#aloe vera family | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

puckarchives · 5 months

Text

basement yard conversations: l. hughes

blurb: in which you overhear luke say that you’re much more attractive than him while he’s talking to jack and quinn. / word count: 1.7k / pairing: luke hughes x fem!reader

The conversation had taken place on the back deck of the Hughes Family lake house, and to be fair, you don’t think you were supposed to be particularly privy to it. It was nearing almost 11 PM at night, and you had just come out of the shower— clean and sun kissed and reveling in the after effects of a day well spent out in the sun with your favorite boy and your favorite family.

This was the second summer you had spent with Luke, and by default, the entire Hughes gang as they took a much deserved rest in the off-season, now that both the Devils and Canucks had ended their seasons. So, with you being off from college and the boys not starting their training for at least two more weeks, you had opted to spend some time at the lake house in Michigan.

That particular day, you had spent most of your morning (and afternoon, if you were being honest,) out on the lake, simply laying on the boat or joining in when the boys began wakeboarding— falling a few times, but ultimately being able to hold your own before Luke had jumped in with you, and caused you both to go tumbling into the water.

From the boat, you could hear both Jack and Quinn laughing at you and Luke, both of you making your way over to where they had stilled in order to let you reboard, and where Luke readied himself to begin his turn— which didn’t last long, as he began swaying to the point where he just simply fell over.

Once the four of you had come back in, it was straight to the shower for you— a moment to wash off the lake water and reapply aloe vera before your skin began to get dry.

Walking towards the back porch, you could see the boys huddled around the fire pit— Jack and Quinn sitting in their designated chairs, and Luke in a larger seat, waiting for you with a blanket in his hand. As you walked closer however, and before you could open the screen door, you overheard a snippet of their conversation— something that always surprised you, as their conversations could exist on a spectrum of simply talking about dinner plans, to them arguing over who the most problematic Pokémon character they played with growing up; currently, Charizard was in the lead because, as Luke had stated a few weeks prior, you can’t spell the world ‘Charizard’ without ‘hazard,’ an explanation that still made no sense to you, but that the boys had agreed to almost immediately.

Stilling at the fragments you could piece together, you could hear Jack repeating that he “definitely did have it,” but that for him, “it was louder than it was for Quinn.” You didn’t know exactly what “it” was referring to, but quickly pieced together your answer as Quinn spoke up.

“It’s like, the internet thinks I have no rizz. I got called a fucking wet cat the other day,” he said, waving his hands around. It was true— you had seen the tweet first, and then sent it to Luke, who promptly sent it into their group chat. So that’s what they were talking about— rizz.

Although you didn’t know exactly how that had come up— when you left, they were discussing the intricacies of Zegras’ worst choices— it was still a novelty to take in— the way that Quinn would talk in his broody way, only exacerbated by the winces he would occasionally give off because of his gnarly sunburn, whereas Jack was all excited hand movement and loud laughs. But it was your boy, specifically, who had all of your attention— Luke’s soft smirk on his lips, the way he would wait until either boy was finished talking before including his own thoughts, and the way he would keep egging on his brothers. However, you didn’t miss the way he would open his mouth to say something, but automatically be either shut down, or have to wait for another turn to avoid interrupting his brothers. While Luke may have been a killer on the ice, he was still the youngest brother— caught up in trying to work his hardest to be on the same level as his brothers, but still always beating himself up for it.

You didn’t think there had been a day where Luke went without comparing one thing about himself to his older brothers— whether it be simple comments about how he needed to get faster in order to compete with Quinn’s own speed, or even have better hand-eye coordination in order to keep up with Jack, it was always something that he lacked, and he never paid attention to the things he did have— things that you loved about him, like the way he would always bring his brother’s up in conversation— always with a smile on his face, and always reminiscing on their childhoods. He never spoke ill of anyone, (even when they deserved it,) and when he had hurt another player on the ice a few weeks back he had made it a point to apologize personally, and even send them a card. Luke, for all the faults he saw in himself, had one-hundred times the good parts, even when he didn’t recognize them.

It was the next few sentences, however, that caught your attention; now, the conversation had switched over from Jack and Quinn’s respective levels of charmism and ability to, as they so eloquently put it, “pull and have game,” to Luke’s, he looked down, still with a small smirk on his face, and played with his thumbs.

“Well, you see her,” Luke said. “She's definitely much more attractive than me, and if anything, I have the rizz because she was strong enough to get my head out of my ass and see that she had been there the entire time,” he laughed.

His brothers only egged him on, adding in moments where they saw Luke, quote on quote, ‘have game,’ including earlier that same day, when the four of you were out on the boat. When you had been putting together the coolers for the boys to lug on to the boat, Luke hadn’t missed a beat and, while you were chopping up pieces of fruit on the kitchen island, had flirted with you like he had never met you before, and hit on you.

“Well hello, pretty lady,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows, and flexing his arms above his back. He puffed out his chest in a mock bravado, and continued. “You come here often? Because you’re a sight for sore and beautiful eyes,” he said, scooting closer to you. For as cheesy as he was, Luke loved doing this— hitting on you as if you were two teenagers in the 80’s, and as if he hadn’t been your boyfriend for the past two years.

“You know, I’d love to take you out on the boat sometime, if you’re free? I’ll even let you drive it if we leave your boyfriend on the shore,” he said, now with his arms actually up, and him, (once again,) flexing. God, you’re boy was a total softie.

Your only response was heaving laughter, as anytime Luke got like this it only brought a smile on your face. “Well, sir, my boyfriend would surely be disappointed in me if I just left him on the shore” you jokingly replied. “And besides, he’s old. I’m not sure his fragile heart could take it if I just up and left,” you said, before closing the cooler and making your way outside.

Luke scrambled after you, only to grab the cooler out of your hands, open the door, and drop it right outside. Before you could ask why, he whistled over at Quinn who was waiting for the two of you on the deck, and scooped you up in his arms, before making his way to the dock, you still laughing, and him looking at you with a look of pure adoration, and, in your opinion— full of love.

Now, however, as you stood on the other side of the screen door, you opened it, automatically calling all three heads to look in your direction, and, as you walked towards Luke who had his arms open to you, said: “No, Luke’s definitely lying. This man has ALL the rizz. How do you think he keeps me coming back over-and-over for more?” you asked the other two, giving your boyfriend a kiss on the forehead as you stood between his legs and pet his still-wet curls.

“He can say that I’m the one who got him to notice me, but your brother? The ultimate rizz king,” you laughed, trying to mimic what you heard the gamers on TikTok say about rizz the other day.

“But, to settle your debate once and for all, I have literal proof of who has the most rizz,” you announced, to which the other two Hughes brothers cheered and egged you on to show them. Pulling up Twitter on your phone, you scrolled through your favorited tweets before getting to one that had made you bust out laughing only days prior, but that labeled what kind of “rizz” each Hughes brother had.

“According to this tweet, a certifiable source if I’ve ever seen one,” you joked, “Quinnjamin Hughes has the rizz level of a wet cat you want to take home, and of a man that just makes your “I CAN FIX HIM” fever go crazy, Jacket Hughes has the rizz of a man who had a borderline homoerotic relationship and a praise kink all in one, and Lucas Warner Hughes has the rizz of a man who will always shoot up and knows it,” you finished.

As you closed your phone and set it down, you looked up at the faces of the Hughes dynasty around you— Quinn was shaking with laughter, his head in his hands, Jack was wheezing in the corner over you calling Quinn “Quinnjamin” and the way they had gotten all of their names wrong, and Luke despite the jokes, was looking directly at you. He wasn’t laughing like his brother’s, but instead looking at you with the softest smile.

“And don’t I know it, sweetheart,” he said.

#luke hughes x reader #luke hughes #luke hughes imagine #nhl imagine #hughes brothers #new jersey devils #nj devils #jack hughes #quinn hughes

617 notes · View notes

loveindefinitely · 5 months

Text

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ PRINCESS TREATMENT — price + gaz x reader

01 — THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT

featuring. kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price

warnings. fem!reader, fmm, friends to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence, frequent mentions of drug and alcohol abuse, discussions of mental health

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

If you had to say when, exactly, everything changed, you’d put it down to a single monarch butterfly.

Walking down the tight alleyways of Las Almas, the sky a four o’clock black, a lone street light casts a gentle yellow over your frame. The air is stagnant, the warmth of late spring mixed with the type of humidity that only comes before a storm, your boots clicking against the stone beneath your feet.

With a leather jacket wrapped tight around you, you fall into the rhythm of it all. It’s just before five in the morning, and you know that you should be heading home any minute, but you find yourself rejecting the idea.

Everytime you leave for the night, just to breathe, to live for no one but yourself, it gets harder and harder to make your way back through your bedroom window. You know the guards are getting antsy, too, your payoffs for their silence on the issue becoming less and less worth it. Not when it’s becoming an ultimatum between some quick cash and a slow death.

You wish you were given that choice. Mightn’t even care which option you happened to receive.

It’s quiet, in these parts. No sign of the city that had been ruined by mercs, no sign of the destruction that had once lay beneath one man’s boots.

Instead, this city now sits in the firm grip of El Sin Nombre – the way it had once been, and if your family has it how they want it, the way it shall forever be.

Underneath your breath, you hum, a tune you’d picked up from the local radio. Every morning, you listen to the daily news reports, the weather, the latest celebrity gossip. Without fail, El Sin Nombre is never mentioned. Neither are the missing persons, the families torn apart by the woman you call boss.

The end of the alleyway is coming up, the main street ahead barren of people, except the odd homeless person or fitness nut getting their morning fix.

Just as you’re about to turn around and manually move your feet back to your home, the smallest of movements catches your eye, right by a potted plant sitting at the street corner. You’re not sure how, or why, it catches your attention – but it snags it, hook line and sinker.

Quickly looking both ways, you take a cautious step towards what appears to be a small aloe vera plant, stopping in your tracks when you realise what’s perched upon the tallest of the stems, its burnt orange wings fluttering with the small breeze.

A butterfly.

It hasn’t spooked – not yet, not with your careful movements – and it seems so insignificant. So small, with the family homes lining the streets, the independent stores setting up for the day.

With you, your massive life, your massive boots to fill.

And it just sits.

Flaps its wings.

A shot sounds.

Jumping back, your eyes catch the butterfly taking off into the sky, its sun-kissed wings taking it as far away from the horror as possible. Exactly as you should be doing.

Screams echo around you, another bullet sounding, and then another, and another –

Hand resting at the gun sitting in your thigh hollister, you whip your head towards the sound, the yelling, the rushed Spanish leaving people’s mouths. Gringos. El Sin Nombre. Death. Stay down.

Taking a sharp right turn onto the main street’s footpath, another shot fires, this time much closer. Much more real, tangible. Hand fully fisting around the handle of your pistol, you take the corner to the sidestreet – the source of it all – with quiet ease.

Multiple cartel members – expendable pendejos, Valeria would say – have guns not unlike your own, aimed at two separate men hidden behind a parked car. They’re crouched behind it, peaking and launching their own retaliating shots, hitting either shoulders or necks.

They fire off quick, dirty shots, one bursting through the car’s windows, shattering the glass, before lodging in one of the mens’ head. He falls, blood and brain matter splattering on the brick wall behind him. None of the others even spare him a look.

“Get ‘im!” A deep, rough voice calls – British, assertive, mature – the one furthest from you. He’s adorning a boonie hat, pulled down to cover the tops of his ears, facial hair decorating his jawline and upper lip.

They both seem to be exerting themselves, clearly having done a lot of activity and planning before the current scene. Nearly all of the civilians are out of the area, the two foreigners taking care to not harm any of the innocents.

Certainly a step up from the cartel.

There’s four left, all taking shots at the car, some bullets ricocheting off of the flat metal. Back to the opposite wall, you take out your pistol, switching off the safety with a single brush of your thumb. Keeping it extended in front of you, both hands holding it, you make your way silently closer to the confrontation, keeping behind them all.

The second foreigner – tall, all slim muscle, radiating warmth and self-assurance – takes a sweeping step away from the car, delivering final head shots to all but one.

Clawing against the ground, trying to gain his footing, pistol flung metres away from him, he lets out groans of agony. He’s been shot in the knee, it seems like – yeah, definitely been shot in the knee, by the way he screams when he tries to rise on it.

Doing quick head checks, the younger foreigner keeps his gun raised at a safe level, before walking over to the wounded member.

The lone soldier grunts when the lithe man smacks the butt of his gun against his temple, his head twisting with the force of it. You can tell he’s being kept alive.

“Fuck, Cap,” the younger man hisses, hooking his thumb in his vest, throwing his head back slightly. In the streetlight, from your close distance, you can see a droplet trail down his Adam’s apple. Collect at the hollow of his throat, glisten in the dim light.

The other, ‘Cap’, presses his hands against his knees, using the momentum to stand, wiping the back of his glove against his mouth. Quickly scanning his surroundings, you dart behind a small, abandoned street stall, crouching as you do so.

No shots are fired – you consider it a win.

“C’mon, we gotta get ‘im to exfil,” he grunts, and when you move back to watch them in full view, you see him jog over to stand next to his partner. Leaning down, he pulls his arm around the unconscious man, lifting him up with the younger’s help. They swing his arms around the necks of them both, their hands keeping him upright between the two.

“Ale and Rudy are gonna have our asses for the stray shots,” the black-haired one groans, but there’s a relieved smile stretching over his face. “Hopefully this guy has the intel they want.”

“If he doesn’t,” ‘Cap’ returns, a humoured look written all over his face, “We’ll have their asses.”

Intel. They want… intel. On the cartel, on El Sin Nombre. Something you have in spades. In fact, you were probably the closest thing to a gold mine when it came to information of the Las Almas cartel. Wouldn’t even need torture to get you to speak.

You’d heard of Alejandro and Rodolfo. They were considered legends by the townspeople, the men who nearly took down the cartel. The true face of the Mexican Military – not the paid off army.

It was a shame, really, how much of their story wasn’t told.

Being shot if either name left anyone’s mouth made it a difficult one to retell. Especially to you – the Cartel’s Princess – a woman hated for nothing more than her last name.

Your step-father and ‘boss’ refused to speak of them, either. Your limited knowledge pertained to the fact that they were direct enemies of El Sin Nombre, and shared a complicated past with Valeria. You’d asked, once, what happened.

You’d never asked again.

The sun is rising, the hints of morning brushing over the deserted side street. They seem… ethereal, in this light, exhausted from work but cheerful from a job well done. At ease with each other, even with blood decorating their skin, boots covered in red.

You remember when you’d first tried to run away, fourteen and too naive to plan it beforehand, before you knew to slide cash into the guards’ belt. It had been seven minutes and twenty-nine seconds before a bullet had grazed your thigh, and you were brought back to your house. You still have the scar – both physically, and mentally.

Having to learn that running away was never a truly feasible option was a hard reality at such a young age. Sheltered, too – you didn’t understand the true way of the world. What life was like without a bounty on your head and blood money decorating your neck in the form of a pearl necklace. Hands chained with bracelets of pure gold.

The cool metal grows clammy with your own distraught, your index finger hooking around the trigger.

When you were younger, you wanted to become a journalist. You dreamt of the ability to make things known – uncover the dark secrets your family loved to hide. A servant to the public – in the most damning of ways, a true way of protecting without the need for blood on your hands. The only black metal in your hands would be that of a pen; considerably more deadly than a weapon could ever be.

You aim your pistol.

Oh, to be free. To not have to wake up every day, dreading, hating yourself for the sins of your family. Your livelihood. Freedom in not having to choose between being a bystander, or meeting the death of a traitor.

That butterfly, gods, that butterfly. It took itself wherever it wanted – got to experience the world at its own pace. Live for the sake of it, gifting the Earth for the pleasure of it all.

Grateful for just a week of substance. A week of survival.

What you’d do for just a week.

A shot fires, and you don’t move an inch from the drawback. You just stand, watching, as a body falls, and two guns are instantly aimed at you in turn.

Just a week.

Letting the gun slide from your hand and hit the floor, you raise your hands, palms facing the two. They don’t shoot – that’s all you could’ve hoped for. Being reckless was part of being in the cartel, and your very blood ran because of it.

“You want intel?” You ask, loud enough to carry to them, taking a bold step forward. With the sun not having risen, a chill settles into your bones, the tight, silk nightdress you adorn during sleep the only thing protecting you as the breeze brushes open your jacket. “I have it.”

The youngest moves to lower his gun, but a side eye from ‘Cap’ has him raising it again. The way they stare you down has your chest rising and falling in dramatic movements, and for the first time this night, you second guess yourself.

It’s the only chance you’ve ever gotten – you think, reminding yourself – and you will accept it with open arms. Just a week.

Taking careful, precise steps closer, you keep your palms facing them and face a stubborn neutral. You’d been trained in a lot of areas, sparsely, but there was no doubt in your mind that you wouldn’t be able to take either of them in a real fight. Diego had spoiled you with riches and luxury, not sparring and gunslinging.

“Wait –” the younger stretches out his hand, looking to the other with an expression. Like he’d seen a ghost. “She’s…”

“I know,” the other breathes out, his tense stance easing slightly.

As you stand, just a metre or two away from them, you look between them both. Calculating, watching, you slide off your leather jacket and drop it to the ground – showing that you have no other weapons, no bombs strapped to you.

Just a silk, blood red nightdress, an empty hollister, and black leather boots.

“You guys were pretty loud when you said you needed intel,” you narrow your eyes, flitting between them both. They shroud you in their shadows; tall, muscular – military. But not… regiment. Different, more sinister, maybe, more important. “And I saw you kill my auntie’s men.”

They both lower their weapons. Partly stupid, partly an insult. “You’re the Cartel Princess, aye?” The younger raises his brows, looking over you with studious brown.

“I left my tiara at home,” you snark. The younger smirks, approving of your response. Maybe you wouldn’t have to be stepped all over, to be taken in by them.

Jerking his head to the dead body laying between the both of them, the older levels an unimpressed gaze your way. “Was that necessary?” He asks, folding his arms over his chest and righting his posture, looking down at you.

“He was a dick anyways,” you roll your eyes, finally lowering your own hands to rest at your hips. “He tried to offer up his daughter ‘cause he was in debt.”

Both of their jaws go slack.

You shrug.

“Where are you guys going anyways?” You ask, bouncing on the heels of your feet, hands held together behind your back. Looking around, your mouth pulls into a small frown at the shattered store windows. You’d try and leave some money for them when you got back.

The smaller one lets out an almost shocked chuckle. “This isn’t – you’re not hitchhiking.”

Rubbing at the roof of his nose, the one with the boonie hat looses a thick sigh, before giving you an exhausted look. “You’re lucky Alejandro has been after your arse for years. Gaz, get ‘er gun.”

“Yes, Sir,” he jokes, roughly saluting the man before grabbing your weapon. Sliding it into his own holster, he loops his elbow through yours, and starts dragging you down the street, the other walking a bit ahead of you both.

“This went way easier than I thought,” you mutter, realising just how… simple it had been to get them to take you. No cuffs, surprisingly, and no sedatives.

Gaz, as the other referred to him as, looks down to you with a friendly smile. “Most of us know your face. Alejandro and Rodolfo have been looking for you – something about you being ‘one of the good ones’.”

“I’ve never met them,” you admit, a small crease forming between your brows. “I’ve heard of them, but… why do they care about me?”

“Apparently,” the one up ahead darts his blue eyes back to you, “You do, in fact, have ‘intel’. And…” He trails off, before shaking his head. “You’ll see when we get back to base. I think he’ll be quite happy.”

Gaz groans with a laugh. “Hate when he’s giddy. They’re so loud.”

Falling back a little, ‘Cap’ hits his subordinate lightly up the back of his head. “You’re gross. Exfil’s just off to the right.”

“Reminds me of Amsterdam,” Gaz says wistfully, his elbow still linked around yours. This might just be the oddest way to be taken in by a supposed ‘enemy’ ever. Definitely up there.

Turning, you see a black SUV parked off to the side, the windows tinted to the nth degree. You can’t see anything within them except your own reflections, the winding streets behind you three. Looking to Gaz, you ask, “Where’s my carriage?”

He gives an incredulous look. “You’re serious?”

You and his partner answer at the exact same time, the same tone, “No.”

Opening the door to the back, Cap urges the two of you in, before getting into the passenger seat. The cushions are black, too, and comfortable as you situate yourself by the window, Gaz taking the middle seat. So much for space.

“John –”

“Kate, they’ve been after her for years. We owe ‘em.”

A woman, dirty blonde hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, looks at you through her rearview mirror. She seems… displeased about your presence.

“You’re making us a bigger target,” she hisses, shooting him an annoyed look. “If they aren’t already trying to gun us down, they’re about to go nuclear!”

“Auntie and daddy don’t like missiles. Said it’s cheap,” you chip in, folding your knee so your ankle rests on your opposite knee, folding your hands in your lap. Damn, you think, You chipped your nail polish. Only lasted a day.

Silence fills the vehicle.

You hum that radio’s tune once more, and Kate exhales a deep, calming breath. Like she’s one step away from whipping out her own gun and shooting you all dead. And then herself.

“Can you turn on the heater? It’s kinda cold,” you ask, hands rubbing at your bare arms. Should’ve put your leather jacket back on before they took you.

“John,” Kate grits out, “I am two seconds away from –”

A shot fires, then two, then three. In one movement, you grab a hold of your pistol from Gaz’s hollister, switching off the safety once more and holding it to your chest. Kate instantly switches on the ignition, accelerating hard enough to have your head hitting the back of your chair with a squeak.

Gaz unwinds the window to his left, furthest away from you, and starts firing at where a dozen or so members stand at the main street, firing off shots at the car. Bracing yourself against the back of the driver’s seat, you take aim.

True as the way the sun is set to rise, you land multiple shots through vital organs, some lucky ones blasting right through their heads. Your wrist aches from the strength of your hold around your weapon, a break from childhood coming back to haunt you. You don’t stop, however, not when you’re nowhere near your breaking point.

Within seconds, Kate drives the car out of their view, dodging potholes like a professional.

It’s five minutes later, when you’re out of the main business streets of Las Almas, that your back hits your seat once more, eyes fluttering shut as you flick the safety back on.

Gaz does the same, his shoulder bumping yours with the width and sheer height of him. You feel small, between him and the door, but not unsafe. Quite the opposite, actually, with the way he sliced through those men with buttery gunmanship.

The silence, this time, is electric. A buzzing in the air, an excitement flowing through your veins.

And then, it hits you.

“Oh, shit,” you whine, dragging your hands over your face and sloping in your seat, lips forming a disgruntled pout.

“What – what happened? You good?” Gaz asks, leaning forward, placing his hand on the back of Kate’s headrest to look over you. His arm is corded with muscle, the sleeves of his shirt pulled up to his elbows, allowing a decent view of his military-grade skin.

You sit your head against the window.

“I left my favourite nail polish at home. And my favourite earrings,” you mumble, upset.

Gaz coughs, then sits back in his seat awkwardly. “...Right. Can’t you just. …Get more? If you’re cooperative, Ale–”

You punch him in his throat, and he wheezes, tears sprouting in his eyes as he coughs. “You don’t get it,” you glare at him, before patting his back. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to hit so hard.”

It’s only then that you realise John and Kate are speaking quietly up the front, low enough to not be heard by the two of you.

“Who do you guys work for, anyway?” You ask, when Gaz stops coughing, instead swallowing mouthfuls of water from the skin in his pack. He stops to stare at you.

“You ask this… now?” He questions, looking at you like you’ve lost your mind.

You shrug. “Even if you guys were mercs or something, I probably would’ve asked to be taken. Wait –” You pause, eyes going wide, mouth going slack, “You aren’t mercs, are you? Please say you aren’t.”

“We’re Special Ops. Dunno how much the old man wants me to say, so, there you go,” Gaz shrugs, pulling on his gloves. His gaze remains on yours as he does so – pulling them off by the tips of his fingers, revealing slender hands. They look oddly graceful, for a seasoned operator, and you can see the tendons pull when he takes off the other.

The sun is high enough to paint the sky in streaks of yellow and orange, swirling with the night’s dark blue. Clouds decorate the canvas like swipes of cotton, the beginnings of what looks to be a perfect Spring day. As you look out the window, watching as you pass the streets of your city, you feel an odd seed of doubt.

Not for what you’re doing – but for what you’re leaving. All of the bodies lining the streets under cartel cloths, never getting to do the very thing you’re experiencing. So many families torn apart without the option of freedom.

The glass is cool against your cheek as you drum your fingers over your lap, the tap tap tap of that song in your head looped.

“You don’t look like your pictures,” Gaz says, then, and when you turn, it’s to find him watching you studiously. He appears so relax, seated beside you, tall enough to have his head nearly hitting the roof of the car.

You raise a brow. “Didn’t realise this was a Tinder date.”

He laughs, the sound melting down your spine like the cocoa body butter you favourite. Maybe he was right about the cooperation thing – you could play nice if it meant you got to have your routine.

“I just mean,” he starts, before rolling over the words in his mouth, looking out the window before making eye contact once more. His eyes are so brown. “You’re a lot less… snobby-looking.”

You bite out a sharp laugh in shock. “Excuse me?”

He raises his hands, now, a direct copy of how you’d appeared when you first made eye contact. His smile is devastating as he says, “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. Just meant you have a lot more personality than expected.”

“Thought I was the type to be docile and pretty?” You quip, pulling your hair to rest over your shoulder. “How typically… male of you.”

Placing a hand over his heart, he pretends like he’s been wounded, expression twisting into one of pain. “Ouch, Princess. Way to hit a man where it hurts.”

“I know of many other places that’ll hurt,” you mutter, side-eying him. “Don’t test me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Your Majesty,” he returns.

The car starts increasing in speed, then, at a harshly quick rate – enough to have both you and Gaz sitting up straighter, checking out your windows and tightening your grips on your guns.

Price turns, twisting where he sits in the passenger seat, looking out the back window. He curses under his breath, before looking between the both of you.

“We have company.”

author's note. please leave a comment or quote reblog if you enjoyed!! i hope you all enjoy this journey with me :) xx

taglist. nothing to see here.

381 notes · View notes

miraeluc · 22 days

Note

i loved ur last hcs about sh so much ! if its not too much, can i ask for u to make a 2nd part (?) including shoto & izuku. please, im begging u, ill sell my organs if needed. thank u <3

dearest, from the depth of my heart, i’m offering my sincere apologies, for some stupid reason, i saw your ask a few months ago, prepared the draft and forgot entirely about it. i feel so bad pls don't sell your organs omg i hope this reaches you.

bnha boys finding out about your selfharm

prompt: /

pairing: izuku midoriya x reader, todoroki shouto x reader

warnings: mention of bad mental state! (reader); selfharming; some crying; pronouns of reader not mentioned (i think? correct me if i’m wrong pls!)

izuku midoriya

izuku, just like bakugou, was aware that you had been struggling with your mental health

but, obviously, he also was not aware of your self-harm tendencies

to be fair, it wasn't something you struggled with for a long time

only two months, to be exact

the first time you put a blade to your skin was your biggest regret - because although it wasn't pleasureable, it was extremely easy to spiral out of control, doing it nearly every day as if it was routine.

and since it was winter - you didn't worry about hiding it since you could wear long clothes without people questioning it anyway

when izuku found out, he was a mess

it went like this

the both of you were spending a cozy evening together

since everyone in your class was out or with their families, you had the entire living area to yourself

you were sat beside him, scrolling on tiktok and he was doing the same, but on his own phone

after a long while of you guys just silently enjoying eachother's company, he wanted to ask if you were hungry, but since he hadn't spoken in a while his voice cracked while doing so, and you were quick to mock him

long story short, you were now underneath him while he was tickling you.

when you tried to push his hands away, he grabbed your wrist - initially only wanting to stop you, but when you winced, he immediately stopped tickling you and, without thinking, pulled up your sleeve to see if he had hurt you

instead, he was met with the red, angry lines littered across your skin, the wounds not fresh enough to still bleed, but they were obviously still open wounds

you froze in place

he gulped, eyes moving to meet yours before he wordlessly pulled you to sit on his lap, arms wrapping around you and caging you in

"-'s ok. don't feel bad. i'm sorry i didn't realise sooner." he choked out, trying to blink away his tears

you were still frozen in place, thoughts running wild as you tried to gather your words to say something

“izu.. please- don’t blame yourself for not realising sooner,”

he moved to look at you, teary eyes meeting yours “let’s bandage you up, ok, love?”

before you could react, he already stood - hands steady beneath your thighs, carrying you towards his dorm room, placing you down onto his bed before leaving to grab a first-aid kit from his bathroom

he wordlessly applied aloe vera gel over the more or less still fresh wounds, wrapping bandages around your arm securely before pressing a light kiss on your hand

“we can talk if you want to, but let’s get the food i was talking about earlier, hm?”

you smiled slightly and nodded

although you still had a long road before you, you felt that a tiny burden had been lifted off your shoulders

you no longer had to fight for happiness all alone, - izuku would be by your side every step of the way, rest assured.

todoroki shouto

although shouto was indifferent, he was not stupid

he didn’t officially know of your battles with mental health, nor did he officially know about your self-harming tendencies, but he picked up the signs.

he didn’t want to confront you about immediately - since he also wasn’t a very open person, he wanted to provide you the space you needed until you were ready to open up and talk about your struggles

in the meantime, he tried his best to subtly ask fuyumi for tips on how to comfort someone when the time came

he did begin to get increasingly worried when he started hearing less and less from you - you often didn’t show up to class, and you never answered texts

todoroki, not being one to pry, tried giving you the space he assumed you needed

he didn’t take it personally - he knew you weren’t doing this on purpose, but he was flooded with worry.

and when he found out you haven’t been leaving your room at all, he decided it was time to react and check on you, even if it meant bothering you

when he stepped into your room, his eyes had to adjust to be able to see in the darkness that immediately engulfed him as the door clicked shut behind him

the air was stale - clothes scattered around the floor. your bed was messy, but you were not to be seen

tentatively he called out your name, switching on the small bedside lamp you had

„y/n?“ as he took in the sight of your room, but his eyes zeroed in on something, an object, on your bedside table

he tried again, blood running cold

„y/n? are you in the bathroom?“

he picked up said object, mindful to not cut himself with the small blade, moving to place it somewhere away from beside your bed - out of sight, in hopes that his heart would slow its racing

„yeah. i’m in here. hold on.“ he heard you groggily call out

his eyes closed in relief at the sound of your voice - having assumed the worst and he sighed shakily, dropping to sit on the edge your bed whilst he waited for you, running a hand through his hair to push it back

when you stepped out of the bathroom, his face understandably dropped

you looked so pale, so defeated

so fragile

he noticed the way you were fidgeting, an arm hidden behind your back - probably the reason he heard you shuffling around your bathroom. maybe in search of something to cover up?

he stood again, slowly approaching you. when you didn’t flinch away, he gently reached up a hand to caress your cheek

„did you bandage yourself up properly?“ he whispered, no hint of judgement in his tone - just worry

and alas, that is all it took for your eyes to brim with tears.

your lower lip shook as you quickly blinked up at him, shaking your head and releasing a heart-shattering sob as your boyfriend engulfed you into his arm - caging you into a protective hug

„it’s okay. will you let me help you?“ he whispered

a/n: hi again - i KNOW i disappeared for like 2 - 3 years but i’m about to finish my drafts and post them out, but i want to announce that requests are temporarily closed as i will no longer be writing about anime characters (unless i get an intense surge of inspiration), but there will be more explaining that in a separate post. for now, enjoy the drafts!

#bnha #fluff #mha #angst #shouto todoroki #todoroki #shouto #izuku midoriya #midoriya #izuku #anime #comfort #todoroki shouto #midoriya izuku #todoroki x reader #midoriya x reader #izuku x reader

98 notes · View notes

coffeetheactualjellii · 4 months

Text

"Diluc x Male Bodyguard Reader"

Content: Smut, aftercare, and enemies to eventual lovers.

Smut Content: Anal, Oral (reader receiving), Use of Aloe Vera as Lube.

A/n: Hello Guys! It's finally time that i uploaded this lol, but the thing i promoted this as is true it is co-written by me and my ex-girlfriend/situationship lol. Btw this might be a oneshot or a three part series depending on how well this does and if she still wants to co-write with me.

A/N update: [[ Me and my ex are no longer in talking terms as of now, because she got a new partner and its weird that Me (her ex) is asking her to write smut with me lol. I might write the following ones by myself. ]]

{{A/N Update}} Hi this is several months after the update up above and me and ny ex are in talking terms again and am here to day that part 2 will come eventually once the both of us are not that busy.

!!MDN!!

Word count: 2.2k

____________________________________

Kingdoms Fall

The three Kingdoms in Monstatd live in harmony in the Continent of Teyvat.

You work for the Ragvindr family as the personal guard of their son Diluc. The Reign-ing Monarch of the kingdom of Krasi as one of their soldiers.

The family has always been very traditional, royalty must marry royalty, Future king gets the throne regardless of the eldest daughter or not. Y’know, the basics. Now as a soldier you’re never close to any of the royals, the closest you’ve gotten to any of them is a simple “yes, sir,” or “Yes, ma’am.” Now you were assigned to guard their oldest son, Diluc Ragvindr. Keep in mind, this man hates you, he doesn’t like the thought of having a personal guard let alone a guard at all. Your duty as his personal guard is to follow and take note of his every single move, where he goes, what he does, even what he says.

Today the prince is training with some of the guards. You watch closely as he takes down the soldiers one by one slightly impressed by his skills. He takes the soldiers down one by one, leaving bruises and even some dislocated limbs on a few of the soldiers.

You see Diluc, a tall young man with crimson hair and autumn eyes. He’s a strong young man and it shows through his body shape and tight leather clothes. Diluc turns to face you, pointing his index finger directly at you. “You’re next.” He says with heavy breath and a raspy baritone voice as if he’s talking to a rival, a nemesis, an enemy.

As you stepped out onto the battlefield you and Diluc began to circle around each other, threatening each other death stares, gradually walking around each other, round, and round, and round you go.

When the call was made Diluc ran at you giving you a good hit in the chest. You returned the gesture by kicking him in the leg sending him down on one knee. This battle went back and forth, over, and over, and over again. One minute you would have the upperhand, the next he would have the upper hand. About what felt like hours (which was actually just 15 minutes) you won the battle pinning Diluc to the ground with your leg against his back holding his hands bound behind his back.

“Okay! I yield! I yield! You win!” He yells from underneath you with heavy breath and an annoyed tone.

You stood up walking away from the man and standing with the rest of the soldiers. Diluc is surprised by you being able to defeat him, you could clearly tell that he’s pissed about it and that thought brings you joy.

An hour later; The prince is currently taking a nice bath as he washes off the residue from training, you are standing outside the curtain, listening in on him washing, scrubbing, wiping, whatever a prince does in a shower.

You continue to listen in on him scrubbing away until it stops…

Nothing…

Absolute silence as you wait for the prince to say something, you begin to get worried. Even if it’s the prince you couldn’t help but take a peek just to make sure that the prince is okay, but then you see him, naked, and standing there… staring.

“Ah, so the personal guard has interests?~” He says in a teasing manner as you quickly close the curtain, a crimson hue appears on your face as he walks towards you, he opens the curtain, widely to show the prince standing there… Naked

“My apologies prince, you had me worried for a second there.” You try to explain but it seems that Diluc doesn’t believe you, you can hear him chuckle a little bit with the same teasing tone.

“Are you sure, cause… your cheeks sure do say otherwise.” He says in a teasing manner, suddenly you feel an arm wrap around your waist, pulling you closer and through the curtain into the bathroom as you feel another hand on your face forcing you to gently look behind to, seeing Diluc with wet hair forces more blush into your cheeks basically turning you into a tomato of sorts.

You notice a sly smirk on his face as he pulls you closer, even through the thick leather you’re wearing you can feel his wet skin against you. As you stare deeply into his eyes you notice something there, not the usual spark of hate you had been used to, not the hint of boredom he usually had when you two were alone. It’s something new, something you thought you would never see, not when he’s looking at you anyways, the longer you stared, the more you noticed. It was, Lust?

Yes, it is, lust in the eyes of a prince? That couldn’t be, he hates you, despises you, how could a prince like Diluc have lust for a soldier? It’s against the royal code, against all rules, against the whole royal family line… But it’s there, and you know it.

As Diluc begins to lead you backwards still holding you by the waist, without warning he turns your face back kissing you passionately. You had no time to react, not time to stop him, but then you noticed it… *Are you enjoying this? No, no, you can’t, this is against all moral code, against what being a soldier is about*. Half way through contemplating your life choices you feel Diluc slip his tongue into your mouth tasting yours, you couldn’t help but let out a low groan at the taste and the feeling.

Diluc pulls you back by the waist slowly bringing you closer to him as you feel his naked, et chest press against your back. His every touch on you sends a chill down your spine. Without warning he turns your head back to face him as he kisses you passionately before trailing down from your lips to your neck and so on to your collarbone. You can feel his lips on your skin as he begins to leave hickeys every here and there.

As Diluc breaks the kiss looking at you with a chuckle, you can see the need in his eyes, the want he has. “I see you enjoyed that.~” He says with another tease before kissing you, slipping his tongue in your mouth, tasting every inch of your mouth earning another low groan from you.

Half way through the kiss you feel something running up your thigh, something warm, something soft. The kiss is interrupted by a sharp breath in as you feel something on your crotch, holding it, rubbing it through your pants as you moan deeply into Diluc’s mouth. Diluc breaks the kiss letting out a low chuckle as he looks at you deeply in the eyes. As the feeling of his hand continues to massage your crotch rubbing up and down forcing a few low moans out of your mouth.

“I see you like it.” Diluc whispers into your ear in a low seductive tone as he continues to rub against your crotch.

Out of nowhere you feel his hand slip into your pants slowly pulling them down as you watch with heavy breath, the red returns to your cheeks as you feel his hand make their way to your skin. You can feel Diluc’s breath against your ear, your heart beating faster with each stroke of his hand.

“Ah!~♡♡” You let out a sudden moan as you notice his hand wrap around your dick moving up and down slowly.

You can still feel his breath against your ear as he lets out a low chuckle, then moving his hand slightly faster earning more and more moans from you. Half way through the ‘session’ he pulls your face to look at him as he kisses you passionately still rubbing your crotch and making your knees shaky. Your moans muffled into his mouth as hand continues to move faster and faster on your cock. Soon you eventually came all over the floor and his hand as you pulled away from the kiss throwing your head back onto his shoulder letting out a final goran. Diluc looks down at his hand covered in hot cum and sweat before he looks back up at you with a low chuckle.

“You took that so well.” He whispers into your ear leaving a slight kiss, you begin to take this chance to catch your breath and your heart.

You are then forced to turn over facing him as he pulls you closer for a kiss teasing your dick in the process. You begin to feel him removing your shirt now undoing it button by button and peeling it off, pulling one arm out of each sleeve at a time eventually completely taking your shirt off. Diluc then begins to kiss your neck and leaves a few love bites going down to your shoulder, getting elicit whimpers from your mouth, trying so hard not to moan loudly.

Diluc begins to lead you out of the bathroom he drags you to the bed pushing you down and laying you out now completely undressed, as he trails his kisses back upwards meeting your lips.

As Diluc continues to kiss you passionately he brings you legs up still rubbing lightly against your dick, halfway through this process you notice another feeling, despite him rubbing against you in such a way bringing you close to ecstasy. You notice his hands travel towards your ass until he circles it with his thumb “ahh look at your pretty little ass” he says You get a hard shock on your ass as you realise he just slapped your ass leaving a red hand mark on it. “♡A-ahh♡♡!!~” A loud moan escapes your lips as you feel the sharp feeling of pain mixed with pleasure. “hmm i didn't know that my little knight was a slut.” Diluc whispers into your ear as he gives you another hard slap on the ass, probably now leaving a bruise.

Diluc walks to his Vanity and gets a jar of Aloe vera (that he uses for his hair Normally) he walks back to the bed putting the aloe vera in his night stand. His dick was 5 inches, he started to rub his cock and now it's rising it's about 6 inches fully hard.

Diluc leaned down to rub your dick with one of his hands and his other and started to circle around your small virgin hole “♡A-ah♡♡!~” You let out a whimper as you feel his fingers enter your hole, stretching it out just a bit. After he takes out his finger and puts some Aloe vera and uses it as a Lube, he continues to push his fingers in and out as you moan. Feeling his fingers begin to go deeper into you, reaching as far as his finger can go.Then he adds a Second You can feel his fingers pushing in and pulling out causing you to bend forward arching your back allowing Diluc more access to your asshole.

He adds a Third finger and he slides his fingers up and down Over, and over, and over again pushing into your asshole and pulling out forcing moans out of you as you are forced to cover your mouth in order to stay quiet.

You let out a low groan at the feeling of Diluc removing his fingers from your ass. You then notice that his dick is hard and it’s obvious. Suddenly you feel a sharp pain as Diluc slips his dick inside you stretching your tiny hole.

You can hear a few low groans from him as he lets you adjust to his size for a couple of seconds. Soon he begins to thrust into you slowly, he gradually fastens his pace, he begins to build up his speed and over and over earning a few moans along the way. As he continues to thrust into you, you begin to moan louder and louder with every thrust eventually forcing the prince to cover your mouth.

“Shh. We don’t want anyone to find out now do we.” Diluc whispers into your ear as he continues to thrust into you faster, and faster, stretching out your hole to its limits as he lets out a few low groans. A few tears fall down your cheeks, as he continues to thrust into you faster and faster eliciting multiple gasps and whines out of you. High pitch squeals and heavy breaths escape your mouth at the feeling of his massive cock inside you.You then feel something warm and slimy enter your hole as Diluc cums into you leaving his cum and some of your blood all over your now stretched hole. As he begins to catch his own breath, he lets out a satisfied grunt as he falls beside you lying on the bed heaving and satisfied before reaching over to you for a warm kiss as he pulls you closer

. ”Hmm, is my little knight satisfied?” Diluc said pulling out of your ass, your legs were kinda sore so you stayed lying down ;Diluc went back to the bathroom. When he came out he has a towel wrapped around his waist to cover his complexion and a damp towel that was put into some warm water to clean you up.

#diluc ragnvindr #diluc smut #diluc x male reader #diluc x reader #genshin diluc #diluc x you #genshin impact #genshin #genshin smut #sub male reader #sub reader #diluc x reader smut #diluc x male reader smut #diluc x y/n

229 notes · View notes

sssilverstoned · 5 months

Text

sympathy for the devil ꩜ cl16

type: fluff? besties to lovers? let's say that. a friend is done dirty but is she really a friend? debatable. flashbacks, angst-ish (a guilty conscience is always a great outfit addition, no?)

word count: 4.6k

warnings: language, suggestive but no smut (finger sucking. i was in a mood,) charles is a reformed cheater, so let's say some moral ambiguity all around

lily said: hello hello! welcome to the inner workings of my hyper fixation on summer romances and a couple of bestieeeees who should just be a couple. now that this guy is out the way, i'd love to formally open requests! a drabble, fic, oneshot, hit my line ! we can get into the details of who i do and don't write for later <3

You are not a terrible person. You're not even a bad person, truly. It's something you repeat to yourself like a mantra as you look away from Charles's side profile across the long table.

He's looking like summertime, soft like an afternoon nap, but sharp like a stinging on your skin from too many 5 more minutes called from the patio. His neck is elongated slightly, trying to hear Joris's story over Mirabel's loud laughter. When he leans like that, you can see a peak of the remnants of the hickey you sucked into his pale skin the evening before. Your stomach hurts.

Charles's own nose is red, he's scrunching it on occasion like no one will notice his discomfort, and his necessity for aloe vera. You've packed it in your bag because you know he wouldn't have. He knows to ask you for it later.

You excuse yourself from the long table, your dinner in front of you looking great, but you were nowhere near hungry. When you push your chair back to stand, it makes a low noise against the floor of the garden, and his head whips to you immediately.

It was your friend group's traditional holiday you were gathered for, an annual week at Mirabel's family home right on the water. 4 girls and 5 boys, room assignments remaining relatively static throughout the years. There was that one year Clara and Sammy shared a room, but, as both of them would easily say, it wouldn't be happening again.

"Everything okay, y/n/n?" Peter asks from your diagonal, which makes more heads turn to your now standing figure. You let out an uncomfortable huff, disguised as a laugh. Charles can read you like his favorite book.

Your linen dress clings to your body, yet flows off you effortlessly. He remembers seeing it on a hook in your room, wondering how it would look on your figure when he pretended to not watch you change tops. Reality was always better than fantasy, this he knew for certain.

"I'm alright, just chilly. Want to grab my sweater."

"I'll go with you, want to charge my phone anyway," Emma smiles up at you from her seat, standing up as well.

Charles follows your figure with your eyes until you disappear into Mirabel's villa, then continues to pretend to be listening to whatever Peter has begun rambling about.

"Did you see the way he and Oliver left the pantry in disarray this morning?" Emma's practically hissing her disdain, her shorter legs pumping overtime to catch your gait. You were hoping she couldn't.

"Who? What are you talking about?"

"Charles," she gags. "Tried to cook breakfast, and of course it was shit. Can't believe you didn't know."

You did, you helped him clean it up.

"I feel like it's quite hard to burn oatmeal," you snort, scrubbing the pot.

"Too much sugar in the pot, I suppose. That's how you make yours, yes? With brown sugar?"

You look back at him from where he was leaning against the counter, watching you help him fix his mess. Oliver had cleaned up the spilled flour on the floor of the pantry, then ran out to get pastries from a bakery before the rest of the villa woke up and threatened his life.

"Surprised you remember how I like my breakfast," you say.

"Why?" he asks, cocking his head. "I know a lot about you."

You click your tongue, suddenly shy under his intentional gaze. Your focus is back on the pot, and a stubborn clump of congealed oats. Charles peers around the kitchen quickly, before coming up behind you, a large hand circling your waist.

"How did you sleep? I realize I didn't ever ask," He drops a kiss to the crown of your head when he finishes speaking, and your breath hitches. Not with love or affection, but with a strike of fear, almost. It was an open air kitchen, and while everyone seemed to be sleeping in, you never really could know who may be stirring about.

"Slept fine. Kept the windows open," you shared a room with Clara on these trips, you two were always the closest of the girls growing up and never minded sharing. She didn't say anything when you came in at 2 am with mussed hair and swollen lips, and you were grateful for it.

"You could have stayed, Joris didn't come in until late."

You finally bristle, dropping the pot onto the drying rack. "I wish you wouldn't say things like that."

You turn in his grasp, eyebrows frayed in the middle of your face. He hates when you look at him like this. "Y/n, we're not children anymore. We're two consenting adults."

"Emma will hate me."

"And is that worth your happiness? Whether or not your friend, who you aren't that close to, by the way, is mad at you?"

"You cheated on her, Charles."

You clear your throat as you blink away the memory. Emma scoffs again at the thought of Charles. "He even had the gall to come out on the patio at the same time as me this afternoon."

"Everyone was on the patio, Emma," you level, already getting irritated with her tone. She irritated you often, Charles wasn't necessarily wrong about your lack of proximity to her. She was always a bit bratty, but had too much history with the group to be left behind, no matter how much she seemed to irk everyone. "You can't expect him to walk on eggshells around you, he's still a part of the group."

Emma stops walking, but you keep pace. "Are you defending a cheater, y/n?" You're glad you didn't stop.

Your eye twitches, and you're glad that she can't see it. This conversation was draining you, yet it's barely started, and already, it's over. She did this nearly every time they were in the same vicinity, and it was getting old. Or maybe, it was the guilt that you were fucking her ex-boyfriend.

It was a mistake that they dated in the first place. He had just broken up with his long term girlfirend, someone you all never seemed to get along with, and Emma's eyes were always slightly googly for the boy. Her attention was more palpable, and better received, than the rest. So they began to fool around, began to hold hands a bit more at group dinners. You heard her say 'boyfriend' much more than he did, though.

The cheating was a bit egregious, even for Charles. For the sake of everyone's friendships, his romance with her was kept under wraps, the superiority of a professional PR team apparent over gossip columns and nosy fans. It was the nosy fans, unfortunately, that had found Charles in a club somewhere in Italy with his tongue down some model's throat.

She cried, shouted, did everything but rip her own hair out at the photos that surfaced. Perhaps it hurt her most that people were excited to see Charles with the woman, finally seen with someone that wasn't an engineer or Vasseur. They didn't know about her, and frankly, they never would. She was never terribly important to Charles, everyone knew that, and now she did too.

The group had moved on, sans Emma. No one really made fusses about it in the first place, their relationship running its course over only about 3 months. The boys saw it coming and, well, the girls had warned her. A rebound was always obvious to those watching.

The worst part, the part that made you feel so ill all the time, is Charles wanted to be yours, and you wanted to be anywhere but the villa.

You grab your sweater off of the chair at the vanity mirror in your room, bristling at the chill coming from the open window you had left during the night, and now day. You hear the laughter of your friends, of Peter shouting over Oliver, and Charles laughing from his belly. You hate that you can tell his laughter from the rest.

When you sit back down at the table, Clara waits for you to scoot your chair back in and place the napkin in your lap. "You lost her inside, eh?"

You crack a smile, Clara was your most blunt, and funniest, friend. "Had to, lest I hear about Charles's trespasses again."

Clara chuckles into her wine glass. "If only she knew."

In a lowered voice, you turn closer to her. "I think she may actually lose her mind if she found out, Clara."

She rolls her eyes. "Find out what? That you two are obsessed with each other, yet you won't take him seriously? That she was collateral? Shit happens."

"That's not what this is."

"Please. He'd marry you tomorrow if given the opportunity, y/n. Deep down, she knows that was never her anyway."

When you look back up at Charles, he's already looking at you, looking so endearing that you have to look back down at your chicken and roasted vegetables. You're still not hungry.

꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜

It happened quickly, but the buildup seemed to make it inevitable. You were always a friend of the leclercs, your mother's growing an affinity for each other when you were quite young. You grew up alongside the boys, Charles always having a soft spot for you in particular. Charles escorted you every time your father hosted a gala, and voluntarily was your designated driver on nights out. One in particular, 6 months ago, sealed fates.

"Charlie, just take one shot."

"If I take a shot, I won't be driving," he laughs at you, looking at you with little twinkles in his eyes. He and Emma had just finally broken up, the past 3 months couldn't be categorized as anything but odd. After they had notified the group, in their own respective ways, you had seemed to have gotten your fun loving, a tad awkward, but always down for what you were plotting, Charlie back. He had agreed in a heartbeat to meet you and Clara at the club. It makes you grin.

"That's fine, uber exists. Have fun for once, please?" You pout, tequila speaking for you. Everything was already a bit hazy, much funnier than normal, and less serious.

"Yeah, come on Chaaaarlie," Clara giggles knowingly. He'd do anything if you asked for it, this was a fact.

With a shake of his head and faked disdain, he downs the shot, hears your cheers, and suddenly, one shot is seven and you're both screaming the lyrics to an old Fergie song that blasts through the speakers.

Heels were a bad, but stunning, idea. You felt cute and confident, but by the time you had stopped dancing like a mad person to get a drink of water, the balls of your feet began to throb.

"Please don't take your shoes off in this place," Charles begs.

"Don't be my father," you frown. "My feet hurt."

"Your feelings will be what's hurting when someone steals these off the section couch," he points to your feet, and there was a touch of validity. They were Jimmy Choos, after all, and cost more than you could comprehend. Charles often went overboard on your birthday gifts.

"I'll take that risk."

"I'll hold them."

"You won't," you say with a laugh, used to his dramatics. But he shocks you, gingerly picking them off the couch and holding them on his index and middle finger.

"Charlie, put my shoes down."

"I will do no such thing."

Somehow, somewhere between promising Clara you'd text her when the uber dropped you and Charles off at his place, helping him get the key into the lock of his door, and sitting on his kitchen island, Charles finds himself in between your legs, staring into your eyes that had glitter and mascara surrounding them.

It wasn't normal of "best friends" to be around each other like this. He knew that. He hadn't wanted to be just your best friend in a while though, but having you in that capacity was better than nothing at all. Especially when he had seemingly bounced from one girlfriend to the other, and deep down, he knew it was because he was bored. They weren't you, no matter how much imitation was attempted. Perhaps the only person who was aloof to his truest desires, was you.

"You looked very pretty tonight, y/n/n."

"You looked dashing yourself," you wink, "the girls in there told you that though, no?"

He rolls his eyes. "That wasn't anything. Just fans, same shit as usual."

"You usually are being hit on by pretty girls, is what you're saying?" You continue to tease. Charles can't stand your smart mouth sometimes, especially how much he can't help but love it.

"To be fair, I don't really notice. I'm always looking at you, anyway."

You don't have a response for that. He's never said it outright, never crossing the line. But now he has, and there's no going back.

"Charles, you just broke up with Emma."

"I know,"

"You cheated on her."

"I know,"

"I'm your best friend."

His turn to grin. "I know."

In a fashion completely unlike you, throwing caution to the wind felt like the only option, pulling him in with your legs, locking around the back of his waist, lips pressed onto his, hair between your fingers. He tastes like tequila and mint gum, like the things you regret yet adore. He wonders if this means the same to you as it means to him.

When you wake up in his bed, makeup removed and your favorite shirt of his draped over your body, you inhale deeply when you feel the familiar soreness stretching through your lower half, and the weight of his arm roped around your body. Now that you've gotten your taste, you weren't giving it up.

"Did you pack the aloe vera?" You hear him from your doorway, blinking back from yet another memory.

"'S in the bathroom, look in the blue toiletry bag," you call, not looking away from where you were taking your hooped earrings out in the mirror. It was a domestic encounter in a way, like a scene taken out of context 20 years from now. Maybe one day, you'd be on holiday with a family of your own, enjoying silence once your kids were asleep after playing in the water all day. Maybe you'd be actually sharing a room, instead of whatever the fuck this was.

"You seemed off at dinner, everything okay?" Charles asks, rubbing the gel on his soon-to-be-peeling nose.

"Fine," you shrug, turning back to look at him, and not just his reflection. "Just wasn't so hungry. And cold, like I said."

He chuckles a little to himself. "I could tell," he nods with his head down to your chest. Your nipples had pearled, and supposedly, had been pearled, and were obvious through the thin fabric of your fitting dress.

"Jesus Charles," you berate, turning back to your mirror. "You're ridiculous."

"I'm a man," he corrects. "Who's seen what's under that dress and thinks it's a great sight. But I also like your mind and your personality and all that, of course." Idiot. He sits on your bed, making himself comfortable against the headboard as he watches you get ready for bed. Domesticity. "Will you be going back to Monaco after this?"

"No, visiting Clara's family in the states for a little."

He makes a discontent noise. "How long?"

"A week," you answer. "Miami."

"Fun, going to go out?"

"What is it to you?" You ask, half jokingly, half alerted by his series of questions.

He shrugs this time. "Care about you, want to know what your plans are. Is it a crime?"

"No, just makes me fear you're in love with me."

"I'm on my way to that, I tell you that all the time. And you make jokes because you know it's true."

You stand up from the vanity, looking at him with an expression that makes his heart hurt. It's that wounded puppy look, the way you used to look at Arthur when Charles would tell him to fuck off from trying to hang out with the two of you as teenagers.

"I don't really know what to say when you say those things." He stands up from your bed, meeting you where you stand in the middle of you and Clara's room. He still smells just like all your favorite aspects of summer, and that tired look in his eyes from a day of relaxation and release melts you. "I know I'm in my head."

"'S a good head to be in." He moves the strans of your hair that were falling over your forehead behind your ear, smoothing his fingers over your jawline until his fingers lift your chin. "That's better. Couldn't see your face."

"What is this, Charlie?" Your eyes search his, and he hates how scared you look. "Like, seriously. We, we fuck, we sleep in the same bed more than we don't."

"We always have done that, you've shared with Enzo and Arthur before too I'm sure."

"Don't be dense."

"I think that's just how I am, mon amour."

"Such a shithead," you mutter with a huff, annoyed with his smug expression. "I'm being serious. If sex is just what you want, or need, right now, I don't think I can do this anymore."

"It's much more than that to me, don't insult me," He no longer has a grin on his face, mouth turned much more stoic. "My actions precede me, yes," you withold commentary on that, "but I'd never do anything to hurt you, y/n/n. I care about you, think about you all the time, want you wherever I am, always."

A part of you thinks this is what you've always wanted to hear. A gorgeous, successful, personable man who you've grown to trust infallibly your whole life is 5 feet short of professing his love for you, and yet, you can't let yourself fully be happy. Because for the last 6 months, you've ducked and dodged your own friends, not wanting them to know about the two of you. He did cheat, for crying out loud. On someone you have baby photos with. No matter how annoying, or selfish, she comes off, Emma wasn't going anywhere in your life. And you'd be devastated if she did this to you, so he remained your dirty little secret.

"Am I interrupting?" Clara says teasingly from the doorway, a wine glass still in her hands. "Sorry, Mirabel wanted me to check on you."

You clear your throat and step away from Charles. "Not at all. Charlie's got a sun burn."

"Ah. You are pale," Clara notes. "Figures."

"Thanks, Clar."

"Still drinking?" You nod toward her glass. "Pour me one, will you?"

"Sure will." She turns, and you make to follow.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore, I think."

"Y/n,"

"Not right now," you say firmly, "please?"

And you've got that withered look, that look that screams exhaustion. Guilt's gonna kill him one day, he's sure.

"Fine."

And with that, you head out the door, leaving Charles in your room, regretting not telling you how he felt about you when his girlfriend told him to. Before Emma took that mantle instead, and before you started looking at him like it was hard to do so.

꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜

Sammy brings it up first, but the entirety of the day was the beginning of the end of secrecy.

The next day had been decided as a boat day, everyone prepared for another long day in the sun, this time on the open waves. The girls had all gone below deck, in search of champagne and a bottle opener, and Sammy and Charles were far enough from Oliver, Joris, and Peter for them to hear a conversation.

"I've got a question I think," Sammy asks. He makes an affirmative noise, head leaned back against the cushions of the lounger, sunglasses sliding down his still peeling nose. "Are you and y/n hooking up?"

Charles immeditely looks up at Sammy, mouth open in a scramble for the most believable way to say no. "No, ah, why would you say that?" oh dear.

"Mate," Sammy winces.

"Fuck me," Charles yanks the glasses off and wipes both hands over his face. He keeps them there when he asks, "how?"

"Leaving hickeys is one thing, her jewelry on your bedside table is another." The central heating unit for their floor was in Joris and Charles's room, Sammy did go to adjust it yesterday morning. Fuck. "Does Emma know?"

"No," Charles says quickly. "No. Y/n doesn't want anyone to."

Sammy quirks his mouth to the side. "Well, are you dating?"

"No,"

"Ah." Sammy looks out on the water, stewing over this confirmed theory of his. You all suddenly appear from inside, cheering with a bottle clutched in Emma's hand, you with the opener. When he looks back at Charles, he sees that even though all four of you stand there he's looking at you. This must be sympathy for the devil, Sammy thinks, because why else is he feeling bad for someone whose problem was multiple attractive women had feelings for him?

"Charlie, can you help?" you pout, unable to get the cork loose from the bottle. It was obvious you were tipsy, drunk even, you all had been drinking since the sun came up.

"Fucks sake y/n, use your arm!" Clara groans. Sammy looks back at Charles, willing him with his brain to not be at your beck and call for once.

"I've got it," Charles chuckles, like an idiot, if you ask Sammy. He pops it, a cheer coming from the group at the appearance of bubbles and spray. It gets all over his hands as he attempts to hold the bottle away from his body, and he shakes the excess off as the cheers continue. Oliver whisks the bottle away to be divied up between everyone's cups, and Charles goes inside to wash his hands off. You slink off behind him, unbeknownst to him, or the rest of your friends, except for Emma, whose interest is piqued by your sudden absences.

"Thanks for the help," your voice is sweet in the silence of the kitchenette.

His head whips to your figure, slightly startled by your presence. You're barefoot, a brown bikini only covering what's absolutely necessary to be covered. He can't tell if he loves it or he hates it. Your open button up shirt tossed on as a cover up intrigues him, because, is that his?

"Is that my shirt?" Charles repeats, out loud this time, eyes trained like heat seekers as you move close. His hands lay in the towel, champagne still dripping off his fingers. You've seemed to have distracted his process.

"No, but it seems like you would love it if it was."

He raises his shoulders. "You're welcome to them."

You hum, "good to know." You're looking at him like prey, it makes his throat dry and he's not sure what to say. You're always the bubbly one, the sunshine when he's being grumpy and difficult.

Charles lifts his hands from the towel that he still hasn't utilized yet, pushing his luck by placing a hand on your hip. He plays with the string on your right hip, fingers begging to untie the bow. "You only like talking to me when we're in kitchens, huh?"

He makes you laugh with that, or maybe it's the alchohol making you do it. "I always like talking to you. It's you that can't keep hands to yourself."

A hand slides up his chest, resting casually, yet his heart races faster. That familiar, warm feeling settles in his lower stomach, and he wills himself not to harden like a teenager. "We both have a problem with hands, I see."

You tilt your head in challenge. You pull his hand off of your hip and lift it, analyzing the digits still drenched in champagne. And to his utter surprise, you take his index finger into your mouth. The eye contact you hold as you do so has his mouth dropping open slightly in a daze, mind going to static as he feels the warmth and wetness, the pucker of your lips. You hum as you release his finger with a pop, licking your lips.

"Don't think I have a problem with your hands at all, Charles."

Charles, not Charlie. He's ruined.

How you saunter away after that leaves him gobsmacked, flustered, and most of all, hoping this boat would be docking soon.

꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜

"I have an offer for you," is how you start the conversation. You're all showered, evening attire thrown on and awaiting the metaphorical dinner bell. The two of you plus Peter were sat out on the patio, and were left alone when Peter ran in to the bathroom for a moment.

"When I come back home, we should go on date."

Charles thinks he mishears you. "What?"

"A date, Charlie. You know, when two people who share a romantic interest go out toge-"

"Enough, smartass," He stops your condescension. "You would go on one with me?"

You take a deep breath. "Yeah, I would. I like you, and all that."

"And all that," he repeats. "What every man wants to hear."

"Do you want to go on the date or not?"

"I do, I really do. Have wanted to for a while, you know."

You smile softly, resting your head on the lounger. "I know."

"Dinner's ready," Emma comes out to announce. When she sees it's only the two of you, her expression changes slightly, something only you'd notice after years of experiencing emotions from her. "Where's Peter?"

"Bathroom," you answer easily. Emma looks at the two of you intently, and Charles turns towards the water, not really interested in making conversation with the woman who's profusely stated her aversion to him.

"Hm. Well, come down soon."

When she closes the glass doors, Charles all but laughs out loud. "What a nightmare."

"Your ex," you rebut, "can't believe that to this day. If you didn't like her, why'd you do it?"

"Because I didn't think I could have you."

His veins fill with regret when he says it, he knows its not fair. But it's true, you know it as well. "Well, no more collateral damage, then." You stand up from the lounger, brushing down your dress. "Pick a good restaurant for the date."

Dinner begins well, Mirabel telling stories and Oliver denying them all. It's when the laughter dies down after Joris recounts their last trip to Nice that things begin to slant.

"Y/n/n," Emma calls from down the table. You turn to her, as everyone does.

"Yeah, Em?"

"I just have been dying to know," she starts, clasping her hands under her chin. "How long have you and Charles been fucking?"

Peter chokes on his wine. The table is utterly silent, and everyone's face carries the same shocked expression. And, wow, you've pictured this moment dozens of ways and hundreds of times, but honestly, this one was rare form. But after everything, especially today, caution was once again to the wind.

"About 6 months," you calmly answer, reaching for your glass. "Give or take."

"You bitch," she hisses. "Are you not even ashamed of yourself?"

"Are you not going to address Charles in the slightest, or is it just y/n's fault that they have sex?" Clara asks, and Mirabel and Oliver can't help the snicker in their chests. Sammy takes another piece of salmon from the middle platter.

"Yes, I could have said something," you mull.

Emma looks around, utter disbelief on her face as it seems everyone's refusing to intervene on this one. You can't blame them, and those who did know, well, their wine glasses are filled.

Emma gets up from the table with a curse of Charles's name and a disgusted look your way, and Clara clears her throat.

"So, anyone have any recommendations for clubs in Miami?"

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fluff

282 notes · View notes

trippibrujx · 8 months

Text

Plants of Santa Muerte

Agave: Self confidence, Love-Magic.

Aloe Vera: Protection(especially for children & pregnant women), self love, inner beauty.

Apple: Knowledge, wisdom, necromancy, healing psychosomatic ailments.

Apricot: Love-Magick (especially for gender-variant people). Wisdom spells (especially focused on one's own self or your masculine side if you're a woman, or feminine side if you're a man.

Avocado: Love and lust spells(attracting men), erotic beauty, increase male virility.

Beans: Friendship-Magick.

Belladonna: Lust(enhancing one's seductiveness), protection(cord-cutter), connect to other dimensions and realms of consciousness.

Berry: Raspberries are used in female fertility spells (Raspberries are used to create). Black berries are used in protection and healing psychological trauma (Blackberries are used to destroy).

Burdock: Protection(keeping harm and danger away), attraction (people, places, things).

Cactus: Protection(guard against those who wish to do harm), Chastity spells (ward off unwanted sexual advances/aggression).

Cherry: Love-Magick (lust to love).

Chili Peppers: Chastity spells, Protection(cooling/calming).

Chocolate: Luxury, prosperity, erotic love. Dark chocolate is preferred.

Chrysanthemum: Necromancy, communing with the dead.

Cilantro: Self-acceptance, self-love, stopping/preventing bullying(giving victim courage to stop being victimized), Maintain grace during stress.

Cinnamon: Money-Magick(expand prosperity), Lust-Magick(add sensuality to relationship).

Coca Leaves: Offering to spirits, tool of divination, aid to energize mind during meditation.

Coffee Beans: Break addictions, Breaking self illusions.

Dandelion: Self-confidence to be stand out of the crowd, Detoxify negative thinking.

Honeysuckle: Expedite spell speed.

Hyacinth: Gay male love-magick(help with coming out of the closet or accepting one's own homosexuality).

Jasmine: Dream work(prophetic dreams). magnifies emotions in spell work like love or lust.

Lemon: Cleansing, Healing-Magick.

Licorice: Hexes , harmful magick, combat addictions, promote longevity.

Lily: Break love spells, ease transitional pain of loss(friends, breakups, divorce, death).

Lime: Cleansing spiritual ailments, love magick(zest/strengthen relationships).

Marijuana: Protection(from law and harm), Money-Magick.

Nettle: Protection-Magick(to get a handle on what is causing harm). In Healing-Magick(get a hold on ailments(arthritis)).

Orange: Cleansing the mind of harmful thoughts and emotions, and countering sorrow and depression in it's physical association.

Palo Santo: Healing-Magick(unknown ailment), Protection-Magick(block all harm spiritual/physical/emotional).

Pau d'Arco: Healing-Magick(critical condition), Undo/abort magick spells that gone wrong.

Peach: Gay male love magick.

Peppermint: Memorization (students/lawyers), quell arguments, spats among friends/lovers/coworkers.

Plum: Healing magick(over-come blockages).

Pomegranate: Healing-Magick(blood and feminine ailments), Increase fertility, prosperity, empowers women.

Rose: Red(Erotic Love), Pink(romantic love), White(pure platonic love between friends/family/self-love), Yellow(love of life).

Tobacco: Communing with the Divine, empowers men.

Vanilla: Lust-Magick(foreplay, oral, fetishes).

Wine: Divination, development of psychic abilities.

Yerba Mate: Protection-Magick(standing ground), mental clarity, self-confidence.

#santa muerte #santisima muerte #witchcraft #brujeria #witches #witches of tumblr #magick #witchyvibes #witchcore #witchy vibes

324 notes · View notes

afeelgoodblog · 1 year

Text

The Best News of Last Week - March 20, 2023

🌱 - Okra to the Rescue and Other News You Can't 'Lettuce' Miss This Week

1. 4 day work week being pushed in Congress

Progressive Democrats, led by Rep. Mark Takano of California, are pushing for a four-day workweek to give Americans more time for leisure outside of work. The proposed Thirty-Two Hour Workweek Act would amend the Fair Labor Standards Act of 1938 to require overtime pay for any employee working more than 32 hours in a week at a rate of time and a half.

More than 70 British companies have started to test a four-day workweek, and halfway through the six-month trial, most respondents reported there has been no loss in productivity.

2. Governor Walz signs universal school meals bill into Minnesota law

Minnesota just became the fourth state in the US to provide breakfasts and lunches at no charge to students at participating schools! The bill was signed into law by Governor Tim Walz on Friday, and it's set to ease the burden on parents who struggle to provide meals for their children.

The new legislation will cover the cost of meals for all students, regardless of household income. This means that families who don't qualify for free and reduced meals but who struggle to pay for food will also be covered. The bill is also meant to prevent "lunch shaming" practices, where children are denied food or given substitutes that indicate their family is struggling financially.

3. Texas Researchers Use Okra to Remove Microplastics from Wastewater

Researchers from Tarleton State University in Fort Worth, Texas discovered that food-grade plant extracts from okra have the power to remove microplastics from wastewater. Polysaccharide extracts from plants like fenugreek, cactus, aloe vera, tamarind, and okra were found to be effective non-toxic flocculant alternatives to remove microplastics from water.

Polysaccharides from okra and fenugreek were best for removing microplastics from ocean water, while a combination of okra and tamarind worked best for freshwater. Furthermore, plant-based flocculants can be easily implemented in existing water treatment facilities.

4. In the northern California snow, stranded cows are getting emergency hay drops

The recent wave of unprecedented snowfall in California has left cattle stranded and starving. When rancher Robert Puga ran out of hay, neighboring Humboldt County officials put together an emergency rescue operation called "Operation Hay Drop." State, federal, and local officials airdropped stranded cattle bales of hay to feed them.

Humboldt County Sheriff William Honsal went to the Coast Guard with the idea of a helicopter rescue, and by midday Sunday, March 5, Operation Hay Drop was underway. So far, Operation Hay Drop has been a success, said rancher Puga. The mission covers about 2,500 head of cattle over several miles.

5. Make-A-Wish Foundation no longer considers Cystic Fibrosis to be automatically qualifying due to improvements in life outcomes for patients

Given the ongoing life-changing advances in cystic fibrosis, beginning in January 2024, cystic fibrosis will no longer automatically qualify for a wish.

6. 1st woman given stem cell transplant to cure HIV is still virus-free 5 years later

In 2017, a woman known as the "New York patient" underwent a stem cell transplant to treat both her cancer and HIV. Now, about 30 months later, she has been virus-free and off her HIV medication, leading some researchers to suggest that she may have been cured of HIV.

The New York patient, received stem cells taken from umbilical cord blood that also had the HIV-resistance genes. However, it's important to note that there is no official distinction between being cured and being in long-term remission, and the medical team is waiting for longer-term follow-up before making any definitive statements.

7. Cheetahs Back in Wild in India After Seven Decades

Namibian cheetahs have been successfully reintroduced to India after the world's fastest land animal was declared extinct in the South Asian country more than 70 years ago. Two cheetahs, Obaan and Asha, were released into the wild of Kuno National Park after being brought to India last September.

The species is being reintroduced on an experimental basis as part of a major prestige project for Prime Minister Narendra Modi. India aims to bring in about 100 of the big cats over the next decade. The African cheetah is a different subspecies from the extinct Asiatic cheetah, which once roamed the sub-continent in great numbers.

Lastly, I recently opened a Youtube channel. Subscribe for a weekly compilation of feel good videos.

- - -

That's it for this week :) If you liked this post you can support me with a small kofi donation:

Buy me a coffee ❤️

Let's carry the positivity into next week and keep spreading the good news!

#best news of last week

640 notes · View notes

fiapartridge · 2 months

Text

he's a stranger! | mack + grace 🌷💌⭐️

macklin x hughes!sister

summary: grace wants to bring macklin to the sacred lake house and her brother, jack is not having it.

fia's notes 💌: soooo much dialogue, like no mack in here SORRY this is like a siblings + trevor and cole imagine lol <3 enjoy!

not proofread

In the heart of Michigan’s summer magic, nestled among towering pines and tranquil waters of Lake Michigan, stood the sacred Hughes family lake house. Throughout the year, the Hughes siblings would be spread far apart in different stretches of the country, one of them not even residing in the country, but at this lake house and on this plot of land, none of that mattered. Because for two full months, the four of them were there together, and it was always better than the last.

“What do you mean you’re inviting him here?” Jack yelled from the living room as Grace rolled her eyes, stirring a pitcher of ice cold lemonade from the kitchen. She stood in a forest green triangle bikini top and jean shorts, fanning herself from the scorching hot summer heat that was seeping into the house.

“It means exactly that, Jack,” she shrugged, throwing the lemonade into the fridge and fetching a container of strawberries in return. “And you better not be mean to him!”

Jack scoffed, peeling himself off the couch, his bare chest exposed as he stumbled into the kitchen. “You haven’t even met the kid yet! What if he’s crazy? You’re just gonna invite some stranger into the house like it’s nothing?”

“He’s not a stranger, Jack. You’re being dramatic.”

“Yeah? Well, you’re being under-dramatic!”

Grace laughed, shaking her head as she cut the strawberries into halves. “Oh, wise words, Mr. Harvard.”

“Very funny. You know, these college dropout jokes are getting real old.”

“Can’t be a college dropout if you never went to college, Jack,” Luke butted in, stomping down the stairs as he opened the fridge and immediately grabbed the lemonade Grace had just made.

“Hey! I just made that!” Grace shouted, her small knife pointing in Luke’s direction.

With his hands up, Luke dropped the pitcher onto the counter. “Hey, no need for weapons!”

“Can you guys shut up?” Quinn complained, Trevor in tow, as they sat on the barstools at the kitchen island. “We can hear you guys fighting from the lake.”

“Oh, did someone make lemonade?” Trevor asked, ushering the pitcher towards his direction. “Grab me a cup, Grace?”

“You’re 23, grow the fuck up and get your own cup,” Grace scolded, her hands crossed over each other as Trevor stood up, a frown etched onto his face.

“Someone’s angry,” Trevor mumbled to Luke as he stretched for a cup at the top cabinet.

At that point, everyone was angry about something. Jack didn’t want Macklin to come, Grace wanted the complete opposite, Luke was deprived of the lemonade and was now watching Trevor sip it with ease, Quinn was tired of everyone’s bullshit, and Trevor got yelled at by the youngest Hughes, but truth-be-told, he was more scared of her than anyone else in the family—other than Ellen.

“Guys!’ Jack announced from his spot by the entryway of the kitchen. “Tell me I’m not crazy—”

“You’re crazy—”

“I haven’t even said anything yet, Luke,” Jack scolded as Luke shrugged his shoulders in response, diving into something on his phone. “Okay! Gracelynn here wants to bring a complete stranger to the lakehouse. That’s stupid, right?” he asked.

“Well, haven’t you done that, too? Like all of the girls you’ve brought here,” Cole added from the backdoor, fanning his red sunburn in search of the aloe vera that Grace restocks in the fridge every summer.

“That doesn’t count.”

Grace scoffed, her back resting on the cool counter behind her. “Why not?”

“Because—”

“Because you’re a hypocrite! Macklin’s gonna come here and you guys are going to enjoy him—or at least pretend to.”

Luke stood up, his head pointing up from his phone. “We’re talking about Mack?”

“Yes?” Jack agreed confusingly, his brows furrowing at the younger boy.

“I thought this was some random dude! I’m on G’s side.”

“Oh, come on!” Jack groaned. “He is random!”

“Don’t act like you weren’t complimenting his puck protection like two weeks ago,” Luke scoffed, stealing a sip of lemonade from Trevor’s cup.

“Hah!” Grace jumped. “You like him! Admit it!”

“I don’t like him,” Jack huffed. “But... you can bring him if you want, I guess.”

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Grace asked, her hand cupping her right ear. “I don’t think I caught that.”

“You can bring him,” he groaned, defeated.

Putting down her knife, Grace jumped up and down before running towards Jack and throwing her arms around the boy. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Mirroring her actions, he threw his arms around Grace. “He better not be a weirdo and murder us in our sleep.”

“He won’t! Well, I don’t think he will,” she smiled. “Also, you’re really sweaty.”

“Oh well, fuck you then.”

#macklin celebrini x hughes!sister 🌟#jack hughes #luke hughes #quinn hughes #trevor zegras #cole caufield

100 notes · View notes

deepouterspacecandy · 3 months

Text

Our Sanctuary of Ruin

18+ only. Violence, references to death, and sexual themes.

Sometimes it all falls apart. Perhaps with Abby, you can overcome anything. I hope you enjoy, thank you a million for all the love!

Abby feels the warmth of tiny hands tugging at her sleeve, their grip wrapping snuggly around her thumb. As she looks down, a toothy smile greets her, and it’s contagious.

A precious sunflower opens up inside her chest as little feet bounce in her presence.

Accompanying the dirt streaked smile is a sweet voice, teeming with innocence.

“Mama?”

“What’s up, buttercup?” Abby asks.

“Did you and mommy make this whole town?”

Falling behind schedule for her training session, Abby shifts on her feet. She treasures her family above all else and proves it to you every day, but tardiness is the bane of her existence. She contemplates handing off the question to you and making a quick exit, but the intensity in your gaze gives her pause.

“We sure did, Bug.”

The child wiggles their fingers, inviting Abby to lift them up into her nurturing arms. With one swift motion, she obliges, eliciting a giggle that fills your home with bliss.

“How, mama? Tell me a story!”

When Abby glances at you, as you carefully trim the aloe vera plants that decorate the living room window, it’s with a sea of affection.

“When you’re a little bit older, I’ll dish all the deets, okay?” Abby explains. “How about a song?”

In the foyer, Abby gently rocks the child to their favourite tune, melodies drifting along the bright spring breeze and spilling into the courtyard.

Her hope is that they will only encounter the ways of the world through stories, shielding them from the harsh truths that you both have experienced.

The thought of history repeating itself keeps her awake at night.

--------------------------------------------------

Abby is away on a two-week assignment with her squad, when you notice something is amiss at the stadium.

Isaac has distributed an overwhelming workload that has stretched everyone to their limits, and you can feel the support beams of the bridge beginning to shudder. But it’s more than that and you sense it in your gut.

There is a noticeable shift in behaviour, as people become more guarded, stress levels soaring through the community.

Before Abby set off, an unshakeable premonition niggled into you, hinting at imminent upheaval. While you wish you could’ve gone with her, it’s rare for the two of you to work together anymore.

To achieve broader coverage, Isaac strategically assigns his most skilled soldiers to different missions. In the past, questioning his authority has always had negative outcomes for both of you.

Your extensive knowledge and experience in various types of weaponry, as well as Abby’s exceptional skill in combat, have made you indispensable members of the WLF.

If that enhances the likelihood of you leading missions independently and getting separated, pissing off Isaac almost guarantees it.

It’s not uncommon for your brain to send signals of distress when she's gone, even though there’s often no unsurmountable danger to speak of. You’ve navigated being isolated from her countless times and always emerged relatively unscathed.

Still, this time, midnight without her seems to linger, its darkness a looming, cavernous shadow that only expands as time ticks by.

The familiar sound of her crunching her way through a bag of sunflower seeds is something you’re desperate to hear.

Occasionally, your fears have crept up on you and consumed your thoughts. But now, they have materialized into a tangible, brambly husk, prodding both hands.

You try to ignore the group sitting across from you in the chow hall, their hushed conversations sporadically punctuated by the sound of them coughing into their arms. Isaac’s practice of bringing soldiers from other parts of Seattle into the stadium has, time and again, resulted in the spread of dreaded viruses.

Lately, it seems like his drive for power has clouded his judgment, making him increasingly careless. His urgency to build up his militia has led to lax enforcement of quarantine protocols, something you’ve griped about for a while.

Memories come rushing back like a flash flood as you observe a sweaty, emaciated man coughing without restraint while waiting in line for his breakfast.

He receives disdainful looks from both soldiers and civilians, the atmosphere thick with disapproval.

You get where they’re coming from.

Last year, a terrible flu spread through the community, and it knocked you on your ass for three days. Abby’s diligence played a crucial role in ensuring that you recovered quickly, just in time to reverse the roles until she was back on her feet, too.

For the first time in a while, you felt the perils of something that wasn’t Cordyceps.

With your girlfriend’s support in making certain you were hydrated and fed, keeping a cold cloth pressed to your forehead, you were able to endure the fever until it eventually broke.

Not everyone in the community had the same stroke of luck.

Enveloped in the ambiance of Abby’s mixtape playing in your ears, you ditch your tray and stroll towards the communications room. When it comes to selecting music that can elevate your mood and ease anxiety, Abby is nothing short of a godsend.

True to her nature, she threw in something completely offbeat, leaving you to interpret its meaning.

Just as the edges of your worries are blurring, a sudden and forceful slam against the janitorial room door next to you reverberates through the corridor.

Your shoes absorb the vibrations from the shock, making every muscle in your body coil.

“What the fuck?” you mumble, yanking out your earbuds.

“You gotta snag it while it’s hot, am I right?”

You let out a sigh as a passerby chuckles at the extremes people will go for privacy. With your music blaring, it’s clear she picked up on nuance better than you could.

“Right,” you say.

As the woman’s giggles trail her down the hall, you can’t help the nausea squirming inside your stomach.

--------------------------------------------------

It’s a refreshing change to find the radio room completely empty.

Most times, there is a line that goes all the way out the door, and despite being given preferential treatment, you seldom make use of it.

With anticipation, you reach into your pocket to retrieve a crumpled slip of paper, the frequencies Abby plans to use hastily scribbled on top.

Without fail, you’ve established a daily routine of connecting with each other twice a day. Regardless of any compromises she may make in other areas, Abby remains unwavering in her position on this issue.

The one time you overslept and turned up late to your work assignment at the armory, missing your scheduled date with her, she charged into your apartment days early from her mission with a wild expression in her eyes.

It’s better to set aside your other duties temporarily than to worry her half to death while she’s fighting through an ominous world with her bare hands. Although you try to conceal it, devastating panic would consume you just the same if she didn’t show up.

As soon as you switch to her current frequency and call out, her chuffed response is instantaneous.

“Morning, sunshine,” Abby says. “God, I miss your voice. How is this dreary day treating you so far? Over.”

You’re dying to tell her how much you long for her, worse than a lost limb, but you’re keeping it under wraps. Abby becomes discombobulated when she concerns herself with your well-being while she’s on the road, and it’s crucial for her to stay mentally sharp.

“You know I’m out here kicking ass and taking names. Over.”

Even with static interference, Abby’s laughter numbs the swarm of wasps buzzing between your ribs.

“That’s my girl. So, I have something super important to ask you, okay? Over.”

As you rest the mic against your cheek, the delightful sting of happiness tugs at the corners of your mouth. The mischief in her tone echoes through the radio waves, unmistakable to you, even miles away.

“Lay it all out, beautiful,” you say. “And you better make it good. Over.”

The line intermittently switches between static and clear, a signal that she’s preparing to make your day amazing.

“Tell me,” Abby purrs. “What are you wearing right now? Over.”

The area where she is situated is constantly milling with eavesdroppers, obvious to you as the lively whoops and cheers of her crew ring out in the background.

You can’t help but fling yourself backwards in your chair, feeling your cheeks grow warm as you try to gather your composure, determined to give her more than just bashful glee through the line.

One of her favourite things, aside from making you happy and keeping you safe, is catching you off guard with her playful prowess. Every soldier on Abby’s squad is someone you trust and adore, fueling your determination to outshine your girl at her very own sport.

“It’s good you asked, my love,” you say, pulling on a frayed strand hanging from the hemline. “Since I only just realized how stinkin’ low your tank top hangs under my arms. Do you think I should go home and put on a bra before my shift starts? Over.”

While you wait, the line falls silent, giving you a moment to picture the delightful sight of those elated blue eyes crinkling at the edges.

There’s no view quite like Abby when she runs her teeth over her pouty bottom lip, pretty freckles blending into pink cheeks.

“Goddamn,” she says.

The huskiness in her voice is a telltale sign her resolve is wavering fast.

“You’re killing me, woman. Which one did you steal this time? Over.”

“The one I tore off you the night before you left,” you say.

You let your lips graze the microphone, creating a tantalizing, crisp murmur you know will torture her.

“It still smells like you, Abigail. I don’t know how on earth I’m going to stay focused at work today. Over.”

You’ve appropriately scandalized the soldiers at the other end, without a doubt, who you suspect have positioned themselves close by to listen in on their captain’s conversation. It thrills you to no end that they will have ample material to tease her for the rest of the day.

It is certain to bring a smile to her face and keep it there.

Instead of striving to regain her dominance in the exchange, Abby’s voice turns softer, brimming with enthusiasm.

“Man, am I ever nuts about you,” she says with a breathless chuckle. “You still make my heart race—have I ever told you that? I must be the luckiest girl alive. Over.”

The spark of your very first meeting with Abby burned as brightly as a bolt of lightning trapped inside a bottle and you reminisce with her for a while.

They paired you together in training just to watch you consistently eclipse her in target practice events, while she effortlessly outperformed you with her mastery in hand-to-hand combat. It took mere moments for you to become infatuated with each other.

Your affection for her surpasses all others, but the most significant impact has been how she has helped you learn to love yourself. Abby revived the light in your life, offering you a fresh perspective on the art of finding it.

“I can’t wait to hold you. Swear you’ll keep my side of the bed warm for me until then? Over,” Abby says.

A raw lump settles in your throat. Each goodbye feels just as difficult as the last, and no matter how much you try to suppress your fears, you can never predict when it might be the last time you lay eyes on her.

“You know I will,” you say.

As you wrap your arms around yourself, the scent of the forest lingers on your skin, and Abby is right there with you.

“I love you deeper than the ocean, Abby. Stay safe out there. Tell Manny to watch your six until it’s my turn. Over.”

Out of nowhere, an ear-splitting siren blares throughout the stadium.

An eerie chill shoots up your spine, as if you had already known what was about to go down. It completely obscures the last thing Abby said to you, making it impossible to comprehend her message.

--------------------------------------------------

The disorientation intensifies as you make your way back to your suite, with the relentless strobing of the emergency lights fixed on the walls above you.

There are only a few reasons security personnel will trigger the alarm, and all of them spell trouble.

Someone, somewhere, made a catastrophic error.

Panicked screams echo down the corridor, and you can’t help but wonder how many festering bites and scratches slipped past the gates undetected, spreading quietly among the population.

You’ve witnessed firsthand how a single infected can wreak havoc on an entire population. Just how many people have been suffering in silence? With the sun slowly sinking below the horizon, casting a fiery orange hue over a mass of frightened individuals dashing through the open field, it seems like it’s only a matter of time before you stumble upon the answers you’re seeking.

By sliding boards onto the hitches Abby installed, you fortify the battered door to your apartment. In their frenzied escape, bodies collide against it, causing the hinges to rattle and groan against the frame.

Abby’s cautionary words about living in a high traffic area replay in your thoughts as you realize the importance of heeding her advice.

Scrambling under your bed, cobwebs and dust tickle your nose as you grab the go bags you’ve prepared.

The weight of Abby’s duffel presses heavily into your side, forcing you to abandon it. By sliding it back under the bed, you expect that if she comes looking for it, she will recognize that you have effectively accomplished the initial steps of your plan.

Frankly, you pray she will stay far away from this place.

After tugging the curtains over the expansive floor-to-ceiling windows, the fabric gliding smoothly along the rod, you reach for the crowbar fastened behind your wardrobe.

The armory enforces rigorous regulations, even for the soldiers who manage it.

They strictly prohibit carrying weapons outside the premises without authorization. Although implemented for good reason, it is of no use to you in a crisis—say, for example, an outbreak of infected ravaging the close quarters of your home.

Despite Abby’s persistent efforts to change the rule, her high-ranking position hasn’t granted her the privilege of storing firearms within the stadium, let alone carrying them on her person inside the walls.

As you marvel at the sight of the magnificent oak furniture Abby helped you build, you can’t help but appreciate her rebellious nature. With each creaking board you pry back, you slowly reveal a hidden trove of firearms and polished blades.

On top, a notepad you don’t recognize teeters precariously. Written inside, Abby’s scrawl is barely legible, a testament to her hurried thoughts.

You are my world, so please, baby, don’t be a hero. You’re the toughest person I’ve ever met, but that heart of yours is just too damn big. I won’t tolerate you getting hurt, so I’m asking you to put yourself first, just this once. Nobody needs you more than me, okay? I’ll find you—wherever you go. -Abigail

The sirens continue ceaselessly, their piercing wails ringing through the gardens and hallways outside your door. Beside your coat, hanging on a hook, are the earmuffs you both rely on during target practice at the firing range.

You place a pair over your head, take a deep breath, and slip out the back door.

--------------------------------------------------

Turmoil reigns in every corner of the stadium as despair and hysteria consume all who inhabit it.

Your ear protection muffles any ability to differentiate between screams and sirens as you jog down the stairs towards the dog kennels. The more you see of the chaos, the more driven you are by the need to rescue them from the horrifying ordeal of being tormented and confined.

With each cage, your hands tremble as you struggle with the latches. The moment you set the dogs free, they instinctively look to you, waiting for your direction. You’re at a loss for how to guide them and while there are supposed to be established procedures for situations like this, the shortage of resources seems to take its toll.

You raise your voice, urging the animals to leave, but they stay by your side, tails wagging anxiously. As the dog whisperer in your duo, you sorely miss Abby’s insight. If only she could give you guidance on getting everyone out alive.

A sudden cry booms through the field, and you strain to find where it came from. In the distance, a woman stands, her hands shaking as she holds a splintered baseball bat in her outstretched arms.

With a steady gaze, she focuses on the person she struck, their lifeless body sprawled on the ground. Frozen in place, her eyes widen in disbelief as the infected body twitches and writhes, its grisly movements disturbingly unnatural.

It lets out a gurgling scream through decaying vocal cords, and you sprint toward her without a second thought.

Rising from the ground with determined, predatory speed, the Runner locks its sights on the woman who clobbered it before fixing its empty gaze upon you.

You shout for her to run as your fingers close around the hilt of your weapon. The dog at your side acts swiftly, neutralizing the threat with its ferocious, gnashing teeth before you can even draw your gun.

Trouble seems to stretch in every direction as you frantically search for an escape route. Heart pounding in your chest, you steel yourself, ready to fight for your life.

When piercing gunfire fills the air, it’s a haunting testament to the unraveling fabric of your crumbling district.

--------------------------------------------------

Abby’s leg bounces restlessly as she waits by the radio, hunched over in her chair well past the scheduled meeting time. The sound of Manny’s footsteps hammering on the airstrip grabs her attention, and she braces herself for more disappointment.

“Anything?” she asks.

Holed up in the traffic control tower all afternoon, efforts to reach out to Isaac have consumed her squad. Just like Abby, Jordan was also on edge, growing increasingly unsettled as the day passed by without a single call from his fiancée.

“Nada,” he says. He motions towards Abby’s radio. “How about here?”

Abby shakes her head, her white-knuckled fingers tightly interlaced as she presses them against her worried mouth.

“Maybe she got held up. It has happened before,” Manny offers. “Have a little faith, Abs.”

“Why the hell isn’t anyone else getting their calls, then?”

Her eyes well up with burning tears as she hurls the microphone towards its wooden enclosure. Manny places a reassuring hand on her shoulder, giving it a firm shake.

“Your girl is a fighter, just like you,” he says. “Trust her.”

“She’s the only one I trust,” Abby whispers.

Feeling a headache coming on, she pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Something is wrong, Manny. I can feel it.”

Static crackles as a distorted transmission comes through. Abby lunges forward, snatching up the device.

“You’re breaking up. Say that again—we’re standing by,” Abby says.

Spotting Jordan, who is aimlessly pacing beside the helipad, she waves him down. Having abandoned his work on the helicopter hours ago, the fretful soldier rushes to huddle around the radio to the desperate pleas of a survivor begging for backup.

“They got inside.”

“What did he say?” Jordan blurts. “Anderson!”

With a raised hand, she signals for everyone to hush, her blood running cold when the strange voice continues.

“The stadium’s crawling with infected—we can’t get out.”

“Have you tried the east gate?” Abby asks, fear pulsating through her veins.

She has executed this drill many times, there should already be a task force combing the area.

Each passing minute sees the group around the transmission steadily expanding, their murmurs and whispers padding the silence.

Abby tries again.

“Are you still there?” she asks, abandoning all radio etiquette. “Can you hear me?”

“We can’t get near the gates—they’re gunning everyone down. It’s a fucking massacre.”

Abby nods at the helicopter, its reinforced fuselage and formidable firepower making it an intimidating beast against a backdrop of moss ravaged aircraft.

“How much longer before that thing is in the air?”

“Give me an hour,” Jordan says. “Maybe less with extra hands on deck.”

“You heard the man,” Abby barks. “We ship out in thirty. Get a move on!”

She uses a firm tone to direct the person on the other end of the radio to barricade the doors. With terror gripping her, the panicked voice becomes increasingly distant as her surroundings fade.

While her thoughts meander through a misty haze, your kind face materializes with striking clarity. It ignites an irresistible urge within her to reach out and touch you, stealing her breath.

She has learned so much about being a leader from the way you tirelessly protect your people, while still holding such a strong capacity for teaching others how to be vulnerable.

Even when you’re not together, you guide Abby through her darkest hours.

She picks the mic back up, feeling the cool metal against her fingertips, and blows out a deep breath.

“I know this feels really fucking scary,” Abby says. “And it is. But you’ve made it this far ‘cause you’re tough and you’re smart. You’ve got this. Stay right where you are—help is coming.”

The powerful rotors of the helicopter slice through the air with a deafening roar. She commands her team to collect all the guns and ammunition they can find and get ready to load them onto the chopper.

While nearing the aircraft and realizing that she will fly at an altitude of over ten thousand feet, her concerns about her competence as a soldier escalates.

Jordan’s grip on her arm is firm, demanding her immediate attention.

“If shit goes sideways, I need you to look out for my kid,” he says.

It’s so loud that they have to shout to communicate.

“We’re making it through this,” Abby says, reaching for his hand and giving it a liberal squeeze. “You’ll be back with them in no time.”

“I mean it, Abby. Tell me you’ll look out for my family. Please.”

The pain in Jordan’s eyes resembles the anguish she saw in yours the day she left. This heightened intuition that something is bound to go awry.

“If anyone can fix this shit, it’s you,” he continues. “It doesn’t have to be this way anymore.”

Envisioning a life free from the grip of a tyrant, Abby feels a surge of strength coursing through her. A newfound determination to build a home where nobody has to be left behind.

It is a cause worth fighting for.

“I’ve got you,” she says.

“Let’s give ‘em Hell, then!” Manny yells.

The metallic scent of aviation fuel permeates the air as they climb aboard, ready to fly into the heart of the storm.

#abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby x fem!reader #abby x reader #abby x you #tlou abby #lesbian

77 notes · View notes