pairings: joe burrow x younger reader 🥺
wc: 2.3k
an: i know i said i was dropping lore tonight. it wasn't ready and i couldn't make it ready, so you're getting this instead — a request.
anon wanted her hiding an anxiety attack from him because she's scared he'll think it's childish, and him staying anyway. so. here.
usual note that i do not know this man. 🥺
banner by the lovely @moonstoneandmoonlight 🧡 thank you bb!
catch up on everything else here: masterlist
if you want to be added to the taglist don't be shy, just shoot me a message — there is no shame here 🧡
You’ve read the same paragraph about a hundred times.
It’s Sunday night and you’re on his couch with your laptop hot against your thighs, and the lit review is due Wednesday, and there’s a parent email sitting in your drafts that you’ve rewritten twice already — the one recommending reading intervention for a kid whose parents already decided at conferences that you’re the problem, the one that has to be worded so carefully it might as well be a hostage negotiation. Under that, in your texts, the estimate from the mechanic. Eight hundred and forty dollars. You did that math at a red light on the way over here. You did it again in his driveway with the engine off.
Joe’s at the other end of the couch with golf on, volume low, your feet in his lap. Every few minutes his hand wraps around your ankle and stays there a while, then goes back to his phone. He’s not watching the golf. You’re not reading the paragraph.
You highlight a sentence. Unhighlight it. Your thumbnail’s gone ragged on one side and you keep finding it with your finger anyway.
“Chef left the chicken thing,” he says. “Want me to heat it up?”
“I ate before I came.”
You didn’t. You had coffee at four and your stomach has been a closed fist since Friday, but eating means stopping, and stopping means the list catches up, and the list is fine. It’s a normal amount of things. Everyone has a normal amount of things.
He looks at you a second too long.
“You’ve been on that page a while,” he says.
“It’s dense.” You scroll down so the screen changes. “Education theory. Riveting stuff.”
He doesn’t push. His hand comes back to your ankle, thumb moving over the bone, and he goes back to the golf he isn’t watching.
—
You go up to bed a little after eleven.
You do the whole routine like your body isn’t humming — wash your face next to him at the double sink, take your side, let him pull you back against his chest the way he does. His breathing goes long and slow within minutes. He sleeps like a man with a clear conscience and a personal chef.
You lie there with your eyes open.
The email. The lit review. Eight hundred and forty dollars. The email again — the parents’ faces at conferences, the dad with his arms crossed saying she read fine last year, like you’d broken something in their kid by noticing it. You write the email in your head and hit the words wrong and start over. Then again. Your heart picks up somewhere in the fourth draft and doesn’t come back down.
The clock says 12:53 when you slide out from under his arm. You do it slow, one limb at a time, and he shifts and doesn’t wake. You take your phone off the nightstand and you don’t take the laptop, because the laptop isn’t the plan anymore. The plan is downstairs.
You put on Golden Girls with the volume at almost nothing. You don’t even have to scroll for it — it’s in his continue watching now, which is its own small thing you’re not going to look at directly. You pick an episode you’ve seen thirty times. Sophia’s already mid-story when it loads. Picture it: Sicily, 1922.
This is the show that works. It worked on your mom’s couch when you were eight and home sick, it worked through undergrad finals, it worked the whole week after your first parent conference went sideways. It’s not one of yours and his. It’s from before him. That’s the point. Nothing in it can touch the list.
Except the list came down the stairs with you.
Your breath stops going all the way down somewhere in the second act. You sit forward, elbows on your knees, and try the counting thing — four in, hold, seven out — and lose it at three because your heart is going too fast to count over. Your hands are doing the pins-and-needles thing. The room is too warm and then it isn’t. Blanche says something and the laugh track hisses about it at its almost-nothing volume and you slide off the couch onto the carpet because the couch suddenly feels like standing on something high.
You’re not — this is stupid. You’re sitting on the floor of your boyfriend’s basement at one in the morning trying to talk your own lungs into doing the one thing they’re for. He’s asleep. He’s two floors up. You just need to be quiet and ride it down and be back in bed before he ever—
The stairs.
You hear him on the stairs and you can’t fix your face in time, can’t get up off the floor, can’t do anything but sit there with your hands shaking in your lap while the show rolls on at a whisper.
“Hey.” He stops at the bottom. “Hey—”
You get a hand up before he’s even off the last step. “I’m fine.”
He stops where he is. You watch him take it in — you on the carpet with your knees pulled up, the shake in your hands, the show going at a whisper, one in the morning. You watch him do it and you wait for it. The look. You know the look. You’ve gotten it before, from people who were supposed to be safe — the one that lands somewhere between seriously? and what do you want me to do about this, the one that files you under too much.
“Go back to bed,” you say. It comes out in pieces. “I couldn’t sleep. I’m fine, I just need a minute.”
He doesn’t go back to bed.
He doesn’t crouch in front of you and grab your shoulders and tell you to breathe, either. He crosses the room and lowers himself onto the floor next to you, back against the couch, legs out, like this is a place he sits. An arm’s length away. He doesn’t touch you.
“You don’t have to talk,” he says. Low, under the laugh track. “I’m just gonna sit here.”
You keep waiting for the rest of it. The questions. The fixing.
It doesn’t come.
Your lungs are still doing the thing where the top third works and nothing else does. The counting keeps falling apart. Some part of you is narrating the whole time — he’s seeing this, he’s seeing all of this, this is the version of you he has now — and that part won’t shut up, and your eyes are burning, and Dorothy says something to Rose that you know by heart and it goes past you like traffic.
“This is so stupid,” you get out. “I’m—”
“You’re not.”
He puts his hand on the carpet between you. Palm up. He doesn’t look at it.
“Whenever you want it,” he says.
You stare at it through two more breaths that don’t land.
Then you take it, and you grip it way too hard, nails and everything, and he doesn’t flinch.
“Squeeze,” he says. “You’re not gonna hurt me.”
His fingers close around yours and his thumb moves slow across your knuckles, the same lap of it, over and over, something to count that isn’t counting. When the wave picks back up and your grip goes tight again, he says it again — “Still here” — same two words, same volume, every time it comes back.
Four in. You lose it. Four in. Hold. Seven out.
It takes what it takes. The episode ends and autoplays into the next one. Sophia’s back in Sicily at a whisper. Your grip eases off his hand by degrees and he doesn’t take it back, and neither do you, and he stays on the floor.
At some point he gets up, and your stomach drops — there it is — and then he’s back before the thought can finish, a water bottle from the mini fridge behind the bar, cap already cracked. He puts it in your hands without saying anything. You drink because it’s something to do with your mouth that isn’t apologizing. Your whole body feels like a wrung-out towel, and the embarrassment is arriving now the way it always does, filling in behind the fear as soon as the fear clears out room.
“I’m sorry,” you say.
“For what.”
“You weren’t supposed to — ” You gesture with the bottle. The floor. The show. You. “See this.”
He doesn’t answer that. He’s still next to you, shoulder against the couch, watching the side of your face now instead of the TV. “What set it off?”
You laugh, one syllable, nothing in it. “An email. I’m sitting on your floor at one a.m. because of an email.”
“The reading one,” he says. “Maddox.”
You turn and look at him. You told him about Maddox once — weeks ago, in the car, the kid who holds the book three inches from his face and guesses at the long words. You hadn’t even said you were worried. You’d just talked too long about it, probably.
“His parents,” Joe says. “You said the dad’s a lot.”
“Yeah.” The label on the water bottle is coming apart under your thumbnail. “Yeah, it’s — I have to send it tomorrow. Today. And it’s not even the email, it’s the email and the lit review and my car and — it stacks. It’s a few times a year. It stacks and then my body just.” You don’t finish. There isn’t a verb.
“How long have you been doing this alone?”
“Joe.”
“How long.”
“Since always. College. It’s easier.”
“Easier than what?”
“Than someone watching me like I’m a flat tire.” It comes out before you can sand it down. “I dated a guy who used to sigh, Joe. Audibly. My roommate used to say just breathe like I hadn’t thought of it. People get one of these and then they get a tone with you. Like you’re doing it at them.“
He doesn’t say anything. You’re not done and he knows it. The show murmurs along.
“And you’re twenty-nine,” you say, to the water bottle. “You’ve got a chef and a stylist and a whole life that runs on time. I’m already the youngest thing in it. I wasn’t going to hand you this too. Cry on your floor about an email like a — ” You don’t say the word. It’s been in the room for months anyway. “I didn’t want to give you more math.”
He’s quiet long enough that you almost look at him.
“There are guys on my team who throw up before kickoff,” he says. “Every game. Grown men with mortgages. One of them breathes into a paper bag in the tunnel and then goes out and hits people for three hours.” His thumb finds your knuckles again. “Your body doing this isn’t an age thing.”
“Joe—”
“And the math is mine. I told you that.” His voice stays low. “You don’t get to start carrying it for me.”
He stands and takes the empty bottle with him, and his other hand comes down for you. You let him pull you up. Your legs have the after-shake in them. He picks up the remote and the screen goes dark mid-Sicily.
—
The clock on his nightstand says 2:05 when you get back in bed.
You take your side the way you took it at eleven — careful, an inch of space, hands to yourself. You’ve used up enough tonight. The floor. The hand. The forty-five minutes of him sitting on carpet in his own basement at one in the morning. There’s a version of this where you ask him to hold you too, and somewhere in your chest a meter is running on how much a person gets to need in one night.
He erases the inch before you finish the thought. Arm under you, pulls you across the mattress and into him, your cheek landing on his chest like that was always where it was going.
“You don’t have to—”
“I know.”
You lie there a second. His heart under your ear. His hand starts moving on your back, slow, the full length of it.
“I’m trying not to be clingy,” you say into his collarbone, and it comes out smaller than you wanted it to.
“You snuck out of bed to fall apart alone in my basement,” he says. “Clingy is not the thing you need to work on.”
You don’t have anything for that. His hand keeps moving.
“I knew something was up,” he says, after a while. “Since Friday. You were here all weekend and somewhere else the whole time. I was waiting for you to bring it to me.”
You lift your head an inch. “Why didn’t you ask?”
“Because you’d have said you were fine.” His hand doesn’t stop. “You said it down there. Hands shaking, couldn’t breathe, still telling me you’re fine.”
“Joe—”
“You kept looking at me like you were waiting for something.” He says it slow, like he’s still working it out. “Down there. Like any second I was gonna — I don’t know. Get up and leave you down there.”
You don’t answer. That’s its own answer.
“I’m not him,” he says. “Whoever taught you to do this in a basement with the volume off — I’m not him. You don’t have to be fine in this house, baby.”
The email is still in your drafts. The lit review is still due Wednesday. The car is still eight hundred and forty dollars. None of it has moved, and your body is going heavy anyway, the weight of him under you doing the thing the counting couldn’t.
i guess it’s a good thing our boy fezco is locked up bc i would not wanna see him getting involved with none of this mess. i’d only accept him and lexi side eyeing everyone from the comfort of their couch.
The house was quiet in the way it only ever was after midnight.
No TVs humming downstairs. No phone calls from coaches. No film playing from the iPad Joe practically carried like another limb during the season.
Just silence.
You blinked awake slowly, reaching across the bed toward the cold empty space beside you.
Your heart immediately tightened.
Ever since getting pregnant, you’d become hyperaware of everything — every missed call, every headache, every moment you woke up alone in the middle of the night.
You pushed yourself upright carefully and glanced toward the clock.
2:07 a.m.
A soft light glowed faintly from downstairs.
Of course.
You already knew where he was.
The nursery door sat cracked open when you reached the hallway downstairs. Warm yellow light spilled across the hardwood floor.
And there he was.
Joe Burrow sat cross-legged in the middle of the room wearing gray sweatpants and an old Bengals hoodie, surrounded by what looked like the aftermath of a hardware store explosion.
Wood panels.
Loose screws.
Instructions crumpled beside him.
And what was very obviously the side of the crib attached completely backwards.
You leaned against the doorway, trying not to laugh.
“Joseph.”
His head snapped up immediately.
The guilty expression on his face made it worse.
“I can explain.”
“You’ve built the crib inside out.”
“That feels dramatic.”
You stepped into the room, eyeing the disaster around him. “The bars are facing the wall.”
Joe stared at it for a long moment before sighing.
“…okay, maybe a little dramatic.”
You laughed softly, lowering yourself beside him onto the rug.
The nursery was still unfinished, but it already felt special.
Soft cream walls. Tiny stacks of baby clothes folded in baskets. A stuffed elephant someone had gifted you both sitting in the rocker by the window.
Pieces of your future scattered everywhere.
Joe rubbed a hand over his face. “I was trying to surprise you.”
“At two in the morning?”
“You were sleeping.”
“You should also be sleeping.”
“Couldn’t.”
That answer came quieter.
You glanced over at him.
The exhaustion sitting on his face lately had become harder to ignore. Long practices. Media. Pressure. Endless conversations about the upcoming season.
And underneath all of it — the baby.
You reached over, brushing sawdust off the sleeve of his hoodie.
“You know most dads hire people for this stuff.”
“Yeah, well.” He grabbed the instruction booklet again. “Most dads aren’t stubborn.”
“That’s probably not true.”
The corner of his mouth lifted.
Together, you started sorting through the mess. Joe handed you screws while you tried deciphering instructions that somehow looked more confusing than football playbooks.
“You’d think,” you muttered, “for the amount this thing costs, they’d make the directions understandable.”
Joe pointed toward the page. “That picture might actually just be a threat.”
You snorted.
For a while, it felt easy.
Quiet.
Domestic in a way neither of you were used to yet.
Your knee bumped his occasionally while you worked. Every now and then his hand settled instinctively against your back when you leaned forward.
Little touches.
Little reminders.
By the time the crib finally started resembling an actual crib, the room had gone still again.
Joe sat back on his hands, staring at it silently.
You watched his expression soften.
Not football-player Joe.
Not confident press-conference Joe.
Just him.
Tired. Quiet. Overwhelmed.
Your voice gentled. “What’s going on in that head?”
He exhaled slowly through his nose.
“Nothing.”
You gave him a look.
Joe dropped his gaze toward the floor. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
His jaw shifted slightly like he was debating whether to answer honestly.
Finally:
“I don’t know how to do this.”
You blinked. “Build furniture?”
A soft huff of laughter escaped him. “No.”
The vulnerability in his voice made your chest ache instantly.
Joe leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.
“I know football,” he said quietly. “I know how to study film and take hits and deal with pressure and all that.” His eyes flicked toward the crib again. “But this…”
You stayed silent.
“I keep thinking about everything that could go wrong.”
His voice had dropped almost to a whisper now.
“What if I’m gone too much?” he admitted. “What if I miss things? What if you need me and I’m somewhere across the country worrying about third downs instead of—”
“Joe.”
“What if I’m not good at this?”
That one broke your heart a little.
Because beneath all the confidence everyone saw, Joe carried pressure like it lived in his bones.
You shifted closer carefully until your shoulder rested against his.
“You already are.”
His eyes lifted to yours immediately.
“You care this much,” you whispered. “That’s kind of the whole point.”
Joe looked at you for a long moment.
Then his gaze dropped slowly toward your stomach beneath the oversized sweatshirt you stole from him weeks ago.
His hand settled there instinctively.
Gentle.
Protective.
“I don’t know how to handle loving something this much,” he admitted quietly.
Emotion climbed into your throat so fast it hurt.
You covered his hand with yours.
The room fell silent except for the soft hum of the heater.
Then Joe leaned forward suddenly, pressing his forehead carefully against yours.
“You know what scares me the most?”
“What?”
“That you both become my whole world…” His thumb brushed softly across your stomach. “…and football stops mattering as much.”
You smiled through burning eyes. “Pretty sure that’s supposed to happen.”
He laughed quietly at that, finally — really laughed.
The tension in his shoulders eased for the first time all night.
Later, after the crib was finally finished correctly, you found yourselves curled together in the nursery rocker near the window.
The sky outside had started turning pale blue with early morning.
Joe had you tucked against his chest, one arm wrapped around you while his other hand rested over your stomach absentmindedly.
Sleep tugged heavily at both of you.
Right before your eyes closed, you heard him murmur softly against your hair:
“I’m gonna be there for both of you. No matter what this league takes from me.”
And in that quiet half-finished nursery, with dawn breaking softly around you, you believed him completely.
3rd installment of the Flashing Lights series, must read Flashing Lights & Don't Like The Lights first to understand
series masterlist
9. All Of My Friends
The hotel buzzed with excitement.
Garment bags hung from the closet doors, shoes were scattered across the bedroom floor, and soft music drifted from Jack’s phone on the dresser. Outside, cars were already beginning to arrive at the hotel where the release party and his birthday celebration would be held.
Jack stood in front of the mirror adjusting the cuffs of his jacket, his curls slightly shorter now, falling naturally across his forehead. On the bed behind him, Maryse was finishing her makeup, leaning toward the small vanity mirror while carefully lining her lips.
It had been a long road to this night.
Finally, Jack turned and leaned against the dresser, watching her the way he always did, like he couldn’t quite believe she was real and his.
“Alright,” she said, capping the lipgloss and turning toward him. “Be honest.”
He raised a brow. “Always.”
She smiled softly and stood, smoothing the fabric of her dress before walking over to him.
“Are you nervous?”
Jack paused for a moment, actually thinking about it. A year ago he probably would’ve said yes without hesitation. An R&B album from a white rapper? People were definitely going to have opinions.
But tonight felt different.
He shook his head slowly.
“No,” he said. “Honestly… I feel relieved.”
Maryse tilted her head. “Relieved?”
“Yeah.” He exhaled, rubbing his hands together before resting them on her hips. “I’ve been sitting on this project for so long. Second guessing everything. Wondering how people were gonna take it. But now that it’s finally dropping…” He shrugged. “It just feels good to let it go.”
She studied his face for a moment, the nerves she expected to see not really there.
“I’m proud of you,” she said quietly.
Jack smiled, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear. “Even if the internet cooks me for making an R&B album?”
Maryse laughed. “Please. The internet always drags you.”
He chuckled.
“And besides,” she continued, lightly tapping his chest, “you’re allowed to evolve. That’s what artists do.”
Jack looked at her like she’d just said the most obvious thing in the world but somehow it meant more coming from her.
“You always know exactly what to say,” he murmured.
Maryse leans closer and whispers into his lips “Yuck.” before giving him a kiss.
When Jack pulls away, “I’m more nervous about you opening your mouth and telling everybody something you’re not supposed to.” he said under his breath.
Maryse’s smile turned mischievous instantly.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said innocently.
Jack gave her a look. “Maryse.”
“What?” she laughed. “I’ve been quiet for weeks.”
He leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “You’re not as slick as you think you are.”
She bit back a grin, eyes flicking down to his lips before back up to his eyes.
“Maybe I just think tonight’s a good night,” she said.
Jack shook his head, but he was smiling now. “You’re gonna stress me out before we even get there.”
Maryse laughed softly and reached up, fixing the collar of his jacket.
“You’ll survive,” she teased. “You always do.”
As they started heading for the door, she stopped in her tracks.
“Wait,” Maryse said suddenly, pulling back. “We need to call the babysitter.”
Jack blinked. “Oh—yeah.”
He reached for his phone, and within a few seconds, the call connected. It rang once, twice—
Then chaos.
“DADDYYY!!” Noah’s voice yelled through the phone so loud Jack had to pull it back slightly.
Right behind him, London chimed in, even louder somehow. “MOMMY!! We three now!!”
The twins hadn’t stopped talking about their birthday since yesterday.
Maryse laughed immediately, leaning into Jack so she could be heard. “Yes, you are! My big three-year-olds!”
“Mommy, where you go?” London asked, her voice softening just a little.
“We’re going to Daddy’s party, baby,” Maryse said gently. “But we wanted to call and tell you goodnight first.”
“No stay!” Noah protested. “Come home!”
Jack’s face softened immediately. “Hey, hey… we’ll be home in the morning, okay? You be good for the babysitter.”
“We good!” London said proudly. “We not bad!”
Maryse smiled, her chest tightening just a little. “I know you’re not. We love you guys so much, okay?”
“Love you!” they both shouted at the same time.
“Love you more,” Jack replied.
“Nooo, I love you more!” Noah argued.
London gasped dramatically. “No, me love you more!”
Maryse laughed, shaking her head. “Okay, okay. Everybody loves everybody the most.”
“Okay,” Noah agreed.
“Okay,” London echoed.
“Alright, bedtime,” the babysitter said gently in the background.
“Night night!” London sang.
“Night!” Noah added.
“Goodnight, babies,” Maryse said softly.
“Love you,” Jack added before ending the call.
The room went quiet again.
Maryse exhaled, leaning into him. “They’re really three.”
Jack smiled softly. “Yeah… talking like they’re ten.”
She laughed quietly, then grabbed her bag.
“Alright,” she said, glancing at him. “Now we can go.”
Jack nodded, slipping his phone into his pocket before reaching for her hand.
“Let’s go celebrate,” he said.
Monica
The three-year stretch between Jackman. and Monica marks the longest gap between albums in Jack Harlow’s career and it was intentional. During an interview with Apple Music in March 2025, the Louisville-born rapper explained why he stepped back from the rapid-fire release schedule that helped define his rise.
“I’m trying to transcend,” he said. “I want to do something I’ve never done, and I’m slowly starting to accept that it’s going to take me longer than any of my past projects if I want it to be like nothing I’ve ever done.”
Part of that transformation happened off the mic. In the years between albums, Harlow quietly reshaped his life, leaving his hometown of Louisville and relocating with his longtime partner, Maryse Monet, and their twins. The move placed him in the heart of New York City, where he began recording much of Monica inside the legendary rooms of Electric Lady Studios.
The shift in scenery and mindset sparked something new. On Monica, Harlow largely steps away from the rap persona that first made him famous and instead leans fully into moody, late-night R&B. The album trades punchlines for confessionals, swagger for vulnerability. It’s a record steeped in candlelit soul grooves, soft piano runs, and jazz-tinged percussion, with Harlow delivering his most melodic and intimate performances to date.
Much of the album reads like a love letter, subtle, sometimes direct to Monet and the life they built together. The influence of her world as an R&B singer lingers in the album’s sonic palette, from the smoky textures to the romantic storytelling that unfolds track by track.
The contemplative Casanova appears frequently lost in reverie. On “Prague,” Harlow drifts into daydreams about a woman an ocean away. “Trade Places” takes the fantasy even further, imagining himself transforming into the lamppost his lover leans against on a quiet city street, while a loose jazz drums set the mood.
But romance on Monica isn’t simple. Passions intensify, doubts creep in, and the emotional stakes rise. Still, Harlow never fully abandons the hopeful romantic at his core. On the tender standout “All of My Friends,” he reflects on the early days of falling in love when everyone around him warned he was moving too fast.
“All of my friends say I keep falling / Falling in love way too often / Telling me slow down and be cautious,” he sings. “But if I had you…”
The moment feels like a quiet callback to the beginning of his relationship with Monet. A reminder that even before the fame, the family, and the music that followed, Harlow was simply a man who believed deeply in love.
With Monica, he still does.
***
The release party was louder than either of them expected.
Music pulsed through the room, glasses clinked, people laughed and shouted over the beat as industry friends, family, and artists filled the space. It was technically both an album release party and a birthday celebration, and the crowd reflected that label executives, producers, friends from Louisville, Maryse’s circle, and more than a few curious artists who wanted to hear the new direction from Jack Harlow.
But in the middle of all of it, Jack and Maryse felt like they were in their own little world.
They’d drifted onto the dance floor a few songs ago, though neither of them were really dancing. Jack had his arms loosely wrapped around her waist while Maryse rested her hands on his shoulders, the two of them swaying gently to the slow R&B track filling the room.
People moved around them, lights flickered across the floor, but they barely noticed.
Maryse leaned her head against his chest for a moment before tilting her face up toward him. Her eyes were warm, proud the kind of look that made Jack feel like he’d done something bigger than just release an album.
She leaned up and kissed him softly.
“I love you,” she said when she pulled back.
Jack smiled immediately, that familiar boyish grin creeping onto his face.
“Happy birthday,” she added, brushing her thumb along his jaw. “And congratulations. This album… you really did something special.”
He shrugged a little, suddenly shy under her praise.
Maryse shook her head gently, not letting him brush it off. “No, I’m serious. You’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me.”
She paused, then smirked slightly.
“Well… besides the kids.”
Jack laughed under his breath, but his ears had already started turning red.
“Oh my God,” she teased, noticing immediately. “You’re blushing.”
“I am not,” he muttered, looking away for a second.
“You are.”
Jack tried to hide it by pulling her closer, burying his face briefly against her hair like that would somehow conceal it.
“You can’t say stuff like that in public,” he mumbled.
Maryse laughed softly, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“Too late,” she whispered.
And while the music kept playing and the crowd kept celebrating, Jack held her a little tighter because for all the success, the attention, the new chapter of music… this was still the part of his life that meant the most.
LifeOfMonet
Liked by urbanwyatt, claybornharlow, dojacat, maggieharlowspreaks, nemoachida, yungskylark, and 956,789 others
LifeOfMonet: Happy birthday to the most hardworking, passionate, and stubbornly dedicated man I know. Watching you create this album from the ground up has been one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever witnessed. The late nights, the second-guessing, the moments you thought you weren’t getting it right and then watching you push through and make something this special. I’m so proud of you.
This album is different. It’s vulnerable, soulful, and somehow still so you. You really put your whole heart into this one and I hope everyone hears that the same way I did sitting in the studio night after night.
And getting to sneak onto a few songs to do backup vocals? Yeah… I’m not gonna lie, that was pretty cool. Honored is an understatement.
Happy 28th birthday, my love. I hope tonight you feel even a fraction of the pride the rest of us feel for you.
Now everyone go stream the album… because I’ve been hearing it for months and it’s finally your turn.
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user: WHATTTTTTTTT
user: he proposed?!!!!!!!!
user: NOOOOOOOOOO
dojacat: bitch what the hell?!!!
saweetie: call me immediately!!! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me 😭
Latto: that ring tho 😍
user: the streets lost a real one
jackharlow: I knew you were gonna spill it 🤎
user: adding the last photo like we wouldn’t notice smh
user: DIVA DOWN
user: what does musiq snow child have that I don’t
maggieharlowspeaks: finally ❤️
urbanwyatt: took him long enough
*****
AN: whewwww surprise!!!! They’re engaged finally!!! Had a slight time jump 🥳 sorry this took so long I miss them so much
summary: during a friends getaway to the hughes lake house, you are faced with the ongoing struggle of trying to get along with the middle hughes brother. the 3 times you were sure you and jack hated each other + the 2 times you aren’t so sure.
[word count] 11.7k
warnings: NSFW! enemies to lovers | rude!jack | alcohol | suggestive themes | smut | kissing | fingering | read at your own discretion.
pairing: jack hughes x reader
🎵 the great war by taylor swift, right here by chase atlantic, sunsetz by cigarettes after sex, the way I loved you by taylor swift, golden by harry styles, set yourself on fire by ruel + love is a wild thing by kacey musgraves
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one: the drive
"It's too early." ashley’s voice is an exhausted whine, and you look over just as she dramatically drops her forehead to the purple suitcase sitting infront of her.
you roll your eyes gently, very much used to your best friends distaste in early morning conversations and wake up times. you can’t say you’re the biggest fan of waiting on the grand stairs outside luke and jack hughes’ apartment building at 8 a.m., but the reasoning for the early wake up call was one that you were a fan of.
you met luke hughes in your shared freshman year at the university of michigan, and you had both hit it off instantly - becoming quick friends. since then, you and your friend ashley had always been invited to spend a week of summer vacation at the hughes’ michigan lake house and every year, without fail, you’d all get together and drive up.
ashley groans again, and the sound has you breathing out in a quiet laughter. your fingers drum against the smooth stone steps beneath you, your head lolling over to look at her properly. “it’s only 8, ash “
the brunette throws her head backwards, an even louder noise of displeasure leaving her small body. “yeah, way too early.” she stretches out her tan legs, nudging the suitcase out of the way with a painted toenail. ashley rolls her shoulder a few times and huffs obnoxiously. “what the hell is taking them so long?”
you frown, “I’m not sure. luke said they were on their way down a few minutes ago.” you glance over your shoulder and in the direction of the grand apartment doors behind you, trying to catch a glance of luke or anybody else you know. "maybe-"
"hello ladies" trevor zegras pushes open the doors, sauntering out from the apartment complex and over towards you and ashley. he’s sporting his usual sneaky grin, and there’s an expensive pair of black sunglasses covering his bright eyes - you couldn’t see his eyes, but you knew they were crinkled at the corners as he continued to grin.
just like ducks, the rest of the group follows trevor, making their way towards the three of you from the entrance of the building. you recognize pretty much everyone, saved from a face towards the back of your friend group that you’re unfamiliar with.
trevor pulls you get up, one of his strong arms effortlessly bringing you to your feet from where you previously lounged on the ground. you see alex tourcette help ashley up beside you, the kings forward narrowly missing tripping over the suitcase ashley had pushed away earlier.
beatrice, luke’s girlfriend is breathing a heavy, trying to catch her breath as she stands with her hands held firmly against her hips. she gives trevor a stink eye, wetting her dry lips. “trevor we told you not to run.”
“where’s the fun in that?” trevor laughs unashamed. immediately his exterior had you smiling, the sour attitude from the early morning long forgotten as you listen to quinn and trevor begin to bicker.
like you and ashley, trevor was another honorary hughes lake house member and was always bringing the lighthearted fun to your vacation week - ever since you met him, trevor has always been one of your favourite people.
“why you were so excited to get out here is a mystery to me dude, not like there’s anyone worth while out here.” for the first time, jack makes his presence known but not without the cruel comment which you knew he was directing at you.
you roll your eyes, typical. you and jack, for lack of a better word, despised one another. ever since luke introduced you to his superstar brother, you did not like him. maybe it was his sour attitude or the fact he always seemed like he couldn’t care less about you or anything you said - you’re not sure why. all you’re sure of is the strong feeling of needing to rip his head off and how it’s growing stronger everytime you have to spend time near him.
"i'm in vacation mode dude," trevor chuckles.
"same here!" an unfamiliar female laugh follows the preach, and it quickly has your attention. she's like ridiculously beautiful - the kind of beautiful that you're not even jealous of but instead you're just amazed by. the girl stands confidently beside jack, her blonde hair tied back into a low bun and her simple gold jewelry catches the sun so it looks likes she's glowing.
beatrice says something along the lines of feeling excited about wearing her new bathing suit, but you're too distracted by the mystery's girls sweet laugh, perfect teeth....and the way jack just seemed so enamoured by her. you watch as he looks down at her softly, his tongue wetting his plump bottom lip as he does. you've never physically seen jack look so kindly at someone, and the feeling is a bit foreign - weighing oddly on your chest.
quinn claps his hands together, and the sound has you blinking hard, quickly looking away from the middle hughes brother and the mystery model and finding quinn - who's clap affectively grabbed the attention of the large group. "Okay, less cars the better - i'm thinking two vehicles max. who's up for driving?"
"my cars here," beatrice smiles gently, her delicate hand raising as she gathers the attention. jack follows suit, telling everyone he filled his trucks tank the day prior and was ready for the hour drive up to the lake house.
at that, trevor immediately makes a b-line for the truck, which coincidentally was parked towards the front of the gated parking unit. "let's get going!" he tosses his bag into the open trunk just as it begins to open, because yes jack of course has one of those fancy vehicles that's trunks open with a push of a button.
you watch as ashley is whisked away by beatrice, the chatty brunette already talking about the things she had planned for the three of you to do while you were at the lake house. you just catch the end of beatrice mentioning a hiking trail before the sound of rolling wheels on the suitcases overpower the conversation .
just as you make a move towards beatrice's mini car, already praying that you'll fit between the ridiculous amount of luggage, luke rushes past you, tucking himself behind the driver's seat just as beatrice and ashley get in the front.
you slow in your steps, a gentle frown taking over your face. you analyze the remaining seat, thinking of ways to move around the luggage and bags to make room for yourself - but your thoughts are halted as alex jumps into the car, effortlessly moving around the suitcase so he can sit comfortably behind the passenger seat.
you sigh, hands falling to your sides. "seriously guys?" the only one that seems to hear you is luke, the other three already arguing loudly over what songs to play and who exactly gets aux cord privileges.
luke shrugs his shoulders stiffly and shoots you an apologetic smile. "cars full."
you run a warm hand through your unbrushed hair - forgetting to comb so early in the day - and you readjust your black duffel bag along your exposed shoulder. "luke, I swear to god if you don't let me sit in your spot-"
"what? why should I move?" he counters, brows raised comically as he looks up at you.
you take a step closer to the jam packed cooper, crossing your arms unimpressed over your tank top covered chest. it feels a bit awkward with the bag weighing down your shoulder, practically rubbing your shoulder raw - but you don't care. "bea and ash - they're my friends."
he laughs, "bea is my girlfriend."
just as you go to further your point, ready to tell luke that there was no possible way you could ride in the other vehicle, the sound of a rumbling engine gets louder, signalling that the truck had come to a halt behind your back.
you feel yourself physically deflate but somehow you also feel like you're frozen. you knew what this whole car situation means, especially with luke being his usual stubborn self and refusing to offer you his spot (you'll definitely get him back for that later). with no other options, you'll have to ride in jack's truck.
the all too familiar voice of the middle hughes brother calls out to your turned back, a taunting undertone to his words that just make you want to get swallowed up by the ground and not go anywhere. "you need a ride?"
suddenly, the bustling chatter and laughter from beatrice's car comes to a halt, the three previously noisy passengers all going silent as their eyes all find you.
awkwardly, you turn around and your eyes connect with jack's past trevor's completely oblivious smile - scrolling leisurely on his phone. jack was leaning over the center console of his truck, his weight resting on his elbow as he looks at you through the passenger window.
you give beatrice's car one last look of defeat - to which ashley, finally realizing your predicament, shoots you a sympathetic look, and her smile is a mixture of guilt and sadness for you.
with a huff, you look back towards the truck and send a forced, borderline sarcastic, smile in jack's direction. "obviously." you grit through your clenched teeth, taking the two steps towards the truck and hastily pulling open the door.
jack's lips slink upwards into a smirk at your words, watching you gently as you clamber over quinn's large outstretched legs to get to the middle seat.
once you're comfortable (as comfortable as you can be in a confined space with jack hughes), the truck begins to move, jack pulling out of the gated apartment complex and onto the street.
10 minutes into the drive and you were still feeling pretty on edge. the vibes in the truck were anything short of awkward - to say the least. you could tell quinn was waiting and anticipating for you and jack to start bickering - his shoulder tense against yours. anytime jack said anything to trevor or sydney (the beautiful model that jack had brought along - who introduced herself as soon as jack pulled onto the freeway) , quinn would hold his breath, waiting for an argument to start.
sydney's sweet voice pulls you from your head, eyeing you brightly. "so, y/n, how do you know luke?"
you smile, "we got close at uni - my good friend used to hookup with one of his friends so we'd all hangout at their place."
"now we can't get rid of her." quinn's elbow hits your ribs teasingly, letting you know he was only joking.
sydney hums lightly, "and are you still in school?"
you nod in conformation. unlike luke, you weren't a nhl superstar who's time in college was cut short - you still had a year left of schooling and gymnastic training at michigan.
"and I think jack mentioned you do gymnastics, are you wanting to persue that?" sydney eyes you curiously, knawing her lip intuitively as she waits for a response.
immediately though, your brows pull together as you try and work out why jack would mention you at all. you clear your throat, unable to think of a reason why. "that's definitely the goal, hopefully i’m good enough."
trevor laughs, eyeing you over the high shoulder of the trucks seat. his eyes are blown wide, and he's looking at you with an expression mixed of disbelief and amusement at your words. "you're definitely good enough - hell anytime i've seen you compete i've been left in pure astonishment."
you smile, head dipping slightly as you turn red from the praise. you can be really hard on yourself when it comes to your athletics, so hearing other people compliment your hard work is always nice and you can't help but blush.
jack clears his throat gently, shuffling forward in his seat. it gatherers your attention, and your eyes meet his deep blue ones in the rearview mirror. they flicker away shortly after, focusing back on the highway. "so, y/n." jack begins, eyes finding your gaze in the mirror once again.
beside you, quinn deflates as he mumbles to himself. trevor groans in exhaustion, already covering his face to save himself from witnessing any possible argument that could occur.
jack looks at you over his shoulder, eyes darting over your frame quickly.
on your other side, sydney is clearly unaware of the tension growing between you and jack, and she pushes against his shoulder gently. "hey, eyes on the road, jack. I don't wanna die."
jack did what sydney asked and turns back towards the road to divert the breakage of traffic laws - but the odd look he's been sporting didn't fall from his lips. "how's it going with ethan? luke hasn't mentioned you two in awhile."
your face falls. you can't tell if you're going to start sobbing uncontrollably or if you're going reach out and strangle jack until he passes out. you knew for a fact that jack knew you and ethan had broken up, because luke told him only a few days ago (and luke told you he told his two oldest brothers to help you avoid any akward conversations).
but this is typical jack, you think. trevor had complemented you, which had you visibly joyful, and jack seemed like he wanted nothing but the opposite for you. he's seen you happy so now he planned to ruin your mood by bringing up your freshly new ex-boyfriend.
"dude.." trevor whispers in disbelief, side eyeing his friend.
"you know we broke up." you tell him roughly. you hope to catch his eyes in the mirror again, wanting to desperately have some fucking eye contact while jack insists on bringing you down once again- but he keeps his gaze on the road. "and you know that because luke told you about what happened."
"I forgot," jack practically scoffs, and one of his hands shoots up in defence. "no need to get all worked up over it."
you huff, "and there's no need for you to be a complete asshole."
"how was I being an asshole?" he laughs out, his fingers flexing on the edge of the steering wheel as the truck shifts lanes. "i'm just asking about your life."
"no," you correct roughly, "you were trying to get a rise out of me and congratulations jack, it worked and now i'm annoyed." you spit unpleasantly. your palms are starting to become wet with sweat, and your body feels like it's on fire. you always felt that heat when you and jack argued - he just always gets you so worked up and unfortunately, he's way too good at doing it.
"i'm not responsible for how you react to my words, y/n."
"is this taylor swift?" trevor's loud words cut off any further conversation brewing between you and jack. he turns up the volume in the truck so that's it's borderline deafening, a clear indicator that he was sick of hearing you both bicker at one another.
your arms cross over your chest stubbornly and finally, you look away from the reflective rearview mirror - eyes finding the carpeted floor of the truck. you miss the look jack sends you though, an unidentifiable expression on his face.
trevor starts to belt out the chorus of you belong with me - sidney and even quinn joining in on the impromptu karaoke session. but you ignore it...all of it. you ignored how jack brought a stranger to the cabin (a very sweet stranger - but still), ignored how jack has already picked a fight with you and humiliated you, and ignored how you'd have to spend a whole vacation with jack on top of it all.
you're feeling a little frustrated in yourself as well. you were so sick of taking his obvious bait, and allowing yourself to get so worked up over him. from now on, you're going to try your best to bite your tongue and stay quiet in his presence.
"hey, y/n, wanna shoot a text to bea and tell them we're only 20 minutes away." trevor's words have you already feeling better and pulls you out of your own self inflicted misery. the other passengers beside you begin to cheer in excitement, and quinn bumps his shoulder against yours knowingly - which has you breaking into a grin.
through the surge of excitement, you can't help but let your eyes wander back towards the driver's seat - instinctively landing on jack. he looks so happy, his teeth practically sparkling in the summer sun as he giggles at something trevor says.
his hair has grown since the season came to a disappointing end, giving jack that care-free, messy look you always thought suited him best. you squint questionably, wondering how he could be so happy and unbothered after your mini fight - did he not even feel guilty that he'd upset you?
you look away, past quinn's firm chest and out the truck window - watching the bustling city highways and buildings turn into beautiful lakeside streets and summer homes.
you're now really looking forward to lounging by the lake and doing nothing for a few days - planning on being the bigger person and acting civil for the remainder of the vacation.
screw jack and his stupid truck.
two: the boat
it was early morning before you saw anybody, besides ashley, again. after your rather draining car ride, you weren't feeling up to mingling or barbecuing with anybody, so after some lame excuse of feeling sick, you sulked to yourself in bed for the remainder of the day.
jack had rolled his eyes and huffed loudly as you made your way up the stairs, but you didn't stop or make a comment - you ignored him and kept going. after all, you'd had enough jack for the day.
you quietly make your way into the kitchen, bare feet padding against the hardwood floor as you round the corner.
trevor is already in there, slowly spreading some butter on a borderline burnt bagel half. he looks up, and his eyes widen in suprise at the sight of you. he licks some butter of his thumb, and then wipes it against his bare chest. "shit, wasn't expecting you."
you move around him and open the fridge. your eyes quickly scan over the options before you decide on orange juice, grabbing the full carton and bringing it towards the kitchen island. "forget I was here already?" you tease once you retrieved a glass and begin to pour yourself some juice., shooting him a look.
"could never forget you." trevor smiles, taking an extremely large bite out of his bagel so that butter smears over his dimples.
you laugh before taking a sip from your glass, letting the citrus juice slide over your teeth and down your throat - clashing with the toothpaste left over in your mouth. regardless, it's still enjoyable and you hum in satisfaction.
trevor eyes you, "how can you drink that shit?" he's laughing slightly, but his lips are tugged into a frown of displeasure. "apple juice is way better."
"it's not," you scoff gently, eyes twinkling with amusement.
he nods, "it is. nobody here drinks that shit but you."
you frown gently, "really? nobody else likes orange juice?" trevor shakes his head no, taking another bite and poppy seeds go everywhere. you hum questionably, "why did they buy it then?"
"who knows," trevor shrugs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "ask quinn and jack - they went out shopping last night."
behind you, footsteps come bounding around the corner and into the kitchen. you glance towards the entry way just as jack walks in - he doesn't look up at first, too engrossed on his phone. like trevor, jack was also shirtless but instead of wearing pyjama bottoms like the anaheim ducks forward, he had on his bathing suit - a towel thrown over his shoulder.
he looks up from his phone and over at trevor, "quinn and I were thinking of heading out on the boat for a bit - bring some floaties and shit. you in?"
trevor lights up, dusting his hands free of any buttery bagel residue, "yeah man, let me get changed."
jack moves further into the kitchen, eyeing you and your cup of orange juice silently before moving past your body and opening one of the cupboards behind you.
silently, you roll your eyes at his typical rude behaviour. he didn't like you, that much was obvious, you weren't expecting him to ask you to join them on the boat anything- but could he not even greet you.
trevor turns back towards your direction, his brows raised questionably. "y/n, you coming?"
behind you, you can hear jack busing himself, but you knew he wasn't actually doing anything - he was subtly waiting to hear your answer to trevor's question.
so much was certain - you knew jack didn't want you there.
“sure,” you smile is exaggerated, and you can only hope jack is watching it with irritation. "I'll lay out and tan."
trevor grins, although his eyes widen in something that looks like fear at your wide smile. he pats the door frame twice, mumbling something about pennywise as he walks off.
as soon as he is out of sight, jack sighs. “of course.” his words are very quiet, but you knew he had no intent of keeping his words to himself - he wanted you to hear.
initially, you ignore him - working on finishing the banana you’d begin to peel when jack first walked into the kitchen.
jack sighs again - louder this time and you can practically hear his eyes rolling to the back of his head.
you huff, spinning around slowly so that’s you’re facing the second oldest hughes. resting your hip against the edge of the granite counter top, you eye him - gaze full of question as well as knowing. “spit it out.”
his expression turns smug like he knew he could break you - and that just has your blood coming to a boil. you stay composed though, focusing your surge of anger on the chews of mushy fruit in between your teeth.
jack rests the heels of his palms against the opposite counter top - near the sink across from the island . he leans back, eyeing you with an almost teasing glimmer in his eyes. "I thought you would've shaved your legs before offering to lounge around in your bathing suit all day."
you sigh, tilting your head tauntingly in his direction. you had waxed your legs two days ago, so obviously there was nothing there but you know he’s just trying to push your buttons like usual.
you send him a sarcastic smile. "you’d like that wouldn't you."
jack tongues his cheek, and his gaze doesn’t leave you face - even when you push off the island and brush past him to throw your banana peel out. you smirk to yourself once you know that jack isn’t going to say anything back, and you go get changed.
10 minutes later, you and ashley make your way down to the dock where quinn, trevor, alex and jack are (impatiently) waiting.
at the sight of you, trevor groans with exasperation, "finally the princesses have arrived."
"whatever.” ashley mumbles, a sarcastic eye roll gracing her dark eyes. the la kings player is at the side of the boat quicker than you can process, eyeing your friend gently and offering his hand to her. she accepts the outstretched hand, and lets alex help her gracefully step off the wooden dock and into the boat.
alex tourcette has very obviously been crushing on ashley since trevor introduced them two years ago at the hughes lake house. it was alex’s first time there and the sight of ashley had him coming back every year since.
so like usual when ashley was around, alex was too wrapped up in all her glory - leaving you standing on the dock with your arms full of beach towels, a tote bag full of all your essentials, and trevor’s hat he’d forgotten inside.
“any help?” you ask, but the only thing you get is the view of trevor and ashley’s backs as they walk away. “hello?”
you think you’re going to have to just pray and make the step down - vision practically blocked from the plethora of things in your arms. just when you try and attempt, you catch jack look over at you.
but then after a second he looks away, his attention once again back on his phone. a moment passes, and you’re almost too in shock to say anything to him, because was he really about ignore you and let you try this by yourself? after seeing you struggling?
nobody else is moving to assist you. quinn and trevor are going over the depth reader set up and the manuals, and obviously, ashley and alex were busy being lovey dovey at the very front of the boat. nobody else knew your predicament.
jack suddenly groans and tosses his phone on the bench seat beside him. wordlessly, he gets up from his previous seated position and makes his way towards the part of the boat you were standing beside.
he places his hand out, his palm up in your direction. jack looks at you expectantly, his brows raised as he waits on you to make the next move.
you bite your tongue to stop any irritant comments from coming out, but you can’t control the way your eyes roll at his bluntness. you attempt to reach out for his hand, trying to balance all the stuff in the crook of your opposite elbow.
"hold on,” jack huffs tiredly, "pass me all the shit in your arms so you don't trip and fall into the water."
quietly, you load everything off and give it to jack - who then places it all near his cellphone on the bench seat behind him.
finally, jack takes your hand, and helps you stay steady as you step onto the boat. his fingers brush against your wrist delicately, the foreign feeling of his skin on yours providing and unfamiliar rush of feelings.
the tote bag you had chose to keep on your body, resting loosely on your shoulder, begins to slip down your arm as you step down onto the boat.
jack’s opposite hand darts out, grabbing the bag before it can fall off your arm - putting it back on your shoulder properly.
you look up at him, swallowing thickly. “thanks.”
jack walks away without a word, his touch that was, just seconds ago, all you could feel, was gone - leaving you feeling rather chilled under the blistering summer sun.
you huff, shaking your head clear of any thoughts of jack and his odd behaviour.
the boat took out onto the water just moments later, which helped in distracting your brain - the smell of fresh water and the wind on your face providing a new focus. it took quinn almost 15 minutes to find the ‘perfect spot’, before anchoring down near the sand bar he always ended up at anyways.
trevor and jack waste no time, and jump of the boat and into the michigan water while quinn was still dropping the anchor down into the water.
the idea of sitting with alex and ashley as the two of them cuddle and giggle to themselves was something you did not want to be witness to - so swimming it is. you quickly follow suit, stripping off your band tshirt turned cover up, leaving you in your bathing suit.
quinn rushes past you, cannonballing into the water. the commotion has trevor looking in the direction of the boat, watching as you throw your top into your bag - wiping the drops of water off your arms from quinn’s cannonball.
“looking hot, y/n!” trevor shouts at you, hands cupped around his mouth to further project his already loud voice.
you laugh warmly at his teasing as you make your way down towards the swimming platform - the last thing g you want to do is try and jump in and accidentally flash quinn, trevor and jack your nipple.
quinn laughs gently, pushing trevor under the water as a form of lackluster punishment for his degrading comment.
you swallow your laughter, and ignore the feeling of eyes on you as you begin to take the steps down into the water - quinn and trevor still laughing and bickering in the distance. the water is feeling cold from the temperature drop last night, and you quiver as you become fully emerged in the lake.
you practically doggy paddle towards the area of sand bar, and once you’re close enough, you grab onto quinn from behind - your small, cold hands gripping the muscles of his broad shoulders as you attempt to hold your torso above the water. "it's so cold, oh my god."
"you're fine," trevor insists, swimming up beside you, a small splash of water hitting your torso as he flicks it at you.
"trevor.” you warn sternly, pointing at him accusingly. “we’re not splashing.”
suddenly, quinn spins to face you and your hands slips off his wet shoulder from his sudden movement. the smirk on his face has your stomach dropping, and you take a step back through the water.
quinn sends a splash towards you, water sloshing up your arms and further wetting your bathing suit top. trevor continues and follows suit, soaking you with lake water as they splash you like children.
you try and escape the attack, backing away from them with your hands raised in an attempt at a surrender. “guys, seriously?!”
under the water, a piece of slimy seaweed is disturbed from your quick movements, and the green water plant grazes your calf. you screech at the foreign touch, hopping backwards to escape it. the water splashes up and around you at your quick and frantic jump, completely drenching you.
suddenly, your cold back come in contact with something unfamiliar- but not foreign. behind you, you feel warm skin tense and chest muscles move smoothly as you unexpectedly back into them.
you swallow, and you whip around and meet the harsh eyes of jack.
"careful," jack’s voice was calm, but still sharp like he was demanding something from you. it was like you were inconveniencing him by simply being in the same water as him, and his stern gaze was almost taunting as he looked over your face.
you open your mouth, but nothing comes out.
jack doesn’t say anything else. he makes his way over to the back to the boat, and pulls himself out of the water and onto the swimming platform effortlessly. he shakes out his hair, water spraying all around him - the droplets reflecting brightly in the sun as they fall off him.
you look away, jack’s typical weird behaviour leaving you feeling rather annoyed.
jack didn't speak or even look in your direction for the remainder of the afternoon - a sour attitude radiating off of him for the rest of the boat outing.
when you all get back to shore a couple hours after departing, jack had gotten off the boat first, not bothering in helping with tying up the ropes or bringing up any loose stuff from inside the boat.
you watch as he walks up to the deck a few feet away, and immediately plops himself on top of sydney, who was laying on a lounge chair tanning.
you hear luke tell his brother to get a room as he flips burgers at the grill with beatrice at his side, and your mood is suddenly very sour. you exit the boat with a scowl on your face, your arms full of even more stuff than you brought down that morning - no thanks to jack and his no help.
you quickly walk pass the four of them on the back deck, shooting a harsh glare in jacks direction before heading inside.
three: the kitchen
when you excused yourself from the warm comfort of the bonfire to use the bathroom and grab yourself another seltzer, you weren't expecting to end up crying before making it back outside.
but here you are - warm, salty tears falling heavy on the screen of your phone. on your screen, the same video is replaying over again, the familiar sound of your ex boyfriends laugh ringing in your ears as you listen through dylan duke's snapchat story. it was an innocent post really, dylan was clueless to the activities going on behind him and mark as the two talked away on the private story. ethan was seen in the background, laughing with a girl before going in and cuddling into her neck.
the breakup, although you're not actively having romantic feelings, still hurt, and watching ethan move on wasn't the easiest thing to witness.
you sniffle quietly, watching the video play out once more before you exit snapchat - closing off the app roughly. you wipe your leaking nose with the back of your hand, cleaning yourself up of any salty tears.
behind you, the patio door creaks open and just as quickly, it closes. jack walks in behind you, his cheeks tinted red from the day outside in the sun.
you swallow thickly, swiftly looking away so he doesn't catch your puffy, red eyes. you almost want to laugh in this moment - because, of course it was jack of all people who would walk in when you're on the borderline of an emotional breakdown. you reach into the box of white claws left open on the island - not in the fridge because you preferred them warm (you'll have to thank whoever left them out for you).
just as you pull out your desired flavour, the sound of a bottle cap sounds on the counter top, followed by the sloshing sounds of jack pouring his hard liquor into a cup.
your eyes flicker up, watching jack's diet coke mix with the clear liquor at the bottom of his plastic cup. you can smell the woodsy bonfire smell off his clothes, mixing with his usual spicy cologne.
suddenly, he looks away from his drink and across the island at you. his eyes dart between yours, like he was analyzing your somber expression - then his gaze moves around your face, noticing your blotchy cheeks and pink puffy lips. jack looks away for a second, brows pulling tight as he completes his drink. "why are you crying this time?”
the sound of your full can hitting the counter top echoes throughout the empty house and jack looks up rather quickly, meeting your eyes again. your shoulders deflate - too disappointed to even feel proper anger. "seriously?" you sigh, and your tone clearly indicates that you're feeling upset by his question.
jack shrugs once, wiping up some melted ice with one of the crumpled napkins that had been abandoned on the kitchen island. "well?" his words are knowing- his tone condescending.
you feel yourself beginning to tear up for the second time tonight, expect for some reason the tears currently threatening to fall felt more painful than the ones from ethan. jack doesn't say anything else and only looks at you expectantly- waiting for you to further breakdown.
you huff - all earlier feelings of sadness are quickly replaced with irritation and frustration caused by jack and his insufferable attitude towards you. "why do you treat me so terribly, jack? fuck," you sigh, wiping at your face angrily as you feel a few unwanted tears fall. "I came on this vacation to try and relax and forget about the past few weeks by spending time with my friends, and you have made it your mission to keep me miserable. god, even your girlfriend has been treating me better than you have, and she's a stranger." you finish roughly, swallowing thickly as you try and gauge jack's face for his reaction to your outburst.
you feel a little embarrassed about ranting about your emotions and anger towards jack...to jack. but you hold your ground, keeping you gaze on him.
jack clears his throat thickly. "she's not my girlfriend."
you laugh in disbelief, the sound mixing with a scoff. is that all he had to say? no apology? no reasoning for his seemingly amplified hate towards you this vacation? jack looks away from your somber face, and you have all the answers you need.
without another glance, you grab the white claw off the counter, the metal can scraping against the granite as you do so. you quickly make your way back outside, walking through the dimly lit backyard - saved from the fire pit glow.
you take your original seat on one of the blue campfire chairs, curling your legs under yourself as you look towards the roaring, tangerine flames. beside you, you can feel luke eyeing you curiously - trying to analyze your exhausted expression. you don't give him the satisfaction though, keeping your eyes trained on the fire as you take a sip of your drink.
roughly five minutes pass before jack comes back outside, no drink cup in sight. you watch through the light of the bonfire as he sits next to sydney, and the two of them exchange a brief conversation before sydney turns away from him completely- a look of disbelief on her face.
you see jack shrug grumpily just before you move your attention away from them - you've had plenty enough jack for the night.
it isn't ten minutes later you find yourself becoming overwhelmed with exhaustion and you excuse yourself from the dying bonfire to head up to bed.
four: the injury
your face scrunches up involuntarily, the strong taste of tequila burning and warming your throat as you down another shot.
once you manage to swallow the alcohol, you holler in your own mini celebration- the affects of many, many, many drinks controlling you and your actions completely.
on the speaker you’d placed somewhere in the backyard earlier into the late night, the familiar chords of a drake song begin to play, and you gasp happily. “I looooovvvvveeeee this song!” you drag out your wording, the sentence slurred together in a drunken manner.
trevor laughs at you near the dying bonfire, his head dropping in an amused embarrassment. a couple other laughs are heard nearby, but you don’t find yourself caring all that much. after your previous miserable night and another demeaning conversation with jack, you told yourself you’d allow yourself get more loose. you didn’t necessarily mean getting sloshed by yourself, but a win is a win.
you practically squeal in delight, coming to a skipping halt infront of the youngest hughes brother. you pout largely, “come dance with me lukey."
thankfully, luke is a good sport and allows you to take ahold of his hands and pull him out of his caping chair - although, he is the one is pulling himself up because drunk you is one misstep from completely toppling over. the corner of luke’s mouth quirks into a smirk as you wave his arms around for him - belting out the lyrics to the song without hesitation.
letting go of luke, you take a wobbly step onto the picnic table you’d been around all night, sidestepping the hoodie you’d been wearing before the alcohol warmed you up. your hips sway to the music, and you smile warmly. you spin around on the wooden planks, but your state has taken away all your sense of balance and stability, so you’re closer to the edge than you expected.
your foot slips over the edge, and you fall onto the gravelled surface of the fire pit area.
“oh shit.” trevor winces - luke had tried to catch you before you hit the ground but his reflex’s had failed him, and trevor is met with you laying uncomfortably on the gravel.
beside him, jack shoots up from his chair, a look of undeniable concern on his soft features. trevor stands as well, both of them making their way over to help in assisting you. everyone else had previously gone to bed, and if it was sober you seeing that trevor, luke and jack being the only options to help you in your current state- you’d shit your pants.
but you’re drunk, so all you can do is focus on the burning sensation on your skin and immediate ache all over your body. “ouch,” you whine. once you’re eyes focus again, you get a proper look at the palm of your hand, and the sight of the raw wound has tears beginning to well up in your eyes.
drunk, embarrassed and hurt wasn’t your best look.
trevor curses again, "luke help me find the first aid kit," he stands from his previous squatting position next to you as he finished checking you over, nudging the youngest brother on his thick shoulder.
before the two of them disappear from your sight, luke looks back at you sternly, pointing a finger at you. “stay here.”
you’re left with nobody but jack. the gravel is cool on your thighs, and the dwindling fire is doing nothing to warm your shivering muscles. tearily, you look over at jack. "i'm sorry," you sniff, eyes darting back down to examine your palm. blood is mixing with bits of dirt and minuscule stones, making your wound sting terribly. "I slipped really bad."
you look at him again, his crouched position making it easier for you to do so. jack’s brows pull together tightly, his gaze flickering over your blotchy face. “you're fine, y/n. stop crying."
despite the harsh tone, jack takes ahold of your hand gently - one of his hands wrapping along your wrist while the other cradles the underside of your hand.
he brings your wounded hand towards his face, and immediately starts gently blowing on your palm. the cool air from his mouth helps soothe the pain temporarily, and it helps keep your tears at ease.
the night air suddenly feels even colder, and the temperature drop combined with the cool air on your palm has you shifting uncomfortably - you were cold.
jack stops, his eye gentle but words still firm. "stay still."
you sniffle again, and wipe your leaky nose with the back of your good hand. "I wanna go inside i'm cold."
"yeah, okay.” jack sighs quickly, moving his body so that he’s able to help you properly get to your feet. his one hand still cradles your wounded hand, while his other wraps around the dip of your waist. the feeling of his torso on yours is rather comforting, and the heat of his body radiating through his sweatshirt instantly makes you feel warmer.
he shuts the back door with his foot, and the thump of it closing echos in the empty kitchen. jack lets go of you in favour of turning on the kitchen sink, and you’re pretty sure you pout at the loss of contact.
it doesn’t take long before the water runs to comfortable temperature, and jack brings your hand towards the stream - your palm angled upwards and slightly tilted so the warm water flushers the scrape.
you hiss through your teeth, muttering a curse. the sting has a new wave of tears prickling at your eyes, and you can feel your throat grow thick with emotion. "that really stings." you admit gently, using your shoulder to wipe away a tear as it falls from your bloodshot eye.
jack looks at you softly, nodding with an understanding expression. “I know," he whispers - a sweet, silent echo in the quiet house. his fingers flex around your wrist, running over your pulse point delicately. jack looks down, back at your hand, "you're doing good though."
you swallow harshly, blinking away the millions of emotions flowing freely through your body. jack has never been so gentle with you, or as kind to you as he is currently being. it is actually really nice and you find yourself smiling gently - despite the burning sensation on your hand.
trevor rounds the corner into the kitchen, luke following with the first aid kit tucked under his bicep. "I thought you were staying outside." luke says knowingly, eyeing the two of you suspiciously once he registers what is actually happening infront of his very eyes.
trevor sends the youngest hughes a look, both of them having the same confused expression on their faces.
"she was cold." jack interjects immediately, answering for you.
thankfully, there was nothing too deeply embedded in your raw skin, so the rest of the cleaning process went pretty smoothly. jack had helped dry your hand as gently as he possibly could with paper towel, and then luke had poured the peroxide onto the raw scratches. that had you wincing uncomfortably again, your head hitting against jack’s outer bicep as you dropped your gaze to the floor.
luke delicately wrapped your hand in a bandage, sighing gently as the whole ordeal of it all came to a close. "alrighty, let's get you to bed." trevor says tiredly, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as he begins to guide you through the kitchen.
just before you exit, you find jack’s gaze on you, his expression still gentle. you smile tightly, "thank you." your words are still a little slurred and you definitely sound tired, but jack can hear you just fine.
he nods once, a very small closed mouth smile making a brief appearance.
five: the hike + the dishes
the sound of nature around you was pure magic. you breathe in happily amidst your huffy exhale, continuing to walk on the beautiful hiking trail along side the hughes' lake property.
alex rushes past you, ashley following soon after as she tries to beat him in a foot race. you smile happily, watching alex turn on her and scoop ashley in his arms. she squeals delightfully, letting the hockey player manhandle her.
a pang of sadness hits your chest watching your friend so happy and infatuated with someone. you missed being in love and the feelings of want and need that came with it. you missed having somebody constantly in your corner and somebody waiting for you at home.
it wasn't that ethan was ever a bad boyfriend, but the relationship wasn't fulfilling enough. it was simply just easy - it lacked deep emotion and yearning.
you watch ashley blush as alex kisses her cheek quickly and you can't help but wish somebody was as obsessed with you as alex was with your best friend.
weirdly enough, it has you thinking about jack. when you woke up this morning with a blurry memory and a bandage around your hand, to say you were confused would be an understatement. you felt oddly peaceful among it all though, and that was even more worrisome.
luke told you that you'd fallen and scrapped your hand - which makes sense. but there was something else in the air, you could tell by the way luke and trevor seemed smug while you all ate breakfast, and how jack seemed especially quiet. jack had yet to make any unnecessarily rude comments today, which was of course nice - but weirdly enough it didn't feel right.
"let me get on your back," trevor comes up beside you, a wide grin on his tanned face. it pulls you from your thoughts, and you push down any lingering confusion about the off vibe from this morning.
you roll your eyes gently, but stop walking. you squat down slightly, locking your knees so trevor can climb on. "hop on trev."
he wastes no time getting onto your back, and you grunt out from the added weight to your body. you only make it twenty small, slow steps before tapping out - breathless with laughter.
trevor offers you a piggy back ride as an apology for borderline collapsing you under his weight, which you take happily. once you're secure, trevor instantly makes alex race with ashley on his back and of course alex complies - the four of you darting away on the trail.
from afar, luke breathes a pleasant laugh, watching the four of you run around like loose chickens. he falls into line with his second oldest brother, the two of them walking in a comfortable silence, finally without the constant pestering from trevor.
luke has noticed jacks sudden quietness, and he too is a bit confused on what exactly is going on. luke thinks jack must feel guilty for acting his typical way around you, and that's why jack has been more reserved today.
luke clears his throat gently, eyeing jack. "this is good for her, you know. she's been so sad recently because of ethan...i've been worried about her."
jack swallows, eyes trained in the distance. he watches you laugh at something ashley says - your body folding completely over and your mouth opening as you do that scream laugh you always do when something is truly funny. he tears his eyes away from you, gaze landing on the mud coloured path below his feet.
luke continues, "and listen jack, I know you hate her, and you guys have this uncomfortable bickering thing going on but- "
"I don't hate her," jack interrupts his brother sternly, "I've never hated her."
luke's brows twitch slightly, raising ever so subtly and he carefully studies his brothers expression, "okay, well, I don't think y/n knows that. and whatever you guys are doing, it makes her really sad - I can tell."
luke walks away, jogging to catch up with you all. he tells ashley he needs a turn on alex's back, which immediately starts another race conversation.
jack sighs, blinking up towards the trees. the conversation with his younger brother, combined with last night, really has the way he's been handling his emotions and actions towards you, not sitting right in his stomach. he feels extremely guilty, and he wishes he would of handled the situation differently.
jack looks away from the tree line, and finds you looking back at him softly over the line of your exposed shoulder. you look slightly confused, but jack can tell you're trying to hide your curiosity by keeping your face neutral.
he sighs to himself, and makes his way over to you and the rest of the group.
—
the sky is overcome with darkness, and a comfortable silence enveloped the inside of the lake house as 10 p.m. approached.
luke and beatrice were watching a movie with ashley and quinn downstairs in the den, trevor had been sleeping on the couch for the past hour, and alex had fallen asleep in his bedroom just 20 minutes ago - sydney even before that after she claimed she wasn't feeling well before dinner.
the silence was peaceful, and even as trevor begins to snore gently across from you, it's not a bothersome sound - it's familiar and comfortable.
you stand from your spot nestled under throws on the couch, leaving the living room and a sleeping trevor. the hike earlier had pretty much tired the majority of you out, and the ones who hadn't come on the hike were still tired from the sun they'd been in back at the house all day.
so although you were also ready for bed, you knew the dishes sitting in the sink from spaghetti dinner needed to be done. after all, it's the least you could do with the kind hospitality the hughes brothers had showed you on this vacation.
you've got soap suds up your forearms as you work on the large plates - cleaning them of their saucy, cheesy mess. the hum on the refrigerator and the sound of impractical jokers from the living room tv provide the perfect white noise, and you find yourself getting lost in your own head as you washed the dishes.
footsteps approach gently, somebody rounding the corner behind you. "hi," jack says, slowing in his steps.
you look over your shoulder, "hi." you put the last clean plate into your designated clean side of the sink, and you wipe your pruned hands on your bottoms.
jack leans against the countertop, and the muscles in his forearms shift as he grips the edge of the granite. "if I knew you were doing dishes, I wouldn't of brought these down."
you notice the couple of small plates and the mug jack had put on the island counter, presumably from his bedroom upstairs.
you shrug gently, reaching across the small space between you and jack to grab the small stack of dishes. you shrug quickly, dropping them into your soapy side of the sink. "I don't mind."
jack rounds the side of the island and moves over towards you. his socked foot nudges against yours as jack borderline lunges across you, trying to take his dishes back. "i'm not going to make you do my dishes."
you laugh gently, "it's fine, really." you pick up the scratchy sponge, but jack snatches it out from your hands just as you do. you huff gently, one of your eyebrows raising in an amused manner. "jack, what are you doing?"
"i'll do them." he insists firmly. his fingers slide smoothly over yours, almost interlocking them under the soapy, warm water your hands are submerged under.
you don't give in, fingers tightening on rim of the new jersey devils branded coffee mug. with suspicion, you continue to eye him. "why are you being weird?"
he laughs once, a deep rumble of disbelief. "i'm not being weird."
"you are." you chime instantly.
jack is practically trying to pry your hands off the mug, and while he's focused on that task, you snatch the damp sponge back. you look at him smugly, waving the sponge infront of his face, a gentle ha passing your lips.
he sighs gently, "you're the one being a weirdo and doing my dishes after I said I can do them - you're not my maid."
you dip the sponge into the water and begin to scrub the coffee stains on the inside of the mug - soap splashing over the edge of the sink and wetting your pastel pink tank top. " I know that, but i'm trying to be a good guest."
jack watches you focus on the dishes, your eyebrows slightly furrowed and tongue poking out to wet your bottom lip. he finds himself mimicking you, and his own tongue licks over his lips to moisten them.
you look back up at him curiously, waiting for an inevitable response.
he clears his throat quietly, "you can be a good guest by doing nothing." without warning, he steps closer into your space, bumping you gently off to the side with his hip. the suprise of it all has you going freely, your hands leaving the dishes involuntarily. jack smiles teasingly, running the sponge over the front of a desert plate left from last nights chocolate brownies.
you huff, pushing your way back to the sink. jack's much stronger than you though, so he doesn't budge at your attempt to push him out of the way. in a mixture of amusement and disbelief, you laugh out, your hands resting on your hips as you look at jack - your eyes almost twinkling with delight. "that's not me - that’s not how I do things."
jack snickers knowingly, because he's well aware now of how you are. you've always shown compassion and caring for others and have always taken on that polite, motherly role that always has you thinking of others. it's something jack has inevitably always noticed when it came to you - he notices more about you than he allows himself to admit.
you reach into the sink quickly, taking the last two plates out of the dirty water and bringing them to your chest. immediately, your tank top is becoming soaked and drops of lukewarm water fall off the ceramic and hit the kitchen floor mat between you and jack.
jack looks at you with something similar to shock, his tongue poking against his cheek in a way to mask his growing smirk.
"you're ridiculous." he hums.
you back away slowly, the dishes still clutched in your hands. one of your brows raise challengingly, rounding the corner of the island counter. "yeah?"
jack's slinky smirk is the last thing you register before he darts towards you, coming around the other side of the island as he attempts to grab you.
you spin away from him, turning your torso around so that you've got the plates out of reach.
jack laughs, reaching around you in another attempt at grabbing the wet dishes - although now, the plates are becoming dry with your tank top soaking up all the water.
you giggle, and try to slip between the counter and jack's torso, quickly, to try and create some space between jack and the plates. it's an unsuccessful attempt, and jack pushes you against the island with his hips. now that you're trapped, jack plucks the plates right out of your grip, holding them out and away from you.
the press of his body on yours has you feeling syrupy - the time around you coming to a hard, screeching halt. you look up at him gently, watching as jack's previous smile falters, a much more serious expression taking over his flushed face.
you swallow, anticipating building low in your belly. your eyes don't leave jacks, even when his arm lowers, putting the plates on the counter with a gentle clink. your heartbeat increases, and you can feel it pumping loudly in your ears. in that moment, you and jack forget about everything- you forgot how trevor is only a room away, you forget the stupid arguments and the anger...it all fades into the background.
jacks tongue passes through his lips, wetting them slowly as he hovers over you. his eyes flicker between your eyes before finding your plump lips - slightly parted as a hitched breath is pulled between them.
just as softy, jack's hand comes up towards your face and he places it against your cheek, cradling your sunkissed, freckled skin. his palm is warm and a little sweaty, but it makes everything so much more raw.
his thumb strokes the shell of your ear gently, a little comforting movement that has you holding your breath.
jack leans down, nudging his sloped nose against yours sweetly before he kisses you deeply, lips enveloping yours in a tight, passionate embrace.
instantly, you find yourself grabbing ahold of jack, desperately needing to feel him under your hands. your fingers grip the material of his shirt, pulling him tightly so he becomes impossibly closer.
it was almost odd in a way, kissing somebody who before this very moment, you thought hated you. which was why you were left slightly confused on why kissing jack hughes felt so right.
your movements become more desperate- frantic. jack lifts you effortlessly, sitting you on top of the kitchen island. your legs spread instinctively, and he wastes to time slotting his body between your thighs. with his lips still messily on yours, jack pulls your hips to the edge of the counter, bumping your clothed crotches together.
between you, one of jacks hands rest on the edge of your waist band, two fingers dipping underneath the top of your leggings - teasing you.
you're body feels like it's on fire - that burning sensation you've always had around jack is just as prevalent as ever. when jack's hand slides down the threshold of your tights and he begins to palm you though your thin panties, you pull away mere inches, breathless.
"please," you whine quietly, bucking your hips so that jacks fingers slip over your wet underwear. it's successful, and he thumbs around your clit deliciously.
"fuck - i got you." he nods against you, hooking your panties off to the side underneath your leggings. he curses again as he slides his ring and middle finger through your folds, collecting your arousal and bringing it up towards your clit and down again.
you whine pathetically, head falling backwards - disconnecting your lips from jacks.
his free hand glides over your clothes chest, passing over your painfully hardened nipples, before he rounds to the back of your neck - pulling you back upwards so you're looking at him.
"you're so wet," he whispers, pressing a sloppy kiss to the junction of your neck. your pulse jumps, and your hips move again - desperately trying to get jack's fingers inside you.
you moan, watching the outline of jack's hand move against your core through your pants. it's all so dirty and erotic - you don't think you've ever been this turned on at the thought of being fingered.
jack shushes you, his usual demanding tone present. "be quiet for me pretty girl, okay? you think you can be quiet?"
you're completely at his mercy - not even having the slightest urge to tease him and bite back at his question. all you can do is nod quickly, breathless as you gaze into his warm eyes.
at that, two of jacks calloused fingertips tease your dripping entrance, feeling through the gush of your arousal. you bite your lip, holding onto the moans that are on the brink of passing through your lips. his eyes don't leave yours while he pushes the entire length of his tail fingers into you, and you gasp at the adrenaline of it all.
jack's mouth falls open slightly, basking in the feeling of your gooey walls tightly welcoming his fingers. he begins to pump them in and out of your entrance, and even with the limited space, it still feels amazing.
you grab his face, pulling jack in for another needy kiss. it's mostly hot breath and spit, but neither of you seem to mind.
the way jacks fingers expertly work your spongy walls and the feeling of his palm bumping your clit deliciously, has the tiny coil in your stomach tightening - ready to snap.
you pull back, "i'm going to cum."
"fuck," jack smirks quickly, so fast you can't even register it, and he leans back into you - pressing a sweet kiss to your blotchy cheek. "cum for me, baby, I can feel your pussy clenching down on me - you're so beautiful."
it's the final push you needed, the band snapping and sending your body over the edge into a euphoric state. you see white, releasing your juices all over jack's hand and wetting the seam of your leggings. you start to moan, but he silences you, pressing his wet lips against yours.
his fingers come to a slow stop, allowing you to ride out your blissed high. you hum against him, running a hand through his grown out hair, tugging gently at the roots.
jack moans into your mouth at the feeling, automatically grinding his hard dick against your wet crotch.
the couch creeks, and the sound of trevor's socked feet hit the hardwood floor loudly - signalling he's awake and on the move.
quickly, jack removes himself from between your legs, and you hop off the counter just as fast. your legs almost give out on you, but thankfully you catch yourself.
trevor walks into the kitchen just as you take ahold of the plates, bringing them back over to the sink in hopes to appear busy. he is still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, a big yawn echoing through the kitchen- trevor's jaw cracking.
jack fixes his obvious hard-on, his back turned to his friend. he hopes trevor doesn't notice, and thankfully the ducks forward is too sleepy and can't even properly open his eyes.
"what are you two doing?" trevor hums curiously, moving past you in favour of grabbing a glass from the cabinet.
you can barley hear him over the thumping heartbeat in your ears - your hands are shaky under the now cold, soapy water in the sink.
"nothing, just cleaning up." thankfully, jack answers trevor in an appropriate way - seeming completely nonchalant.
as trevor opens the fridge in search of the brita, you quickly glance over your shoulder, seeking out jack. as you do, jack meets your eyes and he sends you a quick wink. the fridge clicks shut, and you both look away.
six: the beginning
there was something so peaceful about the sunset - you'd take it over the sunrise anytime of the year. the stunning shades of fuscha mixed with the dark reds and neon oranges - combining with the upcoming navy night sky. watching the world infront of you go to sleep was just so refreshing.
the evening was warm, and a light breeze slinked through the air providing the perfect temperature combination for an approaching summer evening. the wood of the dock is slightly harsh against your bare thighs, but you'll put up with it for some much needed time away from inside.
after jack fingering you on the kitchen island the night before, your mind has been reeling with what it all meant. you had come to your own realization that you weren't fighting with jack because you didn't like him - but rather the opposite. you've been seeking his approval for years, desperately wanting him to like you the way you've always liked him.
you had been pushing those feelings so deep down that when you came to the realization, you almost didn't believe yourself. you don't know what last night meant for jack, and you didn't know how jack actually felt about you.
this morning, when you were all gathered in the kitchen, snacking on your respective breakfast foods, jack had eyed you teasingly, hiding his growing smirk with the side of his cereal bowl. you had blushed into your glass of orange juice, choosing to not look back - too scared to get caught.
then you had thought about sydney, the girl jack had brought to the lake house to join your vacation. jack told you a few nights ago that they weren't dating, but they also didn't seem like just friends.
everything piling on top of one another was very quickly becoming overwhelming, and for the entire day you were left wallowing in your own confused thoughts.
so that's why as the sun began to set, you came out to the boat dock, resting quietly by yourself - trying to tame the tornado made up of thoughts and ideas in your head.
the sound of footsteps gently approach behind you, echoing against the faded wood. you turn down the taylor swift playing quietly on your phone until it's borderline silent, looking over your shoulder to find out who was making their way over to you.
jack smiles gently, looking very athletic in his black lulu shorts that displayed his thigh muscles delightfully, paired with a team branded tshirt. once he's close enough, he greets you gently before dropping down beside you. jack sits in a similar position, resting his forearms on his kneecaps, while you are hugging your legs to your chest.
it's silent for a few minutes, both of you bathing in the warm setting sunshine and basking in the comfortable silence each of your provided.
you choose to speak first, a slightly shaky exhale leaving your lips. "I don't know where to go from here, jack." you admit vulnerably, tearing your eyes away from the still water and looking over to him. "I mean, for years I thought you hated me and until last night I was set on that, but now...I don't even know what's going on." you laugh gently, tone thick with disbelief.
his brows pull together tightly, creating a little divet in the middle of his face. "I've never hated you...ever."
"then why did it feel like you did?"
jack watches the way your eyes gloss over, the moisture shining under the bright sun. he sighs gently, running a hand through his hair quickly - an attempt to try and relax his beating heart. "I thought that you hated me, y/n. so I would only argue with you because....I don't know, fuck." he curses, taking a shaky breath. "no - fuck this. I like you, really like you. so if you laughed at somebody else's jokes or if you were dating somebody else, I'd get so jealous that I would immediately go into this defensive zone- pushing you away with really horrible words."
he continues, "I was an asshole. I thought that you hated me and that made me mad, because I really wanted you. and I know that's a horrible excuse but it's the truth. I wanted you and thought I couldn't have you, so i'd lash out at you. i'm so sorry."
your breath hitches. you can't believe what you've just heard, and you have to pinch yourself to make sure it wasn't some longing dream you hadn't woke up from just yet. although his words seem authentic, you still feel weary. he could just be trying to get back in your pants, or maybe he was looking for some sadistic way to hurt you - maybe he actually did hate you. "how do I know you're not just saying this?"
jack laughs once gently, warm gaze looking out towards the water. he wets his lower lip before he looks back at your watery eyes and shaky lips. he sighs, "I didn't forget you and ethan broke up, I only asked because I wanted to make sure you didn't get back together - shitty, I know, but I couldn't think of another way to do it, I needed to know." he continues, "when I went grocery shopping with quinn, I was the one who picked out orange juice because I knew you liked it. I made sure nobody put the white claws in the fridge because I know you like your seltzers warm. when you hurt yourself by the fire pit, I blew on your scrape because I remember one time you told quinn that cool air always made your cuts feel better. I knew you'd be the one doing the dishes last night because you can never relax, so that's why I brought mine down - because any excuse to be near you, i’ll take."
you say his name, throat thick with emotion.
jack swallows thickly, voice dropping into a deep sigh. "I brought sydney here to try and make you jealous. and I know that's horrible, and I apologized to her a million times already. everything i've said to you and done to you is horrible, and i'm so fucking sorry."
"jack," you begin, "all that stuff you just said...I don't realize how well you know me."
he smiles gently, "I've had many years of watching you from a distance to learn."
your nose scrunches playfully, "that sounds really creepy."
he laughs, a real laugh that he usually only lets out around trevor and his brothers. but here he was, his shoulder brushing yours as he admits his feelings for you and laughs at your teasing. "it does doesn't it?"
you hum, shrugging your shoulders. "I can't say anything really, because i've been watching you from afar this whole time as well. I like you so much, jack. i'm so sorry for everything; the arguing, the rude comments and everything else. I should've just admitted my feelings - to you and myself."
he smiles, and the arm closest to you moves to wrap around your shoulders. jack brings your body into his, tucking you into his chiseled torso comfortably. "you're forgiven." his tone is teasing, and when you look up at him with a faux scowl, jack is already watching you playfully.
you pout your lips at him, feigning disappointment from his teasing comment.
jack rolls his eyes amusingly, and the last thing you see is his slinky smirk before he gives in and presses his lips to yours.
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