w.c 1,456 (credit to gif maker) (don’t steal my work)
Jack Hughes doesn’t look like a guy who reads. So it continues to surprise you endlessly throughout your relationship how often he brings up books. At first, you maybe thought it was because you like to read. You self-proclaimed yourself a book extraordinaire, noting that nothing was better than curling up with a good book after a long day, dipping your favorite tea, and settling deep into your favorite spot on your new couch.
You weren’t expecting to see Jack having broken into your new apartment just doors away from his, exactly in the position you were thrilled to occupy as soon as you could.
He barely acknowledges your existence as you set your bag on the countertop, slipping off your shoes and placing them on the rack by the door.
“I should never have given you a key.”
Jack lets out a soft snort, darting his stare up to you for the first time. When those blue hues reach yours, a sheepish smile makes its way across his features.
“I picked up the next book on our list,” he gently waves the title at you. “And being in your space is a million times better than being in my own.”
You want to roll your eyes at his admission, but you don’t bring yourself to actually do it. Ever since your move to Jersey, Jack has been a leech, almost glued to your side every chance he could get. He spends ninety percent of his time with you, and you account that to the fact that you’ve been long distance for months, and all he wants is to catch up on lost time.
You’re not annoyed or anything. Truly, you aren’t. Moving to Jersey for school was the greatest gift you’ve been blessed with, but you also won’t lie that it has been a change you’ve had to get used to.
“Have you eaten?” Jack sets the book on the little table in front of him, coming to finally pull you into arm’s reach for the first time all day.
You shake your head no, pulling back to gaze at his face. He looks tired, not exhausted, but tired enough to make you believe that the excuse of reading was really so he could be alone for a little while.
“Do we want to cook? Or should we go somewhere?”
Cooking sounds tiring, but so does leaving the apartment. Instead, you picture the mental image of your fridge and freezer contents.
“What about a pizza?” you offer. “So we can wait and read.”
Jack pecks your lips as a yes and goes to work, pulling out the pizza and preheating the oven as you move to your bedroom to change into something more comfortable.
When you return a few moments later, the pizza is in the oven, a candle is lit, and Jack has settled into the opposite side of the couch, leaving your special space open, ready, and warm.
You plop down and read silently for a few minutes, every so often glancing up to see your boyfriend deeply rooted in his book, eyes dancing over the pages. He looks soft like this, focused and almost vulnerable, and it makes you fall a little bit more for him each time you see this side of him.
“You’re staring.”
He catches your eyes and a small smirk turns up a bit on the left side.
“I like seeing you read.”
He looks lost in thought for a moment, and then he pops a question.
“Is it surprising that I read?”
You throw up a brow. “Surprising?”
He nods.
“No, why would it be?”
He stays silent for a few more seconds.
“People think I’m dumb.”
A bubble of laughter exits your mouth before you can stop it.
“I don’t, J.”
He sighs out.
“You called me stupid yesterday.”
You think back to the day before when he deserved it, when he couldn’t figure out how to use your espresso machine.
“Oh my God, Jack, that’s because you turned the espresso machine upside down.”
Jack groans, dragging a hand down his face like he already regrets bringing it up.
“In my defense,” he mutters, “it looked complicated.”
You don’t bring up the fact that it has one button, or the fact that when he flipped it, water spilled all over the floor and you nearly watched him die trying not to slip on your new floors.
“It’s alright, baby. You just needed help.”
He laughs this time, and it warms your chest more than the tea you’re still cradling. When he stops, his smile lingers but slightly dips, and when he glances over at you again, his voice is quieter.
“But you don’t really think I’m stupid, right?”
Your heart cracks, and you see the flicker of vulnerability flash behind his question, so you scoot a little closer on the couch, nudging his knee with yours.
“Jack,” you say, tone sweet but still a little teasing, “you’re the kind of person who notices everything. You remember tiny lines from books I’ve forgotten about from our list, you pick up on things about me that I haven’t even learned yet, and you’re the best at listening because you make me feel like the center of your world. You’re smart in all the ways that matter.”
He tries to look away, but you catch the faint flush creeping up his neck, so you push a little further.
“And besides,” you continue, nudging your nose into his shoulder, “you play a game where people are trying to murder you for 60 minutes, and you somehow manage to do it better than ninety-nine percent of the planet.”
You look up at him. “So no, you’re not dumb, Jack. You’re actually kind of incredible.”
He’s bashful for another second more before his blue eyes flicker over your face like he’s trying to memorize it. Then, without a word, he leans in and connects his lips to yours.
It’s soft at first, gentle and grateful. Then a little deeper as he cups your jaw while the other hand finds your waist, pulling you closer until you’re practically in his lap. You waste zero time threading your fingers through his hair and you can’t help but smile against his mouth when you feel the familiar warmth bloom in your chest.
“I love it when you say things like that,” he mumbles against your lips.
“I know.”
He kisses you again, a little hungrier this time, like maybe he’s trying to say thank you without actually saying it. You shift closer, laughing into it now, your hand drifting under the hem of his hoodie. He’s quick to introduce a little tongue and teeth into the mix, moving down to your neck when a loud ding breaks through the air.
You both freeze, foreheads still touching, and then Jack groans out and lets out the biggest dramatic sigh, burying his face in your neck. “The stupid pizza.”
“You love pizza,” you say, biting back a laugh as you climb off him.
“I was loving something else a little more.”
You scoff at him and swat his arm, heading to the kitchen while he trails behind you with mock irritation. You move around each other, grabbing glasses of water and cutting the pizza into even enough slices. Soon enough, you’re both sitting on the couch again, legs tangled together, and talking about your days. You each eat a few slices and mutually agree that you could both use a few more chapters of your novels.
The next hour is quiet, and you just enjoy each other’s company. It’s calm and almost noiseless except for the soft rustle of pages turning or the occasional murmur of Jack talking to himself. It’s the beautiful kind of silence that only exists between two people who know they’re exactly where they want to be.
But eventually, even though you try to fight it, the words start to blur together and your eyes grow heavy. Jack, ever in tune with everything about you, catches your shift.
“Wanna crash?”
You nod, setting your book aside. He takes your empty mug and pizza plate without being asked, and by the time you finish your skincare routine and make it to your bed, he’s already under the covers, hand outstretched to pull you in.
You curl into him easily, your favorite place in the world that’s now become a constant, and just before you get too comfortable, you whisper into the dark, “Wanna finish what we started earlier?”
Before you even finish the sentence, Jack is back on your neck, moving lower, and you can’t help but think about what a smart boy he is.
With the state of the world and this country spiraling down the drain at what feels like warp speed, it's really cut into our ability to just... enjoy life. There's always this looming fear of "what's frickin' next?!" since last November that seems so ever-present.
As such... we REALLY did have to make Fetch happen here, with Halloween.
The Devil’s locker room was colder than she expected. Not physically just in tone, too quiet and too many eyes.
She stepped in bag over her shoulder, jersey under her arms, her nameplate already on the locker: MORGAN 14.
No red carpet, introductions. Just a room full of players taking sticks, stretching, and talking in low voices that stopped the second she walked in.
She felt the weight of it all. Second overall, first woman on the roster, Harvard, daughter of devils legend, the hype.
Putting her bag down, didn’t finch under the stares.
Dougie Hamilton was the first to speak up. “You real” he asked leaning against his stall with an eyebrow raised. “Or are we in a PR stunt?”.
Skye met his gaze, “depends, are you real? Or just the admin?
A beat of silence passed, then a low laugh erupted in the corner— Jack Hughes, tying his skates nodding with a small smirk.
“Careful”, he said. “She’s got hands.”
“I’ve got a shot too” Skye said calmly. “Ask your goalie.”
More laughter came this time and the tension eased a little.
Luke Hughes gave her a nod from across the room. “Glad you’re here Morgan. Just don’t try and steal my playlist.”
“I don’t listen to sad white boy music,” she replied without looking up.
More laughter.
She kept her eyes on her locker, focused, unbothered. Inside her heart was beating like a drum line. But she learned a long time ago that confidence wasn’t about feeling it, it was about looking like you did.
She stated unpacking. Pads, gloves. Routine. Familiar.
Jack nudged her and gave her a gato as he passed by.
“First rookie skate’s are always brutal” he said. “But you’ll be fine.”
She looked up at him, “you always this nice to the new kids?”
Jack shrugged. “Only the ones who might out score me.” She let the faintest smirk tug at her lips.
The locker room wasn’t warm yet but it wasn’t cold either.
