The Olympics
A/N: I have been sick for over a week and bored out of my mind, this is what I came up with.. and this is why I shouldn't post things when I am sick.. I posted it with my wrong account so this is a repost of my work on my other account. Sorry guys
Pairing: Jack Hughes x snowboarder!reader
Words: 3,8k
Warning(s): none
The Olympic Village had a strange kind of energy to it, the sort that made sleep difficult and thoughts louder than usual, as if the entire place was quietly vibrating with the pressure of thousands of dreams that had taken years to reach this exact moment. Flags hung from balconies, athletes walked past in uniforms from countries you had only ever seen on television, and everywhere you looked someone was carrying equipment that represented the one thing they had dedicated most of their life to.
For you, that thing was snowboarding.
Even after days of being there, the realization still felt unreal, and as you walked along the pathway between the buildings with your board tucked beneath your arm, the cold air brushing your cheeks, you found yourself staring around like someone who had snuck in rather than someone who belonged.
Your qualifiers were the next day. Which meant your brain had chosen the worst possible time to replay every trick you had ever failed.
You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t notice the person coming around the corner until you nearly walked straight into them.
Hands caught your shoulders before the collision fully happened.
“Whoa—careful.”
You looked up, ready to apologize automatically, but the words stalled somewhere in your throat when you realized exactly who you had almost crashed into.
Dark hair slightly messy, familiar grin, the relaxed posture of someone who had spent most of his life in arenas full of noise and pressure.
Jack Hughes. For a second you just stared. He noticed.
“That reaction usually means people recognize me,” he said, clearly amused.
“Sorry,” you said quickly, shaking yourself out of it. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Well, good news,” he replied, still holding your shoulders lightly before letting go, “you didn’t take out Team USA’s hockey roster captain before the Games even started.”
“I feel like that would’ve been a terrible headline.”
“Definitely.”
Your snowboard shifted under your arm and his eyes dropped to it.
“You’re competing?”
“Yeah. Slopestyle.”
Jack nodded slowly, the way someone does when they are pretending, they understand something.
“Right. Obviously.”
“You have no idea what that is, do you?”
“Not even a little.”
You laughed despite the nervous knot in your stomach.
The strange thing about the Olympic Village was that fame worked differently there. In any other place you might have felt awkward talking to someone like him, but here everyone was an athlete who had spent years chasing something difficult, and that made conversations feel oddly equal.
He leaned casually against the wall beside you as if he had nowhere else to be.
“When do you compete?” he asked.
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Nervous?”
The question made you exhale.
“Yeah. A lot.”
Jack nodded like that answer made perfect sense.
“I think everyone here is,” he said, glancing around at the athletes passing through the walkway. “Anyone who says they aren’t is probably lying.”
There was something reassuring about the way he said it, simple and honest rather than dramatic. Then his expression shifted slightly, like he had just remembered something.
“Have you been to the dining hall yet?”
“Yes?”
“Then you know it’s chaos.”
“That’s one way to describe it.”
“Come on,” he said, pushing away from the wall. “I was heading there anyway.”
You hesitated for about half a second before following.
The Olympic dining hall felt less like a cafeteria and more like a small city that had been packed inside a single building, with long rows of food stations, tables filled with athletes speaking dozens of different languages, and the constant clatter of trays and chairs that never seemed to stop. Jack grabbed two trays without asking and slid one toward you.
“Trust me,” he said, “if you hesitate in here you’ll starve.”
You moved along the food stations together, and the conversation came surprisingly easily, drifting from training schedules to travel stories to the weirdness of suddenly being surrounded by the best athletes in the world.
At one point he leaned closer, lowering his voice slightly. “Important rule of the Olympics.”
“What?”
“Never walk into this place with someone famous.”
You gave him a look.
“You are the famous person.”
“Exactly my point.”
As if on cue, someone across the room shouted his name. Jack closed his eyes briefly.
“Too late.”
You laughed as he quickly steered both of you toward a quieter corner table. For a few minutes it worked.
Then a voice cut through the noise. “JACK.” The tone carried the unmistakable confidence of a sibling who enjoyed embarrassing someone in public.
Jack’s shoulders dropped instantly.
“Oh no.”
Two guys approached your table, and even if you hadn’t known their faces already, the resemblance would have given it away immediately. The first one had an easy grin and the calm presence of someone used to leadership. The second looked younger, energetic in a way that suggested chaos followed him wherever he went. Jack gestured tiredly.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
The older brother looked at you first.
“You must be the reason he disappeared.”
Jack rubbed his forehead.
“Quinn, please don’t start.”
Quinn looked far too entertained. You introduced yourself, and before the conversation could settle, the younger one leaned forward with immediate excitement.
“You’re the snowboarder, right?”
You blinked.
“Uh… yeah.”
“That’s so cool,” he said quickly. “I watched a video where someone did like four flips and—”
Jack pointed at him.
“This is exactly why I avoided bringing you.”
Luke ignored him completely. “Do you do the rail things too?”
“Sometimes.”
“That’s insane.”
Quinn sat down like he had fully decided to stay.
“So, when did you two meet?”
“We bumped into each other,” Jack said quickly.
Luke looked between both of you. “Literally or—”
“LUKE.”
You couldn’t stop laughing. It was impossible not to. The dynamic between the three of them felt like stepping into a family argument that had probably existed their entire lives.
Quinn smirked.
“Jack’s been watching snowboard videos all afternoon.”
Jack nearly choked on his drink.
“You did WHAT?” you asked.
“I was researching.”
“You typed ‘cool snowboard tricks,’” Quinn said calmly.
“I hate both of you.”
Luke grinned.
“You love us.”
Jack pointed at the door.
“Leave.”
Neither of them moved. You had a feeling this was going to happen a lot during the Olympics.
That night the village was quieter, though not completely silent, and the air outside carried that crisp cold that made every breath feel sharp and clear.
You couldn’t sleep, which wasn’t surprising considering your competition was only hours away, so you wandered down to the courtyard wrapped in your team jacket.
Snow fell gently under the glow of the lights.
“You know,” a voice said behind you, “I’m starting to think you appear everywhere.”
You turned to see Jack walking over, hands in his pockets.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” you asked.
“Not a chance.”
He sat beside you on the bench, the nervous energy from earlier replaced with something calmer. For a moment neither of you said anything. Then he looked at you.
“You’re going to do great tomorrow.”
“You’ve never seen me ride.”
“I’ve seen enough interviews to know you care about it,” he said.
“That’s your scouting method?”
“Pretty solid one.”
You were about to reply when a loud crash echoed from inside the building. Jack closed his eyes immediately.
“That’s my brothers.”
Inside the hallway a small crowd had formed around Luke, who was holding a massive bag of Olympic trading pins while several athletes argued over them in different languages. Quinn stood nearby laughing like this was the greatest moment of his life. Security looked confused. You stared.
“They started an international pin war?”
“Sounds about right,” Jack said.
“Your family is chaos.”
“I know.”
But when he looked back at you, smiling slightly, the chaos didn’t seem to bother him much.
The next morning the mountain felt alive with noise. Music blasted from speakers, spectators waved flags, and cameras followed athletes preparing at the top of the course.
Your heart pounded as you strapped into your board, forcing yourself to focus on the snow beneath you rather than the thousands of eyes watching. At the bottom of the slope, three familiar figures stood out immediately. Luke had somehow acquired a massive USA flag. Quinn was filming everything. Jack was shouting encouragement loud enough for half the mountain to hear.
You covered your face briefly, laughing despite your nerves. Then you pushed off.
Speed built quickly beneath your board as the course rushed toward you, every jump and rail appearing exactly where you had imagined them during months of training.
For a moment everything felt quiet.
Jump. Spin. Land clean. Another feature. Another trick.
When you crossed the finish line the roar of the crowd crashed back all at once.
And down the hill, Jack looked like he had just witnessed the greatest moment in sports history. Luke was jumping. Quinn was shaking his head in amusement. You couldn’t stop smiling.
That night the Olympic Village felt like a celebration that stretched across every building and pathway, music echoing through the cold air while athletes relived their events over and over again.
You slipped outside for a moment of quiet, letting the cold settle your racing thoughts.
“Gold medallists shouldn’t hide at parties.”
You turned to see Jack walking toward you again.
“You watched the entire thing,” you said.
“Of course I did.”
He stopped a little closer than before.
“You were incredible.”
“You’re biased.”
“Very.”
For a moment neither of you moved, the lights from the village reflecting softly in the snow around you. Then he spoke again, slightly more hesitant.
“When all of this is over… would you want to go on a real date?”
You tilted your head thoughtfully.
“Maybe.”
He laughed softly.
“That sounds dangerous.”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
You smiled.
“How your game goes tomorrow.”
Jack shook his head, grinning.
“That’s a lot of pressure.”
“Motivation,” you said.
And somehow, in the middle of the Olympic chaos, something new had quietly begun.
Snow fell steadily over the Olympic Village the evening after your event, soft flakes catching in the glow of the tall lights and settling over the walkways that had been worn smooth by days of athletes moving between buildings. The place felt different now that your competition was finished, the pressure that had followed you for weeks finally easing enough that you could breathe without replaying every movement in your head.
Your medal still felt strange around your neck. You had taken it off three times already just to check that it was real.
Inside the main recreation building, the atmosphere was louder than usual. Music played somewhere near the far end of the room, athletes gathered around long tables trading pins and stories, and the kind of excited energy that only existed at the Olympics buzzed through the air.
You stood near one of the couches, talking to another snowboarder who had competed earlier that day. He was tall, blond, still wearing his national team jacket, and he was animatedly describing the moment he nearly missed a landing on the final jump.
“…and I swear I thought I was about to eat it in front of the entire world,” he said, laughing. “But somehow I saved it.”
You laughed with him, shaking your head.
“That’s the worst feeling, when you know mid-air that something’s wrong.”
“Exactly. Your second run though?” he said, pointing at you. “That was insane.”
You felt your face warm slightly.
“Adrenaline helps.”
“Seriously though,” he continued, “that grab on the third feature—”
Across the room, someone stopped walking. Jack had originally come into the building looking for you, though he probably wouldn’t have admitted that out loud. His hockey game earlier had been intense and loud and exhausting in the way Olympic games tended to be, and somewhere during the bus ride back to the village he had decided he wanted to see you.
He spotted you almost immediately. You were easy to find. Mostly because you were laughing. But also because you were standing very close to a guy Jack didn’t recognize. Jack slowed slightly. Luke, who had been walking beside him, noticed the sudden change in pace.
“What?” Luke asked, following his gaze.
“Oh,” Luke said after a second.
Jack didn’t answer. At the table nearby, Quinn looked up as well and immediately understood the situation. The snowboarder said something else that made you laugh again. Luke grinned slowly.
“Uh oh.”
Jack shot him a look. “What?”
“You’re doing the thing.”
“What thing?”
“The staring thing.”
“I’m not staring.”
“You absolutely are.”
Quinn leaned back in his chair, watching with clear amusement.
“This should be interesting.”
Jack exhaled slowly. It wasn’t like he had any claim over you. You’d known each other for barely a few days, most of that time spent in chaotic Olympic hallways or joking conversations at meals. Still, something about the way the other guy leaned closer while talking made an uncomfortable feeling settle in his chest.
Luke nudged him.
“You’re jealous.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“You’re jealous,” Luke repeated, clearly enjoying this far too much.
Jack ran a hand through his hair.
“I’m going over there.”
“Oh, this is going to go well,” Quinn muttered.
Meanwhile, you were still mid-conversation.
“…and then the judges took forever to post the scores,” the snowboarder was saying. “I thought my coach was going to lose his mind.”
“That sounds about right,” you said.
“You riding again tomorrow for the practice session?”
“Probably,” you replied. “I want to try something different on the last—”
A familiar voice interrupted.
“Hey.”
You turned. Jack stood there, hands in his jacket pockets, expression casual but just slightly tighter than usual.
“Oh,” you said, smiling immediately. “Hey.”
The snowboarder looked between the two of you.
“Hey,” he said politely.
Jack nodded once. There was a brief pause that felt longer than it actually was.
You gestured between them.
“This is—”
“Yeah,” Luke’s voice suddenly appeared from behind Jack. “We know who she is.”
You closed your eyes briefly.
“Of course you followed him.”
Luke stepped forward with a grin.
“Just observing.”
Quinn walked up a second later, clearly having no intention of missing this moment. The snowboarder blinked at the sudden arrival of three hockey players. Jack spoke again, trying to sound normal.
“How long have you guys been talking?”
You raised an eyebrow.
“Like… five minutes?”
“Cool,” Jack said quickly.
Luke looked delighted. Quinn tried very hard not to laugh. The snowboarder glanced at you again.
“Well,” he said, sensing the strange energy forming, “I should probably go find my team.”
“Yeah, sure,” you said politely.
After he walked away, you turned back to Jack.
“…What was that?”
“What was what?” Jack asked.
“The weird interrogation vibe.”
“I didn’t interrogate him.”
Luke made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
You crossed your arms.
“Jack.”
He sighed.
“I just came to say hi.”
“While glaring at another snowboarder?”
“I was not glaring.”
“You absolutely were,” Quinn said calmly.
Jack turned toward him. “You are not helping.”
Luke leaned toward you slightly. “He’s jealous.”
“I am not jealous.” Jack groaned.
You looked at him for a moment, trying not to smile.
“Jack Hughes,” you said slowly, “are you jealous of a snowboarder.”
“I play in the NHL,” he said defensively. “Why would I be jealous of a snowboarder?”
You shrugged lightly.
“Maybe because he was talking to me.”
Luke slapped the table behind him. “Oh, that’s definitely it.”
“Stop encouraging this.” Jack pointed at him.
Quinn stood up, stretching.
“Well,” he said casually, “I think our work here is done.”
Luke nodded immediately. “Yep.”
“Don’t leave,” Jack said.
Too late. Both of them were already walking away, laughing. The room suddenly felt quieter without them. You looked back at Jack, who seemed both embarrassed and slightly annoyed.
“You know,” you said, “you could’ve just come over normally.”
“I did come over normally.”
“You looked like you were about to challenge him to a duel.”
Jack huffed out a small laugh despite himself.
“I didn’t.”
“Little bit.”
For a moment neither of you spoke.
Then he glanced at you again.
“…Were you flirting with him?”
You stared at him in disbelief. “Seriously?”
“I’m just asking.”
“You walked across an entire room to ask if I was flirting with someone.”
“I didn’t walk across the room for that,” he said quickly.
“Why did you then?”
Jack hesitated just long enough to give himself away.
You smiled slightly.
“Oh.”
He shook his head.
“Don’t make that face.”
“What face?”
“The one where you realize you’re winning the argument.”
“I’m not arguing,” you said.
“You kind of are.”
Your smile softened a little.
“For the record,” you added, “I wasn’t flirting with him.”
Jack looked relieved before he could hide it.
“Good.”
You tilted your head. “Were you hoping I wasn’t?”
“Maybe.” He rubbed the back of his neck.
The honesty in that single word made the teasing tone fade slightly. You stepped a little closer.
“You know,” you said, “there are easier ways to get my attention.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah.”
“Like what?”
You shrugged.
“Just asking to hang out.”
Jack smiled a little at that.
“Well,” he said, “I guess I’m still learning.”
From across the room, Luke’s voice suddenly shouted: “HE WAS DEFINITELY JEALOUS.”
Jack closed his eyes.
“I’m going to tackle him.”
You laughed, the sound echoing through the busy Olympic Hall, and somehow the jealousy that had started the entire moment turned into something much lighter.
The next morning the Olympic Village woke earlier than usual, the quiet pathways filling quickly with athletes heading toward buses, training facilities, and breakfast lines that seemed to stretch forever. The Games had a rhythm to them now—competition, recovery, celebration, repeat—and even though your own event had already passed, the adrenaline still hadn’t completely left your system.
Winning a medal did that. It followed you everywhere.
You noticed it when people glanced at the ribbon around your neck. When volunteers congratulated you in hallways. When other athletes gave you a quick nod of recognition like you had joined a club only a few people on the planet could enter.
What you didn’t notice immediately was the camera pointed in your direction.
Across the courtyard, a small group of media members had gathered near the pathway where athletes often crossed between buildings. Normally they were there for scheduled interviews, but the Olympics thrived on unscripted moments just as much as official ones.
And right now, they were looking directly at you. Specifically…
At you and Jack.
Jack had jogged across the courtyard to catch up with you, still half awake, his Team USA jacket zipped unevenly like he had thrown it on while running out the door.
“Wait up,” he called.
You turned, slowing.
“You know there are easier ways to say good morning.”
“I tried texting you,” he said.
“You sent one message.”
“That counts.”
You laughed, falling into step beside him as you walked toward the dining hall.
The moment looked normal to you. To the photographers across the courtyard, however, it looked very interesting.
Jack reached out without thinking and lightly grabbed your sleeve, so you didn’t walk straight into a group of passing athletes.
“Careful,” he said.
You looked up at him. And someone snapped a photo. Then another.
Inside the dining hall the noise swallowed the moment completely.
Luke spotted you first.
“There they are,” Luke said loudly.
You immediately knew that tone meant trouble. At the table, Quinn was scrolling through his phone while eating, looking far too relaxed for someone sitting across from Luke.
Jack dropped into the chair.
“Why do you sound like you’ve discovered something?”
Luke’s grin widened. “Oh nothing.”
That was never a good sign.
You grabbed a drink and sat down just as Luke turned his phone around and slid it across the table.
Jack frowned.
“What—”
Then he saw the screen.
Your walk across the courtyard. His hand on your sleeve. Both of you smiling. A headline already forming underneath.
Jack groaned immediately.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
You leaned closer.
“Oh my god.”
Luke looked thrilled.
“That was fast.”
Quinn took a slow sip of his drink.
“Welcome to the Olympics.”
Jack pushed the phone away slightly like it had personally betrayed him.
“How does this already exist?”
Luke tapped the screen.
“Internet works quickly.”
Another notification popped up. Then another.
You stared.
“That’s… a lot of people.”
Jack ran a hand through his hair.
“Fantastic.”
Luke leaned back in his chair like he had just been handed the greatest entertainment possible.
“This is going to get so much worse.”
“Stop being excited about that,” Jack said.
Too late.
Your phone buzzed. Then buzzed again. You hesitated before picking it up. There were messages from your teammates and friends back home. Someone had already sent the photo with about twelve question marks.
You laughed nervously.
“Well…”
Jack looked over.
“What are they saying?”
“Mostly asking if I’m secretly dating a hockey player.”
Luke nearly choked on his drink laughing.
Jack pointed at him.
“You’re enjoying this too much.”
Quinn nodded thoughtfully.
“This is objectively funny.”
You tried to hide your smile.
Jack noticed.
“Don’t encourage them.”
“I’m not encouraging them.”
“You’re smiling.”
“It’s a little funny.”
He sighed dramatically.
“You’re supposed to be on my side.”
Luke leaned toward you.
“For the record, we’re very supportive of this.”
“There is no ‘this,’” Jack said immediately.
Luke gestured between you.
“Suspicious.”
Quinn nodded once.
“Extremely.”
Your phone buzzed again. Another message. Another photo from a different angle.
“Oh wow,” you said.
“What now,” Jack asked cautiously.
“You’re trending.”
Jack froze.
“I hate the Olympics.”
Luke laughed so hard he nearly fell off his chair.
“This is the best day of my life.”
Quinn shook his head slowly.
“You’re never hearing the end of this.”
Across the room, a few athletes had already started glancing toward your table. Someone whispered. Someone else checked their phone.
Jack noticed.
“Oh no.”
You followed his gaze.
“Oh no.”
Luke whispered dramatically:
“Celebrity couple.”
“We are not a celebrity couple,” Jack said.
Quinn stood up, grabbing his tray.
“Well,” he said calmly, “the internet seems to disagree.”
“Don’t leave me with this,” Jack said.
Quinn shrugged.
“You did this to yourself.”
Then he walked away. Luke stayed. Of course he did.
He turned toward you.
“So,” he said casually, “when’s the wedding?”
Jack buried his face in his hands.
“I’m transferring countries.”
You laughed again, and despite the chaos building online and around the room, Jack looked up at you with the same half-amused, half-helpless expression he always seemed to have when things spiralled.
And somehow, that made the situation feel a lot less stressful. Across the dining hall, someone snapped another picture. The Olympic Village had officially discovered the story.
