hughesaholic

[hughesaholic]

Updated Masterlist

Last updated: 03/30/26

Jack Hughes

"INTERHUGHES" series

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4

part 5

part 6

part 7

part 8

part 9

part 10

part 11

part 12

part 13

part 14

part 15

#1 Pick - 2019 NHL Draft

Rafe Cameron

Couples TikTok trend with your boyfriend

"Staying"

[hughesaholic]

INTERHUGHES - part 12

Jack Hughes x interviewer!reader

2 weeks later

The night Jack asked you the question didn’t start out feeling like it would become one of those moments you would replay in your head later, the kind that quietly changes the shape of everything that comes after it.

It had started normally — almost suspiciously normal.

You had finished filming a segment earlier that evening and texted him that you were finally done for the day, expecting the usual response of practice ran late or I’m exhausted but alive. Instead, a few seconds later, your phone lit up with a simple message.

Come meet me outside the arena.

When you arrived, the parking lot was mostly empty, the cold air carrying that faint smell of ice and metal that always seemed to cling to hockey arenas long after the crowd had gone home. Jack was leaning against the side entrance door with his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, his hair still damp from a shower and his cheeks slightly flushed from the cold.

When he saw you walking toward him, the expression on his face softened immediately.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.”

For a second neither of you moved closer, both of you smiling slightly in that shy way that had somehow never fully disappeared no matter how much time you spent together.

Then he stepped forward and wrapped you into a hug that was warm and familiar, like he had done it a hundred times before even though it still felt new.

You ended up walking without any real destination, just wandering slowly through the quiet streets nearby while the city settled into the calm of late evening. The conversation drifted easily from small things — the ridiculous rumor someone had sent you earlier that day about the two of you secretly being engaged — to the bigger things you hadn’t talked about as much yet.

Jack told you stories about growing up with his brothers, about the chaos of a house full of hockey gear and early morning practices, about the strange feeling of suddenly being the youngest guy on a professional team when most of your life you had always been the kid everyone else looked out for.

You told him about the first time you ever held a microphone in front of a camera and forgot every single word you were supposed to say, about the producer who had laughed and told you that freezing up was basically a rite of passage.

At some point the conversation slowed naturally, both of you just walking beside each other with your shoulders occasionally brushing as you moved.

Then Jack stopped.

You turned to look at him.

He looked… nervous.

Not the kind of nervous you had seen in interviews or games — this was quieter, more personal, like he was carefully deciding how to say something.

“Can I ask you something?” he said.

Your stomach flipped slightly.

“Okay.”

He rubbed the back of his neck for a second before meeting your eyes again.

“I know we never really… defined anything,” he said slowly. “And I didn’t want to make it weird by bringing it up too soon.”

Your heart started beating a little faster.

“But I really like you,” he continued. “And I really like… this. Us.”

You could feel your cheeks warming.

Jack shifted his weight slightly before finally asking, a small nervous smile tugging at his mouth.

“Can I be your boyfriend?”

For a split second you just stared at him.

Then you started laughing softly, the kind of surprised laugh that comes when something feels so right it catches you off guard.

“Jack.”

“What?”

You stepped closer to him.

“I was wondering when you were going to ask.”

His eyebrows lifted.

“So that’s a yes?”

You reached up and kissed him before answering.

When you pulled back, your forehead was still resting lightly against his.

“Yes,” you said.

The smile that spread across his face then was so genuine it made your chest tighten.

“Okay good,” he said, almost under his breath. “I was really hoping you’d say that.”

~~~

A few days later, something happened that neither of you had planned.

You were finishing an interview outside the locker room when another reporter — someone from a larger national outlet who had clearly been watching the internet buzz with interest — stepped slightly closer.

“Before you go,” he said casually, holding out his microphone, “what’s it like being part of the most viral hockey romance on the internet right now?”

The hallway went quiet for a second.

You kept your expression professional.

“I’m here to cover the team,” you said calmly. You had never liked to bring personal life into your work, jack knew that, but apparently other people couldn't see that.

The reporter smirked slightly.

“Sure, but—”

A familiar voice interrupted.

“She said she’s here to cover the team.”

You didn’t even need to turn to know who it was.

Jack had stepped into the hallway behind you, he work a dark beanie, a dark hoodie, and a dark jacket, his expression calm but unmistakably protective.

The other reporter raised his eyebrows slightly.

“Relax, man. Just asking.”

Jack didn’t respond.

He just stood there for a moment longer before the guy finally backed off and turned toward another player instead.

When the cameras shifted away, Jack glanced down at you.

“You okay?”

You nodded.

“Yeah.”

He hesitated for a second before leaning a little closer and murmuring quietly,

“Sorry about that.”

You shook your head.

“Don’t be.”

The small smile you gave him then lingered in his mind a little longer than he expected.

Ironically, the moment that made everything explode online again didn’t even involve you being there.

It happened during a completely different interview.

Jack had just finished a game and was standing at the podium answering questions when one of the reporters asked him about the team’s recent winning streak.

He answered normally at first — talking about momentum, about line chemistry, about the team starting to find their rhythm.

Then another reporter jokingly asked,

“So what’s been putting you in such a good mood lately?”

Jack laughed.

“I don’t know,” he said casually. “Maybe my girlfriend—”

He stopped mid-sentence.

The room went silent.

Every reporter in the room looked up.

“…your girlfriend?” someone repeated.

Jack blinked.

“…I meant—”

But it was too late.

Within minutes the clip was everywhere.

The next time you came to a game, the energy around the arena felt different.

Not dramatic.

Just… aware.

You were standing near the tunnel area before warmups started, talking with one of the producers about the post-game schedule when the players began skating out onto the ice.

The roar of the crowd filled the arena instantly.

You tried to focus on the notes in your hand.

But then someone near the boards shouted something.

You looked up.

Jack was skating toward the bench.

But before he reached it, he slowed near the glass where you were standing.

For a second he just looked at you through the boards, his visor catching the arena lights.

Then he tapped his glove lightly against the glass.

You laughed.

He leaned slightly closer, just enough that you could hear him through the gap at the bench.

“Good luck tonight,” he said quietly.

“You’re the one playing,” you replied.

He grinned.

“Still.”

The moment only lasted a few seconds before a teammate called his name and he pushed off toward the ice again.

But someone in the crowd had already filmed it.

By the end of the first period—

INTERHUGHES was #1 on trending once again.

[hughesaholic]

INTERHUGHES - Part 11

Jack Hughes x interviewer!reader

The next few weeks began to fall into a rhythm that neither of you had planned, but somehow both of you kept returning to anyway.

It started small at first — a late coffee after practice one afternoon, the two of you sitting in a quiet corner of a café while the sky outside faded slowly into evening. Jack had still been wearing his Devils hoodie and baseball cap pulled low, but even like that he had been recognized twice, both times by fans who glanced between the two of you with knowing smiles before walking away. Instead of making things awkward, though, it had only made both of you laugh quietly once they were gone, the shared amusement settling into something comfortable.

From there, the dates kept happening almost by accident.

Sometimes it was dinner somewhere quiet where the lighting was soft and the music low enough that you could actually hear each other talk, and sometimes it was something simpler like walking through the city late at night with takeout in your hands, neither of you really wanting the evening to end yet, and a lot of the times, it didn't.

You had to admit, jack was good in bed. Maybe it was from all those hockey stretches he would do before the game, maybe he had experience. To be honest, you didn't care what it was, but it was good.

The thing you liked the most, though, was that it wasn't the only way the two of you connected. You could go back to his apartment or yours, have fun and have meaningful conversations and never felt the need to do something like that. You enjoyed it.

The more time you spent together, the easier the conversations became.

At first the two of you had mostly joked about the chaos online — the edits, the ridiculous theories people came up with, the fact that someone had apparently made an entire TikTok account dedicated to analyzing every glance Jack had ever given you during an interview. But eventually the conversation started drifting into other things.

You learned about the weird routines he had before games, the way he always taped his stick the same exact way every single time, the superstition he had about eating the same meal on game days because he swore the one time he didn’t he had played terribly.

And he learned things about you too.

Not just the job, or the interviews, but the parts of your life that happened outside the arena.

The college you had gone to, the reason you had fallen in love with sports journalism in the first place, the moment you realized you liked telling the stories behind athletes just as much as the games themselves.

One night, sitting across from each other in a small restaurant with candles flickering on the table, Jack had leaned forward slightly and said quietly,

“I like that you don’t treat any of this like it’s bigger than it is.”

You had tilted your head.

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged a little, his fingers tracing the edge of his glass as he thought about how to explain it.

“A lot of people make everything about the attention,” he said. “But with you it just… feels normal.”

Your chest had warmed at that in a way you hadn’t quite expected.

A couple nights later, Jack invited you out with some of his friends.

You almost said no at first.

Not because you didn’t want to go — but because the idea of walking into a room full of professional hockey players who had almost definitely seen every single viral video about you felt slightly terrifying.

Jack must have noticed the hesitation in your voice when he asked, because he had laughed softly and said,

“They’re going to love you, I promise.”

You weren’t convinced.

But you went anyway.

The bar they met at was lively but not chaotic, the kind of place where the lighting was dim and the music loud enough to fill the room without drowning out conversation. When you walked in beside Jack, the group at the table immediately looked up.

For a split second there was silence.

Then someone leaned back in their chair and said loudly,

“Oh my god, INTERHUGHES is real.”

Jack groaned.

You burst out laughing.

The tension broke instantly after that.

Within ten minutes you were sitting between Jack and one of his teammates, talking about everything from travel stories to the weirdest fan interactions they had ever had. Every once in a while someone would tease Jack about the interviews or about the jumbotron moment, but it never felt mean-spirited — more like a group of friends enjoying the chance to get under his skin.

At one point Luke leaned across the table toward you and said quietly,

“Okay but seriously — thank you.”

You blinked.

“For what?”

He gestured vaguely toward Jack, who was in the middle of arguing with another teammate about something across the table.

“He’s been in a ridiculously good mood lately.”

You tried not to smile too obviously.

Later that night, after the group slowly started heading out, you and Jack ended up walking back toward his apartment again.

The city had gone quieter by then, the streets mostly empty except for the occasional car passing and the soft hum of traffic in the distance. Jack’s hand found yours automatically as you walked, your fingers fitting together like they had already learned the shape of each other.

Neither of you spoke for a minute.

Then he glanced at you.

“They liked you.”

You laughed softly.

“And they bullied you the entire night.”

“That means they liked you.”

You squeezed his hand.

“Well… I liked them too.”

When you reached his building, neither of you rushed inside.

Instead you stood there for a moment on the sidewalk, the air cool around you, the glow from the streetlights reflecting softly in Jack’s eyes.

The way he was looking at you made your stomach flip.

“You staying?” he asked quietly.

Your answer came just as softly.

“Yeah.”

The moment the apartment door closed behind you, the space between you disappeared.

Jack’s hands slid gently around your waist as he kissed you, the warmth of it slow and unhurried, like neither of you felt the need to rush anymore. Your fingers curled lightly into the front of his shirt as he pulled you closer, both of you smiling slightly against the kiss when you bumped into the wall on the way down the hallway.

The laughter didn’t stop the moment from deepening, though.

If anything, it made it feel even more natural.

And later, when the lights in the apartment were long turned off and the city outside had gone completely quiet, you found yourselves tangled together beneath the blankets again, the world outside feeling very far away.

Meanwhile, somewhere on the internet—

INTERHUGHES was trending again.

But this time it wasn’t because of a single viral moment.

It was because people had started noticing something else entirely.

The way Jack looked at you during interviews now.

Not distracted.

Not nervous.

Just… soft.

Like everyone else was slowly catching up to something the two of you had already known for a while.

~~~

AN:

ahhh a little bit of a filler, but wanted to give a little more background on the progression of their relationship before the next chapter. Lowkey never wanna end this series but I think I'm gonna cut it off at 15 parts :(

[hughesaholic]

INTERHUGHES - Part 10

Jack Hughes x interviewer!reader

You were still hiding your face behind your hands when the jumbotron finally cut away.

The arena camera moved on to another section, the crowd cheering for a couple who looked equally startled to find themselves suddenly thirty feet tall above center ice, but the damage had already been done.

Your phone buzzed so violently in your lap it actually slid halfway off the seat.

Anna grabbed it before it could fall.

“Oh my god,” she said immediately, staring at the screen.

You didn’t even have to ask.

“Bad?”

“Not bad,” she said slowly.

“…insane.”

She turned the phone toward you.

Your mentions were flooding with videos from every possible angle of the arena.

Clips of the jumbotron.

Clips of the crowd cheering.

Clips of you realizing what was happening and burying your face in your hands.

But the video that was spreading the fastest wasn’t even of you.

It was from ice level.

Someone had filmed the Devils bench at the exact moment your face appeared on the screen.

At first the players were just looking up like everyone else.

Then one of them elbowed Jack.

Hard.

Jack looked up at the screen.

Saw you.

And immediately started laughing, leaning forward with his stick pressed against the boards while the guys next to him started shouting something you couldn’t hear over the crowd noise.

The caption read:

“HIS TEAMMATES ARE NEVER LETTING HIM LIVE THIS DOWN 😭”

Anna was wheezing.

“Oh they’re absolutely destroying him on that bench right now.”

You groaned and leaned back in your seat.

“I’m never leaving my apartment again.”

Anna nudged you.

“You say that like you don’t have three interviews tomorrow.”

You sighed.

Right.

Your life was still very much happening.

Even if the internet had apparently decided to turn it into a romantic comedy.

The Devils ended up winning the game.

The arena emptied slowly afterward, fans lingering in the concourse, still buzzing from the energy of the third period.

You and Anna were walking toward the exit when you heard someone behind you say—

“Hey.”

You turned.

One of Jack’s teammates was jogging toward you.

Luke Hughes.

Anna grabbed your arm.

“Oh my god it’s the brother.”

You elbowed her lightly.

“Be normal.”

Luke stopped in front of you, slightly out of breath but clearly amused.

“So,” he said.

You immediately shook your head.

“No.”

He laughed.

“I didn’t even say anything yet.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Anna stepped forward like she was meeting a celebrity.

“Hi. I’m Anna.”

“I know,” Luke said. “You’re the one who keeps laughing during her interviews.”

You pointed at him.

“See? You’re both trouble.”

Luke grinned.

Then he tilted his head slightly.

“So you’re the girl.”

You blinked.

“…What girl?”

“The girl,” he repeated.

Anna looked like she might pass out.

You crossed your arms.

“That is an incredibly vague statement.”

Luke shrugged.

“The one my brother keeps pretending he’s not texting.”

You felt your face immediately heat up.

Anna made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a laugh.

Luke raised his hands innocently.

“Hey, I’m just saying what I’ve seen.”

“Please stop helping,” you muttered.

He grinned again.

“Relax. I actually came over because Jack told me to make sure you got out okay.”

Your eyebrows lifted.

“He did?”

“Yeah,” Luke said. “He’s still stuck doing media.”

Anna leaned closer to you.

“He’s worried about you.”

You elbowed her again.

Luke pulled his phone out of his pocket.

“Oh also—”

He turned the screen toward you.

It was the video of the jumbotron.

Twenty-two million views.

You stared at it.

“…That can’t be real.”

Luke laughed.

“Welcome to the internet.”

Your phone buzzed again in your pocket.

You didn’t even have to check to know who it was.

But you did anyway.

Jack: I cannot believe they put you on the jumbotron

You typed back immediately.

your fault

Three dots appeared almost instantly.

how is that my fault

you exist

A pause.

Then:

wow ok

You smiled despite yourself.

Luke was watching the entire exchange like it was live entertainment.

“You’re smiling at your phone,” he said.

You locked the screen immediately.

“I am not.”

Anna pointed dramatically.

“She totally is.”

Luke shook his head, laughing.

“My brother is doomed.”

Later that night, after you finally got home, the apartment felt unusually quiet.

You kicked your shoes off by the door and dropped your bag onto the couch before pulling your phone back out.

The notifications had somehow doubled since you last looked.

But now the conversation online had shifted slightly.

The paparazzi video.

The jumbotron moment.

The bench reaction.

Clips of you and Luke talking outside the arena.

It was all being pieced together like some giant internet investigation.

You scrolled for a minute before your phone buzzed again.

Jack.

Jack: did my brother scare you

You laughed softly and typed back.

no but he did interrogate me

that sounds like him

You hesitated for a second.

Then:

your team seemed pretty entertained tonight

Three dots appeared.

they’re going to be unbearable tomorrow

You could practically picture him rubbing his face in frustration.

Your thumbs hovered over the screen before you typed again.

for what it’s worth

I had fun tonight

There was a longer pause this time.

Then:

yeah

me too

Another message appeared a second later.

even the jumbotron part

You smiled.

Across the city, in his apartment, Jack was apparently still awake too.

Your phone buzzed again.

next time though

You frowned slightly.

next time?

The reply came quickly.

next time you’re sitting somewhere the camera can’t find you

You laughed out loud.

good luck with that

A few seconds passed.

Then one more message appeared.

goodnight

You stared at it for a second before typing back.

goodnight jack

And for the first time since everything started going viral—

it didn’t feel like something that only existed on the internet anymore.

It felt real.

[hughesaholic]

Where’s part 10 at :(

(sorry been super busy and haven't had a chance to write, but here it is!!)

INTERHUGHES - Part 10

jack hughes x interviewer!reader

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15

You were still hiding your face behind your hands when the jumbotron finally cut away.

The arena camera moved on to another section, the crowd cheering for a couple who looked equally startled to find themselves suddenly thirty feet tall above center ice, but the damage had already been done.

Your phone buzzed so violently in your lap it actually slid halfway off the seat.

Anna grabbed it before it could fall.

“Oh my god,” she said immediately, staring at the screen.

You didn’t even have to ask.

“Bad?”

“Not bad,” she said slowly.

“…insane.”

She turned the phone toward you.

Your mentions were flooding with videos from every possible angle of the arena.

Clips of the jumbotron.

Clips of the crowd cheering.

Clips of you realizing what was happening and burying your face in your hands.

But the video that was spreading the fastest wasn’t even of you.

It was from ice level.

Someone had filmed the Devils bench at the exact moment your face appeared on the screen.

At first the players were just looking up like everyone else.

Then one of them elbowed Jack.

Hard.

Jack looked up at the screen.

Saw you.

And immediately started laughing, leaning forward with his stick pressed against the boards while the guys next to him started shouting something you couldn’t hear over the crowd noise.

The caption read:

“HIS TEAMMATES ARE NEVER LETTING HIM LIVE THIS DOWN 😭”

Anna was wheezing.

“Oh they’re absolutely destroying him on that bench right now.”

You groaned and leaned back in your seat.

“I’m never leaving my apartment again.”

Anna nudged you.

“You say that like you don’t have three interviews tomorrow.”

You sighed.

Right.

Your life was still very much happening.

Even if the internet had apparently decided to turn it into a romantic comedy.

The Devils ended up winning the game.

The arena emptied slowly afterward, fans lingering in the concourse, still buzzing from the energy of the third period.

You and Anna were walking toward the exit when you heard someone behind you say—

“Hey.”

You turned.

One of Jack’s teammates was jogging toward you.

Luke Hughes.

Anna grabbed your arm.

“Oh my god it’s the brother.”

You elbowed her lightly.

“Be normal.”

Luke stopped in front of you, slightly out of breath but clearly amused.

“So,” he said.

You immediately shook your head.

“No.”

He laughed.

“I didn’t even say anything yet.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Anna stepped forward like she was meeting a celebrity.

“Hi. I’m Anna.”

“I know,” Luke said. “You’re the one who keeps laughing during her interviews.”

You pointed at him.

“See? You’re both trouble.”

Luke grinned.

Then he tilted his head slightly.

“So you’re the girl.”

You blinked.

“…What girl?”

“The girl,” he repeated.

Anna looked like she might pass out.

You crossed your arms.

“That is an incredibly vague statement.”

Luke shrugged.

“The one my brother keeps pretending he’s not texting.”

You felt your face immediately heat up.

Anna made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a laugh.

Luke raised his hands innocently.

“Hey, I’m just saying what I’ve seen.”

“Please stop helping,” you muttered.

He grinned again.

“Relax. I actually came over because Jack told me to make sure you got out okay.”

Your eyebrows lifted.

“He did?”

“Yeah,” Luke said. “He’s still stuck doing media.”

Anna leaned closer to you.

“He’s worried about you.”

You elbowed her again.

Luke pulled his phone out of his pocket.

“Oh also—”

He turned the screen toward you.

It was the video of the jumbotron.

Twenty-two million views.

You stared at it.

“…That can’t be real.”

Luke laughed.

“Welcome to the internet.”

Your phone buzzed again in your pocket.

You didn’t even have to check to know who it was.

But you did anyway.

Jack: I cannot believe they put you on the jumbotron

You typed back immediately.

your fault

Three dots appeared almost instantly.

how is that my fault

you exist

A pause.

Then:

wow ok

You smiled despite yourself.

Luke was watching the entire exchange like it was live entertainment.

“You’re smiling at your phone,” he said.

You locked the screen immediately.

“I am not.”

Anna pointed dramatically.

“She totally is.”

Luke shook his head, laughing.

“My brother is doomed.”

Later that night, after you finally got home, the apartment felt unusually quiet.

You kicked your shoes off by the door and dropped your bag onto the couch before pulling your phone back out.

The notifications had somehow doubled since you last looked.

But now the conversation online had shifted slightly.

The paparazzi video.

The jumbotron moment.

The bench reaction.

Clips of you and Luke talking outside the arena.

It was all being pieced together like some giant internet investigation.

You scrolled for a minute before your phone buzzed again.

Jack.

Jack: did my brother scare you

You laughed softly and typed back.

no but he did interrogate me

that sounds like him

You hesitated for a second.

Then:

your team seemed pretty entertained tonight

Three dots appeared.

they’re going to be unbearable tomorrow

You could practically picture him rubbing his face in frustration.

Your thumbs hovered over the screen before you typed again.

for what it’s worth

I had fun tonight

There was a longer pause this time.

Then:

yeah

me too

Another message appeared a second later.

even the jumbotron part

You smiled.

Across the city, in his apartment, Jack was apparently still awake too.

Your phone buzzed again.

next time though

You frowned slightly.

next time?

The reply came quickly.

next time you’re sitting somewhere the camera can’t find you

You laughed out loud.

good luck with that

A few seconds passed.

Then one more message appeared.

goodnight

You stared at it for a second before typing back.

goodnight jack

And for the first time since everything started going viral—

it didn’t feel like something that only existed on the internet anymore.

It felt real.

[hughesaholic]

Post by @hughesaholic · 1 poll

💬 0  🔁 0  ❤️ 0 · INTERHUGHES - Part 9 · Jack Hughes x interviewer!reader SO EXCITED FOR THIS PART💋💋 part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

INTERHUGHES PART 9!!!!!

[hughesaholic]

INTERHUGHES - Part 9

Jack Hughes x interviewer!reader

SO EXCITED FOR THIS PART💋💋

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15

You stepped into your apartment, dropping your bag on the couch with a soft thump. The evening outside still lingered on your skin—a faint chill from walking from the station, the distant hum of traffic, and that lingering warmth of thinking about Jack.

Sliding off your coat, you grabbed your phone, thumb hovering over his contact. After a moment’s hesitation, you typed:

You: “Made it home safely. Survived the city and the train. No weird INTERHUGHES cults at the station—yet.”

A moment later, your phone buzzed.

Jack: “Glad to hear it. Also, that’s hilarious.”

You smiled, the small screen lighting up your face as you laughed quietly.

~~~

Game day arrived faster than you expected. You found yourself in the familiar hallway outside the locker room, notes in hand, mic ready, heart doing that small flutter every time Jack appeared from the doors.

When he walked out, hoodie zipped halfway, laces squeaking faintly against the polished floor, your stomach did a tiny flip—not from the crowd or the cameras, but from the simple fact that he was there.

“Hey,” he said softly, voice just above the background chatter, eyes catching yours for a brief, charged second.

“Hey,” you replied, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, trying to keep it casual.

“You ready for this?” he asked, gesturing subtly toward the media cluster forming farther down the hall.

“As I’ll ever be,” you said, smiling slightly. “Though I bet you’ll make it easier than usual.”

Jack gave a half smile, rubbing the back of his neck lightly. “I’ll try my best.”

The interview itself was fluid. Questions flowed naturally, Jack relaxed into each answer in that way he did when you were asking—not too stiff, not overly rehearsed, just… present. You kept it professional, focused, and thorough, but there was an undercurrent of warmth you couldn’t ignore.

He’d smile at a line you asked, pause briefly, and look toward you—not at the camera—before answering. His responses were concise, clear, but the little side glances, the subtle tilt of his head, the soft lift at the corners of his mouth… it all felt intimate in a quiet, unspoken way.

You noticed that in the small pauses, the gentle laugh when a teammate walked into the shot unexpectedly, or when you asked a clarifying question he didn’t expect. It wasn’t dramatic—it was just… him being present with you.

When the cameras moved on, Jack fell into step beside you naturally.

“You want to grab a drink?” he asked, casual, almost offhand, but you could hear the hope behind it.

“Sure,” you said, smiling. “After the game?”

He shrugged, easing into your rhythm as you walked down the hallway. “Afterward. Just something low-key.”

~~~

The bar was small, warm, and dimly lit, tucked between a bookstore and a coffee shop. A few people chatted in the corners, a soft playlist humming in the background. You slid into a booth, and Jack sat across from you, hoodie off, relaxed in the quiet intimacy of the place.

You ordered drinks, small and casual, and as the minutes passed, the professional edges melted away. You joked softly about minor mishaps from the day, laughed over an anecdote he told about practice, and found yourself leaning slightly forward as he did, drawn in by the easy rhythm of the conversation.

“You know,” Jack said, voice lower now, quieter, “I like that you don’t make every moment about the cameras.”

You smiled, heart warming. “That’s the point, isn’t it? I'm a person too, not just a robot interviewer.” You let out a soft laugh.

He nodded slowly. “I just… like being able to talk without the spotlight. Makes it easier to… you know, actually talk.”

You felt a warmth spread across your chest at that, noticing the way his eyes held yours. It wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t a joke. It was… honest, quiet, and careful.

The conversation flowed into the night. Laughter softened by drink. Tipsy confessions about small embarrassments from rookie years. Gentle teasing, shy smiles, the kind of warmth that made your stomach flutter without forcing anything.

Sooner than later, both of you began to be noticed, surrounding eyes lingering slightly longer than they would on any other person.

At first the note of you were too drunk to notice, but eventually even your hindered senses were able to pick up on it. Jack felt it too.

"You wanna head back to mine?" He asks, his words slightly sloppy, but sensing your slight discomfort, being able to tell that people were recording now. At least 5 people had walked past you while "on the phone" with the camera pointed directly at you.

You nodded and Jack closed the tab as the two of you slipped away from the bar.

The walk back to Jack’s apartment was colder than the bar, the night air crisp and biting against your flushed cheeks, your hair damp from the lingering warmth of the crowded room. You tugged at the cuff of your jacket, shivering slightly, and Jack glanced down at you with that familiar half-smile and soft concern that made your stomach flutter.

“You okay?” he asked, voice quiet over the faint hum of the nearly empty streets.

“Yeah,” you laughed softly, the sound catching in the air. “Just… a little chilly.”

He grinned and stepped closer. “Here,” he said, sliding his hand over yours. His fingers found yours naturally, curling around them as if it had always been that way.

Your chest flipped at the simple gesture. “Oh, that’s cheating,” you teased, letting him guide you along the sidewalk.

“Cheating?” he said, amusement in his tone. “I’m just helping you survive the city.”

The two of you staggered slightly on the uneven pavement, occasionally brushing against each other, and instead of embarrassment, small, breathless giggles escaped from both of you. The city lights reflected on the wet asphalt, making the night glow in soft, scattered patches of gold.

Jack’s low chuckle reached you. “I feel like we’re going to get remembered for this,” he said.

“For what?” you asked, tilting your head, still smiling.

“For us,” he said simply, squeezing your hand. “Stumbling, laughing, holding hands on the street like idiots at midnight.” Jack knew he was being cheesy, knew that was the kind of thing he would make fun of someone else for saying, but right now, he couldn't care less.

You laughed again, squeezing his fingers in return. “Sounds pretty accurate to me.”

Then a sudden, bright flash made both of you pause mid-step.

“Oh shit,” Jack muttered, ducking slightly. “Paps.”

You peered over your shoulder to see a few flashes flickering along the sidewalk. Your chest skipped a beat, and your laughter turned into a soft, nervous giggle. Jack may have been used to this

“Well,” you said, half-teasing, half-grinning, “at least we’re cute?”

Jack’s grin widened, cheeks pink under the streetlights. “Definitely cute,” he said softly, and the warmth of his hand in yours made the nervous flutter in your stomach spread into something gentler, something that felt… safe.

You stumbled slightly over a curb, and Jack steadied you, his free hand brushing lightly against your waist. “Whoa,” you giggled. “Easy there.”

“Too late,” he murmured, voice low but teasing, “you’re mine to protect now.”

The two of you continued down the quiet street, hands locked, laughter spilling between you. Each stumble, each brush of your shoulders against his, made the night feel more intimate, more personal, like you were in a bubble separate from the city and the world.

Maybe it was the drinks, or maybe it was the holding hands, but a certain feeling of desire that you hadn't felt in a while began to bubble up in your lower stomach...

When you finally reached his apartment, you hesitated at the door, catching your breath from both the cold and the dizzy, warm buzz of the night. Jack held the door open, smiling softly, and you stepped inside, shivering a little as the warm air greeted you.

The apartment was quiet, glowing softly from a single lamp. Jack let the door close behind you and leaned against the frame for a moment, eyes soft, lips curved just slightly. “You know,” he murmured, “we probably look ridiculous.”

“You’re telling me,” you said, cheeks flushed, still laughing softly. “But I don’t care.”

He stepped closer, brushing his hand lightly along yours again, leaning in slowly. When your eyes met, everything else faded—the faint hum of the city, the distant sounds of traffic, even the lingering thoughts of social media or work.

He leaned in slowly, settling his hands on your waist. His lips hovered over yours for just a second, feeling a light hitch in his breath against your lips. Then, he committed, his lips connecting with yours, an immediate release of tension, leading to surging dopamine throughout your veins.

The kiss was slow and deliberate, intimate, filled with all the warmth, laughter, and nervous energy of the night. Your fingers threaded through the hair at the back of his neck, shoulders brushing, hearts beating fast in the quiet apartment. It lingered long enough that when you finally pulled back slightly, both of you were breathless, flushed, and smiling softly.

Jack rested his forehead against yours, voice low and warm. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he whispered.

You laughed softly, just a little breathless, heart still racing. “I think I might have some idea.”

A soft hand came up to your jaw, his hand tilting your head so that he could press gentle kisses along your neck as you let out soft sighs and the tiniest little moans. He pulled back for a moment, his eyes flicking toward yours, lingering just long enough to hint that this wasn’t the end—that there was more waiting for later, for when the world wasn’t watching, for when you were just the two of you.

The night outside the window continued on, indifferent, but inside Jack’s apartment, you stayed there together, bodies entwined, warmth spreading between you, safe and close, exactly where you were supposed to be.

~~~

AN:

yay!! so glad to finally have something interesting out. before anyone says anything ik ik I may have robbed you guys a bit, I'm just new to the writing thing and not completely sure how to write those kinds of scenes. but lmk what you guys want

How much intimacy should I include

this amount was great

SMUT

Voting ended onApr 8

[hughesaholic]

Post by @hughesaholic · 1 image

💬 0  🔁 0  ❤️ 0 · INTERHUGHES - Part 8 · Jack Hughes x interviewer!reader The practice facility had mostly emptied out by the time you finis

INTERHUGHES PART 8 UP NOW!!!!

[hughesaholic]

INTERHUGHES - Part 8

Jack Hughes x interviewer!reader

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15

The practice facility had mostly emptied out by the time you finished your notes.

Late afternoon sunlight stretched across the rink through the tall windows, turning the ice a faint gold color instead of the bright white it usually was during practice. The sounds of the building had quieted too—no more skates cutting across the surface, no pucks snapping against the boards. Just the occasional echo of staff voices somewhere down the hallway.

You had stayed longer than usual finishing a piece about the team’s road trip, your laptop open on one of the small tables overlooking the ice.

Now the rink was nearly empty.

You packed the last of your things into your bag and slung the strap over your shoulder, glancing once more at the sheet of ice below before heading toward the hallway.

Most of the players had already left.

Which was why you were slightly surprised when you pushed open the glass door and nearly ran into someone walking the other direction.

“Oh—sorry.”

You both stepped back at the same time.

Then you looked up.

Jack Hughes.

He was halfway through pulling on a dark hoodie, his hair still slightly damp from the shower after practice. One strap of a duffel bag hung over his shoulder, and he looked like he had been on his way out before stopping abruptly when you appeared in the doorway.

For a second both of you just stood there.

Then Jack smiled.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you said, laughing softly at the almost-collision.

“I didn’t know you were still here.”

“Finishing something up,” you explained, lifting your bag slightly. “Just leaving now.”

Jack nodded slowly, shifting the strap of his bag higher on his shoulder.

For a moment neither of you moved.

Then he glanced down the hallway toward the exit doors at the end of the building.

“Are you driving?” he asked.

“No,” you said. “Train again.”

Jack nodded, like that answer made sense.

“I was actually about to grab food before heading home,” he said after a moment.

You tilted your head slightly.

“Yeah?”

“There’s a place a few blocks away,” he continued. “Nothing fancy. Just… good.”

He paused briefly, looking over you, trying to take in the way you reacted.

Then added, a little more carefully,

“If you’re not in a rush.”

The offer hung there quietly between you.

Not dramatic.

Not pushy.

Just… simple.

You thought about the empty evening ahead of you, the half-finished takeout container waiting in your fridge, the fact that this was the first time either of you had suggested something that actually sounded like spending time together.

“Okay,” you said.

Jack blinked slightly.

Then he smiled.

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

The relief on his face was subtle, but you caught it.

“Cool,” he said quickly. “Cool.”

The restaurant was small.

Not the kind of place you’d expect professional athletes to frequent often—just a casual spot tucked between a laundromat and a corner store, warm yellow lights glowing through the windows.

Inside, the air smelled faintly like garlic and toasted bread.

A couple sat near the front window, and someone in the back corner scrolled quietly through their phone while waiting for their food.

Jack pulled his beanie lower over his hair as the two of you stepped inside, glancing around like he was making sure no one recognized him.

“You come here a lot?” you asked as you slid into the booth across from him.

“Sometimes after practice,” he said. “It’s quiet.”

A server dropped off two menus before disappearing again.

For a moment you both looked down at them.

Then Jack glanced up first.

“So,” he said.

“So,” you echoed.

He laughed softly.

“This is weird.”

“Is it?”

“A little,” he admitted.

You set the menu down.

“I mean… we’ve technically talked a lot already.”

“Yeah,” he said. “But usually there’s a camera three feet away.”

“True.”

For a moment the two of you just looked at each other across the table.

Then Jack leaned back slightly.

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s try this again.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Okay.”

“Hi,” he said.

You laughed.

“Hi.”

“I’m Jack.”

“Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you.”

The mock introduction made both of you laugh again, the tension dissolving almost immediately.

After that, the conversation started to flow more naturally.

You talked about where you grew up, the way your job had taken you from covering small college games to eventually working your way up to covering NHL teams. Jack told you about moving around when he was younger because of hockey, about growing up in a family where the sport was basically part of daily life.

At one point he shook his head slightly.

“It’s funny,” he said.

“What?”

“You probably know a lot about me already.”

You tilted your head slightly.

“Occupational hazard.”

He smiled.

“But I don’t really know much about you.”

You considered that for a moment.

“What do you want to know?”

Jack hesitated briefly, like he was trying to figure out where to start.

Then he shrugged lightly.

“Anything.” He shrugged, then added on with a small smile, "Everything."

So you told him things.

About the first hockey game you ever covered where you accidentally asked a player a question meant for someone else.

About the weird hours of sports reporting, how sometimes you're whole day is booked and sometimes there is no work for days at a time.

About how strange it felt the first time you realized thousands of people were watching something you had filmed.

Jack listened carefully the entire time, occasionally asking small follow-up questions, his attention fully focused on you in a way that felt surprisingly sincere.

At one point he rested his chin briefly on his hand, studying your face.

“You know,” he said quietly.

“What?”

“You’re a lot funnier when you’re not holding a microphone.”

You laughed.

“I’m hilarious when I’m holding a microphone.”

“Debatable.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah.”

You leaned forward slightly across the table.

“Careful,” you said. “I control your interview questions.”

Jack’s eyes widened slightly.

“That’s a terrifying amount of power.”

“Exactly.”

He smiled again, shaking his head.

For a moment neither of you said anything.

But the silence felt different now.

Comfortable.

Like the careful awkwardness from the beginning had faded into something softer.

Jack tapped his fingers lightly against the table.

“I’m glad you said yes,” he said after a moment.

You looked up.

“To dinner,” he clarified quickly.

Your cheeks warmed slightly.

“Me too.”

Outside the restaurant window, the evening had grown darker, streetlights flickering on along the sidewalk.

Inside the booth, neither of you seemed particularly eager to end the conversation.

And somewhere out on the internet, people were still talking about INTERHUGHES like it was a fictional slow burn story.

But sitting across from Jack like this—

it didn’t feel fictional at all.

The food came a few minutes later.

Nothing complicated—just two plates set down between you, the quiet clink of silverware against ceramic filling the brief pause in the conversation.

Jack thanked the server before looking back at you.

For a moment neither of you spoke, both of you taking a few bites like you were recalibrating after realizing how long you’d already been sitting there.

Which was when Jack suddenly laughed softly to himself.

You looked up.

“What?”

He shook his head.

“Nothing.”

“No, you definitely just thought of something.”

Jack hesitated.

Then he leaned back slightly in the booth, rubbing the back of his neck the way he always seemed to when he felt a little embarrassed.

“I was just thinking about that video Luke showed us earlier.”

You groaned quietly.

“Oh no.”

Jack smiled apologetically.

“Sorry.”

“I was hoping we were going to pretend that didn’t happen.”

“I tried,” he said. “Didn’t work.”

You shook your head, taking another sip of your drink.

“I still can’t believe that comment blew up like that.”

“INTERHUGHES,” Jack said, like he still couldn’t believe the word existed.

You laughed into your glass.

“Please don’t say it out loud.”

He smiled, looking down at the table for a second before glancing back up at you.

“It’s kind of funny though.”

“No it’s not.”

“Okay maybe not for you.”

“Definitely not for me.”

Jack watched you for a moment, clearly amused by how genuinely horrified you still seemed by the whole thing.

Then his expression softened slightly.

“But… I mean,” he added carefully, “people like it.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“People like watching you forget how to talk during interviews?”

He pointed at you immediately.

“That was one time.”

“It was several times.”

Jack opened his mouth to argue, then stopped.

“…Okay maybe a few times.”

You smiled.

“Exactly.”

He leaned forward slightly across the table, lowering his voice like he was about to say something important.

“For the record,” he said quietly, “that’s never happened before.”

You blinked.

“What hasn’t?”

“The whole… forgetting how to answer questions thing.”

Your eyebrows lifted slightly.

“Are you blaming me for that?”

Jack laughed softly.

“I’m not blaming you.”

“Sounds like you are.”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, shrugging lightly, “I’ve done a lot of interviews.”

You nodded slowly.

“And?”

“And usually I’m not…” he hesitated briefly, searching for the right word.

“Nervous.”

The word hung in the air between you.

Your stomach did a small, unexpected flip.

“You get nervous?” you said, half teasing.

“Sometimes.”

You tilted your head slightly.

“During interviews?”

He looked at you.

“Sometimes,” he repeated.

Your cheeks warmed slightly, but you kept your tone light.

“Well that’s unfortunate,” you said. “Considering my job.”

Jack smiled.

“Yeah.”

For a moment neither of you spoke again.

But this silence felt different from the earlier ones.

There was something warmer in it now.

Something quieter.

Jack absentmindedly traced a small circle on the table with his finger.

Then he looked up again.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Were you actually surprised when those clips went viral?”

You thought about it for a second.

“Honestly?”

“Yeah.”

“A little,” you admitted. “But not because of you.”

Jack raised an eyebrow.

“Oh?”

“It’s just weird,” you said. “Normally I’m behind the camera, you know? I ask the questions, I edit the clips, and then I move on to the next thing.”

He nodded.

“But suddenly people were analyzing every second of that interview like it was some kind of movie scene,” you continued.

Jack smiled slightly.

“People love that stuff.”

“Apparently.”

You rested your chin lightly against your hand.

“I just didn’t expect to be… part of the story.”

Jack’s expression softened a little at that.

“Well,” he said, “you are.”

You laughed quietly.

“Thanks for the reminder.”

“I mean it in a good way.”

You met his eyes across the table.

“I know.”

The conversation drifted again after that—back into easier topics.

Music.

Travel during road trips.

The weirdest interview questions either of you had ever heard.

At one point Jack told a story about accidentally spilling an entire sports drink on a reporter during his rookie year.

You laughed so hard the couple at the next table briefly glanced over.

“You’re lying.”

“I swear I’m not.”

“That’s horrible.”

“It was an accident!”

“Did you apologize?”

“Of course.”

“And?”

“She still asks me about it sometimes.”

You shook your head.

“That’s insane.”

Jack leaned back in his seat, smiling.

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“I really am.”

Eventually the plates were empty, but neither of you seemed particularly eager to leave.

Outside the window, the streetlights glowed softly against the dark sidewalk.

Jack glanced at his phone briefly, then set it back down without really checking anything.

“You know,” he said.

“What?”

“If Luke finds out about this, he’s going to be unbearable.”

You laughed.

“He already seems unbearable.”

“You have no idea.”

“Does he tease you a lot?”

Jack gave you a look.

“He literally showed you the INTERHUGHES video.”

“Fair point.”

He smiled again, but there was something softer in his expression now.

Something quieter.

“You’re easy to talk to,” he said after a moment.

You blinked slightly at the sudden honesty.

“Is that surprising?”

“A little.”

“Why?”

He thought about it for a second.

Then shrugged.

“I don’t know. I guess I expected this to be more awkward.”

You laughed softly.

“Me too.”

“Good,” he said.

“Good?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, smiling again. “Because it’s not.”

Outside, a car passed slowly down the street, its headlights briefly illuminating the window beside your table.

Inside the booth, the two of you were still leaning slightly toward each other, the conversation drifting easily from one topic to the next.

And somewhere online, the INTERHUGHES edits were probably still multiplying by the hour.

But neither of you had checked your phones in a long time.

Eventually the server came back to clear the plates, setting the small check folder down at the edge of the table.

Neither of you reached for it right away.

For a moment the two of you just sat there, the restaurant quieter now than when you’d arrived. The couple near the window had already left, and someone in the back was stacking chairs.

Jack glanced at the bill.

Then at you.

“I’ve got it.”

You immediately shook your head.

“No you don’t.”

“Yes I do.”

“Jack—”

“I asked you to come,” he said simply.

“That doesn’t mean you have to pay.”

“It kind of does.”

You gave him a look.

“You’re an NHL player.”

“And?”

“And I’m not letting you pay for my food just because of that.”

Jack laughed softly, leaning back in the booth.

“That’s not why.”

“Then why?”

He hesitated for half a second.

“Because I wanted to.”

Your cheeks warmed a little again at the quiet sincerity in his voice.

You held his gaze for a moment before finally sighing in defeat.

“Fine.”

Jack smiled.

“But next time—” you started.

His eyebrows lifted slightly.

“Next time?”

You immediately realized what you had said and looked down at the table.

“Well… if there is a next time.”

Jack’s grin spread slowly across his face.

“I think there should be.”

You looked back up at him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He paid quickly after that, slipping his card into the folder before you could protest again.

A few minutes later the two of you stepped outside into the cool night air.

The street was quieter now, most of the nearby shops already closed. A soft breeze moved down the sidewalk, carrying the faint smell of rain from somewhere farther down the block.

Jack pulled his hands into the pocket of his hoodie as you both paused on the sidewalk.

“So,” he said.

“So,” you echoed again, smiling slightly.

You glanced down the street toward the train station.

“My train’s this way.”

Jack nodded.

“I’ll walk with you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

The two of you started down the sidewalk together.

The walk wasn’t long—maybe ten minutes—but neither of you seemed in a rush. Your steps fell into an easy rhythm beside each other, shoulders occasionally brushing when the sidewalk narrowed.

Jack glanced at you after a minute.

“Are you covering the game on Thursday?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Why?”

He shrugged lightly.

“Just wondering.”

You smiled.

“I assume you’ll be there too.” You joked.

“Hopefully.”

“You planning on scoring another goal so I have something interesting to ask you about?”

Jack laughed.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

The station lights came into view at the end of the block.

Your train platform sat mostly empty when you walked up the steps, a few people scattered along the benches waiting quietly.

You both slowed slightly.

The train wasn’t there yet.

For a moment neither of you said anything.

Jack rocked lightly on his heels, glancing briefly down the tracks before looking back at you.

“I’m really glad we did this.”

You nodded softly.

“Me too.”

A faint rumble in the distance signaled the approaching train.

Jack looked down at the platform, then back up at you again.

“Do you ever get tired of hockey?” he asked suddenly.

The question surprised you.

“What do you mean?”

“Like… being around it all the time,” he said. “Games, interviews, travel. Does it ever feel like too much?”

You thought about it.

“Sometimes,” you admitted.

Jack nodded slowly.

“But,” you added, “nights like this help.”

He looked at you again.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The train lights appeared around the bend.

Jack exhaled quietly through his nose, like he wasn’t thrilled that the evening was ending.

When the train finally pulled into the station, the doors sliding open with a soft mechanical hiss, you turned toward him.

“Well,” you said.

“Well,” he repeated.

You stepped closer to the door.

Then paused.

“Good luck Thursday,” you said.

Jack smiled.

“Thanks.”

You hesitated for half a second before stepping onto the train.

Just before the doors closed, you glanced back.

Jack was still standing on the platform.

Hands in his hoodie pocket.

Watching you.

When the train started moving again, you pulled your phone from your bag and sat down near the window.

A few seconds later, it buzzed.

You looked down.

A new message.

From Jack.

Jack: Text me when you get home? Just so I know you didn’t get kidnapped by INTERHUGHES fans.

You laughed quietly to yourself.

Then typed back.

You: You’re never letting that go, are you?

Three dots appeared almost immediately.

Jack: Absolutely not.

Outside the window, the station disappeared behind you as the train rolled into the night.

And for the first time since this whole strange, viral story had started—

it didn’t feel like something the internet had created anymore.

It felt real.

[hughesaholic]

Post by @hughesaholic · 1 image

💬 0  🔁 0  ❤️ 0 · INTERHUGHES - Part 7 · Jack Hughes x interviewer!reader part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, pa

INTERHUGHES PART 7 POSTED !!!!

[hughesaholic]

INTERHUGHES - Part 7

Jack Hughes x interviewer!reader

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15

Road trips always had a way of changing the rhythm of things. The team disappeared for a stretch of games in different cities, highlights popping up online late at night, clips circulating before the next morning’s practice. You had covered a couple of the games in person like you said you would, catching flights in and out, conducting quick interviews in visiting locker room hallways that looked almost identical to the one back in New Jersey.

But road trips were different.

Shorter interviews. Faster schedules. Less time lingering in hallways.

You and Jack Hughes had talked a handful of times during those games, but mostly in the same professional rhythm you had established before—quick questions, quick answers, brief smiles before players moved on to the next city.

Still, something about it had felt easier.

More natural.

Like the two of you had settled into the familiarity of recognizing and looking for each other in a crowded room.

Which was why, when you arrived at the practice facility two days after the team got back from the road trip, you weren’t expecting anything particularly unusual.

Just another media availability.

You pushed through the glass doors, greeted a couple staff members in the hallway, and headed toward the smaller media room where a few players were scheduled to speak after practice.

The place was quieter than the arena on game nights.

Sunlight filtered through the tall windows overlooking the practice rink, reflecting faintly off the ice where a few players were still finishing drills. The sound of skates carving into the surface echoed softly through the building.

You leaned against the railing for a moment, watching the end of practice while flipping through your notes.

Players began filing off the ice a few minutes later, helmets tucked under their arms, laughing with each other as they headed toward the locker room.

A few of them passed by you on their way down the hallway.

Then one of them slowed slightly.

“Hey.”

You looked up.

The player standing there was younger than most of the guys you usually interviewed, his damp hair pushed back from his forehead after practice.

It took you a second.

Then you recognized him.

Luke Hughes.

Jack’s brother.

You had interviewed him once earlier in the season, but only briefly.

“Hi,” you said, smiling politely.

Luke tilted his head slightly, studying your face like he was trying to confirm something.

Then he grinned.

“Oh wow.”

Your stomach sank slightly.

“…What?”

Luke pointed toward you lightly.

“You’re the interviewer.”

You blinked. Of course you knew what he was talking about, but decided to play dumb.

“I’m… one of them, yes.”

“No,” he said immediately. “You’re the one.”

You laughed awkwardly.

“I’m afraid to ask what that means.”

Luke pulled his phone out of his pocket.

“Oh you definitely don’t want to ask.”

That answer alone told you enough.

Before you could respond, another player walked past behind him, catching a glimpse of Luke holding his phone up.

“Is that her?” the guy asked casually.

Luke nodded.

“Yeah.”

The other player looked at you, then back at Luke.

“Man, Hughes is gonna lose it.”

You covered your face briefly with one hand.

“This is so embarrassing.”

Luke laughed.

“I mean, it’s not your fault.”

“Feels like it might be.”

He was about to say something else when another voice drifted down the hallway.

“Luke.”

You didn’t even have to look to know who it was.

Jack had just stepped out of the locker room.

For half a second, he froze.

Because Luke was standing there.

Talking to you.

And holding his phone.

Jack ran a hand over his face immediately.

“Oh my god.”

Luke turned toward him with the biggest grin you had seen yet.

“Look who I found.”

Jack walked closer, shaking his head like he already knew exactly how this situation was going to go.

“Please stop.”

Luke ignored him completely and turned the phone screen toward both of you.

“You guys need to see this.”

Before either of you could protest, he tapped play.

The video on the screen was a compilation.

Clips from your interviews.

The blushing.

The smiling.

The moment from the hallway where Jack forgot part of a question.

And then the more recent one where you joked about his shot count.

Over all of the videos was one word that stood out to you. Something you hadn't seen yet

INTERHUGHES

"What the hell does 'INTERHUGHES' mean?" You asked, questioning the made up word.

Luke furrowed his brows, trying to figure out the same thing.

"I guess it's your ship name or something. Like interviews but replace it with Hughes." He looked up from his phone, grinning between you and Jack.

Embarrassed, you hid your face in your hands.

Luke goes back scrolling through comments, reading them aloud.

“If this was a Wattpad story it would be called INTERHUGHES.”

For a second nobody said anything.

Then Luke burst out laughing.

“INTERHUGHES,” he repeated. “That’s incredible.”

You stared at the phone, mortified that this many people were actually invested in your personal life.

“Oh my god.”

Jack rubbed the back of his neck, his ears already turning pink.

“So that's the official label now, huh? Is that really real, Luke?” He asked, trying to grab the phone from him.

Luke pulled it away, eyes focused on the screen as he continues to scroll through the comments.

“Oh it’s real.”

He turned the phone toward you again.

The video had millions of views already.

Thousands of comments repeating the same thing.

INTERHUGHES

INTERHUGHES

INTERHUGHES

Someone had even written:

“This is the best slow burn on the internet.”

You groaned softly.

“I need to change careers.”

Luke was still laughing.

“This is amazing.”

Jack looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him.

“Can we not call it that?”

“Too late,” Luke said.

Just then another player walked past and glanced at the phone.

“What’s that?”

Luke turned the screen toward him.

“New ship name.”

The guy read it once.

Then immediately started laughing.

“INTERHUGHES is crazy. Honestly smart.”

Jack buried his face in his hands.

“This is my nightmare.”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed too.

Which made Jack glance up at you, half embarrassed, half amused.

“I’m glad one of us finds this funny.”

“Hey,” you said, trying to defend yourself, “I didn’t come up with it.”

Luke locked his phone and slid it back into his pocket.

“Well,” he said cheerfully, “too late now. It’s viral.”

Jack shook his head, still blushing slightly.

But when he glanced at you again, the corner of his mouth lifted just a little.

~~~

Later that afternoon, as you were packing your bag to leave the practice facility, your phone buzzed.

A new message appeared.

From Jack.

You opened it.

It was the same video Luke had shown earlier.

Underneath it, Jack had typed:

“I can’t believe they’re calling it INTERHUGHES.”

You stared at the message for a second before replying.

“Honestly… could be worse.”

A moment passed.

Then another message appeared.

“Don’t encourage them.”

You smiled to yourself as you slipped your phone back into your bag.

Because if the internet thought this story was entertaining now—

something told you they were only getting started.

[hughesaholic]

Staying - Rafe Cameron

Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Loosely based on the "Staying" by Lizzy McAlpine

warnings: pre established relationship, toxic relationship, mentions of addiction

The song of summer cicadas seeped in through rafes open bedroom window, mixing with his gentle breaths, like waves lapping at the shore. You lay on your back, sinking into his all too familiar mattress, staring at the ceiling. Beside you, Rafe lay, sound asleep. The high from today had knocked him out within minutes.

You propped yourself up on your arm, watching as his chest rose and fell slowly.

How can you look so peaceful when you know I'm gonna leave?

Your and Rafe’s relationship had been complicated. You had been dating for almost 2 years now. The first couple months had been amazing. That was before he had been addicted. Now, it was all different. It had been for a while. Rafe’s relationship with his father had never been good, but it has only gotten worse. He stated using more consistently, multiple times a day. You used to be enough to heal his pain, not anymore.

But every time you would work up enough courage to leave, something would happen. A nice moment between the two of you, maybe even just a look from him that said ‘I’m still here.’ That was what you clung too, the reason why you could never quite get yourself to leave. But they hadn’t had one of those in a while. And Rafe had been doing more coke and starting more arguments then ever. Realistically, you both knew it would be coming to an end soon. You had to do it. Now. Or you would never be able to.

You quietly slid out from under his sheets, placing them back neatly over the warm, you-shaped dent in his bed. You tiptoed around the room, picking up a few of your things from the floor and shoving them into a small bag. You would come back and get the rest of your stuff another time when he wasn’t home.

Once you had gathered all your stuff from the floor, you looked back at him one last time. You couldn’t resist, walking quietly over to the bed, standing over him. You leaned down just barely pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, wanting to feel the warmth of his skin one last time, eyes watering as you pressed you lips to his baby soft skin. You hovered there for a moment, whispering gently in his ear;

“I’m sorry.” A single tear fell from your eye, landing on his face. “I love you.”

You forced yourself to pull back. More tears came down your face as you backed away, towards the door. You took one last look around the room, inhaling his scent. The door knob was cold against your fingertips, the same ones that used to be intertwined around his. The door creaked the same slight creak that it always did. You pulled the door open, taking the step out, and beginning to pull it closed behind you.

"Baby…?” Rafe’s voice came out quiet and hazy, still half-lost in sleep, sounding younger without the weight he usually carried.

~~~

AN:

switching it up a bit with some Rafe!! pls leave requests with what you guys want. I will write for basically anyone if I know who they are <3

[hughesaholic]

Post by @hughesaholic · 1 image

💬 0  🔁 0  ❤️ 0 · INTERHUGHES - Part 6 · Jack Hughes x interviewer!reader part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, pa

INTERHUGHES PART 6 OUT NOW!!!!

[hughesaholic]

INTERHUGHES - Part 6

Jack Hughes x interviewer!reader

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15

A few days after the café, the arena felt different.

Not dramatically different—no one was acting strange, no reporters whispering in corners or teammates pointing fingers across the hallway like they do in the movies. Everything about the building moved with the same familiar rhythm it always had. The low rumble of the Zamboni somewhere below the stands, the distant echo of pucks hitting boards during warmups, the occasional burst of laughter from staff moving through the corridors.

Still, as you walked down the hallway toward the media room that evening, your mind kept drifting back to that afternoon.

The café.

The way the conversation had unfolded so easily once the initial surprise wore off.

You hadn’t planned on running into Jack Hughes outside of work. Players and reporters usually lived in parallel worlds—occasionally intersecting for interviews, then drifting back into their separate routines.

But now that line felt… slightly blurred.

Not in a bad way.

Just unfamiliar.

You set your equipment down on the long table inside the media room, organizing your notes while a few other reporters filtered in behind you. A television mounted on the wall quietly replayed highlights from the last game played by the New Jersey Devils, the muted commentary scrolling across the bottom of the screen.

Tonight wasn’t a game night.

Just a scheduled media availability before the team left for their next road trip.

Players would come through the room in small groups to answer questions—nothing intense, just the usual updates before travel.

You were halfway through adjusting your recorder when the door opened again.

A few players stepped in first, talking among themselves as they grabbed bottles of water from a cooler in the corner.

Then Jack walked in behind them.

He stopped almost immediately when he spotted you.

For a second neither of you said anything.

Then his expression softened into a small smile.

“Hey.”

The greeting was quiet, casual enough that anyone else in the room probably would’ve assumed you two had simply met during an interview before—which, technically, you had.

“Hi,” you said, returning the smile.

Jack leaned back against the wall near the doorway, arms loosely crossed while he waited for the media coordinator to signal the start of questions.

The room slowly filled with the low hum of conversation. Reporters shuffled notebooks, someone adjusted a camera lens, a chair scraped faintly against the floor.

From across the room, you noticed Jack glance toward you once.

Then again a moment later.

Not in a nervous way like those first interviews—more like he was checking whether you were about to ask something.

When the media coordinator finally nodded, the room settled.

Questions started moving around the group—updates on travel, adjustments the team planned to make during the road trip, how players managed long stretches away from home.

You listened carefully, jotting down notes as different players answered.

Eventually, Jack stepped forward to take a few questions of his own.

He leaned lightly against the table at the front of the room, resting his hands on the edge as reporters gathered closer.

One question turned into two, then three.

His answers were thoughtful, calm, occasionally punctuated by the same quiet humor you had noticed at the café.

Then there was a pause.

You raised your hand slightly.

“Jack.”

His eyes moved toward you immediately.

“Y/N,” he said easily.

You noticed one of the reporters beside you glance briefly between the two of you, probably recognizing your name from the recent interviews.

You ignored it.

“With the road trip coming up,” you asked, “how do you personally reset between games when you’re moving from city to city so quickly?”

Jack considered the question for a moment.

“Honestly?” he said, leaning back slightly. “A lot of coffee.”

A few reporters laughed.

“But mostly it’s just finding small routines,” he continued. “Same warmup music, same pregame stuff. You try to make different cities feel a little more normal.”

You nodded, scribbling something in your notebook.

“Any favorite coffee spots so far?”

The question slipped out before you could stop it. You honestly didn't even mean to be referring to your previous intervention, you had just gotten so used to asking follow up questions as a reporter.

For half a second Jack looked surprised.

Then he laughed quietly, the memory clearly clicking into place.

“Yeah,” he said. “There’s one near the practice rink that’s pretty good.”

You tried very hard not to smile too obviously.

Across the room, someone asked another question about travel schedules, and the conversation moved on.

A few minutes later, the media availability wrapped up.

Players started drifting back toward the hallway outside.

You packed your notebook into your bag, slinging the strap over your shoulder as reporters slowly cleared out of the room.

By the time you stepped into the hallway, most of the players had already disappeared around the corner.

Except one.

Jack stood near the end of the corridor, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets like he had been waiting for someone.

When he saw you, he straightened slightly.

“You heading out?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder. “Just finished.”

For a moment it seemed like he was about to walk back toward the locker room, like maybe he had only paused there out of coincidence.

Instead, he stayed.

The hallway was quieter now, the earlier buzz of reporters fading as people packed up and headed toward the exits. Somewhere down the corridor a door shut, the sound echoing faintly against the concrete walls.

Jack shifted his weight slightly, glancing toward the arena entrance at the far end of the hall.

“Did you drive here?” he asked.

“No,” you said. “Train.”

He nodded slowly.

“Same.”

That surprised you.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he said with a small shrug. “Sometimes it’s easier than dealing with traffic.”

There was a brief pause, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

If anything, it felt strangely calm compared to the usual rushed conversations you’d had inside the arena before.

Then Jack pushed himself off the wall.

“I was actually about to head out too,” he said. “If you want to walk?”

The offer was casual, almost careful, like he didn’t want to make it sound like too big of a deal.

You hesitated for half a second before nodding.

“Sure.”

The two of you started down the hallway together, your footsteps echoing softly against the floor as you passed framed photos of past seasons lining the walls.

Outside the arena doors, the evening air was cold and sharp, the kind that made you instinctively pull your coat a little tighter around yourself.

Jack noticed.

Without saying anything, he slowed his pace slightly so you could walk comfortably beside him.

The streetlights cast a soft glow across the sidewalk as the two of you headed toward the station a few blocks away.

For a minute neither of you spoke.

Then Jack glanced over at you.

“So,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice, “do reporters usually end up walking to the train with the people they interview?”

You laughed softly.

“No.”

“Good.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Good?”

“Means I’m special,” he said lightly.

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself.

“I think you just got lucky.” You teased.

“Yeah,” Jack said after a moment.

His voice was quieter now, more thoughtful.

“Maybe I did.”

The comment lingered in the cold evening air between you as the station came into view at the end of the block.

And for the first time since this strange, unexpected storyline between the two of you had started, the moment felt less like something the internet had created—

and more like something that actually belonged to just the two of you.

The walk to the station was only a few blocks, but the quiet of the evening made it feel longer in a way that wasn’t unpleasant.

The streets around the arena had mostly emptied after the earlier rush, leaving behind only the occasional car passing by and the distant hum of traffic somewhere farther downtown. The cold air carried that sharp, late-winter feeling that made every breath visible for a second before it disappeared.

You tucked your hands deeper into your coat pockets as the two of you walked side by side.

For a while neither of you said much.

Not because there wasn’t anything to say—but because the quiet felt strangely comfortable.

Jack walked with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, shoulders slightly hunched against the cold. Every now and then he glanced sideways at you, like he was about to say something before thinking better of it.

Eventually, he broke the silence.

“So,” he said, his voice lighter than before, “do you always take the train after media stuff?”

“Most of the time,” you said. “It’s easier than driving into the city.”

Jack nodded slowly, looking ahead toward the station lights down the street.

“I might start doing that more,” he said.

You looked over at him, raising an eyebrow slightly.

“Because of traffic?”

He hesitated just long enough that you noticed.

“…Sure,” he said.

You couldn’t help laughing quietly.

“Wow. That sounded convincing.”

Jack huffed a laugh under his breath, glancing at you again.

“Alright, maybe not just traffic.”

“Yeah?”

He shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed now that you had caught him.

“I mean… if there’s a chance I run into you again, it seems like a pretty solid commute.”

For a second you weren’t sure what to say.

The comment wasn’t overly bold, but the way he said it—slightly shy, like he wasn’t totally confident how it would land—made your chest feel unexpectedly warm.

You smiled. It took you a second to speak up, but after a moment you said, “it’s a decent strategy.”

Jack glanced over at you again, a little surprised.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said, trying to sound casual. “You’re probably increasing your odds.”

He laughed quietly at that, the tension easing slightly.

You could feel things changing. Both of you were flirting, just... in a shy way. The two of you were similar like that; neither of you bold enough to make a big move, just slowly taking small steps.

By the time you reached the station entrance, the soft glow of fluorescent lights spilled out onto the sidewalk. A few commuters stood near the platform entrance, bundled in coats while they waited for the next train.

You both slowed slightly as you approached the stairs.

“This is me,” you said, gesturing toward the entrance.

Jack nodded.

“Same.”

The two of you descended the stairs together, the sound of your footsteps echoing softly in the mostly empty station. A train schedule flickered overhead, showing that the next one wouldn’t arrive for another five minutes.

You both stopped near the platform edge.

For a second neither of you moved.

Jack rocked back slightly on his heels, glancing up at the arrival board before looking back at you.

He watched you for a moment, his expression softening slightly.

Then he looked away again, almost shy.

“So… um,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Are you covering the road trip?”

“Some of it,” you said. “Not all the games, but I should be able to make a few of them."

He nodded slowly.

“Okay.”

You tilted your head slightly.

“Why?”

Jack hesitated again, clearly debating whether to say what he was thinking.

Finally he shrugged.

“Just wondering when I’ll see you again.”

The words came out quieter than the rest of the conversation, almost like he hadn’t meant to say them out loud.

You felt that same warmth spread through your chest again.

“Probably soon,” you said gently. "I'm sure I'll be assigned to more work with the Devils with how much attention the interviews have been gaining recently. Not sure if you noticed, but your interviews have been going just a little bit viral the past few days." You joked, nudging him slightly in the shoulder.

Jack laughed softly, shaking his head.

“Please don’t remind me.”

The distant sound of the train approaching echoed faintly through the tunnel.

A breeze rushed down the tracks a moment later, cool air swirling through the station.

Jack shifted his weight again, looking slightly unsure.

“Hey,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad I ran into you at the café the other day.”

The comment was simple, but there was something genuine in the way he said it.

You smiled.

“Me too.”

The train pulled into the station with a screech of brakes, lights flashing across the platform.

As the doors slid open, you stepped forward—but paused for a moment before getting on.

“Good luck on the road trip,” you said.

Jack nodded.

“Thanks.”

Then, after a second, he added with a small grin,

“Try not to start any more internet rumors while I’m gone.”

You laughed as you stepped onto the train.

“No promises.”

The doors slid closed between you a moment later, the train slowly pulling away from the platform.

Jack stayed where he was, watching until the cars disappeared into the tunnel.

Only then did he finally turn toward the stairs.

And somewhere deep down, both of you were already wondering when the next conversation like that would happen again.

[hughesaholic]

Post by @hughesaholic · 1 image

💬 0  🔁 0  ❤️ 0 · INTERHUGHES - Part 5 · Jack Hughes x interviewer!reader part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, pa

INTERHUGHES PART 5 POSTED !!!!!!

[hughesaholic]

INTERHUGHES - Part 5

Jack Hughes x interviewer!reader

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15

The café was quieter than you expected for a Saturday afternoon.

You had ducked inside mostly to escape the cold, the late-winter wind cutting through the streets in sharp bursts that made the short walk from the train station feel twice as long. The small place sat on the corner of a block not far from the river, warm light spilling out of its windows and fogging the glass just enough that the world outside looked softened and distant.

It was the kind of place people came to read or sit with their laptops for a few hours, the low murmur of conversation blending with the sound of milk steaming behind the counter and the quiet clink of ceramic mugs.

You wrapped your hands around the coffee cup the barista had just set down in front of you, letting the warmth settle into your fingers as you sat near the window.

For the first time in a few days, your phone was face-down on the table.

No notifications.

No comments.

No clips replaying the same thirty seconds of an interview over and over again.

Just… quiet.

You had almost forgotten what that felt like.

A few minutes passed as you skimmed through notes on your laptop, outlining questions for an upcoming feature piece you were working on about the New Jersey Devils’s road trip schedule.

You were halfway through typing a sentence when the chair across from you scraped lightly against the floor.

“Hey.”

The voice was familiar enough that you looked up immediately.

For a second, your brain struggled to place why seeing him here felt so unexpected.

Then it clicked.

Jack Hughes stood there with a paper cup in one hand, a dark beanie pulled down loosely over his hair, a thick jacket zipped halfway up against the cold.

He looked… different.

Not in a dramatic way.

Just normal.

No cameras.

No microphones.

No locker room hallway buzzing with reporters waiting for answers.

Just a guy standing in a café holding coffee.

“Hi,” you said, blinking once in surprise.

Jack shifted his weight slightly, glancing at the empty chair across from you.

“Is it okay if I sit?” he asked.

The question caught you off guard enough that you laughed quietly.

“Yeah, of course.”

He slid into the chair, setting his cup down on the table before pulling his hands back into the sleeves of his jacket for warmth.

For a moment neither of you spoke.

It wasn’t awkward exactly—just unfamiliar.

All of your previous conversations had happened in short bursts between interviews, quick exchanges surrounded by cameras and teammates and the noise of the arena.

This was different.

Jack broke the silence first.

“I didn’t know if it was actually you,” he admitted, nodding toward your laptop. “I walked past the window and thought… maybe?”

You glanced toward the street outside, realizing he must have spotted you through the fogged glass.

“Yeah,” you said. “I come here sometimes when I need to get work done.”

He nodded slowly.

“Good coffee.”

“You’ve been here before?”

“A couple times,” he said. “It’s close to the practice rink.”

There was a brief pause while the barista called someone’s name from the counter.

Jack picked up his cup, turning it slightly between his hands before taking a sip.

Then he looked back at you.

“You working right now?” he asked.

“A little,” you admitted, gesturing toward the laptop screen. “But nothing urgent.”

“Good.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Good?”

Jack smiled faintly, leaning back slightly in his chair.

“Means this isn’t technically an interview.”

The warmth in his voice made you laugh.

“Relax,” you said with a small laugh.“I didn’t bring a microphone.”

“Thank God.”

The two of you sat there for a moment, the quiet rhythm of the café settling around you.

Without the rush of post-game interviews, you noticed small things you hadn’t before—the way Jack spoke with his hands when he explained something, the slight crease that appeared between his eyebrows when he was thinking, the way he seemed more relaxed now than he ever did standing in front of a line of cameras.

“Your teammates are going to keep bothering you about those interviews, aren’t they?” you asked eventually.

Jack groaned softly.

“You have no idea.”

“Let me guess,” you said. “They’ve seen the videos.”

“All of them,” he replied.

You tried to hide your smile.

“What are they saying?” Anna asked, curious of how a non-chronically online person viewed the situation.

Jack hesitated for a moment, clearly debating whether to repeat it.

Then he shook his head.

“I’m not tryna give the rumors any more material.” He scoffed.

“That bad?”

“It’s mostly just Luke,” he said. “But he’s relentless.”

You laughed quietly.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Jack said, though the faint pink creeping into his ears suggested he wasn’t entirely unaffected.

For a few seconds, neither of you spoke again.

Outside the window, a couple passed by bundled in scarves, their breath visible in the cold air.

Inside, the café remained warm and calm, the noise of the city softened by the glass.

Jack tapped his fingers lightly against his cup.

“I feel like I should apologize,” he said after a moment.

You looked up.

“For what?”

“For dragging you into… whatever the internet thinks is happening,” he said, gesturing vaguely.

You considered that for a second.

Then you shrugged.

“It’s not the worst rumor the internet’s ever started.”

Jack smiled.

“Still.”

There was something sincere in the way he said it.

Something careful.

You realized suddenly that he probably worried about the same thing you did—that the attention might make things uncomfortable, or awkward, or somehow complicate the simple professional rhythm you had both been keeping.

So you said the first honest thing that came to mind.

“I don’t mind talking to you, you know.”

Jack’s eyes lifted slightly.

“I know,” he said quietly.

Then he added, almost as an afterthought,

“I don’t mind talking to you either.”

The words were simple, but the way he said them—soft, genuine—made the moment feel warmer than the café itself.

For a while after that, the conversation drifted easily between small topics.

Travel schedules.

Favorite cities to play in.

The strange routines that came with constantly moving between arenas and hotels.

At one point Jack laughed so suddenly that a few people nearby glanced over.

“What?” you asked.

“I just realized something.”

“What?”

“If someone from the internet walked in here right now,” he said, leaning forward slightly, “they’d probably lose their minds.”

You laughed, shaking your head.

“Don’t even say that.”

But neither of you moved to leave right away.

And for the first time since that first interview in the locker room hallway, the two of you were talking without cameras.

Without microphones.

Just two people sitting across from each other in a warm café while winter moved quietly outside the windows.

Neither of you seemed in a hurry for the conversation to end.

~~~

AN hehe starting to get into the good stuff. sorry I know it hasn't been too exciting so far, just trying to keep a realistic slow burn yk? if you guys want anything or have any feedback lmk!!

[hughesaholic]

Post by @hughesaholic · 1 image

💬 0  🔁 0  ❤️ 2 · INTERHUGHES - Part 4 · Jack Hughes x interviewer!reader part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, pa

INTERHUGHES PART 4 POSTED!!!