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sydnikov · 1 year

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Jersey || J. Hughes

Author: Sydney / @sydnikov

Pairing: Jack Hughes/fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.5k

Summary: You and Jack got into a fight before he left for a game. To get back at him, you showed up at the bar you knew the Devils frequented after they won a game wearing the other team’s jersey. Only, a fan of said-team’s jersey gets a little too handsy, and even when fighting, Jack won’t stand for another man touching his girl.

Warnings: Cursing, alcohol consumption, touching w/out consent, mild and/or potential assault, kissing, mild angst, lots of fluff at the end

A/N: This is purely self-indulgent… Though I am a little nervous because I’ve never been a Jack Hughes girlie until recently, plus before my beloved hurricanes eliminated the devils I was battling my growing hatred for him LMAO but, anyways, I still have never written for him before, so lemme know what y’all think about this one... Happy reading <3

“Are you done yet?” Jack Hughes said as he raced around the apartment looking for his bag, briefly casting you a look of irritation as he rushed by.

Scowling, you merely spun around to follow his movements. “Did you even hear a word I just said?”

Jack released a sound of triumph as he found his bag by the couch and threw it over his shoulder. “About what?” he asked, purposefully dodging the topic you were trying to hint at. “You bitching about my ‘nighttime activities’ again?” he muttered, intending to just push back your problem with him for another day.

“I heard that,” you hissed, taking brief satisfaction in the way his neck flushed red at being caught. “So, what, I’m just some nagging girlfriend to you, then? Is that it?”

Jack sighed, rubbing a hand down his face as he tied the last lace on his shoe. “I don’t know, babe,” he said. “Can we just do this later?” Finally, he met your eyes for the first time that evening and found stubbornness and frustration staring back at him.

“So you can stay out until four in the morning again doing God knows what?” You scoffed, crossing your arms.

Jack, fed up, stood up and merely shook his head. He said your name through gritted teeth, a spark of genuine anger showing for the first time since starting this conversation. “I have a game to get to. I don’t know what your problem is but you’re really getting on my nerves right now and I really don’t want to hear it.”

Jack, feeling slightly guilty at the way he just spoke to you but not wanting to be the first to apologize, deliberately avoided looking at your face before grabbing his phone and marching out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

“Fuck,” he muttered, tugging at his hair once before releasing a strained breath. Not able to stop himself, Jack looked back at your shared apartment and debated being late to his game just to talk to you, but his stubbornness ultimately won out and with one shake of his head, he tried to cast you and your fight out of his mind until after he came home.

You’d still be there, waiting for him like always, after all, right?

You, meanwhile, stared at the door your boyfriend had just walked through in shock. Anger, frustration, confusion, and the strongest of them all: hurt, rolled through you in waves as you processed the conversation that just happened.

And the ‘problem’ you had with Jack, exactly?

It started out small—nothing huge, or anything. Jack didn’t have many red flags, if any at all – unless you counted him being a professional hockey player – so the fact that you’d been having so many problems recently was a mystery to you, as well.

Well, your relationship had just reached the 1-year milestone, and you only moved in together about a month ago… That’s when you started having problems, you supposed.

Jack’s season playing for the New Jersey Devils had started out strong immediately, and it was clear this was going to be one of his best seasons yet if not the best. The NHL was booking interviews with him, the Devils’ social media had practically turned into a Jack fan page, and the city had just fallen in love with him.

He absorbed the attention like a sponge, of course, like he couldn’t get enough of it. While he was clearly riding the high of being such a hot player right now, he hadn’t ever let it get to his head. His teammates, family, you, would never let him hear the end of it if his ego got too big.

So, here begs the question: why was Jack coming home later and later, texting you when away less, coming up with excuses on why he had to bail on weekly date nights?

Your insecurities had been eating you up lately, and the fact that Jack didn’t even see the problem made it worse. Was he cheating on you? You couldn’t help but ask yourself during many late nights, curled up in the bed you shared, alone, staring at the digital clock on the bedside table as the hours crept by.

Inhaling a shaky breath, you wiped at your eyes before finally tearing them away from the front door after accepting he wasn’t coming back. Making your way to the kitchen, you poured yourself a glass of water to cool your heated body when the vibration of your phone from your pocket interrupted you.

Feeling your heart swell with the hope that maybe it was Jack, you quickly pulled it out only to be disappointed when it was just one of your friends—then you felt bad for feeling disappointed because you loved your friends, as pushy as they could be, sometimes.

Want to hit up a bar? Is what one of them texted in a group chat with you and a few others. Normally, on a night like this where you were wallowing in the emptiness felt by Jack’s continued absence, you’d deny such an offer and merely drown yourself in the cheap wine you kept stashed, but…

A notification from a Devils news site interrupted your thoughts, and that’s where a devious idea struck your mind. Your boyfriend’s team was playing the Philadelphia Flyers tonight, a division rival, and you just so happened to have a close friend who was from the area.

I’m in, you responded to the group chat and couldn’t help but laugh at the string of fire emojis that followed. Wiping the remaining tears from your eyes, you texted said-Philly friend separately and asked if she had any jerseys she’d be willing to spare.

The text bubble that showed she was typing appeared, and then her response came. I have a Konecny jersey. Why?

Perfect.

Two hours later, you were in an Uber on your way to the designated club for the night which just so happened to be a bar that your boyfriend and his teammates frequented after a win. You sported black flared jeans and stilettos, and the star piece of your whole look: a Philadelphia Flyers jersey stamped with Travis Konecny’s name.

You wholeheartedly intended for Jack to see it to rile him up; he had a vicious jealousy streak, and a time like this was the perfect time to ignite it, especially after the 7-0 shutout win they took tonight.

Once you arrived, you tipped the Uber driver and walked in, a happy sway to your step because you felt like you were finally gaining the upper hand in your little feud with your boyfriend. As you walked into the club you were immediately bombarded with the sounds of booming music and flashing lights—the red-to-orange jersey ratio was almost comical, for the amount of ecstatic Devils fans far beat the few Flyers fans scattered throughout the room.

Drunken cheers of your name made you giggle as you found the table your friends had claimed. Like almost every patron in the bar, they were all sporting New Jersey Devils' colors or merch in some way—except for you and the friend who lent you the jersey you were currently wearing, of course.

“Never took you for a Philly fan,” said one of the girls, followed by several agreements. “What’s Jack gonna say when he sees you?”

So he was here, then, you hummed to yourself, briefly scanning the room for any sign of the team. “He’s here already?” you casually asked, leaning back against the booth and sipping on the drink one of your friends handed you.

“Yeah, they’re over in the booth across from us,” they pointed, helping you locate a large group of men and women who you, sure enough, identified as New Jersey Devils players and fan girls hanging off their arms. Feeling your heart seize up because what if Jack had someone hanging off of him, you only released the breath you’d been holding when you saw him near the back of the group talking to Nico.

Your friends saw the brief look of trepidation on your face and didn’t take long to fit the puzzle pieces together. “Are you and Jack still having problems?”

Smiling bitterly, you only shrugged. “Nothing too bad, really. I just want to get back at him for taking me for granted, y’know?”

Immediately, more shots were ordered and you couldn’t help but grin as you tossed the alcohol down your throat, feeling immensely better with the slight buzz that came after.

More confident, too.

Tossing your hair over your shoulder, you announced you were going to the bathroom but merely used it as an excuse to walk by the Devils group, intent on catching your boyfriend’s eye.

Feeling an arm brush against you, you were momentarily distracted when you turned around to find a man about your age looking down at you with a grin that told you he was already several shots ahead of you. He was sporting a Flyers jersey, too.

“You from Philly?” you think the man asked, but it was hard to understand the slur of his words over the loud boom of the music.

You gave him a tightlipped smile before giving your response. Despite the fact you were on a mission to make your boyfriend jealous, you weren’t actually wanting nor intending to cross a line. “No,” you shrugged, taking a small step back. “But I can still be a fan, right?”

As the man laughed, you turned your head back towards where you last saw Jack and sucked in a breath when you saw the look on his face.

Jack had seen you the moment you walked into the bar. He was just drawn to you like that, noticed every little detail about you—including the bright orange Flyers jersey you were currently wearing that made him clench his hand around his drink so hard the glass almost shattered.

What the fuck? He practically growled as he watched you walk up to your friends without sparing him a glance. You hadn’t noticed him yet, and he wasn’t sure if that made him feel relieved or guilty, because what were you even doing here? You normally always stayed in.

Then Jack had the realization that oh, yeah, you did always stay in—because of him, his schedule, his late nights, and he couldn’t even be bothered to come home to you until the early hours of the morning.

Well then, he thought. That solved the mystery of why you’d been so pissed off at him lately.

The forward anxiously ran a hand through his hair. He couldn’t blame you, either.

“Why do you look like you just fucked up?” Nico’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and Jack only cast him a quick glance before relocating you just as you stood up from your booth.

“Because I did,” he said, not taking his eyes off of you as some idiot wearing a Flyers jersey grabbed your attention. “Badly. Very badly.”

Nico followed his teammate’s gaze, furrowing his brow in confusion until he saw you, wearing a—

“Oh,”

Jack had the face of one who couldn’t decide if he wanted to kill you or the guy next to you who still hadn’t taken the hint that you weren’t nearly as interested in him as he was in you. The centerman’s eyes were abnormally dark in the club’s dim lighting, simmering with jealousy and protectiveness.

But that was the entire point of coming here tonight, wasn’t it?

Plastering on a wide, fake smile, you met your boyfriend’s searing gaze and merely shot him a pointed look before attempting to make conversation with the inadvertently talkative man still blabbering on beside you.

He was handsome in a rugged kind of way if you were into that sort of thing, and towered over you in both height and weight much like Jack, but whereas with your boyfriend the size difference made you feel safe and protected, this guy just made you feel smothered and uncomfortable.

He was well past drunk, though, so you figured he couldn’t do that much harm. You hadn’t let him come very close to you either and were trying to maintain a respectful distance knowing Jack was probably having a very hard time restraining himself from marching over and making a scene.

You were just trying to get back at him, as petty as it may be…

The man whose name you later found out to be Todd managed to keep a fifteen-minute conversation going on about himself – which you found mildly impressive – so when he finally started to trail off, you began to make your escape.

“Nice talking with you, but my friends are probably looking for me,” you said, dodging Todd’s attempts at trying to touch you.

“Awe, c’mon, babe, I’m sure they don’t care,” Todd tried to wink, but it looked like he was having some type of muscle spasm instead. You nervously laughed, trying to back away, but then he suddenly stepped in front of you and got so close you could smell the alcohol on his breath.

“Don’t be a tease, now,” he slurred, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark. You tried backing away, but quickly hit the counter of the bar where you were now caged in. Fuck, you gulped, feeling very uncomfortable as he crept his hands up your waist. “Get off me, please,” you said, trying to sound stern, but even you could hear the shakiness in your words.

Panicked, your eyes darted around the room looking for any of your friends you came with or even any of the guys you passed earlier, but in the darkness of the club, you came up empty. You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling helpless and regretting all of your life choices leading up to this moment, and tried to get away from the face that was steadily creeping closer until you heard a voice all too familiar.

A thunderous voice suddenly boomed over the music, and your eyes shot open in shock at the sight in front of you.

“Get the fuck off of her,” Jack's voice was livid, the edges of a growl erupting from his chest as you watched his hand clamp down on Todd’s shoulder to forcefully yank him away. “Ever heard of consent, asshole?”

You watched, stunned, as your boyfriend’s dark eyes glared daggers into Todd’s whose collar was currently in his grasp. Jack might have been a few inches shorter, but he was stronger and clearly more sober as Todd stumbled in his grasp.

“Dude, chill,” you sucked in a breath as he tried pleading with your murderous-looking boyfriend. “I didn't know she was your girl,” trying to get away from a potential brawl, you stumbled back and in your confusion ran right into someone.

Having just been practically assaulted, you jumped as a hand came to rest on your shoulder. You were sure you resembled something of a startled animal and felt almost embarrassed at the situation you found yourself in.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s just me!” Nico’s reassuring voice immediately had you relaxing, and you released a breath as you spun around to face him. Gladly taking the arm the captain offered, you smiled shakily.

“You okay?” He asked once you were safely next to him. You nodded slowly, blinking past the slight pounding of your head. “Yeah,” you replied, your eyes finding Jack and Todd still exchanging heated words a few feet away.

They had won your attention back just in time for you to watch the centerman shove your drunken pursuer to the floor and then step away immediately before doing something worse.

Jack’s eyes quickly found yours as he brushed his hair away from his face, scanning up and down your body for any sign of injury. You knew he was furious with you, but even pissed beyond belief, he was still the most attractive man in the world to you because of how he put your safety and well-being first.

He walked up to you then, nodding his thanks to his teammate for keeping you safe before pulling you into his chest. “Are you okay?” He murmured into the top of your hair, one of his hands squeezing your hip reassuringly.

You inhaled your boyfriend’s scent, burying your face in his shirt and reveling in the comfort his mere presence brought you. “I’m okay,” you whispered, feeling tired now that the night’s events had started to catch up to you. “I love you,”

You felt him murmur the exact words back, the tension slowly leaving his body the longer he held you in his arms and away from the idiot who had his hands on you.

Jack stepped back after a moment, keeping you tucked into his side with a protective arm wrapped around your waist. You kept your face pressed into his side, not yet willing to face reality.

All you wanted right now was him. And your bed, too.

“We’re going to head home for the night,” the centerman said to the rest of the group, hearing no disagreements as they spoke their goodbyes. You lifted your head only slightly to say your own goodbye, giving an extra thankful smile to Nico who merely waved you off.

As you finished talking to the rest of his teammates, you tapped Jack's shoulder and spoke into his ear over the loud music. “I’m going to say bye to my friends real quick,”

Jack had a look of apprehension and even worry on his face, so you stood up on your toes to press a quick kiss to his lips. “I’ll be fast, okay?”

“Okay,” he said. “But nothing more than that. I’ll be by the door.”

You cast him a grateful smile before slipping away, locating two of your friends still sitting at the booth looking far more inebriated than before. “Jack and I are heading home,” you told them.

“Oh! You guys worked it out?”

You bit your lip, fiddling with one of your sleeves. Huh, orange wasn’t really your color. “Not exactly,” quickly glancing back towards your boyfriend waiting by the club doors, you winced when you saw his darkened expression. “He’s a little angry with me…”

“Because of the jersey?” they asked, curious. “That’s what you wanted, right?”

You decided you were going to blame the hideous Flyers jersey you were wearing for the series of unfortunate events that happened tonight.

Speaking of, you needed to give it back to the friend who lent it to you, at some point.

“I’ll see you guys,” you muttered, purposefully dodging their questions as you waved goodbye. Luckily, they were too drunk to argue.

You made your way back through the crowd, Jack meeting you halfway to lace your fingers together before leading you to the exit. His pace was quick, and determined, making you wonder just what exactly he had planned.

The cold Jersey air sobered you immensely once you were outside, ridding you of the effects the alcohol had left on you earlier. You finally got a clear look at your boyfriend then, admiring the sharp cut of his jawline and the way he was still fuming even as you walked to his car.

“Jack?” you tried, watching as he pulled open the passenger door for you. “Get in,” he said, avoiding your imploring eyes. “And take that off. You know it looks awful,” he added the last part as an afterthought, scowling at the sight of you wearing a jersey sans his name.

You thought about making a joke but decided against it when you saw the look on his face. He didn't look like he was in the mood for games right now, and something told you you didn't want to test him.

“I’m not wearing anything underneath,” you responded meekly. You heard Jack sigh, and you briefly looked up to find him pulling out a hoodie he had in his backseat.

It was red, of course, a Devils hoodie with his surname printed on the back. The hockey player stared at you, arms crossed and eyebrows raised and that's when you realized he was waiting.

“What, you mean change now?” you squeaked, feeling your eyes widen at the seriousness in his eyes. “Jack, we’re in a public parking lot,”

“And?” he asked, almost sassy considering the situation. “You really think I’ll let anyone look at you?” his muscled arms tensed out of reflex, further cementing his point.

You clenched your jaw, opening your mouth to argue, but then Jack took two quick strides towards you until you were standing chest-to-chest.

He said your name once, placing his hands on your waist to pull you closer. “I almost beat that guy back in the bar to death for placing his hands on you. I would have, actually, if it weren’t for seeing you look so scared next to Nico,” he murmured, staring into your eyes so deeply you couldn’t look away.

“It’s bad enough having to see you wear our rival’s jersey, which I deserve, by the way, because I’ve been an ass to you—but if I have to see you wearing someone’s name that isn’t my own for the rest of the night any longer, I might commit a crime.

“Please,” he breathed, tilting his head downwards to brush your lips together. “Take off the damn jersey.”

All you could do was nod. Yes sir. You maintained eye contact all while you slipped the jersey from your shoulders, feeling immensely better without the scratchy fabric on your skin. Jack wordlessly handed you his hoodie, and you slid it on without complaint.

It was several sizes too big for you; it was loose around your waist and hips and the sleeves were too long for your arms, but you didn’t care one bit because it smelled just like him and made you feel safe and warm and most importantly:

Home.

Jack raked his eyes up and down your body in approval, but he was still tense even as he opened the passenger door for you and shut it once you were in without a word.

You had a feeling you were going to be in for it when you got home, and even with his anger – whether it was directed at you or himself – you didn’t quite blame him.

The only thing you weren’t quite sure of is if he was angry because you semi-flirted with another man or wore a jersey that wasn’t his… Both are completely plausible possibilities.

Jack, meanwhile, had to stop himself from looking your way because he knew he was going to snap, and that wasn’t fair on you. Yes, he had to sit back and watch another guy blatantly hit on you while wearing the opposing team’s jersey, but… You didn’t reciprocate any advances, and he would never fault you for the actions of another.

Just the mere thought of the jackass who had his hands on you made his knuckles turn white on the grip he had on the steering wheel. If not for the terrified look on your face to snap him out of it, he had no doubt he would have pummeled the guy to the ground.

And at the same time, he knew he wasn’t angry with you but angry with himself instead because you had done nothing to warrant his behavior towards you and could even go as far as to say he deserved it, too.

He just wished he hadn’t walked out on you before—you wouldn’t have been almost assaulted if he hadn’t.

Alas, his anger – no matter who it was directed at – radiating off of him in waves was palpable and kept you tense and unsure of what to say or do the entire ride home.

When you finally arrived back at the apartment, the two of you remained silent as you worked around each other in getting ready for bed. For the first time in months he was going to fall asleep in the same bed as you, at the same time, you noted.

The brooding centerman muttered something aloud from the other side of the room, and you looked at him questionably. Jack met your eyes, an emotion unknown brewing in his own that made you curious.

“Orange is such an ugly color,” he said. “What convinced you to even wear that?”

A teasing mood he was in, then. “To make you jealous. Did it work?”

Jack scoffed, taking a few steps forward to playfully grab at your hips causing you to grip his biceps for stability. “It worked, alright,” he murmured, and then his eyes turned dark as he remembered the night’s end result before the two of you left. “I would’ve pummeled him if it weren’t for the guys.”

You bit your lip at the sight of his protectiveness for you written all over his face, hating that you were having a serious conversation now and all you could think about was how attractive he is.

“Then you would have gotten arrested, and probably suspended from the team,” you replied, bringing his attention back to you. Jack cracked a small smile, hair falling over his eyes as his gaze dropped.

“Worth it.” your boyfriend then brought you in close to wrap his arms around you, burying his head in his favorite spot where your neck met your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he whispered after a moment, his grip on you tightening.

You had no complaints at his sudden burst of physical affection and happily burrowed your head in his chest, breathing in his comforting scent. “For what?”

You might have accepted the fact he was trying to make up for all the fighting over the last few months, but you weren’t just going to let it go, either.

After all, it was only due to you going out of your way to invoke such a strong reaction that got him to pull his head out of his ass.

“For everything,” his mind raced over all the ways he had been treating you wrongly, and had a hard time forming his words in such a way that covered it all. “For never coming home to you, and acting like you were ridiculous for feeling insecure,” he quickly clarified.

You made a noncommittal noise, muffled by the fabric of his shirt your face was pressed against. “I felt crazy—still do feel kind of crazy,” the tears came back then, the emotions – anger, frustration, sadness, fear – of the night catching up to you. “Did I… Was I doing something wrong?”

Jack felt his heart break at the sheer amount of emotion in your voice, and while knowing that the alcohol in your system was partly to blame for your unfiltered honesty, he knew the words you were speaking were still true.

He had to approach this conversation delicately.

He whispered your name, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek and sliding it under your chin so you’d meet his eyes. “Hey, hey, don’t cry, okay? I hear you. You’re valid, how you’re feeling is valid.

“I’m the stupid one, okay? You did nothing wrong. Absolutely nothing. Well—except for wearing that jersey. But, hey, I don’t even blame you for that, either. I deserved it, yeah?”

“I’m sorry,” you said, not willing to accept his apology because you still felt like he was being too forgiving.

Jack, not being able to stand you hiding from him, gently brought both his hands to your face so he could bring you closer and press a kiss to your lips. “Stop demeaning yourself. You’re better than that—certainly better than me.”

Your laugh was shaky, remnants of tears in your voice undeniable. “I don’t know. I wore that stupid jersey, after all. To make you mad. Deliberately.”

“And it worked,” he replied, refusing to let you shy away from him when you tried ducking your head again. “Very well, in fact. It was really smart, actually; I’m almost proud of you for thinking of it.”

Jack was already making you feel miles better compared to how you were feeling before, and you knew he was using his humor on purpose. His corny jokes were what drew you to him in the first place, after all.

“Almost proud?” you couldn’t help but tease back. “Maybe I should wear a Hurricanes jersey next time. Ooh, or the Rangers,”

The centerman had enough then, and with a wicked grin threw you over his shoulder to bring you into the bathroom. You weren’t drunk, but you were a bit tipsy, and he just wanted to use it as an excuse to really take care of you.

He also just felt really bad, like a shitty boyfriend, too. He had a lot of making up to do and knew this was only the first step.

“There will be no jerseys owned by you unless they are Devils’ red and have my name on the back, yeah?” you pouted as he set you down on the counter next to the sink.

“Fine. Orange is an ugly color, anyways.”

Jack hummed in agreement as he wet a washcloth with warm water and then began to gently wipe down your face. He worked in silence, concentrated on the task at hand while you just admired his face.

Okay, yeah, you were still a little tipsy. Your boyfriend always looked good, but maybe it was just about what happened tonight that had you really appreciating his looks.

“What’re you staring at?” Jack said, biting his lip to hide the grin threatening to break through. He loved that you couldn’t keep your eyes off him.

“You,” you replied with no hesitation, giggling when he proceeded to wipe directly over your eye at your witty comment. “I can’t help it. You’re just so pretty. Why do you like me, again?”

Your boyfriend scoffed, tossing the washcloth somewhere on the sink before pulling you closer to him. “Pretty? What if I lose a tooth, would you still like me then?” he briefly washed his hands, and then turned back to you. “And why do I love you, you mean? That’s easy. Let me show you.”

“Show me?” you muttered, your brain still running slow. “What do you mean, ‘show me’—”

That’s when he interrupted you by picking you up, moving your legs to wrap around his waist before carrying you to the bed.

Jack kicked off his shoes before falling on his back first while taking you with him. You ended up sprawled on his chest, his arms holding you close as you tilted your head up to meet his eyes.

“Being able to manhandle me is why you love me?” you said teasingly. “Noted,”

The centerman groaned dramatically. Knowing you were about to speak, he interrupted your next sentence by kissing you and grinned into your lips when you sighed with pleasure and brought your hands up to tangle in his hair.

“Done being sassy now?” your boyfriend hummed as he slowly pulled back, looking every bit the mischievous devil as the team he played for.

“Hmm,” you blinked lazily, stretching as if you were a satisfied cat, and wrapped your arms around his neck to keep him close. “As long as you stay here with me,”

“I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

A few minutes later of the two of you making up for lost time, you had eventually moved to be cuddling under the bed sheets as the little spoon, just how you liked it.

“Don’t wear that jersey again,” Jack grumbled into your neck, pressing a few butterfly kisses to the skin exposed to the air.

“Seriously?” you giggled, attempting to turn around in his arms but being stopped due to the strength of his hold.

“Dead serious. It almost killed me.”

You were used to his dramatics by now but knew he was speaking from his heart because jerseys really did mean a lot to sports players, hockey players especially. Wearing Jack’s name might have just been superficial, but it was still a sure thing and a testament to the seriousness of your relationship.

Wearing someone else’s name, especially someone from an opposing team, was an insult to that even though it was just a piece of clothing at the end of the day.

“Better stay on my good side, then,” you teased, but knew you wouldn’t ever wear any other jersey but Jack’s again. He learned his lesson, as did you.

Teasingly nipping at your neck, your boyfriend merely laughed before burying his head in your shoulder and closing his eyes.

You snuggled closer to the warm wall of muscle behind you, reveling in the comfort of knowing your relationship was stronger than ever.

“I love you,” you said, quietly, staring out the window as the stars looked down upon you.

“Love you, too,” Jack whined at the sharp pain he felt from your arm as it swatted at him, and then quickly clarified. “I mean, I love you—I love you, too!”

You grinned, and you knew he could practically feel it which made the small victory even more satisfactory.

Jack muttered something else under his breath, one word suspiciously sounding like ‘jersey’, and then he was out like a light.

Exasperatedly, you sighed. Hockey players.

You wouldn’t wear a jersey that didn’t have the name ‘Hughes’ and his number printed on it ever again.

A/N: Did you guys like the missing tooth reference? One of my favorite lines in this tbh, I just love poking fun at situations like those lol. Anyways, please please please reblog and comment because it means the world to me and makes writing so much more worth it. I hope y’all enjoyed :))

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