warnings: begging, oral (f!receiving), overstimulation, hair pulling, luke is a nightmare
luke hughes is a certified eater; a fact that he kept well hidden until the day you asked — very shyly, you might add — to sit on his face. in his defence, he didn’t want to scare you off. sure, most women like their men to be enthusiastic about eating them out, but luke couldn’t help but wonder if he was maybe too enthusiastic. like a starving man desperate for a taste of the elixir between your thighs.
but then you made the mistake of letting him in and opened a whole can of worms. he rewrites the dictionary definition of pathetic, begging and pouting with his face leant against one of your thighs. his nose will nuzzle at the seam of your pants, knowing exactly how to angle his face to make your breath hitch.
“please, baby,” he pouts up at you from between your legs, “just for a little while.” his big puppy eyes stare at you as he shifts a hand to rest on the button of your jeans. luke knows better than to jump straight in, so he just sits and plays with it for a while, twiddling it between his finger and thumb as he begs.
“lukey,” you hum, “i’m tired…”
“you don’t have to do anything,” he says as he hits his bottom lip out. “just sit there and look pretty for me… like always.”
you roll your eyes into the back of your head, letting out a small huff of laughter. it’s that which assures him that you’re close to saying yes. that all this posturing is nothing more than you delaying the inevitable. with a grin, he pops your button.
“luke…” it’s supposed to sound like a warning, but there’s no heat behind it. ultimately, it does very little to stop him unzipping your fly and exposing the very top of your underwear.
there’s a shit eating grin on his face as he trails a finger back and forth over the lace. his movements are gentle, but the look in his eye is anything but. long gone is the pleading glint, replaced by something more predatory. he has you where he wants you, now, on the verge of saying yes to his selfish whims.
“i’ll be quick,” luke promises, although you know it’s a lie, “just one taste and then i’ll let you rest. we can go up to bed; i’ll run you a bath. anything, baby! i’ll do anything you want. just give me one little taste.”
and maybe it’s pity that makes you give in; the pure desperation that drips from every single word. somehow he manages to convince you that he needs this more than you need your peace and quiet right now, and so you nod and luke moves like a man possessed.
his hands are on your hips, lifting them just enough to slip both your jeans and your panties over your hips. he pulls them all the way down your legs before abandoning them at your ankles and diving straight in.
luke’s hands feel huge in your thighs as he spreads them, licking his lips at the treasure pot before him. you’re awfully wet for someone who did such a good job at playing hard to get, but luke doesn’t hold it against you. you’ve been good enough to let him get what he wants; the little games you like to play mean nothing to him now.
“fucking look at you,” he purrs, blowing softly at your clit just so he can watch you twitch. your thighs tense beneath his hands and he grins, lips parting to give you a glimpse of his teeth. he never looks happier than when he’s here, sitting between your thighs with your wet pussy staring him down. maybe it’s insane, but you’d let him eat you whenever he wanted if it meant you could see him smile like that. “you’re beautiful…”
you let out a scoff as he leans in, nuzzling his nose up the crease of your thigh.
“are you saying that to me, or my puss— oh my god!” your words are cut off with a gasp as he connects his lips to your clit, sucking harshly at the little bundle of nerves. he knows what to do with his mouth, you’ll give him that; at least his addiction is beneficial to the both of you.
“you, dingus,” he grumbles against your centre. the vibrations make a shiver run up your spine and you let out a soft whine. the fact that he calls you dingus flies straight over your head, getting lost somewhere deep in the pleasure. “prettiest thing i’ve ever seen, aren’t you?”
luke’s eyes shut as he delves further in. his tongue flattens against your clenching core, lapping up the juices that have pooled at your enterance. a groan falls from his lips as if you’re the best think he’s ever tasted in his life. he’d probably agree with that sentiment, and given the groan that falls from his lips, you think you’d be an idiot to deny it.
your hands fly to his hair as he swipes his tongue between your folds, fingers laces through his curls, nails scraping at his scalp. you’ve pinned him to your core — as if he’d ever move before he was ready — chasing your pleasure like nothing else matters. it’s close, you can feel it in the way your stomach ties itself in knots, and as luke laps at you, you it only gets closer and closer.
“lukey,” you whine as he flicks at your clit with his tongue, “please, baby. please, i’m close.”
he hums in acknowledgement, but makes no move to change his pace. his tongue still works against you, alternating between licking and sucking at your sensitive bud before shifting down to drink up your juices. when he angles his face right, his nose sits just right between your folds, sliding back and forth in a way that has you gasping. it’s easy to lose yourself in the pleasure, and soon enough, it hits you like a bus.
your jaw hangs open as your legs spasm around his head, but still he doesn’t let up. his hands grip your thighs tighter as his mouth works you through it, carrying on even as your hips begin to buck in overstimulation. it isn’t until every breath slips through your lips as a ragged gasp that he pulls away, shaking his head free of your grip and looking up at you with lidded eyes. his tongue swipes over his slick lips with an exaggerated moan, and he sighs.
“thank you, baby,” luke says with mischief in his voice, “now you won’t mind if i take another, right?”
a/n: hello!! this will probably be the last hockey related thing i post on this blog bc i feel GUILTY!!!! i have a side blog which i did initially intent on posting all my hockey things on first so i’m gonna start using that again bc i did not intend for this blog to be taken over by hockey entirely 😭😭 if anyone wants to follow it it’s @buunbaanbeen (creative, i know) so uhhhh yeah!!!!
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“why are you doing, sweetheart?” says a familiar voice from the other side of the room. perhaps if there wasn’t currently a pillow over your face, you might be able to see the amusement on his face instead of just hearing it in his words. it’s a shame you can’t quite find the energy to remove it, though; you’ll just have to stick to imagining it.
“trying to smother myself,” is what you respond with. it’s met by raucous laughter from jack, clearly not taking this whole thing as seriously as he should be.
his footsteps are soft as they pad across the carpeted floor of his bedroom, getting closer and closer until you feel the mattress dip beside you, a warm hand finding itself a home on your clothed stomach. jack’s thumb rubs soft, soothing circles against the fabric of your — although jack would claim it was his, once upon a time — hoodie, and you can’t help but feel the stress from your day begin to slowly melt into the mattress.
“yeah?” jack purrs, the amusement only growing, “and hows that going for you, baby? can you see the light yet?”
the joy jack gets from making fun of you is almost endearing. that is until you remember that you’re the butt of the joke, of course, and then all you want to do is wipe the stupid grin off of his face!
you lift the pillow just enough to be able to see him, shooting a quick glare in his direction just to really emphasise your annoyance. “stop being mean and help me,” you grumble as you cover your face once more, “it’ll go faster if we work as a team.”
the mattress shifts again under the weight of his movement and before you know it, your boyfriend is horizontal and wrapping his arm entirely around your torso. he pulls you into his body without any effort at all and the pillow slips away from you, tumbling from your face and onto the floor too fast for you to stop it. it’s rather cinematic, the way it topples like a fallen soldier, but you don’t have time to dwell on that. not when jack is nuzzling his face into the newly accessible spot at the crook of your neck like a puppy that’s desperate for attention.
“whoopsie,” he mumbles against your skin, holding you too tight for you to escape the way it tickles you, “guess we’ll just have to try the smothering thing another day, huh?”
“you’re a dick,” you grumble.
“i’m your dick, though,” he just replies as he gets comfortable.
and yeah, he is ‘your dick’ because just as much as he’s an annoyance and the bane of your existence most days, he’s also the only person you want to come home to. the man of your dreams and your worst nightmare all rolled into one irritatingly handsome individual, and you wouldn’t change him for anything. not when he’s perfect the way that he is.
jack breathes a deep sigh into your neck before lifting his head just enough to see your face, no doubt looking as weary as you feel. his eyes flit from feature to feature as if they’re studying them, taking in each one individually as if that will in some way unlock the key to reading your mind.
“you’re pretty, y’know,” he finally says, “even when you look like you’re hoping for an anvil to fall on your head.“
“are you calling me a looney toon?” you try and jest, but the joke doesn’t quite reach your voice. jack huffs out a small laugh nonetheless, giving you the softest smile he can muster.
“i’m saying you look miserable, baby.” a quick kiss to your forehead has your eyes fluttering closed. he always knows what to do when he needs you to chill. “not to mention the whole ‘smothering’ thing; it doesn’t exactly make me think you’re doing well when you do shit like that.”
“i wouldn’t worry, jack,” you murmur, “me smothering myself was hardly the picture of success.”
but when he sighs where he should’ve laughed, you realise that he’s more serious than you first thought. this this isn’t something you can just brush off with a quick joke or two but a genuine concern for you! it’s precious, really, the way he worries over you so much even when you think it’s unfounded! like he’s saying ‘i love you’ without even having to utter the words.
“i need to know that you’re okay.” jack’s voice is firm, but it still carries that familiar softness that makes you feel all warm and gooey on the inside. you simply nod in agreement. “yeah? you’re okay?”
this time you say it. “i’m okay, jack,” you mumble as you let your body cosy up to his.
“you promise?” he triple checks and you have to stop yourself from laughing at his unnecessary concern. you settle for a soft smile
“i promise, pretty boy.” the warmth you feel inside your chest seeps into your words. “just a bad day, that’s all.”
he sighs as he lets his head fall back into the crook of your neck, right where it belongs.
The New Jersey Devils have a new social media intern. Jack Hughes is determined not to care at all, except for the fact that he does.
masterlist
“We’re getting a new social media intern,” Luke remarks offhandedly.
Jack tries not to roll his eyes. He’s not sure he succeeds. For as long as he’s been at the Devils, there have been perhaps dozens of new social media interns, one after another in a chain of pretty girls shoving phones into his face. Every time, it’s always the same. Another girl, fresh from college or in between jobs, asking him and the others to learn dances or take part in trends. Luke will flirt with the intern. Dawson too, probably. Even Jack, when he gets bored. Then, the internship will be up in a month or two, and they’ll get another one. Prettier, maybe, or funnier. And the cycle will begin again.
It’s not like he can really blame them, either. The hockey industry is precious, even for people who aren’t playing. If these girls want in, an internship is a great way to start. Any entry post’s a good one if it gets you where you want. Only, social media’s a pain. Jack came here to play hockey, not be in a dozen new photos and videos a day. It drives him crazy sometimes, or all the time.
So, when his brother tells him they’re getting another intern, he really couldn’t care less. Luke, more prone to fits of passion over the latest girl in Devils red, is still staring at him wide eyed, waiting for a reaction, so Jack rolls his eyes and gives him one.
“Good,” he says dully. “It’s been too long since I saw a phone camera shoved in my face. Can’t wait.”
Luke groans. “Come on, man. They’re fun, don’t give me that bullshit again. Besides, I saw you trying to buy the last one drinks.”
Jack can’t argue with this. He had been trying. It was something to do. “Won’t do it this time. I’ll leave that for you.”
Luke heaves another dramatic sigh. Jack wants to do something to stop the oppressive judgment, so he does, snatching the hat off Luke’s head and shoving it towards his mouth. Luke, predictably, nearly falls out of his chair and starts squawking indignantly. Jack just chuckles and gets up from his seat, heading towards the door. They’ve been idling in one of the cafes in the massive arena where they practice, called there early for business stuff that ended up getting delayed. Meetings always run late, and now Jack has the rare feeling of tardiness not actually being his fault.
He heads down the hall towards the locker rooms, ready at last for practice. Luke follows a few paces behind him, still complaining, something about saving violence for the ice. Bullshit, obviously. Jack does what he wants, where he wants. Hasn’t Luke figured that out by now?
Jack steals a glance over his shoulder just to rub in the injury. Luke meets his gaze and glowers, still pissy from almost taking a nose dive off his chair, but all of a sudden his eyes widen at something in front of them. Jack whips around just in time to collide with someone exiting one of the offices.
It’s not an accidental almost-impact, either, this is a complete disaster. Papers go flying. Jack manages to keep his balance, but the victim of his distraction is worse off. He has to fling out both hands to steady them, catching at their arms at the elbow before they fall over. A dozen apologies rise to his lips, but Jack only gets through about half of them before he actually looks at the person he’s just bumped into– and look, indeed, he does.
Jack has just run into a girl his age, and a very pretty girl at that. He gets lost in her eyes without even meaning to, captivated by the way the light shines in them as she opens her mouth and says, “What the hell are you doing?”
Jack blinks in surprise, feeling like he’s just been abruptly pulled out of a dream. “Huh?”
The girl stares at him like he’s crazy. “Why are you holding onto me?”
Too late, Jack realizes he never actually let go of her when he was trying to steady her. He snatches his hands away, the sinking feeling settling in that he actually has no idea how long he was standing there, captivated. No wonder this girl thinks he’s insane. This random guy comes up, runs into her, then silently holds her in his arms for what’s probably more than just a second or two? Yeah, that’s crazy in anyone’s books.
“Sorry,” Jack says again. They look at each other warily for a moment longer, then collectively, both gazes drop to the papers spilled across the ground.
Immediately, Jack dives for them, trying to gather as many as he can. He springs up again, and, not trusting himself to say anything that isn’t stupid, just awkwardly holds out the papers until she takes them. The girl gives him one last disbelieving glance, then walks purposefully past him. Jack turns and watches her go, wondering why he feels vaguely disappointed that she hadn’t stopped to talk longer. He didn’t even get her name.
Raucous laughter breaks out the second the girl disappears around a corner. Belatedly, Jack remembers that Luke has witnessed the whole thing, which is just great. The last thing Luke needs is more ammunition for making fun of him.
“That was, like, the least smooth thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” Luke chokes out. “What the fuck was that?”
Heat flares into Jack’s cheeks. “Shut up,” he says, turning back to continue walking down the hallway.
Luke, however, is unwilling to let go of the horrific blunder. He trots up to walk by Jack’s side, regardless of how much Jack tries to pick up the pace. “I mean, Jesus. Way to make an entrance. Poor girl’s probably going to log that with HR.”
“Shut up,” Jack repeats through gritted teeth. “I’ve seen you do worse in front of fans.”
“We’re not talking about me right now, we’re talking about you,” Luke says happily. “I’m so telling Quinn about this.”
“You are not,” Jack warns, but even after many threats of serious violence, he’s not entirely convinced that his older brother won’t hear about this.
Jack almost manages to put the whole thing out of his mind until he and the others are hanging out in the locker room later that day. They’re all dressed, but their coach wanted a few words before they hit the ice, apparently something bureaucratic that Jack can’t wait to forget.
Instead of being introduced to a new friend of the owner or some wealthy donor, however, Coach announces that they’ll be meeting their new social media intern. Online presence is crucial for sponsors, apparently, and the Devils need to up their game. So they say. Jack thinks it’s a lot of nonsense, and is fully prepared to treat it as such until their coach beckons the new intern into the room and Jack realizes he knows her. This isn’t a stranger, someone he can ignore without another thought. This is the pretty girl Jack just ran into earlier today, and she’s the one in charge of most of his Internet footprint.
Great.
Across the room, Luke is grinning ear to ear. This is so not what Jack wanted. The coach is saying something about how they’ll all be pulled one by one today for introductions and a few quick videos that can be parceled out during the next week or so. Usually, they would ask Nico first, captain rights and all that, but they need him to advise on some drills, so they go for the next best– Jack himself.
They’ll be filming TikToks or whatever a few halls over so as to not distract anyone, so Jack makes his way over with no small amount of trepidation. She hadn’t seemed so excited to meet him earlier, but maybe she’ll have forgotten who he was. It was a fast exchange. Maybe this means nothing at all, and they will have a great meeting, and he could even get her number or something. Yeah, not a problem.
The girl is setting up a phone on a stand when Jack shows up. She glances once at him as he approaches, then nods. “Oh, we’re starting with Mr. Observant. Cool.”
Jack feels his face turn a bright scarlet. “I’m not– I’m sorry about that. Honestly. I just didn’t see you.”
“That’s fine,” the girl says with a listless wave of her hand. “It was funny. I just thought hockey players would have more reflexes or something, I don’t know. Anyway, what’s your name, again?”
This is a simple question. It really is. Yet for some reason, Jack finds himself bothered. He’s been with the team for a while now, had that A on his uniform for a while now, and maybe he shouldn’t, but he’s gotten comfortable with his reputation. People know who he is. He’s recognized on the street, asked for photos while he’s getting coffee, all of that. And now this girl– this intern– is pretending like she doesn’t know who he is, and insulting his reflexes to boot?
“Jack,” Jack replies tersely. “Are you going to tell me your name, or should I just guess?”
“Y/N,” the girl answers him. “What do you do on the ice except run into people?”
“I play hockey,” Jack deadpans. “What else do you want me to say?”
Y/N just smiles at him, the picture of innocence. “Your position? This is supposed to be an introduction, isn’t it? I have to make sure I have a good picture of the team.”
Fine. Fine. Jack can be civil. He’s going to play along and then he’s going to leave and make somebody else deal with her.
“Yeah, position. I'm an alternate captain, a center. Left wing. That matters.” He feels like he’s rambling. This is stupid. He’s stupid. He never does this.
“Sure it does,” Y/N says, one eyebrow raised. “Do you have to tell everyone you’re cool or just the interns?”
“Huh?” Jack asks. “I’m not– I’m just talking.”
Y/N nods. “I’m sure you do. Talking and hockey, that’s impressive. I can see why the Devils wanted you.”
“Your team spirit needs some work,” Jack notes. “Why’d they hire you, your winning personality?”
“That, and I’m wonderful at making infographics,” Y/N informs him breezily.
“I bet they’re terrible,” Jack says on instinct. “Clashing colors and all that. Can you even draw a straight line?”
Y/N cocks her head to the side. “I don’t know, can you shoot on goal without getting injured?”
Jack takes a step forward on instinct before he remembers that he cannot fight social media interns and backs down. Still, the anger simmers in his head so bad he’s not sure if the red all around him is for the Devils or just the film of rage clouding his eyes.
This isn’t good for him. His team needs him out there on the ice with a level head, even in practice. Jack forces a smile and says, “I guess you’ll see at our next game, won’t you?”
Y/N meets his gaze with a mirror smirk, which bothers Jack more than if she’d tried to one-up him again. He grabs his stick with more force than necessary, making himself step past her and onto the ice before he does something he’ll regret. Once he’s out there, skating broad loops to warm up, Jack can almost put the whole exchange out of his head.
Almost.
Luke finds him after practice, because of course he does. Somedays, Luke swears that little brothers must be born with an innate knowledge of how to stick their heads into other people’s business. Fleetingly, he wonders what Quinn would think about that, then moves on before that lesson can settle in.
“I love our new intern,” Luke says happily on the drive back to their apartment.
Jack scoffs. “Sure you do. You love rubbing this in my face.”
Luke glances at him, surprised. “No, honestly. I think she’s great. Super funny, too.”
Jack turns to stare at him with disbelief so abruptly he almost swerves the car into a telephone pole. Veering to correct course, Jack spits out, “Y/N? You think Y/N is great?”
Once Luke stops pretending like they’ve almost died– which they didn’t, by the way, Jack had everything under control– he calms down enough to say, “Yeah, I do. She was super nice to me. I need to ask if she’s local so we can hang after the internship ends.”
Jack feels as if he’s been dropped into an alternate reality. “You’re serious. You really do like Y/N?”
Now Luke’s looking at him like he’s the crazy one. “Like I said, yeah. Why, what happened when you talked to her? Was she still mad about earlier?”
“You could say that,” Jack grits out, knuckles white around the steering wheel.
Luke chuckles. “That’s kind of funny, actually.”
“It is not,” Jack mutters, but Luke remains in high spirits the whole drive back anyway.
To the great amusement of his younger brother, Jack and Y/N continue to be at odds the next time the Devils have to film social media videos, and the next time, and the next. Even when they start off a meeting on relatively stable ground, something will happen to have them sniping again, and they’ll be at each other’s throats by the time they leave the building in the evening.
What makes it worse is that Jack is apparently the only one suffering from Y/N’s cold shoulder. Everyone from the captain to the rookies seems to have gotten along just fine with their newest social media intern, yet Jack feels like he walks around with a target on his back every time she’s in office. They’ve started to ignore each other instead of purposely tossing insults, but that’s as close as he’ll ever get to a truce.
Jack has started counting down the days until she leaves. He would love some peace and quiet. Maybe the next intern will be normal, or they’ll all be poisoned forever just because Y/N L/N showed up and changed Jack’s life for good.
God, he feels like she’s crept into every part of his world. He’ll be scrolling on his phone and the videos she filmed will appear on his For You page out of nowhere. Jack swears he can sense her in every quick cut, every box of text, every song selection. Walking through the arena, he sees her everywhere– ducking into a meeting room, discussing potential videos with some of the PR agents, tucked into the bleachers so she can watch them practice and snap some shots. Jack is starting to seriously wonder if there has ever been a time when she hasn’t been wound around him like a loose thread come undone from his favorite coat.
Even now, he can see her. Jack has finally left a late-night practice, breath fogging up in the cold evening air. He’s glad for the warmth of his car when he slides in. Luke went back with some friends, but Jack had wanted to hang around a while longer to practice some skills before the next game.
Y/N must have been working late too, because he can see her now, walking out of the parking lot and towards the sidewalk leading into town. Jack assumes she’s waiting for someone to pick her up, but Y/N’s steps don’t show any indication of slowing down. Is she actually walking on a night like this? Jack is cold just thinking about the weather outside. Y/N has a coat on, but it won’t be enough to discourage the bite of the wind.
Before he can even think about what he’s doing, he’s pulled his car alongside her. Y/N looks panicked when he comes to a stop, but relaxes somewhat when Jack rolls down the window and calls out to her. “Are you waiting for someone?”
Y/N shakes her head. “No, I’m walking back. Have a nice night.”
She turns back to the sidewalk, evidently expecting him to keep driving. Jack also expects himself to keep driving, but he doesn’t. “It’s awfully cold to be walking. How far is your apartment?”
“Not far,” Y/N says. “Twenty minutes, maybe?”
That settles it. “You’re not walking twenty minutes in the freezing cold,” Jack decides. “Besides, I thought you were dropped off. Isn’t someone coming to pick you up?”
Y/N pauses oddly, and it occurs to Jack that he probably shouldn’t be noticing how she gets to and from work each day. Still, when she speaks again, he’s pretty sure the annoyance in her voice isn’t directed at him, for once. “I was dropped off, but my friend canceled on me. Hence the walk.”
Jack’s mood immediately sours. That’s a shitty move for sure, and even if he doesn’t always see eye to eye with Y/N, he’d never leave her out here, shivering even after a few minutes of walking. And he won’t tonight, either.
“I can drive you, if you like,” Jack offers abruptly. He’s not sure why he does it. He never has before. They’ve never been in a position like this before, and maybe they won’t either. Still, he doesn’t take it back.
Y/N, apparently heedless of the gravity of this offer, just smiles and shakes her head. “That’s alright, I’ll just call an Uber. Thanks, though.’
Jack blinks and stares at her. It had taken such a rush to get the words out that it honestly didn’t occur to him that she would just say no. “Is this because you’re mad at me?”
“I’m not mad at you, Jack,” Y/N laughs. “I’m walking. You should get going soon, you’re going to disrupt traffic.”
“Fuck traffic, you’re cold,” Jack says disbelievingly. “Get in the car, Y/N. Please?”
She looks like she’s going to argue, but a particularly frigid gust of wind rips through that thin jacket and a moment later, Y/N is settling into his passenger seat. She turns to look at him, and Jack looks back at her, just a few spans apart. They’re close enough that he can see the flutter of her eyelashes as she blinks. Close enough that he could reach out and touch the slow bloom of cold on her cheek if he just tried.
“So?” Jack manages to pull himself together long enough to ask, “What’s your address?”
Y/N blinks, evidently startled out of some reverie, then pulls it up on her phone. Jack follows the directions, fingers drumming absentmindedly on the steering wheel. The car is quiet, and it weighs on him like a burden until he finally blurts out, “Why do you hate me, though?”
Y/N looks baffled. “I don’t hate you.”
Jack snorts. “Of course you do. You get along with every single member of this team but me, it’s a little hard not to take that personally. Come on, just tell me. Is it because I ran into you that first day?”
Y/N laughs again. It’s one of the few times it’s with him, not at him, and Jack lets the sound wash over him like sunlight. It’s a good sound. He wouldn’t mind hearing it again, maybe.
“That was funny. No, it wasn’t that. It’s just–” Her voice drops off, suddenly serious. “Do you remember Emma? She was your social media intern last summer. She’s the one who suggested I take this program, actually.”
Vague memories appear in Jack’s head. “Kind of? We’ve had a lot of interns.”
“Yeah, well, she’s one of my best friends, and the most important piece of advice she gave me before I started was to stay the hell away from you.”
Jack almost misses his turn. “What? Why?”
He risks a glance away from the road and towards her, but Y/N is keeping her head perfectly straight, not allowing herself to look at him in the slightest. “Something about you breaking her heart. She seems to remember you flirting a lot, buying her drinks, then dumping her for someone more interesting the second the internship ended.”
Jack winces. “That does sound familiar, actually. Sorry. I didn’t mean to–”
Y/N interrupts him with a wave of her hand. “Yeah, no, I get it. I love Emma, I really do, but she’s got a habit of moving quickly. Still, she was really hurt for a while. I figured anyone who could do that to my friend and not even remember was someone who didn’t need me to be nice to them.”
Guilt starts to pool in Jack’s stomach, icing him down to the core. “Still. I was a dick.”
“You still are, on occasion,” Y/N says, smiling slightly, “But I’ve been bad too, I think. I wanted to get revenge for my friend, but I’ve been more mean than needed. I’m sorry too.”
Jack comes to a slow stop in front of one of the notoriously long red lights of their shared city. As the scarlet of the traffic light washes over them, Jack takes advantage of the stopped traffic to hold out a hand to her. “How about a truce, then? If we’re both sorry?”
Y/N considers his outstretched hand, then nods at last and shakes it. “I’m good with that. Let’s start over.”
“Let’s start over,” Jack repeats.
Her hand is still a little cold in his, even after the few minutes they’ve spent talking. It occurs to Jack that he could probably sit here for a while longer, warm her hands up with his, and then Y/N nudges him in the side and Jack realizes the light has turned green. He drops her hand hastily, turning back to the road in the hopes that she won’t notice the slow flush of heat to his cheeks.
The rest of the drive back is uneventful. Jack offers to walk Y/N to the door of her apartment complex, which Y/N jokingly calls creepy then smiles for real when he insists. They part with a promise to try harder next time, and Jack doesn’t think his feet have ever felt so light on the walk back from practice. He goes to bed that night like a little kid, practically giddy at the thought of the day ahead.
Looking back on it, Jack isn’t sure what he expected to happen with them after that. A celebration, maybe some fanfares? Or just a normal conversation in which she expressed how glad she was to see him and Jack could do the same? He doesn’t get any of that. In fact, they hardly see each other for most of the next few days. This isn’t too unexpected; although they love to complain, the players and media don’t see each other that often unless someone’s sworn on live TV or otherwise messed up their online presence.
Still, by the time Jack’s path finally crosses with Y/N’s, he’s really hoping for something special. He’s sort of crazy the whole time they’re filming videos, all raised eyebrows and hopeful glances, but instead of seizing the opportunity to make fun of him, Y/N just giggles a little and goes on with her life. It’s not bad, all things considered, but Jack– Jack wants more.
When hasn’t he, after all, wanted more? He wants to be better at skating. He wants to score more goals. He wants to stop getting brushed off by the commentators. He wants, more than anything, for some reason, for the pretty girl interning for their media department to do more than just look at him with a faint smile every now and then.
The sheer wanting starts to consume him. Jack goes out of his way to be exceptionally funny, astoundingly clever, practically fantastic in every way, yet nothing seems to wow Y/N. They’re just talking, which is certainly more than he had a few weeks ago, but Jack doesn’t want to just be talking to her, he wants to be back in his car again, with her leaning over and laughing at his jokes, her cold hands in his, telling him that maybe she’d misjudged him after all. Jack doesn’t just want more, he wants her, and that is making him insane.
Worse still is the fact that he doesn’t have her. Jack has spent his whole life, it feels like, hating the ‘pretty boy hockey player’ persona. He’s certain it’s cost him deals or trades or something over the years with the way people refuse to take him seriously. Yet now, Jack isn’t cursing its existence, but rather wondering why the hell it hasn’t worked. He’s still the same guy, same face. That stubborn acne patch on his chin has been clear for weeks now. He got a haircut, and people said it was good this time. Everything should be in his favor, looks-wise. So why doesn’t it seem to have a single effect?
It’s baffling, honestly. Jack cannot stand it. Worse still, the internship period is starting to slip away, and soon enough Y/N will be gone for good, leaving Jack to reel in her absence and wonder why he couldn’t make her like him enough to stay.
His mood sours whenever he thinks about it, which is often. Like now, even, in between Jack’s hours on the ice. They’re swapping out players in shifts, and Jack won’t be on for another five minutes or so. He’s sitting on one of the metal bleachers, hoping that watching the others will help keep his mind off things, but it’s not working too well.
Someone sits down right next to him, and Jack is about to start asking why they couldn’t pick anywhere fucking else to sit when he realizes it’s Y/N.
“Oh,” he says, trying desperately to sound cool and not bone-tired from practice, “Hey. D’you need another TikTok or something?”
“No TikToks,” Y/N says, smiling. “We can do a bonus one if you want, though, I know how much you love them.”
Jack chuckles. “They’ve been growing on me.” No reason why.
Y/N grins like she knows exactly what he’s thinking. “High praise. I hope you carry that spirit to the next social media intern, too.”
Jack sighs plaintively. “Do you really have to go? You fit in well, you know. You might as well stay a little longer.”
“That so?” Y/N asks, one eyebrow raised.
Jack looks away. “I don’t know. I heard some of the guys saying–”
Y/N cuts him off, lips twitching up into a smile. “I don’t care about the guys, Jack. What do you think?”
“I think you should stay,” Jack mumbles. He still can’t look her in the eyes. “With me.”
As soon as he says it, he knows it’s true. It doesn’t have to be through the Devils or not. He just wants Y/N with him for a while longer, to tease him when he’s being stupid and cheer for him during the games. He wants to hear her laugh longer than just the next few days. He wants to get coffee and buy flowers and match outfits and do a hundred things that would be special because he’d be doing them with her. That, more than anything, is what he wants.
A soft pressure on his hand; Jack looks up to realize Y/N has put her fingers over his, and squeezes slightly. He squeezes back by instinct.
“I want that too, Jack,” she tells him.
The smallest spark of luck is creeping back into his veins. “I thought you didn’t go for hotshot hockey players,” he says. “Especially not ones that flirted with the interns.”
Y/N rolls her eyes, but she’s laughing slightly, so they’re okay. “I wasn’t supposed to do that. The idea was that I would try to avoid it.”
Jack grins. “How’s that working out for you?”
“Surprisingly badly,” Y/N confesses. “I’m not too mad about it, though. Something tells me we’re going to make this work out.”
“It will,” Jack promises. He’s going to make sure of it. Looking at Y/N, the light in her eyes when she smiles, Jack knows that he’s going to do everything in his power to keep her. He rubs his thumb over her hand, still in his, and cannot help but think about how lucky he is.
Y/N looks like she’s going to start blushing. “Let’s talk about this when all of your teammates aren’t watching,” she says suddenly.
Jack glances up and realizes that he’s on the receiving end of quite a few curious looks from the Devils still on the ice. Luke, especially, looks like he has several questions he wants to ask. Jack groans, mentally preparing himself for the absolute nuisance his little brother will become on the drive home.
Still, it doesn’t faze him for long. “How about we talk about it this Saturday?” Jack asks. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”
Y/N is breathtaking when she smiles at him. Jack might have to keep looking forever, just so he remembers. “I think that sounds alright to me.”
Jack opens his mouth to say something stupid like how he can’t wait, but the coach blows a whistle to usher him and some of the others back onto the ice, and Jack is saved from himself. “I’ll see you then,” he repeats somewhat needlessly.
Y/N nods, and Jack turns to leave. He’s still got most of his senses intact, despite evidence to the contrary, and Jack does know better than to kiss Y/N in front of his whole team and coach in the middle of practice, but– well, there’s a difference between what Jack knows and what Jack does, and today, he kisses her anyway. It’s good. Really good. Good enough to deal with the teasing when he finally makes it down to the ice. Good enough to keep him hooked until their date, and the next, and the next. Good enough for forever.
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It started as a normal morning — if you could still call anything in your life normal these days.
You’d barely slept the night before. Your body buzzed with that familiar tension — too many tabs open in your brain, too many responsibilities shoved to the margins to make room for pretending everything was fine.
Quinn had texted you around ten:
Hey, we’re taking the boat out this afternoon. You coming?
You’d stared at the message for a full minute before managing a reply.
"If I can get my head to stop spinning. Might need a nap first."
He sent back a thumbs-up and a heart emoji. The Hughes version of insisting you take care of yourself.
Apparently, you weren’t convincing, because a few hours later, someone was knocking on your apartment door.
You didn’t hear it at first.
You were half-asleep on the couch, still in yesterday’s clothes, your phone dead on the floor and a barely touched glass of water sweating on the coffee table. Your limbs felt heavy, your mouth dry. Your body was past tired — it had crossed into something else. Something quieter and more dangerous.
The knocking came again. Harder this time.
“Hey,” Jack’s voice called from the other side. “Open up.”
A pause. Then:
“Quinn sent me. Said you weren’t answering.”
You tried to lift your head, but even that made the world spin. Dull nausea curled in your stomach.
Jack knocked again, more insistent now. You heard the door creak open — you must’ve left it unlocked. Footsteps. Then:
“Yo—” His voice cut off sharply as he saw you.
You blinked up at him, disoriented and foggy. He looked huge in your tiny entryway, the afternoon light behind him casting sharp angles across his face.
“What the hell,” he muttered, crossing to you in a few long strides. “You okay?”
“Just tired,” you mumbled, but the words felt slurred, distant. “Just need a minute.”
He crouched in front of you, concern overtaking the usual sharpness in his expression. “Have you eaten?”
You shook your head slowly. “Forgot.”
“And water?”
You gestured weakly toward the glass on the table, barely touched.
“Jesus,” he breathed, standing up. “Alright, that’s it. You’re not going on the boat. You’re not doing anything. I’m taking you back with me.”
You tried to protest — something about needing your bag, or needing a second to change — but he wasn’t listening. Or maybe he was and just didn’t care.
He helped you sit up, carefully looping an arm around your waist when you swayed. His touch was steady but gentle, like he was handling something breakable. You hated that — how vulnerable you felt. How seen.
Still, you didn’t fight him.
Once Jack realized helping you to the car would take too long, he lifted you up bridal style and placed you gently in the passenger seat. The silence on the drive back wasn’t uncomfortable, just weighted — thick with everything unspoken between you. Jack kept glancing over, jaw tight, fingers drumming against the wheel.
You could feel how angry he was, but not at you. At the situation. At the fact that he’d been the one to find you like that.
At the fact that no one else had.
Back at the lakehouse, he helped you up the stairs and into the guest room, ignoring the questions from Luke and Quinn with a short, “She’s fine. She just needs rest.”
You heard Quinn murmur something about checking in, but Jack shut the door behind you both before anyone else could enter.
You sat on the edge of the bed, dizzy, heart pounding in your ears.
Jack didn’t speak right away. He grabbed a bottle of water from your nightstand and some snacks Luke had handed him on the way up. You took them without meeting his eyes.
“I’m not helpless,” you said finally, voice hoarse.
“I know you’re not,” he said. “But you scared the hell out of me.”
You looked up.
His expression was open, vulnerable in a way that caught you off guard. No sarcasm. No teasing. Just raw honesty.
“I thought something was really wrong,” he added. “You weren’t answering. You didn’t look—” He broke off, running a hand through his hair. “You looked like you were about to just… disappear.”
That landed harder than you expected. Because part of you had felt that, too.
“I didn’t mean to ignore anyone,” you whispered.
“I know.”
Silence stretched between you — not tense, but heavy with meaning.
And then something shifted.
He stepped closer. You didn’t move away.
His hand reached out, fingers brushing your cheek, like he was testing the line between restraint and something else entirely.
“I don’t know what we’re doing,” he said softly. “But I don’t want to pretend it’s nothing.”
You nodded once, heart in your throat.
He leaned in, slower this time — nothing like the rushed heat of the bathroom.
This kiss was softer, deeper. Like he meant it.
You kissed him back, your hands curling into his shirt, grounding yourself in something real.
When you finally pulled apart, foreheads pressed together, the room felt quieter. Steadier.
He stayed with you after that. Just sat with you on the edge of the bed, your head against his shoulder, the silence between you no longer something to avoid.
You didn’t define it. Didn’t talk about what it meant.
But you didn’t run from it, either.
Over the next few days, things shifted.
You still kept your space. Still worked. Still pretended like nothing had changed.
But now, Jack found reasons to linger in the same room. To pass you your coffee. To bump your shoulder gently when no one was looking.
You didn’t call it anything. Not yet.
But Luke was definitely watching.
One afternoon, while you packed up supplies from the youth clinic, he grinned and said, “You and Jack are weird. But like, weird-cute.”
You rolled your eyes. “There’s nothing going on.”
Luke snorted. “Sure. You wanna try that again, but say it like you mean it?”
You smacked him with a clipboard.
Quinn, meanwhile, stayed blissfully unaware. He still called you his “anchor,” still asked for your opinion on whether Luke’s shoulder was actually healing or just “being dramatic”, still planned movie nights and dinners.
warnings - talk of sex, aftercare, unprotected sex, cumming inside
you make another incoherent noise from your place on the bed. somewhere between a whine and a groan; nothing sexual, yet still quite needy. luke can only laugh, the sound echoing from the bathroom where he stands, wetting a soft cloth with warm water. he promised you he’d be quick, but it feels like forever since he pulled out, leaving you cold and alone on top of the mattress he’d fucked you into merely moments prior.
“shut up,” you hear him say over the running water, nothing but glee in his tone, “i’ll be with you soon, baby. the water is taking forever to warm up because someone took an hour long shower earlier.”
in your defence, it was an everything shower. between scrubbing and exfoliating every inch of skin on your body, washing and deep conditioning your hair, and the impromptu concert you performed for the bottles lining the side of the tub, a lot of time mounted up! a lot of hot water too, you suppose, but it’s not like luke was complaining when he was laughing and begging for ‘one more song, baby!’ from the bed.
“but i’m sticky,” you whine as you writhe around atop your sheets, kicking out your legs, only to regret it when you remember just how sore your thighs are. having a boyfriend the size of luke makes fucking him a workout; maybe you should’ve stretched before giving yourself leg cramp.
“you’ll be less sticky in a minute!” you can practically hear his smile in his words; thank god he finds you endearing even when you’re at your most annoying. “it’s not my fault you begged for it raw.”
at that, you gasp, although you can hardly deny that there’s some truth to his words. sure, ‘begged’ may be a little extreme, but you had certainly whined a little when he’d pulled a rubber from his bedside drawer. putting on a condom takes time and you were desperate. an extra step between taking your towel off and getting your boyfriend inside of you seemed unfathomable at the time. now, with his cum seeping out of your tired hole, you have to admit that you can see the logic.
“you should’ve put your foot down,” you argue, although it hardly holds any weight to it. you know luke too well to think he’d pass up an opportunity to feel you so closely.
“or maybe—” the faucet turns off and a moment later luke appears in the doorway, still naked as the day he was born. you take a moment to appreciate him before he pushed away from the doorframe and takes a few steps closer. the room is just small enough for the trip to take no more than a few seconds, and before you know it, he’s sitting by your side, looking over you with a shit eating grin on his pretty face. “—you should have more self control, baby. you know i can’t say no to you.”
a shiver runs down your spine when the wet wash cloth comes into contact with your sore clit. luke had made you cum too many times to keep count, and the poor, sensitive bud had suffered for it. rubbed and pinched and smacked, it had gone through a lot, and no matter how gentle your boyfriend is, you can still feel everything. you suck in a breath through your teeth, eyebrows pinching together in a wince.
luke just shushes you softly, pressing his lips to the wrinkle in your forehead. you know he knows how sore you feel, and that’s enough to soothe you, even just a little bit.
your taught muscles melt as he shifts the cloth down to your weeping hole. his touch is soft as he wipes the remnants of his love away; almost as soft as the way his eyes are gazing into yours. you can’t help yourself when you lean up to kiss his jaw. he tenses, giggling a little as if this is enough to make him shy.
as if you wasn’t just spitting the filthiest words you’ve ever heard into your ear mere moments ago.
“you’re so cute, lukey,” you purr against his skin.
“shut up,” he says again, although it’s whinier this time. you can hardly believe how easy it is to reduce him down to a giant puppy-dog.
he pulls the cloth away from you and throws it into the corner of the room to be forgotten about until later. now isn’t the time for responsibilities. not when the two of you are so determined to do nothing but bask in one another’s presence, sharing soft touches filled with adoration, passing warmth back and forth between your bare skin.
luke lays his weight down on top of you, gentle with his movement so as not to crush you. the pressure of his body atop yours is nice. relaxing, even. it grounds you, and beneath him, you melt. his face finds its home in the hollow of your neck, nose rubbing up and down your skin before settling to a stop just below your jaw. you can’t help but squirm when his warm breath runs down your neck, tickling you, but luke’s body keeps you firmly in place. lay beneath him, pressed so close together you might as well be one.
“comfy?” he mumbles against your neck. you hum a ‘mhm!’ in response. he smiles against your skin, wide and beaming, just how you like to see him. “that’s good,” he says, “me too.”
warnings: manhandling, luke is a pest, nipple play, grinding, i think that’s it!! mdni
luke hughes picks you up to move you just because he can. it annoys you to be end, and you don’t exactly hide the fact, but maybe that’s half the reason he likes it in the first place. the way you whine his name like he’s a badly behaved dog, scrunching your nose up in frustration because no matter what you do, you just can’t train him. it hits luke right where it matters; his cock.
because knowing that he can just move you wherever he wants is such a power trip that only a mad man wouldn’t get hard over it. the feel of your body beneath his hands as he does what he wants with you is more intoxicating than any drug could ever be, and the way you’re so willing even with all your complaints could sustain him through this lifetime abd the next. you’re just so perfect for him, and he’ll never stop reminding you of that.
“come here, pretty girl,” he grunts as he grabs your hips and pulls you down onto his lap. there’s no consideration for the fact that you were very much busy because whatever it is that you were doing can wait. the house is patient enough to wait to be cleaned, but luke? patience has never really been his forte. so he ignores the dust cloth that tumbles from your hand as you go limp in his grasp, simply watching it as it topples to the floor to be forgotten about until he’s finished with you. you won’t need it for a while, after all!
“luke,” you whine as he situates you exactly where he wants you, straddling his lap with your face mere inches from his own. he smiles up at you with such innocence, as if the grey joggers he’s donning do anything to hide his half-chubbed dick that rests just below your core. the hands that rest on your hips grind you down on it once, just to make sure you can feel that it’s there, and when you suck in a sharp breath, luke’s smile only widens.
he holds you there like you’re some sort of trophy, hands sitting firmly on your hips to stop you from squirming. if you want him to let go, you know the word you need to say, but luke has full confidence that you won’t use it. you like this as much as he does, and no amount of incredulous looks and petty little scoffs could ever convince him otherwise. he can read you like a book, after all; there’s no hiding from him.
“what, pretty girl?” he says as he bucks his hips into yours. a soft gasp slips from between his lips, but other than that, he holds his composure rather well, “you gonna tell me you were busy?”
“i am busy, luke,” you insist, but the little shit just shakes his head.
“no,” he corrects, blatantly ignoring the way you glare at him, “you were busy, but now you’re playing with me, right?”
he loves the way you roll your eyes, a sigh of faux frustration slipping through the barely concealed smirk you wear. you’re not very good at pretending to be mad, but luke likes that about you. the transparency makes you so easy to understand, and when he understands you, it’s so much easier to toy with you like this. he knows the boundaries and how hard he can push them before he needs to stop. he knows the expression you wear when you’re too proud to tell him just how good he’s making you feel, and he knows the little scrunch in your brow that tells him you’re almost there.
right now, your face is telling him to push harder, and so he does. one hand slips free of your hip, travelling beneath your oversized tshirt and to the soft mound of your breast. the lace that covers it has him pulling a face of displeasure, but he works around it rather quickly when he finds his way to the clasp on your spine, unclipping it and watching as the fit of your bra loosens beneath your shirt.
“gimme,” he says as he frees his hand from your shirt and presents it to you, palm up. you respond almost immediately, much to luke’s pleasure, wriggling and shimmying until you’re performed the mystical act of removing your bra from beneath your tshirt. it isn’t very ladylike when you slap the flimsy item onto his palm with a moody little scowl on your face, but luke would take your moodiness over anything. the way you pout is so precious that luke often finds himself wondering how on earth you weren’t snatched up sooner.
he tosses your bra to the side with little care for where it lands before sliding his hand beneath your shirt once more. it smoothes over your tummy, appreciating the expanse of soft skin before making its way further north to its true destination.
your nipples are already pebbled when he reaches them, poking through the thin material of the tshirt in a way that has luke licking at his lips like a starved animal. perhaps later, he’ll get his mouth on them, sucking and nibbling at the sensitive buds until you’re a whining mess in his lap. the idea alone is enough to make his cock twitch in his pants, but patience is a virtue; luke doesn’t mind waiting for what he wants.
a gentle thumb runs over the peak of your breast, and luke watches as a shiver runs through you. it’s a beautiful sight, the way your lips part in a gasp as your eyes flutter shut, and luke takes a moment to commit it to memory. he’ll think about it later, when he’s back in his own apartment with only his hand to keep him company, but for now, he’s more than happy to have the real thing right there.
“so pretty,” he says, absentmindedly, “you want me to make you feel good?”
you nod, but it’s not enough. the hand on your hip gives a firm squeeze as the other gives your nipple a soft tweak. it’s enough to make you jolt in luke’s lap, your hips jerking in a way that pulls a guttural moan from luke’s chest. he loves how reactive you can be sometimes, especially when he can use it to his advantage.
“what have i told you about using your words, hm?” he says breathlessly, “i like hearing your voice, baby; it’s pretty.”
there’s silence for a moment before you keen, clearly displeased by his desire to have you ask for it.
dealing with a drunk girlfriend is something luke doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to. the little giggles that spill from your intoxicated tongue were something that luke found cute, once upon a time, but he’s since come to learn how precarious they are. one wrong move and the giggles will shift to tears and you’ll somehow become even more difficult than you were when he was trying to get you situated in the back seat of his car!
comforting you in that state is a task luke wouldn’t wish upon anyone. with all your whimpering and pouting, you hardly listen to a word anyone says. you fumble out quiet apologies for things luke was never even angry about to begin with and then shut him down any time he tries to tell you it’s okay. it took him a while to learn that the key to distracting you is as simple as turning the tables; apologising back to you about equally stupid things until you’re begging him to stop being silly. it works a treat, honestly!
luke only wishes he has a remedy for the mood you seem to be in tonight.
“wanna see your thighs,” you slur from where you’ve been deposited on the bed. your feet hang off the edge of the mattress, kicking and squirming every time luke gets close enough to undo the straps of your heals. he’d told you to wear the less finicky ones tonight, but you’d insisted they were all wrong. ‘that shade of pink doesn’t go with this shade of green!’ or something along those lines. quite frankly, luke didn’t care whether the shoes matched your outfit; he just wanted to make his own life a little bit easier.
a hand wraps itself around one of your ankles to keep it still. it’s a perfectly innocent gesture that is purely for efficiencies sake, but it’s no surprise to luke when you let out a moan. whilst this drunken mood tends to be one of the rarer ones compared to your usual tears and self-deprivation, that doesn’t mean luke is entirely oblivious to it. no, he knows the horny-drunk side of you well.
“you can see my thighs tomorrow,” he says as he finally gets one shoe off and flings it to the side. for a moment, he lets his gaze drift up to look you in the eyes, but upon seeing the way you’re clumsily biting your lip at him, he just lets out a tired groan. “and you can stop looking at me like that, missy. you’re drunk.”
“i’m horny,” you whine as his grip shifts to your other ankle.
“still drunk, baby.” his deft fingers move a little quicker on this shoe, wanting to get the darned thing off so he can work on getting you to sleep. maybe once you’re out for the count you’ll actually start behaving.
luke doubts it; even in your sleep your hands tend to wander.
“well, i think that’s a stupid rule.”
the way you huff is rather petulant, and silly enough to pull a small chuckle from luke. he shakes his head as he tugs the other shoe from your foot and chucks it in the general direction of the other. putting them where they belong is a job for tomorrow morning, when you’re too hungover to function and he’s so bored without your attention that his only option is to tidy. for now, his main priority is you.
warm hands come to rest on your thighs as luke pushes himself to his feet and tries to take a step back. he almost trips when your legs shoot out to wrap around his thighs and keep him where he is but he somehow manages to catch himself before all 6 feet of him ends up sprawled out across the floor. a sigh leaves his lips as he begins to wrestle himself free. it’s unfortunate for him that in this state, you somehow end up having as much strength as an olympic athlete, but after so long of knowing you, he has a trick for that.
“let me go or i start tickling,” he warns, and your legs twitch as if you’re considering it, “i mean it, baby. don’t make me count to three!” it’s times like this that luke can’t help but think about what a good dad he’ll make after all this practice. “one…” he starts, voice low in warning, “two…” he raises an eyebrow at you, “thr—”
your legs unlock before he can even finish the word, although the scowl on your face lets luke know that you really didn’t want to. not his problem, he tells himself as he wanders over to your vanity in the corner of his room; he has a job to do and he won’t let you get in the way of that.
“where are your makeup wipes?” he asks as his hands begin to sort through the bottles and tubes atop the desk.
“i’ll tell you if you give me a kiss!”
his eyes close in frustration, but he bats the feeling aside in favour of continuing his search. long fingers begin to organise your products into different piles so he can try and make sense of where the missing wipes might be. he puts aside foundation, concealer, eyeliner, but still he can’t find the little blue packet he’s so desperate to find. for a second, the idea of letting you just sleep in your makeup crosses his mind, but then he remembers the way you sulked the last time you did that… never again.
“one kiss after you tell me where they are.” he tries to strike a deal.
“fine!” you take the bait like a mouse in a trap and luke can’t help but roll his eyes fondly as just how endearing he finds you. “they’re in a floral makeup bag in the left side of my sock drawer.”
not for the first time, luke asks himself why you insist on making everything so difficult for him to find. it’s like you have a place for everything, but none of them make any sense! as he strolls over to the side table and tugs open the top drawer, he wonders if it’s meant to be some sort of enrichment activity like they give to zoo animals. except instead of getting food as a reward for finding things in silly places, he gets to feel like he understands your brain just a tiny bit better. except there is nothing to understand about this; why would anyone put their makeup wipes here.
he tugs one wipe out of the packet, hesitates for a moment or two, then grabs another for good measure. its not like your makeup is insanely heavy, or anything, but that pesky waterproof mascara has proved itself to be a nightmare to take off several times before.
“my kiss?” you ask as luke wanders closer, wipes primed and at the ready. with a shrug, he bends down and presses a quick peck to your forehead. the whine that escapes your lips comes as no surprise, and all luke can do is smirk to himself as he straightens up. maybe if you’re good he’ll kiss your lips just like you want, but for now, that’ll do.
“now, hold still!” he says through a smile.
“i will if you give me a real kiss!” you insist.
luke laughs, shoulders shaking as if he takes delight in making you pout and complain like this. he supposes it is rather cute when you’re trying to give him puppy dog eyes, and it’s very endearing every time he hears a little ‘please?’ slip from between your lips. it’s sweet how you’re all needy for affection with no inhibitions to hold you back, and luke is more than certain that he’ll give into some of your whims sooner rather than later.
“hold still and i’ll give you a kiss once i’m done,” he says through his grin.
“you said that about finding the makeup wipes!”
god, luke is having far too much fun with this.
“i gave you a kiss, didn’t i?” he tilts his head teasingly as you glare up at him. such pretty eyes, you have, even when they look like you’re trying to make his brain explode with your mind.
“not a proper kiss!” you growl. luke just shrugs.
“have to ask for a proper kiss to get a proper kiss, baby!” the grin on his face is shit-eating. he’s getting far too much fun out of teasing you, but he can’t help how adorable it is when you’re like this get all annoyed at him like this! with your glazed over eyes and the snarl on your lips, you look like an angry little chihuahua getting ready to snap at whoever woke it up from its nap.
at least you seem a little less desperate to get into his pants. maybe pissing you off is the key to escaping this particular drunken mood of yours.
“give me a proper kiss!” you say a little louder.
“i said ask, baby; that was a demand.”
you look like you want to strangle him when he says that, but you’re far too drunk to do anything other than angrily groan at him. “can i have a proper kiss?” you grumble at him, and luke pretends to think about it for a few seconds before shutting you down yet again.
“where are your manners?” he asks, “you’re not gonna say please?”
“please can i have a proper kiss?”
and luke can hardly say no when you ask so nicely, can he? he leans down again, only stopping when he’s a few centimetres away from your face. he can smell the vodka cranberries on your breath, a little bitter, but sweet all the same. a hum leaves his throat as his eyes travel down to where your plush lips sit parted, and he smirks.
warnings: talks of sex, reader is on her period, i think that’s it?
the hot water bottle on your stomach is doing nothing but making you feel uncomfortably warm; a state that you wouldn’t mind residing in if it helped with your pain at all. you suppose it was a long shot to assume that this would help when all those pain killers you swallowed down didn’t, but desperation makes anything seem reasonable, you suppose.
a hand laces itself through your hair, though the body its attached to seems distant. you can tell by the way his eyes flit back and forth across his phone screen that he’s reading something, but the reflection in his pupils is far too small for you to make out. it must be interesting to have captured his attention like this, although jack always has found it easy to get lost in whatever he’s reading. it’s rather cute, in your opinion; if jack ever heard you say that, you’re sure he’d be whinging about it for days.
so instead of fawning over him, like you so desperately want to, you just watch him instead. the way his eyebrows raise when he reaches something particularly interesting, or when his bottom lip just out upon reading anything that confuses him. he’s an expressive person at the best of times, but it really does come to fruition at times like these; when he’s focussing so hard on something else that he has no time to think about what his face is doing. a soft giggle escapes from your throat as you think about just how precious he is.
it grabs jack’s attention almost immediately.
“what?” he purrs as his gaze shifts from his phone to your face, and despite the pain that you’re in, you can feel your expression softening.
“nothing,” you say through your gentle smile, “what are you reading?”
jack rolls his eyes, an incredulous scoff tumbling from his lips as if he can tell you’re trying to twist the conversation away from whatever it is you were giggling about. he doesn’t fight it, though; simply sighs and turns his phone screen around.
‘ten bizarre ways to get rid of period pain,’ is what it says at the top of the page, and as your eyes pass over it, you can feel yourself melt. how you ended up with someone like him will forever remain one of the great mysteries of the universe. he handles you with more care than you think you deserve, but you’ve learnt the hard way that rejecting his affections only encourages him. he’s a little bit like a hydra, in that respect…
“jack…” you coo softly, a pout settling itself on your lips, “that’s so sweet!”
he just hums, turning his phone screen back to face him.
“it’s pseudoscience, is what it is,” jack says as he begins to read once more, “i’d like to see the scientific evidence that proves that orgasms help with cramps. a bibliography or something might be useful…”
you begin to wonder how many blog posts your boyfriend has read that include bibliographies at the end. a few seconds later, you push that thought away. jack hughes’ mind is a puzzle you fear you may never piece together.
“i guess it’s just based off of personal anecdotes.” your hands shift to rearrange the water bottle on your tummy, pushing it down slightly as another wave of cramps hits you hard. a deep breath in and out and you push through the pain. “y’know, what works for her!”
jack pulls a face you can only describe as perturbed. “well that’s a little tmi, isn’t it? what if i don’t want to know that ‘jessica-talks-girls.com’ cums her way out of period cramps?”
you can’t help but laugh at that comment.
“well, maybe ‘jessica-talks-girls.com’ wasn’t made with international prude, jack hughes, in mind!” you lift a hand to chuck his chin playfully. all you get is an exasperated glare in response. it’s cute.
“we both know i’m not a prude, babe,” he argues, because of course that’s the bit he was focussing on. ignore the very valid point that jack is being judgemental about a blog post that clearly didn’t include him in its target demographics. oh no, it’s far more important that jack reminds you that he does, in fact, fuck.
as if you’re not well aware of that fact.
“okay, pretty boy,” a small hum of laughter leaves your lips, “whatever you say.”
you twist your body until you’re lay on your side, no longer staring up at jack’s face, but instead at the blank screen of the tv across the room. initially, you were just going to do it to irritate jack — to goad him into arguing back before turning away so he can’t — but now you’re in this position, you can’t deny that it makes your aching uterus hurt just a little less.
foetal position it is, you think to yourself as you bring your knees to your chest, trapping the hot water bottle against your abdomen. you’re sure that in 10 minutes or so, the magic will have worn off and the pain will be back, but you might as well enjoy it while you can.
one of your hands reaches out to grab one of jack’s, checking his skin for warmth, and when you’re sufficiently pleased with the temperature, you slide it down to rest upon your lower back. jack just goes along with it like a good boyfriend, despite the fact that his teeth are still grinding over your annoying little stunt. he must really love you to be so soft even when you’re being annoying. you press a quick kiss to his thigh in thanks.
a few more minutes of silence pass. jack is still reading, although you assume he’s moved on from the blog by now. the lack of a bibliography alone seemed like cause enough for jack to dismiss it, a complaint that you find endlessly funny. so much so that it makes you smile even in hindsight.
“have you ever tried it?” jack asks after a while, and you crane your neck to look at him.
“tried what?” you say, although you think you know what he might be referring to.
“the orgasm thing.”
jack shrugs as if it’s just a normal question with no ulterior motives. but you can see the way he’s looking at you, with a familiar heat building in his eyes. you can feel the tips of his fingers begin to move along the bottom of your spine too, edging closer and closer to the waistband of your pyjama bottoms in a way that is anything but subtle. it makes you shudder a little, a shiver running right from where his fingers lay to the top of your spine. he knows how to push the right buttons, you’ll give him that.
“i’ve used a vibrator from time to time,” you admit, “but it’s never done much to get rid of the pain.”
jack hums in interest, as if he’s the one writing a scientific paper on this; ‘the effectiveness of orgasms on reducing menstrual pain by jack hughes’. as amusing as the idea is, you can’t help but thank the universe he already has a time consuming hockey career…
“maybe you should try a few other methods of getting an orgasm,” he says, “y’know, get a bigger sample size.”
“you mean like jacking off acoustically?” you’re being purposefully dense with the sole intention of teasing him. when he rolls his eyes, you can tell it’s working.
“i mean, you should let me help.”
his fingers finally breach your waistband, dipping into your pyjama shorts and finding the elastic of the panties you wear. they’re nothing exciting; just an old cotton pair that you set aside for periods. over the years, they’ve accumulated a few new blood stains that have lingered even after a million washes, but you doubt that would be enough to deter jack.
“i could try that,” you hum, a little smirk settling itself on your lips, “but think of the cleanup…”
“i could deal with that.”
“you’d have to lay a towel down, and even then, it might soak through,” you let out a dramatic sigh, “then you’ll have to wash it all tonight, before the blood has time to stain…”
“no biggie,” jack says, “i do late night washes all the time.”
“your dick is gonna look like it’s been involved in a massacre—”
“you know, you can just say no,” jack interrupts, slipping his fingers out of your pants and resting it on your hip instead, “i’m not going to be offended if you don’t want to have sex.”
