#home painting vancouver

[crestpainting]

Transform your home or business with Crest Painting, Canada's premier house painting company. Our expert team delivers top-notch residential and commercial painting services. Contact us for a free quote!

[sonshinegirlspainting]

Residential Painting Vancouver Island | Sonshine Girls Painting

Sonshine Girls Painting is a trusted name in residential painting Vancouver Island. With years of experience and a team of skilled painters, they offer top-notch services to transform your home interiors and exteriors. Their services include painting, staining, and refinishing for walls, ceilings, decks, and more. They use only high-quality paints and materials to ensure a long-lasting and beautiful finish. From color consultation to prep work, they take care of everything to provide you with a hassle-free experience. Their team is professional, reliable, and courteous, and they take pride in delivering exceptional results. If you're looking for a reliable residential painting service on Vancouver Island, look no further than Sonshine Girls Painting. For more info visit their website.

[emmagibney]

Traditional Garage Vancouver An illustration of a sizable traditional detached two-car garage design

[sapphiccstudies]

Living Room - Beach Style Living Room Living room library - mid-sized coastal open concept light wood floor and brown floor living room library idea with blue walls, a standard fireplace, a brick fireplace and no tv

[fredwkong]

Taking a Trip

Arne was more than excited to visit Vancouver for the first time. Everyone said that he could have easily seen beautiful mountains on a trip to Switzerland, but Arne wanted something a little bit extra inspiring on a continent he had never seen before. His life at home had become a little monotonous at his corporate job, and the dating pool was as unpromising as ever for a shy, reclusive man in his mid-20s.

With his frugal nature, Arne balked at the hotel prices in the city, and quickly found himself looking at short-term rental sites. The prices were, if possible, even worse. Finally, he followed a link to a retro-looking gay room-sharing website and saw an ad that read: “Shared room, accessible, perfect for tourists.” The price was well within Arne’s range, and it was within walking distance of transit. He booked it without a second thought.

It was only as the taxi drove away after dropping Arne and his suitcase on the curb that he had second thoughts. He followed the instructions the owner, Julian, had sent him and went around the small house to the back, where there was an external door to the basement. All around the door were skateboards, leaning on the concrete foundation, each with a unique design painted on its underside. As he knocked, Arne felt a tremor up his spine, like an anticipation of danger.

Before he could react in any way, he heard heavy feet and voices behind the door. With a clunk of the latch, the door swung open to reveal a young man with dark, curly hair and a thin moustache with no shirt on his tanned, muscular body. “What’s up, bro? You must be Arne,” he said in a deep, slow voice, holding out a big hand that engulfed Arne’s, even though they were the same size. “I’m Julian, your host.”

Arne opened his mouth to reply, but he lost his train of thought as an eye-watering stench poured off Julian’s bare, hairy muscles. He almost seemed to steam in the cold air. The smell was a mix of stale sweat, cooking spices, musky body odour, and, over all of it, the stench of weed.

After a moment, as Arne struggled to control the cough that threatened to burst out of him, Julian seemed to realise he was bare from the hips up. “Oh, sorry, bro,” he said, lazily backing away into the basement apartment. “I was, uh, busy.” He chuckled and moved away, grabbing a stained green shirt from an equally stained couch.

Reluctantly, Arne followed Julian through the doorway, and immediately realised that it was not only Julian who stank. The smell permeated the whole space, making Arne lightheaded. He wished that he had thought to bring air freshener in his luggage.

The basement suite was small, with low ceilings. Behind the couch was a counter to delineate the tiled kitchen, while in front of the couch was a low, beat-up table with a bong and other smoking paraphernalia scattered across it. To the side, a couple of doors led to what Arne hoped were the bedrooms and bathroom.

One door banged open, and another guy stumbled out into the living room. With a beanie over his dishevelled hair and his shirt on inside out, it was clear that he had dressed hurriedly. He looked over Arne with bloodshot eyes, his movements clumsy as he pulled on a thin jacket. “Hey man,” he grunted. As the man waved, another scent washed over Arne. This time, the skunk-smell was tempered with dried cum and a tangy, earthy flavour that hit the back of his throat.

“We lost track of time. Omar was just leaving.” At Julian’s gesture, Omar brushed past Arne and out the door. Arne turned to see him grab one of the skateboards leaning against the concrete stairs before the door shut behind him.

Arne was still shaking his head in an attempt to clear out Omar’s stench when Julian grabbed his bag. “In here, dude.”

Julian led Arne back through the door Omar had burst through into a room with two twin beds, exactly as small as Arne had feared. “Obvi, I won’t have guys over while you’re here, bro,” Julian said, handing Arne a spare key. “But if you like, we can always push the beds together for extra sleeping space.” He raised a lascivious eyebrow at Arne.

Blushing furiously, Arne made several aborted gestures. “Uh, no, no, no thank you,” he muttered, his accent thickening.

“Your loss, bro.” Julian raised both his arms to show his hairy armpits, posing as his musk assaulted Arne’s nostrils. “Just tell me if you change your mind, right? If you need me, I’ll prob-ly either be here smoking and painting, or over at the skate park, smoking and skating.”

Chuckling dumbly, Julian left the room. Moments later, while he sat on his bed and trying to work up the courage to leave, Arne’s nose was tickled by a waft of thick, numbing pot smoke.

It was just a few days, Arne reasoned. He’d be out all day anyway. He probably wouldn’t even see Julian that much, even if they did sleep in the same room. Plus, with a quick check of his bank balance, Arne knew that any alternative sleeping arrangements would be utterly impossible.

Arne forced himself to stay out late that night, exploring Davie Street, but his jet-lagged brain forced him back to the basement suite by midnight. Disheartened at the sight of a light on in the tiny ground-level window, he unlocked the door and stepped inside.

Julian was painting a skateboard in the living room, a half-smoked blunt in one hand. Not even the acrid smell of the paints and lacquer could overpower the stench of weed and musk in the tiny space. “Evenin’, bro,” Julian slurred as Arne blinked his eyes and tried to adjust to the thick, musky atmosphere. “Hey, come sit with me.”

“I have to go to sleep,” Arne protested, even as he walked to the spare seat on the couch and lowered himself into it. He remembered that he had resolved earlier not to touch the couch, since it was covered in who knew what kind of stains, but it was already done.

“No worries, this’ll help you sleep, bro,” Julian said, waving away Arne’s excuse with his blunt and then taking a deep pull off of it. He blew a stream of smoke into Arne’s face.

Arne spluttered. “Wh-what the hell!” He’d smoked a few times, but he was hardly a stoner. He could already feel a contact high working its way through his system, loosening his muscles and overwhelming him with sleepiness. For some reason, it also left his body feeling strangely tight.

“What design should I put on this board?” As he spoke, Julian leaned back on the couch and laid his arm across the back. Through the haze in his mind, Arne realised Julian was shirtless again, with musky sweat dripping down his sides from the bushes in his armpits.

Julian was still talking, something about dragons and complementary colours, and Arne just nodded along, too fixated on Julian’s body to care. He had never liked smelly guys, but something about Julian had Arne’s cock flooding his boxers with precum.

As Julian took another hit off his blunt, Arne realised that he could smell the salty tang of his precum in the air. Looking down, he could see a slick, spreading stain on his jeans. How long had he been sitting here? He thought that he should be embarrassed, but working up shame seemed like so much effort. He was so relaxed, sitting here on the couch, breathing in Julian’s sexy musk and clouds of pot smoke.

The rest of the night was a blur. Arne was so tired. He vaguely remembered Julian’s face looming over his, dripping sweat into Arne’s mouth. At some point, Arne thought he must have taken his shirt off because he got so warm and sweaty sitting on the couch. Finally, they had moved to the bedroom, where Julian had kept talking while Arne tried to calm his dripping cock enough to fall asleep.

Arne woke up slowly the next morning, cocooned in the scent of musk and weed. He started to roll over, but realised suddenly that there was a pair of sweaty arms around his chest. One of Julian’s fingers brushed across Arne’s bare nipple, and he moaned uncontrollably as a spark of pleasure shot to his slick, precum-smelling crotch.

His face burning with embarrassment, Arne carefully extricated himself from Julian’s bed and stumbled to the bathroom. He wondered why his body felt strange and top-heavy until he switched on the light. In the mirror, he saw a pair of massive pecs on top of his slender torso, the big nipples erect and pink.

Despite his horror, Arne still found himself feeling oddly horny. Looking further down, he saw an unfamiliar, half-hard cock between his bare legs—he had slept naked!—still leaking thick, clear precum that gathered in big drops before falling to the floor.

There was something seriously wrong with this apartment, and with Julian. Arne struggled to think, but the scent of his precum was quickly filling the little bathroom, making his head foggy. He had to…He had to…He had to touch his fat man tits.

Arne watched in the mirror as he popped his sweaty pecs, and then grabbed them with one hand. Not only were they real, they bounced hypnotically as he kneaded at the muscle. A finger brushed over his pert nipple, and Arne moaned again. His voice sounded strange. A little bit too deep, and slower than he was used to.

Would he feel even better if he pinched his nipple? As Arne went to grab his opposite nip, he struggled to remember what he had been thinking about. It had been something way more important than his bouncing pecs…

The thoughts dissolved as Arne started to tug on his sensitive nipple. He moaned loudly, his legs buckling as jolts of pleasure engulfed his body. The trickle of precum from his cock grew into a continuous stream as he knelt on the bathroom floor, mindlessly tugging on his pecs.

Arne barely noticed the bathroom door open until a pair of strong arms grabbed him under his shoulders and started to haul him to his feet. “No cumming yet, bro,” said Julian’s relaxed drawl next to his ear. “You’re not nearly done yet.”

By the time Julian handed Arne a plate of poptarts, Arne’s horniness had mostly faded back to a low hum, which spiked at the scent of Julian’s unwashed armpits. Arne wondered if he should feel embarrassed to be sat, naked, on Julian’s couch, his insistent cock still slowly leaking tangy precum onto the seat.

“Yesterday was a lot for you, huh bro?” Julian said through a mouthful of poptart. “I bet you just wanna stay here and hang out with me all day.”

Arne frowned. He was supposed to go to the suspension bridge today…No, that sounded like a lot of work. He’d much rather hang out with Julian. He had no idea why he’d thought Julian was gross or uncool. His smell was utterly intoxicating.

“What were you planning to do today?” Arne asked, after he’d eaten a few bites.

Julian shrugged, shedding runnels of sweat from his pits. “I was gonna go to the skate park and hang with some bros, but you need me more, bro.”

“What do you mean?” Arne was independent! He didn’t need Julian around! But it did feel nice to have someone hot and manly like Julian looking out for him, he realised.

“You can’t be left alone right now, bro.” Julian had finished his breakfast, and started to set up the bong on the coffee table. “So we’re gonna hang out, I’m gonna smoke, and then you’re gonna help me with some boards.”

Before long, Arne was floating comfortably, a little stoned from how much smoke billowed out of Julian’s sexy mouth. Julian got to work painting a skateboard, but after a few minutes he turned to look at Arne, a strange smile on his face.

“Come over and help me, bro.”

When Arne slid down to the floor next to Julian, his host raised one tanned, muscular arm. “I’m so sweaty, bro,” Julian said. Arne agreed, watching a rivulet of sweat emerge from the dark hair in Julian’s armpit, adding to the heady musk in the room. “If you could just, like, lick it up for me, I’ll be able to focus so much better.”

Arne frowned. That didn’t seem like it would help at all. But before he could protest, he felt a strong hand on the back of his head, and Julian was pushing him into his musky armpit.

The smell overpowered any of his protests. Julian’s musk was baked into his skin, and taking it straight from the source was far more intense than smelling him at range. The smell of sweat filled Arne’s mind, and he started to lick and suck at Julian’s armpit hair without realising it. The rank taste filled his mouth and trickled down his throat, and Arne felt his leaky cock start to flow again. He couldn’t imagine anything hotter than this. As Julian kept painting, he moaned whenever Arne’s tongue pushed against an especially sensitive spot.

As he laved his tongue over Julian’s tight belly button a while later—time didn’t really matter—Arne started to feel itchy all over his body. As he ran a hand over his arms, he felt the resistance of thick hair. All over his body, Arne felt long hair growing. Before long, his precum didn’t even fall onto the skin of his hairy thighs, it just got lost in the hair.

With his new fur, Arne found himself sweating at least as much as Julian in the heat of the little room. When Julian took a break from painting to grab some lunch, Arne noticed a new smell filling the air. He was emitting his own flavour of musk now, like Julian’s, but with a bit more of a richness to it from the precum dripping between his legs. He couldn’t help but give his armpits a sniff, licking up what he could reach of his own taste.

Julian returned and grinned at Arne. “Damn, bro, you’re almost ready.”

“What?” Arne looked up at Julian. It felt like he was seeing through a thick haze. It was so hard to think. He had to get outside and get some fresh air. But where were his clothes?

Julian held out a brownie for Arne. “Here, bro, this’ll help that brain of yours along. It’s my special blend.” He winked a dark eye, and Arne obediently took a bite of the brownie from Julian’s hand.

While Julian got back to his painting, Arne felt himself feeling slowly, but insistently, hornier. From licking up the sweat at the top of Julian’s back, he moved lower and lower, until he was licking at the very top of Julian’s musky asscrack. His cock felt iron-hard and huge against his thigh, a continuous stream of precum trickling into his sweaty leg hair.

Julian groaned. “Oh, bro, if you’re gonna get in there, let’s do it for real.” Putting the freshly finished board aside, Julian rose to his feet and pulled Arne up as well.

Arne felt so tall. The floor was so far away. All he could see was his hairy belly and thick, drippy cock as he followed Julian through the door to the bedroom. Then, all he could see was Julian, lying on his back with his legs hooked over Arne’s hairy shoulders. At last, Arne was back in a place that made sense, looking into Julian’s asscrack, licking up the musky sweat on his firm cheeks.

As his tongue dove into Julian’s hole, Arne remembered the first time they had skateboarded together. With his natural musk, it was hard for Arne to make friends with other skaters, but Julian had skated right up to him and invited him back to his place.

As he lined his cock up with Julian and rubbed his copious precum over the shaft, Arne remembered growing up in Vancouver. Dealing weed had been fun before legalisation, but now his job at the dispensary was pretty easy. Arne spent most of his time perfecting his skating tricks or smoking up with Julian or their other musky skater friends.

As he thrust against Julian’s prostate and felt the smaller man begin to tighten around him and cum, Arne remembered how much he loved his buddies. He was the big guy of the group, with his big, hairy muscles and fat, leaky cock. He wasn’t much of a thinker, but he’d do anything for Julian and his bros.

With that thought, Arne felt his balls tighten against him as he unloaded a huge, creamy load in Julian’s ass. As he shuddered, collapsing on top of his bro, there was a knock at the door.

“Fuuuuuck, that’s my next guest,” Julian groaned, whining a little as Arne pulled out. In addition to selling custom skateboards, Julian made extra cash by renting part of his room to gay tourists. Arne loved Julian’s musky, pot-smelling basement, so he thought that sharing the space a bit more was a great idea.

Julian pulled a pair of relatively clean sweatpants up his legs and wiped the worst of his cum off his chest with one of the shirts on the floor. “Just grab some clothes, bro,” he said over his shoulder as he shut the door behind himself.

As he pulled on his XL sweatpants and grabbed his hoodie, Arne listened to Julian introducing himself to this new guy. “What’s up, bro? You must be Yadu. I’m Julian, your host.” The spiel sounded strangely familiar. Careful to leave the hoodie unzipped so he wouldn’t stimulate his oversensitive nipples, and careless of Julian's cum slowly drying in his chest hair, Arne crammed a beanie over his hair and stepped into the living room.

A shrimpy African guy was looking in horror at the room, a small suitcase hanging from his weedy arm. Arne waved at him, and the guy looked like he was about to gag as a wave of Arne’s thick, precummy musk washed over him.

“Sorry, bro, we lost track of time.” Julian was pulling on a shirt in the kitchen. “Arne was just leaving.”

Nodding to Julian, Arne brushed past Yadu and headed out the door, grabbing his skateboard from where it was leaning against the wall. He had to go meet up with Omar at the skate park anyway.

This story is a belated holiday gift for @rakurairagnarok! Here's to a very sexy, transformative new year, my friend ;)

[aliaology]

ANYTHING || 800 followers special! <3

SUMMARY: its all just you and jack — 1.3k words

WARNINGS: slight fighting

PAIRING: jack hughes x fem hughes!

you started dating jack when you were seventeen. it was nerve racking for your teen self— especially since he was your first real relationship. not any situationship or incredibly long talking stage, but a full on labeled relationship. boyfriend and girlfriend.

no one truly believed you two would make it, not at first at least. you were the shy girl at school, the cliche smart student who sat in class and didn’t talk much, but got perfect grades. jack was the cliche jock, known for how incredibly good he was at hockey, and the fact his brother was in the NHL.

seriously, the thought of the shy girl, and athletic popular boy was one no one thought of. it really never would have happened if it wasn’t for the fact some of jack’s teammates wanted to go watch the girls volleyball game. you were in the stands, watching your best friend play; excited for spring because it would be you playing a game and her watching.

the stands were full of students, parents and staff. the game was a big one; senior night. the only open area was the row behind you in the student section. you adorned your best friends away jersey, and even had cute face paint dots of your school colors. thats when jack saw you. as he stepped up onto the stands with his team to get to the open spot, he saw your pretty smile and glasses.

of course, jack stared. he thought you were really pretty, and you looked nice as well. you didn’t have a resting bitch face, but instead a resting smile. you looked sweet. so, he took the opportunity when it arrived and moved to the (now) open seat next to you. from there, he got your number and your name.

after that small interaction, and the moment he got home, he texted you. his teeth showing as he smiled looking down at his phone, seeing the chat bubble pop up. the light illuminated his face, the texts reflecting in his eyes. you practically had him twirling his hair. he found you to be incredibly funny— and really pretty.

he found himself texting you every night, every day. and you found yourself responding each and every time. after an awfully long while of talking, you took the next step and asked him out to the movies. you bit your thumb as you texted him— worried about rejection. but the worry was wiped away when he immediately responded with a yes. he found it very attractive you made the first move.

the day of the first date was the day you had your first ever make out. sitting in his car, leaning over the center console. your hand on his neck, his hand on your cheek. you grew scared he’d stop talking to you after that night, but instead it drew him closer. he wouldn’t let you be— and you liked that.

meeting his parents was scary— especially on christmas. he met your parents on thanksgiving, that was three months after you made it official. now it was four months and it was christmas eve. you were on his porch with a few gifts in your hand— you got one for everyone in his family even after he assured you that you didn’t need to.

the door opened and jacks smiling face was the first thing you saw. you loved his smile so much— it made your lips twitched upwards. he pulled you inside and quickly introduced you to his entire family, even quinn who came back from vancouver.

you believed you won them over as soon as you handed them your gifts for them. they were small things, but ones you believed they’d like after talking long and hard to jack about it. you got fifteen year old luke the new nhl game for his xbox— one he’d been whining about wanting. you gave jim a signed bruins puck— one bobby orr signed. you wouldn’t tell him how it ruined your bank account to get.

quinn definitely liked you when he saw how you were with his brother, but he liked you more when he opened his gift to find a small golden bracelet with the number fourty three on it. ellen opened her gift to see a pretty gold necklace, with a locket. you had jack send you baby pictures, so you put one of the three boys on it. to say you made a good impression was an understatement.

they all definitely liked you then, but they really liked you when they saw the way jack looked at you. the way he looked at you as he opened his gift— eyes wide in excitement as he jumped up before hugging you— lifting you in the air. you knew he was a leafs fan, but you didn’t expect that for his reaction. you should’ve, knowing how expensive front row tickets were to these games.

when you tried to get home, jack tried to get you to stay. you were going to fight his words, but his mother insisted, so you did. you stayed for dinner. you talked to everyone, and slowly you became apart of their family. their big and happy family.

you and jack had your first major disagreement when you were both twenty. you went to school in boston, aiming to get your bachelors in physical therapy. jack was all the way in new jersey, and though not too far, you still didn’t get to see him as often.

you guys called every night, but they were becoming less frequent as he began going out with his teammates more. more clubs, more bars. you worried. so you communicated with him, you told him your worries. thats where the fighting started. after three days of no contact, you somehow found yourself in his car.

all of your stuff was in the back and you were on your way back to newark. your head was propped against the door, eyes shut. you two hadn’t truly made up, but he came and got you anyways. his hand was on your thigh, his eyes were on the road. you slept, and it stayed silent.

you officially made up when you made it to his place safely. him apologizing in more ways than one to do his best to show you there truly was no one else. you cried a lot during the talk, your head in his lap as your tears fell onto his pants. but he didn’t care, he just let you rest there, and he let you let it all out.

your favorite part of the apology was when you lied in bed with him. your bodies entwined and tangled in the sheets. your head on his chest, listening to him breathe, to his heart beating. listening to him move. his hands rubbed up and down slowly on your sides.

you didn’t want to talk. you didn’t want to talk about anyone, or anything. you just wanted to lay here.

you finally moved in with him when you were twenty-two. somehow— fifteen year old luke turned to twenty year old luke and he was there as well. you living with jack turned into your favorite thing ever. you were awoken with small kisses to your lips— and if he was one a roadie, you were awoke to kisses on the cheek by the dog you adopted with him.

you got to kiss him whenever and wherever you wanted. you got to kiss his forehead, his temple, his cheek, his lips, all of him. you got to have him. small delicate kisses to his eyes were his favorite.

his favorite thing about you living with him was also how easily you made it all feel like home. even with just the sound of your footsteps.

i love happy cute fics

[theemporium]

Blues lagoon, number 15 with Quinn Hughes pleaseeee 🩵

decided to put this in the quinn x luke's bff!reader universe👀thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

15. "You heard that?"

series masterlist

.

The trip to spend the long weekend in Vancouver had been a spur of the moment decision. 

You only had one class in the morning on Thursday. Your next class wasn’t actually until next Wednesday. And most of your friends were either heading back home or having their parents visit them on campus. But with your parents swamped at work and no other plans in place, you thought it would be the perfect excuse to go visit Quinn when you had the chance. 

Since his impromptu visit during the first month of college, neither of you had the chance to see the other in person. You missed him. He missed you. There were worse time differences out there but it was still a little difficult to navigate the long distance relationship thing. 

You thought he would be happy to see you. 

You thought he had been missing you just as badly, that he had been craving to spend that honeymoon phase of your relationship together. 

You realised you were wrong when you showed up to his apartment, suitcase in tow as you used the hidden spare key to let you in—only to overhear Quinn talking to Elias in the living room. 

“I don’t know, it’s just…she’s young, you know?” 

“She is the same age as Luke.” 

“Exactly! She’s Luke’s best friend. I shouldn’t…I don’t know. Maybe this whole thing is a mistake. What if it gets messy? What if it’s not worth it?” 

“Quinn—” 

“She’s still young and in college and maybe this is just a small fling to her. Maybe the excitement will just wear off for her, I don’t know.” 

The door clicking shut behind you seemed to finally catch the boy’s attention as his head snapped around, his eyes widening when he saw you standing by the entrance of his apartment with your suitcase in one hand a bouquet of flowers you picked up at the airport in the other.

“You really think of me like that? That I’m some dumb college kid who doesn’t know what she wants?” You spoke, your voice soft and raw and, fuck, it made Quinn’s heart shatter a little. 

He quickly stood up, shaking his head. “Baby, it wasn’t like that—” 

“No, you just don’t know if it’s worth it though,” you snapped back, unable to help yourself. Even if the wince painted across his face didn’t give you the satisfaction you wanted. 

Quinn gulped a little. “You heard that?” 

“Yeah, I fucking did,” you muttered before shoving the bouquet of flowers against his chest before turning back around. “This was a mistake, I’m sorry.” 

Quinn took a step forward, reaching for your wrist. “Babe, wait—”

“I should have just headed to Jersey,” you said as you pulled your wrist from his hold, your eyes blank and cold. “At least I know a Hughes brother who would have at least appreciated me there.” 

He couldn’t even find the words to speak as he watched you leave his apartment, a flurry of emotions washing over him before he let out a string of curses. 

“You fucked up,” Elias spoke from behind him.

“I know,” Quinn gritted through clenched teeth.

“Well, if she’s worth it—”

“She is,” he said quickly. “She is fucking worth it, okay? I’m going to fix it.”

.

[featherandferns]

daylight - one

jj maybank x fem!reader | part 1 of the daylight series | read prologue here

content warnings: none

word count: 3.5k.

blurb: when your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere, a stranger stops to help. It isn't until later that you realise why he seems so familiar.

It’s dusk, around eight at night, when you’re driving home. The dying sunlight is compensated by sparse street lamps. There weren’t many people in this area: houses or shops or anything of the sort. You glance down at your satnav. Still new to the area, all the streets look the same. All the houses do too, for that matter - at least those on the Cut. You’d ventured into Figure Eight last week on foot, camera in hand, and promptly turned back around. The Kooks were far from inviting; eyed you up like bait, practically snarling under breath at the sight of you. The houses were huge, stupid things compared to the two bedroom shack you and your parents had moved into. No, the Cut felt more welcoming. The people were genuine and real. Friendly and helpful, even if they had an edge.

“So…” Your friend Mimsy’s voice through the hands-free speakerphone brings you out of your daydreams. “How is it? Found any hot surfer bros yet?”

You laugh. “Sorry to break your heart but no, not yet.”

“Girl! What the hell have you been doing?” Mimsy scolds. 

“I’ve been busy!”

“With what? Wallowing in self pity? Pining after my company?”

“Oh my God, how did you know?” you sarcastically return. “My life is just empty without you around, Mimsy.”

“Damn straight it is,” she mumbles. 

Rolling your eyes, you continue down the street. “I’m looking for a side hustle to get some extra cash.”

“God, you’re so boring sometimes, you know that?”

You snigger. “How else do you want me to afford flights to Vancouver? It’s my only way to get back there and see you again. Unless you want me to hitchhike.”

“Nuh-uh! I just listened to the craziest story about hitchhiking! It's this guy called the ‘Glove Guy’ who roams Halifax and–”

“Mimsy,” you interrupt, “what’s our agreement?”

She’s quiet a moment, sighs and says, “one true crime story a day.”

“Mhm. And didn’t we already talk about Ted Bundy?”

“...yes.”

“I rest my case,” you say. 

“Look, I’m just saying that if you have to get a job, maybe try and be the official photographer for the lifeguards or something.”

“Mimsy…”

“Then you can ogle at hot guys all day, catch a tan and get paid for it!”

Through Mimsy’s chatter and your stifled laughter, the engine makes a troubling rumble. With that, the whole car shudders. The steering wheel shivers in your grip and your stomach drops, panic rising. Smoke pummels out the hood. Clouds your vision. 

“Oh fuck!”

“What? What is it?”

“I gotta call you back!” you blurt, hanging up in a hurry.

You take a fleeting glance in the mirrors and swerve off the road, shutting off the engine. The smoke makes you cough, catching in your lungs. 

“Oh shit! Oh shit!” you continue to cuss, grabbing your phone, scrambling to get your keys out the ignition. Swinging the door open, you throw yourself out of the car and run away, scared it might catch on fire or even explode. 

As you gape at it, chest heaving, you’re relieved to see the smoke is dying down with the engine shut off. Sighing, you plant your hands on your hips and look up and down. Nobody. Nothing. Not a gas station or a shop you can dash in for help. Hell, any shops would probably be closed either way. You reply to Mimsy’s frantic texts with a brief explanation and then contemplate calling your parents. Before you can, the sound of another car approaching catches your attention. It’s a campervan. Brown paint which is mostly chipped and peeling; stickers decorate the sides and windows. It’s well-loved and well-worn. There’s a guy driving, about your age from the looks, and he’s slowing down at the sight of you and your abandoned car.

He pulls up. Your skin prickles nervously. It’s lonely around here. The engine shuts off and you watch as he jumps out the car and saunters over, hands in his short pockets. 

“You a’right?”

“Yeah,” you lie.

He quirks a brow and glances at your still steaming vehicle. “You sure ‘bout that?”

“I, uh,” you follow his line of sight and flail your arm uselessly at it. “Well, no. I kinda broke down.”

“Ah.” He wanders over to your car and whistles. “She’s smokin’, huh?”

“Yeah,” you nervously laugh, following. You keep a comfortable distance between the two of you. 

He heads to the car hood. Glancing at you, he asks, “you mind?” whilst gesturing down to it. You shrug yes. He pops the hood and laughs through his coughs, fanning his face free of the smoke. 

“Goddamn. The hell happened?”

“I don’t know. It just blew up on me out of nowhere,” you reply, coming over. 

He pulls a rag out of one of his pockets and wafts it over the engine. As he checks out the engine, you do the same to him.

Donned in a grey t-shirt, graphic decal on the back mostly faded, and a pair of black cargo shorts and boots, he looks the image of Kildare County. His dark blonde hair is kept under a red cap. It’s fraying on the lip. A shark tooth necklace hangs around his neck, rings decorate a few of his fingers, and several string and beaded bracelets adorn his left hand. He’s good looking, even in the low visibility of the night. There’s also something strangely familiar about him. Almost like you’ve seen him before. 

He meddles with something, nodding. You snap your eyes back up to his face from his well-kept figure just in time as he looks at you. “It’s the radiator. Seems to have overheated or detached or some shit. I mean, whatever happened has completely busted the thing.”

You raise your brows. “That supposed to mean something to me?”

Laughing, he shrugs and gestures at the mechanics. “In simple terms? The thing’s a goner. You’re gonna need a new part on it.”

“So I can’t drive it?”

“Nope. Not ‘til you get it fixed,” he replies. 

You pinch the bridge of your nose and exhale deeply. “Fucking great.”

“I mean, there’s a garage not far from here. They’ll probably fix her up for you no problem. Have her good to go for Tuesday.”

“Tuesday!? I thought you said it just needs a new part?”

He takes off his cap, revealing a head of messy hair. Raking a hand through it, he says, “well, yeah, but you’re gonna need the part first. They might have to order it in and stuff.”

“Well, great,” you grumble. You pace away from the car and take your frustrations out by kicking the tyre. “That’s just great.”

“Look, if you want I can give you a tow.” Looking at him, he shrugs. “The garage ain’t far so it’ll be fine to take it using the Twinkie.”

“The who?”

He laughs at himself, shaking his head. “Sorry, uh, that’s what we call the campervan.”

“Oh. Right.”

You look around and take in the situation. It’s dark, isolated, and your phone is on 5% (thanks for that, Mimsy). Calling insurance and a tow company is only going to bump up your bill. Besides, this guy seems genuine. Non-threatening. You can practically hear Mimsy screaming at you from across the continent: so was Ted Bundy! Eyeing him up, you assure yourself you could probably take him if you really had to, and trust your female intuition and gut. 

“Alright. Only if it’s close.”

“It is, I swear. I know the owner, Barry," he says. He pulls out his phone and types something on the screen. Then, he approaches with maps open, showing the garage. It’s true: it is nearby. Ten minutes max. “I mean, if you prefer I can just call you a tow or a cab or something.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” you say. You close the hood shut and shake your head, laughing. “Can’t believe my Goddamn luck.”

The guy laughs too. In your peripheral, you see him extend a hand to you. “I’m JJ.”

Shaking his hand, you introduce yourself. Then the two of you spend the next five or so minutes sorting out attaching your car to his van. He does most of the heavy lifting, almost jumping at the chance to flex his strength (not that you were complaining) and you do as he asks. Fasten this here; steer this whilst I push. Eventually, you’re good to go. He offers you the front or the back and you opt for the front. Mimsy is probably having an aneurysm about now. 

The campervan smells of weed, damp and a dying air freshener. The front seats are red leather. It’s soft and supple and comfortable, and you hitch a leg up and rest one arm on the window ledge, watching the world pass by as JJ drives. The radio is humming out a Mac Miller song and it fills the semi-awkward silence. 

“So, what’s with the accent?” JJ asks. 

“What’d you mean?”

“I mean, you ain’t from round here, right?” JJ asks, glancing between yourself and the road. 

Smiling, you reply, “Yeah, I’m not.”

“Where you from then? Midwest? East Coast?”

“Vancouver.”

“Vancouver? As in Canada Vancouver?” JJ checks, eyes growing wide. 

You laugh quietly and nod. “Yep. As in Canada Vancouver.”

“God damn. You’re pretty far from home,” he laughs. 

“Well, not anymore,” you reply, voice turning sombre. “We moved here.”

“In May? Pretty shitty time to move.”

“Tell me about it,” you mumble, looking back out the window. It hadn’t been your idea. In fact, you’d protested loudly against it. 

“So, how you finding Kildare so far? Wait, scratch that - how you finding North Carolina?”

“Um…alright. You guys have pretty good waves here and the weed’s pretty good so at least there’s that.”

“Now you’re speaking my language,” JJ grins.

You laugh at that, feeling yourself relax more and more as the conversation continues. “Yeah, I think it’s the only thing getting me through.”

Love Lost fills the quiet that comes. You glance at JJ. He drives with one hand on the wheel, holding it by the top in his fist. The streetlamps sneak through the windows and highlight his features in flashes. And it’s in one of those flashes, when his handsome profile is illuminated, that you suddenly realise why you recognise him. 

The kegger. 

You quickly look away. Your eyes grow wide. Did he recognise you? Did he even remember that? 

“I heard Vancouver’s pretty as fuck though,” JJ says, unaware of your quiet panic. “Pretty gorgeous scenery and shit, right?”

“Mhm,” you hum, heart ticking nervously. “You ever been?”

“Nah. Never left the States before.”

“Not even Canada?”

“Too far,” he shrugs. “Couldn’t dish out that kinda cash.”

“I hear you,” you say. “My friend Mimsy really wants me to go back this summer but I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to make enough in time to afford flights and stuff.”

“That blows,” JJ mumbles. 

The conversation comes to a natural close when the garage comes into sight. Its neon sign shines bright in the dark like the beacon of a lighthouse. JJ pulls in and shuts off the engine. You linger in the car a moment to catch your breath whilst he looks at unhooking the tow gear. 

It doesn’t seem he remembered you or that mortifying moment at the kegger. At least, if he did, he’s acting like he didn’t. So…That’s good, right? You can just move past the whole thing. Besides, it’s not like you were doing anything that weird. You took plenty of pictures that night (though everyone else was in pairs or groups) and it was a public get-together. It wasn’t like you were halfway up a tree and peeping through his window. 

You jump at the sound of rapping on the passenger window. JJ’s stood there, frowning in confusion. 

“You comin’?”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah,” you mumble, unbuckling your seatbelt and climbing out the van. You follow him into the shop. 

A burly man sits behind the counter. He’s watching a sports game on a crackling television, drinking a beer shamelessly on the job. At the sound of the bell chiming above the door, he glances over. He seems to recognise JJ. 

“Hey, Barry,” JJ grins. 

“Hey there, kid,” Barry's gruff voice returns. 

They share a bro-style hug and you awkwardly side by him near the counter. JJ plants a friendly hand on your shoulder.

“My friend here had her radiator blow-up on her just now. She needs it fixing up stat. Any chance you could get a push on it?”

“Just the radiator?” Barry checks, glancing between yourself and JJ. 

JJ nods. “Yes, sir. I checked it out and it’s just overheated or some crap. A new one and I swear it’ll be good as new.”

“Hm…” Barry contemplates. He glances at the clock and the sports game and cringes. “I don’t know, kid. It’s late and I’ve had a long day. It’s a lot of extra work that I could just get done tomorrow.”

“Oh, come on, Barry,” JJ argues cordially. “How many times have me and my old man helped you out?”

“Your old man stole fifty bucks from me,” Barry grunts. 

Your eyes dart down to the floor, lips pursing. Yikes. 

JJ falters for only a moment. “Alright, well, forget that then. How many times have I helped out? I mean, I’ll pick up a shift or two if you want? Get you some new parts or something?”

Barry sighs. He looks to you again and you smile politely, hoping your nerves don’t show. He’s a scary looking guy. He could probably crush you with one fist. Both his arms are covered in sleeves of tattoos. He’s missing several teeth and there’s a teardrop tattooed below his left eye. 

“She’s new to the County,” JJ feels the need to add. “Gotta show some good hospitality, right?”

With that, Barry relents. He gets to his feet and trudges to the window to eye up your car. 

“What kinda car is it?”

You tell him, reeling off as much information as you can recall. He nods, back to you, and sighs again. 

“Well, I think I do got a part back here for that, actually. I ain’t making any promises though,” Barry says. He heads into the back with that, leaving you and JJ in the store. The moment the older man is out of sight, JJ grins at you. 

“Am I good or what?”

“Why are you helping me so much?” you find yourself asking. 

JJ seems surprised by the question but not offended. “Dunno, really. You seem nice. And I always kinda wanted to be a knight in shining armour.”

“So that makes me, what? The damsel in distress?” you joke. 

He paces the store leisurely, eyeing up car parts and accessories. “Suppose so. You’re from a far away land so you’re already half way there.”

You laugh. Glancing around the store, you find yourself drawn to the pinboard behind the counter. It’s cluttered with posters, deals, business cards, receipts, reminders and a calendar. Amidst it is pictures and thank you notes from children. One picture catches your eye. It’s of Barry, a few years younger, with a little girl. 

“She’s cute,” you smile. 

JJ joins you and follows your gaze. He smiles too, though it seems sad. “Yeah, that was his kid. She died about a year back now.”

“Wait, really?” you frown. 

Sighing, JJ nods and looks to you. “Freak car accident. Poor kid drowned. Her mom too. Lost his wife and kid in the same day.”

“Shit,” you whisper, looking back at the photo. Your heart tugs at the thought and you feel guilty for judging him by his cover. You had your problems with your parents but you couldn’t imagine them gone from your life. 

Barry returns to the store, car part in hand. JJ clasps his hands and tosses them above his head. 

“Barry, you fucking g.”

“Alright. Alright, don’t kiss my ass too much, Maybank,” Barry quips. He heads for the door. “There’s soda in the fridge. You kids help yourself.”

With that, he grabs his toolkit and heads out to your car. JJ doesn’t need to be told twice. Whilst you feel rude for intruding on this man’s evening, JJ is happy to revel in the hospitality. He tosses a can at you before grabbing one for himself. You follow him out the back. The light from the store overflows onto the sheltered concrete. There’s two plastic garden chairs back here with a busy ashtray on the floor. JJ relaxes in one of the seats and you copy. 

“You known Barry long?”

“Him and my dad go way back,” JJ replies, sipping his soda. “I used to come here all the time as a kid.”

“Sounds like they’re not on great terms right now, huh?” you say. 

JJ sips his drink and shrugs, looking out to the abyss of greenery surrounding the garage. “Pretty standard for my dad. Kinda his M.O.”

You get the feeling that you hit a sensitive spot. Sipping your soda, you switch topics. 

“So what do you guys do for fun around here, then?”

“Surf. Fish. Smoke,” JJ lists. “Sometimes we go to a kegger at the beach and stuff. You been to one yet?”

You wonder if he’s trying to rat you out but when you look at him, you see no sign. “Yeah, I went to one. I didn’t stick around very long though. Didn’t know anyone and felt kinda awkward.”

“That’s fair,” JJ says. He pulls a vape out of his pocket and takes a hit, and it’s like the nicotine gives him an idea. He turns to you, renewed energy. “Oh shit! You should come with my lot!”

“Hm?”

“My friends. You’d get along great with them, swear down,” JJ tells you. “You fish?”

“I can but I don’t exactly relish the opportunity.”

“Alright, well, that’s gonna change,” JJ says, making you laugh. “You surf too, right?”

“Mhm,” you nod. Vancouver had a good surf scene. You and Mimsy used to spend hours on the beach and in the waves, although part of the appeal for your friend was the surfer bros. They were her kryptonite. 

“Well, it’s settled. You’re coming to the next hang we have,” JJ tells you with a grin.

He relaxes back in his chair and takes another hit of his vape. It smells like blue raspberry. As you watch him, you find yourself laughing. 

“Alright, seriously,” you say. “Why the hell are you being so nice to me?”

“I told you: you seem nice.”

“Okay, but seriously,” you repeat. 

JJ studies his vape for a moment and a knowing smile comes to his face. Chuckling, he sighs and relents, looking back to you. “Alright. You’re fuckin' hot. Sue me.”

You bark out a laugh. JJ cracks up too. 

“What!? You asked!”

“No, no, I did,” you laugh, catching your breath. “That’s fair. I had that coming.”

“It’s just like you’re exactly my type. Kinda freaky really,” JJ continues. It seems that now the cat is out of the bag, he might as well let it roam free. “Like you’re smokin' hot and you surf and shit. And you got a dope accent, it's kinda exotic.”

“Since when was Canada exotic?” you laugh, rolling your eyes. 

JJ shrugs with a boyish grin. His eyes stay trained on you. “I dunno. Since I met you, I guess.”

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t affected. JJ’s attraction hadn’t passed you by and, in truth, he was just your type as well. Confidence that borders on cocky: handy and hunky, but not in a steroid-style way…Maybe Mimsy wasn’t the only one who had a thing for surfer boys. To cool yourself from the intensity of his gaze, you take a sip of your soda. 

“I just weren’t gonna say anything cause, you know, I didn’t wanna freak you out,” JJ admits. 

“Freak me out? How so?”

“Random guy, random area. Alone?” he replies. Sheepish, he shrugs. “Might be kinda creepy.”

You catch his drift. Shrugging, you flash him a smile. “Nah, you didn’t freak me out. You’re not too bad to look at yourself.”

“Gee, don’t hold back,” JJ sarcastically returns. You laugh. “Look, you ain’t gotta say anythin' about it. I think you should still come hang with me and my friends, whether you’re madly in love with me or not.”

“Wow, are you confident?” you chuckle incredulously. 

JJ grins. “Charming, ain’t it?”

“One word for it,” you return. You debate his offer and come to a conclusion pretty quick. Lord knows you could do with some friends, and if his gang were anything like himself, you could see yourself getting along just fine. “But yeah, I’d be down to hang with you and your friends.”

“Sweet.” JJ holds his can out for a toast. “Then let me be the first to say, welcome to Kildare.”

You clink your can against his with a small laugh and the two of you drink. Maybe your new life won’t be as boring as you first thought. 

read part two here!

taglist:

princesssuki21 |

[eyesthatroll]

my love, mine all mine | quinn hughes

pairing: qh43 x fem!reader

warning(s): kissing, established relationship, nothing else i think. barely edited

summary: a lil somethin’ i wrote while listening to my love mine all mine by mitski

word count: 1.5k

author’s note: i am the most tired i have ever been right now and i have to get up in an hour or two for a ten hour shift 😔 but i hope you enjoy this lil number, it’s my first time writing for quinn n i hope i did alright. as usual, sending my love. go canucks! —mari

Yawning softly, you nestled yourself deeper into Quinn's warm embrace, allowing your eyelids to gently shut as you turned your back to the crackling fire. The animated conversation among the boys continued, the sound providing a soothing backdrop to the peaceful moment. Quinn's right hand moved in soothing circles on your back, while his other hand held onto a half-finished beer, the cool glass a stark contrast to the warmth you found in his arms.

During the sporadic lulls in the conversation, the mellowness of country music, Jack's choice, enveloped the space. The soulful chords of "Tennessee Whiskey" by Chris Stapleton, dominating the atmosphere. As you rested against Quinn's comforting presence, he quietly hummed along with the song, his voice adding a subtle layer to the music just low enough for only you to hear. Your fingers aimlessly toyed with the drawstring of his gray sweatpants, a futile effort to battle the creeping fatigue that had been amplified by the day's events. You were determined not to squander the night by retiring early, as the impending end of summer loomed overhead, casting a bittersweet shadow as it heralded the departure of everyone you loved, including your boyfriend of nine months.

Lowering his head, Quinn tenderly places a kiss on your forehead, his affectionate gesture infused with fondness and adoration. His hushed voice carries a gentle suggestion as he speaks to you, "Why don't you go up to bed, Baby-Doll?"

In response, you lightly shake your head, brushing aside his words. "I'm okay."

He doesn't press further, recognizing that your decision to head to bed will likely come only when he joins you. Nevertheless, he doesn't mind this compromise. Every moment in your embrace is precious to him, particularly with the imminent knowledge that in a week, he'll be heading back to Vancouver while you remain here. He keeps his inner turmoil hidden, unwilling to burden you with his feelings, but the strain of a long-distance relationship is slowly taking a toll. With your final year of university on the horizon, he hopes that you might consider moving to Vancouver with him, yet he's well aware of the magnitude of that request and the challenge it poses to both of you, so he's yet to bring it up.

Quinn spends the next twenty minutes or so caught in his head, his thoughts consumed by you and the possible future you might share. He absentmindedly nods at whatever topics the boys are discussing, their voices blending into a background hum as he drifts through his contemplations. In his mind, he envisions the two of you sharing a home, the two of you building a family together, and he can't help but smile at the idea, even if it remains unsaid in the midst of the casual banter.

"What do you think, Q?" Trevor asks, raising a beer to Quinn from across the flickering fire pit, where the warm glow dances in the darkness.

Quinn blinks, momentarily drawn from his reverie. "Huh?"

The group shares a collective chuckle, their laughter adding to the background melody of the evening. "Another beer, you want one?" Josh offers, extending a cold bottle towards Quinn.

A sudden hush fell over the group as they waited for his answer, emphasizing the gentle, rhythmic snores that escaped your lips. You looked utterly enchanting, cocooned in an old, oversized Michigan sweater of his, your delicate features half-hidden beneath your tousled curls. The dancing firelight painted your silhouette with warm, flickering hues, casting a soft, otherworldly glow around you.

In that poignant moment, as he looked down at you, all Quinn yearned for was to steal you away to your shared room. Just the two of you, wrapped in the comforting embrace of the warm duvet. He offered a tired smile. "No, actually, gonna call it for the night." The murmured words sounded like a gentle promise to both himself and the alluring vision before him.

You had always been a notoriously light sleeper, a trait Quinn found endearing. It was, therefore, a genuine surprise to him that you didn't stir the moment he scooped you into his arms and began carrying you into the house. However, as he carefully closed the screen door behind him, its echo resonated through the stillness of the house, and you stirred to consciousness. Blinking your eyes open, an expression of confusion graced your features as you tried to make sense of your surroundings. Your voice, soft and laden with sleep, slipped through your lips. "Quinn?"

"Goin' to bed, Baby-Doll," Quinn replies simply, his gaze momentarily fixated on you before he turns his attention to the path ahead, ensuring a safe ascent up the stairs with you in his arms.

He gently sets you down on the bed, and you flop back dramatically, savoring the comforting embrace of the sheets against your back, releasing a contented moan. Quinn chuckles at your playful display, beginning to shed his day clothes. And as much as you admired his physique, you spring out of bed, heading towards the en-suite bathroom, your intention to quickly wash your face and brush your teeth.

Soft footsteps echo through the bathroom as Quinn follows you inside, his tall and muscular frame comfortably settled in nothing but his boxers. The intimate setting feels soothing, and he joins you at the sink, standing side by side as you begin to brush your teeth.

You sneak a peek at him from the corner of your eye, and a playful glint in your eyes prompts you to initiate a playful toothpaste battle. Quinn's eyes widen as you start flicking tiny drops of toothpaste toward him, and he quickly retaliates, with laughter filling the room. Soon, both of you are playfully dueling with your toothbrushes, smirking and giggling like teenagers.

After the impromptu skirmish, Quinn doesn't put up any resistance when you give him your best puppy-dog eyes and plead for the privilege of conducting your nighttime skincare routine on him.

A comfortable silence envelops you both, the bathroom's soft lighting casting a warm, intimate glow. Perched on the bathroom counter, you have Quinn standing between your legs, your feet just barely wrapped around him. With gentle motions, you apply moisturizer to his flushed skin, your fingers caressing his cheeks with care.

Quinn's gaze is fixed on you, his eyes locked onto your face with an intensity that doesn't go unnoticed. As you work the moisturizer into his skin, you can't help but sense a subtle tension in his furrowed brows, a hint that something might be bothering him. You break the tranquil silence, your teeth grazing over your bottom lip, a nervous habit surfacing. "Are you okay?" You ask, your voice tender with concern, your eyes searching his for answers.

His response comes swiftly, as if he's been waiting for the right moment to share his thoughts. "You graduate this year," Quinn replies, his voice carrying a mixture of pride and a touch of uncertainty.

Your smile beams at him, and you gently place your hands on his strong shoulders, a gesture of reassurance. "I do," you affirm with a nod.

Quinn lets out a deep, contemplative breath, his hand instinctively moving up to run through his unruly, dark brown hair. His lips part and close a couple of times, as if he's grappling with the words he wants to convey, caught in a moment of indecision.

Your sudden, sweet kiss catches him off guard, his initial surprise giving way to a warm, affectionate response. Before he can fully process the gesture, you've already withdrawn, leaving a subtle, bashful grin dancing on your lips. "What's on your mind, My Love?"

He exhales another sigh, his tongue moistening his lower lip in contemplation before he voices his admittance. "I can't stand this long-distance thing."

Your lips contort into a pained frown, and an instinctive retreat pushes you further away from him, your back connecting with the mirror's cool surface. "Are you breaking up with me?" Your voice quivers at the fear of Quinn ending things so suddenly.

His eyes widen in alarm, a rapid motion closing the gap between you as he firmly grasps your waist, pulling you back into his comforting proximity. "No, no, baby, I'm not saying that at all." He emphasizes with a reassuring tone.

Relief floods your entire being, a soothing balm to your anxieties as the erratic thud of your heart settles back into its regular rhythm.

"What would you think about moving in with me, in Vancouver after you graduate?" His head tilts to the side, a distressed look on his face as tries to gage your reaction.

You crush your lips against his once more, the fervor of your kiss matching the intensity of your emotions. A delighted grin creeps across his face as your hands weave their way into his hair. Your mouths mold together in a harmonious dance, each movement executed in perfect synchronization. A subtle exploration ensues as you lightly trace your tongue across his bottom lip, coaxing it between your teeth, which elicits a throaty moan from him. With his defenses down, he grants you access, and your tongues engage in a sensual tango, his fingers pressing into your side involuntarily.

Breathlessly, you break apart from him. "I thought you'd never ask."

[slafkovskys]

soft weekend thought of one of the boys waking up angel to watch the sunrise on the lake

quinn wakes up and the bed beside him is empty, which usually would be no big deal, but this wasn’t just any morning. this was their first morning back in michigan after being eliminated from the playoffs and getting all of the things packed up from his apartment in vancouver.

truly, he loves angel more than anything, but not being in bed at 5:30am on their first official day a summer is a crime in his book. especially since he knows that jack will be all bright eyed and bushy tailed in the next few hours and steal her away from him.

so it’s with a sigh that he tosses the comforter off of his body, pulls on a pair of sweatpants and treks out into the hall in search for their girl. thankfully a sideways glance out of the back door shows a pair of legs thrown over the arm of the newest addition to the fire pit. not a bright red like the one meant to resemble jack’s jersey, but more of a maroon with a small pair of angel wings painted at the top parked right in the middle of luke’s and quinn’s lawn chairs, and he’s not surprised to find her in it.

“‘s early,” his voice is groggy when he speaks and she doesn’t even act startled at his sudden appearance. she sends him a small smile and gets up, sending him an expectant look that causes him to drop down in his own canucks blue chair with a sigh, opening his arms for the girl. she tucks herself in his lap and he waist no time in slipping his hand underneath her t-shirt, letting his fingers toy with the hem of her boyshorts, “couldn’t sleep?”

“slept fine,” she rests a hand on his forearm as her head falls onto his shoulder, “just wanted to watch the sun come up.”

quinn hums, not arguing or pretending to understand what suddenly had angel wanting to watch sunsets, but he takes in this time with her. finger lightly scratching at her thigh, he allows himself to focus on the dock at the edge of the water where it wasn’t even a year ago all of this started. this time last year he could think about moments like this with her, think about pulling her in for a kiss whenever he so pleased and now here they were.

almost a year down and she’s got her own chair around the fire pit and quinn doesn’t want to picture a day without her.

her voice pulls him out of his own thoughts. it’s quiet, but he holds onto every word, “i’m glad that we’re home.”

and that’s the first time that she’s referred to the lake house as ‘home.’ not just ‘the boys house’ or ‘the lake house.’ no, this time it was like she was including it as her own, which neither quinn nor his brothers would argue about.

“yeah?” quinn can’t help the grin that takes over his face. it’s almost picturesque how the sun chooses that moment to breakout over the horizon and quinn ducks his head down to press a kiss to her shoulder, “i’m glad that you’re home, too.”

send in your requests for soft thoughts weekend 🦋

[sunnyskiesscareme]

Quinn Hughes x fem!reader

Summary: Quinn makes it up to his girlfriend after a date gone wrong. Quinn Hughes x reader

Warnings: NSFW 18+, smut, mdni

Notes: This is my first time posting smut. Please be kind. Also, I hate proofreading so much

Y/n’s boots sloshed with rain as she stepped through the front door, frowning at the mat that did very little to stop the muck from getting on their clean floors. She took them off, cringing when she stepped on the wet ends of her jeans that were just too big for her. Anything for fashion.

She pulled her pants higher up her waist and tugged her wet socks off. Quinn kissed her forehead apologetically when she sat on the bench in their entrance way.

“I don’t wanna spend the rest of our date night cleaning the floors.” He whined, sitting down next to her. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, uncaring how her wet hair stuck to his neck.

“It’s not too bad,” she said. As long as their shoes stayed where they were at the door, the rest of the floors wouldn’t get as dirty. “Hasn’t been much of a date night anyway.”

Quinn frowned. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

He truly had nothing to be sorry for. It wasn’t his fault that the date night had gone so terribly so fast. They’d both known about the little check-up doctors appointment he had booked for that afternoon, they just hadn’t known about the bad accident that had happened on the highway and the traffic it had caused- paired with Vancouvers usual crazy traffic.

They hadn’t known that you had to be less than 5 minutes late to keep your reservation at this fancy, stuck-up restaurant. Quinn didn’t take a liking to the man at the front, who looked at Y/n for a little too long in all the wrong places. They got kicked out quickly.

They didn’t know it was going to rain, not bothering to check the weather beforehand as they had assumed they would be under the roof of an expensive restaurant, instead of walking around the whole night.

Quinn knew how long his girlfriend had taken to get ready, getting dolled up and styling her hair in bouncy curls, only for them to go flat when they got wet. He panicked when he saw the dark mascara smudging her cheeks, and only slightly relaxed when she assured him it was just the rain.

They didn’t know they’d have to get home so early, so they had let one of Quinn’s teammates borrow his car for the night with the promise that he’d drive them home afterwards. That had all fallen out of place, and they made do with an Uber that took forever to find them.

She shook her head at him with a reassuring smile. “Not your fault. I’m just glad we had a night together at all. Busy times lately.”

Her drying hair had begun to frizz up, and Quinn tried to smooth it with his hand. He had no luck with that and tucked it behind her ear instead. “I know…” he muttered, giving her painted lips a quick kiss.

She stood to remove her jacket and Quinn followed to help her. He hung it up when it was off and pulled her close to him, his palm splayed on her lower back as she fiddled with the chain around his neck.

"You’re so pretty," he said, his index finger under her chin, tilting her head to look up at him. Three simple words, which she heard from him every day, and she still felt weak in her knees. She fell into him, burying her pink face into his white t-shirt. She put no effort into keeping herself upright- he was there to catch her if she fell, he was there to hold her.

"Don't hide, baby." His words were muffled against the top of her head, getting lost in her hair. He pressed a kiss there and sighed when the scent of her lavender shampoo hit his nose. "Look at me."

Y/n tilted her head, following his order, but her cheek stayed smushed against his chest, and Quinn gave her a smile. God, she loved that smile. She wished he showed it to the world a little more often. He brought one hand to her neck, petting the soft skin under her jaw, and his other palm splayed against her back under her shirt. She giggled when the thin fabric tickled her spine.

"Come sit with me," he said, already making his way to the couch. He kept her pressed against him as he walked, giving her no chance to decline- not that she'd ever want to. The walk was short, and though she couldn't see from where she pressed against his chest, she knew they had made it when she felt him move his hands to the back of her thighs, picking her up and falling backward onto the cushion. She straddled his thighs and lifted her head to press light kisses along his neck, starting at the collar of his shirt and ending just below his ear. Quinn leaned back with a shaky sigh, giving her hip a squeeze when she shifted on his lap.

She felt shuffling from underneath her, but only stopped nibbling his ear when she heard the tv turn on behind her. She pulled away from him and pushed his arm back down from where it hung beside her, turning the volume higher. "Am I boring you, or?" she asked with furrowed brows.

"No baby," he assured, his hand running up and down her waist. His lips quirked, "Just makin' sure the neighbors don't hear what I'm hoping you're planning on doin' with me here."

She snorted but didn't say anything back, squeezing both of his cheeks and pressing a smiley kiss to his puckered lips. His right hand traveled under her shirt again, and his fingers tickled her spine as he tried to unclasp her bra. She pulled away again when she felt his lips stop moving against hers. She giggled at the concentration laced in his features, his eyes still closed. "Need some help back there?"

"No," he declined quickly. "I've got it." He huffed when he pulled on the clasp for what he estimated was the 6th time, cursing when it, again, didnt give. Y/n wouldve felt bad at the defeated expression on his face before he moved to look at it behind her if she didnt find it so endearing. "The hell?"

Y/n laughed. "It's new."

Quinn let out a breath when he finally got it undone and Y/n laughed harder. "Just fuckin' kiss me." he huffed, leaning back again and pulling her in to crash his lips against hers. He slipped his fingers under the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head, taking that goddamn bra with it and throwing it away as far as he could. Y/n gasped at the sound of a crash behind her, and whipped her head around to see an old vase shattered on the wood floors, her shirt and bra bundled on top. "The fuck is wrong with me?" he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut in frustration.

She chuckled and pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek. "Aw, sweetheart. I think it's cute how clumsy I make you." She pressed another kiss to his cheek when he threw his head back with an embarrassed whine. Then another. Then another. "We'll clean it later. We’re a bit preoccupied at the moment."

She kissed his lips this time, smiling when he regained enough confidence to bring his hand back up to smooth over her ribs, the tips of his thumbs brushing against her breasts. She whined when he swiped his tongue against her bottom lip, his strong hand gently cupping her breast. She felt a wave of adoration for the man, her heart swelling at how tender he always was with her. "I love you."

His other hand swiped some stray hair away from her eyes, breathing hot air onto her lips, "I love you so much baby,” he suddenly flipped her, so she was the one sitting on the soft cushion and knelt in front of her. “Lemme show you just how much.”

Both of his arms wrapped around her waist as he pulled her to the edge of the seat. He held her in a hug for a moment before pressing wet kisses to the insides of her breasts. She ran her fingers through his hair and he looked up at her through his long lashes, and she swore she had never seen a more beautiful thing.

A thumb brushed against her nipple and she breathed when it peaked. He trailed more kisses down her middle in a straight line and hooked his fingers into the waistband of her jeans. She lifted her hips for him to pull them off and squeezed her thighs when she was fully bare. He grabbed one of her knees in each hand and stroked the tops with his thumbs, urging them open.

“Quinny-” she cut herself off with a gasp when he nipped the inside of her thigh. He soothed the skin with his tongue. “Quinny, this isn’t fair.”

He looked up at her with raised brows. “What’s not fair?”

“This.” She said, and suddenly she was fisting the fabric of his t-shirt right at his collar, and he grinned. “This needs to go.”

“Anything you want, baby.” He stayed knelt in between her legs on the ground in front of her as he tugged his shirt above his head. His grin grew wider when he felt her lean forward and urge the fabric off faster. Y/n rolled her eyes fondly when he placed the shirt neatly on the coffee table behind him, making sure no more vases were harmed.

She flattened her palms on his toned chest and strong shoulders for a brief moment before he dove back into her thighs, and despite wanted to pet and stroke him a little longer, she didn’t put up much of a fight. Not that she could when his kisses were growing more heated and trailing closer and closer to her core. She squeezed his head with her thighs when he poked at her clit with his tongue, but he made no move to stop her.

Her ankles crossed behind his head, and he stroked her pussy with his index underneath her. He groaned at the slick. He brought his other hand up to grope at her breasts. “You enjoying yourself?”

“Does it feel like it?” She managed to breath out, only failing at keeping her voice steady.

“Yes.”

“That’s ‘cause I am.” She moaned, tugging harshly on his hair, then smoothing it out because she thought she might have pulled too hard. That didn’t seem to be the case, however, when he sucked on her clit and slipped a finger inside her with a groan, the sound sending shivers through her entire body.

She pushed her hips further into his face, surprising herself with how that was even possible, and moaned again when he flexed his knuckle inside her.

His knees started to ache, ground hard against the wooden floor, fingers deep in her cunt for what he was sure were the most enjoyable few minutes of his life. It took everything in him to stop just before she came, wanting to see her come undone on his fingers, but wanting to see her come undone on his cock even more. He cooed at her when she whined, picking himself up to press a loving, wet kiss on her temple. He held her hands for a moment before bringing them to his waistband, knowing that giving her the honours of undressing him would cheer her up.

It did, and she pulled his pants down eagerly. She subconsciously bit her bottom lip when she saw his shaft stand proud against his pelvis, and Quinn grabbed her chin and forced her to look up at him. “Do I tell you enough how fucking sexy you are? ‘Cause I’ll happily do it more.”

His fingers slid across her jaw as she replied with a cheeky grin, “You say it plenty, but it wouldn’t hurt to hear even more.”

He kissed her, hard. She moaned when his tongue flicked against her own- her lips were sure to still be swollen from this kiss tomorrow morning. He shuddered when she gripped him, rubbing the slick from his tip all over with her thumb. He cursed and grabbed the underside of her knee, throwing it up so her ankle rested on his shoulder. He put his hand on her own and helped her guide his cock into her, slowly and gently pushing further as she adjusted.

“Shit, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.” She admitted when he finally bottomed out.

He leaned close to her, their foreheads almost touching when he softly caressed her cheek with his thumb. “You okay, baby?”

“Perfectly!” She nodded quickly. “You’re just so big.”

“Fuck, honey,” he breathed, letting his head fall into the crook of her neck. “You can’t say shit like that. Gonna make me cum already.”

She giggled. “Sorry.”

He pressed kisses to her shoulder, his thrusts slow and purposeful. She stroked the hair at the nape of his neck, pretty moans leaving her lips. She let her other hand wander over his strong shoulders, and she giggled when he nuzzled into her neck in response, the hair of his beard tickling her skin.

“God, Quinn, don’t you ever shave again.” She said, somewhere in between pleading and demanding.

“What? You into mountain men?” He teased, and a sudden dark red flushed her cheeks knowing he could be so deep inside her and still make her laugh.

“That’s what trims are for.”

He lifted his head up to kiss her, straightening his spine and moving faster. Small whimpers turned to loud, guttural moans when she reached down to toy with her own clit for a moment.

He brought her right leg up to mirror her left on his shoulder, gripping her thighs as he pounded her. His eyes roamed her body underneath him and had to close his eyes for a moment to stop from cumming at the sight of her breasts bouncing in time with his thrusts. It did little to help him, the scene replaying in his mind over and over again, and he became sloppy with his movements. Desperate not to finish before her and ruin their not-so-perfect night for good, he replaced her fingers with his own, rubbing harsh shapes on her clit again. His head dipped as far as it could without completely folding her in half to suck bruises into her collarbone.

She threw her head back with a cry, and warned him of what was to come.

“Let go baby, c’mon, cum all over my cock,” he urged, and groaned when he felt her tight squeeze. “Shit,” he stuttered out. It only took a few more thrusts after her to finish, and he stayed slumped on top of her even when he finally stilled.

She brought her shaky legs down from his shoulders and wrapped them around his waist, letting him fall into her further. She twirled her fingers through his dark hair, lightly scratching his scalp as their breathing returned to normal. She sighed, “Date night worked out after all.”

[starry-hughes]

baby’s first christmas (quinn hughes)

day 20 of star’s ficmas

sawyer tkachuk x quinn hughes (au)

Sawyer Tkachuk and Quinn Hughes were tied together by an invisible string. It probably tied them together long before they met, long before Quinn made friends with Brady Tkachuk, and long before the two realized they were in love.

Sawyer hadn’t found passion in hockey like her family did. She’d rather paint her brothers on the ice, not be on the ice. The sad part about it all, was that she wasn’t always met with support. Quinn once showed up to an art show when no one else did. He was always there.

The two had eloped, Ellen Hughes being the sole witness. They didn’t need anything big or special, just them. Sawyer’s family felt a bit upset that they weren’t in attendance but Sawyer didn’t care. She was happy and that’s what mattered.

Months after the wedding, Sawyer was pregnant. And then the couple spent their New Years Eve in the hospital, thirty minutes before January 1st, they welcomed Poppy into the world. Watching the fireworks from the window as they soaked in their first hours with their daughter.

Poppy was almost a year old when Christmas came around. Sawyer was a bit sad that Poppy wasn’t a baby for the holiday, but she was still excited to have Poppy to celebrate with.

Quinn had put the tree together before leaving for morning skate. When he came home, there were ornaments decorating the tree. Poppy hadn’t mastered walking yet but she sure did know how to pull herself up on things. Out of fear for injury, Sawyer had put a baby gate around the tree, just in case Poppy wanted to try using the Christmas tree to pull herself up.

“Hi my girls,” Quinn greeted as he entered the living room. Poppy happily crawled over to her dad before he picked her up. “Hi bubba, did you help mommy decorate?”

“Daddy has to help to put up the star, right Pop?”

Sawyer happily watched, videoing as Quinn held Poppy on his hip and lifted the star to the top of the tree. “Yay Poppy!” Quinn cheered as if the baby did all the hard work.

Colorful lights illuminated the room as How the Grinch Stole Christmas played on the TV. Due to the fact that the Canucks played the day before Christmas Eve, the three of them would be spending Christmas in Vancouver. Poppy had her pacifier in her mouth, sleeping peacefully halfway through the movie. “I’m going to put her down,” Sawyer whispered to Quinn, who was almost asleep.

On Christmas Eve, Poppy had been good. She sat happily through mandatory phone calls with both her grandparents and uncles and aunts. “Is Santa visiting you tonight Pop?” Matthew Tkachuk cooed over the phone, resulting in a quick nod from Poppy.

Poppy had tried yanking down her own stocking but was stopped by Quinn who placed her in air jail until she stopped her fake crying. “I think someone is ready for bed,” Quinn said.

Sawyer sat with Poppy in her arms, Quinn next to them with a book, The Night Before Christmas. “‘Twas the night before Christmas…” Quinn started.

In her Christmas pajamas and her favorite pacifier, Poppy rested in her crib. As soon as she was asleep, Quinn and Sawyer worked to get all the gifts wrapped and under the tree. Quinn shoved cookies into his mouth and made sure to leave crumbs from Santa. “Quinn,” Sawyer began as she wrapped a drum set Luke was insistent on getting Poppy, “she’s going to be almost two years old next Christmas.”

“She’ll still be our baby.”

Quinn was awoken by soft babbling emitting from the baby monitor. He rolled over, kissing and waking Sawyer. “Merry Christmas,” he mumbled. Sawyer happily retrieved Poppy from crib, Poppy’s full head of hair was curly and messy. “Look Poppy! Santa came!”

[letsgetrowdy43]

Honey’s Tattoo Tour—

Au Masterlist!!

I was thinking a little bit about Honey, and I was like imagine how sick it would be if she just had all these cute tattoos littered all over her skin!!

So here’s a little tattoo tour for her!!

For the most part, her tattoos all have important meanings to her, it started as just a little fun and cute thing, but the more she worked with artists in the Vancouver area the more she realized the sort of art behind it!!

A little added piece of information is that Quinn normally has a strong dislike for tattoos, but the look of Honey with tattoos has his knees weak! They are all just so pretty, and a little sexy, that he has no choice but to love them, plus some of them hold such importance in their relationship and he just adores them!

Her first ever tattoo was the lyric “Honey, there is no right way” from Hozier's song ‘Someone New’ that she got in her senior year of high school on the inside of her right arm just a few days before she graduated. The song is a reflection on the complexity of love and the human desire for connection, which at the time was something Honey was just out of reach of. It highlights the need to find a love that brings meaning to one's life and at this specific time in her life, she deeply resonated with wanting to find that one.

She didn't get her second tattoo until her final year of university, during a break with Quinn. The tattoo is a black and white depiction of Sir John Millais' "Ophelia." Being the angst teenager she was, she felt a deep connection with the character Ophelia from William Shakespeare's play "Hamlet". Ophelia's emotional vulnerability and her descent into madness felt very personal to Honey when she was at the ripe age of 16 (dramatic as shit... but she is so me), the character embodies the fear of losing oneself in the face of overwhelming emotions such as love and anger all the while dealing with external pressures. It was definitely an ode to her younger self but also resonated with the 20-year-old version of herself who was trying to navigate the break with the love of her life. aren't we all just a deeply disturbed teenage girl at heart :)  

Her third tattoo happened a few weeks into the summer of 2021, just after her University graduation. She had just gotten back together with Quinn and moved her entire life to Canada to be with him, and now she was beginning to build her media marketing portfolio by taking some shots for a tattoo and piercing shop in downtown Vancouver. The artist she had been doing shoots with and helping to manage their websites offered to do a tattoo for her at a discounted price if she ever wanted. She ended up getting leaves on her hip bones, it was her first really impulsive tattoo and one of the most painful, but she was obsessed with the outcome. They don't hold any significant meaning to her, but they really boosted her confidence and Quinn was absolutely obsessed with them when she surprised him with them, so she really loves them.

Her fourth tattoo was the big piece on her back, she reached out to an artist who specializes in floral and colour tattoos and commissioned a piece that was in homage to paintings her mother made when she was a child. Her mother used to paint these intricate floral pieces to hang up around the house, and eventually, every extended family member in her family had a signature piece in their home. Honey was gifted the one that hung in her grandmother's lake house just after she passed, and she hung it up in hers and Quinn's room at the Michigan Lake house. She got it tattooed on her back a year later (around Warren's first birthday) so she could always have a piece of her grandma and her mother at her at all times!

Her fifth tattoo was one she got during All-Star week a few years after both Hayden and Warren were born. It was the first time they were kid-free in a long while, and while he and the other all-stars were doing media for Bauer and other league activities, the girls went out for the day. One of the other wives suggested getting tattoos. Initially, she got a simple "43" on her sternum, following the trend of other wives and girlfriends getting their partner's numbers. However, she ended up really liking the artist's line work and asked if she could get a full piece done before flying back to Vancouver. The artist had availability the next day and managed to fit Honey into her schedule before the skills competition. She ended up getting a lunar moth just beneath the "43," starting on her sternum and dipping down to span her abdomen. The tattoo was an homage to their first summer as a married couple, a summer where everywhere they seemed to go lunar moths followed them. Quinn finds it incredibly sexy, thinking it makes her boobs look even more perfect (which he didn't know was humanly possible), and he couldn't stop kissing it once it healed.

Her final tattoo was one she got when Maeve was around 3, Hayden was 8, and Warren was 10. It was a collaborative piece by all her kids: Maeve drew the basic shapes of the flowers, Hayden added the details, and Warren contributed the fine lines. This tattoo is a little piece of her babies and their childhood, etched onto her forever. It's probably her favourite piece because it means the most to her.

-

-

[aliaology]

hi!! could i request a social media au where hughes!sister is a type of gracie abrams type singer and then she releases ‘dear john’ and i hate to say it but the non taylor’s version JUST for the fact that taylor’s voice is younger👍

but yeah if you can please do that it would be great but if you can’t that’s okay🫶🏻🫶🏻

btw your new quinn fic ATE😁😁

ofc babe!! and ty 🤭🤭🤭

this is not apart of my older sister!hughes au! this is all younger sister 🤍

do stream taylors version, but for this we are using the old one just for her young voice!!

hughes.yn

liked by jackhughes, trevorzegras and 387,736 others

hughes.yn hi everyone!! over the past few months, ive been radio silent to everyone, including my own family, and all for personal reasons that i felt i had to go through on my own. here right now, is the first time anyone has heard from me for awhile now. im here to announce that ive made another song! and its currently out now on all streaming platforms!

the song is called ‘dear john’ and i honestly put all of my raw emotions into it. i went through a lot these past months and singing, producing and overall making this song has helped me immensely.

i love you all. especially my brothers and my parents, all to the moon and back.

p.s im sorry this song isnt like my other ones. i took the even sadder root and dug to my core for this one.

comments

user OH MY GOD??

user her voice is HEAVENLY.

user LITERALLY

trevorzegras LIL HUGHES OH MY GOD.

trevorzegras im actually in shock cut it out

trevorzegras look at lil hughes go 🥹🥹

user no bc this song so perfectly shows how denial feels. how she immediately felt like whoever the boy was, was her soulmate, but ultimately wasn’t but she kept denying it. how shes finally accepting everything after realizing it wasn’t real.

user bro made it even MORE sad.

jackhughes come home please

jackhughes and tell me who tf did this shit

jackhughes i’ll literally bust his fucking face in ❤️

user protective jack 🔛🔝

user THIS IS SO SAD NOOOOOOO

user this is so lyrically genius for a nineteen year old, im actually in shock

gracieabrams gorgeous girl this is so good 🤍

user YOU ARE AN EXPERT AT SORRY AND KEEPING LINES BLURRY

lhughes_06 bub come home and tell us who did this

_quinnhughes ❤️❤️ proud of you kid

hughes.yn

liked by markestapa, edwards.73 and 276,287 others

hughes.yn you burnt me out, but he lit my flame right back up 🤍

comments

user WHO WHAT WHEN WHERE WHY

user it should be me… holding your hand 😞

user dramatic ass

jackhughes happy ur happy sissy 🤍

user why does she not reply to comments?

user is she obligated to or sumn? hop off her dick

lhughes_06 still so upset abt this

edwards.73 you lied and you know it

lhughes_06 i know 😞

markestapa ❤️

user MARk?

user shes happy… so im happy… 🥹😭

_quinnhughes great, now come to vancouver!

user he paints her skies blue and keeps them clear 🥹🥹

liked by author, markestapa and 726 others

elblue6 so proud of you sweet girl 🤍

user i love the entire hughes family.

user SHES MINE NOOOOOO

okay so idk how i feel abt it but i hope u like pookie

tags (perm!) @hockeyboysarehot (text or wtvr if u wanna be added babes!)

[fiapartridge]

quinn x oona | how they met pt. 1! 🚙🌃✨

author's note: this is like kinda how they met??? like when they first saw each other, but they haven't learned each other's names yet, you know???? anyways hope u enjoy their little universe! send in asks for this au!

Who has a party at 2:56 AM on a Tuesday in the middle of February? Stupid ass people, that’s who, and Oona was ready to blast a hole through the wall that connected her living room to the apartment beside it. Honest to God, the only thing that was stopping her from going full-on Hulk on that piece of thin fiber cement was, well, the landlord and her roommate, Grace Castellan (Gracie to everyone who knows her, and ‘that one talkative white girl’ to everyone who didn’t).

Oona met Gracie in her first year at NYU. They were in their Intro to Theatre Studies class when Gracie talked up the ear of anyone in a 10-mile radius of her, and the only person who didn’t mind and actually enjoyed Gracie’s endless tangent of how blackholes are somehow exactly like the Kardashians’ reality show, was Oona. They sat next to each other for the rest of the semester, and once they graduated college, they decided to move back to their home city of Vancouver, Canada where, coincidentally, they both were from, using this time to audition for roles and hopefully land themselves a part that will guarantee them a ticket to Hollywood, or at least a ticket back to New York (rent is hard to manage there when you’re living off of small commercial roles and hand modeling gigs).

As Oona sat on her living room couch, a snoring Gracie and her long pajama-covered (they have unicorns on them) legs were limp across Oona as she tried to push her tired limbs off and slip towards the door without making a peep. But, much to Oona’s sheer luck (she isn’t a very lucky girl), a peep was made and there Gracie was, sitting up in so much alarm you would think that an intruder just busted through the door and screamed at her to put her hands up.

“I DON’T HAVE ANYTHING! OONA HAS MONEY STORED IN HER UNDERWEAR DRAWER! PLEASE DON’T KILL US!” Gracie screamed, still half-asleep and disoriented.

Oona groaned, lightly slapping Gracie’s cheek. “No one’s here, you psycho. I’m just getting up to go somewhere.”

Gracie peeled her eyes open, brushing her messy hair with the tips of her pink-and-white-painted fingernails. “Where are you going at,” she took a moment to check the Apple watch on her wrist. “2:56 AM?”

Oona walked closer to the door, slipping on a pair of Uggs and tying her hair into a messy bun, pulling out strands to frame her face correctly. “Do you not hear that? They’re louder than your brother was at that time we went to the mall and he was screaming at you to buy him that ugly RC car.”

Gracie shivered. “I’ve gotten a lot of weird looks in my lifetime, but those 40 year old women in the toy aisle of Sears? I still get chills.”

“See? Now I’m going to go over there and make them wish they never even moved here.”

Gracie rolled her eyes. “No way. The last time you said something like that, you ended up being the one apologizing. You’re the biggest pushover I have ever met.”

Oona scoffed. “Am not! I just—”

“Want everyone to like you,” Gracie interrupted. She was right. Gracie was always right when it came to Oona, but Oona would never admit that. She was a people pleaser, but who was that hurting? If she said yes to everything and if she was nice to everyone, then no one was sad and no one got what they didn’t want. Well, except for Oona.

Sighing, she said, “I’m just gonna go talk to them. Maybe they’ll come to their senses.”

Gracie laughed, tilting her head back slightly. “Yeah, right. I saw them on the elevator last week; they’re hockey douchebags to the max.”

“They can’t be that bad.”

“They’re having a party at almost 3 AM, if you combined every player on that team, they would probably make up one brain cell, and I can smell the beer from here, but yeah, sure they’re great people.”

“Fine, fine,” Oona huffed. “But I’m still gonna talk to them. Maybe they’ll change,” she smiled, a too optimistic smile for a dire-looking situation. Because who ever heard of a hockey player changing his ways? No one, that’s who.

Opening the door, Oona walked the small five steps over to the neighboring apartment. She knocked once, twice, three times, even. Nothing. The blaring music must’ve drowned out her pounding knocks. Just as she was about to go in for a fourth, the door opened and her body quickly went with it. 

“Woah there,” a voice echoed through her ears, holding her body up as his hands softly gripped her arms. She stumbled back, landing on her two feet and managing to stay vertical despite the embarrassment rushing through her cheeks and the small little voice in her brain telling her to get the hell out of there immediately. 

The man standing in front of her was tall, taller than anyone she knew, and he had short blonde hair and the clearest green eyes she had ever seen. He had an accent that she wasn’t too familiar with. German maybe? Or possibly Swedish? 

“Um, do you live here?” she asked, tapping her nails against the metal frame of the door. And looking beyond the tall Swedish man, she could tell that it wasn’t much of a party, but a hangout. More tall men were lingering in the living room, beers in hand and potato chips spilled on every counter. On the center island in the kitchen lay an abandoned plate of celery and carrots, most likely a tribute to their strict hockey diets that apparently no one was following.

He shook his head.

“Okay,” she talked slowly. “Um, do you know who lives here?”

“Yep.”

Breathing deeply, Oona tapped her fingers a bit harsher against the doorframe, still maintaining a gentle smile on her (now) slightly red face. “Can you bring them here? I need to talk to…whoever it is.”

Nodding, he turned around, cupping his mouth with his large hands and yelling, “Huggy!” before waving him over to where they stood at the entryway.

Huggy? Oona chuckled at the nickname. Who nicknames a ferocious hockey player Huggy?

But as the shorter boy moved through, somehow, still energetic bodies and met the two at the door, Oona felt something crawl around her stomach and make the fading red of her cheeks come back in harsher hues. His hair was a chestnut color and it looked soft and smooth, like you could run your hands through it a million times and it still wouldn’t be enough. He wore a gray hoodie and black jeans, his hands in his pockets as he smiled politely at the blushing girl.

“Can I help you?”

Her mouth ran dry as she licked her lips. She tucked the thin strands of black hair behind her ear and proceeded (or tried to proceed). “It’s 3 AM and I’m trying to sleep,” Oona said, hoping he would take the hint and quiet down a bit.

He scoffed, smirking with his cute lips and his cute hair and his cute gray hoodie that looks so soft you just want to wrap your cold body in it. And it probably smells good, too. It probably smells like his scent in the mornings, woodsy yet fresh like white linen sheets and candles that would make you think he has a woman living with him, but nope. That’s just him. But Oona’s just guessing. Not to make things weird or anything. She’s totally not dreaming about what her handsome neighbor’s hoodie smells like because that would be weird—haha. Totally weird.

He leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over themselves, and while he wasn’t as tall as the man that initially opened the door, he made Oona feel just as small. His smile was infectious, but not in a big ‘bring it in, let’s hug way,’ but in a more sultry way. Like you can feel a rollercoaster rumbling in your stomach despite him not saying a single word. 

“Are you?” he asked.

She laughed at that because there was no way that he was serious. It didn’t even sound like a question, God it sounded like…like flirting? But that wasn’t even the bizarre thing, no the bizarre thing was that somehow made Oona 10 times angrier. Why was he flirting with her? Does he think that she’ll just fall into his trap and let it all slide? Does he think that she’s just a stupid girl that he can get to do anything he says? Because that’s not Oona Hashimoto. Not in the slightest. And if he wants to play that game, then fine. 

Let’s play that game.

She stepped closer, her hand landing on his bicep as he stuttered for a moment. Like he was on high alert all of a sudden. His eyes wandered down to her hand, and then he relaxed because she was falling right into the palm of his hand, so he thought. She raised her head, staring him right in his deep green eyes. She pouted a bit, changing her whole demeanor. Because they’re playing the same game here. It’s just a matter of who will crack first.

“Please?” she asked, gazing up at him with brown doe eyes. “I won’t say a word after tonight. Just do this one thing? Please?”

He sighed, straightening up and causing her hand to fall off his bicep. “As much as I’d love to do that,” he grinned. “I don’t want to.”

Her brows furrowed, her doe eyes turning into burning rage, and lips turning from a pout to a pissed off frown. “What do you mean you ‘don’t want to?’”

He shrugged. “Exactly that. Goodnight,” he smiled before placing his hand on the door and slowly shutting it before Oona held it open, scoffing.

“No, you don’t get to be an asshole and then just shut the door on me. All I’m asking is for you to just turn down the music!” 

“Yeah, well it sounds like the person being loud is you,” he pointed. Bending down to Oona’s level, he whispered, “You’re shouting.”

“You are insufferable, you know that?”

“Yeah, you said it a couple of times. Can I go now or do you want to keep going?”

Oona crossed her arms, fury burning through her veins as she watched him smile as if he did nothing wrong. As if he was enjoying this. “Go to hell.”

“See ya there, neighbor.”

[lsleofthelost]

in continuation of this post, here's a more detailed look at Maleficent's castle, including the commentary from the Descendants production designer, Mark Hofeling, and also my own thoughts and obsesrvations.

"We imagined the once-mighty Maleficent humiliated and furious in defeat. Even in her fallen state, she would still require the most befitting accommodation on the Isle of the Lost. The "Bargain Castle", while hokey and ramshackle, most resembles her former keep in the Forbidden Mountains. And its balcony gives her an unobstructed view across the bay to the hated Auradon. This is the exterior of the second floor, interior set. This was digitally added to a practical ground floor at the end of the main street of the Isle of the Lost. "

"A broad view of Maleficent's cavernous, leaky, drafty cold-water walk-up in the Bargain Castle on the Isle of the Lost."

i love the peeling paint on the walls, the mismatched furniture and lamps, how weathered and aged everything is. and how this is the height of luxury for the Isle.

"Maleficent's sunken living room with her unreliable Predicta TV. It is her only link to the outside world."

the Predicta TV is from the late 50s, the screen is tiny, and, according to the commentary, the connection is unreliable. but still, in Maleficent's home, it has a special niche, and a stand, it's treated as an indulgence. there's also a vinyl player, and some records, but most of them are without sleeves, so i imagine they're scratched and skip sometimes, but Maleficent still likes them. there's a newspaper, probably a few days old, but a way to keep up with the outside world when the TV is broken.

"The mismatched sofa in Maleficent's sunken living room."

since the barges only bring in trash, we can assume that no big objects, like a sofa arive in one piece. there is also a bowl of (probably stale) froot loops (?) on the table which i think is hilarious and sad.

"A view of Maleficent's dressing area and her elevated throne. Domesticity is not among her considerable powers."

it's actually such a tiny space... like her vanity is made out of an old trunk, the lamp on it is covered with fabric, most likely because the proper lampshade is ruined. this also implies that there is not enough space for it in her bedroom... there is a tiny furnace with wood, which is used both to warm the place and to dry the clothes. the drapes are thin and totally let the light in but i think it's not such a problem on the Isle, since it's permamently overcast.

"We wanted to give Maleficent one artifact from her former, magnificent life. The director suggested maybe her throne. Unfortunately, the throne from the original animation was a 12 foot wide, 6 ton stone bat. Not a practical thing to carry into exile. So I tried to evoke the idea of that throne with a ridiculous green and purple wingback chair she might have confiscated from the Isle's Bazaar."

first off, i love that he says that it's confiscated. Maleficent doesn't buy things, but she doesn't steal them either, she just takes them because she has the power to do so. other thing i love is that as far as i understand, this is the most elevated point in the house, so she can sit on her “throne” and feel powerful.

we also see a similar rug in front of her sofa, so i assume it was probably one rug that was cut up in pieces.

the fact that there's a telephone implies that they have some kind of internal landline system on the isle, my head canon is that one of the more engineering inclined minion/scientist/wtv hooked it up. there's just a few telephones between the houses of the most powerful. the dirty, stained windows supported by old newspapers and duct tape just show how weathered everything is.

"The job of the production designer is to conceive and execute the broad look of a show. But the big picture is built out of thousands of details. I spent my weekends in Vancouver having a ball cooking up little details like Maleficent's childlike "REVENGE", "FOOLS!", and spinning wheel magnets, and her shopping and to-do lists, all stuck to her "WICKEDAIRE" refrigerator."

the real-life equivalent is a Frigidaire refrigerator from the late fifties. which, from what i've seen, seems like most of the tech on the Isle is from that time period, despite the fact that Auradon living in seemingly contemporary times, with modern technology and all that. i think they purposely don't send modern tech there, only old, barely working things there, because they know that technology could, theoretically, break the barrier (which is what Carlos does in the first book). also, i like that he calls Maleficent child-like, because i think she's definitely become that way there, bored out of her mind, every avenue for revenge lost, nothing to really keep sharp. also, if we ignore the things on her to-do list that are cartoonishly evil, the rest of the list is kind of mundane and a little pathetic... like there's something wrong with the rain gutters, she needs to call Jafar over to fix her TV antenna, since it's her only connection to the outside world... she used to be the Mistress of all Evil.

"A detail of Maleficent's poorly tuned piano."

again, the paint is peeling on the walls and on the furniture, there is no front on the piano, there is no one to even tune it. i think she still likes the music... we see what are probably magic book strewn around, potions (and probably some alcohol) on the side table.

"A detail of one of Maleficent's many broken, drafty windows."

i can't quite figure out where it's supposed to be but still, the way some windows are painted, some covered by newspaper (help together by duct tape) makes me thing that either 1. Maleficent wanted to emulate the look of stained glass from her former glory days; 2. Mal did it to make the place look better (actually, she probably did a lot of work to make the house look better?); 3. they don't want outsiders looking in, while still letting light in. i doubt that the trash telescope works, but if it does, it's probably used to spy on people, though i think it's just a vanity item.

"Maleficent's scratchy Victrola. Notice the double helix of the custom wallpaper. It evokes both Maleficent's classic thorn vine's from Sleeping Beauty and the idea of the DNA of evil. Does it pass from one generation to the next, or can one change their destiny?"

again, more books and another record player. i think Maleficent tries to dissociate from the situation, get lost in music, re-listening to the same scratchy records, re-reading the same books, re-trying the same ineffective spells.

i didn't even notice the double helix wallpaper before!! i always thought it was just a thorn pattern, referencing her story. this is such an amazing representation of how evil is embedded in the kids blood, and how despite it all they choose change.

through what we've seen, i think there's probably just a few more rooms in the castle: Maleficent bedroom, Mal's bedroom, and their bathrooms, maaaybe a smal storage room. they call it a castle but really it's just a rickety, crooked, decaying apartment on top of some shop. and this is how the most powerful person on the Isle of the Lost lives.