hold you back. He may be right about how much he cares, but you’re still struggling to believe that you deserve it.

...

The private jet hums softly, the engines a steady purr beneath the gentle chatter of the boys. You sit next to Niall, the warmth of his hand wrapped around yours as he gently rubs soothing circles over your knuckles. The soft pressure of his touch helps ease some of the tension in your shoulders, though you still feel the storm brewing inside.

The boys are scattered around the cabin, talking easily amongst themselves. Harry and Liam are in the seats across from you, joking around with Zayn, who’s sitting by the window with his headphones on, looking like he’s trying to shut out the noise. Paul, ever the calming presence, is chatting with Louis at the back, but you can tell he’s observing everything with a quiet, watchful eye.

Even with all the noise and chaos of the tour life, it’s peaceful here. The small, intimate setting of the jet feels like a little world unto itself, one where it’s just you and them, removed from the constant spotlight. And for the first time in days, you let yourself breathe a little easier, the weight of everyone’s teasing and attention putting you at ease.

Liam, leans over and gives you a teasing smile. “So, is it official yet? You two going public or are we still keeping the mystery alive?” he says, his eyes flicking between you and Niall.

“Lottie already let the cat out of the bag,” Zayn adds with a smirk, nodding toward his phone. “Her tweet’s all over the place now. I’m surprised you two didn’t already do the big reveal.”

You look down at your hands, your stomach flipping. The tweet. The photo of you and Niall from months ago, when you were working on his hair in the dressing room, and the way Niall was looking at you in that moment… like you were the only person in the world. The comments were all filled with warmth and support, even from the boys. Still, you felt exposed, like something too private had slipped out into the world too soon.

Niall’s thumb traces your skin gently, grounding you in the present. “You okay?” he asks softly, his voice filled with concern as he notices your discomfort.

“Yeah,” you say quickly, trying to push away the unease, “just... a lot to take in.”

Harry leans forward, grinning. “The fans are loving it though. Lottie’s tweet got so many likes, it’s almost like she’s made you two official.”

“You two are the worst,” you mutter, giving them a small smile, though the teasing only heightens the feeling of everything being just a bit too real.

Niall chuckles beside you, but there’s a softness in his gaze when he meets your eyes. “I don’t care about the fans, love,” he says gently, his hand squeezing yours. “I just care about you.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your heart ache, but you can’t bring yourself to respond right away. Instead, you turn your head toward the window, trying to find something to focus on outside, anything to distract yourself from the weight of his words.

After a few minutes, Niall shifts a little, his voice low and a little hesitant. “I miss us,” he says quietly. “I miss the way we used to joke around, you know? You always kept me on my toes, and now... I feel like you’re pulling away.”

His words are like a gentle tug at your heart. You glance at him, meeting his blue eyes that are full of warmth but also a trace of concern. “I’m not pulling away,” you whisper, though even you can hear the uncertainty in your voice. “I just... I don’t know how to handle everything now that it’s... real.”

Niall leans in closer, his hand still holding yours. “What do you mean by that?”

You swallow, suddenly feeling very small under his gaze. You’re afraid to say it out loud, but the words spill from your lips before you can stop them. “It feels like... we’ve crossed a line, Niall. It’s not just fun and games anymore. It’s real. And I’m scared.”

He doesn’t say anything right away, just holds you in that steady gaze, his thumb continuing to trace circles on your skin as if he’s trying to calm the whirlwind inside of you.

“It’s always been real for me,” he says quietly. “But I get it. Things change when you stop pretending, when you stop playing around. But just ‘cause it’s real doesn’t mean it’s something to be afraid of. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

You close your eyes, the warmth of his words sinking into you like a balm. You want to believe him, really, you do. But all the doubts that have plagued you still linger, and you’re not sure how to let them go.

The conversation is interrupted when Louis, who’s been watching the two of you with a mischievous grin, pipes up from the back. “I still don’t get why you two are so quiet. Just kiss already, for God’s sake. You’re making me uncomfortable!”

The boys all laugh, and even you can’t help but chuckle, though the laughter feels a little strained.

Niall grins at Louis, “You’re incorrigible,” he mutters, but his hand squeezes yours again, bringing you back to the quiet, intimate moment you’re sharing with him.

As the plane begins its descent, you find yourself looking at Niall in a new light—still scared, still unsure, but also hopeful in a way you haven’t been in a long time.

Maybe, just maybe, you’re ready to take a step forward.

...

The dressing room is buzzing with the usual chaos as the boys get ready for the night’s performance. Lottie is finishing up Liam’s hair while Harry cracks jokes with Zayn about their latest tour antics, and Louis pretends to choreograph a full-on dance routine in the corner. The atmosphere is lighthearted, the easy camaraderie that’s always existed between you, Lottie, and the boys filling the air once again.

You're moving between them, carefully applying makeup, adjusting hair, and adding finishing touches to their outfits. Your hands feel steady as you work, but you can’t ignore how much it means to be surrounded by all this laughter and warmth. Things feel more normal now, the distance between you and Niall beginning to melt away. You find yourself joking along with the boys, teasing them like you used to, and for the first time in what feels like ages, your heart feels lighter.

“I’m telling you, Louis,” you tease, “you’ve got the best moves out of anyone here. But, you know, the world’s not ready for all that talent just yet.”

Louis strikes a ridiculous pose, causing the entire room to burst into laughter. "You're just jealous,” he jokes, putting on an exaggerated pout.

You roll your eyes, and Zayn smirks, chiming in, “Someone better tell Louis he can’t dance in the front row during the show. It’s too distracting.”

The playful teasing continues, and in the middle of the laughter, Niall suddenly catches your eye from across the room. He’s sitting in the makeup chair, a content smile tugging at his lips as he watches the chaos around him.

You glance at him, a small smile of your own creeping up as you go back to touching up Harry’s hair. Niall’s expression softens, his eyes warming as he catches your gaze, the fondness in them unmistakable. You know the moment he speaks, his words will be full of that open, heartfelt honesty he’s always had.

“Oi,” Niall calls from his seat, his voice light but full of affection. “When are you gonna stop making everyone else look so good and give me some attention, eh? You’ve already got half of us looking like movie stars.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Someone’s feeling a little too confident today.”

Before you can say anything else, he pats the chair next to him. “Come here,” he says, but instead of waiting for you to sit, he reaches out, gently pulling you into his lap. It’s so natural, so easy, and you can’t help but melt into the warmth of his embrace. “I missed you.”

The words hit you harder than you expect, and you feel a rush of emotions you’ve been trying to avoid. You've been putting distance between you, but here he is—pulling you into his arms, not letting you pull away.

You hesitate for a moment, unsure of how to respond, but then you give in, leaning in to kiss him softly on the cheek. It's quick, but the tenderness of the moment makes your heart flutter.

“You alright?” Niall asks, his blue eyes locking onto yours. His voice is quiet, like he’s afraid to push you too much.

You nod quickly, offering a faint smile. “Yeah, just... it’s been a long day, you know?”

He nods in understanding, his hand resting lightly on your waist, keeping you close. For a moment, the noise and chaos of the room fade away, and it’s just the two of you in the space between the teasing and laughter.

Louis, noticing the exchange, gives you a mischievous grin, waggling his eyebrows. “Aww, look at that. Mrs. Horan making Niall blush,” he teases, causing everyone to pause and look your way.

Your breath catches, your cheeks flushing at the playful remark. But there’s no malice in it—just warmth, just lighthearted teasing. And you can’t help but smile, even though the idea of being “Mrs. Horan” feels foreign and suddenly so real.

“Stop it,” you mutter, feeling your heart race. “We’re just friends.”

Niall, ever open with his feelings, flashes you a playful grin and says, “Not for long, Mrs. Horan. You’ll see.”

The room bursts into laughter, but it's not mocking—it’s full of warmth and affection. The teasing doesn’t bother you, not anymore. For the first time, you let yourself enjoy the moment, the connection you share with Niall and the boys.

As the laughter dies down, Niall gets up to leave with the others, already heading toward the stage. Before he goes, he pulls you into a tight hug, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. His voice is low and sincere as he whispers, “See you out there. I’ll be looking for you.”

You watch him walk away, your hand instinctively going to the spot where his lips lingered, and your heart skips a beat. You’re not sure what the future holds, but for the first time in a long while, you feel hopeful.

Lottie catches your eye from across the room, a knowing smirk on her face. “You two,” she says softly, teasingly. “It’s so obvious, you know?”

You roll your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays the way your heart is fluttering. “Not a word,” you warn, though deep down, you’re starting to accept what’s been right in front of you all along.

...

The concert has ended, and the buzz of excitement is still thick in the air as everyone begins packing up. Roadies move efficiently, coiling wires and dismantling equipment, while the rest of the boys joke around and take selfies with crew members. You hang back near the edge of the stage, watching the scene unfold with a soft smile.

“You alright there, love?” Niall’s voice cuts through the hum of activity, gentle and warm.

You turn to find him standing a few feet away, his guitar slung casually over his shoulder. There’s something easy in his posture, like he belongs exactly where he is, but the glint in his eye is entirely focused on you.

“Yeah, just… soaking it all in,” you say, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“C’mere,” he says, nodding toward the center of the stage. “Stay with me for a bit.”

You hesitate, but the way he holds out his hand—steady, patient, and inviting—makes it impossible to say no. Slowly, you make your way toward him, your fingers brushing his as he helps you up onto the platform.

The stage feels vast and quiet now, the crowd long gone, the energy of the night lingering like a distant echo. Niall settles onto one of the stools left behind, patting the one beside him.

“Sit,” he says, his tone light but his eyes serious. “I’ve got somethin’ for you.”

You sit, curiosity flickering to life. “What are you up to, Horan?”

He grins, adjusting the guitar in his lap. “You’ll see.”

The first few chords are familiar, soft and aching, and as he begins to play, your heart skips a beat. It’s Irresistible.

His voice is low and smooth as he starts to sing, the words weaving through the air like a spell.

“Don’t try to make me stay, or ask if I’m okay

I don’t have the answer…”

There’s something different in the way he sings, something intimate, like each lyric is meant for you and no one else. You can’t help but watch him—his fingers dancing over the strings, the way his lashes cast soft shadows on his cheeks, the way his voice carries every ounce of emotion in his heart.

When he reaches the chorus, your breath catches.

“I find your lips so kissable

And your kiss unmissable

Your fingertips so touchable…”

His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the world feels impossibly small, just the two of you in this vast, empty space. The words seem to hang in the air between you, heavy with meaning, and you wonder if he’s trying to tell you something he can’t quite say out loud.

“Niall,” you murmur as the song fades, your voice barely above a whisper.

He sets the guitar aside, leaning forward just slightly, his blue eyes searching yours. “Yeah?”

“That was… beautiful.” You can feel your cheeks warming under his gaze.

He shrugs, but there’s a softness in his smile. “Felt like the right song to play.”

Your stomach twists in a way that’s both thrilling and terrifying. “You sang that like it meant something,” you say, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Niall doesn’t hesitate. “It does.”

The silence that follows is electric, charged with all the things neither of you is saying but both of you are feeling. His hand moves, just a little, brushing against yours where it rests on your knee. The touch is light but deliberate, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“You’re irresistible, you know that?” he says softly, his voice dropping just enough to make your heart race.

You laugh nervously, trying to break the tension, but it doesn’t work. “You’re just saying that because I let you drag me up here.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m saying it because it’s true. And I think… you’re startin’ to believe it too.”

The vulnerability in his words is disarming, and for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel the need to run from it. Instead, you let yourself lean into it, even just a little.

“Maybe,” you admit, your voice barely audible.

Niall’s smile grows, and for a moment, you think he might close the distance between you. But instead, he just leans back, picking up his guitar again.

“Alright, love. Your turn,” he says, strumming a playful chord.

You raise an eyebrow. “My turn for what?”

“Tell me your favorite song, and I’ll play it for you. Consider it my way of keepin’ you here a bit longer.”

You laugh, shaking your head, but you can’t help the way your heart swells. As you sit there, watching him wait for your answer, you realize that maybe—just maybe—you don’t mind staying.

“You & I.” You respond.

Niall tilts his head at your request, his brows raising slightly. “You & I? Proper classic that, isn’t it?”

You nod, biting your lip. “It’s one of my favorites. Please?”

His smile softens, and without another word, he adjusts the guitar in his lap and begins to play the familiar opening notes. The sound is achingly beautiful, filling the quiet stage with a gentle melody that feels like it’s wrapping around you both.

His voice, smooth and rich, carries the lyrics effortlessly.

“I figured it out

I figured it out from black and white

Seconds and hours

Maybe they had to take some time…”

The way he sings feels personal, each word dripping with quiet emotion, as if he’s speaking to you and you alone. His eyes flick up to meet yours occasionally, and every time they do, it feels like the floor beneath you shifts.

The boys, who had been lingering further back on the stage, grow quiet. Louis leans against a stack of amps, his arms crossed, a knowing smirk on his face. Harry nudges Liam, who just shakes his head with a soft smile, while Zayn raises an eyebrow at the scene unfolding.

“Would you look at that,” Louis whispers, pulling his phone out silently.

The camera clicks, capturing the image of you perched on the stool beside Niall, your expression a mix of awe and affection as you watch him sing. Niall’s focus is entirely on you, the guitar cradled in his hands as the stage lights cast a golden glow around you both. Louis grins, opening Twitter.

“Look at these two. My heart can’t take it. 🎶💙 #YouAndI #UnmissableMoments”

He hits post, shoving his phone back into his pocket as the song builds to its crescendo.

“You and I

We don’t wanna be like them

We can make it ’til the end

Nothing can come between

You and I…”

Niall’s voice is steady, strong, yet tender, and you can feel the emotion swell in your chest. By the time he reaches the final note, the room feels heavy with unspoken words.

The applause is soft but heartfelt as the boys clap quietly in the background. Niall gives a small, bashful smile, his fingers still resting on the strings.

“Didn’t butcher it, did I?” he teases, his voice low, a hint of nervousness lacing the question.

You shake your head, unable to stop the smile spreading across your face. “No. It was perfect.”

For a moment, you just look at him, the air thick with something unspoken. Your heart thuds loudly in your chest, and you’re almost certain he can hear it.

“Niall,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He tilts his head, his eyes locking onto yours. “Yeah?”

“Kiss me.”

The words hang in the air for a moment, and you can see the surprise flash in his eyes. But it’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced by something deeper, warmer.

“You sure about that?” he asks, his voice gentle, his tone teasing just enough to make you smile.

You nod, your pulse quickening. “I’ve never been more sure.”

“Alright,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady. “C’mere.”

He shifts the guitar off his lap, placing it gently to the side. His hand moves to your cheek, the pad of his thumb grazing your skin in a way that sends a shiver through you. His touch is light, careful, like he’s afraid you might break if he holds on too tightly.

The world around you seems to fade, the faint hum of the stage lights the only sound as he leans in. Your breath catches when his lips brush yours, feather-light at first, testing, as though he’s giving you one last chance to pull away.

But you don’t.

You lean in, meeting him halfway, and the kiss deepens. His lips are soft and warm, moving against yours with a mix of confidence and tenderness that leaves your knees weak, even though you’re sitting down. His hand slides from your cheek to the back of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair as he pulls you just a little closer.

There’s no rush, no urgency. It’s slow, deliberate—like he’s savoring every second. The faint scent of his cologne lingers in the air, woodsy and fresh, mingling with the warmth radiating from his skin. His thumb strokes your neck absently, sending tiny sparks of electricity through you, and it feels as though he’s memorizing the moment, etching it into his bones.

Your heart pounds against your ribs, the rhythm echoing in your ears, but it’s not the frantic kind of beat you were expecting. It’s steady, like a quiet reassurance that this—whatever this is—is exactly where you’re meant to be.

When he finally pulls back, it’s gradual, like he’s reluctant to let the moment end. His forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your lips as he lingers close. His thumb makes one final pass over your skin before his hand drops to your lap, where it stays, his fingers brushing lightly against yours.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The air between you hums with something unspoken, something fragile and new, and yet somehow ancient, like it’s always been there, waiting for you to find it.

“You alright?” he asks softly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You nod, your lips curving into a faint smile. “Yeah. I’m good.”

He lets out a quiet chuckle, his thumb tracing idle circles over the back of your hand. “Good. That’s all I want.”

The stage feels impossibly small now, like the only two people in the world are you and him. You don’t know what this means—what happens next—but for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel the need to figure it out.

You lean back slightly, your gaze locked on his. “That song,” you murmur, your voice soft but steady. “It felt like you meant it for me.”

Niall smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he squeezes your hand gently. “Maybe I did.”

Your chest tightens at the quiet honesty in his voice, but instead of retreating, you let it settle over you like a warm blanket.

For now, that’s enough.

…

The walk back to your shared hotel room is wrapped in a comfortable silence, the kind that doesn’t need to be filled with words. Niall stays close, his hand brushing against yours now and then, the occasional touch sending a flutter through your chest. The air is cool, but his presence beside you is a steady warmth, grounding you in the moment.

When you reach the room, you slip inside together, greeted by the soft amber glow of the bedside lamp. The room feels cozy, a quiet sanctuary from the emotions of the evening. You kick off your shoes and let out a deep sigh, the kind that comes from both relief and exhaustion.

Niall lingers by the bed, watching you with a small smile as you grab your pajamas and head into the bathroom. The mirror reflects a version of yourself you haven’t seen in a while—your cheeks have a faint flush, your eyes softer, lighter. There’s something there, a little glow you hadn’t expected, and it makes you pause.

When you emerge, changed into your soft cotton pajamas, Niall’s already under the covers. His hair is mussed, and the dim lighting casts a golden halo over his features. He looks so effortlessly himself, so inviting, that it takes no second thought for you to climb in beside him.

The bed is warm, and the moment you settle, Niall pulls you into his side, his arm wrapping securely around your waist. You rest your head on his chest, and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat greets you. It’s a soft, grounding sound, steady and constant like him.

“Long day,” he murmurs, his voice low and honeyed, the vibration of it resonating through his chest beneath your cheek.

You hum in agreement, nuzzling into him a little closer. His body radiates warmth, and the faint scent of his cologne—woodsy and clean—lingers on his shirt.

“You okay?” he asks softly, his hand beginning to move in slow, soothing circles over your back.

“Yeah,” you whisper, the word coming easier than you expected. “I think I am.”

A soft smile curves his lips. You feel it more than see it, his chin brushing lightly against the top of your head.

The quiet stretches out, comfortable and full of something unspoken but deeply understood. His fingers trace gentle patterns on your back—circles, swirls, lazy lines that melt the last bits of tension from your body. The motion is hypnotic, your muscles relaxing one by one as you sink deeper into the warmth of him.

He shifts slightly, just enough to press his lips to your forehead. The kiss is feather-light, but it’s enough to send a wave of warmth through you, pooling low in your chest.

“I meant it,” he murmurs, his voice a soft rasp in the quiet room. “I’ll wait as long as you need. No rush. No pressure. Just… us.”

His words settle over you like a blanket, warm and reassuring. You shift against him, your nose brushing the curve of his neck as you let out a quiet, contented sigh.

“Thank you,” you mumble sleepily, your voice barely audible against his skin.

His hand pauses on your back for a moment before resuming its slow, rhythmic movements. “Always,” he whispers, his breath warm against your hair.

He tugs the blanket higher around you both, cocooning you in the shared warmth of the bed. His fingers trace over your shoulder now, up to your collarbone, and back down again in a soothing, lulling rhythm. The sound of his breathing, steady and calm, blends with the faint hum of the city outside, and you let yourself relax fully, cocooned in his care.

As sleep pulls you under, you feel his lips brush your temple one last time, a quiet promise etched into the night. And for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself believe in the safety of this moment, in the warmth of him, and in the possibility of something beautiful waiting just ahead.

...

The morning light filters softly through the curtains, bathing the hotel room in a warm, golden glow. You wake slowly, your senses gradually piecing the world together—the crisp scent of the linens, the weight of the blanket over you, and the steady rise and fall of Niall’s chest beneath your cheek.

His arm is still draped around you, holding you close even in sleep. His face is serene, every line and feature softened by the quiet vulnerability of slumber. His lashes rest against his cheek, and his lips are slightly parted, his breath slow and even.

You don’t move at first, content to simply watch him, the peace of the moment wrapping around you like a second blanket. But as your gaze lingers, an ache stirs in your chest—a deep, quiet longing that feels equal parts terrifying and wonderful.

Before you can think too much about it, your hand moves on its own, reaching out to gently trace the curve of his jaw. Your fingers barely skim his skin, hesitant at first, but the warmth of him pulls you in. You let your thumb glide over the rough stubble on his chin, the texture grounding you in the reality of him.

He stirs under your touch, a soft sound escaping his lips as his eyes flutter open. For a moment, he looks disoriented, his gaze hazy as it settles on you. But then he sees the way you’re looking at him, and a soft, sleepy smile curves his lips.

“Morning,” he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep, the Irish lilt more pronounced in its drowsiness.

“Morning,” you whisper back, your fingers stilling on his cheek.

He shifts slightly, his arm tightening around your waist as he blinks himself further awake. His gaze searches yours, his eyes warm and curious. “What are you doing?”

“Just… looking at you,” you admit, your voice quieter than usual, as though the moment might shatter if you speak too loudly.

His smile grows, softer and more genuine, and he turns his head slightly so your palm rests fully against his cheek. He leans into your touch, his eyes never leaving yours. “Like what you see?” he teases gently, though there’s an undercurrent of sincerity in his tone.

You nod, the weight of your emotions catching in your throat for a moment before you manage to speak. “Yeah. I do.”

His expression shifts then, his teasing giving way to something deeper, something quieter. His free hand comes up to cover yours, holding it against his face as he watches you, waiting.

“I’ve been thinking,” you start, your voice soft but steady. “About everything. About you and me and…” You trail off, searching for the right words.

“And?” he prompts, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a soothing gesture.

“I’m ready,” you say, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I’m ready to really try with you. A real relationship—not just this… married-on-paper thing we’ve got going.”

His breath hitches slightly, his eyes widening just a fraction. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, and your heart starts to race. But then his lips part, and his voice comes out soft, almost disbelieving.

“You mean that?”

“I mean it,” you say, your hand pressing a little firmer against his cheek. “I’m scared, but I don’t want to be anymore. I want this. I want you.”

The smile that spreads across his face is slow and radiant, like the sun breaking through a storm. He shifts, propping himself up slightly so he can look at you properly, his hands framing your face now.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear that,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll take it slow. However you need. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you feel safe with me.”

“You already do,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Niall’s gaze flickers down to your lips, and the air between you grows thick with an unspoken tension. His hands remain gentle on your face, his thumbs brushing over your skin as though you’re something precious. You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly, your lips meet in a kiss that starts soft and sweet but deepens quickly.

It’s a release, a culmination of all the quiet moments and tentative steps between you. His lips are warm and soft, and the way he kisses you is unhurried, like he’s savoring every second. You sigh into it, your hands sliding from his face into his hair, tangling in the messy blond strands as he shifts to pull you closer.

When his arms wrap around your waist, you take the opportunity to move, pushing yourself onto your knees and leaning over him. He lets out a soft, surprised laugh against your lips as you settle yourself on top of him, straddling his lap, but it’s quickly swallowed by another kiss.

“Niall,” you murmur between breaths, your forehead resting against his for a moment.

“Yeah, love?” he whispers, his voice low and gravelly, his hands steadying you at your waist.

“You’re…” You pause, trying to find the words, but instead of finishing the sentence, you kiss him again, pouring every ounce of feeling you can’t quite articulate into the way your lips move against his.

The room is alive with tension as you straddle Niall, your legs on either side of his hips, his hands warm and firm on your waist. His touch lingers, teasingly possessive, as though he’s making up for years of restraint all in one moment. Your lips meet again, a fire igniting between you that has you completely consumed.

His kisses are deep, unrelenting, and filled with everything unsaid between you. His tongue brushes against yours in a way that has your breath hitching, your fingers tangling in his hair as if anchoring yourself to this moment. His stubble grazes your skin as his lips move to your jawline, then trail down the column of your neck, leaving a path of warmth that makes you shiver.

“Niall,” you murmur, your voice soft but laden with need.

He groans at the sound of his name, his grip on your waist tightening as his lips return to yours. “I’ve dreamed about this,” he whispers against your mouth, his breath warm and uneven. “Every damn day.”

You smile against his lips, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “So have I,” you admit, the honesty spilling out of you as naturally as your next kiss.

His hands move to your back, his touch slow and deliberate as he presses you closer, your bodies flush against one another. The heat between you is electric, every small movement fanning the flames of desire that have been building for far too long.

You shift slightly, your thighs tightening around him as his hands slide beneath your shirt, his touch searing against your bare skin. The intimacy of it, the sheer closeness, makes your heart race.

But you’re so lost in each other—so completely consumed—that neither of you hears the faint creak of the door opening.

“Oi, seriously?”

The familiar voice has you freezing mid-kiss, your eyes flying open as you turn toward the doorway. Standing there, arms crossed with an expression that can only be described as both amused and exasperated, is Louis.

“Oh my God,” you mutter, quickly burying your face in Niall’s shoulder as mortification floods through you.

Niall lets out a low groan, his hands still resting on your hips as he turns his head toward Louis. “Really, mate? Timing’s impeccable.”

Louis raises a brow, his lips twitching as if he’s holding back a grin. “Well, excuse me for trying to check if you two were alive. Didn’t realize I’d walked into... that.”

Your cheeks burn, and you try to move off Niall’s lap, but his hands hold you firmly in place. “Don’t,” he murmurs softly, his voice low enough that only you can hear. “It’s okay.”

Louis, however, is already pulling his phone out of his pocket, a mischievous gleam in his eye. “I mean, I could just leave...” he starts, but the way his thumb hovers over the screen makes it clear he’s not going anywhere.

“Louis,” Niall warns, his tone a mix of irritation and amusement.

“What?” Louis says, feigning innocence as he snaps a photo. “For posterity.”

“Delete that!” you exclaim, finally finding your voice as you glare at him from over Niall’s shoulder.

Louis smirks. “Too late. Already in the cloud.” He pockets his phone with a shrug before turning toward the door. “Don’t take too long. The lads are placing bets on how red your faces are when you finally come out.”

With that, he disappears, leaving you and Niall in stunned silence.

After a beat, Niall chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest beneath you. “Well, that’s one way to break the tension.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “I’m never leaving this room again.”

He gently tugs your hands away, his eyes soft as they meet yours. “Hey,” he says, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I don’t care who knows. Let them tease all they want. I’m right where I want to be.”

Your heart swells at his words, and despite your embarrassment, you lean in to kiss him again—soft, slow, and filled with the promise of everything still to come.

Niall’s fingers linger on your waist as you slide off his lap, both of you still breathless and flushed. His lips are swollen from your kisses, and the look in his eyes is a mix of heat and tenderness. He grins, his voice low and teasing as he murmurs, “Guess we’ll call this... to be continued, yeah?”

You laugh softly, brushing a hand over his chest. “Definitely to be continued.”

Niall leans down, pressing a slow kiss to your forehead before pulling you close, his hands warm on your back. “We should head downstairs before Louis sends a search party—and probably a few humiliating tweets.”

You groan, already dreading what awaits. “He already took that photo. What else could he possibly do?”

Niall chuckles, grabbing your hand as he opens the door. “Love, it’s Louis. He’ll have spun an entire story by now.”

The two of you make your way to the hotel dining area, the sound of laughter hitting your ears before you even step inside. As you round the corner, the boys and Lottie are already gathered at a table, plates of food spread out, the atmosphere lively. But the moment you and Niall walk in, the room falls silent.

“Well, well, well,” Louis starts, standing dramatically as if presenting the two of you to an imaginary audience. “Look who finally decided to grace us with their presence!”

“Oh no,” you mutter under your breath, already bracing yourself.

Louis picks up his phone from the table, holding it up like a trophy. “For those of you who missed it—and by that, I mean no one, because this photo’s gone viral—behold!”

He turns the screen toward you and Niall. It’s the blurry photo he took upstairs, the one of you straddling Niall on the bed, his hands firmly on your hips, your faces just inches apart.

“Oh my god, Louis!” You cover your face with your hands, mortified.

Lottie bursts into laughter, nearly choking on her orange juice. “Louis, you are the worst, but also, this is incredible.”

“I mean, if this isn’t a wedding night moment,” Louis says, smirking as he puts his phone back down, “then I don’t know what is.”

“Delete it,” Niall says, though he’s clearly amused, his arm slipping casually around your waist.

“Absolutely not,” Louis fires back, leaning back in his chair. “It’s art. The world deserves to see it.”

Harry, sitting across the table, grins as he sips his coffee. “Honestly, though, we were all wondering how long it’d take you two. Years of pining, and then you go and get married before anything happens?”

Liam shakes his head, a teasing sigh escaping his lips. “Seriously. You two could’ve saved us all the trouble by just admitting it back in the day.”

“It’s about time,” Zayn adds, his tone cool but the glint in his eyes giving him away. “The tension was unbearable.”

“And exhausting,” Lottie chimes in, her smile genuine as she looks between the two of you. “But honestly, I’m just happy you’re finally happy. It’s about damn time.”

Niall squeezes your waist gently, pulling you closer as he presses a quick kiss to your temple. “For the record,” he says, glancing at the group, “we’ve decided to start a real relationship. Officially.”

There’s a beat of silence before Louis dramatically claps his hands together. “Finally! Took you long enough! Honestly, I was about to write the vows myself.”

“You would write the vows,” you say, rolling your eyes but laughing despite yourself.

“Better me than Niall,” Louis quips. “He’d just sing them to you.”

“Not a bad idea,” Harry says, grinning. “Actually, Niall, got anything prepared? A little ‘She’s the One’ serenade for the table?”

“Alright, alright, enough,” Niall says, laughing as he pulls out your chair for you. He sits beside you, his hand staying firmly on your knee under the table. “Let the lady eat in peace.”

“Fine,” Louis says, a sly grin on his face. “But just so you know, this isn’t the last you’ve heard of it.”

Breakfast continues in the same lighthearted tone, with jokes flying across the table and occasional references to the infamous photo. But through it all, Niall stays close, his touches gentle and constant—his hand brushing against yours, his knee bumping yours under the table.

And for the first time in a long time, surrounded by laughter and warmth, you feel truly at ease. It’s as if the walls you built around yourself are finally crumbling, and you realise you don’t mind one bit.

#niall horan x reader #niall horan x y/n #niall horan fanfiction #niall x reader #niall horan x you

65 notes · View notes

joelalorian · 19 days ago

Text

Under False Pretenses - Chapter 1

Stepdad!Dave York x f!reader | wc: 1700 | masterlist

Summary: A challenging mission, whirlwind marriage, and unexpected yet captivating stepdaughter push Dave York to the brink as secrets, feelings, and loyalties collide.

Warnings: Overall rating will be Explicit, 18+ mdni. Stepdad trope. Unspecified age gap but I imagine a lil' baby one of about 5 to 8 years. This chapter is a wee lil mellow one and sets the scene, but future ones will include soft, yet sexy and intense Dave; several twists - basically, it will have it all: action, angst, deception, fluff, humor, a puppy(!), and SMUT! No use of y/n. Dave will give reader a nickname based on his perception of her.

AN: I got too excited and decided to post the first chapter. Posting schedule will be somewhere are weekly, give or take a few days. Hope you enjoy and let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list!

Chapter 1:

“Sure, honey. You can come stay for a while,” your mom assured you. She sounded excited even though it wasn’t a call you wanted to make, not at this point in your life, but what other options did you have? “You can see the house and meet your new stepdad!”

Dead air.

The soft glow of you bedside lamp cast long shadows on the room, making the clutter of half-packed boxes look like ominous towers. Your knuckles whitened as you gripped the phone tighter, trying to process her words.

“My new WHAT?” your voice rose toward the end in utter confusion. You didn’t even know your mom was dating anyone, let alone someone serious enough to fucking marry!

“Oh, honey, his name is Dave and you’re just gonna love him,” she replied with a lovesick simper.

You’d never heard her voice do that. She must be really into the guy.

Enough to marry him without even inviting you to the god damn wedding?

She’s still chatting away, explaining how they met – at work – and how it was such a whirlwind romance that they got carried away on a work trip to Vegas and decided to just tie the knot without telling anyone.

Okay. That, actually, didn’t surprise you. Your mom was super smart but could be a total a flake sometimes, leaving you to wonder who the adult was on more than one occasion while growing up. She had you really young and never quite matured.

“That’s great, Mom. I can’t wait to meet him,” you finally replied after twenty minutes of listening to her gush over this Dave guy. “But I’m not calling him Dad.”

She laughed. “Of course not, honey. He’s too young to really be your dad anyway.”

That piqued your interest.

“Oh, oh, oh, you robbin’ the cradle, mama?” you teased. “You’re really living your cougar era, huh?”

“Stop it, you,” she giggled in return. “So, when do you think you’ll get here?”

Conversation went back and forth a little longer as your mom gave you the new address – for fuck’s sake, they moved clear across the state from where you grew up, to a very swanky area at the shore, you noted – and you made a rough itinerary. In reality, you would have loved to just drop everything and get the fuck out of dodge right that minute, but logistics and all that.

“Ok, honey. Be careful and I’ll see you next week. Call if you need anything.” Before she ended the call, your mom added, “I’ll text you Dave’s number as well, so you have it in case of emergencies.

“Sounds good, mama. Love you.”

“Love you more, honey.”

You went back to packing up the remnants of your life, readying yourself for the cross-country journey ahead.

You did not have ‘moving back home at almost 30’ on your bingo card this year, but there you were, pulling into the half-moon driveway of a large colonial home in an upscale neighborhood, one much nicer than where your mom used to live. The house loomed under the late morning sun, its pristine white siding and black shutters stark against the cloudless blue sky. Perfectly trimmed hedges flanked the curved driveway, and somewhere nearby, the faint crash of waves carried on the salty breeze. This Dave guy had a lot of money, it appeared. Parking your little sedan to the far side in front of the 3-car garage, you turned the car off and lingered in the driver’s seat, fingers drumming nervously on the steering wheel.

Normally, you didn’t mind change, but… man, the past month threw some whammies at you. You lost a boyfriend, job, and your loyal goldfish in quick succession. Each loss hit worse than the last. And now, your safe space, the place you needed to return to so you could lick your wounds… also changed. Big time.

The soft tap of a manicured nail on the window startled you, head snapping to the side to see your mom standing in the driveway beaming at you. She bounced on her feet, anxiously waiting for you to get out of the car.

“Honey! It’s so good to see you!” You barely had time to fully stand up before she pulled you into a bone crushing hug. That was another thing about your mom – she was strong. She had lithe muscles packed into her small figure from being a total gym addict.

Too bad that addiction wasn’t hereditary. You hated the gym.

“Hi mama! Marriage looks good on you!” you praised her once you stepped back and took in her glowing, sun-kissed skin, vibrant blonde locks, and the large rock on her hand.

“You look good, too, honey. You losing weight?”

And of course, she honed right in on that. You weren’t even in front of her for five minutes, and she brought up your weight. Story of your life. Your body shape the exact opposite of your, mother’s, she hadn’t let up on nagging you about your weight since you were twelve years old. You were always a bit… thick in places.

“Uh, maybe, I dunno. Come on, show me your new digs.” You quickly changed the subject.

Your mom gives you the grand tour, proudly showing off all the lovely features of the house, focusing heavily on the ones the home you grew up in didn’t have like the huge kitchen, fireplace, pool, and enormous master suite, though she led you away before you could fully explore all that the suite offered. The two other bedrooms were already decorated for little girls, and you quirked a curious eyebrow at your mom.

“Didn’t I mention that Dave has two young daughters?”

No. No, she definitely did not mention that. You rolled your eyes, understanding now why your mom was so eager for you to come home. She wanted a built-in caretaker. You mentally counted down, knowing exactly what she was about to say in three, two, one…

“Actually, now that you’ll be living here, it would be great if you could look after the girls when we have to travel for work or want to go out, help with the school runs during the week.”

It wasn’t a question, you noted. Not that you expected her to ask first or even mention that being a nanny would be part of the deal. Nothing with your mom ever came without a cost. You learned that lesson long ago.

You loved your mom, you really did. Sometimes, she just didn’t make it easy to do so.

“Right. About that… where am I supposed to be staying if all the bedrooms are taken?”

She led you down the stairs to a door off the family room, where another stairway awaited you. “You’re locking me away in the basement?” you joked. “Please tell me it’s at least finished.”

“Just wait until you see it, honey,” your mom promised, and you reluctantly followed her down the steps.

When the lights flicked on, the sight took your breath away. It was like an entire apartment down there. It even had its own private entrance leading to the garage allowing you to come and go as you pleased. “Wow,” you breathed.

“Told ya.” She flashed you a twitchy wink. “You’ll have this whole space to yourself… well, except for that room over there.” She pointed to a closed door equipped with a sturdy lock.

“What’s in there?” you questioned, already curious about the reasoning for such a lock on the door.

“That’s Dave’s office. It’s off limits to everyone but him, so don’t go snooping. Got it?” She pointed a finger at you like you were an errant child, and you raised your hands in surrender.

“Heard you loud and clear, mama. I have no interest in whatever creepy ass skeletons Dave is keeping in his locked office.” Total lie, of course, but your mom didn’t need to know that.

“Good. Get settled in and help yourself to whatever you need. I must head to the office for a bit. Dave should be home at some point, he just had a meeting in town. I’ll pick up the girls from school on my way home if you want to take care of dinner.”

And there it was. You knew there’d be a bigger price to pay for this arrangement, more than occasionally taking care of your new stepsisters. Without a job or any other responsibilities, your mom was going to treat you like free labor. You saw that coming.

You followed your mom upstairs and through the front door as she headed to her car in the garage, and you went for yours. Might as well get unpacked, not like you brought much anyway. It was early still, and you could make a trip to the store for anything you needed before having to worry about dinner.

A few hours later, you stepped back to admire your new living space with a sense of pride. You did everything you could to make it your own, within reason.

With the basement suite basically being a blank slate, you chose a variety of decorative pillows, wall hangings, and chotchkes to give it your own stylistic flair. The furnishings unused and rather plain, you wanted to spice them up with splashes of color. You did everything short of paint the damn walls – and you would have done that too if given the option.

Grateful for a firm mattress with a plush pillowtop, you sprang for the softest satiny sheets you could find in a pale green hue and paired it with a patterned comforter with clean lines. A couple of coastal-themed lamps on the nightstands rounded out the small bedroom.

The bathroom was already decorated with a shower curtain and accessories in soft gray hues, and you wondered if that was Dave’s touch or your mother’s. Probably Dave. Your mom never veered toward subtle furnishings, much preferring patterns and styles that you found garish.

Glancing around at the neat space one last time, you headed upstairs to the kitchen to begin dinner preparations. You wanted to make something special for the first time meeting your stepdad and his daughters.

tbc

Chapter Two

tag list: @imdrinkingpedro @lillaydee @ppascalrain @yorksgirl @missladym1981 @baronessvonglitter @slimybeth69

#stepdad!dave york x f!reader #dave york equalizer 2 #soft yet intense dave #dave york fluff #dave york angst #dave york smut #pedrostories

73 notes · View notes

sosa2imagines · 5 months ago

Text

You, me and Vegas! Part 1

Warnings- Fluff, drunk idiots.

The city of Las Vegas, Nevada is known for its vibrant strip of casinos, hotels, and entertainment venues.

The bright lights, glitzy resorts, and non-stop excitement create an atmosphere that draws people from all walks of life. Whether it's the high-stakes gambling, world-class shows, or luxury dining, Vegas promises an experience unlike any other city.

Bucky Barnes, a man in his mid-thirties, sat at the bar, his steel-blue eyes reflecting the dim lighting of the room. He swirled the glass in front of him, taking a long, slow sip.

His thoughts were heavy, as the recent job loss hung over him like a dark cloud. He was struggling to keep up with the secret and the pressure was mounting.

Bucky's parents, George and Winnifred Barnes, were prominent figures in society, known for their wealth and social standing.

They had always had a clear vision for Bucky's life, meticulously planning out every detail, from his education to his future career. The pressure to meet their expectations had been a constant presence in Bucky's life, casting a long shadow over his own desires and ambitions.

Bucky took another sip of his drink, feeling the liquid burn as it went down his throat. He stared into the amber depths of his glass, his mind racing.

Losing his architect job had left him feeling lost and confused. The stability he had grown accustomed to was suddenly gone, leaving him grasping for purchase in the chaos. He didn't know what the future held, and the uncertainty gnawed at him relentlessly.

Peach, a woman in her early thirties, sat at a table across the room, her sparkling eyes full of mischievousness.

She was a writer, a free spirit who reveled in life's unexpected turns. Clutching a colorful cocktail in her hand, she observed Bucky over the rim, intrigued by his brooding demeanor.

Despite her own financial struggles, Peach harbored an unshakeable optimism. She was determined to push her worries aside and revel in the moment. Tonight, she was in the mood to enjoy the scenery and escape the constraints of everyday life. And something about Bucky's brooding presence caught her attention.

As Peach made her way to the bar, she couldn't help but notice Bucky, his furrowed brow and taut frame drawing her attention.

She took a seat beside him, her laughter bubbling over as she smiled warmly. “Hey there, tough guy…” she teased, her eyes glimmering in the dim light.

Bucky looked up as Peach took the seat beside him, surprised by her easy-going smile. He gave her a sidelong glance, his eyes roaming over her infectious grin. “What's so funny?” he asked, his rough tone softened by curiosity and the buzz of alcohol.

Peach shrugged, still smiling. “You…” she replied bluntly. “You look like you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders. Mind if I lift some of that burden?”

Bucky huffed, his expression a mix of bemusement and irritation. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?” he asked, taking a swig of his drink.

“Well, first, I think we need to get you out of this funk. You can't solve anything by brooding in a dark bar...” she chided gently, flagging down the bartender.

Turning to Bucky, she added, “And then we might just make a plan. What's got you so weighed down, anyway? I’m Y/n by the way, but everyone calls me ‘Peach.’”

Bucky's shoulders sagged, the weight of his worries pressing down on him. He stared into his empty glass, his eyes cloudy with frustration. “I’m James, everyone calls me Bucky and I lost my job.” he confessed, the words heavy on his tongue.

Peach's grin faded, her expression softening into sympathy. “I'm sorry,” she said sincerely. “That must be really tough.”

Bucky nodded, rubbing his face with a weary hand. “It's more than tough. It's... crushing. I thought I had it all figured out, a steady job, a plan. And now... I've got nothing.”

Peach reached a slender hand to rest reassuringly on Bucky's shoulder. “It might feel like that right now, but there's always a way out.” Her voice was gentle yet firm.

Bucky looked up, meeting her earnest gaze. There was a glimmer of hope in those blue depths; a hope that he didn't want to extinguish. “You make it sound so simple.”

Peach laughed, her eyes sparkling. “Loosen up, Bucky! A little too serious for a weeknight, don't you think?”

Bucky glanced at the time, the alcohol making the numbers blurry. He sighed, pushing himself off the stool. “It's getting late.” he mumbled.

“Ah, come on! Don't leave yet...” Peach protested, a hint of disappointment in her tone. “The night's just getting started.”

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, the alcohol making it difficult to focus. “I... I really should go.” he said, his voice rough.

Peach chuckled, her words slightly slurring as the alcohol took its toll. “Why are you such a tight ass?” she teased, leaning a little closer to Bucky. “You're so tense, so uptight. You need to loosen up.”

Bucky bristled at the accusation, his cheeks flushing slightly. “I am not a tight ass!” he protested, the denial coming out a bit louder than he intended.

Peach smiled slyly as she leaned in, her breath hot against Bucky's ear. “Prove it...” she whispered, a challenge in her voice.

Bucky swallowed, his heart thudding a little faster. Her proximity was intoxicating. He took a deep breath, determined to prove her wrong.

Bucky, feeling a sudden rush of determination, signaled the bartender. “Two more shots!” he barked, his voice rough with drunken determination.

Turning to face Peach, he set the shot glasses on the bar between them. “I'm not a tight ass!” he said firmly, meeting her gaze.

Peach smirked, amused by his sudden display. “You're on...” she retorted, raising her shot glass in a mock toast.

They clinked glasses and downed the shots in one swift gulp. The liquid burned as it went down, fuel for the budding rivalry between the two. Bucky slammed his glass down onto the bar, his eyes locked on Peach's.

“Another!” he declared, a hint of challenge in his voice.

Peach raised an eyebrow, impressed by his defiance. “You're braver than I thought.” she teased, flagging down the bartender for another round.

The second shot burned just as much as the first, but with it came a wave of liquid courage. Bucky leaned slightly towards Peach, his inhibitions fading with each shot.

“See? I told you. I'm not uptight...” he said, a cocky grin playing at the corner of his lips.

Peach chuckled, enjoying the change in Bucky's demeanor. “One more to settle this.” she proposed, signaling for yet another shot.

They downed the third shot, the alcohol fueling their banter. Bucky felt the alcohol coursing through him, emboldening his words and movements. He leaned a little closer, meeting Peach's challenging gaze.

“Satisfied yet?” he asked, a cocky smirk on his face.

Peach leaned back, her smirk widening. “Almost...” she confessed, the alcohol making her bolder than usual.

“Almost, huh?” Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow. His heart was pounding now, fueled by the alcohol, the challenge, and the unexpected chemistry between them.

And so, fueled by liquid courage, Bucky ordered another round.

As the night wore on and the alcohol fueled their conversation, Bucky and Peach found themselves sharing more than just drinks. They opened up about their dreams, their disappointments, and the sheer absurdities of life.

The buzz of alcohol in their veins loosened their tongues, and they laughed loudly, feeling lighter than they had in weeks. The weight of their worries faded, replaced by the warm, almost giddy sensation of carefree banter.

With the fresh night air hitting their faces, the laughter doubled. They stumbled out of the bar, the neon-lit streets of Las Vegas a dizzying backdrop to their tipsy giddiness.

The cool night air was a stark contrast to the heated banter and alcohol, but it didn't dull their good mood. They leaned on each other for support, their steps unsteady.

As they weaved through the crowds, Peach grabbed Bucky’s hand. “Let’s do something wild!!!!” she declared. “Something that defies all reason.”

Bucky’s heart raced. “Like what?”

Peach pointed to the 24/7 wedding chapel ahead. “Let’s get married.”

Bucky's eyes widened as he followed her pointed finger towards the wedding chapel. The bright neon sign glowed, advertising the one-stop shop for quickie weddings. He stared at Peach, his mind spinning with the implications of her words.

“You can't be seriousss,” he managed to say, the alcohol making his words slur together.

Peach pulled him towards the chapel, her grip on his hand unwavering. “Oh, I'm dead seriousss…” she replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief and a hint of a drunken bravado.

The chapel was small and cozy, but somehow it added to the charm of the moment. The Elvis impersonator, with his sparkly jumpsuit and greasy pompadour, looked on serenely as Bucky and Peach stumbled towards the altar.

They didn't have rings, witnesses, or even proper clothing, but none of that mattered.

The words of the vows were slurred, and they couldn't keep straight faces, but they were serious in their own way. As they pledged their love, or whatever passed for it in their current drunken state.

Bucky and Peach had never felt more alive.

And as they kissed, “I now pronounce you man and wife,” the Elvis impersonator declared, his voice booming with exaggerated gravitas.

Bucky and Peach looked at each other, eyes wide and filled with laughter and incredulity.

They had done it—they had drunkenly gotten married in a Las Vegas chapel with an Elvis impersonator officiating. It was insane, ridiculous, and the most spontaneous thing either of them had ever done.

Together, they stumbled back into the night, as husband and wife, weaving their own story amid the glittering lights of Las Vegas.

Part 2-

Taglist- @imyourbratzdoll @blackhawkfanatic @ordelixx @sapphirebarnes @ilovetaquitosmmmm

@differenttyphoonwerewolf @vicmc624 @thezombieprostitute @nekoannie-chan @emerald-writes

@redbloodedgurl @cjand10 @chemtrails-club @slutforchrisjamalevans @gracescor3

@ghostlythinggoingaround @princezzjasmine @3xclusivemariii @ephemeral-oasis @zuri-767-666

@geeky-politics-46 @dexter99 @calwitch

@caplanreblogsfics @winterslove1917

@pono-pura-vida @renegadesgirl1991 @iwudbutnah @ghalouha @sebastians-love @saranghaey @greatmistakes @baw1066

@bucks-babe @lolzies123r @lovely-geek

#sebastian stan characters #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #sebastian stan #happy birthday seb #happy birthday sebastian stan #new series

109 notes · View notes