#devils imagine
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the ink on your skin || N. Hischier
Author: Sydney / @sydnikov
Pairing: Nico Hischier / gn!Reader
Word Count: 10.5k
Summary: You’re a successful tattoo artist right in the middle of Newark, New Jersey. One of your many clients just so happens to be a teammate of Nico Hischier, and he and his girlfriend, Natalie, play a game of matchmaker to get you talking. While you’ve never been a huge fan of hockey, getting to know Nico gets you instantly addicted to the sport as well as him. Friendship quickly turns into holding hands, kissing, acting like a couple but holding off on a label… And then, finally, right as you’re drifting apart, Nico swoops in and turns it into something more.
Warnings: Cursing, some angst, lots of anxiety talk, Tw*tter mentions, mostly fluff, poorly proofread
A/N: This is for @selfindulgentpoorlywritten for @wyattjohnston ‘s Winter Fic Exchange 2024 😁 I’ve been wanting to write for Nico for a while anyways so this gave me the perfect opportunity, and I really enjoyed having a bit of a personalized reader insert to play around with. I hope y’all enjoy! Loosely based on the lyrics of “Tribulation” by Matt Maeson
“Fuck, man, that hurts,”
You chuckle, lifting the needle of your tattoo gun for a few seconds before continuing your work. “I’m almost done, I swear,” you reassure, hiding your smirk as you take a napkin to dab away at the excess ink surrounding your linework.
The very man you’re tattooing, Jonas Siegenthaler, or ‘Siegs’ as you affectionately call him, is someone you’ve known for years. He is also a regular of your tattoo parlor, and right now is getting a lion on his right wrist shaded in.
Playing professional hockey, he doesn’t have much time to spend keeping up with a healing tattoo, but Jonas scheduled an appointment with you a week ago after his team, the New Jersey Devils, were eliminated in the playoffs. With three months to himself, he told you that now is the perfect time to get started on shading his wrist again.
Jonas curses again as the needle goes over the underside of his wrist, and once again you can’t hide back your laughter. You’ve been a tattoo artist for quite a few years now and are fairly used to the varying reactions your customers have, but expletives always manage to get you to break character. With any other client you’d at least attempt to be stoic, but you’ve been friends for long enough to know he doesn’t mind.
Finally, you finish your work, wiping away the remaining ink and powering off your tattoo gun. “Alright, Siegs, that’s it for today.” you say, wrapping his wrist with the proper coverings. Once you’re done sanitizing your own hands, you admire the art on his skin for a moment.
Jonas does the same, sitting up with a giant grin on his face. “It looks amazing, as always,” he looks like he wants to touch his newly-inked skin, but refrains when seeing the warning on your face.
“Okay,” you say as you lead him to the front of the store to ring up his aftercare supplies. Jonas is no amateur when it comes to tattoos by any means, but you feel the need to remind him anyway because athletes in particular always tend to lax out on tattoo aftercare. “You know the drill, but I’m still telling you anyways,”
Jonas just raises an eyebrow, listening to you list off all aftercare instructions as if he hasn’t been coming to you for years. Strangely enough, he couldn’t actually think of a time you’d hung out with each other outside of your working hours. He’ll have to change that, he hums to himself, especially after seeing the small New Jersey Devils flag you have hung on the wall.
“Have you ever been to a Devils game?” he asks as you’re handing him his aftercare supplies.
“I don’t think so, no. You know I don’t pay attention to hockey that much.”
“You should,” Jonas pushes, following you as you shuffle around the entrance of your parlor, likely looking for some supply he wouldn’t know the name of. “We’re a blast. And playoff hopeful again next season,”
You shoot him a wry smile, the both of you knowing it would take a lot more convincing to get you to leave the comforts of your shop to watch a sport you’ve never kept up with before. “Yeah? I’ll consider it,” you deadpan.
The defenseman takes no offense to your words, instead finding them to be a challenge. Mischievously, he grins. “Your consideration will turn into a yes, just you wait,”
“Sure,” you laugh, changing the subject. “You get an uber yet?” It’s relatively early in the day, so competition for booking one shouldn’t be too difficult.
Jonas shakes his head, unlocking his phone at the reminder of needing to leave. “Nah, my teammate is picking me up. He’s our captain, maybe you’ve heard of him—Nico Hischier?”
You think back to news articles you’ve seen online from late April when the Devils made the playoffs for the first time in years and you think you may have heard something about the team’s captain, but otherwise you don’t know much.
“I thought everyone would have gone home by now,” you say instead. It had been a week since their season ended, after all. Maybe this Nico guy had captain duties to attend to? You figure it’s nice of him to pick his teammate up from getting a tattoo either way, though.
The hockey player hears the curiosity in your voice, wondering how you would react to meeting his captain. “We’re both from Switzerland, so we both agreed to fly home together once we were all finished up here in Jersey. Getting my wrist shaded was the last thing on the list, thankfully,”
You make a noncommittal noise of understanding, your curiosity officially peeked by this ‘Nico’ guy. If you’ve learned anything about how the Swiss act from Jonas, you’re definitely looking forward to seeing if this captain was anything like his teammate.
Soon enough, the bell above your door is ringing as a man enters the parlor. You assume it’s Nico Hischier because of the Devils beanie he’s wearing, and because he looks out of place standing in your little parlor on the opposite side of town where his team plays. You wouldn’t know he has several tattoos himself.
You meet his eyes for a moment, and it almost looks like he’s caught off guard by the sight of you before he spots Jonas. He’s tall, you note to yourself, his shy smile endearing as he greets his teammate with a pat on the back.
“Nico!” Jonas greets happily, engaging in a short conversation before he turns his arm up to show his newly-shaded ink. “This one hurt like a bitch, but it’s looking beautiful now, isn’t it?”
“It is,” the man who you now know to be Nico confirms, admiring your work on his friend’s skin. “You did this?” he suddenly asks, the deep timber of his voice catching you off guard.
“Yeah,” you say, a little breathless. He’s beautiful. You think to yourself, confused about why you suddenly feel so hot when you purposefully keep the temperature in your shop cool. “Jonas is one of my regulars.”
Nico hums in response, eyes flitting back and forth from the lion on Jonas’s wrist and back to you, undoubtedly curious about how long his teammate has known you, and why he feels disappointed that he can’t see the rest of the ink decorating your own arms.
He himself is no stranger to tattoos, but he doesn’t have many nor do his look so intricate on his body like they do on yours. I need a new tattoo artist, he thinks, then mentally slaps himself because what?
With your cheeks feeling like they’re on fire, you turn away from the two hockey players in front of you to try and hide the embarrassment you feel. Unbeknownst to you, your movements make the light catch the dainty jewelry decorating your ears and nose, and Nico now undoubtedly finds himself in awe at your retreating form.
Who are you? He thinks. Siegs is a shit for not introducing you sooner. And then he rolls his eyes at himself again. What the fuck is the matter with him, anyways? He must have gotten a concussion during the playoffs, or something.
“You’re a regular?” He looks to his friend, subtly asking how long you’ve known each other. “You must like them, then,”
Jonas never prided himself on being intuitive; Nico’s prying went right over his head. He says your name with a fond smile, briefly looking to you as you mess around your desk again. “Oh, yeah, they’re the best. They’re fucking amazing with a tattoo gun, not to mention a huge Devils fan, too,”
You just so happen to overhear their conversation. “No, I’m not,” you scowl, but quickly retract your statement because Nico is looking at you like you just kicked his puppy. “Well, I mean, I’m a fan but not, like, a huge fan. I’ve never even been to a game,”
“Siegs, you should’ve brought ‘em around sooner, what the fuck!”
“I tried,”
Nico continues on like he didn’t hear him. “You’re coming to opening night. On me—on us, yeah?”
You’re much too in shock to comment on his slip of tongue, instead staring wide-eyed as he looks at you with determination. Nico just met you, but feels this compelling need to know you beyond the fact that you’re his friend’s reserved tattoo artist.
“You might as well just say yes,” Jonas speaks up, having caught on to your hesitation. “He won’t stop until you do,”
“Damn right.” The captain agrees, crossing his arms to further cement his point.
You’re drawn to the muscles that flex under the material of his shirt, and okay. Wow. With the way your body is heating up you would think that you’ve never been attracted to another human being in your life.
Quickly, your eyes dart back up to Nico’s, and you flush when you see he’s already caught onto your admiration of his body. He raises an eyebrow, teasing, and then you finally blurt out your response lest he call you out. “Well,” you start, clearing your throat when your voice comes out hoarse. “I guess that could be fun, yeah?”
Nico’s infectious grin at your agreement has you returning one of your own, flushed at the way you already knew your life would be a much happier one if you got to see him smile like that at you forever.
The two Devils’ players left soon after that, but not before you exchanged numbers with Nico Hischier himself while a smug Jonas watched from the background. “So I can send you the tickets when the time comes,” he’d said.
It was a perfectly believable excuse to you, but Jonas clapping his teammate on the back as if it were some kind of accomplishment had you questioning if Nico planned on texting you before their opening night.
You forced yourself to forget about it, though, in the meanwhile. You still had two more clients after they left, and you couldn’t exactly do your best work if Nico’s chiseled face and soft eyes wouldn’t leave your head.
And then a sharp pang struck your heart as you figure you’re just being delusional again. Reading too much into a situation that had no call for it, and imagining the way he looked at you like there was something behind your guarded eyes he wanted to explore.
No, you quickly put an end to your thoughts, steeling your resolve as you march back into the shelter of your shop. You aren’t putting yourself through this. Not again.
In a world of meaningless hookups and disappointing endings, you were a damaged romantic who would have once given the world if asked. But that hope for the future you envision with rose colored glasses is long gone, destroyed along with the pieces of your heart that shattered the last time you let yourself get too close to someone.
You decide then and there, with the image of Nico Hischier and his look of awe the moment he first saw you, that you weren’t going to ever grant him the ability to break you like the last person who did so years ago.
Despite the politeness he exudes, you half expect him to start making a move the moment he lands in Switzerland. You think he’ll start with a text that says, ‘Hey, how are you?’ and once you respond (because you will) he’ll send you pictures of him in his homeland, ones that require a compliment or an inquiry about what he’s doing.
You think you have him figured out. Men are predictable, you would know—their brains all work the same, and that includes how they hit on people they’re interested in.
However, you’re surprised to find that a text from him never comes. There’s no message awaiting you in between tattoo sessions, no ‘how are you’ or a picture of a ski lift or whatever it is people do in Switzerland. It irritates you because you don’t have Nico all figured out like you thought.
If you couldn’t place him into the typical group of uncommitted assholes you’d come to learn, then just who is he?
The answer escapes you for many months after. You certainly don’t text him, but you do find his Instagram after drinking one too many glasses of wine and scroll through his pictures. Nico isn’t very active online is what you gather, for his last post was back in May after they got eliminated from the playoffs.
It makes him endearing, much to your displeasure. People glued to their phones and still use Snapchat as their main form of communication irritate you to no end.
Not Nico, though…
He stays on your mind for the entirety of summer, because you just couldn’t get the memory of his eyes out of your head. It panics you a little because it feels like you’re forming a crush, and your last one didn’t exactly bode well for you.
Whatever. It’s just a small, meaningless feeling that just so happens to have stuck. Nico probably wasn’t even going to send you a ticket for opening night.
This is what you tell yourself as September rolls around, the NHL preseason starts, and your stomach sinks deeper and deeper the closer the Devils’ opening night comes.
You’re thinking about him again right now, much to your displeasure, as you finish wiping down one of your stations after your last client of the day left. It was a busy one, and you’re grumpy because your neck hurts from leaning over for so long.
You accidentally knock over your cleaning spray in the midst of your aggressive cleaning, and just as you pick up the bottle there’s a quiet knock on your shop’s door.
“I thought I flipped the closed sign,” you mutter, exiting the room you were just in and walking to the lobby. You’re unable to make out who it is outside, the only striking feature being that they’re tall.
You open the door warily, speaking before they get the chance to. “Sorry, we’re closed for the night. You can come back tomorrow morning or call to book an appointment—”
“I’m not here for a tattoo.” He interrupts you with what sounds like amusement, and you freeze because you would recognize that voice anywhere.
You look up to meet his eyes, and are struck with the same dark brown that’s been haunting your mind for months.
“Nico,” you say, shock written all over your face. You lick your lips, trying to find something to say. “You’re… What are you doing here?”
“I still have the address saved from when Siegs sent it to me,” he admits, aware that’s not what you’re really asking. Facing you now, he finds himself nervous. You hadn’t changed much, except for maybe the addition of another piercing in your right ear, he thinks.
But you were so unlike other strangers he’s met in the past; they know who he is, all about his life, whereas you look at him like you’re not sure what to think.
Nico finds it refreshing. You’re intriguing, someone to figure out—not to mention he really likes your tattoos. And piercings. He fights the urge to trail his fingers up your sleeves to reveal the art decorating your skin.
You’re raising an eyebrow at him, and then he realizes he’s been silent for a good minute while he’s been staring at you. He releases a quick breath, “You still want to come to opening night, right?”
“I do,” you say, foregoing acting coy. Fuck it, you actually did really want to go. “Why? Is there an issue?”
“No, no, nothing like that,” he reassures, giving you a quick smile. “I’d just rather explain the ticket situation in person than on text,”
His reasoning sounds understandable to you, but you fail to pick up on why he still seems so nervous. It’s just a ticket to a game, right?
“So since it’s just you,” he starts, hesitantly. “You’ll be sitting with, um. You’ll be in the wives and girlfriends section.”
Truthfully, Nico wouldn’t be shocked if you decline after hearing where you’ll be sitting. He himself probably would have, because who, as a stranger, wants to sit with the players’ significant others?
He watches your reaction, holding his breath. But all you do is laugh a little, shrug nonchalantly even though internally you’re shitting your pants.
“Okay, but you do know I’m neither a wife nor a girlfriend,” of you, you want to add, but keep that last part to yourself. Even though over the course of these last few months your mind definitely imagined it.
Your expression is teasing, the corner of your lips quirked up into a small smirk that has the tension falling from Nico’s shoulders. You aren’t mad. This is a start.
He rubs the back of his neck, looking rather sheepish. “I didn’t know if you’d be okay with that,” he mumbles lowly, meeting your eyes. If you look closely you think you can see a rosy hue covering his cheeks.
“It’s just one game, yeah?” You muse, secretly pleased at the fact that he’s the nervous one this time, not you. “Nothing wrong with that,”
Nico lets out a breathless laugh, relieved knowing you won’t be caught off guard when you come to the opening game in October.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Nothing wrong with that all.”
He stays for a few more minutes after that, your conversation surprisingly pleasant with little awkwardness as you shyly ask about his stay back home, and he gladly expresses his joy at being back in Switzerland for a few months.
His unabashed enthusiasm to share his life with you catches you off guard, but you find that you like learning these little things about him. It defeats your whole purpose of not letting yourself get close to him, but you push that worry to the back of your mind for later.
Nico does eventually leave, but not before giving you a hug that leaves your heart racing. One of his hands came to rest respectfully at the small of your back, and you could have sworn you felt his lips brush your cheek before he pulled away.
“See you soon,” he had grinned, his eyes dark and enthused.
Feeling corny and rather irritated with yourself, your fingers brush the spot on your cheek, swearing you could still feel the heat of his lips.
You still don’t hear from Nico even after his visit, and you’re once again struck by the fact that you still can't tell what his intentions are. You find yourself checking your phone anyway, going so far as to stalk his Instagram. Again.
This is most definitely becoming a bad habit. A very bad one. You think to yourself as, one day, you find yourself staring at your screen once more, weeks having gone by with the brown eyed boy still on your mind.
With another client in just over two hours, you find yourself using the break to get some work done on your laptop at the desk in the lobby of your shop. You aren’t very productive, but it makes you feel better about your wandering imagination being so distracting.
Just having happened to save a finished spreadsheet of your recent clients and their pricing, a man is pushing open the door to your shop. You quickly determine that it’s some type of delivery based on the package he carries before he drops it onto your counter.
He reads out your name from a paper, glancing up at you for confirmation of your identity. “Yes, that’s me,” you say, eyeing the unknown sender label. “Do you know who sent this?” You haven’t placed any orders recently, so it isn’t something from you.
The mailman shakes his head, giving you a polite smile before wishing you a good rest of your day. You wave to him offhandedly as he exits the shop, and then find a pair of scissors to carefully cut through the tape holding the box shut.
As if you’re opening Pandora’s box, you’re wary as you unfold the cardboard, your fingers brushing against thick fabric before carefully taking it out.
Unfolded and spread out across your desk, you freeze. You’re lucky no one else is here in the front to see you because your face is a deep shade of tomato red, and you’re smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.
Before you lay a jersey for the New Jersey Devils, and you know even before turning it over that it has Nico Hischier’s surname and number printed on the back.
As you’re staring at the jersey in awe, your fingers trailing over the brand new and surely expensive fabric, your phone pings with a new message.
It’s from a number you’d memorized months ago even though you’d never once used it to communicate. A text from Nico Hischier greets you as you unlock your phone.
UPS sent me a notification that the package I sent you arrived. I hope you like it. Looking forward to seeing you next month :)
“Oh, he’s good,” you say out loud, your smile growing even wider if that were possible. Your heart’s tempo picks up, and your fingers fly across the keyboard to respond.
You’re still not sure what he’s about—what are his plans here? Does he like you? Is he flirting for fun or does he have intentions to go forward?
You try not to overthink it as you finalize your response, pressing send soon after.
I just got it. I have to say, you’re bold. I guess I have no choice but to wear it now considering how much it probably cost you.
As if he were waiting for a response, a new message appears almost instantly.
It’s no big deal. Really. Just want to make your first game a memorable one. I’ll sign the jersey for you, too.
Careful, hot shot, I might start thinking you have other intentions here.
You wouldn’t be wrong.
September passes quickly, and before you know it October 12 is here and you’re nervously walking through Prudential Center to the section your seat is in.
You don’t stick out as much as you think you do, which is relieving because everyone around you is too focused on getting to their own seats and discussing the game.
You know you don’t fit the typical bill of someone coming to support a professional hockey player, considering what you think you are to Nico is… Complicated.
Your arms are covered in small but meaningful tattoos, and your ears are decorated with piercings along with the lone stud on your nose. You wouldn’t think someone like Nico would find it all attractive about you, but he’s said so numerous times over call and text.
You think about said communication as you finally sit down, a good thirty minutes before the game starts because nobody else is around you yet.
After Nico sent you his jersey, it’s like the floodgates opened from whatever was holding the two of you back from talking. Despite your reservations, he enraptured you from the get-go and you just couldn’t stop yourself from falling.
Nico is a really good texter, surprisingly. None of the lower case bullshit or long response times you’d expect from a sports player, but instead the exact opposite.
He doesn’t give you the feeling of talking to a child, an immature man who doesn’t know what he wants; in the time spent between him first using your number and going to the game, you’ve noticed how his responses are thought out and intentional. He responds quickly, but not too quickly to make you think he doesn’t have a career to focus on, and he makes you smile when he adds those cute smiley faces after the end of his texts.
You think you’re enjoying Nico Hischier a little too much to be normal, but you choose not to focus on that as you’re greeted by an unknown woman tapping your shoulder.
“Hi!” She says, giving you a welcoming smile that instantly puts you at ease. “Nico said he invited someone to come tonight. And Jonas,” she adds the last part like it was an afterthought, then gives you a slightly apologetic look. “He didn’t have time to tell us your name, so he just said to look for piercings and tattoos. I’m assuming that’s you?”
You’re not offended by others using your slightly unconventional looks to point you out; you’re proud of all of your piercings and the ink decorating your skin. You wouldn’t be you without them.
Slightly overwhelmed at the amount of words that just spewed from her mouth, though, you hide it well as you damper your nerves to respond. “Hi. Yeah, um, that’s me. They both - Nico and Jonas - really wanted me to come tonight.” You don’t include the fact that it was all Nico who sent you the ticket, showed up at your shop, and had been texting you nonstop for the past month.
The woman grins, seemingly relieved she had the right person. “Nico never brings anyone around so we were all pretty excited to meet you. I’m Natalie, Jonas’ girlfriend, by the way.”
Natalie is the exact type of girl you’d be expecting to date a professional hockey player. She’s blonde with a lithe figure, bright blue eyes and a face that could be on the front page of a magazine. She fits in with this crowd, not you, but you try not to let that bother you as you focus on her being the woman who makes one of your good clients happy.
Jonas has mentioned his girlfriend numerous times before, singing nothing but praises, and he’s even shown you a picture. Now that she’s in front of you, you instantly recognize her.
“I thought I recognized you,” you say. “I’m Jonas’ tattoo artist, he talks about you all the time,” maybe you were exaggerating a bit, but. Siegs wouldn’t mind. You were buttering him up to the ‘love of his life’, after all.
“He’s mentioned you too, oh my gosh, now it’s all clicking!” Natalie instantly gasps, sliding into the seat next to you. “You’re crazy talented. All of his tattoos are beautiful.”
“Thank you,” you grin, a little bashful. “He’s a great guy. I enjoy working with him.”
Natalie smiles back, and soon the two of you are joined by the rest of the WAG’s as the puck drop grows closer. Just as you’re about to pull out your phone, Natalie has seemingly managed to break free from whoever she was talking to.
“So, how do you know Nico? Jonas didn’t mention much about you coming, it was mostly Neeks who asked us to greet you,”
Neeks? You file that nickname away for later, and then your face grows red because you’re not sure how to answer her question.
“We actually met because of Jonas, funny enough. He was getting his wrist shaded, right after they got eliminated from the playoffs, and he asked Nico to come pick him up from my shop when it was done.”
“I remember,” Natalie says. “We were flying to Switzerland right after he was done. Sorry, you can continue,”
“You’re good,” you chuckle. “But yeah, then Jonas mentioned how I’d never been to a game, and Nico is who managed to convince me to come tonight.” You keep it simple, vague. No need to provide a complicated answer, mostly because you didn’t know how to reply without making it seem like you and Nico hadn’t been flirting for weeks now.
She looks like she’s about to say something, but suddenly the lights are dimming and an announcer is speaking, his loud voice booming throughout the arena. The next thing you know the lights are coming back on full blast, the puck is dropped, and ten hockey players are whipping across the ice at lightning speed.
Holy shit, you want to say, the sounds of screaming fans and players slamming against the boards rather overwhelming to you but in a good way. It has your blood pumping, and while you don’t understand much of anything - like why the refs blow the whistle randomly or what certain penalties mean - you find that you’re having a good time with Natalie keeping you company, explaining things as they occur.
“That Red Wings player is going into the box which means they’re down a player, and—oh, look, there’s Nico!” She’s pointing to the ice, and you have to squint to follow her line of sight, but you quickly recognize the Swiss captain’s profile and fight the muscles in your face from breaking into a smile.
Alas, you end up losing that battle as a grin manages to fight its way onto your face anyway. You know he can’t see you from so far up, but you like to think he tries as the Jumbotron focuses on him and catches his eyes peering up into the general direction of where you’re seated.
To downplay your excitement at spotting him, you ask, “What’s Jonas’ number?”
“Seventy-one,” Natalie answers, about to say something else, but interrupts herself as she along with almost every other fan in the arena jumps up out of their seats to shout obscenities at the referees.
Yeah, you think to yourself, comically scared of the aggression these hockey fans show for their team. This will take some getting used to.
Almost three hours later, the Devils manage to secure the win for their first game of the season. They almost blew it, or that’s what you hear from others around you, but you’re just glad to have something to congratulate Nico for when you go to meet him outside the locker room.
Speaking of, you along with the other WAG’s are walking down there right now, and your nerves from before the game are coming back full-force, stomach-twisting, vomit-inducing and all.
You’re standing next to Natalie as she talks with two other girls, and you’re content to just listen because your nerves aren’t allowing you to do anything else.
Then, as if the universe were tuned into your thoughts, the locker room doors open and multiple Devils players come streaming out. They’re freshly showered, back in the suits they arrived at the arena in, and you don’t even bother to hide your eagerness as you look for Nico in the crowd.
You spot Jonas first, though, as he catches sight of Natalie and bounds over to her with open arms. “Good game,” you think she says, then says something even quieter and that’s when Jonas sees you standing next to them.
He says your name in shock before a broad smile stretches over his face. “You came!” And then he’s also bringing you into a hug, looking all too happy to have some of his favorite people surrounding him.
“I did,” you laugh, pulling back after a moment. “It was really fun to watch. I’m glad you guys won,” you kind of wince at the end, knowing their win was shaky at best, but he looks like he appreciates the humor all the same.
“Yeah, we are too,” he says, then looks as if he just remembered something. “Nico was coming out right behind me, and—oh, there he is! Neeks!” He calls his captain’s name abruptly, and you swivel around to see Nico Hischier in the flesh heading towards you.
“There you are with the nickname again,” Nico chuckles as he approaches, then embraces his friend as if they didn’t just see each other a minute ago.
When he pulls back, his eyes quickly find yours, and unlike the first time you met there’s no awkwardness as Nico gives you a wide grin before wrapping his arms around you.
“You came,” he says into the top of your hair, and you can hear the smile in his voice. He doesn’t give you time to speak before he’s pulling back only slightly, enough to see your face from below peering up at him.
You take in the sight of him above you, rendered speechless as this image of him smiling so happily will likely replay in your memory forever. Nico is pure ecstasy, delight incarnate as those dark brown eyes likely have you painted in a way you could never see yourself in.
Finally finding your words, you duck your head for a moment, embarrassed at the blush you know is on your cheeks. “I wouldn’t miss it,” you say, referring to the game. “You played great, Neeks,”
Nico playfully leans back, lightly groaning at hearing you tease his nickname. “I should’ve known they’d say that in front of you,” he sighs, but you can tell it’s in nothing but jest as his smile remains. “Thank you, though,”
And now it was his turn to be bashful, as the blood rushes to his cheeks. What a picture you’re sure the two of you were; both pairs of hands still holding the other and equally flustered expressions on your faces. You find that you don’t mind the contact, though, despite having a slight aversion to touch. Nico’s warmth is comforting, and you rather like being close to him.
It’s not until Jonas coughs loudly from behind you that you and Nico finally release your hold on one another, and you turn to see he and Natalie looking at the two of you with barely contained excitement.
You meet Nico’s eyes, both of you struggling to hide your laughs at Jonas and Natalie’s failed poker faces. “Nice assist, Siegs,” you say to break the lingering tension, and the four of you come together like you’d all been close friends for years.
As you’re all leaving the arena through the exit the players use, Jonas and Nico walk ahead of you, exchanging teasing words and lighthearted insults, while you and Natalie watch from behind.
“So,” Natalie chirps, looking at you expectantly. “What do you think?”
You’re not dumb. You know she’s asking about Nico, thinking this is the first time you’ve talked to him since you first met him at your tattoo shop.
“Hockey? Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” you say, snickering when she sighs at your avoidance. “I’ll have to go to more games.”
“Not about hockey, about Nico,” Natalie says, whispering his name as if it’s taboo. “We aren’t blind. That was a long hug, and Nico literally never brings anyone here. Ever.”
“Technically, Jonas offered to bring me to a game first,”
The spunky blonde ignores you, offhandedly waving her arm. “Semantics. He also keeps turning around to look at you. Like right now.”
What? You instantly look ahead and see she’s right, your eyes meeting Nico’s. His face turns red as he sends you a shy smile, and then he turns back to Jonas who is still talking beside him.
Natalie observes the interaction, a small grin on her face. “You’ve both been talking long before now, haven’t you?”
“Is it that obvious?” you chuckle bashfully, slightly embarrassed your interactions allow her to pick up on your chemistry so quick. She shrugs, increasing her stride to stand in front of you as you reach their cars. “A little. But I’ve known Nico for a bit now, he’s a good guy. He likes you, too, I think.”
You don’t get the chance to respond before Jonas is wrapping an arm around Natalie’s waist, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. “We gotta get going, yeah? Early morning tomorrow,”
Nico’s hand is brushing against your arm as he moves to your side, unable to tell if the resulting shiver from his touch is from the slight chill in the air or just him. “We have a game in Arizona, a back-to-back,” he clarifies, answering your unspoken question.
“Ah,” you say. “That sucks.”
“Not this time. I’ll have plenty of good things to think about on the flight.” He winks at you, perfectly implying what those ‘good things’ are.
Your face turns red just as Jonas pretends to gag. “That would be our sign to leave. Right, babe?” He attempts to lead his girlfriend away, but Natalie suddenly gasps and runs back to you.
“I forgot to get your number,” she says, thrusting her phone into your hands. “We’re definitely hanging out again.” And, well, okay then. Who are you to deny her?
Jonas and Natalie drive away in his fancy sports car, which leaves you to walk Nico to his own. It’s quiet between the two of you, comforting because you’re both content to revel in each other’s company. Your hands occasionally brush - purely Nico’s fault - until he gathers the bravery to lace your fingers together just as you approach his car.
He doesn’t drop your hand, not even as he turns to face you once you come to a stop. “You have a ride home?”
You shrug sheepishly. No, you hadn’t really thought that far. “I was just planning on ubering…”
Nico scoffs, as if the very thought offends him. “Yeah, no. I’ll drive you home.” At the apprehensive look on your face, his confidence wavers slightly, and he mindlessly rubs his thumb over your hand to calm his own nerves. “If you’re okay with it, of course,”
Why does he have to be so cute? You give in instantly, the tension melting from your bones as, boldly, you use his grip on your hand to tug him closer. “That would be great, Nico, thank you.”
While his car, like Jonas’, is also expensive, you feel comfortable surrounded by the dark material and the scent of Nico’s cologne. The radio is playing softly, and he’s humming along quietly while strumming the fingers of his hand on the steering wheel. His other is resting on the gear shift, but you can tell by the way his hand keeps twitching that he wants to move it closer to you.
If you’ve learned anything about Nico within the weeks that you’ve been talking to him, it’s that he is huge on physical touch. He said it over text, but in person it’s even more obvious because his hands are rarely to himself when he’s next to you.
As the minutes go by, you finally give in to his body’s desire with a laugh as you reach over to tangle your hands together, now resting in your lap. “You really weren’t kidding when you said you liked touching, were you?”
Even with the darkness surrounding him, you can easily spot the maroon flush blooming across his cheeks. He briefly looks to you, unable to hide his grin before turning his attention back to the road. “No,” he laughs, gripping your hand reflexively like he’s testing out the contact. “I wasn’t.”
You’re both significantly more loose after you give in to your want for the other, and the rest of the ride is silent save for the occasional song lyrics mumbled by Nico. Almost too quickly he’s pulling into the parking lot of your apartment complex, and you’re disappointed when your hands release as you climb out of the car.
“Can I walk you to your door?”
“Sure.”
Like the car ride, the walk to your apartment is comfortably silent, and this time Nico doesn’t hesitate when taking your hand. He smiles when you shiver, but doesn’t say anything which you appreciate.
The elevator is stopping at your floor almost too soon, and you find yourself not wanting the night to end. You’re enjoying his company far too much, and you really like holding his hand. Imagining yourself doing this on a regular basis is overwhelming and definitely freaks you out a little once you come to a stop at your door.
“Here I am,” you chuckle, a little awkwardly. So… What do you do now? Thank him? Hug him? Kiss him?
You go to say something, anything… But Nico beats you to it. “Thank you for coming tonight,” he says, squeezing your hand. “I couldn’t see you from the ice, but I liked trying to pretend I could see you watching me.” He winks, then, and you don’t bother denying that yes, you were watching him the entire time.
You still try to be humble, though. “Thank you for getting me a ticket,” you say, trying to decide how forward you should be. His eyes sparkle, though, as you talk, like he can’t get enough of your voice… “All the girls were nice. Welcoming. It was fun pretending I was one of them.”
“I want you to be,” Nico blurts, almost breathless. “‘One of them’, that is. I think I like you,” he laughs like he can’t believe the words coming out of his mouth.
You’re unable to take your eyes off him, those dark brown of his bearing into you. The color is warm, just like Nico because he reminds you of a summer day and if he's the sun, then you’re a mere leaf desperately searching for his light.
“I think I like you too,” you admit, a little quieter, a little shy. You still don’t like being touched, but as his hands come to cup your cheeks you decide that you do like the feel of his calloused skin against yours, and then he’s dipping his head to capture your lips in a kiss you don’t know you’ve been waiting for.
You melt instantly, sighing into his mouth with relief. Nico’s kisses are long and smooth, and you’re happy to let him lead before he’s pulling back all too soon, his beard scruff leaving the skin around your lips burning pleasantly.
Fluttering eyes open, leaving you with the distinct feeling of coming up from underwater. Nico looks just as elated as you feel, gazing at you from dark brown eyes filled with adoration. His thumb runs across your bottom lip, and then he’s stepping back respectfully.
“I’ll call you when I get back to my place, yeah?” He says, and you’re glad he seems just as eager to continue talking as you are.
“Yeah, that… That works,” English has left your head, and you stumble over what to say next. Nico has left you speechless, literally. “Drive safe.”
He flashes you a blinding smile, and then disappears back into the elevator.
“Oh fuck,” you say to the emptiness of the corridor. “Fuck. I’m so fucked.”
Nico calls you when he gets home, just like he said he would. He also calls you the day after that and the day after that, and when he can’t call because of a game or practice or whatever, he’s texting you.
You’re swept up in the world of Nico Hischier; his friends have become your (albeit, surface) friends, Natalie has taken you under her wing, and as the weeks go by you’re regularly attending games in the WAG section.
There’s no label on your relationship, and while you like that you’re taking this slow, there's still this desire to kiss him in front of everyone after a game won, to show the hockey world that this man, this man right here is yours.
You don’t act on it, though, as much as you may want to. You have this fear that because your appearance isn’t so conventional, that Nico would get hate for being seen with you. Everyone around you subtly hints that this fear of yours is irrational, but you know better.
As the new year comes and goes - it’s the best way you’ve spent new years in forever because Nico kisses you right as the clock strikes twelve, under the flashing lights and his cheering teammates around you - the Devils’ season continues to dominate. They’re projected to make the playoffs again, and you’re going to just about every game now to show your support.
What you don’t realize is that the fans’ scrutiny of the players only grows the closer the end of the regular season comes, and their attention also shifts to the significant others. WAG playoff jackets are apparently a thing, and you hear from Natalie how the designs for this year are already in the works.
Nico hinted one night that he wanted you to wear one by mentioning he can’t wait to see you when they’re in the playoffs. You gave him a slight look of suspicion because he said it in a way like he’s anticipating something, but he only shrugged cheekily when you tried prying.
Everything comes to an ugly head, though, when you discover hockey Twitter. You’ve obviously known of the app, but you only download it when you hear how the hockey coverage is extensive and you decide you want to keep up with all NHL news more easily.
That’s when you stumble across a term called ‘puck bunnies’, and how there are accounts dedicated to the players’ dating lives with information as trivial as who they’re being spotted with.
Anxiety takes control one night when you’re scrolling through a gossip page, and you succumb to the urge to search Nico’s name. To your horror, there are posts mentioning how a new person (you) has joined the WAG’s at games, and fans have spotted him leaving with this new person consistently.
You can’t find anything mentioning your identity, but you do find criticisms of your appearance. A lot of them. And, really, you knew this was going to happen, it was just a matter of when. The thought doesn’t comfort you, though, as your stomach drops when past girlfriends of Nico are brought up.
They’re all blondes, the occasional brunette, too. Of course they are. You figure anyways that part of the reason you were so intriguing to him to begin with is because you’re so unlike anyone he’s ever dated before. It still doesn’t make you feel better.
You have unconventional piercings, tattoos and quite a lot of them, and you don’t have the money to splurge on expensive clothing like these models do. A word a lot of these hateful posts use is ‘downgrade’, and your insecurities start to agree.
Why does Nico even like you? What do you have that these other girls don’t? From the looks of it, you’re the first of, well, you that he’s ever dated.
You hate it. You hate all of it. Twitter, stupid puck bunnies (how demeaning, too?), your incredibly strong feelings for Nico, and the thought that you aren’t good enough for him.
Now, what you should be doing is calling him. Hell, even Natalie. You know you need to talk to someone about what you’ve found, get some reassurance that the online gossip is purely just that: gossip.
But, well, you’ve never been reasonable. Anxiety and overthinking has ruled your life since you could talk. Instead, you stay silent, stew in your self-loathing and scroll through more of the disgusting Twitter thread.
You let these strangers’ words get to you, their biting insults swimming around in the back of your mind over the next few days all while everyone else is none the wiser.
Especially Nico, who thinks everything is fine until it isn’t. He’s busy with the team, leading with a grace only a captain could possess, and playing his heart out every game to ensure their spot in the postseason. He thinks your distance is because you know how busy he is and simply just don’t want to bother him.
Which, he appreciates you respecting his career, but your shortened responses, curt replies, and frequent denials to come to his games start to signal warning sirens in his head. You aren’t an open book by any means, but this… Nico finds it startling. He knows something is wrong.
So he pries. He texts you more than normal, during video reviews where he’s supposed to be paying attention to replays and right after practices, too. One could say he’s being overbearing, and in the midst of all your self-loathing and depressive overthinking, you snap.
Nico had kept texting you, over and over again, asking for your schedule over the next few days along with continuously asking about when you could see him next. Your fingers moved faster than you could think, and then you pressed send on a message you keep telling yourself you don’t regret.
I just don’t have time, Nico, jesus. Let it go.
The read receipt had appeared under the message less than a minute later, and not another text came through. You’d most definitely had a slight mental breakdown, wanted to call him and apologize and kiss away the frown you’re sure is marring his beautiful lips, but you try convincing yourself it’s for the best.
You don’t deserve all the good that Nico Hischier brings into your life. He’s far too good for you—everyone else seems to think so, too.
And so, that’s that. Nico doesn’t text you anymore and you certainly don’t text him. You’d burned that bridge with no hesitation, and any sparks that were growing between you are certainly extinguished now. This is what you tell yourself, anyways, even as you still can’t stop yourself from tuning into the Devils games over the next few days.
You throw yourself into your work, even more than before. You switch around scheduling for different clients, place multiple sessions right after the other so the buzz of your tattoo gun is too loud for you to think of anything else.
It works, for a time. But you can only do it for so long, and it doesn’t stop you from watching recaps of Nico nor does it keep you from noticing how off-kilter he seems. You’ve come to realize that whenever the captain is off, so is the rest of the team, and the Devils go on a losing streak over the next two weeks that kills you almost as much as you’re sure it’s killing them.
You still don’t contact him, though. You keep your distance, avoid the bars you know they frequent and dodge Natalie’s attempts at meeting up, too. You’re sure she knows you and Nico aren’t talking, either because of how badly he’s playing or because Jonas told her, and you don’t want to give her an opportunity to pry.
And Nico, well. He’s very obviously a mess. He’s snappy, overwhelmed, angry at the littlest things; he broke his stick against the wall during one practice because Jack had passed him a puck, but Nico botched the play just like everything else in his life, apparently.
A perk about being the captain is that none of his teammates have the guts to come up to him to bluntly ask him what’s wrong. On the other hand, his teammates follow his lead to a T, which means that as a result of his foul mood and horrible playing, their spot in the standings has noticeably suffered.
You don’t leave his head, not when he’s in the middle of a game or lying wide awake in his bed until the early hours of the morning. Many times he contemplates breaking the barrier you’d put between the two of you, to ask what he did and if there’s anything he can do to fix it. Nico thinks it’s his fault, that maybe he came off as too clingy…
He knows of your past, knows you’re so wary to jump into relationships for a reason, and figures he just did something to scare you back into seclusion.
The abrupt silence between the two of you builds, and Nico is so frustrated with himself and with you that when they play a division rival, the Philadelphia Flyers, his pent-up aggravation is released and he plays the best hockey he’s probably ever played before in his life.
Nico has never done drugs, but he’s positive the adrenaline pumping through his veins is similar to the rush of dopamine one would feel right after. He’s high off the elation of winning, and it gives him the courage to finally do something about the mounting irritation from his lack of contact with you.
He leaves the rock as soon as he’s able, breaks a few traffic laws in his haste to get to your shop as quickly as possible. It’s a long shot, showing up this late at night on a Friday, but he knows your habits and he knows you.
As he swerves into a parking spot, his gut tells him he’s right. You’re here. You have to be.
Unfortunately for you, Nico is right. You are, in fact, holed up alone in your shop, postponing the lonely ride to your lonely apartment in place of searching for something to do.
You watched the Devils game in the midst of distracting yourself, because of course you did. You saw how the players’ growing frustration led to pure determination that ultimately secured them the win.
You’re proud of them. Proud of Nico. You want to text him, do something, but… then there’s rapid knocking on the doors, and you’re peeking around the corner to catch a glimpse of the likely drunkard trying to break in.
You’re about to just wave them off, gesture towards the sign hanging on the window you know is switched to close, but the man outside speaks and you’re frozen.
“Please, baby, let me in,” the voice is laced with pure desperation, and oh, now you can see him as clear as day. He mouths your name through the glass, and you don’t have the strength to send him away.
You reluctantly unlock the door, shying away from his touch when he tentatively puts a hand on your arm. Nico is having none of it, though, and quickly grabs your hand to tug you back towards him. He’s had enough of your silence, isn’t going to let you walk away so easily this time.
When you don’t meet his eyes, he lets out a heavy breath, squeezes your hand once, then, “What the fuck is going on?” and you’re still silent, still avoidant, refusing to look up at his face. He says your name, voice anguished as he begs again, “Talk to me, please?”
You dodge his questions. “Why are you here, Nico?”
Nico reads your body language, watches as you refuse to meet his eyes and finally break away from his touch. He realizes he still affects you, and that you pushing him away is purely because you’re in your own head and don’t know how to get out of it
“Did you see my game?” Nico eventually asks, realizing he has to approach this gently, like you’re a wounded animal and in a sense, you are.
You did, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. (He knows, anyway). So you just shrug, pretending to fiddle with the random shit on your desk.
“So that’s a yes,” Nico mutters to himself. Then, he speaks up, louder, so he knows you hear him. “I scored a goal tonight.” he pauses, waits for your reaction.
You look up then, only for a moment, squinting your eyes in what looks to be a glare. “Congratulations.”
The way you look at him screams paranoid, insecure, and suddenly Nico is hit with the memory of a conversation he had with a fan a few days ago. She was young, in her early teens and certainly not out of highschool so he didn’t take her gossip too seriously, but…
“You guys are so cute!” he remembers her squealing, shoving her phone in his face. It was a blurry picture of the two of you holding hands walking out of the arena, that much he remembers. “Everyone’s hating on them online but they’re all just jealous you’re taken now.”
Nico had been signing her jersey when she said that. He raised an eyebrow, was tuning her out slightly. “Hating? On Twitter? Shocking,” he had laughed. “Does anyone take them seriously?”
The girl - whose name he now doesn’t remember - had shrugged. “A few obsessed people, yeah. Don’t go on Twitter if you want to keep your sanity. I’d tell your… friend that, too.”
Except he didn’t. Her words went through one ear and right out the other, and it’s like a halo of light just lit up his head because oh, Nico understands now, and he feels his stomach dropping over the thought that you’ve been living with this for weeks now.
Nico scoffs at your sass but it sounds more like a laugh. He knows what to do, now. “Signed a few fans’ jerseys after the game, and then I remembered an interesting conversation with this one girl a few games back. It was really enlightening. Wanna know what she said?”
You know what’s coming. You’ve already seen what people say about your rumored relationship with Nico, and you think he’s just telling you this to definitively end whatever you started with each other.
Words escape you, but what does manage to come out is a choked up, “Not really”, under your breath.
“She said people talked about us online. Were saying a bunch of bullshit about how you ‘aren’t my type’ and that I’m too good for you. Can you believe that?”
Nico takes a few cautious steps towards you, leans over your desk to gauge your reaction. He sees the light sheen in your eyes, the way your hands tremble as you attempt to look like you aren’t hanging on to his every word.
But Nico sees right through you. He understands immediately, in that moment, why you’re pushing him away, and it breaks his heart into a million pieces.
“Oh, baby,” he coos, softly. “You didn’t think I agreed with them, did you?”
You try to respond, but you cut yourself off by letting out a sob as the overwhelming emotions catch up to you.
Nico immediately rounds the desk, his own eyes tearing up as he wraps his muscular arms around your body in a protective hug. You’re shaking as you bury your head into his neck, spurting apology after apology.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,”
“I know,” he shushes, one hand running through your hair while the other rubs soothing circles on your back. “I know. It’s okay,”
“Why don’t you hate me? You should hate me,”
“I could never hate you.”
You don’t let go of Nico, not even as he slides down the wall with you in his arms. It’s behind your desk, so you’re hidden from view. The thought that he did this on purpose so you can break down in peace only makes you cry harder, and yet he doesn’t falter in his comfort.
“Is this why you went silent on me?” He eventually asks, gently, so as to not startle you. “Because of… Twitter?”
You nod imperceptibly, feeling rather embarrassed now that it’s said out loud how much online gossip has bothered you. It wasn’t just because of that, though. “It’s stupid, I know—”
“No, no it’s not. Your feelings aren’t stupid.” He says immediately. “I’m sorry you found those things online. I wish you would’ve told me, or something, that way I could’ve reassured you,”
“I should have,” you say. You almost lost him, this person you care about so deeply. “You scare me so much, though, you know?”
Nico jerks, aghast. “No, no, not like that,” You reassure, unable to stop yourself from smiling. “I mean… What I feel for you scares me. Like it’s too good to be true,”
You’re nervous to continue, but then his fingers begin tracing the tattoos on your arms and you shiver because of an entirely new reason, other nerves forgotten.
“And, I don’t know. I guess I was looking for reasons to doubt… Us. Which is wrong, I know. And then I found the Twitter thread, and I let their words confirm what I was already thinking.”
One of his hands trails up the back of your neck, gently massages the skin there for a moment, and is then carefully smoothing over some of your older piercings, admiring how the jewelry looks against your skin. He’s working to calm you down, and it’s working because you then realize you've forgotten how to speak.
“Um,” you swallow, throat dry. “You’re here, though,” you finish lamely, finally meeting his eyes in awe.
“I am.” He affirms. The hand on your arm joins the other to cup your face, and then your eyes flutter shut as he presses a gentle kiss to your lips. “And I’m not going anywhere, yeah? Not unless you tell me to fuck off. ”
“Okay,” you whisper, assured and now content as his arms go back to curling you into his chest. “Okay. Sounds good.” And then a thought strikes you, like the deprivation of his life you’ve been forcing yourself to deal with has had enough. “When’s your next game?”
Nico’s face breaks out into a beautiful smile, one that takes your breath away. “There’s one at home next Thursday,” he says. “I think Natalie might hurt me if I tell her that you’re still too busy, so does this mean you’ll come?”
“Can’t have that now, can we?” you murmur, matching his grin. “But yeah, yeah, I’ll go,” and back to cool nonchalance you go, unable to take the love rushing through you.
Finally, you find the strength to lift yourself off the floor. He immediately grabs your hand, lacing your fingers together. As you stand in the middle of your shop, smiling goofily at each other, he looks nervous again, and his thumb smooths over the back of your hand reflexively.
“I’ve missed you,” Nico admits, looking down at you shyly. “Didn’t realize how much I liked having you in my life.”
“I’m sorry,” you say, genuinely upset with yourself for shutting him out. “I missed you too. A lot.”
“So we’re good now, then?” he looks anxious, like he thinks he still did something wrong. “You’ll talk to me next time?”
“We’re good. I’ll talk to you,” you swear. And you’re serious this time. It hurt you just as much as it hurt him to fall out of contact for weeks. Terrifyingly enough, you’re sure it’s because you’re falling in love with him.
You’ll hold back from saying those three words for a little while longer, though.
“So,” you say after a moment. “Catch me up? On everything I missed?”
He grins again, and you think it’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever laid your eyes on. “Can we recap back at my place?” At the suggestive look on your face his face quickly turns red. “I just miss having you in my bed,” he mumbles, and at your laugh just starts dragging you to the door.
“Wait, wait, I need to lock up!” Nico playfully groans, squeezes your hips with a mocking “hurry up” and then you’re running out onto the busy streets of New Jersey like two reckless teenagers looking to elope.
It’s healing, freeing, and dangerous all at once because you can’t stop giggling and Nico can’t stop kissing you, and as you look at his face outlined by the red of a stoplight you think, I could fall in love with him.
You’re sure he’ll catch you when you hit the bottom, too.
A/N: I was planning on including smut but since I wrote this with a gender neutral reader not even I could make that work LMAO regardless, I hope you still enjoyed! I haven’t written a 10k+ fic in a while so I had a lot of fun with this one. As always, comments and reblogs are much appreciated <3
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#nico hischier#nico hischier imagine#nico hischier fic#nico hischier fanfiction#nico hischier x reader#nico hischier imagines#new jersey devils#new jersey devils imagine#new jersey devils imagines#new jersey devils fic#new jersey devils x reader#devils#devils imagine#devils lb#nhl hockey#nhl fanfiction#nhl fic#nhl imagine#nhl imagines#nhl writing#writing#fanfiction#'the ink on your skin'#the winter fic exchange 2k24
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yandere church boy x gn bottom reader smut ;; semi public/risky, sacrilege, religious imagery mentions (takes place in a church broom closet during service), unintentional edging
it was a miracle the two of you hadn't gotten caught yet. how many times have you ended up like this just this week alone?
despite abraham's attempts to keep you quiet, clasping his hands around your mouth and keeping his own whiny moans just soft enough that only you could hear them, he just couldn't keep himself from ramming into you. every thrust was so hard that it rattled the door you were pressed up against — anyone in the hall outside of the closet would easily figure out what was going on inside.
"you feel so good," abe whimpered in your ear, "s-so soft— oh, god..."
your breath hitched when he pulled you backwards and thrusted into you harder. thank god the sound of the choir picked up just then — abe's hands could do little to muffle your cries. he was way too deep, it felt like he was in your stomach at this angle! but your pushing at his hips did nothing to stop him from fucking into you even harder.
so many people, so nearby, just a few meters down the hall. the thought of getting caught fluttered through your mind. what would they think of of you, getting fucked by the pastor's boy when *** was surely watching?
abe's incoherent whimpering interrupted your thoughts. he was trying to say something to you, and though the words were unclear, you knew exactly what he was trying to say.
so you expected it when his thrusts came to a disappointing stop, his hands slipping from your mouth to grasp and plant your hips against his own. you felt his cock twitching in you, just as desperate for release as you were, despite abe's unwillingness to let himself have it.
you let out a whine of protest as he stammered out his apologies, planting messy kisses along your neck and shoulder. you knew he wouldn't leave you unsatisfied, but... how many times would he do this before you actually got to cum?
luckily, you didn't have time to wonder. within moments of stopping, abe was pulling you back against him and moving his hips again, the feeling of him fucking you again while you were already so sensitive driving thought from your mind.
#i am losing my mind#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere x oc#yandere boy#yandere imagines#yandere oc#yandere male#yandere smut#yandere nsft#yandere lemon#yandere x reader smut#male yandere x reader#xv ;; the devil — my writing#⛪️ abraham a. ;; the church boy
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I just watched The First Omen at the cinema and you may go ahead and cuff me for blasphemy, but…
Yandere! Devil x Reader
You have been chosen by the Cult as the one to carry their ungodly plan after many failed attempts. This time it was a success, yet not for the reasons they might expect. The Devil has his eyes on you.
Content: female reader, mentions of pregnancy, religious themes, blasphemy, violence, horror, a non-consent scene!, based on The First Omen (2024); image from the promotional poster
Why you, of all people? You're not particularly devoted to religion, nor do you stand out in terms of virtuousness. Or lack of, for that matter. Alas, their reasons remain unknown.
What's certain is that you woke up one day and found yourself strapped to a foreign bed, staring into a ceiling you didn't recognize. You weren't alone. Around your helpless form stood men and women, dressed in black and wearing a solemn smile. Your forehead received a gentle, encouraging stroke from the hand of the priest. The scent of chrism invaded your nostrils.
You begged them to release you. The older man spoke softly in your ear. "You are serving a greater purpose. It is all in the name of God." God? Purpose? You rolled your eyes back and gazed upon the large painting hanging behind you. Virgin Mary and her blissful smile and stretched out hands felt like a mockery.
The holy image vanished as a black cloth was nonchalantly draped over your face. You felt the rope tighten around your neck and begun gasping for the scarce air barely making it through the thick canvas. A crescendo of muffled chants, and the room went abruptly quiet. Had everyone left?
Then you heard it. That profane growl, causing the entirety of your body to shiver in repugnance and terror. You trashed, and pulled, and screamed, to no avail. A clawed hand rested on your bare stomach, then a second one traced the rest of your body. You laid limp, vision blurred as the room swayed in tandem with the sacrilegious act.
You'd been defiled by a Beast. The next time you opened your eyes, you were back in your bed. Your hopes of it being a mere nightmare were shattered the moment you lifted your gown and noticed the deep scratches, the monstrous prints left on your skin, and the hollow sensation in the pit of your stomach. Your body had been tampered with, and something was growing out of your misfortune. A vile blight, throbbing with life within the comfort of your flesh.
You spent the months haunted by voices and visions. The grotesque, horned Creature would frequently reappear in your mind, exhausting all other thoughts. Such a heavy, imposing presence. It wouldn't let you forget, not even for a second: you belonged to Him, and He would soon return to retrieve you. The mother of His child, the object of His adoration. Was such a thing even conceivable?
You prayed to be left alone, yet the Cult naturally longed for its promised gift, bound to come back eventually. And so, once more, you were facing the people who caused your despair. "We've come for the child", the priest explained, glancing at your obvious, bulging belly. The clawed hand framing it was still a fresh wound that never healed, almost as an ominous warning: this body was owned by a jealous God.
Your trembling hands revealed a pocketknife. This time, you were prepared. The group took a moment to observe your daring gesture, then proceeded to approach you with calculated steps, with newfound resolve. Would you be able to keep them away? Their intentions were clear: you were in possession of the Antichrist, and they needed to secure this immense power.
The ground shook, and everyone froze. You glanced at the altar painting, the same one that witnessed your corruption. Virgin Mary remained with an unfaltering smile. From behind the ornate frame, large, horrid hands creeped out. A travesty of everything Holy. The priest gasped and quickly threw his hands in prayer. This was not part of the plan. This was not meant to happen.
"Pater noster, qui es in caelis-" he began, but his voice was cut short. His face turned pale, and he clutched his chest with a terrible grimace. The nun next to him let out a scream before she was pushed away by an invisible force. Her body hit the wall with a loud, wet sound of bones breaking and flesh tearing. You stared at the massacre unfolding before you, devoid of any fear. Somehow, in the depths of your soul, you knew you'd be safe.
An enormous shadow emerged from behind the painting, twisting, bending, stalking towards you. Your nose scrunched at the stench of blood. You were the last one standing among corpses. To your surprise, you exhaled deeply, shoulders drooping in comfort. A silent voice murmured in your ear, telling you not to fear. That Father was finally home for you.
Foolish, ridiculous humans. He'd been willing to entertain their petty plans of grandeur, until he met you: your tender, frail body, your innocent soul. How exalting it was to have his way with you. You were meant to be the one. To carry His offspring into the damned world. But not for some trifling reason of a Cult desperate to crawl their way back into control. Their greatest mistake - which led to their demise - was to assume the Devil himself can be controlled, ordered around. He has allowed you the greatest honor of joining him, out of your free will, to sow the seeds of chaos as his beloved mortal.
Thus, he couldn't have possibly allowed anyone to interfere. What you saw that day, in that old, musty underground cavern, was an omen: a bloodbath awaits the one who dares to approach his human.
You look up into the demonic orbs: trenches of madness, obsession, vulgarity, burning holes into you, slurping your very existence with hunger and lust. You are his.
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere x darling#yandere monster#yandere monster x reader#devil x human#yandere headcanons#yandere imagines#yandere scenarios#monster x reader#monster x human#monster smut#monster romance#horror#tw religious themes#the first omen#demon x reader#demon x human#terato
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MC: *wiggling a test in front of Lucifer's face* fuck you!
Lucifer: I see you passed
MC: Damn right I did! And you said I couldn't do it!
Lucifer: *smirking* I know, congrats...
MC: *confused sheep noises*
-later-
MC about to go to sleep: ... OH THAT MOTHERFU-
#the devil knows more for old than for devil(?#idk that's what my mom says#i love luci#obey me#obey me shall we date#obey me headcanons#obey me imagines#obey me scenarios#obey me mc#obey me lucifer#obey me incorrect quotes#om incorrect quotes#obey me! incorrect quotes#incorrect obey me#incorrect quotes#obey me! lucifer#om lucifer#lucifer x mc#lucifer x reader#hol shenanigans
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Kiss Cam (Luke Hughes)
Luke Hughes x female!reader
Warning(s): slight makeup sesh, angst, major fluff, touching without consent, alludes to smut
Summary:In which Luke lets his anger get the best of him.
“Mom I love you, but I have to finish getting ready for the game. We can talk more about it tomorrow.” Y/n sighs, applying mascara to her lashes.
Her phone was on the bathroom counter with mom on speaker phone, mom currently blabbing about something that happened at work that she needed to rant over. “Oh, that’s right there’s a game tonight! Tell Luke and Jack goodluck for me, and I’ll let you go then. Love you!” Her mom’s sweet voice rings in.
Y/n responds back before ending the call, her music coming back on while she used her setting spray to set the rest of her face.
Luke walks into the bathroom behind her a few moments later, setting his sweatshirt on the counter next to her puffer vest for her to wear. He stops and looks her up and down with a slight smirk on his lips.
She wasn’t fully finished getting dressed, only wearing her flare leather pants and a bralette to prevent getting makeup on his clothes. Not that he would’ve minded that anyway, but he wasn’t going to complain about her current outfit.
“What?” She chuckles putting her makeup away when catching his stare in the mirror. His eyes find hers as he walks up behind her with a hum, placing his hands around the front of her waist slowly trailing back and down to grab her ass.
She squeaks at his hands, letting a laugh leave her mouth while his own kisses her collarbone a few times. “I like these pants.”
“Oh you do, do you?” an amused grin on her face. He hums with a nod. “Very much yes. You need to buy more.”
Her eyes roll at his comment before she turns around in his grasp, his hands still going down to her ass when she faces him. Luke looks down at her, taking in the beauty of his girlfriend. She looks down at his lip before lifting herself up a little to place what was supposed to be a chaste kiss.
Luke thought otherwise, humming out a no on her lips to prevent her from breaking away. She giggles at his comment, letting her hands trail up his chest and to the back of his neck and into his curls.
Their lips moving in sync, his tongue finding hers as his hands roam her body. His touches and kisses making her whimper and moan into his mouth.
His hands began to trail from her ass, up to her hips, then to her waist, until they were gripping her breasts. Luke letting his thumb graze over her nipples through the thin fabric.
She breathes out a moan, her head falling back as he plays with them and his lips moving down to her jaw. “Lu,” she pants.
“Hm?”
“We are gonna be late.” She lets out another whimper when he bites down on her sweet spot just in the crevice of the crook of her neck. Y/n musters up the strength to grab his head from her neck, making him look up at her.
His lips now swollen, eyes looking a little glazed over as he gives her a lovesick grin. She places one last soft kiss on his mouth before turning back around to grab his sweatshirt off the counter, putting it over her head.
"Why don't you just wear my jersey again?" he asks as he steps away to watch her in the mirror.
"Because I need to switch it up every so often," she says in a 'duh' tone. "Either way people will know I'm yours if that's your problem with it." she chuckles, watching him roll his eyes.
"Okay yes, but still. You can see my name on it in bigger letters than you can on my sweatshirt."
"The sweatshirt I'm wearing is a player only sweatshirt. Therefore nobody else but players own it, so I think that's pretty self-explanatory." she assures him as she sees his pout begin to form.
Once she puts the vest over her shoulders, she turns around to wrap her arms around his neck. He grabs her waist immediately, looking down at her with a knowing look. "You may be beautiful, but you're sometimes not the brightest." he jokes, earning a slap to the chest as she walks away after his comment. She slips on her heeled boots in the entryway while he slides on his dress shoes.
"Forensic Scientist means dumb to you? I don't think so baby." she shoots back, the boy just shaking his head with a playful scoff.
"Whatever you say, honey. Let's go," he sighs before tapping her bum as she opens the front door.
Once they arrived to the arena, Y/n says her 'hello's to the other players, and Jack of course, then gives Luke his good luck kiss before making her way to the lower bowl to find her seat.
She sets her food and drink down when she finds it, seeing she's in the second row from the glass and gets comfy as she waited for the game to start. Y/n watched as more and more fans began to pile in, some starting to take up spots around the ice to watch warmups.
The warmups probably had to be her favorite part. Getting to see the boys rev up for the game as well as interacting with fans, the younger kids especially. She sometimes would find herself overhearing conversations of parents with their little ones talking about how they will try hard to get puck from a player for them.
So some days she took matters into her own hands, signaled Luke, Jack or one of the other players she knew well to bring her a couple pucks to hand out to the little kiddos. The smiles and reactions on their faces always made her smile too, which is why she loved stepping in to help sometimes.
Before she knew it, the boys were out on the ice doing their routine, kids and other fans buzzing with excitement as they watched the players skate around the ice.
She smiles widely when she sees Luke spot her, the boy giving her a little wink as he stood at the blue line with Dawson. Her little moment with Luke was soon cut short when someone took their seat next to her and settled in, his stare never leaving her side profile.
Y/n slowly turned to look at the Devils fan, the boy looking around the same age as her. He had darker hair that poked out of his backwards hat, bright hazel eyes, chiseled jaw with a little stubble. He supported a Devils Jersey with an 86 on the back of it. He nods at her before speaking.
"Hey," he starts off. She smiles warmly. "Hello." she says before turning back to watching warmups.
Luke was busy doing his routine to notice the boy sitting next to his girlfriend, y/n adjusting herself due to feeling uncomfortable by his stare.
"I'm Micah." he introduces, y/n turning her head back to him with a smaller smile this time. "Nice to meet you Micah." she says in a soft voice, hoping that it sounded both nice and uninterested.
Micah leans towards her a little, making her smile falter a bit and look back at the boys on the ice for a minute. "And you are..?" he trails off, making her insides churn at his desperation.
"Um, I'm y/n," she says in a shorter tone. He nods with a toothy smile.
"Beautiful name for an absolutely gorgeous girl." he says, making her internally roll her eyes. She just nods at him and offers another warm smile. "Thank you."
She watches as he looks her up and down slowly, slowly biting his lip as his eyes find hers. "So what's a girl like you doing sitting here all by herself?" he asks.
"Oh, I'm not alone I'm-"
"It's okay, you don't have to lie and say your friends are coming. I'll take care of you," he winks at her, and places a hand on her thigh with a squeeze. He was making her stomach knot. "Please take your hand off my leg," she says firmly. She feels herself relax when his hand leaves her thigh, her chest feeling tight as he sat closer to her.
Instead of pushing the conversation she purses her lips and looks back at the boys on the ice, hoping to find her boyfriend and her muscles relax when she sees he's already staring at her.
Now many fans that paid attention to the Hughes brothers knew she and Luke were dating. It wasn't like they made it obvious, but they also weren't hiding it either.
His eyes going back between her and the guy next to her with a darker stare than she's used to. He can tell she's uncomfortable when his eyes find hers a second later, and skates closer towards where she's sitting.
Y/n watches as he skates past and gives her a small nod as if asking if she was okay, and nods back at him with a small smile on her lips.
Luke nods back one more time at her before turning back to finish his drills, his head turning back to stare at the guy sitting next to her one last time.
Y/n was happy the guy known as Micah let her be after that, hoping that he noticed she was uninterested and very much taken.
The lights dimmed as the boys left the ice, y/n sitting back in her chair and going onto her phone. Her phone soon buzzed as she began scrolling through Twitter, seeing it was a text from Luke.
from Lu <3
Do you want me to bring you one of my jerseys?
to Lu <3
I'll be okay. I can stand my ground, I promise
from Lu <3
Baby I really think you should take one of my jerseys
to Lu <3
Lu I will look like every other fan who has one here still. It wouldn't matter if I was wearing it or not.
read 6:36pm
Y/n rolled her eyes at his actions and no response, knowing he was frustrated by the situation at hand. She wouldn't be able to convince him any other way, him being the stubborn boy he was.
It wasn't that he didn't trust her, he just liked having people know she was his and his only. She would never stop that either, but she just wanted him to understand she can handle situations on her own most times.
Before she knew it, the game had started and that's also when Micah's voice started. He kept trying to talk to her more, explaining the game to her as if she had no idea what was going on. She wanted to move so badly, but knew that that wasn't going to happen.
Y/n just tried her best to act as uninterested as possible to his conversation, the boy obviously not getting the point as time went on.
It also appeared that Luke was getting more and more irritated by Micah's advances.
Y/n often caught him skating by their area and looking directly at the pair sitting next to one another, his expression each time darker and more pissed off than the last.
The one that caught her attention was when Luke looked directly at her, shook his head, rolled his eyes and made a swatting motion at her. It deeply annoyed her that he was getting mad at her when she was making it very clear she wanted nothing to do with the man next to her.
"That call right there is known as icing," Micah begins, leaning towards her and pushing a piece of her hair back. Y/n biting her lip and running a hand through her hair as he keeps his hand on her cheek. "It happens when-"
"Okay look. Micah, is it? Can you please stop explaining the game to me as if I don't get what's going on? I used to play myself, and have a boyfriend who plays it as well. So please just -- stop talking, and stop touching me." Y/n snaps, her facial expressions towards the boy looking like she was ready to bang her head against the wall.
Micah looked stunned for a few seconds, before he smirks and rolls his eyes with a scoff. "If you had a boyfriend, where is he at then?"
Of course that was the only thing he paid attention to. She scoffs at him and looks back to the game.
There was an intermission in between whistles, the ice crew coming to shovel off the ice. Y/n looks up and watches as a kiss cam comes on, happy couples one after the other doing funny or cute kisses.
She looks down at her phone while it goes, not really wanting to be at the game anymore with her boyfriend annoyed at her, and her being annoyed with the guy next to her.
That was until Micah was elbowing her a moment later, the girl looking at him with a scowl evident on her face and he smirks smugly while pointing to the screen. She looks up, and immediately wants to sink into a hole.
Micah and her were on the kiss cam screen.
Micah looks back at her and shrugs. "it's for the views," he says, and she shook her head.
Y/n looks up at the Jumbotron, doing a 'cut' signal with her hand while saying that Micah is not her boyfriend. She began to hold up her sweatshirt, pointing to the number 43 on the arm saying 'boyfriend'.
But before she could finish saying 'boyfriend' Micah tries grabbing her face in a bruising and harsh grasp to pull her in for a kiss. Y/n immediately pushes him away and smacks him hard across the face.
Before she can cuss him out, she hears a loud bang against the glass followed by yells and many fans gasping in shock. Y/n turns to the ice and sees Luke yelling at Micah with Jack and Nico holding him back as if Luke was about ready to break the glass to get to her.
"Get your fucking hands off my girl!" he screams at him. "You grab her like that again and I'll fuck you up, you got that! Get the fuck off of her!! Don't you dare touch her!" Luke continues to yell and cuss as the boys pull him back to the bench.
Luke looks at Y/n and points at her after. "That's why I fucking told you to wear my jersey dammit!" he yells to her, making her stomach drop to her ass out of embarrassment.
Her mouth drops at his reaction, seeing him yell to her once again. "Never fucking listens to me!"
Micah sitting there both in awe and shock by both getting cussed at by Luke Hughes and being smacked by the girl next to him.
Y/n is pushing her way past Micah who is still sitting there dumbfounded, some fans making comments to him saying how shitty it was for him to do what he did.
Y/n kept her head down as she climbed up the stairs, tears in her eyes. One of the security guards she knew very well immediately made her way up to her and pulled her into her arms as they walked.
"Let's get you out of the public eye, hm? Get you down into the tunnel?" she suggest, Y/n nods quietly as she wipes a tear.
When she makes her way to the tunnel she hears the buzzer, signaling the end of the second period. She tells the security guard to grab Jack for her as he walks back to the locker room, the older woman nodding before making her way down the hall.
As she waits for Jack, she manages to take in what just happened.
Micah tried forcing himself on her. Luke cussed him out and almost broke the glass to go after him. Luke yelled at her.
Luke embarrassed her.
Y/n didn't even realize she had tears falling until she saw them fall onto her boots.
"Y/n?" she hears, her head shooting up to see Jack making his way to her with concern on his face. He had his helmet off, stick still in his hand as he approached her.
"Hey," he said as he got to her, pulling her in for a hug first. She hugged him back tightly, sniffling into his shoulder. "You okay?"
She just shook her head as they pulled away. "I've never heard him talk to me like that. Ever. I'm so humiliated." she admits, shaking her head as she wipes her tears.
Jack looks at her with guilt and frustration. "I'm sorry I had no idea he would react like that," he says. "We knew he was bothered by the guy next to you because he wouldn't stop talking about it. But he kept assuring and saying he trusted you to take care of it. Of yourself. He kept saying he knew you could handle it. Next thing we knew he was jumping over the boards and skating towards where you sat. And then you can guess what happened next." he explains, making her nod.
"I just didn't think he would ever talk to me like that." she says in a whisper. "I didn't even know that that guy would grab my face like that." she stutters, letting out a choked sob.
"I should've just listened to Luke and wore his jersey." Y/n says, watching as Jack shook his head. "No don't say what you know would make my brother feel better. He's a piece of shit and a dickbag for saying and reacting how he did. You couldn't have known." Jack assures her, pulling her in for another hug, holding her for longer.
She sniffles and stays silent, Jack pulling away from her as he hears Dawson calling out to him signaling they're going back out in a few.
"I don't want to talk to him for a bit. But I can't go back out there. I don't even think I can show my face out there at all." Y/n explains, Jack nods in understanding.
"I'll make sure he steers clear of you for right now. I'll also be the last one out of the locker room, so I will let one of the trainers know to come grab you to get my keys. You can drive it back to the apartment." he says, making her shake her head and cross her arms.
"Jack are you sure? I can't take your car."
"Y/n/n yes you can. We live in the same complex. Worst case I can always catch a ride with one of the other boys if Luke is still being an ass, so I will be able to get home either way." Jack assures her, the girl contemplating for a minute, then nodding in agreement to his statement.
He kisses her forehead before heading back to the locker rooms, Y/n pulling herself together as she waits silently for one of the trainers. She sees and hears the guys cheering as they head out for the last period, music blaring in the stadium.
She spots one of the trainers walking towards her with a sweet smile, motioning for her to follow behind them to the locker room.
When they get to the entryway, the trainer stops and points to Jack's locker stall. "He said it should be in his suit jacket pocket on the left side." the trainer tells her, y/n nodding as she feels his keys.
As she was about to walk out of the locker room the trainer stops her once more. "Luke also told me to tell you that you can take his key. Since he knows you don't normally bring yours when you drive with him to games." they explain, Y/n feeling her heart clench at his name.
She slowly nods and walks over to her boyfriend's stall and grabbing his apartment key before following the trainer out and towards the garage.
She smiles softly at the trainer before thanking them, then unlocks Jack's car and gets inside.
On the drive home the car is silent, nothing being heard but the rain on the windshield. The radio off due to her not wanting to hear a single thing as she drove home.
The embarrassment she felt from the night was starting to creep up on her, making her just want to crawl up into a ball and live there for the rest of her life.
The facial expression she saw on his face was something she only ever saw when it came to him getting pissed off at another player in the ice, or when he was arguing with Jack. Never did she see it directed towards her. It made her insides burn, her chest feeling tight.
Most of all Y/n felt violated. She had never been grabbed or touched like that, and it scared her that a man would've been desperate enough in a situation to make a move like that guy did.
She let out a sigh as she parked Jack's car in his parking spot in the parking garage, locking it as she made her way up to her and Luke's shared apartment. She kept her arms crossed over her chest, keeping her head low as she made her way through the hallways.
When she saw her familiar doormat outside her apartment, Y/n felt her exhaustion hit. As she unlocked the door, she could hear the patters of the raindrops hitting the windows. The apartment only being illuminated by her golden sunset light in the living room, window cracked open to hear the thunder outside.
She shut the door, and took off her shoes. The tired girl's feet padded down the hall to their shared bedroom, going and taking a seat on their bed as she took a deep breath.
Her phone was buzzing, causing her to turn it over and see what it was.
Luke Hughes loses it over guy in the crowd!
Breaking: New Jersey Devils player, Luke Hughes, almost breaks glass to fight man in stands after putting hands on Hughes' girlfriend!
Devils player Luke Hughes screams at fan in stands after putting hands on Hughes' girlfriend. Soon starts screaming at girlfriend shortly after, causing absolute mayhem in the stands!
After seeing each title and tweet get worse and worse, she immediately puts her phone on Do Not Disturb and puts it face down on the nightstand.
Y/n began taking off her outfit, grabbing pjs and a towel before heading into the bathroom.
Y/n turned on the shower, loving how the warmth felt on her skin and closed her eyes as she stepped in.
Usually she had always taken a post game shower with Luke when they'd gotten home, but she couldn't even fathom to want to be in the same room as him after his outburst.
Sure she understood the one towards Micah, but she still thought she didn't deserve to get the backend of it too.
Y/n also knew that he probably felt like shit after how he acted, and was probably getting an absolute earful from the entire team, the coaches included.
She let the water soak up her scalp, taking a few deep breaths as she stood there. She didn't even know where her head was at. She was still so shocked of the events tonight, but also craved to have Luke holding her. Telling her she would be okay, and that he never meant any of it.
Y/n jumps and gasps when she feel hands slither around her waist, but relaxing when a familiar head of curls is seen in her side view as he hid his face in her neck for a few moments.
The girl fought with herself, wondering if she should just let it happen or push him away, not knowing which would be the better option.
That was until he propped his chin on her shoulder, sniffling a couple times. She stood there tense, staying quiet for a few moments.
"I don't even know where to start," he says, his voice rough. He squeezes her waist, her hands still staying crossed at her chest.
"Well I do know where to start. I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry, Y/n. I have no excuses for the way I spoke to you. You were trying to get him off you, and were clearly uninterested in general. Guy couldn't take a fucking hint," he chuckles bitterly. "In the end, I should not have yelled or screamed at you. You didn't deserve any of that. I can't imagine how embarrassed you felt after that. That's all completely my fault, I couldn't control myself after seeing how uncomfy he kept making you." he sniffles and pauses to press a kiss on her temple.
"I really can't believe I lost it on you. I have no regrets for losing it on that guy, but losing my shit on you I have every regret in the world. I would absolutely go back in time and prevent myself from doing that to you. Without a second thought." he finishes. "I'm so sorry, Y/n. I am a dick, and I truly don't expect you to forgive me easily. I embarrassed you, and made it so hard for you to walk back into that arena without wanting to curl up in a ball. If you don't come to some my games for a bit, I get it. I don't blame you."
It's quiet for a few moments after that, Y/n taking that as Luke's speech being finished. She sighs and lets her body relax fully into his own, letting her hands trail down to where his hands are on her waist and wrap hers around his wrists softly.
She caresses the top of his hands with her thumbs. "You're a fucking asshole you know that?" she whispers, shaking her head as she looks down at their hands.
He nods against her shoulder. "More than an asshole honestly." he chuckles, making her muster up the smallest grin.
"You embarrassed me. You humiliated me in front of the entire arena, Luke," she starts. "I wouldn't have been as mad if it were just towards that guy. Yeah I still would've been annoyed, but it was when you started going after me. As if I had been letting it happen." she explains, Luke letting her speak.
"I tried everything in my power to make it known I was uninterested. I tried everything to make it known I didn't want him talking to me. I tried Lu," she says, her voice sounding defeated the last few words.
Luke just nods, saying he knows repeatedly. "Especially when he kept putting his hands on me, I kept telling him to stop and I kept saying no." Y/n says, her voice weak as her lips began to quiver. Luke pulls her in tighter, his heart aching and his anger rising at the guy. He had no right to touch her, and especially when she kept telling him to not touch her.
Luke couldn't imagine what was going through her head during then. It made him feel even worse after hearing how defeated she. sounded.
"Then when he grabbed my face, I felt so violated. Like I couldn't even win even when I kept saying no," she sniffled. "Then when you yelled at me like that, it made me feel like you didn't even care that I was trying my hardest to not let him touch me. When it was so clear I didn't want him to."
Luke raised his head from her shoulder, placing his hands on her hips to turn her so she was facing him. "Look at me." he says softly to her, seeing as she shook her head and kept it staring down at her hands.
He watched as she began to nervously pick ta her fingertips, something she did from anxiety, which made his hands leave her sides and lace his fingers between him own to prevent her from doing so.
"Y/n, baby, look at me." he says, his voice softer than the first time. Y/n mustered the strength to look into his eyes for the first time that evening, seeing his were incredibly bloodshot and swollen.
"Oh Lu," she sighs as she sees his face. He shook his head. "Don't worry about me." he says. "I want you to know that no matter what, I will always care for you. Even when it's so much it seems annoying, I will still be there by your side protecting and caring about you. I care more about you than I do myself." he assures her, making her lips quiver.
"You need to care about yourself too, Luke. Don't beat yourself up when you can't help me with a situation. You have to trust that I can handle it most times on my own." she explains, Luke nodding in agreement with her.
"I get that you were mad and that you were wanting to do anything you could to get to me in that moment, but taking it out on me when you know I'm trying is not the way to go."
Luke puts his head down, nodding once more. "I know. And I'm never going to stop apologizing to you. I wish I could take it back. I wish I could take it all back. I'm so sorry, Y/n/n."
She puts her hands on his cheeks. "I know. But you can't take it back, no matter how much to wish you could. Just learn from it, and move forward. Yeah this was a major bump we will work on fixing, but that is the thing. It's not just going to be you, it's gonna be us." she assures him, watching his eyes find hers again.
"You won't be going through this alone. Yeah I'm hurt. Yeah I'm embarrassed. But that's not gonna stop me from loving you and helping you. We will work on it together, okay?" Y/n caresses his cheeks, watching as he nods.
"I love you. So much. So so much, Y/n. I'm so sorry."
Y/n gives him a smile and nods, leaning her forehead against his own. "I love you too, baby. I know."
He presses his lips on her own cautiously, Y/n feeling his actions. In which she lets her hands find the back of his head and pull him closer to her to make their kiss more passionate.
He hums as their lips move in sync, letting her lead it as he wraps his arms around her figure.
Luke breaks the kiss after a few moments. "Let me start making it up to you right now, yeah?" he pants, and she nods.
"I'm all yours."
That's all Luke needs to hear before he begins his apology to her. Showing her how sorry he is in many different ways.
#luke hughes x reader#angst#hockey boys#luke hughes#y/n#jack hughes x reader#jack hughes#nhl fic#nj devils#new jersey devils#hockey imagine#nhl fanfiction#nhl blurb#nhl imagines#nhl x reader#Luke Hughes imagine#Luke Hughes fic#jack hughes fic#fluff#Luke Hughes x female!reader#hughes#hughes brothers#lh43#jh86#umich hockey#umich boys#umich imagine#umich blurbs
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Hughes Your Daddy? - Jack Hughes
hahahaha finally
enjoy
request
If I get 10+ comments/asks ill make a part 2
Yes, that's me bribing you, I want more interactions
w.c: 3,007 (credit to gif maker) (don’t steal my work)
The last few weeks of college are the worst weeks of a student's life. There’s nothing but studying, finals, and pure hell. Yet, when Ellen Hughes calls and tells you to get on a flight to Vancouver to be present at the Hughes Bowl, you fucking get on a flight to Vancouver.
The flight itself is terrific; you study a bit of your flashcards, drink some hot cocoa, and even get in a solid half-hour nap. You honestly feel a little sad when the intercoms go off, and they announce your descent into Canada.
The sadness washes away quickly when you clear the clouds and realize how excited you are. This trip, tomorrow’s game, is a very, very special event. Each Hughes brother will be playing on the ice tomorrow night, and you’ll be sitting, as requested, in the Hughes box overlooking it all.
As soon as the 737 touches down, you’re quick to switch your phone off airplane mode. You appreciated the few hours of bliss without endless notifications, but life has to go on. As soon as the iPhone gets service, a flood of messages rolls through. One from Ellen, to which you respond. Two from Quinn, which you answer. And 36 messages from Jack, which you ignore.
You should respond, and you will, but first, you have to get off the plane and find your favorite chauffeur.
Without further delay, you exit the plane, grabbing your carry-on and swinging your backpack over your shoulders. You smile at the few flight attendants on the way out and throw an extra thank you to the woman who gave you some extra cookies when she saw your flashcards.
The Vancouver airport is bustling, and you can’t help but feel the positive vibes radiating from the space. The entire airport is decorated for Christmas, and you’re reminded why it’s ranked one of the best airports in North America.
You make your way to the baggage claim, checking your phone to ensure you’re heading toward the right spot. You are, and while you’re walking, you pass all the cute little shops. You see a couple of little knickknacks, and you make a mental note to pick up something on your flight back. Now, however, you must focus.
The baggage claim area is pretty full, and you’re dodging people left and right. You’re unsure in the sea of people where Quinn might be hiding until you hear your name shouted from somewhere to your left. You turn your body, and there he is, waving a bit and standing with a small smile.
“Oh my god, is that Quinn Hughes?” You say in mock shock as you get within his earshot. “The newest captain of the Canucks and Vancouver's most precious gem?”
He rolls his eyes back as far as he can when you approach, but nonetheless, he pulls you in for a hug.
“Please stop.” He groans out as your part and takes your carry-on from you.
“Never.” You smile as he leads you out of the airport.
It takes mere minutes to get to the car, and you both catch up about whatever. It’s been months since you’ve seen Quinn, and whenever you’re with him, you’re reminded why he might be your favorite besides Ellen and Jim, of course.
As soon as you are settled into the passenger of Quinn’s car, he reaches back behind him and pulls out a small gift bag.
“Here, before I forget.”
You give him a questioning look, and he just gives you a slight smirk.
“Just open it. It’s more of a gift to everyone else.”
You squint your eyes a bit suspiciously but pull the tissue paper from the bag. As soon as you do, you see the familiar blue and white colors, and a laugh burst from your lips.
“Oh my god.” You shriek out, laughing, pulling the Canucks jersey from the bag.
You both immediately start laughing, and you can hardly contain yourself.
“Of course, you don’t have to wear it for the game.” Quinn says. “but he’s gonna flip if he sees you wearing it when they get here.”
You scan the Jersey and agree with the boy next to you. Your boyfriend is very possessive when it comes to jerseys, and he hates everything that isn’t red, black, or white and doesn’t have Hughes 86 plastered on the back.
“Oh, this is gold, Quinn.” You say, tucking the jersey back in as Quinn moves the car out of the lot.
“Ma and I thought so, too. She said it might humble him for the night.”
Speaking of humbling your boyfriend, you reach for your phone and go to text him back. You scan the many messages and roll your eyes at a few. Most of them are him just wanting attention, but the last one catches your eye.
we’re 2 hours behind ur flight. No fun or smiling before I get there
You read the text allowed to Quinn, who rolls his eyes at the statement, and you’re quick to shoot a response back, telling Jack that it’s too late and you’re having the best time ever.
————————-
As soon as you step through Quinn’s front door, you hear a happy yell, and Ellen is pulling you in for a long-awaited hug. You practically melt as she squishes you, and the happiest of laughs exits her.
“Oh, my sweet girl, I’m so happy this worked out.” She says to you, pulling back just enough to look at your smiling face.
You look behind her as Jim is standing nearby, waiting his turn. You give Ellen one less squeeze and then turn to the original Hughes and give him a big hug.
“Hey, kiddo,” He says. “Glad you’re here.”
As soon as you say your hellos, you move to get your stuff settled into your room. As quickly as you can, you throw your stuff down and pull on the New Jersey, making your way back out to the kitchen.
As soon as you enter, Jim laughs, and Ellen raises her hands to her mouth.
“Oh, Jack is gonna hate it.” She turns to Quinn and laughs, using him to steady her.
“Oh, we know.” You say, high-fiving Quinn as you grab a cup of some water.
As soon as you get your water, you all settle into the living room, and questions are flying left and right. You talk about school, work, and whatever else comes to mind about the time you’ve spent away from them. They hang onto every word, and you can’t help but smile. You’ve always been close to Jack's family, but when the one-year mark passed, it’s like they fully accepted you as one of them. Now, almost two years in, Ellen and Jim treat you like the daughter they never had, and they tell you often how much more they like you than any of their sons. You always laugh, but you know deep down that you are special to them. And that fact alone makes you consider yourself one of the luckiest girls.
“They just landed,” Quinn announces. “Almost showtime.”
Ellen winks at you from her space on the couch, and you settle deeper into the comfortable space, counting down the seconds until your boyfriend walks through the door.
—————————-
About half an hour later, you hear loud commotion as the door swings open and Jack and Luke enter the building. It takes less than three seconds for Jack to yell.
“Where is she?”
You laugh at him and yell back from the living room. “I’m in here.”
In mere seconds, Jack is in the room, making a beeline toward you. It’s the first time you’ve seen him in a month, and you won’t lie; he looks pretty good.
You make your move and step off the couch, going to hug him, but he halts in his place a few feet away, giving you a once-over.
“Get that shit off you.”
As soon as that leaves his mouth, everyone busts out laughing, and Jack gives you a less-than-impressed look. You feel a bit bad, so you give him a small smile and lift the jersey off your frame, revealing a Devils t-shirt underneath.
As soon as you throw the jersey away, he takes two long strides and engulfs you in a hug. You thought that nothing could beat Ellen’s hug, but Jack's grip nearly breaks your back.
You pull away after a second and pry him off of you. You love him more than anything, but you’re not about to show massive amounts of PDA in front of his parents, who are sitting a few feet away.
He gets this because he lets you go and gives his parents and brother a quick greeting, then leads you away from the living room. Everyone allows it to happen, and you find yourself in the privacy of the bedroom.
“You’re funny, but you better have my jersey for tomorrow night.”
You let out a small laugh and cross the room again, linking your hand behind his head and pulling him closer to you. His hands find home on your waist, and his fingertips dip under your shirt a bit, gently squeezing.
“I promise, J,” you grin. “I’ll do my best to show support to the losing team.”
He releases a soft gasp and gives you a slight look of betrayal.
“Losing team?”
Your grin goes even wider. “Check that stats, bud. You’re in a bit of a losing streak.”
He narrows his eyes a bit, and with one quick motion, he grabs your frame and tosses you on the bed. He enters attack mode, lays his entire weight on you, and begins grabbing at your sides. You, of course, go into defense mode and fight to push him off. You fight for power for a minute before you pull your defining move. He gets close, too close, and you give him your best doe eyes. The second he catches your stare, he folds, and he puts himself at your mercy.
For the first time in a hot minute, you pull him to meet you; the second his lips are on you, you implode. It’s been too long, and there is nothing more comforting and familiar than the boy lying nearly on top of you. You kiss him for a minute, your lips molding perfectly together before you pull away, gently patting his face.
“I think your family would like to see you.”
You push him away again as he rolls his eyes.
“I see them enough.”
He goes back to try to kiss you, but you push him away, putting a finger to his lips and shaking your head.
“Come on.”
He lets out an annoyed huff and removes himself from the bed, pulling you up along with him. You make your way back to the family room and laugh yourself into the family events.
Soon, you’re all playing board games, and you find out very quickly reminded about how sore of a loser your boyfriend is. You play board games cards, and when it gets late enough in the night, you all make your way to the living room for a movie.
You watch something light-hearted, and you can’t help but feel bliss as you’re tucked into Jack's side, surrounded by the entirety of the Hughes family. It’s a nice moment, and it’s the times like this that have you thankful you’ve stuck with the boy at your side.
——————
Before the sun rises, Jack's alarm blares next to you, and you can only groan at the noise. Alarms are truly nothing but an escape from bliss, and you wish you could stay forever in this little bubble. You’re warm comfy, and you don’t mind the boy you’re cuddled next to.
But alas, he is a slave to hockey, and he presses a quick kiss to your lips and swings himself out of bed. You follow a few minutes later, moving at a sloth pace. Instead of getting fully ready, you make your way downstairs to where the smell of bacon is wafting through the house. You’re almost giddy as you see Ellen and Quinn making breakfast, and you get even happier when Ellen places a steaming mug of coffee in front of you.
“You’re an angel, thank you.”
She gives you a big smile and pours another cup for herself. As soon as you catch the time, you offer to take Quinn’s place with the cooking, to which he gladly accepts and runs off to shower and get ready for the big game.
As soon as all the Hughes boys are out of earshot, you get down to business.
“I’ll raise to fifty on the Devs.”
Jim scoffs at your bet. “I love ‘em, but I disagree. Offense has been a bit sloppy. I’ll raise to a hundred on the Nucks.”
You quirk your eyebrow, then turn to the Queen, who seems to be pondering.
“I’m sorry (Y/N), but I think I’m gonna say Nucks too.”
You let out a soft groan but hold your ground.
“Alright. Final bet is a hundred. Winner takes all.
You all shake hands, sealing the deal.
As if you weren’t up to gambling, you act as naturally as possible as the three boys enter the kitchen. Each one is clad in a suit, and it warms your heart to see them all together. They look adorable, and you can’t help but laugh when Ellen demands a picture. They oblige, but like every other photo they take, it slightly looks like they’re being held at gunpoint. But you win some, you lose some.
Eventually, you’re all fed, happy, and once another alarm goes off, you know it’s time. You say your goodbyes to the boys, wishing them the best of luck. You hug Quinn, do your secret handshake with Luke, and press a quick kiss to Jack's lips.
Once you finish, they say their goodbyes to their parents and make their way toward the door, but they don’t get far before Jack pulls you toward him one last time.
“You ready to watch me destroy Quinn?” He teases.
You roll your eyes, pushing him away with a laugh. Nonetheless, you give him one last peck, swat his ass, and yell one final encouragement as he heads out the door.
“Don’t embarrass me!”
He flips you the bird as he gets into Quinn’s vehicle, and you smile and give him one back as you head back into the house.
You sit back down to finish talking with the parents l, and time ticks by faster than you’d like. Soon enough, it’s time to get ready, and you throw on your devil's jersey. You say a little prayer and hope they all do good. Things like this don’t happen often, and you hope it’s simply a good game.
———————
You smiled as wide as you could as the three Hughes brothers posed for a couple of pictures. You could see the distaste on all their faces, but they did it anyway.
Once they do the appropriate media, the game begins, and you’re sitting on the edge of your seat. It’s a good game, no, a great game. Soon, the first period is almost over, but not before your boyfriend has to remind everyone who he is, and he scores a goal.
It’s known that the Hughes parents don’t show much emotion at the games, and even more so when it’s their sons playing on opposite teams. So you control yourself, but you don’t miss when Ellen squeezes your hand.
The game continues, and it’s a nail-biter. Each minute you watch, you get more and more tense. Maybe it’s because you’re just nervous, or perhaps it’s the fact you have a hundred bucks on the line. But either way, you pray the clock ticks faster.
It doesn’t, but once Luke scores, you can’t help but start to think that this might be the end of a losing streak. You laugh on the inside because, of course, all it takes is a little brother rivalry to get the Devils back into motion.
———————
When the clock hits zero, and the Devils win, you practically die in your seat. You’re so thrilled for Jack and Luke, but a small part of you is a bit depressed for Quinn. But you know, if anyone can handle a loss like this, it’s the eldest Hughes, so you’re not too worried. Instead, you focus on your boyfriend, who, even from the box, looks the happiest he’s been in a while. He was given the title of the first star of the game, and you absolutely love it when he’s like this. You know he’s going to be in one of those unstoppable moods. You love it, but he can be a cocky little shit, and you know he’s going to be almost insufferable. You’ll take it, though, and embrace every part of it.
A few minutes later, the area starts clearing, and you’re all getting ready to leave the box, but you almost forget what is happening when Jim slides you a crisp hundred-dollar bill and winks at you.
“Jack really pulls out the stops when you’re at a game.”
You let a blush creep onto your face as you take the bill. You’d be lying if you said that you felt bad. This isn’t the first game you’ve bet on against Jim, and it certainly won’t be the last.
“Alright, you two gamblers, let’s go see the boys, shall we?”
Ellen leads the three of you down to where you’ll see the men of the hour. You feel the happiest you’ve felt in a while as you follow behind them, and when you get close enough, you can hear your boyfriend laugh from a short distance. Your heart skips the noise, and as soon as he spots you from across the room, he moves as fast as lightning to get to you.
#hockey#hockey boys#imagine#nhl imagine#hockey fic#hockey imagine#hockey x reader#nhl hockey#nhl x reader#jack hughes#jack hughes x reader#jack hughes imagine#luke hughes#quinn hughes#new jersey devils#vancover canucks#nhl blurb#nhl fic#nhl players#nhl#hockey blurbs#canucks hockey#devils hockey
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PHASES — LUKE HUGHES
luke hughes x fem!reader
summary: in which luke is pining for the girl he knows he’s destined to be with
notes: 4.3k words. this is a new style of writing for me and i truthfully don’t know about it but it felt right for this fic.
Luke Hughes knows a lot of things.
he knows hockey. he knows history. and he knows that in this moment, drunk on cheap beer and lip locked with the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, she and he are destined to be together.
but life and love are never simple. drunken hookups between best friends don’t just automatically make them a couple. and no matter how badly he wants to scream that she should be with him, he knows he has to wait it out; give her time to come to the same realization that he did two years ago.
her back digs into the armrest of the battered couch, her legs draped across Luke’s own as his fingertips grip her upper thigh. their faces are drawn together, her hands tangled beautifully in his curls, pulling him closer toward her vodka soaked lips.
“Lukey,” his name rolls off her tongue like a whispered prayer, causing a singular beat to skip in his heart.
“what do you need, doll?”
“you.”
and her singular word is the driving force that brings Luke to his feet, her hand laced with his as he leads her to his bedroom. the people in his apartment cast away from his mind, only one person occupying that space.
her.
surely, Jack can handle the party that he threw, no one would miss Luke.
and that thought is what leads them to his room, their bodies pressed together in mere minutes. the next few hours spent tangled between cotton sheets. his feverish touch making her body shake, and her soft sounds causing an intense sensation of need within him.
hot breath mingles, their lips rarely straying from each others. sweat coated skin sticking together as they christen his bed for the umpteenth time. neither mind clear, they find solace and pleasure with her legs wrapped around his waist and his sloppy thrusts bringing them to the highest points.
and when they call it a night, Luke’s hand slamming the car door shut after she falls into the backseat of an uber, he falls back into the same spot he started the night.
waiting for fate to bring her home to him for the final time.
***
the restaurant feels suffocating, her dress itchy, causing her to wiggle uncomfortably in her chair.
her date doesn’t even seem to notice, rambling on once more about how cool it is that she works for the New Jersey Devils.
“i mean, you must get to be around the players all the time, right? how did you even get that job?” what was this one’s name? Carter? Carson? it started with a C, right?
“i went to University of Michigan. graduated a year early with a degree in sport management, and after working with the hockey team there, i was able to secure a spot working for the Devils.” she smiles, a weak timid thing that barely even reaches her cheeks, “but yeah, i do spend a lot of time around the players. kinda my job to get content of them, ya know?”
maybe-Carter chuckles, nodding his head, “so are you like, friends with any of them?”
‘oh, here we go’ she thinks.
“i went to school with Luke Hughes, he’s kind of my best friend.” it was an instinct really, an involuntary reaction; for a smile to creep across her lips when she talks about Luke, “but i can’t really say much about him or the guys, they’re people too and they deserve their privacy.”
“right, totally respect that,” he nods, his lips falling into a tight line, and she can’t help but notice that they aren’t as pillowy as Luke’s.
his lips don’t nearly look as comforting to kiss. and his curls; they don’t… curl the way Luke’s do. rather he has a head of tighter curls, unlike Luke’s unruly mess of loose curls and waves mingling together. his eyes aren’t the right color either, erring on the side of a blue closer to Jack’s; which makes a shiver run down her spine, discomfort settling within her.
“are you cold?” he asks, catching sight of the goosebumps that spread across her skin. he huffs a condescendingly toned laugh before continuing, “maybe you should’ve brought a jacket, restaurants run cold.”
that was where she drew the line. with his obnoxious attitude combined with his interest, which only peaked when discussing her job, y/n was surprised she lasted as long as she did.
and if the fact that he wasn’t similar enough to her best friend played a small part in her leaving? well, could she really be blamed?
after all, it was Luke’s fault.
it was Luke who made the first move his freshman year of college, both of them tipsy on drinks made by Dylan and his heavy hand with rum. it was Luke who made the sophomore girl fall for him two years ago. it was Luke who drunkenly tells her he loves her as he buries himself inside of her, knowing exactly what to do to tip her over the edge. and it was Luke who has her going on at least five dates a month, trying to force the Devils rookie out of her heart.
or at least, she blames it on Luke; because she couldn’t allow herself to admit that she fell in love with him of her own accord. she can’t allow herself to confess how quickly their drunken hookups turned into something more for her. and she certainly can’t dwell on the fact that she hasn’t put a stop to them. how could she? those are the only moments that she can let herself believe, even for a moment, that she could be his.
because despite how badly she wanted it, she could never be Luke’s. not in the way she wants to be. no matter how hard she tries, she can never find the words to express how much he means to her. how much she loves him.
*
Luke laid on the couch, the springs digging into his back uncomfortably.
“dude, we really need a new couch.” he huffs, “and why am i laying like this? i don’t think people actually lay down in therapy outside of tv shows.”
“shut up, i’m taking notes.” Luke’s eyes drift to his older brother, who occupies the space of the living room chair.
“notes on what? i haven’t even said anything!”
“you don’t need to. i’ve listened to you bitch and moan about y/n for two years, i’m writing what i can remember.” Jack explains, his brows furrowed in focus as his pen scribbles messily across the notepad on his lap.
“why did i let you talk me into this?” Luke rolls his eyes at his brothers antics.
“because you’re pussy-whipped and you’re playing like shit.” Jack looks up from the notepad, straightening his posture and settling his focus on Luke.
“is that a medical diagnosis?” Luke jokes, his brow raising as he chuckles.
“no, that’s brotherly criticism. you get that for free, courtesy of the nine months we each spent in mom’s womb.” Luke cringes at his brothers words, shaking his head.
“don’t talk about mom’s womb.”
“just speak, dude. what’s going on in that curly head of yours?”
Luke sighs, his eyes drifting towards the ceiling. his hands fiddle with the cellphone that lays on his stomach, impatiently waiting for the text that he knows will come through.
it’s 10pm on an off day, he knows she’s got a date tonight. he also knows how her date will end; soon enough she’ll be texting him a long paragraph about how men suck and asking him to remind her why she can’t become a nun.
“well, i told you, i know she and i are meant to be together. i can feel it.” Luke starts, quickly cut off by the familiar grating voice he’s known his entire life.
“yeah, yeah, you’re a simp. move on.”
“has anyone ever told you that you’d make a horrible therapist?” Luke questions, head turning once more toward his brother.
“i can’t say anyone has, no.”
“yeah? well then, i’ll be the first.” he glares, “stick to hockey.”
“just keep talking, Lukey.”
“i think it’s getting harder to wait for her.” Luke confesses, and it feels like a small weight has been lifted off his chest; progress.
“so you wanna move on?” Jack asks, his pen scrawling along the paper again.
“no!” Luke huffs, sitting up on the couch to turn towards his brother, who quickly strikes out whatever he just wrote down, “i’m just saying that- that this whole waiting game is fucking with my head. Phil said i had to wait it out. he told me not to pressure her. practice my patience and let her come to the realization on her own.
“but, what if it goes on too long? she’s always going on dates, what if she meets someone else? what if it takes her ten years to realize what i realized like a month after we met?! what if she gets married before she realizes?”
“too many ‘what if’s’, dude. you’re hurting my brain.” Jack groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Luke, already in an emotional spiral, rolls his eyes, “what brain?”
“hey! i’m trying to help you here! don’t insult me!” Jack stands up, notepad falling to the floor and his hands drawing to his hips as he glares at the rookie defenseman.
“well you’re not much help.”
“you want my advice? either keep waiting and playing like shit and making easily avoidable mistakes, or say fuck it to your friends advice and tell her how you feel.”
“i’m going to bed.” Luke grumbles, pushing past the shorter man to go to his room.
“don’t forget, no morning skate tomorrow!” Jack calls out as Luke’s door clicks shut.
as Luke strips down to his boxers, his phone lights up on his bed, vibrating amongst the cotton sheets. and as he sees her name flashing on the screen, butterflies flutter in his core, making him swallow harshly in attempt to stop them.
he doesn’t even get a word out after accepting the call, her voice filtering through the speaker, “men suck.”
“oh yeah?” Luke can’t help but laugh at the repetitive cycle, “tell me more. how do we suck?”
“you just do, okay?” her tone is biting before she takes a sobering breath, “all he wanted to talk about was the team. i could practically see the walls shut down around him once i told him i couldn’t dish out the hot goss on players.”
“i’m sorry, y/n.” he’s not sorry. not even a little.
“remind me why i can’t be a nun?” her voice is distant as she takes the phone away from her ear so that she can unlock her apartment door.
“no tiktok and no sex.” Luke echoes for what feels like the hundredth time.
“right.” she kicks off her shoes, bumping the door shut behind her as her cat darts around between her legs, rubbing against her nylon tights, “you ready for the game tomorrow?”
“yeah.” no.
“good. i’m gonna go eat my weight in ice cream and scroll tiktok. goodnight, Lukey. thanks for the reminder and for listening to me rant.”
“any time. goodnight.”
as Luke lays in bed, he falls asleep with Jack’s advice echoing in his head.
keep waiting and playing like shit and making easily avoidable mistakes, or say fuck it to your friends advice and tell her how you feel.
meanwhile, y/n slumps on her sofa, a pint of ben & jerry’s in her hand as she looks down at the little ball of black fur that’s taken up residence by her feet.
“have you ever been in love, Sir Nightingale?”
the cat blinks back at her, patiently waiting for her attention. which comes in the form of her fingernails scratching lazily under his chin.
“i have.” she continues the one sided conversation, “it fucking sucks. never fall in love.”
***
the game was an absolute shit show.
Luke had taken a shoddy penalty in the first period; for delay of game, out of all things. which lead to a power play goal by the opposing team and leaving the Devils down by two.
it was only about five minutes later that Luke got an assist on a goal of Jack’s, but ultimately, the game still ended six to two, not in the Devils favor. not only did the team get yelled at for their lack of adequate effort, but Luke was singled out for at least two turned over pucks, which lead to opposing team goals.
and to make a bad night even worse, when all was said and done and Luke was finally showered and ready to just go home and wallow in the loss, he left the locker room to find y/n chatting with one of the equipment managers, Ben.
her hair twirled around her finger as she laughed at something Ben said, a red flush on her cheeks. Luke felt deflated, to say the least.
it was always someone else.
never him. never Luke.
he felt overlooked, and perhaps even unnoticed. it was like she never even saw him as an option, only ever the object of her desires when they were both tipsy and horny and already together.
and yet the feeling was still there. settled low within his gut, he still knew; he’s the one for her. he knows. he’s fairly certain that deep down, she knows it too.
is it his age? it’s only a year’s difference, surely it doesn’t matter, right? it was something else. it had to be, but he truly didn’t know what.
“y/n.” his voice carries through the hallway, settling in her ears and catching her attention.
turning towards him with wide doe eyes and parted lips, she smiles, “hey!”
“am i still giving you a ride home?” Luke’s expression is stony, giving nothing of his feelings away. though, he can’t help the way his eyes gravitate to the man behind her, Luke’s blank stare making the man cower just slightly.
and Luke almost felt proud of that. almost.
“actually, i think Ben and i are gonna go for some drinks. i’ll catch up with you tomorrow, yeah?”
his shoulders slump, his posture crumpling the same way his heart did in his chest.
“yeah, see you tomorrow.”
Luke barely gets two steps closer to the arena exit before her voice calls out, stopping him in his tracks. her heels click against the floor as fast as she could move, before she pops up in his vision.
“you played good. a few mistakes are normal, it’s your first full season, the most games you’ve ever played,” her voice is gentle, her eyes peering up at him softly through her wispy lashes, “i’m proud of you. don’t be too hard on yourself, alright?”
her arms wrap around his torso before he can even respond, her face buried in the chest of his suit. and before his heart can reach a normal pace again, before he can wrap his arms around her in return, she’s pulling away.
with a wave of her hand and a small but awe-strikingly beautiful smile playing upon her lips, she’s walking away. back to Ben, who waits for her by the arena exit now.
and once more, Jack’s voice is back inside Luke’s head. driving him absolutely insane as he watches the love of his life walk out of the building, giggling at something another man said.
keep waiting and playing like shit and making easily avoidable mistakes, or say fuck it to your friends advice and tell her how you feel.
*
keep waiting and playing like shit and making easily avoidable mistakes, or say fuck it to your friends advice and tell her how you feel.
tell her how you feel.
tell her how you feel.
tell her how you feel.
“tell her how you feel.” Luke wakes with a startle, his head knocking against his brother’s, who was leaning over him.
Jack curses, hissing in pain as he holds a hand his forehead.
“what the fuck are you doing in my room?” Luke groans, voice groggy as he takes in his surroundings.
“i got up to take a piss and i could hear your phone blowing up all the way from the bathroom,” Jack explains, “shit, you have a bony ass head.”
“it’s called a skull. i know yours doesn’t house anything inside of it, but even i assumed you’d know what it is.”
Jack huffs, rolling his eyes. “ya know what? just for that, i take back my advice. fuck off and die alone, what do i care?”
“why were you giving me advice at-” Luke slides his phone off his nightstand, checking the time, “two in the morning?”
“she’s blowing up your phone.” Jack scowls, “something something men suck something something maybe being a nun is worth the no tiktok?”
Luke feels an odd sense of relief as he looks at his recent texts, finding exactly what Jack had described.
well, without the ‘something something’s.
“pretty sure you were saying her name in your sleep too,” Jack smirks, backing away towards the bedroom door, “tell her how you feel, dickhead. put you both out of your misery so i can get some sleep and not listen to your incessant whining.”
with that, Jack leaves, the wooden door clicking shut in its frame behind him.
reading through the texts, Luke gathers that she and Ben didn’t get very far into the night together, seeing as her messages were still legible, something drunk her could never accomplish.
the thought brings him an unnecessary amount of joy. but then he’s hit with an overwhelming sense of annoyance, remembering he’ll have to go through this process all over again soon.
truthfully, he doesn’t know how much more he can take. he’s not giving up on her, on the contrary, maybe Jack is right. maybe Phil couldn’t give advice for all women and maybe Luke should just stop waiting.
she wasn’t coming to a realization quick enough and honestly, Luke is fucking tired. tired of drunken hookups. tired of listening to her rant about failed dates and sucky guys. tired of being overlooked as an option. tired of his feelings going unnoticed.
the dial tone was ringing in his ear before Luke even realized that he had made a decision, like his hands were working on autopilot. like his heart knew what he would decide before his brain did.
“hey! did i wake you?” her words weren’t slurred, Luke noted. that’s good, she doesn’t even sound tipsy. she’s in a sound state of mind for his confession.
“no,” he shook his head, despite knowing she could see him, “well, yes but no? you didn’t wake me up but Jack did, he could hear my phone buzzing.”
“oh shit, i’m sorry! we can talk tomorrow if you wanna go back to sleep, i’m just about to-”
“i love you,” immediately, Luke is regretting this decision; the silence on the other end of the phone making him bite his lip in anxiety.
“what?” her voice cracks as she giggles, “Luke, are you drunk? did you drink before you went to bed?”
“no,” he groans out, his head dropping back in frustration, “i swear, i haven’t touched any alcohol tonight. just listen to me.”
“i’m always listening to you, Lukey.” her eyes widen as she sits on the edge of her plush bed, “i just don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“i love you,” he repeats, rolling his shoulders in attempt to psych himself back up before he takes a deep breath.
“i’m in love with you. i have been since freshman year. i think that somewhere deep down, you know just as much as i do, that you’re meant to be mine. and i’ve waited two years for you to realize it. i’ve been patient, i’ve held back, i’ve waited on the sidelines while you go out on dates and i’ve listened to you rant about men. and that’s no problem; when i’m done, if you decide you’re still not ready, i’ll continue to wait for you. because even if you’re not mine, i’m yours, y/n. but, i need to get this off my chest and i need you to know that i’m in love with you. my life isn’t complete without yours. and when you’re ready, i’ll be here waiting for you. i’ll always be here. when you’re ready for the drunk hookups to turn into sober love, i’m gonna be right here. because i think that’s our fate. i think that we were destined to find each other and i think we were meant to have this storyline in our love story, and i know that one day you’ll realize it too. you can tell me i’m insane, you can tell me you don’t feel the same, you can even tell me to fuck off, if that’s what you wanna do. i’ll back off, i won’t say another word, but i’ll still be waiting.”
y/n is silent, her hands shaking as she breathes through the tears that roll down her cheeks. in return, Luke is quiet too, patiently waiting for her to digest everything he just confessed. every built up feeling that he just let slip out of him.
“i love you too.” it feels like all the weight she’s been shouldering has been listed off of her with the utterance of those four simple words.
“you do?” he feels like he can’t breathe, like he’s just been knocked against the boards and his lungs forgot how to take in oxygen.
“yes. Luke, why do you think i go on those dates? have you not noticed that almost every guy i go out with resembles you? i didn’t know if you felt the same way, i didn’t know how to tell you how i felt without risking our entire friendship going up in flames. Luke, i’m so fucking in love with you and it hurt. for two years, i’ve reveled in our drunken moments because i thought that was all i’d ever get. i dreaded the day that you would meet someone and tell me it has to stop. i fell for you so hard and it was so scary and i just- i had to try and move on. i had to try and meet someone before ultimately, you did. because i knew that if you told me you met someone, and i was still in love with you? i would never recover from that, Luke. i wouldn’t. and now you’re saying this and i, god i feel so fucking stupidly in love with you. you don’t have to wait anymore, because i realized i love you a long time ago.”
Luke pushes out of his bed, any interest in sleep lost to him. pulling on a hoodie and an abandoned pair of sweatpants from his bedroom floor, he doesn’t even bother telling Jack that he’s leaving.
“god, i need to kiss you.” he slips on his nike slides, his fingers nimbly plucking his keys off the hook by the front door, and as quickly as he could manage, he was out of there.
“you can kiss me tomorrow, Lukey.” she smiles, finally rising from her bed to finish her nightly routine.
that is, until she hears a key turn in her front door. her eyebrows pull together as she wonders out of her room, greeted by sight of a disheveled Luke in her apartment doorway, who looks like he just ran down the stairs to get there.
hanging up the phone, she grins back at the tall boy.
“or i can kiss you now.” a playful smirk pulls at the corner of his lips as he taking wide glides over to her.
his hands find her cheeks, his thumbs wiping gently over the supple, tear stained skin. the apartment is silent, their heartbeats racing as she gazes up at his beautiful eyes.
“or you can kiss me now.” she echoes, her words mumbled and low.
that’s the final straw, the confirmation Luke desperately needed, and finally, he allows his head to dip down. her lips were warm and soft, tasting faintly of mint ice cream, and warmth spreads across his body, starting at his chest and almost blossoming across his body. Luke feels at home.
her hands desperately cling to his hoodie, as though he’ll disappear if she lets go, and his slide back to cup the nape of her neck. she has no desire to pull away, but her lungs spread with fire until she’s forced apart by the need to breathe.
“i love you.” she whispers, eyes closed as she rests her forehead against his own, teeth digging into her bottom lip as she bites back a lovelorn smile.
“i love you, sweet girl.”
“please don’t go back home. spend the night?” she finally opens her eyes, her head tipping back as he straightens up.
a pink hue glows upon his cheeks, and she can’t resist letting the backs of her fingers gently graze over the heated skin.
“not going anywhere, baby. staying right here.” his lips brush against her forehead, leaving a fleeting kiss in their wake and making her heartbeat flutter within her rib cage.
it feels right, the way they go about a new bed time routine. luke’s arms wrapped around her waist as she brushes her teeth, his eyes boring into her reflection. her head on his chest as they fall asleep, his alarm on for them to wake up for morning skate, together.
and if they were holding hands when they walked into the rink, if they were a cheesy couple who kissed before he entered the locker room, if his smile was a bit too wide in the tiktok she filmed for the Devils socials, if she chose the question ‘do you believe in fate?’ solely because of him, could they really be blamed?
#luke hughes#luke hughes x reader#luke hughes imagine#luke hughes fic#luke hughes blurb#nj devils#nhl fic#nhl imagine#faithlynn’s writings <3
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Been playing Tears of the Kingdom
#the legend of zelda#tears of the kingdom#zelda breath of the wild#imagine being locked into an eternal cycle with your soulmates who are basically Jesus and the Devil#and the only other person who understands being displaced in time is that lady who did it to herself so she could launch you into the sky#and build iPads and blow stuff up#I know link & Zelda and ganondorf aren’t like Immortal immortal they reincarnate#but like apparently Zelda was fighting off calamity Ganon for 100 years while Link took a nap and didn’t age a day so#I choose to believe these bitches are immortal
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𝐃𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐎 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃. | jack hughes
꒰ genre: mature ;established!relationship!au | drabble
꒰ word count: 1k
꒰ warnings: 18+ themes !! MDNI ! literally 1k words of just raw sweet filth, pussy drunk!jack, unprotected sex (be safe people), soft sex, swearing, praising.
꒰ author’s note: surpriseeee !! my first ever time trying to write smut, i’d say it went well ? (i really hope it did..) butttt this is also what i chose to write for my 1k follower celly !! (this is part 1 of 3 different drabbles i am writing for this celebration) thank you all so much for getting me to this point, and i’m so excited to put out all of the works i have in my drafts coming soonnnn :DD i hope you all enjoy this !
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it never ever mattered just how many times jack found himself sinking down into the heavenly feeling of your pussy, he knows for a fact that he'll never be able to get used to the intoxicating hug of your walls around his length.
he always felt like you were just silently begging for more of him, luring him in deeper with every needy stutter of yours hips whenever his palms squeezed at your waist as he bucked against you.
"come on, aghh—you gotta stop doing that, love." jack was already so out of it. he had just started, only a few thrusts in and he already felt like he could barely create a single breath when the deep kiss of his cock against your sensitive spot makes you purr his name and clench around him.
his hair is ruffled, a mess of light brown locks on his head and a few long strands hanging down, sticking to the light coat of sweat across his forehead. some other strands fall over his lidded gaze and framing his defined features, but thankfully he can still see you so so clearly; such a pretty sight seeing you underneath him like this, he thinks.
jack believes he’s never had a woman moan for him the way you do. he keeps chasing the intoxicating squeeze of your walls around him as he digs deeper and deeper for more of the sweet sounds that leave your lips—the sounds that are only for only him to hear. your back arches high off of the sheets as he lets his fingertips trace along the path of your skin, taking a slow and gentle handful of your hips with another tight squeeze before he whimpers low, pace slightly stuttering as he presses himself further into you.
he had a long day, dealing with the early morning practice and the tough game that was played just earlier that night—he really needed this; he needed you.
maybe that was why everything felt so good. because he had been imagining the feeling of your skin pressed up close to his all day. and now, through gritted teeth and restless hands just trying to touch every inch of your soft skin, he throbs long with his next withdrawal from you, right before he pushes straight back in.
"j-jack please!" you gasp at the feeling he sends through you, and his lips part to moan sinfully as he lets himself drop to rest on his forearms—just close enough for his lips to graze themselves along your prominent collarbones with tender open-mouthed kisses. he lets his eyes flutter closed, trying not to focus on how perfectly you're hugging around him, small hands grabbing ahold of his broad shoulders in a desperate attempt to pull him closer but also keep yourself steady as well.
"i know, baby, i know. s-shit, just be patient with me for a sec." jack feels so drunk on the feeling that is you. his mind and senses blurring all into one big blob as his name continues to fall from your lips between soft pants that make him feel like he's about to pass out right there from how sweet you sound. he starts mouthing his way at your neck, smearing messy and completely fucked out kisses along the expanse of your flesh as his movements slowly become even more desperate. "god, you just feel soo-so fucking—mmph—good baby.”
this feeling is dangerous. the heavy trembles of his hands where they squeeze at your skin, the painfully pleasing throb of his cock as desire begins to warm through all of his nerves, trickling down his spine as he grinds out another low drawled moan of your name.
his skin feels like it’s burning from every touch you give him, but he also thinks you're even hotter when you let him hear the sweet sound of praises and his name rolling off your tongue in rampant mumbles that has his abdomen tightening up.
"d-don’t do that, love. just gonna make me f-fucking cum." jack’s babbling every word, like sex-drunken mantras spurring out of him with every needy roll of his hips into yours. you can feel the blunt head of his cock grazing over ever sensitive and sinful spot inside of you that only have you squeezing him even tighter; just sucking him deeper and deeper down into you.
"jack-a-ahhhh.. doing so so good.” the whimpering praise falling from your lips is like honey as it drips in his ears, making him tilt his head to plunge his mouth right into yours before his body starts to shake, and his lungs continue flaring with every heavy pant of breath he exhales with his thrusts. his sudden orgasm catches him off guard when he feels your tongue tangling with his own, sliding across his top lip as he then cums, hot spurts of him filling you up to the brim.
a low grunt releases itself from jack through your kiss from deep within his throat as his pace starts to slow slightly, kissing at your lips slowly as his next wet withdrawal leaves you, right before he's pushing his load deep down into your cunt. every lewd squelch of your pussy makes him gasp against your lips as he kisses you, inturn making you even more wet for the man that’s fucking you absolutely senseless.
even though jack had already reached his high, he still doesn’t want to stop, not when you just look so pretty in your fucked out and inebriated state, and you’re doing so good for him.
"j-jacky. feeling any b-better? mmm" his body continues to clap against yours, speed slowing down ever so slightly before he pulls away from your lips to rest his head in the tight crook of your neck, panting as he grinds steady thrusts into your pussy, despite the way the sensitivity of his cock is hitting straight at his nerves. every thick throb and strained squeeze felt like it was knocking all of the air out of him, but every soft moan from your lips is just enough to remind him how to breathe and he knows for a fact that he's not stopping so soon as he sends you short lustful smirk before he's smearing a wet kiss upon your cheek.
"mmf.. all better, but i gotta take care of my little baby now."
#⋆·˚ ༘ *—rowdyslove’s 1k follower celly !!#—ness writes#jack hughes#jack hughes x y/n#jack hughes blurb#jack hughes smut#jack hughes x reader#jack hughes imagine#jack hughes fluff#nj devils#new jersey devils#nhl x y/n#nhl fluff#nhl smut#nhl x reader#nhl blurb#nhl imagine#nhl fic
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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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CW: fluff, a bit dirty of dirty smut, bad language
Tagging: @chara-hugs @ysmmsy @thebookofmags @starshine-hockey-girl @stars-canucks @newlibrary @whatishockey @himbos-on-ice @huggybearmylove43 @whoeverineedtobe @connorandrewmcdavid @defiant-mouse @fallinallincurls @littlebabyboybarzal @hockeywocs @hockeylvr59 @hiimana @itsjuliak5 @jostystyles @kleafs221 @leafs-lover @myhockeyworld87 @jostystyles @luvsherleafs @m00nlightdelights @matbaerzal @notaccurateornice @puckngrind @poojasbehavior @bqstqnbruin
“Good night, AJ, sweet dreams,” Karesha murmured as she kissed her son on the forehead. AJ made a face but Karesha knew he was happy. AJ was a happy but very tired boy by the way he started snoring within seconds. Tip-toeing out of the room to make sure she didn’t wake anyone up, Karesha sighed happily as she closed the door.
“Desie, thank you so much for letting AJ sleep here with Astrid. You really didn’t have to,” Karesha said with a smile.
Holding and rubbing her stomach, Desiree replied, “I’ve had enough tonight, I’m done. And I saw the guy you were talking to earlier, go ahead and talk to him.”
Karesha did a double take as her cousin cupped her front. “Desie… are you?”
“Yes I am, January. I hope it’s another girl.”
Karesha resisted the urge to scream, jump up and down, and grab her favorite cousin. Instead, she rushed over as quietly as possible and gave Desiree a hug. “I’m so happy! Anyone else know?”
“Just you and Jamie. We’ll make a post later this month but we are past four months so yeah. It was hard keeping it to ourselves,” Desiree admitted.
Karesha mimed zipping her lips closed as she slipped back into her heels. Waving bye, Karesha left Desiree’s suite, getting on the elevator, intending on making her way back to the ballroom. However as she got off,, she heard voices and she snooped closer, unable to resist the urge to listen in.
“My cousin told me not to mess with any of her husband’s friends.”
“Why not, is she afraid that someone like me can do something to you?”
Karesha peeked around the corner to see Chelby, Nina’s other little girl cousin, and some redhead ginger looking guy talking. She smirked as she heard Chelby reply, “No, because she doesn’t want me to break any of you little boys’ hearts.”
“Pssh, shouldn’t she be more concerned about you? I saw the way you were staring at me tonight. Still remembered how you tasted that night,” the ginger guy remarked.
Weighing her options to either show herself and be a hater or to just walk away, Karesha was surprised when a smooth voice said, “I didn’t see you as the eavesdropping type.”
Whirling around, Karesha gasped when she saw it was PK. And he looked absolutely delicious, his tie gone and his shirt open, showing a bit of his chest. The crisp white shirt set off his skin immaculately and Karesha was gone. This guy was just her type.
PK smirked as Karesha looked up and down. Then she replied, “I was a bit bored but I see something else I could do instead.”
“What’s that?”
PK raised an eyebrow as Karesha seductively walked towards him, her brown eyes glinting with mischief. Then she stood on her tiptoes, still significantly shorter than PK even in heels. Whispering in his ear, Karesha slowly smiled as PK looked at her, shocked. Then he grabbed her hand.
**
This was probably not her wisest decision but fuck it, she was on vacation and he was sexy. Licking her lips, Karesha was rewarded with a groan from PK. Sweat dripped off his forehead, his arms bracing him just over her body. Thickly muscled with an ass to die for, Karesha was happy she invited him into his bed and doubly happy her child was a floor away.
Spreading her legs wider, Karesha arched up towards PK. “Please,” she breathed, feeling his dick hard against her core. Moments ago, she had put a condom on him, so she was ready for him.
Cautious flirting had turned into innuendo. Innuendo had turned into soft kisses. Soft Kisses turned into her ball gown being tossed over PK’s head, his mouth doing things to her pussy that Karesha hadn’t experienced before.
Well, she had received oral from men before but it was usually just a prelude. It was some licks to try to get her wet, some rough fingering before the guy expected she was ready to take his dick. Or it was after demanding some reciprocation after giving head over and over again. Then it was done in a way to make Karesha never ask again.
PK though, he had treated her like she was the finest meal he ever had, the ministrations of his tongue and fingers making her gush all over his mouth, with some getting on her dress. After they both stripped, Karesha had prepared to return the favor but PK instead picked her up and placed her on her bed. Now, he was slowly entering her, feeling so good.
“Fuck, babygirl, you’re so tight,” PK uttered as he slid into the hilt. Fucking on the first night, well, this didn’t quite feel like fucking. It definitely meant more than fucking. But still, it was the first night and his girl felt like she hadn’t had any in a long time. PK felt a surge of masculine pride as he thought about that.
PK loved being generous to his partners. But as he watched Karesha start to come apart on his dick, his fingers playing with her clit, he knew that this would have to happen again and again, very very soon.
**
“You should have came, Joy.”
Karesha leaned back on her covers, making sure that no marks from last night were visible. Joy giggled on the screen, her brown eyes sad as she replied, “I wanted to but I just wasn’t ready. I mean, I had a panic attack when I was looking for plane tickets.”
Sighing, Karesha wished she could give her friend a hug through the phone. She didn’t understand Joy; life was for living and living well. But Joy was agoraphobic and dealing with mental health issues that Karesha didn’t understand. Instead of voicing her opinion, she listened as Joy continued, “I did make it outside to go shopping for groceries without any issues twice this week. So it’s little steps. Anyway, what happened? I know that Nina had to go to the ER for her egg allergy.”
“Well, Jamila’s sperm donor is here and I heard she finally dropped the bomb on him. Lauren had to put on her lawyer hat for a bit for that to diffuse a potential situation. Desiree said that she didn’t think it would get that far but Lauren said that Jamila has a reckless mouth when she’s angry and she wanted to make sure Jamila didn’t write a check she wouldn’t want to cash.”
“That’s so nice of Lauren. Let Jamila know if she wants me to do a root on her baby daddy.”
Karesha laughed, the covers slipping. Joy’s eyes widened before saying, “Someone else had fun too last night.”
Feeling her skin turn hot, Karesh muttered, “It was the first time since I broke up with my last ex.”
“Awwwwww! I’ll keep the secret.”
Karesha stuck out her tongue as Joy laughed. Last night had started out slow and reverent but the second time had been wild as hell. Kisses, biting, marking, as if they both wanted to make sure the other remembered them long afterwards. Then when they woke up in the morning, it was slow again before Karesha kicked PK out. Well, after she had given him her phone number, then it was time for him to go. Good thing because thirty minutes later, Jamie had brought a wide-awake AJ to her.
**
“Well, this morning was wild,” Siobhan proclaimed.
Karesha leaned back in her chair, enjoying the soft beach breeze. Desiree was cuddled into Jamie, Marisa was sitting across from Kev, her feet in his lap. Lauren and her Chris were sitting next to each other, quietly chatting together.
“Much love to Nina, I love her life for her. Yikes to the fuck shit Jamila is in, I wish she got herself a sperm donor than tangled with him. Laur, just from meeting that guy you were hate-flirting with at Risa’s wedding, he’s already much better than your ex, please marry him. I love that you all have hockey players, but that’s not for me.”
Karesha leaned back in her chair after making her pronouncement. Lauren was rolling her eyes as Chris smirked, Desiree was yawning, Siobhan was tapping on her phone. However, Risa and Kevin had secret smiles on their faces.
Kevin began, “You know that guy, the one that found your son and you ended up dancing with?”
“Yeah, and?”
Karesha wouldn’t tell them but he seemed really nice. AJ wouldn’t shut up about him. The guy had managed to keep a scared boy centered and keep him company while they were frantically looking for him after the cocktail hour. Given how most men feigned cluelessness when dealing with children, he was a breath of fresh air. Chris began to laugh, his eyes crinkling after he looked at his phone.
Smirking, Kevin let out an evil laugh. “PK is a hockey player too.”
“Bullshit.”
Chuckling, Kevin pulled up PK’s profile on his phone. Karesha looked at it before her jaw dropped. “Son of a bitch.”
“Mom, you owe me $5 for cursing!”
Karesha winced as AJ walked to the table, holding Aryanna’s hand. “Nice to see that you’re doing your job today,” Lauren commented.
Aryanna grimaced as AJ ran over to his mom. “I beat Yanni in minigolf before Ms. Tracey and Mr. Vernon took us to lunch. Mommy, what’s that red mark on your shoulder.”
Karesha wanted to die after her son asked her that. Everyone turned towards her and then there were coughs and smirks from all of the adults. Aryanna looked confused for a moment before her eyes got wide. “We have children here before anyone makes any remarks.”
“I’m not a child, I’m a teen,” Aryanna started before Desiree, Marisa, Karesha, and Lauren all stared her down. Closing her mouth, she sulked as Kevin sighed.
“Here’s some cash,” Kevin began as he pulled some bills out of his wallet, “Find something to do.”
Jamie added, “Kris and Alex are at the pool, go find them.”
“Kris,” Aryanna breathed as she grabbed AJ’s hand.
“Oh God,” both Lauren and Karesha groaned as Desiree snickered.
**
PK reluctantly gathered his belongings, knowing that he was almost late for his flight. Luckily, he had TSA Global Pre-check so he didn’t have to worry about those lines. But he didn’t want to leave.
Next week, he had to restart his offseason training regimen. Then a week later, there was Wooder’s wedding, then he was going to hang with Carey for a week and train with him. If he had known he was going to meet the perfect woman at Sid’s wedding, he would have changed his plans.
“Kareeessha,” PK murmured to himself as he unplugged his charger and put it in his carry-on. Leaving the room, PK got into the car waiting for him. Making it to his plane on time, PK took out his phone. Scrolling through the group chat, PK cursed. He forgot to get her phone number.
#nhl#nhl imagine#nhl imagines#blurbs#drabbles#implied smut#hockey fic#nhl fanfiction#hockey imagines#hockey imagine#nhl fic#nhl rpf#pk subban#p.k. subban#devils imagines#devils imagine#devils fic#hockey rpf#hockey fanfiction#hockey fics#smut#hockey smut#nhl smut
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can we get a part 2 of luke liking jacks best friend??? maybe where they end up together 🤭
got the girl, lh43
in which luke's behaviour finally clicks and you mess with him until he can admit his feelings out loud (2.0k)
soft, almost needy/naive luke is becoming my favourite cause i love me a boy that's deeply reliant on his snuggles despite being tall and man shaped. a little unproofread and a little silly in the middle, for flavour
when you woke up, you found yourself tucked under lukes arm, your face now a little hidden into his neck so that he could be far up enough on the bed that his legs didn't teeter the edge.
he was sound asleep, a little less of a morning person than you despite his hectic schedule during most of the year.
the summer was his time to sleep until ludicrous hours, and you took note throughout the years that he always took advantage.
he was always the last one of the brothers to hobble downstairs for breakfast, sleep frequently prominent in his eyes and his hair a tangled mess of his curls that were drying out due to the lake water and lack of caring for.
so you let him rest, carefully untangling yourself from his grasp and heading to wash your face, and brush your teeth. it would be a while before quinn was up, usually the most responsible brother who knew that if he got up early enough he could poach some of your breakfast and have a little while of peace in the gym or front yard.
you cleaned up some of the water bottles that had been left in the living room from the night prior, folding the throw blankets and fixing up the pillows before starting to cook your breakfast, deciding on a simple one for today; eggs, toast and some fruit.
what you didn't expect was to hear the creak of the stairs within a few seconds of you frying your eggs, your eyebrows furrowing as you examined the microwave for the time.
a little early for quinn, but you figured it was him anyways. "quinny?" you said, your voice travelling far enough to make it to the stairs but not to make its way upstairs and wake anyone.
when he didn't answer, you turned your head and saw that it was luke, rubbing exhaust from his eyes and sleepily making his way over to you.
you smiled, allowing him to wrap his arms around you and tug you into him, and sharp whine echoing into your ear as he saw that you were cooking breakfast.
"it's so early.. come back to bed w' me," he pleaded, tugging you away from the oven and pawing at the knobs of the stove, trying to turn it off.
you giggled, adjusting his arms on you and turning back to your pan, shaking your head.
"i'm making my breakfast, lukey. i can make you some, hm?" he shook his head, tucking his face into your neck as if the natural morning light was too harsh on his eyes.
his arms unravelled from your waist, hands planting on your hips and soothing up and down, pulling your shirt up on your waist a little with each passing.
you bit your lip, his actions from now and last night finally coming together in your brain.
snuggling up with you, staring at you instead of watching a movie he picked out, agreeing to spend the night with you, calling you baby by accident. you weren't sure how you hadn't picked up on it before.
everything was confirmed for you when the stairs croaked once again, now under the feet of the eldest hughes brother. when he saw you, luke still trying to pry your attention away from anything that wasn't him, his face lit with an amused smile.
he knew
you started to ponder on if jack knew, or even trevor and alex. if everyone was painfully aware of luke's eyes always being trained on you and decided to keep it from you.
you blinked back into reality, turning off the stove and plating your eggs. "lu?" you mumbled, offhandedly like you had a question you'd been meaning to ask him for some time, even though it only just come to you.
he hummed, hopeful eyes peeking up at you and his hands coming to a halt. "how about you go get ready and ill make you some breakfast, n' we can have it out on the boat," you murmured, cupping his head in your hand and playing with his curls.
you were gonna see how long it took until he broke, admitted how he'd been feeling.
you watched as his eyes dilated, scanning down to your lips with a deer in headlights-esque look of infatuation. he licked his lips, eyes darting back up to yours as soon as he caught his own staring.
he then nodded, blinking away the evident look of euphoria on his face at the feeling of your hands in his hair.
"oh," he murmured, still nodding along to your question. it was like he was under a spell. "okay," he finished, your hand retreating from his curls and pressing to his chest.
"i'll meet you out there, alright? gotta change once i'm done making your food," you instructed, earning one last nod of confirmation before he finally tore his body away from yours and lugged himself back upstairs and towards his own room.
"don't tell me you're gonna do this until he tells you himself," quinn's voice came from behind you once luke's bedroom door was shut and he couldn't hear the conversation.
"what's the fun in telling him i know? and plus, you can't tell me you didn't love watching that," you gestured to where luke had been standing, calling back to the blindingly obvious pining that the older brother had watched from the stairs.
he nodded a little, smile cracking at his lips as he took the plate of food you had already made for yourself.
you glared at him, mixing together another couple eggs into your bowl now that yours were gone.
"what! they would've been cold by the time you got to the boat anyways," he defended, shovelling a fork full of eggs into his mouth and sitting down at the island.
"y/n?" he asked, swallowing his bite.
you hummed, looking back at him as you poured the eggs into the pan. "you won't just lead him on, will you? like, you feel the same," he asked quietly, eyes avoiding yours after a quick second of eye contact.
your lips pulled back into a smile at his attempt at nonchalant protectiveness over his youngest brother, and you shook your head. "silly question. remember the girl who's face i shoved into a pile of snow? when we were kids?" you recalled, and quinn chuckled.
"yeah. i guess he's kinda always been yours," he stated, much more comfortable now that he knew two of his favourite people would soon stop dancing around each others requited feelings.
when the stairs could be heard again, you were expecting luke, but instead you saw your best friend, gloomy as he stared at you.
"you watched top gun without me, and you had our movie night with my little brother," he pouted, going up to you and ruffling your hair, tugging you into a side hug.
"even?" he asked, looking down at you hopefully.
"you threw me into the pool while i was wearing white. and zegras was there. even," you stuck your hand out, watching as he bashfully took it up to his lips and kissed your knuckles.
"not my brightest impulse decision, i have to admit," he sighed, reaching over your head for a plate and stealing the toast that had come out of the toaster, then some eggs.
you gave him the same glare you'd sent quinn, earning a similarly mischievous grin.
"why'd you make so much if s' not for me?" he wiggled his eyebrows, eyeing luke's bedroom door.
you rolled your eyes, a response you seemed to have needed to resort to one too many times this morning. for future reference, you'd keep in mind that one brother at a time for this hour of the morning was more than enough.
"her and lukey have a breakfast boat date," quinn teased, the two of them looking at each other with excited looks, both with hints of relief that something finally stirred between you and luke.
"at long last was getting a little long, munchkin. good for you," he kissed your forehead, sitting next to quinn at the counter.
"you're both just.. so insufferable" you grumbled, now having to finish off the carton of eggs you'd been using since two plate fulls had been stolen from you.
you popped more toast into the toaster, frowning at the empty plate of strawberries you’d cut up and grabbing the container of unsliced ones to make up some more.
switching focus back to the eggs, you scrambled them up and shook the pan around, ensuring a more even cook.
then, thing one and thing two came jogging downstairs in a full fledged conversation at the top of their lungs
“no, no. i totally kicked your a- ooh, fruit,“ he went to grab a piece of strawberry, earning a slap on the hand.
you spun around, spatula drawn like a sword at his face
“zegras, if you touch my food, this spatula is going down your throat.” his eyes went wide for a second, index finger pointing to your utensil and slowly lowering it down
“i liked you better yesterday,” he grinned, winking and grabbing an apple from the fridge, tossing one to alex. “touchy, this morning.” he grumbled under his breath as you glared at jack
“come on, man. you’re gonna get my top gun privileges revoked. again,” jack got up to put his plate away, shoving trevor’s shoulder on the way by.
“i like that that’s what you’re worried about, that’s really cool of you, j.” you rolled your eyes once more, finally greeting alex with a ruffle of his hair.
then finally, after the string of hockey boys coming down to steal your breakfast, each adorned with bottomless pits for stomachs- luke made his way back to the kitchen. he was now in a hoodie and swim shorts, his hair wet from his shower.
“could you finish up plating everything, lu? your brothers stole our original plates so i’m running a little behind,” you smiled sarcastically as the two eldest waved to you
luke chuckled, nodding and taking your place in front of the stove.
while you changed, he finished cutting up the fruit, he put whatever spreads you’d taken out on the toast, and he split the eggs.
when he was done, he turned to see his brothers, along with trevor, alex and cole- who came down as you went back up, staring at him.
he turned his shoulders inward, suddenly a little too self aware.
“.. what?” quinn grinned, cole coming to pat him on the back as he made his own meal.
“look who finally got the girl,” trevor teased, alex wiggling his eyebrows after taking a bite of his apple.
he furrowed his eyebrows, looking at jack who nodded in confirmation.
“i got the girl?” he asked softly, arms falling to his sides, slightly limp in his state of shock.
“yeah, you did.” you smiled from the entrance to the kitchen, coming up and massaging his shoulder a little.
“you are no fun,” you pointed at quinn, who raised his hands in defence.
“what? why?” luke asked, looking down at you with his head tilted adorably.
“i was gonna mess with you just a little longer. wanted you to admit it,” you grinned, hand on his abs
he smiled a little, pecking your lips.
you tugged at him, grabbing your plate and nodding to his.
“c’mon, now.” you pulled him towards to patio door.
the boys whistled after the two of you and you giggled, looking back to see jack with a proud, almost bashful smile. his favourite people, this’d mean a lot to him even if he never said it.
to save face, the last thing you heard from him on your way out of the back was ‘wear protection!’
you shook your head with a smile, turning to luke now that you couldn’t be seen.
“my lukey,” you murmured, cupping his face and kissing him softly, still more intense now that there wasn’t an audience.
he nodded into your kiss, returning the favour with a hint of desperation.
“my girl,”
#e’s fics#luke hughes#luke hughes x reader#hockey imagine#nhl imagine#new jersey devils#hughes brothers
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caught
luke hughes x reader
authors note: this is so cutesy to me and im obsessed with writng for Lukey pookie rn so pls send in for him. this is so fluffy, some sexual themes but like barely. and also swearing. also, jack and trevor make an appearnce.
word count: 2.1k
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You woke up to the sound of the tv playing loudly and the muffled voices of what sounded like jack and possibly trevor, or another voice you coudlnt quite recognize, seemingly coming from the living room.
You froze in place not knowing what to do, and slowly sat up in bed, scanning the room for your clothes from the night before.
Waking up to an empty bed confused you, but you quickly heard the sound of the shower being turned on from Lukes bathroom and it eased your mind immediately.
It wasnt often you woke up in Lukes bed, so you decided to just continue laying down, half naked and happily basking in this feeling while you could.
Although it had only been a few months of dating Luke, you were starting to feel at home around him. Even with jack around it felt like you just blended right in at their shared condo, and all of you were able to act completely yourselves around each other.
But there was one thing you hadnt yet done with jack around, and that was spend a night at their place.
Of course you have spent many days here before, but the last time you stayed over for more than just a day, Jack ‘conveniently’ was out of town and Luke 'conveniently’ forgot to tell jack you would be staying over the weekend.
Although It didnt upset you that Luke pretty much hid this from Jack, it does feel like its about time you both rip off the bandaid and be honest about you staying over.
You cant sneak around forever, and its not like Jack is completely oblivious to the fact that you and Luke have spent nights together before.
There are a lot of thoughts racing in your head as Luke is in the shower, but soon the sounds from the other room quiet down some, and suddenly this feels like a way bigger deal than it actually is.
Snapping you out of your thoughts, Luke opens his bathroom door with a towel around his waist and wet curls slowly dripping into his face and down his chest.
“Hi baby” he says seeing you are awake now, which makes you wonder how long he has been up for, and if he knows that we are no longer alone in the condo.
“Hi lukey, how was your shower?” you ask as you begin sitting up in his bed, one hand holding the comforter to cover your chest, the other hand attempting to fix your jostled up hair.
“Good. wouldve asked you to join but i didn't wanna wake you. You looked so pretty and peaceful. you sleep ok?” he says as he is rummaging through his dresser drawers, trying to find his clothes for the day.
“Mhm. i uh- slept good.” you say distractedly, watching him from behind as he drops his towel and begins to get dressed.
He turns around to face you as he finishes putting on his underwear and sweats, knowing you would be watching him from your spot in his bed.
He tilts his head at you and a smirks grows on his face as he catches you staring at him.
Your cheeks begin to blush as he crosses his arms in front of you, licking his lips as his eyes trail down your body and then back up to your face again.
“What?” he says knowingly and you just look at him with a small smile. The feeling of lust taking over your thoughts.
“Nothin..” you say softly and watch as he rolls his eyes and quickly makes his way towards the bed.
He lays his body directly on top of yours and immediately embraces his lips with yours. He grabs the side of your face in his left hand, lifting your neck slightly to connect closer to him and his eagerness makes you want him even more.
As you continue to make out, Luke's hands slowly trail down your body, and you are no longer covered by the sheets on his bed.
He sits up suddenly with hazy eyes staring into yours and places his hand around your thigh, gently tugging as he adjusts his position on the bed, signaling for you to get on top of him, and you oblige.
“You're so sexy baby” luke says through gritted teeth as he scans his eyes across your body, running his hands along your bare thighs that are now resting across his lap.
“Wanna wake up to this everyday” he continues, and you take note of the fact that all you have on are his boxers from the night before, and a few pieces of gold jewelry.
His words are as sweet as honey and all you can do is lean into his lips again. You grip the back of his neck in both hands, and press further down into his lap, knowing exactly what you are doing to him.
“Fuck” Luke says loudly in response to your movements and you are reminded of the not-so-empty house you are in.
And before you can even say anything you hear the sound of footsteps coming from the hallway.
“Luke? Are you home?” Jack calls out as he is making his way towards lukes bedroom.
Luke is pulled away from his current state and looks at you confused, unaware that jack was even home.
“Hey Lukey?” Jack repeats and he knocks once before opening the door without any hesitation, you and Luke both scrambling to cover your naked body.
“OUT!” Luke says as the door is swung wide open, Jack standing confused on the other side before he scans the room and his eyes are met with the sight of you half covered up, sitting on Lukes lap.
The shock on his face is extremely evident as he recognizes what he just walked in on.
The door slams instantaneously and you hear cursing coming from the hallway as Jack begins to walk away.
The pure embarrassment of the situation sends you into a complete laughing fit.
You look over to your boyfriend and see as he clearly does not find these even slightly as hilarious as you do.
“Luke. cmon, its funny.” you grab his face in your hand and playfully squeeze his cheeks, trying to get him to smile. But he is not having it.
“It isnt funny. Fuck. Im so sorry. i didnt even know he was here. I didnt mean to embarrass you like that…I- do you think he saw anything??” luke says, concerned for only you.
He is suddenly up from the bed and going through his dresser, trying to find you a tshirt of his to put on.
“Luke! It is ok. Im sure he didnt even see anything. And if he did then whatever, we’ll both forget about it just like any other embarrassing moment ever.” you say trying to reassure your clearly stressed boyfriend.
“Doubt he'll forget…” he says half-sarcastically. And now you can tell he is finding this just a little funny.
“STOP!” you say throwing a pillow at him and watch as he tosses you a shirt in return.
“Im gonna go check on him. I dont want him to be spiraling into a panic or soemthing in the other room…” Luke says, shaking his head jokingly and you just chuckle in response.
“Good luck!” you call out to him as he leaves the room and you quickly get up from the bed, putting on his umich tshirt he tossed you and heading for the bathroom.
After hearing what sounds like Trevor laughing his ass off, non stop swearing, and basically a 12 year old boy sounding argument from the kitchen, you decide to leave lukes bedroom.
“Just warn me goddamnit! This was actually so preventable you asshole!” Jack yells back at Luke as you walk into the kitchn to see the two brothers arguing across the kitchen island at each other.
You look around and accidentally make eye contact with Jack and he looks away immediately. You then look over to see Trevor, who is sitting down and eating a bowl of cereal with a massive smirk on his face, clearly enjoying this a little too much.
“YOU DIDNT EVEN GIVE ME A CHANCE TO FUCKIN SAY ANYTHING BEFORE YOU BUSTED THE DOOR OPEN!” Luke yells back, causing trevor to lose his mind yet again. he looks at jack, you, then back at jack and begins dying of laughter.
You make your way over to stand beside Luke and he glances at you and back to his brother, and his demeanor changes a bit.
“How bout we talk about this later.” Luke says after he is made aware of your presence and Jack just shakes his head in disbelief.
“How about we talk about it now?” you say butting in and you grab onto lukes arm, looking up at him expectantly.
“Shouldnt I be apart of this conversation? I was there too after all..” you add and watch as trevor nods his head, and Jack continues to avoid eye contact with you.
“Thats true” trevor says as he points his spoon at you, acknowledging that you are making a good point.
Luke takes a step closer to you, wrapping his arm around your waist and places a kiss on your head.
“Fine.” Luke says and waits for Jacks response.
Jack just looks between the three of you and scoffs as he brings his hands together with a clap.
“Wellp. Im feeling like you are all not on my side right now. But i still strongly believe this was lukes fault and not mine… Just saying.” Jack speaks, and raises both of his hands in defeat.
“How the fuck is this MY fault?” Luke retorts and is about to continue before you butt in.
“Ok! Ok! Guys! You both could go back adn forth about this all day! God!” you state frustratedly.
“Ok! How bout next time, Jack: just wait for a response before opening Lukes bedroom door to save both of your asses. And Luke: make sure you know exactly when Jack is coming home so that your door is locked, you idiot.” you say in the most mediating tone you can muster up.
“Sound good??” you finish and watch as the boys just glance annoyedly at each other.
“Ok.” Luke says first, reluctantly.
“Fine.” Jack adds immediately after.
“Amazing! Now im gonna go shower and forget about this whole ordeal.” you say walking away, not wanting to stick around for the awkward silences that are about to follow this conversation.
-
About ten minutes into your shower you hear a knock on the bathroom door,
“Its me baby” Luke calls as he opens the door a crack.
“Oh come in lukey” you say as you are finishing up washing your body.
“Sorry about that whole - thing.” he says regretfully, knowing he is better off apologizing rather than rehashing everything.
You turn the water off and step out of the shower, grabbing a towel before making your way towards him.
“Its ok baby” you say softly and place a loving kiss to his lips and then another one on the tip of his nose, something you always did to show innocent affection.
“And honestly? Its kinda my fault..but please don't be mad!” you say warily and Luke just tilts his head in confusion.
“I may have heard voices coming from the living room when you got up to shower. But i completely forget to tell you that before we- the whole…ya know..” you say as sweetly as you can, and Luke immediately begins squinting his eyes at you in frustration.
He lets out a playful scoff and you just smile back at him, trying your best to win him over.
“But hey! Weve all learned our lesson here right?!” you add before Luke can even respond and he just shakes his head at you and walks out of the bathroom.
“I love you Luke!” you voice out to him and hear a quiet ‘i lu le lu’ come from behind you, the sound of him mocking you while he continues walking away.
You stomp over to him and grab his arm, turning him around to face you and he immediately caves after seeing the disapproval plastered on your face. Knowing you are gonna get him for that.
“IM KIDDING IM KIDDING. I love you i love you i love you” he says, and rapidly begins kissing you all over your face and neck, desperately trying everything he can to earn your forgiveness.
He brings you into a tight hug, your face squishing against his chest and bicep as he continues placing tiny kisses atop the crown of your head, and you just giggle under his touch in response.
-
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#nj devils#devils lb#nhl#new jersey devils#luke hughes#jack hughes#hockey blurb#hockey imagine#jack hughes imagine#trevor zegras#luke hughes fluff#luke hughes fic#luke hughes imagine#luke hughes x reader#hughes brothers#devils hockey#hockeyblr
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the blush of morning departures - Jack Hughes
Jack Hughes x fem!reader
Summary: Jack is about to leave for morning practice. You ask him if he’s forgotten anything, and Jack gives you a kiss. Your cheeks turn red and you open your hand to reveal Jack’s phone and keys saying ‘I meant this, but thanks.’
request: yes/no
A/N: Hello! Welcome to my first story on Tumblr. I hope you will like it. I become a Hughes Girl. Everything I write is a figment of my imagination! And, sorry for my English, it's not my first language, so be patient with me and don't hesitate to correct me if you find any error.
gif not mine
likes are good, reblogs are better <3word count: 1K
warning(s): pregnancy, soft Jack, unedited
masterlist | wip's
You’re laying in your bed, head tucked under the blanket, because of your extremely hot and active boyfriend, who has early morning practice. He’s pacing around the house packing his gear and making his food.
With a groan, you get out of bed, and just in Jack’s huge shirt, you make your way down to the living room, where you sit down, turning on the TV.
Jack gets out of the bathroom, walking through the living room, not noticing you. You smile to yourself shaking your head. Every morning, when he has practice he’s so caught up with his routine that he barely notices things around him.
"Oh, I’m sorry Cherry, I didn’t mean to wake you up." he sighs when he finally notices you lying under a blanket on the couch.
"It’s okay, I’m used to it." you smiled tiredly, and you extended your hand in his direction.
With a smile on his face, he grabs my hand and pulls it to his mouth to kiss it. "You look gorgeous." he smiles brushing the hair off my face.
"You don’t look bad yourself too." you chuckle caressing his cheek.
"Thank you, Cherry." he laughed shaking his head. You smile closing your eyes for a while.
"I made you breakfast, blueberry pancakes with blueberry sauce and blueberry smoothie"” you laughed at this. Yesterday when you were shopping you bought two kilos of blueberry because they had a great price and you both love them, so.
"Thank you, baby." you laughed kissing his hand.
"I’m going to get my bag and pack my gear okay? You go eat or it will get cold and most of all you have to eat so that our little one can grow," he says protectively extending his hand to my slightly large belly.
"Okay, but first, you have to help me stand up." laughing he helps you up and immediately pulls you in a tight hug, bending down to kiss your template.
"Thank you." sighing out you whisper in his chest breathing in his scent.
"Go eat, I’ll be right back." he pulls away and makes his way into your bedroom.
You walk into the kitchen sit down on the chair with little struggle and start eating the best pancakes you've ever eaten. It is no secret that Jack is an amazing cooker and you're grateful for him because you would probably burn up our kitchen if you tried to cook something.
While you’re eating, Jack is packing his gear as he’s thinking about what will you two do in the afternoon, when he comes back from practice. He’d like to take you to this one restaurant in Jersey he found last week when he and his teammates were heading to the bar to celebrate their win.
He loves to spoil you and show you how much he loves you. When he comes home after a game, you did not attend, he brings you something. Whether it’s ice cream, flowers, or even stupid Oreo, he’s always looking for the smile on your face when he gives it to you.
Before he leaves your bedroom, he paces towards his nightstand to check out if the black velvet ring box is still safe in the drawer. He bought the ring a few weeks ago while on his roadie in Washington. He saw it on the street and had to buy it knowing, now is the right time, to ask you. After all, you’ll have a baby in no matter of time and you’re the love of his life.
He gets up, tosses the bag around his shoulder, and makes his way down the hallway into the kitchen to say goodbye to you before he leaves.
"Okay babe, I will leave in a few," Jack’s voice comes from the hall, where he puts on his Nike sneakers in the meantime so he doesn't have to put them on later and go straight to practice.
"Okay," you say with a full mouth of the pancakes. Swallowing the pancakes in your mouth, you stick another piece on the fork.
"Is it good?" he chuckles when he comes into the kitchen and sees you eating his pancakes with full mouth. You nodded and mumbled yes.
"Well I’m glad you like it," he bends down kissing your forehead with a smile on his lips.
"It tastes delicious. Thank you for being my chef," you say after you swallow.
"Yeah, well someone has to cook when you’re able to burn the kitchen down," he laughs sitting down next to me. You stick another piece of pancakes on a fork and put it to his lips, so he can taste it too.
"They taste great," he chuckles, moaning slightly at the taste. Checking his phone he quickly stands up rushing to the hall. "I’ve gotta go princess."
You stand up from the chair, shaking your head, when you see his phone and keys lying down on the table. You grab them in your hand walking to the hall to say goodbye to him.
"Your early lunch is in the fridge, I’ll be home around eleven. Then we can go on a walk," he smiles tossing his bags around his shoulders. „I love you baby and you too baby boy.“ he bends down to pick up his bag making his way to the door.
"Didn’t you forget something?" you ask him, clutching his phone and keys behind your back.
"Sorry." he smiles bending down to peck a kiss on your lips.
Laughing, you remove your hand from behind your back and show him his phone and keys. "I meant this, but thanks."
With a shake of his head, he takes his things from you, pressing down another kiss to your lips. "I fucking love you, woman."
"I love you too," you chuckle at his statement. "Be careful okay? I want my man in one piece before I give birth."
"I will don’t worry, I have Nico to look after me, right? And in a few weeks we’ll have Luke here to look after me too, so don’t worry about me." he chuckles giving you a last kiss before he makes his way out of the house with a loud goodbye.
#jack hughes#jh86#nhl fanfiction#nj devils#new jersey devils#nhl#hockey fanfiction#jack hughes x reader#jack hughes x y/n#jack hughes imagine#new jersey devils fic
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ANGRY INSIGHT
WARNINGS: hair pulling, extreme domination, spanking, mentions of masturbation, public sexual acts, exhibitionist kink, etc. 18+ readers only
PAIRING(S): Jack Hughes x Fem!Reader
SUMMARY: in which Fem!Reader asks Jack Hughes to take his anger out on her.
Jack didn't say anything as they left the Prudential Center, pausing so he could pull his hoodie on before going out into the chilly parking lot. He didn't say anything when they got to his Range Rover, though he slammed the trunk a little harder than strictly necessary after putting his hockey bag in it.
Y/N didn't push it, assuming he might want a few minutes to collect his thoughts, but when he still hadn't said anything after they’d left the arena and were about to turn onto the highway, she had enough.
"So, that was different.” Y/N said.
Jack still didn't speak for a moment. Then, he took a deep breath and let it out. "Just say it, Y/N."
"Say what?"
His jaw clenched as he slowed at a stop sign and he went silent again. Annoyed, she waited until he'd turned, then folded her arms and looked at him as he drove.
"Say what, Jack?"
"That you hated it.” Jack snapped. "That you think I'm a complete asshole. Or that you're questioning whether you want this to continue because you don't want a boyfriend who's aggressive and rough and all the things I know you don't like in a guy."
"What are you talking about?”
"You looked horrified.” He said. "And that was exactly what I thought would happen." Jack waved his hand slightly before grabbing the steering wheel again. "It's the one fucking place I can just let loose, but everyone thinks this is all I am. And now you're gonna think so, too."
"How do you know what I think if you haven't bothered asking me?" Y/N asked flatly.
He let out a dry chuckle. "Because I'm dreading what you're gonna say. But you still gotta say it, so just tell me you hated seeing me like that and that you're gonna leave me for someone who has a better way to deal with his anger."
Y/N looked at him, but he steadfastly kept his eyes on the road. "And what if I liked seeing you like that?" She finally asked.
Even in profile, she could see the lack of belief on Jack’s face. "You're the sweetest person I've ever met in my entire life. There's no way you liked seeing me like that."
Faced with admitting it, Y/N hesitated. As guilty as she felt about it, she had enjoyed watching him play and getting rough with the other guys out there, at least for the first part. He'd dominated the game with a sort of graceful power that kept making her breath catch in her throat and visions of his hands pinning her down running through her mind.
The thing Y/N hadn't liked was watching him hurt another person, which he'd done because why? Because the guy knew he would. Because everyone in that arena except for her knew about Jack’s apparent anger on the ice. The man he'd punched had known that and played into it, purposely doing things that would trigger his temper and turn him into the pouty, sullen man currently in the driver's seat.
"I liked watching you play.” Y/N finally said, then turned so she was facing forward. "I didn't like that you're a sore loser."
Jack’s head snapped towards me. "What?"
"You're a sore loser.” She repeated, staring straight ahead.
He looked at the road again. "We didn't lose, we won. I scored two goals."
She shrugged. "Maybe your team won, but you got thrown out. If you had just let him talk his shit, he would've been thrown out and you wouldn't have. And now you can't play in the next game, right? The man beside me said you got suspended."
Jack’s jaw twitched. Y/N watched him from the corner of her eye, then looked out the passenger window.
"You're wrong if you think I have a problem watching you play rough. What I didn't like was watching you hurt someone on purpose because you were pouting about him being a jerk."
"I wasn't pouting.” He grumbled.
"You're pouting now."
"I'm not pouting, Y/N.” He repeated testily. "I can't help it, okay? This is just how I..." Jack let out a frustrated sigh. "I don't even know, okay? This is the one place, the one thing that I can take out my anger on. Should I probably get help figuring out a better way to deal with it? Probably, yeah, but I haven't, and now it's probably gonna cost me you."
"How is this costing you me? I'm not breaking up with you. I told you, I liked what I saw.”
"You expect me to believe that?" Jack said. "You expect me to believe you, the person who hates it when people raise their voices at each other, let alone actually fight, liked watching me act like some kind of asshole taking out all his shit on the opposing team?"
"I liked watching you play.” Y/N clarified. "And yes, even the parts that were a little rougher. It was hot, Jack, okay? What wasn't hot was when you punched that guy just because you were angry." Her heart thudded in her chest and she bit her lip, not quite sure if she was going to say what was on her mind until the words began spilling out of her mouth. "So, instead of taking it out on some random player when he purposely pushes your buttons, maybe you can take some of it out on me."
Again, his neck twisted towards her so fast that she was worried he might get whiplash. She pretended not to notice, instead continuing to look out the window.
"What was that?" Jack asked in a flat, icy voice.
Her tongue felt very dry. "Maybe this is something I can help you with."
"What the fuck are you trying to say here, Y/N?"
"I..."
"Jesus Christ." Jack turned away, a shaky laugh escaping his throat. "You think I'm gonna hurt you? Fucking hit you?"
It was her turn to whip her head towards him. "Absolutely not."
"Then what the hell are you talking about?”
"Sex, Jack. I'm talking about sex."
"Sex.” He repeated heatedly, then frowned. "Sex?"
"Like, as a substitute."
"Rough sex, you mean."
Y/N could feel warmth creeping up her neck from the spot on her collarbone he always said turned pink first. "Yes."
"No."
"Why not?”
"Because I don't want to fucking hurt my girlfriend!" Jack snapped. "God, half the time I'm with you, I'm scared I could break you, even though I'm doing everything I can to hold back."
"I'm not as delicate as you seem to think I am."
"And despite what you saw today, you seem to think I'm a hell of a lot more capable of controlling my anger than I actually am." He shook his head. "Just no, Y/N."
"Even though I was so turned on during the first part of your game that I was trying to figure out if there was somewhere on the way home you could pull over so we could fuck in your car?"
His eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Since when do you talk like this?"
The statement might have been bold, but her hands were definitely sweating. Y/N pressed them to her thighs and tried to pretend she knew where she was going with this.
"I told you," Y/N said. "It almost bothers me how much I enjoyed seeing you let loose and just become this sort of primal, animalistic man that I'd never seen before. I liked that they were a little scared of you. I'm sure that says something about me that I don't want to think about, but it's the truth."
His throat flexed as he swallowed.
"Then you got all pouty, and I didn't like that.” She continued. "So this could be like a solution for you. You could punch a guy in the face or you could save up all those frustrations and bring them to me at the end of the game."
His mouth was still partly open as he listened, soft puffs of breath escaping as he kept looking at the road ahead of him.
Y/N bit her lip, then grasped small handfuls of the fabric on her skirt. "Just think of it. Your next game, when some stupid jerk makes you mad, you can look up at me sitting in the stands and know that if you don't act like an asshole, you get to bring me home, pin me to the wall, and fuck me until I can't walk anymore. I think that would feel a little better than punching a guy, don't you?"
"No.” Jack finally said, his voice hoarse. "I mean, yes, but I can't do that to you."
"I mean, you could. If you wanted to."
"I don't want to."
She glanced down. "If you wanted me to believe that, you shouldn't have worn your gray sweatpants."
Jack dropped his hand to his lap, his face turning red as he tried to adjust himself so his erection was a little less prominent, but failing in the most successful way. "That isn't the kind of guy I am.” He said, his voice strained.
"It's the kind of guy you are at least once a week." Y/N looked down at his lap. "And it turns out, maybe once a week I'm the kind of girl who really, really likes that."
"I don't want to hurt you, Y/N.” Jack sounded frustrated, a pained look on his face. "I don't know why you would want me to. You saw how hard I hit that guy.”
"I'm not asking you to hurt me.” Y/N said. "I'm asking you to fuck me and take me however you want me. I know if it was too much, all I'd have to do is ask you to stop and you would. Because regardless of who you think you are when you're out on that ice, I know I can trust you."
Jack was silent, and she didn't know what else to say. She didn't know what else she could say. Part of her was frustrated with him and part of her was feeling rejected. That part, along with most of the rest of her, was embarrassed she’d ever brought up her half-baked idea of using sex to help him get his frustrations out, which had been a cover up for the fact that she wanted it rough.
But Jack didn't, and that was fine, and maybe they both just needed to walk away from this conversation so they could go back to the way things were before she insisted she wanted to watch his game. Maybe it was naïve of her to hope for that, or maybe it was delusional, but regardless of what Jack had thought might happen when she saw him act the way he had, she didn't want to break up. She hoped he didn't, either, even though she knew he was frustrated with her.
Y/N was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she didn't notice until after they’d turned that he'd switched lanes and taken them onto one of the many side roads along the highway. As fences and trees filled her view and something like worry filled her chest, she turned to him.
"Jack?" She asked nervously.
His throat flexed. "You said you trust me?"
Y/N had said that, and she had meant it. Swallowing, she nodded, then flattened her palms against her thighs again and watched as they went further and further down the road. A few minutes later, he turned onto another side road, and then another, until he found a road that was mostly hidden from view by trees on both sides.
Jack slowed when he saw one of those dead-end turnouts that led onto some field and pulled into it so the side of the Range Rover was blocked from the view of the road. Then, he turned off the vehicle and undid his seatbelt.
Jack glanced down at her lap, where fistfuls of fabric from her skirt were still balled in her hands. "You want me to fuck you?"
Oh. Oh, God. Her breath caught in her throat. "Here?"
"You said you wanted me to take you however I wanted you."
She had definitely said that, too. And she had very much meant it. "Uh-huh.” Y/N whispered.
"So yes, here." His voice was a low rumble. "Answer the question."
"What?”
"Now is the time to back out if you want to back out.” Jack said. "Do you want me to fuck you or not?"
"Yes.” She said without hesitation.
"Then take off your fucking seatbelt."
Y/N immediately let go of her skirt and pressed the buckle, letting the belt slip away from her body. There wasn't even time for her to take a full breath before Jack grabbed her and pulled her over the console, guiding her so she was straddling his lap. She gasped in surprise, then jumped when a loud honk echoed through the abandoned air around them as her ass hit the horn on his steering wheel. She let out a startled laugh, but Jack didn't so much as smile; he reached under the seat and half a second later, he pushed the seat back as far as it would go and she jolted forward, slamming her chest against his.
One strong arm was around her in an instant, holding her hard against his body as the other hand went up to her neck. Jack pulled her head forward, capturing her mouth in a bruising hard kiss. An unintentional moan slipped out and he grunted, pushing his hips up so his bulge pressed against her mound.
"If you want me to stop," Jack mumbled against her mouth, "you say 'stop’ as loud as you can, the second you want me to. Otherwise, you're fucking mine. Understand?"
Y/N nodded. He sank his teeth into her bottom lip. "Say you understand."
"I understand.” She whispered breathlessly.
Jack bit down again and she whimpered, but he didn't release her lip until his hand shifted and moved up, his fingers slowly raking through the hair at the base of her neck. The steady, creeping motion of his hand sent a shiver of anticipation through her, her shoulders tensing as her breath came in short, excited puffs.
Then, all at once, Jack tightened his fist around her hair and tugged, making her gasp again and forcing her head back so her neck was revealed to him. He had complete command of her body, one strong arm still clutching her to his chest and her head immobile from how tight a grip he had on her hair.
One gentle kiss was placed at the base of her throat, a complete contradiction to the way he was holding her, but that tenderness didn't last. Maybe he was timing it, the beating of her heart forceful enough that he could feel her pulse beneath his lips, but it was just enough to remind them both of the person Jack truly was — sweet, kind, loving, and generous in all things before he submitted to the person he was on the ice.
A heartbeat after he kissed her neck, he buried his face against it, his teeth dragging along her skin, not quite biting but informing her without words that he very well could, if he wanted to. Jack flicked out his tongue, tasting every inch of her neck before deciding which one he wanted to suck on.
"You're gonna leave a mark.” Y/N whispered as she felt a slight pinch.
He sucked harder, then released the spot. "And you're gonna like it."
Well, that was true. That mark was followed by another one, and then one slightly lower after he undid the zipper on her jacket and pulled the collar of her shirt down so he could leave one along her collarbone. A pleasurable tingle radiated from each of the places he'd claimed, making her shiver.
Jack tugged her head further back so he could admire the workmanship he'd put into branding her, then placed another contradictory kiss on her collarbone before he released his grip on her hair. Her head fell forward and he pushed his mouth against hers, his breath hot and needy on her skin.
"This is what you wanted?" He asked.
Y/N almost said yes, then stopped as a delightfully wicked thought crossed her mind. “I want more.” She said instead.
Jack laughed. Not at her, not in a way that said he thought she was being funny. No, it was more of a chuckle, a knowing sound that was full of promise and ego, a rumble that made her very glad she wasn't standing because her knees would have given out from the rush of electricity that surged through her.
"You asked for it, baby.” Jack growled, and then her jacket was torn from her body.
Y/N couldn't keep up with his hands. It was a whirlwind of motions: her jacket was tossed to the side as he buried his face against her clothed chest, then there was a large hand splayed on each of her hips, pushing her down onto the thick bulge beneath her. She moaned and suddenly her shirt was gone, yanked over her head and tossed away while Jack’s lips and teeth claimed the revealed skin on her chest. He groaned into the tops of her breasts, a low sound that seemed to drip through each of her nerves and down to her panties, which were already so wet that she was sure they were leaking onto his sweatpants.
Jack thrust up against her, making her breasts jiggle against his face as he pushed his arousal against her still-covered pussy. Y/N indulged in the friction, craving more and rolling her hips as much as she could beneath the unforgiving hold his hands had on her. She, however, was not in charge.
"You want this?" Jack asked, then forced her hips forward and back, making her grind against his cock much harder and driving a pleasured yelp from her mouth.
"Yes.” Y/N said breathlessly. "I want it."
"You want it?” Jack repeated, almost taunting her. "You want this cock so bad, don't you, pretty girl?"
"Yes.” She said again, nearly wailing. "Please, I want you to fuck me."
"No.” Jack said, then laughed when she made a distressed noise. "Not yet."
"But I want you inside me."
"Oh, I'm about to be inside you." Jack let go of her hips, sliding his hand to the side of the seat again. "But not the way you want. This is what I want."
With that, Jack pulled the handle that reclined the seat, tilting it back just enough that when he pushed her off his lap and onto the floor beneath the steering wheel, she had easy access to the hard cock straining the front of his pants. Even though she was hornier than she’d ever been in her entire life, Y/N had to marvel as she adjusted her position between Jack’s legs.
The people who made his Range Rover were not fucking around when it came to leg room. She was able to lean forward enough to hook her fingers into the waistband of his sweats and tug them down, noting as she did that there was indeed a wet spot on the front of them. Whether that was from her or from the leaking cock still encased in his boxer-briefs, she didn't know; those had a wet spot on them too, but she didn't have time to examine it.
"Take it out, Y/N.” Jack demanded when she paused.
Y/N did as he asked, slipping his underwear down and revealing his gorgeously thick, already weeping cock. She bit back a smirk as she looked at the veiny, throbbing erection jutting up in front of her. Jack lifted his hips just enough to let her get his boxer-briefs to the middle of his thighs before grabbing her hair again and pulling her head forward. The tip of his cock brushed against her lips and she looked up at him, his eyes betraying his need even more than the hardness of his cock did.
"Open your mouth.” Jack said.
In what she hoped was a teasing, coquettish way, Y/N parted her lips just slightly. He waited, then tightened his grip on her hair, his eyes darkening.
"Do you want this cock or not?" Jack asked. "Open it properly or I'll do it for you. I think one of those things is gonna feel better than the other, don't you?"
Eyes wide as he taunted her with her own words, Y/N let her jaw fall the rest of the way open. Instantly, Jack pushed his cock forward, driving it past her lips and letting the head drag across her tongue. There was a brief moment when she could taste the flavor of him, a faint hint of soap and salt and raw need, and then he shoved himself to the back of her throat.
The urge to gag flared up, tears springing into her eyes as her stomach started clenching. Y/N fought it with everything she had, knowing Jack would hear her choke and pull back immediately, that look of primal lust fading as he worried that he'd gone too far. And that was the absolute last thing she wanted, not when they’d just started and she was reveling in the way he was looking at her and speaking to her and using her.
Inhaling sharply through her nose, Y/N managed to repress it, though just barely. Jack seemed to notice or at least suspect something and the hand in her hair loosened. Panicked, she lifted her hand to his and looked up at him, hoping her eyes weren't watering too much, and held his gaze as she pressed down on his hand.
"Fuck, Y/N.” Jack hissed, and she let her hand drop away as his other hand moved to the back of her head.
There was no point in her trying to control the pace of the blowjob. Jack took over, staring directly into her eyes as he moved her head the way he wanted to. And as much as she hated to admit it, she loved it. Her body was singing, her nipples hard beneath her bra and her pussy dripping. She squirmed, but there wasn't enough room in the wheel well for her to properly shift.
So with her lips wrapped around him and his cock dragging along her tongue with each thrust, Y/N moved her hands from where they were sitting uselessly on his thighs. Between his thrusts, she wormed her arms down to her sides, her shoulders pressed tight against his knees as he used her face. It wasn't until she’d worked the hem of her skirt up in one hand that Jack realized what she was doing.
"Fuck, Y/N.” Jack breathed, moving one hand off her head so he could see better. "Are you going to touch yourself while you suck my cock?"
Y/N made a choked noise against the cock in her throat that was intended to be either an affirmative answer or a moan. She wasn't exactly sure, but she held his gaze as she worked her fingers into her panties by pulling them to the side, since she couldn't lift her shoulder enough to slide them in from the waistband.
Another choked noise rumbled against his cock as she felt the slickness of her pussy. Y/N was beyond soaked; everything from her thighs to her folds to her mound was coated in wetness and her pussy was so warm that she could feel the heat without even pushing a finger inside.
Her body felt hollow, desperate for something that would satiate that hungry, yearning ache, and the best she could do right then was her finger. She slipped it inside and whimpered, though the sound was muffled. Jack groaned and rested one arm against the car door while gathering her hair in his hand again.
"That's right, baby.” Jack said. "Fuck yourself while I fuck your mouth. Make yourself feel good."
Y/N pushed another finger inside herself and brushed the base of her thumb against her clit. Relief soared through her and her eyes fluttered closed involuntarily as her pussy walls squeezed around her fingers. Jack yanked her hair hard and her eyes flew back open.
"No.” Jack grunted. "I'm the one letting you play with yourself, so you let me look at you while you touch your greedy little pussy."
Hardly daring to blink, Y/N stared up at him, certain that her eyes were wide and her cheeks were flushed pink. A sloppy mix of spit and pre-cum trickled down her chin as he kept fucking her head down on his cock, dripping onto her chest and the tops of her still-contained breasts.
"Good girl.” Jack whispered. "You look so fucking irresistible right now, baby. Keep taking it. You're taking it so good."
Y/N’s thighs trembled, his words so stimulating that it was almost like they were touching her clit rather than her hand. Short, quick bursts through her nose were the only way she could breathe, though that wasn't why she was feeling light-headed. That was from the pleasure, from the way she was fingering herself, from the buildup of bliss that was radiating from that eager, aching spot in the core of her body.
It rose and spread, delight dancing along her skin and to her hips, her thighs, her ribs, her breasts — everything. Her limbs began to feel numb in the best way as that promise of overwhelming euphoria built up and up and up. She stared into her boyfriend's eyes, but keeping her own open was growing more and more difficult.
"That's right.” Jack encouraged. "Come on, baby. Let me see you cum while you've got my cock in your mouth. Let me see how fucking much you love being my pretty little whore."
Jack groaned as she cried out uncontrollably, an unintelligible noise erupting from her as her pussy clenched around her fingers and her body spasmed, bursting with the sudden release of ecstasy. Try as she might, Y/N couldn't keep her eyes open, squeezing them shut as every other muscle in her body tightened in a desperate attempt to contain the feelings rippling and rolling through her.
Once the final burst of pleasure faded and she could open her eyes again, Y/N looked up at him, aware her lips were still wrapped around his cock and her hand was still between her legs, giving him her silent go-ahead. But he didn't. A satisfied smirk made the corner of his mouth flick up, then he slowly pulled her head back until she let his still-unspent cock fall from her lips. She took a deep breath once it had, looking up at him.
"You seem a little trapped under there.” Jack said conversationally.
"A little.” Y/N said.
"I'll let you out, but once I do, I'm going to throw you across the seat and fuck you until you can't walk properly."
That recently doused fire in her core flared up again, instantly burning up any satisfaction and replacing it with more need. "Okay.” She said in a tiny voice.
Jack’s lower lip curled into his mouth. "So if you need a break to recover, now's the time to take it. Because I won't be letting up until I cum all over you, baby.”
"I don't need a break."
He flicked up one eyebrow. "No?"
Y/N sat back as much as she could, looking up at him defiantly. "I want you to fuck me now, Jack."
He smirked, then half-shrugged before throwing the car door open. Cold air rushed into the vehicle, raising trails of goosebumps along her exposed skin. Tragically, he pulled up his boxers and sweats, covering his beautiful, throbbing erection before working his right leg past her and getting out.
Shivering, Y/N ran a hand across her face and chin, but before she could ease herself out of the wheel well, Jack grabbed her and pulled her partway out of the car before shoving her up onto the driver's seat, twisting her so her legs were hanging out the open door.
"What are you doing?” Y/N asked, but he tugged her forward, stepping between her legs and kissing her as he grabbed one breast in each hand and squeezed.
She moaned as he gripped her, his fingers digging into the sensitive flesh just hard enough to be firm, but not painfully uncomfortable. She lifted her arms to his shoulders, feeling the muscles beneath his shirt as he crushed his mouth against hers.
"What am I gonna do with you, baby?" Jack murmured. "You sit there and tell me you want me to fuck you, that you want me to save up all my anger when people fuck with me so I can use it to destroy that perfect little pussy I love so much, all these goddamn obscene words coming out of this sweet mouth of yours. You know what I saw just now?"
Jack tightened his hands on her breasts again and she gasped. "No.” Y/N said.
"I saw my pretty girlfriend get shoved down on her knees, still wearing that fucking ruffled skirt with her tits spilling out of a bra. I saw her finger herself while I made her choke on my cock." Jack let go of her left breast, just to bring his hand up to her chin and cup it, holding her face hard so she couldn't pull away from him. "I've been trying so hard to be the nice, sweet boyfriend I thought you deserved, but you don't want that, do you? You want someone who will fuck you as dirty as he fights."
"Yes.” Y/N moaned, and he sank his teeth into her bottom lip. She let out a soft wail and he did it again, then sucked on the tender spot he'd bitten as he let go of her chin and wrapped both arms around her so he could unclasp her bra. It fell away from her chest and she wriggled her arms out of it, letting it fall to the ground beside the Range Rover.
Jack dipped his head and shoved his face between her breasts. From there he used his tongue to guide him to her nipple, tugging on it with his teeth. She cried out as he nibbled on it, then made a low mewling sound as he soothed it by circling the stiff nub with his tongue.
He repeated the action on her other breast, cupping the first one in his hand so he could feel the hardness of her nipple pressing into his palm. Once he'd let her nipple fall from his teeth, a pleasant stinging radiating from the sensitive buds across her entire chest, Jack straightened back up and shoved his hand between her legs as he kissed her again.
"Listen to me.” Jack demanded. "When I'm done kissing you, you're going to turn around and get on your hands and knees with your sweet ass on display for anyone out there to see while you wait for me."
Y/N gulped, even though both of them knew very well that there was hardly any chance of there being a single living soul in the field behind them. "Okay."
"Good girl.” Jack breathed, and a shiver that had nothing to do with the cool outdoor air ran through her. "You keep your eyes looking straight forward, understand? All I want to see is your ass hanging out the door of my car. No peeking."
"I won't peek.” She promised.
Y/N wasted no time doing what he asked, clambering back into the car and balancing her knees on the edge of the driver's seat and her forearms on the edge of the passenger seat, thankful that the center console was below the seat level so she didn't have to contort around it. Her breasts hung below her and cold air tickled up the back of her thighs, making the heat of her pussy seem almost uncomfortably warm.
Jack opened the trunk and grabbed his hockey bag, rooting through it for a moment before grabbing something and slamming the door closed. She almost turned her head, but he'd said not to, so she kept looking forward and waited with electrified anticipation for him to move back behind her. But he didn't.
Restlessly, Y/N tapped her fingers on the passenger seat, shivering again as more goosebumps raised on her arms. A soft breeze stirred the fabric of her skirt, blowing it up slightly. Not that it was covering much; she knew her panties were exposed, and not just her panties, but the soaked spot in the middle of them betraying her arousal.
When she couldn't take it anymore, Y/N shifted again, letting her hip lean against the backrest so she could twist in place and look over her shoulder. Jack was standing a few feet behind her, his arms folded across his chest. When their eyes met, he raised his eyebrows.
"What'd I say?" He asked, his voice low.
Heat rising on her face, she turned back around quickly, but it wasn't enough.
"Oh, baby.” Jack said, and now she could hear him walking towards her. "I asked you a question."
"You said eyes looking straight forward.” Y/N replied in a quick, high-pitched voice.
"And what did I just see?"
"I didn't know where you went."
Warm fingers were suddenly circling her ankles and a shudder that had nothing to do with the cold overtook her. His hands slid up her calves, teasing her chilled skin.
"I went to get a condom so I can give my girlfriend the fucking she's been begging for.” Jack said in a low voice. "And I came back to see her sexy ass up in the air, so I was taking a moment to admire it when she decided she didn't want to listen to me anymore."
"Please, Jack.” She whimpered quietly.
"And then I asked her a question and she didn't give me a direct answer. What happened to my good girl, baby?"
"I..." Y/N breathed. "I, um...”
"I think someone needs to see what happens when she doesn't listen to me, don't you?"
Jack’s fingers moved up her thighs and under her skirt, caressing her ass as she realized he'd very intentionally made her turn around. Her breath caught in her throat as he flipped the fabric of her skirt up and traced his fingers along her covered ass crack.
"I asked you a question, baby.” He said.
"Yes.” Y/N said. "Show me what happens."
Jack laughed, then made her jump when suddenly there was a sharp pinch on one of her cheeks and a warm breath soothing it. She’d had no idea he was such a biter, but damn if she didn't fucking love it.
"You know how silly you sounded when you said you wanted me to slap your ass like I did with my teammates?" He teased. "That's just stupid guy stuff. I'd never slap your ass like that."
His hands were suddenly on her hips and he pulled her backwards. She yelped, catching herself as he slid her down so her stomach was resting on the seat. After a harrowing moment, her feet found the running boards so she propped herself up more easily.
Jack pushed her skirt up again, then hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties and tugged them down just past her ass. He leaned in and hunched over her body so the next time he spoke, his voice was in her ear.
"No, your ass is gonna be spanked properly." His covered erection pressed against her, hard as ever against her exposed skin. "Good and hard, like I fucking mean it. You want that, baby?"
"Uh-huh.” Y/N said.
"Of course you do."
Jack straightened up, tracing his hands down her bare back and caressing her ass again. The only indication he was about to hit her was that his touch disappeared; Y/N inhaled sharply and tensed, and a moment later his hand struck her ass cheek. It was more startling than anything.
She jumped forward slightly, but the sting of pain she’d expected wasn't present. Pursing her lips, she waited, anticipating another one, but he just traced his fingers along her ass again.
"Are you okay?" Jack asked.
Y/N turned again, looking over her shoulder at him with wide eyes. "I thought you said you were gonna spank me like you meant it."
His eyebrow flicked up, then he shrugged and slowly shook his head. "You asked for it.” Jack said, and she didn't even have time to turn back around before he brought his hand down on her ass again.
A loud crack echoed around them and she jolted forward, her stomach hitting the seat as a searing sting radiated from the spot he'd slapped. Y/N yelped, stunned at the suddenness of the pain on her ass and the rush of adrenaline that seemed to radiate from her pussy, and seconds later Jack’s fingers were soothing the burning spot on her ass cheek.
"Did that feel like I meant it?" He asked, his voice betraying his concern.
"Maybe.” Y/N gasped. "You should probably do it again, just to be sure."
His hand paused its soothing motions, a brief hesitation that she worried meant he was going to stop, that he thought he'd taken it too far. Then, a low, throaty chuckle was her only warning as he drew his hand back. A second powerful snap resonated and she cried out again.
"There.” Jack said, stroking the sore spot he'd just left on her other ass cheek as her body quivered beneath him. "A matching pair of handprints on this perfect ass of yours."
"One more?" Y/N asked breathlessly.
Jack made a soft noise and she tensed when his hand moved away, but it was replaced a moment later by the incredibly intimate feeling of his lips kissing the spot he'd just struck, his breath oddly soothing against what she was sure was reddened skin.
"Nice try, baby.” Jack said. "It's my turn to get what I want."
"And what's that?"
His lips moved away from her ass as he straightened up. Jack must have put the condom on while she was staring straight forward like she was supposed to. Maybe he'd even intended to walk up and enter her wordlessly, fucking her hard and fast and deep without even a warning that he was about to do it, before she’d felt the need to twist around and see where he was. She didn't know, but it didn't matter.
"I'm going to fuck you until you're screaming.” Jack answered, punctuating the sentence by grabbing her hips and shoving his cock inside her.
Jack didn't so much as hesitate before pulling back before slamming himself forward, so deep inside her that his hips pressed against the blazing handprints on her ass cheeks. Y/N cried out again, though it must have been obvious that it was a cry of ecstasy because he didn't pause before digging his fingertips into her hips so hard that she was sure they would bruise and plunging inside of her again.
Y/N’s nails dug into the seat of the car, bracing herself as Jack fucked her mercilessly. The sound of his hips hitting her ass filled the car, but she could barely hear it over the sound of her own heart and the noises being pushed from her mouth by the sheer force of his cock.
Hunched over her, Jack grabbed one of her breasts, which was swinging with the force of his thrusts. Squeezing, he groaned and kissed a spot on her back, just between her shoulder blades.
"Fuck, Y/N.” Jack gasped. "You feel so good."
"So do you.” She tried to say, but he used his grip on her to pull her up slightly so he could slide his other hand between her legs.
Y/N balanced herself with one hand on the steering wheel and the other against the backrest of the seat, but nearly the entirety of her weight was held up by Jack’s hands as he fucked her, fondled her, and fingered her. Stars burst in her eyes and the world around her flickered in and out; cold air and surrounding trees and the wide field behind her ceased to exist.
All that mattered was his cock and his hands and the way he felt inside her, the way his body kept slamming into hers and the overwhelming pleasure from the sensations he was giving her. It must have been obvious that she was about to cum because Jack quietly urged her on, rubbing her clit harder as he kept his pace steady and strong.
"Cum on this cock, baby.” Jack ordered. "Show me why I should come home and fuck you like this every week instead of losing it on some other bastard. Be a good girl for me. Prove to me you deserve to be fucked like this."
Y/N came apart in his arms, screaming just like he'd said she would. Her body shook, convulsing as orgasmic waves took over her, clouding her vision and her mind and turning her into nothing but a bundle of nerve endings that were firing over and over and over again. Just when she thought it would never stop, that she’d be stuck in that tortuous moment of delirious intensity, it slowly faded, and she fell heavy and limp in Jack’s arms.
Buried deep inside her, he paused just long enough to gently put her back onto the driver's seat, taking his arms back from under her before gripping her hips again. Jack started fucking her in that selfish way she was all too happy to oblige, exhilarated by the way he took his pleasure from her body.
When his breathing came faster, she knew he was close. Moments later, his cock was throbbing, and ropes of hot cum were painting her ass and lower back, though the rest of it got caught in the skirt that was still bunched around her waist.
"Holy shit.” Jack groaned, his voice staggered as he finished, his breath coming in hard gasps. For a few heartbeats, that was all she heard: his breath and hers, the car full of the scent of sex and cum, her body still in a hazy glow of satisfaction.
Then, Jack swore, lifting himself off her. “Are you okay?" He asked. "Fuck, Y/N, I’m so sorry.”
"Don't ruin this with an apology.” She said. "I'm fine. I’m more than fine. That was amazing."
Jack hesitated, then laughed awkwardly. "Okay, good. Because I was gonna... your ass looks so fucking hot, all red like that and covered with cum. But I should... let me grab you a shirt or something.”
"Don't worry about it." Y/N pushed back, balancing on the running board as she shimmied her panties back up and then flipped her skirt back down over them before stepping down and turning to face him. "It's all washable."
Jack looked at her, a crease on his forehead betraying his concern as he lifted a hand to her cheek and tilted her head up. His eyes darted as he took in her face and expression. Then, apparently satisfied that she was as okay as she said she was, he relaxed and stooped down to kiss her.
"Will you come to my next game?" Jack murmured. "After my suspension's done?"
"Depends.” Y/N said, kissing him back. "Are you gonna punch a guy in the face again?"
"Baby, if all I have to do to fuck you like this again is not punch a guy in the face, I'm the luckiest guy alive. I'd punch myself in the face to do this all over again."
"No punching anyone in the face.” She laughed as he wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her still-naked torso in warmth. "Yes, I'll come to your game, and if you don't act like an asshole, we can do this all over again."
"You're amazing.” Jack murmured. "Fucking amazing. I'm gonna take you home and run you a bath. Then, I’m gonna wash your hair for you and give you a massage and then kiss you all over and eat your pussy for hours." He kissed her again, then let go and bent over so he could pick up her bra for her before tracking down her shirt that had somehow ended up in the backseat of the car.
#jack hughes#jack hughes x you#jack hughes one shot#jack hughes blurb#jack hughes fanfiction#jack hughes fic#jack hughes x reader#jack hughes imagine#jack hughes smut#jack hughes x female reader#jack hughes x fem!reader#jack hughes x y/n#new jersey devils
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𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍 | 𝐣. 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬
₊⊹ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 — secrets are best kept buried, just like your tangled relationship with your best friend’s older brother.
₊⊹ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — unrequited love ( that heart wrenching shit ), cursing? weird mentions and descriptions of blood, cursing ( lots of it ), yelling / arguing ( LOTS of it ), heavy angst with a dash of laughter, kind of OMC x reader but not too much, jealousy, kinda possessiveness ( from jack… had to do it ), emotional distress and all that good stuff
₊⊹ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — jack hughes x f!reader , OMC x f!reader (briefly), best friend!luke hughes x f!reader
₊⊹ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 — i’ve returned from a million year hiatus with this BIG BITCH and i’m sorry for it. may write a pt. 2 w a happy ending bc i’m a slut for them. anyway, enjoy! request if you’d like. love you guys.
𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
You had existed within the world of Jack Hughes since your freshman year of high school.
Existed. Not an integral part, nor a spoke on the wheel of many friends he already had. Truthfully, you were only acquainted with him because of his younger brother, Luke; your freshman biology lab partner, and eventual best friend. Years had passed since you first met Luke—no longer were you the wide-eyed fifteen-year-old crossing the threshold from child to near-adult. Now, you were an adult. Twenty, with two more years of college stretched out before you, seemingly everything had changed.
Well, except for the lead weight chained to your ankle—the fundamental and inexorable truth that you were still in love with Jack Hughes.
It started as most consuming things do: a small idea, watered by brief looks, a brush of heated fingertips against your hand, or arm, or waist—or anywhere, really. A head rush that sent you meters under waves of excitement and anticipation. Loving Jack was like having a fever that never broke; it persisted, a dull ache that squeezed your skull each time he was near. Even now, five years later, the flashing of blue eyes—never brimmed with what you knew was embarrassingly reflected in your own—was enough to make sweat bead at your palms.
It never grew into more than a hope, a wishful desire. But wishing seldom got anyone anywhere, and it surely hadn’t helped you. When the months turned warm and spring faded into summer, the overwhelming ache of freedom that came with warm weather and the end of the hockey season drew Luke and his brothers to Sanibel—a beach so wrought with memories of youth and foolish memories that the idea of going another year made dread settle like steel in your bones. They’d bought it after a vacation there a few years ago, and the rest was history.
But, of course, Luke—the youngest of three—never took no for an answer.
“You can’t miss this year,” he had insisted. The Devils had their hopes cut short once more—this time in an second round exit to Carolina. Ergo, the expected departure time had been bumped up significantly. Vancouver had missed the playoffs altogether.
You stood silent, tearing away skin from your nail-beds as Luke leaned against the kitchen counter. The cold metal of the fridge pressing into the bare strip of skin on your back was the only thing keeping you present in the conversation.
You hated how Luke did this—he’d take your silence over text as an invitation to barge his way into your apartment, destroying the barrier of safety and excuses a phone provided, and ask you face-to-face. And how could you say no? You never had before, and look where that got you. No closer to removing hooks branded with the name Jack from your heart.
“Luke…” you sighed, only dropping your hands when blood bubbled to the surface of your torn skin. Pain rippled down your fingertips, but you ignored it. The dread that quickened your pacing heart was too overwhelming a sensation. “I don’t know—maybe I should—”
“Skip out?” Luke rounded the kitchen counter and came to stand in front of you. “No way, Bells. You have to come. Otherwise I’ll be alone all summer.”
You could have scoffed if you cared more. Bells. That dumb nickname Jack had given you years ago—according to him, it was because you were such a silent walker, you required a bell to be heard. Aside from the embarrassment you got from being called a childhood nickname even now, it reminded you that your existence was always going to be tied to Jack. A piece of him carried with you, a cage keeping your heart from beating without him; the bright red ribbon tied around your wrist that screamed I Love Jack Hughes!
No matter what, it would always be him. You tried; God, did you try. Hearing stories of his hookups, the life of a single, superstar hockey player should have been enough to send your stupid childhood crush to its grave, but as if cursed by a necromancer, the mere mention of Jack brought it right back to life. It was a cruel cycle that just wouldn’t end. And you knew going to that damned beach house would only prolong the life of the indestructible feeling more.
Jack was tarnished jewelry, rubbing your skin green and raw and wrong, and yet—you could never seem to take it off, even when it made you look foolish.
Silence fell like thick fog. Luke’s eyes roved along your face, as if trying to read a book with the letters smudged. “C’mon, Bells. You have fun every year, and I don’t want to have a summer without you.”
“Jack and Quinn will be there,” you said, voice low. Pathetic anxiety swelled in your chest like the forecast of a hurricane. Even saying his name tightened your veins. “Trevor, Alex, and Cole, too—I don’t need to go, Luke. Won’t it be weird?”
An unamused look graced Luke’s face. “You go with us every year. Why would it be different now?”
You wanted to curse Luke for being so persistent. Part of you wished you could just scream that you loved his brother, but couldn’t. You never could. Loving Jack ensured you lost someone—Luke, who would never get over the thought of you potentially sleeping with Jack; and well, if that failed, you also fully lost Jack. Unrequited love confessions made fools of ghosts.
To Jack, you were a ghost. Haunting his life, disrupting some times, but never there long enough to be seen. And even if he did, he convinced himself you weren’t there, that you didn’t even exist. Maybe it were best if you moved on and let yourself rest. Ghosts haunt their murderers, but Jack hadn’t killed you, you’d killed yourself—hoping, wishing, praying he would take a moment to believe and see you. But he never did. So you floated through his life until the moment you were no longer confined by unfinished business.
And maybe that was what you needed. Closure, the severing of a tie that was only hurting you to hold on to. And maybe, closure would come this summer. To look on Jack and not feel your heart race, but settle into a quiet murmur, a healthy pace—to free yourself from the confines of this painful love and finally move on. Haunt the graveyard no longer; sitting by and hoping he would place flowers by the grave.
“Okay,” you said quietly, glancing down at your sweater. Crimson marks stained the white fabric. You’d accidentally wiped your fingers on the cloth. “You win.”
Maybe this would be the summer you let go of Jack Hughes.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆
The cry of gulls and gentle breeze of salt-bitter air welcomed you back as the car breezed past the Welcome to Sanibel Island! sign. It felt like a taunt, as if you were passing into the circus, the main star of a show you never signed up for. With Sanibel came Jack, and the potential end to a love you’d clawed onto for dear life for the last half-decade. It felt strange, almost wrong, to imagine a world where Jack Hughes didn’t exist as the basis for all romantic interests. To hold someone’s hand and not compare the texture to his. To lose the anticipated blush that warmed your face each time he glanced at you. Because losing Jack was like losing a piece of yourself—all your life you’d associated love with him, and what would there be afterwards?
Sandy beaches rolled endless at the horizon, dotted with the figures of vacationers and locals alike. You glanced to Luke, his hand working the steering wheel as he drove the long-winded path to the beach house. Strands of your hair were roused by the invisible hand of the wind, no doubt knotting it, but you were too enraptured in what ifs and a potential future to much care.
“Are you excited?” Luke asked, looking to you. Elbow leaned against the doorframe, you managed to work your mouth into a smile. Even if it was twinged with apprehension.
“Of course. I love it here. I’m glad you guys were rich enough to buy it.”
Luke laughed.
And that was true. Summer here felt endless. Nights spent on the beach, the tickle of warmth from a stick-lit fire cradling you against the rush of cold blowing off the ocean. The bitter rush of alcohol that stung your veins. Hair made wet by the sea, drying beneath the warm fingertips of sunlight. Skin richening into a burn, soothed only by aloe vera and a cold shower. Laughter between friends and the restless nights talking. All of it was perfect. For you, summer was Jack. Brief and sweet, the thing you looked forward to seeing each year. But it never lasted long enough to truly feel, something you could never touch.
You wondered if you made it obvious. If Luke suspected, or Quinn; the eldest Hughes was always the most perceptive. Any time Jack said something that made your teeth clench with hurt, Quinn glanced at you. A reassuring smile. The extended hand in the dark. But if he knew, he never commented on it.
“Who’s already here?” you asked, eyes catching on the brightly colored houses lining the beach. Blue, pink, the odd green, melding together as the car breezed into the strip of land the beach house rested on.
You almost dreaded the answer. “Quinn and Jack,” Luke responded, voice a little distant—his eyes scanned for the house, too focused on his task to much care for the cringe you gave at the mention of Jack’s name.
You shouldn’t have been surprised, really. It was his house. Yet you found yourself hoping you’d at least beaten him here so you could mentally prepare for his arrival. As it were, you had about five minutes to do that.
Tires crunched against sand as Luke pulled into the driveway. Lead solidified in your bones until you felt as though you were going to sink straight into the earth. A deep breath expanded your chest, and you watched as Luke took out his phone—presumably to text that he’d arrived. Escaping the car, Luke stared at you expectantly. Your body pressed against the doorframe, eyes glanced out at the horizon. Smeared like a painting across the sky, a myriad of colors—oranges, pinks, yellows—foretold the coming of night. Maybe you could stay in here until everyone was asleep, to sneak past Jack and not have to—
The door to the passenger side opened, and there stood Luke, a hand on his hip. Making grabby hands like a toddler, he motioned for you to come. “What’s up with you, Bells? You’re so… quiet.”
You snorted. “That’s not news.”
“You know what I meant,” retorted Luke, grabbing your elbow with a gentle grip. “What’s got your head off to sea?”
Your brother! you wanted to scream, but found your tongue bolted to the bottom of your mouth. Offering instead a smile, you allowed Luke to help you out of the Jeep. Soft sand caught your feet, cushioning the drop. It felt strange to be back here again, but somehow, you knew it wouldn’t be the same. A rueful feeling ached your bones. This would maybe be the last time you’d ever come to the beach house. If your closure went as you intended… there would be no more summers in Sanibel. No more late beach nights. No more salt air creating a stick sheen on your skin. No more Jack Hughes.
“Just thinking about summer,” was all you said.
Like everything, its temporariness was what made it special.
Together, you and Luke began to unpack the bags from the trunk of the Jeep. “Any fun activities planned this summer?” you asked, hoping to alleviate the tension making your head pound.
Luke gave you a backwards glance as he practically leaned his whole body into the trunk. “New bar opened on the strip,” he told you. “I think we have to go.”
Your eyebrows crinkled. “We’re twenty, Luke. And this is a tourist town, they’re going to ID.”
Luke only smiled, clearly not thwarted by your pessimism. “Lucky then that you don’t have to worry. I’ve got it all figured out.”
You didn’t want to ask how, so instead you sighed, hauling your bag onto your shoulder. “Whatever. But I am not ending up in jail because you want to underage drink in public, Luke.”
There was no response to that. Slinking past you with elegance you thought his large frame incapable of, Luke began walking up the driveway and towards the beach house. It looked exactly the same as it had last summer—a gentle gray exterior, like the storm clouds that sometimes brewed over the sea, and a darker roof. White wood bordered the many windows, some with their own balconies. Rust spotted the metal of the garage, slowly encroaching from the outside. A simple wood fence enclosed the sides of the house, leading to the back where you knew a pool hid. Everything was exactly the same, yet so different. Last time you were here, it all felt so unknown, like the end of the summer would make or break the rest of your year. You’d hoped then that maybe Jack would notice, that it would finally be the year he looked at you as more than Luke’s best friend. You’d packed your cutest outfits, the bikinis your friends said would make any man double-take, yet nothing worked. It had been the same as every year before. Jack was nice, but indifferent. Friendly, but inattentive.
However, this year wasn’t like every other year. You didn’t come here with starry eyes and a child-like hope that Jack would pick you after years of oblivion. You came here to finally let go of him, to move on, to bury a love you’d kept on life support for years and years, in the hopes it would come back to life.
Feet making indents in the sand as you walked up the driveway, you saw Jack’s car—a silver Mercedes-Benz—parked a bit ahead. You hated the stutter in your step when you saw it, and you hated more the stoppage in your heart when you heard laughter rounding the side of the house. There was two voices, interwoven and nearly indistinguishable, but you’d know his laugh anywhere, know it blind. All the feelings you’d shoved aside in favor of an aloof disposition crawled their way out of shallow graves. A shaky breath, the fluttering of your eyes, and suddenly—there he was.
Trailing behind Quinn, soaked black swim shorts clinging to wide thighs, a bare chest coated in droplets of water, tousled hair styled by the unconscious hand of water. He smiled, maybe at something Quinn had said, you weren’t sure, and it all came back. How could you get closure when he incited such a deep, profound longing in your soul? When he tugged you towards him the the moon to the tide?
You’d stopped walking. When, you weren’t sure. Time became an endless thing as Jack’s eyes flickered to you. Those blue eyes shot through with something you weren’t sure how to describe, but he grinned—at you—and then he was walking towards you. All at once you wanted to lob a rock at Luke’s head for making you come, and then kill yourself for even thinking for one moment closure would be remotely possible when you still were in love with Jack.
His presence was all-consuming, like stepping to close to the fire. Fingers worn by years of use brushed your own when he took your luggage, carrying it with ease. Even older than you, Jack never lost that youthful sense of delight you’d seen on kids when they got a new toy. He’d always been the sun. For you, and for everyone around him.
You’d never deluded yourself into thinking you were the only one who loved Jack, or wanted him. But it didn’t stop you from wishing you were the one he’d choose.
“Bells,” Jack greeted, warmth oozing from his words, so much that you wanted to yell at him that he wasn’t being fair. How could he expect you not to want him? How, when he was so nice to you, yet so indifferent? “How was the trip?”
Blinking, you allowed him to gathering your luggage and begin walking back to the house. Water transferred from his body to your tote bag, but you found yourself not caring. He could ruin everything you’d brought and it wouldn’t matter. They’d at least be stained with his touch.
“Good,” you managed, trying to keep your feet even on the lumpy sand. Why they’d decided not to install an actual drive way would never make sense to you. “Not a lot of traffic. Luke didn’t kill us, so that’s a plus.”
Jack laughed. It rumbled through his chest and echoed like a victory trumpet in the air. “He’s a shit driver,” he said. “Shoulda convinced him to let you drive with me.”
Tar filled your lungs. Words failed you, and so stupidity, you said: “But you drove with Quinn.”
Jack quirked an eyebrow. Readjusted your bag on his shoulder. “Quinn’s a big boy. He can travel alone.”
Before you could stop yourself, the words flew out of your mouth, “So you think I’m a little girl?”
Jack paused. Glanced over at you. The meeting of two sets of eyes holding extremely different emotions. After a moment, he cut the tension with another laugh. “You are two years younger than me.”
“So is Luke, and last I checked, he was the tallest,” you retorted, offering up a chuckle yourself. You didn’t want to give more, to give in. You had to keep that wall, even if there was already so many holes in it.
With his free hand, Jack tussled your hair, wiggling your head around. You batted him off, feigning annoyance, when really, you wanted him to keep touching you. You could have groaned. God, you were pathetic.
Entering the beach house was like entering freedom. It was typically decorated, that seaside aesthetic Ellen had done herself the first year the boys bought the house. Fishing net and shells in jars, accompanied by hanging hammocks and white coral displays hadn’t moved, and you felt the air greet you, blowing in from the open back door that looked over the pool—and the beach. Salty air snaked up your airway, a welcome sting. A missed one. You weren’t sure if you’d miss Jack or the beach house more.
Luke disappeared with Quinn, the latter offering a gentle smile—perhaps a little pity twinged in. That left only you and Jack, standing in the wide mouth of the living room, the sunset sky bathing your skin in those candle-light oranges you so loved. Beside you, the gentle pat, pat, pat of water dripping off of Jack’s shorts was all that was heard. You took a moment more to enjoy the feeling of peace you got from being here, before Jack snapped you back to the current with a throat clear.
“Want me to bring your stuff to your room?” Your room. The one you’d claimed all those years ago. A room that—after this summer, perhaps—would bo longer be yours. You’d spent hours decorating it, little trinkets imposed with sentiment covering the room. The sea blue sheets. The balcony overlooking the ocean. All of it would be gone.
You had to inhale to stave off the melancholia crawling up your throat like bile. “Yeah, thanks.”
It was hard not to look at Jack. He was always the center of attention—on the ice, off the ice; in his personal life, in the eye of the public. He just was. Never asked for it, always had it. Girls wanted him, boys wanted to be him. You imagined it got tedious after so many years, but at the same time, you wondered what it would be like to be that loved. So adored you could have anything and anyone. You found you’d trade it all for him, for Jack, if he simply asked. You knew he wouldn’t do the same. Why give up freedom for a small-town girl that his brother had dragged around for longer than he probably should?
Up the stairs, through a hallway, and there your room was. You tried to revel in it, in the finality of it all. Convinced you were never coming back here. That Jack would never carry your luggage for you again, making a mess of the floors just to help you out. Inside, you saw the bed was made just like how you left it. A small whale plush—affectionately named Hershey for the chocolate it had been holding when it was won at the arcade—was sat just before the pillows. You hadn’t left him there. Hershey was a cherish piece of history; Jack had won him for you, two years back. Whales were your favorite animal, a gentle giant, the crown of the sea. He knew it, and he had gotten him for you. Maybe that was what kept your hope alive, the little things, the moments where he was more than just an unreachable deity you prayed to repeatedly just for him to notice you.
You glanced over your shoulder as Jack placed your luggage down with a thud. He rubbed his hands together. “Found him downstairs,” he said, gesturing to Hershey, “figured I’d bring him home.”
Home. A word that made your gut turn. His home, but never yours.
“Oh, yeah,” you said lamely. “Wouldn’t want to lose Hershey. You tried so hard to win him.”
Jack scoffed. “I was playing against Trevor. I’d be embarrassed if I didn’t win.”
“Don’t talk about Trevor like that,” you teased with a smile. Finding yourself slipping back into the dynamic. You’d try to make him laugh, just to make him smile. Just to make him see you could make him happy.
Jack only rolled his eyes. You attempted to side-step him, only for your foot to catch his own. A hand immediately came to your rescue, steadying you. A hot flush pinkened your cheeks and slid down your spine. His breath fanned over your temple, a catalyst for every single one of your nerves fraying. You hated that he could do this to you, without trying, without caring, when you tried so hard to avoid falling back into him like a fool. It wasn’t fair—but when was love?
Jack pulled his hand away, the phantom of his fingers imprinted on your skin. Marked. Just like you’d always been. “Sorry,” you muttered, embarrassment eating at you.
His laugh was a reward. “It’s fine,” he responded. It was always fine with Jack. Never hard feelings. You didn’t think he had a aggressive bone in his body, even after years and years of playing physical hockey. “Even after all the years, you still can’t stay on your feet.”
A reference to your clumsiness. Which wasn’t clumsiness. It was just Jack. You never stumbled around anyone but him. “Yeah,” you bit out, probably harsher than intended. “Guess I haven’t changed.”
But you had. And you needed to find a way out of the hole that was Jack Hughes before you were buried alive.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆
Letting go of things has never been easy. Marked with scratches and tears, everything you’d ever relinquished never left the same. How could it, when you’d spent so much time loving it, cherishing it, only for it to be cruelly ripped from your grasp? Letting go had never been easy, because you’d never been ready to lose what was taken, because it was never ready to leave you either. That’s why it was so easy to reason with yourself about finally moving on from Jack Hughes.
It wasn’t mutually assured destruction. There would be no blowing out of stars and creation of supernovas when you finally put the love to rest. Because it was you. It was never him. He didn’t love you—hell, he didn’t even know you loved him. Perhaps there laid the foundation for burial, a tomb within the dunes, marked with a single shell. When the time came, no claw marks would mar Jack’s skin. He was never yours to mark.
Two weeks had since passed. Settling in had always been easy, but this time, it felt like a final meal before execution. A good thing before the inevitable end. Nights spent by the pool, the reflection of the water a perfect mirror of Jack’s eyes. Drinking and laughing and talking—a chosen family, but one you’d soon depart. You’d always have Luke, the last cord of the fraying rope, unbreakable and timeless. But never again would you tug on that rope, just to see the other end. To move on from Jack would be to forget him, as much as you could.
The summer sun blistered overhead, biting your skin until red bloomed. Splayed out on a beach towel, you opted to suntan while the boys enjoyed the water. You’d get in, eventually, preferably when Jack was not in. You didn’t want the distraction of his body to further make you doubt your ability to handle change. Back facing the sun, you remained entranced by the book in front of you, instead imagining your love life was as explosive and beautiful as the story written for you. When you went to flip the page, something hit your back—a ball, you guessed, from the feeling of impact—making your already sunburnt skin sting like hell.
“Shit,” you cursed, placing your book face down in order to stand. Glancing to the side you figured the ball bounced off to, there sat the culprit: a black-and-white soccer ball, covered in patches of sand.
You heard some shouting, and opted to be a good samaritan and grab it. As you bent down to pick up the sandy ball, another pair of hands invaded your vision and brushed your own. Rightening, you saw a tall man—your age, presumably—who immediately began spewing apologies of all kinds.
He had that youthful look to him, the same as Jack. Golden curls fell around his eyes, slightly sandy, a bit wet, but gleaming like rays of sunlight. Familiar eyes, the blue of the sky after a storm, peered at you with a mixture of concern and apology. He was beautiful, in an artful way—a hand-sculpted effigy, lain in the town square to be worshiped. You figured with age and maturity he presently lacked, he’d be all the more beautiful.
But he wasn’t Jack.
“I am—so sorry!” he spewed words like bullets, hoping one apology landed. You bit down a laugh at the desperation leaking into his voice. “I wasn’t watching where I was kicking. Sorta shanked it—scratch that, really shanked it. Are you okay—I meant to ask—”
“I’m fine,” you cut him off, sparing him. As endearing as his apology was, you could see red rising to his face—you knew what it felt like. “Although I don’t recommend you shoot for the Premier League.”
Upon realizing you weren’t angry, the boy relaxed. “Yeah, as if,” he laughed, tossing the balls back and forth between his hands. “You are okay, right?”
Your eyebrow quirked. “Unless you’re secretly the Hulk, I don’t think you kicking a ball at me could do any serious damage.” Your fingers grazed the spot the ball struck. “Might have a weird mark on my back, ‘s all.”
Goldie Locks, as you’d taken to calling in him your head, circled around you and bent at his knees. His fingertips grazed the small of your back, rattling your spine into a shiver. You heard a subdued sound—something between a giggle and a sharp exhale of air through his noise—and twisted to look down at him.
“It looks dumb, huh?” you said, trying to feel the patter marked on your back with your fingers.
Goldie Locks shook his head. “You wear it well.”
“I better, or I’ll give you a matching mark,” you teased. He stood up, imposing. “Really, though, I’m fine…”
He caught on swiftly. “Jackson. Or Jack.”
You could have cursed the Gods and Fate and her trifling ways. Of course the first cute guy you find has to be him, but not be him. The great irony of life, you supposed it was. Finally ready to move on, and your tugged right back to square one.
A tight smile made its way onto your face. “Jackson.”
Jackson opened his mouth to say something, but the voice of the man you quite literally could not escape interrupted him. “Bells? You okay?”
You thought briefly of faking fainting.
“I’m fine,” you responded, without looking at Jack. You couldn’t. But you wanted to. “He just hit me with a soccer ball and was apologizing.”
Jack imposed into your vision anyway. Jaw working, the rapid flex of his muscles that told he ran to you. Suddenly, the sweltering heat was no longer the cause for your sweating. “Hit you?” he repeated, glancing to Jackson with a raised brow.
Shoved into an unwanted spotlight, Jackson immediately backpedaled. “Accident. Didn’t mean to hit your girl.”
Your girl.
Your girl.
Your girl.
Those two simple words repeated like a scratched vinyl in your mind. Jack’s girl. His. It was something that would have made past you puff your chest. It made present you feel sick. Another pull towards him. Another lock trapping you inside of the room. In the past, you wouldn’t have said anything—wouldn’t have fought it. You’d have waited to see if Jack would deny it; he always did. Another nail in the coffin. How many were needed until you finally understood?
But you were now actively trying to fight the feeling seemingly hardwired into your blood. The instinct that told you to love Jack. “Oh, we’re not dating,” you told Jackson. Blue eyes flittered to you—was he surprised? For once you denied, distanced. Was he confused? “He’s my best friend’s older brother.”
You didn’t know why you added that part. It wasn’t necessary—Jackson didn’t care about your relationships to Jack past the words not dating. But here you were, petty pride swelling in your chest at finally getting to stick it to Jack. Finally being the denier instead of the denied.
“Oh,” Jackson quirked his brow. Glanced at Jack; he said nothing. “Is it okay if I have your number?”
That shocked you. And it clearly shocked Jack, as well. His shoulders tensed, eyes darting to you. Gauging your response. You would have said no before. Would have made some dumb excuse. If you accepted, you distanced yourself from Jack, showed indifference. Past you couldn’t have that.
Present you could.
“Sure,” you said.
This summer would be different.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆
You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been on a date. Michael Neely in eleventh grade, but that was in major part because he looked entirely too similar to Jack—didn’t act like him, however. Didn’t smile like the sun’s envy. He just wasn’t Jack. For as long as you could remember, no one had been. Isolating yourself for years because of the off chance Jack would finally admit it, as if he’d been pulling a big joke on you and had actually wanted you back. But he never did. And you couldn’t wait around forever hoping he would. He never asked you to.
You went through your hair with a brush one final time before deeming yourself presentable. A knit green tank-top paired with denim shorts, warm vanilla perfume—one you’d used since Jack had offered a compliment on the scent—and a smile that you hoped appeared genuine. For once you were excited, not thinking of Jack, measuring Jackson up to him. You let Jackson be himself, undeterred by the ghost of your unrequited love.
The downstairs of the beach house was alive with loud laughter and conversation—you hated you could still pick out Jack’s laugh, could imagine his face when he did; the gentle scrunch of his nose, the squint of his eyes. You wondered if it would ever go away, that sixth sense. If you’d ever be truly and unapologetically free.
Rounding the corner, you were met with the sight of the three brothers playing what looked to be Chel, their eyes fixated on the large TV in front of the couch they were splayed on. You debated slinking out of the house, silent as they’d always teased you for being, just to avoid the awkward conversation you knew would come from the knowledge you—Bells, infatuated devotee of Jack Hughes—were going on a date with a boy you’d known a week.
Fiddling with your fingers, you stood at the back of the couch. Not wanting to interrupt their game, you went to simply tap Luke on the shoulder, hoping he’d eventually pause it. He wasn’t the one to do it, however. Luke and Queen groaned in annoyance when the screen paused, glancing over to the only person who could have done it. Jack didn’t spare them a glance. His homely blue eyes were on you, eyebrows furrowed. Following his gaze, Luke and Quinn gave you a once-over.
“Hell are you going all dolled up like that, Bells?” Luke asked, flicking you on the wrist.
You didn’t really think you were dolled up. “I have a thing called a date, Luke.”
That incited the expected awkward silence. As if drawn by a unbeatable force, you found yourself glancing to Jack. White-knuckled, he gripped the controller with such force you were surprised it didn’t break on him entirely. You briefly wondered what his issue was before Quinn spoke.
“With who?” Surprise laced his question, and you hated it. Hated that he thought you were incapable of moving on from Jack—or maybe he didn’t think you incapable, just averse.
“That guy from the beach, right, Bells?” Luke piped up, turning his body on the couch to face you. “What was his name? Jack?”
You ground your jaw. “Jackson.”
Luke shrugged. “Same thing.”
It wasn’t. You really hoped it wasn’t.
You turned to leave, intent on scurrying out like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, when a voice called you back. Always calling you back, just when you tried to leave.
“Bells,” Jack spoke, voice drawled. You didn’t turn. “Where are you going?”
You blinked at him, dumbfounded. “On a date…?”
“Where?” You figured it could have been a growl if he were less careful. Luke and Quinn glanced at each other. You fought back a scream.
Why do you care? Why now? When I’m about to move on? I spent so much time waiting for you. I’m done.
You wanted to scream those words at him, but of course, like most confessions, they went unsaid.
“The cove,” you humored him, eyes flicking to your fingers. When had they started bleeding? The cove, of course, was as it sounded: a small chunk of land past the rock barrier at the beach, cornered in by mangroves and hidden away from sight, Jackson claimed it the perfect place for a seaside picnic. You weren’t one to argue.
When Jack made no effort to respond, you finally left. Jackson wasn’t even there yet, but you couldn’t stay inside anymore. Indecision and confusion were eating away at your gut, turning your mind into a war zone. You didn’t understand—couldn’t understand. Years spent in the shadow of Jack Hughes had taught you to fear the light, that if you even for a second let the rays touch you, came the consequence of losing the shade forever. And you’d tossed those fears aside, let yourself into the light, and that only made the dark come back in full force.
It wasn’t fair. Why weren’t you allowed to move on? To finally break the bonds that you yourself had made? Jack had never kept you near, and yet now he didn’t seem to want to let you go. Like a child unwilling to relinquish a toy just because it was theirs.
You tried not to dwell on it. Not when Jackson pulled up, his 4Runner breaking the noise of gulls calls and rumbling cars. Not when he led you out to the cove, picnic basket in hand, like an old-timey romance your mother used to watch. You tried, but just like everything concerning not thinking about Jack, miserably failed. Jackson was attentive, sweet, he did it all right. And as much as you hated yourself for thinking it, it was true: he wasn’t Jack.
“Are you a local?” Jackson asked you. Your mouth closed around a strawberry, staining your fingertips red—better than blood, you supposed.
The tide lapped gently at the sand before your feet, spanning out from beneath the quilt laid beneath you and Jackson. Always coming close, but never quite enough to wet your feet. Gnarled roots of mangrove trees split the sand, boxing the little cove in. You remembered coming here with Jack once, when he was trying to make up for throwing you in the pool with your phone in your back pocket. He hadn’t set up a picnic, only sat beside you in the sand and offered you Hershey. A silent apology. One you never forgot.
Trying to build over that memory was like trying to filter the salt out of the sea. There was too much to ever fully get rid of it.
A breeze tickled your legs. Sand parted between your toes. Everything felt normal; normal, you realized, wasn’t always right.
“No,” you responded after some time, tossing the strawberry head to the sea. “I come here every year with my best friend, his brothers, and their friends.”
Jackson nodded. “The guy from the beach, the one I thought you were dating—” You fought the urge to cringe, “—that was Jack Hughes, right?”
Always the icon. Beloved, beautiful Jack Hughes.
You glanced at Jackson. He smiled. “Yeah, I’ve known him for years. His brother is my best friend.”
“Yeah, I remember you saying that,” he laughed, a whimsical sound. Off-key; pitched too high. You didn’t think you’d be able to differentiate it in a room of others. “How’d that even happen?”
You grinned. Memories of freshman year. Restless nights spent studying in Luke’s room. False trips to the bathroom just for a chance at a glance of his brother. “Luke and I met in our freshman year biology class. He absolutely sucked. Had to tutor the poor kid so he wouldn’t fail.”
Jackson shook his head, the mess of golden curls crowning him danced with the movement. Raising a finger, he wagged it at you as if apprehending a naughty dog. “Hold on now. Biology is damn hard, cut him some slack.”
You giggled. Almost cringed. You felt like a schoolgirl again, trying to slow time as a cute boy walked past. “Maybe if you’re a loser.”
More time passed, the sun’s rays dulled to a warm orange instead of a blinding yellow. The sea calmed. Unseen birds chirped and sung their tunes, never to be understood. Jackson asked questions, answered some. He indulged, dug deep, hoping for treasure. It was strange, to fix your hair and bat your lashes in the hopes of impressing a boy who wasn’t Jack Hughes. Stranger yet you were enjoying Jackson, even fantasizing about a second date. The cold fingers of the wind rose gooseflesh in its wake; your arms rose to combat it, folding against your body in hopes to retain heat. Jackson peered over.
“Cold?” he asked, presumptuous and forward and hoping; one arm already out of his cardigan.
You nodded, murmuring a thanks as Jackson draped his sweater over your shoulders. At once the smell of salt and secondhand smoke snaked up your nose, invaded your airways. It was so different from the warm amber you imagined your skin would faintly smell of if Jack made you his—he smelled like heartbreak and sleepless nights and longing, something you feared was permanently smeared on your flesh. You found yourself heating at the scent, blushing, a slight twinge of excitement at the thought of being claimed by another boy. Foolishly, maybe, you thought it could purge Jack from you, draw over the marks he’d made all over your flesh.
You’d had boys like you before, liked them back—felt the head rush that accompanied youthful yearning. None had ever compared to Jack. Like a stain on your favorite shirt, he’d never come out of your heart, a scar that pulsed every so often, a reminder that he was still there. That he’d never go away. You realized now, looking at Jackson—the soft lines that sprouted next to his eyes when he smiled, a mess of curly blond hair that seemed to fall perfectly in front of his eyes, catered specifically to his beauty—that the memories of wounds weren’t always bad. They weren’t just reminders that you’d been hurt, but that you survived.
Before your mind could conjure any wishful images of you and Jackson, he spoke, “Tomorrow night, there’s a beach bonfire.” His finger extended, curled a stray piece of hair out of your eyes. “Something the locals do every year to kick off summer.”
You smiled—genuinely smiled, not just a flash of teeth forced in order to hide a grimace. Not the smiles you got so used to giving Jack. “And you’re telling me this because…”
Banter. He could tell you knew where he was getting, yet wanted him to spell it out anyway. “Go with me? I think you’d enjoy it,” he said, voice gentle over the lap of waves against the shore. You could almost feel the world hold its breath, awaiting your answer. Would you cling to a hope and dream, or go with what was sitting in front of you? “Plus, having a pretty girl with a perfect personality on my arm wouldn’t hurt too bad.”
“Hmm…” You faked contemplation, tapping your chin. When Jackson flicked your forehead, you scoffed, batting at his hand. “Well now I’m reconsidering my answer, ass.”
Warm fingers wrapped around your wrist, caught it midair, a fish hooked on a line. Feverish, a heat you’d only associated with one person your whole life rose to your head as Jackson’s eyes met yours. Not blue, green. Your mind didn’t even attempt to paint over them, to erase his color, to make him him. Lips wet by eager tongues, a mutual desire. When had you last even considered another man romantically, sexually?
The answer was: not since Jack Hughes barged his way into your life and trapped your heart behind a wall, tossing away the key.
Before anything could be realized, before you could experience your first kiss in what felt like forever, a dull vibrating ripped the moment to shreds. Annoyance flashed in your heart, and a part of you told you to ignore it—but you couldn’t. What if something had gone wrong? Apologetically, you tore your eyes away from Jackson and dug your phone out of your back pocket.
The name flashing on the screen had your heart clenching.
Jack.
“Yes?” Confused, clipped. Why was Jack calling you?
“Oh, uh, hey,” came Jack’s voice—you frowned at his tone. He sounded as if he didn’t even know why he was calling. “I was just… calling to see when you’d be home tonight.”
A scream bubbled in your throat. This is why he was calling you? “This could have been a text.”
Jack laughed dryly. “Guess so. Figured you wouldn’t have seen it.”
You didn’t want to admit he was right. “It’s what…” You took your phone away from your face to look at the time. 8:43. “8:43? I’m not sure, Jack. We’re still at the cove.”
Shuffling on the other end. Your eyes darted to Jackson; he seemed intrigued at who was calling you. “Right, well… Luke wanted to know, so…”
You frowned. “Then why didn’t Luke call me?”
“Playing Chel,” was all you got in response.
Pettiness whirled in your chest like a maelstrom. For once you had the upper hand; cards hidden against your chest, not splayed out for all to see. Maybe with the right move, Jack would fold after so many years of winning. It was childish, you knew that, but the child in you who’d hoped and hoped and hoped only to get turned down every single time awoke—wanted Jack to feel the burn she’d felt when he’d sunk his hooks into her heart.
“I may not come home tonight,” you told him, relished in the pause. Jackson’s eyes flickered to you, curious.
“What?” Jack asked, voice darkened with knowing and other terrible emotions. “What do you mean?”
He knew very well what you meant.
“Absolutely fucking not.” You resisted the urge to recoil at the scorching flame simmering in Jack’s tone; he rarely ever spoke to anyone like that, least of all you. “You met him this week, Bells. If you aren’t home by 10:30 I’m coming to find you.”
Rage flared. You weren’t sure why. Maybe because you could pretend like he cared. As if he had any right to tell you when you had to be home. “So what? Now I have a curfew?” You didn’t want Jackson to overhear the spat, but it’s clear he was watching, listening, picking apart the conversation. “Forgot the part where you were my mother, Jack.”
“You’re staying in my house,” he retorted sharply. “10:30. I’m not kidding.”
After that, the line went dead.
Fire lashed in your veins, threatening to burn your being to ash. How dare he? Just as you inched out of the cage, he tries to drag you back in. Why did he care now? Why couldn’t he have before?
Why?
Why?
Why?
Tears taunted you. Tried to slip past your eyes. You had given so many tears to Jack, expected him to bottle them and place them on a shelf, a reminder to never hurt you again. He never did. The moon’s rays were a solace, an extended comfort from who knew loneliness better than anything. Soft fingers touched your arm, didn’t push—only rested there, a reminder of consolation.
“He’s like an older brother, huh?” Jackson tried to alleviate your melancholy, revive your playful spirit like a necromancer.
It only made you sadder. If only Jack were like an older brother, if only your heart hadn’t chosen him to beat for.
“Yeah,” you chuckled dryly. “Let’s be glad he won’t be there tomorrow.”
A bright grin tugged on Jackson’s lips. “So you’re coming?”
You smiled.
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10:15.
The bright light of your phone screen cut through the darkness as you walked up the sandy driveway to the beach house. The departing rumble of Jackson’s 4Runner interrupted the ballad sung by the cicadas and crickets, a sound that followed you all the way to the front door. Sliding your sunflower-adorned key out of your pocket, you fiddled with the lock before finally managing your way into the house. The biting cold of the summer night was promptly chased away by the inviting warmth, but you found yourself unwilling to remove Jackson’s green cardigan. Plastic buttons twirled between your fingers, a few stitches unraveled. Well-worn, loved—smelled like summer nights and escape. You smiled to yourself.
The hum of the TV, along with its vibrant glow startled you as you crossed into the living room area. Despite the somewhat early time, you hadn’t expected anyone to be awake. But there Luke was, curled up on the couch, watching Grease. You could have laughed if you weren’t more aware; Luke had always had a major small crush on Sandy, his guilty pleasure movie, one that came with summer nights and hours talking into the AM. Rounding the foot of the couch, you plopped down next to Luke, startling him out of what appeared to be oncoming sleep.
“Back already?” he asked groggily, clearing the gravel out of his throat. He straightened, blinked a few times. “I take it you didn’t get laid.”
You glared at Luke, silently cursed his teenage-boyishness. “Not everyone fucks on the first date, dick,” you retorted, smiling. “Someone here gave me a curfew. Said he’d come looking for me if I didn’t come back in time; I wasn’t too keen on testing him.”
Luke rolled his eyes. “Cockblock,” he muttered. “Which of them was it? Quinn? He seems like the type.”
“The other one,” you corrected, earning a confused look from Luke. “Exactly! That’s what I thought. Also, did you ask Jack to ask me when I’d be home?”
“No,” Luke drawled, raising an eyebrow. “Why would I?”
That son of a bitch.
Was he just dead set on denying you happiness? Why couldn’t he just admit to caring even a little about you? Why dress up good deeds as the requests of others? Nothing about Jack made sense; it never had. You supposed that was part of the appeal, the mystery of it all. A puzzle gathering dust on the shelf, tried and forgotten for its difficulty. You’d always had a knack for choosing the hardest games.
You waved Luke off, not wanting to hear his conspiracies tonight. Maybe tomorrow, when you didn’t have the weight of a thousand unanswered questions close to caving in your chest. “Nothing,” you said. “Are Quinn and Jack awake?”
Luke eyed you. He saw through you—always had. Yet, for the sake of your dwindling sanity, chose silence. “Quinn isn’t, no,” he told you. “Went to bed like an hour ago.”
“Old man,” you commented, earning a laugh. “And Jack?”
Luke’s eyes flickered to the door leading to the back porch. A warm orange glow was visible through the drawn curtains. “He’s in the pool, I think.”
You nodded. Came to a resolution in your withering heart. “Right,” you murmured, standing. Before departing, you pressed a kiss to Luke’s cheek. “Night, Luke. Go up to your room, if you fall asleep here, I won’t be able to carry you to your bed.”
Luke rolled his eyes, nudged your leg with his knee. “How unfortunate.” Then, he stood, and disappeared up the stairs.
Dread swarmed in your stomach like a tornado, wrecking every defense you’d built up these past weeks to keep out a certain boy. You feared damage control wouldn’t be enough this time, that you couldn’t rebuild if Jack shut you down now. But you had to confront him, had to at least tell him to stop controlling you if nothing else. This summer was meant to be your closure, the final chapter in a book you never thought would end. It felt more like the procession to the grave, not the closing of a door.
What if losing your love for Jack lost you him?
The back door swung open with a squeal, piercing the once thick silence. With your presence swiftly outed, you forewent attempting discreetness, and eased out onto the pool deck. Fingers of frost grabbed for your exposed skin, only combated by Jackson’s cardigan. Bones rattling, you wondered why on earth Jack was going for a swim right now of all times.
You heard the lapping of water, roused by movement, before you saw him. The fluorescent underwater lightning cut through the darkness and reflected on your face, a myriad of whites and blues that was distinctly Jack. When you came to the pools edge, your eyes focused on him—clad in nothing but a pair of blue swim shorts—floating ok his back, eyes closed, as if imagining himself in a different place. You almost felt sorry to ruin the fabrication of his mind. Remembering your anger, you pushed aside the feeling. Why should he be given peace when he’d never given you any?
Before you could even open your mouth, his eyes opened, as if sensing you. He adjusted, treading water, as you merely assessed each other. Waiting. Who would draw first? You. It had always been you.
“I’m home now,” you bit out, your leash gone; Jackson wasn’t here to judge you. “Happy?”
Water lapped at Jack’s collarbones. You almost envied it for being able to touch him so freely. His eyes darted around you, then stopped on the cardigan. Forest green, like Jackson’s eyes. You knew he knew; you hadn’t been wearing it when you left.
“Cute,” he commented, sarcastic and dripping with cruelty you’d never heard from him before. He parted the water with ease, as if he expected everything to bend to his will.
Jack stopped where you stood at the edge. You looked down on him for once, a prick of pride stinging you as for once you had the high ground. For once, he wasn’t able to confine you with his overwhelming presence and being. Fingers curled around the edge of the pool, his hair dripping tears of chlorine-tainted water down his face, Jack merely watched you, waiting a scolding, the tantrum of a child who had what she wanted torn away.
You thought if unfair someone could be so beautiful, especially when he could never be yours.
“What is your issue?” you snapped finally, folding your arms, protecting your glass heart from his insults he’d fire like arrows. “I asked Luke, he said he never asked you what time I’d be home. Was it fun for you? To ruin my date?”
Jack scoffed. Arms corded with muscle flexed, rose from the water; a heave and he was on his feet in front of you, your leverage lost. Water bled off his body like a torrent, soaking your shoes. Droplets flicked on Jackson’s cardigan, the water staining through. You stepped back instinctively, throat tight. You hated how, even now, he had an effect on you.
“Ruin?” he echoed, eyebrows creased. “Don’t be dramatic. It wasn’t like you were planing on staying out with him past 10:30. I was doing you a favor, giving you an out.”
Classic Jack; thinking he knew better than everyone else. “You weren’t, actually,” you hissed. “I didn’t need an out, Jack; I was enjoying myself. So much so I’m going out with him again tomorrow night.”
That was unnecessary to say, you knew. A bite only given to wound him, to prove you were capable of rising from your knees and tearing down the shrine you’d devoted to him for years. Because if Jack Hughes was no longer your sun, you didn’t need to revolve around him—shine only when he was near. Pathetic and driven by childish need to probe yourself, you wanted Jack to hurt—even if you knew he never would, that he couldn’t care less about who you loved and who you were with.
You just wished that he did.
A flicker of confusion. A frown, and then, “What?”
“Jackson invited me to the beginning of summer beach bonfire,” you told him, watching Jack’s jaw tense. You wanted to look away, but couldn’t—he’d always been so encapsulating. “It’s tomorrow night.”
His presence invaded every defense you’d placed up. Chin tipped to look at him, you felt suddenly claustrophobic, as if boxed in—everywhere you looked was him. Deep breaths made each muscle of his chest flex and tense, well-sculpted from years of punishing activity. You hated the flush that almost burned your face. You hated the thunder of your pulse that drowned out any noise but your racing heart. You hated the effect he had on you.
“You aren’t going,” he said simply, as if he had any say.
You frowned. “Yes, I am.”
Jack’s lip wrinkled. Condescension dripped from his voice. “No, you aren’t.”
You could have strangled him. You really could have. “You aren’t my father, Jack. You can’t tell me what I can and can’t do. I’m going.”
He smiled at you. Smiled like he thought you opposition was funny. “You met this guy this week, Bells,” he said, as if it were obvious. “Not only that, you have no idea who’s going to be at this bonfire. What if something goes wrong? You think Golden Boy is going to play the white knight?”
Ignoring what Jack had called Jackson, you turned to leave. You were absolutely not having this argument with him. Not when it was ultimately your decision and your life. Before you could even make it a step, a wet hand clamped around your arm, fingers closing around you like a vice—Jack spun you, unsteadying you. In an effort to save yourself a trip straight down, you threw up your hands, connecting palms with the rigid plane of Jack’s chest. Heat rose to your face, a feverish high sinking the logic of your brain. All of a sudden, you were sixteen again hoping Jack would come out of his room while you were in the hallway.
Breath deepened, you searched for an out—a way to defend yourself. The sword lying at your palms was cheap, but effective, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”
But you did know better. And you knew he wasn’t; you just wished he was.
Jack smiled. Predatory. “Of Jackson?” Fingers loosened—you took the chance to escape, pulling yourself free of Jack’s hold. “If you’re going to try and make me jealous, maybe do it with someone who doesn’t have my fucking name.”
He breezed past you, disappearing inside like a shadow.
You looked down. Eyes grazing the cardigan. A wet handprint stained the arm. Jack’s handprint.
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Smoke thickened the air into a husky, palpable haze. Dozens of conversations overlapped into one massive dissonance, drowning out the harsh crash of waves upon the shoreline. Bathed in an amber glow provided by a massive fire housed upon a hearth of triangularly-laid sticks, the beach was alive with drinking and laughing and dancing. Sand cushioned your feet, sandals dangling in your hands. Jackson haunted your side, keeping close. He led you in deeper, parting throngs of people like the Red Sea. Greeting a few of them, introducing you.
Excitement turned your blood hot. Rebellion made it all the sweeter. Despite Jack’s vehement opposition against your coming here, you’d done it anyway. When the boys had decided to get a few drinks at the new bar that opened up, you feigned sun sickness as a result of a day at the beach. Whether or not they believed you didn’t matter much—they’d left, which allowed you the chance to be here.
All you had to do was be home before them, which shouldn’t have been difficult. They’d be home in the early hours of the morning.
Mingling with Jackson was simple enough—people didn’t much care who you were. Just that you existed. Beers were handed to you, drank quickly. You wanted to have fun, to let yourself exist without the shackle that was Jack Hughes dragging you back from any romantic venture. A heated hand slipped in your own; Jackson smiled at you. Stomach knotted in a ball, you downed the rest of your White Claw and grinned back.
“You feelin’ okay?” he asked, bending down to better carry his voice to you. The proximity of his face warmed your chest.
“Mhm,” you hummed, relishing in the head rush. Being drunk wasn’t something you did often, what with being underage. There were parts you hated, parts you sought. Like the current buzz of warmth that whispered false confidence through your bloodstream.
The confidence that made you lead Jackson to the water’s edge, hidden from the glow of the fire, shadows outlined by the light of the moon. Rosy-cheeked, you tossed your arms around Jackson’s neck and peered up at him. Although his countenance was lost in the darkness, you could make out blown pupils overtaking his eyes, parted lips lightly doused in alcohol. Water lapped at your feet, danced around your ankles. You didn’t care. Everything in your mind was screaming at you to just do it—kiss him and get it over with, get over with Jack.
Jack.
You hated that even in a moment like this, your mind went to Jack.
It was then—arms tossed around Jackson’s neck, the waves kissing your bare legs—that you realized you’d never let go of Jack. You couldn’t. He was too well in your heart, the patchwork of two souls. If you could, you would turn tail and run, find happiness on the road of abandonment. You wouldn’t have to worry about being alone, isolated simply because people found a piece of your life more interesting than the whole. You wouldn’t have to rebuild your shattered heart when another summer passed by without Jack loving you. You wouldn’t need to remind your heart not to give in to his toothy smile and infectious laugh.
But then, you wouldn’t have Jack. His smile, the devil’s disguise, a shot of oxytocin to the system. Touching of skin, unintentional yet entirely wanted, setting ablaze the wildfire that burned down your castle of wood. Nights spent by the pool, his face illuminated by the glow of underwater lights. The way he made your heart break and mend all at once, the high of a drug that you could never quit. Every time, you relapsed, reminded yourself why you loved Jack—why he was your favorite love, your only one. He didn’t want you for anything, he didn’t even want you.
And maybe it was that; the hypothetical, the possibility. The construct you’d built inside your head, trying to fit into the narrative every summer, but never getting the part.
“Jackson?”
He looked down at you. Green, not blue. Never blue. “Yeah?”
“I don’t think—”
All at once, your arms were falling, cradling empty space as Jackson was ripped away from your touch. A splash of water sent droplets launching into your skin and clothes. You shrieked, stumbled, looked for the culprit. And of course—there Jack stood, huffing, as if he’d run to you. You could barely make out his face, but you didn’t need to; you’d know him blind, by touch alone. Your eyes went down to Jackson, body engulfed in the shallow water. You pieced it together, came into the frantic understanding that Jack had pushed Jackson.
Immediately, you went to help Jackson, only to be tugged back by your elbow. “Jack! What the hell?”
He didn’t grace you with an answer—didn’t even look at you, actually. Those stormy blue eyes were on Jackson, murderous and heated. He shoved you behind him. “What are you doing, huh?” he barked. “Did you know you were giving a minor alcohol? She’s twenty, you fucking idiot!”
Tears of frustration turned your eyes wet, and air became scarce. You wanted to do something, but what could you even do? Jack was accustomed to ignoring you. Stares nipped at the back of your head. Conversation dulled into a lapse.
“Jack, enough,” you begged, the sheer desperation in your voice normally something you’d hate—you couldn’t be bothered to care now. “Please. I’m fine. It wasn’t Jackson’s fault. He didn’t do anything.”
“Stop,” Jack interrupted, eyes flashing to you, a warning. “I told you not to come. Stay out of this, Bells.”
“I had no idea, dude, I swear!” Jackson responded, pulling himself up from the water. Soaked head-to-toe, and dully embarrassed. “She did it herself, I didn’t offer her anything!”
It soured your mouth he was trying to shift the blame to you, even if he was being honest. Your eyes flicked to Jack, and all at once you were reminded why you chose to love him.
His hair was tousled, worked one too many times by frustrated fingers. Eyes wild and concerned, so raw that you could’ve convinced yourself he was that cut by your situation. You knew it wasn’t you; he was just a good person, an empathetic one. But still, you liked to imagine. You’d spent your life imagining what it would be like for him to love you.
“Jack, please, just—”
“Don’t you dare blame her,” Jack’s voice was strangled, as if barely bypassing a wall of fury. “What the fuck do you think this is? The blame game? I don’t care who gave her the alcohol. You brought her here.”
“Please, Jack, let’s just go,” you pleaded, voice tight—embarrassment crawled up your spine like the cold. Everyone was looking, observing the screaming match you’d unfortunately found yourself a part of. “People are looking.”
“I don’t give a shit,” he hissed, advancing on Jackson. Chest-to-chest. A size up; one you hoped wouldn’t result in traded blows. You’d never seen Jack so angry, so wrought with violence. He’d always been docile—kind.
“Why do you care?” Jackson finally snapped, shoving Jack backwards. You tried to intercede, only to be shut down. “She said she wasn’t your girlfriend. Stop acting like a jealous dick.”
Jack laughed. He turned around, facing you as he spoke. “She may not be mine,” he conceded, “but she sure as hell will never be yours.”
Everything was happening to quickly. Your mind struggled to process the entire interaction, how quickly it had all gone sour. Before you could question Jack, scold him, consider the root of his rage, you were being lifted by the middle, and promptly tossed over Jack’s shoulder.
Air fled your lungs, your head pulsed—both from the swift movement and your consumption of what was likely too much alcohol. Jack’s hand stayed on you, keeping you steady as he carried you through the crowd, cutting through blots of people who all looked just as confused as you felt. Anger sparked then, fanned by embarrassment and anger and frustration.
Slamming your fists into Jack’s well-muscled back, you spewed profanities at him. “Put me down, asshole!” He didn’t. Kept walking, over the boardwalk and into the parking lot. Jackson’s 4Runner taunted you. “Jack, let me go! Jack!”
And he did. Your feet felt unfamiliar as he placed you down with little preempt. He steadied you before you could fall, kept a hand on your arm even after. Your heart felt pulled in a million directions, throat filling up with sand—fossilizing in your own skin, mortification sawing pieces off of your soul. Jack looked furious, pacing in front of you. His silver Mercedes gleamed in the moonlight.
“Bells—” He cut himself off. His throat bobbed, ran a hand through his already messed hair. “What the hell were you thinking?”
Your teeth bared. “Me? And what about you, barging into my night and accusing my date of being a criminal? The fuck is wrong with you, Jack?”
Jack laughed. Mocking, mean. You half-wanted to punch him, felt the itch in your fingers. “Oh, forgive me for trying to help you,” he hissed. “What if cops had busted the bonfire, huh? If they’d got you? Do I have to remind you that you’re twenty, Bells? That’s a felony.”
He was right, and you hated it. “But did you have to do all that? Jackson didn’t even give me the alcohol, why did you push him into the water?”
“I already said I don’t care who gave it to you,” Jack grunted, closing in on you. A step back, and you felt your back press into the cold metal of his car. “He was with you. He let you drink.”
You rolled your eyes, tried to muster up a semblance of control. “He doesn’t know my age, Jack.”
“Then he’s a fucking idiot.”
Scoffing, you shoved him away from you. “Oh, is he? Or were we just on a second date, one that you completely ruined! He’s never going to speak to me again, Jack, so thank you for that!”
Faintly, you wondered how you went from adoring Jack to despising him. Maybe it was always meant to be like this. There was a fine line between love and hate.
Eyes flashing, Jack rounded on you. “A second date you shouldn’t have been on,” he snapped. “I told you not to go.”
“New flash: you’re not my keeper,” you said, feeling the anger wane into something worse—fatigue. You didn’t want to fight. Fighting with Jack felt like fighting a part of yourself. “How’d you even find me? You guys were at the bar.”
Jack paused; he noticed your deflated shoulders, sullen face. “SnapMap,” is what he said. He didn’t expand, and you didn’t ask him to.
Silence felt like the worse fog—thick and impenetrable, falling over you like a suffocating blanket. You didn’t know what to say. What could you even say? Jack would never tell you why he was so upset, you didn’t want to ask—didn’t want to hear another made up story he’d spew just to tear apart the hope in your heart.
It hit you then that maybe Jack did love you—or care about you in some capacity, but he’d never admit it. Dancing in circles, a choreography that never ended, you’d never know what Jack truly wanted; didn’t know if he even did. Probably figured you’d screw it up, would ruin a friendship—his and yours, yours and Luke’s. It was a losing battle either way. Every word he uttered cut to the bone, because it was meant to. When the shift started, you didn’t know. Maybe when he realized you were not always going to kneel at his alter, when you tried to escape.
Maybe then he understood, and still avoided—lied, all to protect himself and his brother. He knew, you knew. One wanted, the other avoided. None of it ended well. Heaven was breakable, and he couldn’t dare threaten his own peace. Not even to have you.
You knew then where you stood.
“Why?”
He shook his head, chewed on his lip. “Don’t.”
“Please, Jack,” you whispered. “You owe me an explanation.”
Did he not believe in love? Had a girl hurt him? Was it really Luke, or something else? Why wouldn’t he just try?
“Bells, don’t.”
Your hand reached out. Hoping, praying—it brushed his shirt-clad chest. He didn’t move back, finally looked at you. “You owe it to me, at least. I’ll drop it, I’ll never ask again.”
“We’d just… we’d screw it up,” he managed out, the blue of his eyes richening into a navy. His eyes darted around your face. “I can’t…”
What did it matter anymore? Everything was being bared. All of it. Your fear disappeared into dust; the yearning for a conclusion to this twisted knot of a love died. Just like it always did with Jack—you’d want him, try to forget him, and fail. A never ending loop. But before there had been no chance, now—now you weren’t sure.
“Can’t what?”
Jack didn’t respond. He dug into his pocket. Grabbed his key. “Get in the car.”
The stark change of situation caught you cold. “What—?” You shook your head. You weren’t going to lose this opportunity. “Jack, no. Talk to me. Please.”
“Get in the fucking car.”
You didn’t budge for a moment, then finally, “Okay.”
The drive was silent, thick with awkwardness. What could you say? You’d been so close to coming clean, to finally—after five years—admitting everything. It seemed like Jack had too, but something stopped him. Something always stopped him. You wished you could pick his brain, lay it all out to see the moment he’d stopped seeing you as a ghost, as Luke’s high school best friend. All because you’d tried to move on, because you’d hoped for happiness beyond his black hole persona. But of course, he always managed to drag you back in.
“It’s not fair,” you muttered aloud, semi-an accident. Jack’s eyes snapped to you, the dark road rolling out in front of you.
He worked his jaw. Adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. “What isn’t?”
“You,” you grunted, looking out the window. “I try to be happy, move on. You’ve never wanted me before, I didn’t think it would matter. But when I try, you turn it into World War III.”
Jack didn’t say anything. Barely even moved. You wanted to scream, to leap out of the car, if only to see if he’d care enough to come back for you.
“Why now, Jack? Why not before?” you whimpered. Alcohol made you pathetic, even more so than usual. “What changed?”
“Bells,” he warned, nostrils flaring.
“No,” you protested, swiveling your body his way. “I deserve an answer, Jack. Please.”
Silence still.
“Stop the car.”
Jack looked at you. Up and down, before his focus returned to the road. “No. Stop having a tantrum.”
That nearly sent you into a murderous rage. “Stop the car or I’m jumping out.”
Jack scoffed. “You’re not going to jump out of a moving car.”
You clicked off the lock. Fingers tested the handle. When you tore the door open, the alarm blared; wind whipped your arm as you gripped the door, the darkened road greeting your eyes. Thankfully, no one else was out this late. Jack grabbed you with his free hand, slammed on the breaks and veered off onto the side of the road, just beyond the dunes. Beachgrass surrounded the car, the distant buzz of crickets the only thing you could hear as Jack cursed at you. Unbuckling his seatbelt and slamming the door shut, Jack glared at you.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he snapped. You felt something akin to pride; he finally had a reaction to something. Cared enough to stop you.
“You won’t answer me,” you said, eyes darting around his face. The emergency interior lights of the car blinked into existence, lighting up your bodies. Jack’s face was flushed, eyes wild. “Please, just—”
“Fuck, stop saying that,” came Jack’s strangled plead, his head dropping.
You blinked at him. Confusion welled like a storm in your eyes. “What? Please?”
Silence. Jack’s head raised lazily, he looked distressed, mouth parted ever so slightly. A hand ran through his hair, mussed it more. “Fuck,” he cursed, low and gravely. “Luke is going to kill me.”
What was he on about? He looked like he was struggling, his hand gripping the steering wheel which such force his knuckles blanched. “What?”
“You’re his best friend,” Jack said. His tongue darted out to lick his lips. “If I… Bells, please…”
You had no idea what to do. What to say. “Jack, what do you mean? You aren’t making any sense.”
“I want to fuck you,” he bit out, leveling you with a furious look, as if he hated himself for that very fact. “But I can’t. If Luke found out, he’d hate you, or me, or us both. I can’t risk that, Bells, I can’t.”
He sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than you. The very fact that he wanted to sleep with you sent you into a dizzy spell; normally, you would’ve wept with happiness at the sheer fact that Jack Hughes wanted you, in any capacity, but all you felt now was a resounding emptiness. He wanted to fuck you, to have you carnally, without anything attached. You loved him; not because he could give you brief pleasure, but because you knew how many freckles were on his back, how he drove with his left hand predominantly, how he quoted Camus but never actually read him.
It occurred to you then that this summer was different. Not because you were getting closure, or because Jack Hughes finally loved you back, but because you finally understood that the devotion you’d put in him for years should have been put in yourself.
You looked at Jack, and for once, didn’t feel that biting desire to touch him, to be wanted by him; now you knew you were, but for what? For once night, just to fade into obscurity? Either you had Jack entirely or not at all. You couldn’t tease yourself with a taste only to never be given the full experience. You didn’t think you’d survive the memory of it.
“I love you,” you said. Watched his reaction. The confession felt like the greatest heartbreak and the biggest relief.
He said nothing back.
And you weren’t heartbroken that he didn’t. You were relieved. Free.
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