#jhughes

[uglyducklingofthe2000s]

Fuck Me - Jack Hughes

Summary: Any time y/n hurts herself and shouts "fuck me" her boyfriend comes running to made good on that.

Themes/warnings: Suggestions of smut, Clumsy!reader

Word count: 847

Y/n is focused on her phone as she walks through the apartment only to scream, glass of water flying and spilling on the floor as she trips over Jack's hockey bag.

"Fuck me!" Y/n exclaims grimacing as she pushes back onto her knees only to hear the aggressive thudding nearing her. "Ja-"

"You ask and you will receive, baby-ah, who put that water there?" He laughs almost falling on the puddle of water from her spilled water before he continues running towards her and scooping her up, a struggling a little with the angle he came at her from but managing to throw her over his shoulder.

"Jack!"

"You asked to be fucked and I'm the only one with the privilege to make your wants reality, baby." Jack declares as if he has no other option but to concede to her demand.

Y/n laughs a little before she's slammed down on the bed and with Jack suddenly looking at her with a smirk, blue eyes dragging down her body.

"I tripped over your stupid hockey bag."

"I'll make it up to you." Jack states finally climbing over her, panting in excitement. "Three times over, I promise."

"I'll hold you to that."

"As you should, baby." Jack smiles then kissing over her grazed knee.

-

Y/n rubs her own face a little feeling completely exhausted. She'd flown over to Minnesota to watch Jack and Luke playing against Quinn but since she couldn't fly with her boyfriend, she flew on her own. Though he made sure it was first class, a delay occurred and she ended up waiting 5 extra hours to get off the tarmac and back to Jersey.

All that to say, she's tired and getting home shoves the door open with Jack getting there to hold it only to watching y/n bounce her head off the door way before he can try and put his hand up to stop the hit.

"Fuck me." Y/n hisses rubbing her forehead and Jack is a little torn on whether to act on his usual response.

So he takes her bags and tosses them inside before cupping her face to force her to let him inspect the damage then deciding it's not bad and he can treat her as he always does.

"Alright, baby. Usually you wait till the door is closed but since you ask." Jack chuckles scooping y/n up and kicking the door closed. "Luckily Luke is already asleep."

"Jacky I'm so tired." Y/n whines actually not sure she has it in her for sex.

"Then this should help you get to sleep." Jack smirks while y/n yawns blinking slowly at him only for him to peck her lips. "Just head."

Y/n is never actually going to turn sex down with Jack especially when he so innocently trying to just make her feel good.

"Wait-I need to shower before you-"

"I'll clean you up." Jack smirks making her grimace as he pulls her pants down practically trembling with excitement.

There's no denying how obsessed he is with y/n.

"I wanna taste." Jack declares while y/n puffs out a breath.

-

Y/n had drunk a lot of alcohol.

"Ja-cky." Y/n squeals from on top of the counter she'd somehow climbed on in the time he'd been gone to the bathroom.

She slips on the spillages and even with Jack shoving forward to catch her, her ribs slam into the edge earning loud "Oooh"s from the surrounding crowd.

Her friends screams in a panic from the counter making the bartenders and security panic to help them down more safely than y/n's dramatic fall.

"Fuck me, ah ah-no ow-fuck-fuck, Jack." Y/n panics feel a burst of pain through her ribs before she realises what she said. "Don't you dare."

"Maybe later." Jack jokes then shaking his head. "We can't fuck in an ER."

Y/n knows Jack absolutely would try once the doctor's have given her the ok.

They do end up at the ER and y/n is diagnosed with some pretty badly bruised ribs, but by some miracle no cracks or breaks. Which actually shocked Jack.

"Will you stop?" Y/n tsks lying on the bed as Jack tries to creep his hand under the bed but he only takes that as reason to stand up and lean over the bed, planting hot wet kisses on her cheek that slowly travel down her neck.

"I'm just trying to make you feel better, baby. They said they might take a while to get you discharged. So might as well make the most of it." Jack states, voice taking on a tone that sends a shiver down her spine because he knew it works every time. "You'll have to be quiet...we don't want anyone to come in telling us off."

Getting fingered in the ER after a drunk injury is a new experience and one that proves to be more enjoyable than y/n anticipated. Being high on pain meds also added to the sensations.

1170

[viennajoell]

More Than a Scratch

Summary: When Jack cuts his hand on a broken glass during a team dinner and ends up in urgent care, he texts his girlfriend to come.

Word Count: 630

A/N: this was made before we knew he was out for 6-8 weeks! So details aren’t accurate (which is fine it’s fan fiction for a reason)

The text came in while she was rinsing dishes, her phone buzzing twice against the counter.

Jack: don’t freak out

Jack: but I’m at urgent care lol

Her heart dropped.

She snatched the phone, already typing.

Her: JACK WHAT

Her: urgent care isn’t “lol”

Three dots… then:

Jack: I’m fine

Jack: kinda cut my hand

Jack: I’ll explain

That was all it took. Jacket on, shoes barely tied, she was out the door before he could send another nervous little “wait.”

When she found him, he was sitting on the exam table, swinging his feet like a guilty kid. His right hand was wrapped in temporary gauze, and he lifted it sheepishly when he saw her.

“You’re not gonna believe me,” he started.

“Try me,” she said, arms crossed.

Jack took a breath. “So, uh… we were all at dinner. And someone—NOT me—knocked over a water glass. And when I went to move it, the bottom kinda… broke?”

She blinked. “And cut your hand.”

“Yeah,” he said, face scrunching. “Like, decently bad. Not career-ending bad! Just… ‘Coach made me come here’ bad.”

She stepped closer, gently taking his uninjured hand. “Let me see.”

Jack grimaced as the nurse unwrapped the gauze. The cut wasn’t huge, but it was deeper than she expected angry and red across the palm.

Her chest tightened. “Jack…”

He rushed in. “I know, I know. It’s dumb. Stupid glass didn’t like me.”

She shook her head, trying not to smile. “You scared me.”

He softened then, shoulders dropping. “I’m okay, babe. Promise. They said maybe a couple stitches. Nothing big. I just…” He hesitated. “Wanted you here.”

That, she felt all the way to her ribs.

She brushed his cheek with her thumb. “That part wasn’t dumb.”

Jack leaned into her touch, relieved. “Good. ‘Cause the guys would never let me live it down if you yelled at me in public.”

She laughed quiet, shaky, but real. “You getting taken out by a drinking glass is punishment enough.”

“Hey,” he said, offended. “It was a fancy glass.”

She kissed his forehead, and his shoulders melted. “You’re unbelievable, Jack Hughes.”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning in closer, grin returning. “But you still came running.”

Her lips curved. “Always.”

And when the nurse came back with the stitching kit, Jack squeezed her hand, easy and reassured like the cut hurt, sure, but nothing hurt enough to keep him from reaching for her.

[pucksandpebbles]

Learning to Love LH⁴³

summary: you've never been lucky in love, and with time ticking on and all your friends getting engaged and marries, you begin to feel like it might never happen for you. but then, you meet a boy at a bar and have the night of your life. luke hughes might be a terrible mistake or your future husband. whose to say what could happen?

taglist: @lovings4turn (dm to be added)

warnings/content tags: slow burn, reader x luke hughes, friends with benefits, reader's nickname is 'sugar', unbeta read, semi-explicit (more to be added)

author's notes: hi all! i've been away for a bit and have decided to change a few things up. i don't have much to say other than enjoy this new series and remember to support with likes and comments and asks (it's highly appreciated as my motivation is so low rn)

word count: 1.8k

<- learning to love masterlist next chapter ->

chapter one: dying on the vine

It’s lively out tonight, the bars overflowing with drunk sports fans - crowding around the nearest screen to catch whatever primetime hockey game is playing out. You pay little attention to it at first, although the flashes of colour against the white ice catches in the edge of your vision every so often. Absent-mindedly, you find yourself drawn to watching a little, peering upwards with an awkward tilt of your neck and twirling your hair around a finger, letting each strand catch and tug tenderly at your scalp.

It reminds you of the ice rink that your dad used to build every winter when you were younger. You remember how he would begin it at the first cold flash, and on Christmas Day, he’d drag you and your younger brother out onto the rink to toss around pucks. You’d never been very good then and it always felt like a chore, an obligation.

Now, staring up at the screen, alone at a bar, you wish for those moments again. You wonder when everything changed so much.

Your fingers ghost over your phone, wanting to text, ask about the game that your dad was almost certainly following - but they fall away, curling back around your glass, slick and sticky with the sweat of condensation.

When you were younger, time seemed to pass slowly. Every memory, every second elongated. It was almost as if each second stretched into a minute, an hour drawn out into an entire day - your thoughts, imagination running wild, unable to restrain itself to the normal passage of time. You remember yearning for Christmas time in July and waiting what felt like a decade for your birthday. The year, those torturous twelve months dragged its feet behind you despite how you willed it not to. Oh how you would pull and pull on the rope of time but to no avail. To be puffed out after mere hours of wishing. It seemed as if the years passed so sluggishly that you might miss out on the future that was waiting for you. 

You chased after the future in your dreams until your feet bled and you could no longer stand. In your little mind, it was perfect - adulthood and all it’s promised delights.

It’s all an illusion obviously.

These days, now that you are older and know better, time moves differently. You don’t remember when it happened, when time began to speed up. Not a single point that you could assign it to. It was slow, barely noticeable. Until, suddenly, it wasn’t.

The years whip past you like a train blasting through a station. 

The announcement over the tannoy crackles. This train does not stop here.

You watch it, eyes darting over the flash of colour. This train does not stop here. You want to run after it, to try and catch it’s escaping matter. But your bones ache and there is a headache beginning to bruise against your temple so you don’t move an inch.

Your hair whips as it rushes past, your coat flapping violently as the train passes by you. And you don’t move an inch.

You board the next one dully, this time you are the one dragging your feet, and you wonder quite how and when did this whole thing become so utterly depressing.

When did time start to move so quickly? When did you stop caring? 

Somewhere in the years in between. The answer does not present itself.

New Years passed in a moment’s glance. Been and gone without even a second thought. You had wrung it in alone, half awake in your bed, scrolling endlessly and huffing as you watched the time on the little numbers on the left of the screen tip over into midnight. The moment was so utterly momentous. No fireworks, no screaming. No New Years kiss. That night, you had let a little tear slip from the edge of your eye, dripping into your bedding before you turned over and went to sleep.

You’d known that you would be spending it alone for a long time beforehand. Since the beginning of December possibly, mid December probably and since Christmas definitely.

Everyone was away, already doing something, having plans without you. Leaving the city for the holidays. That winter, you watched as Christmas posts popped up from glamorous locations - skiing in Aspen, New Years in Thailand, Christmas in Paris. 

And then there were the engagements, the baby announcements, the wedding invitations that slipped out of the Christmas cards that you opened alone in your apartment.

It all left a sour taste in the back of your throat, a little lump there that you just couldn’t push down, swallow away.

You had RSVP’d yes to half of them, slowly writing the number one on the slip of paper and stuffing it in the envelope as fast as you could. 

So you were single, horrendously, tragically single. There was nothing wrong with that, no, lots of people your age were single. There was no error in the system, nothing tragic that had befallen you for being single when most of your friends were browsing engagement rings and bringing their ‘long term life partner’ to girl’s brunch.

It just left a pit in your stomach. 

You hadn’t been in a serious relationship since you were a teenager really. If you were being honest with yourself, one couldn’t really have a serious relationship at seventeen - that’s just a lie that you had told yourself to make it all seem less… sad.

It wasn’t that in the four years since then you’d never been on a date, because you had, a fuckton of them. You’d chatted up guys at bars, and kissed strangers in the club and conducted highly problematic situationships which involved acting like a couple and then being told a couple months later that there would never be a date. So, your love life was active. It was just wilting.

Constantly autumn in the world of your love life. Rain was falling, enough to water the plants, and be hopeful of a prosperous crop. You waited and waited for a budding stem. Watched as the green leaves turned brown and fell off the trees. Bit by bit, your hope was beginning to run out and the rainfall and cold weather felt no different from the droughts of summer. Different conditions, same exact result. No crop, no flowers.

December had slipped through your fingers, days filled with self-pity and resentment. It is spring now. Mid-may. You sit at the bar, dressed up and waiting for your Prince Charming to walk through the door, to just know. But you’d ‘just known’ before, all to be let down.

You sip your rum and coke, swirling the dregs of it around in the bottom of the glass - the dark colour of the coke melding with the warm tones of the rum and the varnished surface of the wood that decorated the bar. 

All you want is someone. You need someone.

The thought replays in your mind, stuttering, buffering as your broken and aging laptop does when it is trying to open too many apps. You look up from your drink, looking up towards the door. 

You should leave.

But your eyes don’t meet the door. Someone is in the way.

You meet his eyes instead. Their eyes, looking directly back at you. Your breath seems to steal itself from your chest, green eyes looking back at you - wide as if they can see right through you.

Golden and dark. Like a forest, a deep and endless one, like where you planned your trail runs. Under the shadows, like the shade of your drink. 

Although it pulls at every muscle in your lung, although you already feel deprived of oxygen - the world spinning around you, tunnelling in on the man before you - you speak.

“Hi.”

One word but it feels like the world might collapse in on itself.

He doesn’t look away.

“Hi. I- uh, I’m Luke.”

His voice is gentle, sweet, almost uncertain at its edges.

You inch closer on your chair, doing the things, sending the signals, you open your stance up to him. 

The bar noise dims around you, the clamour of hockey night dissolving into nothing. Time slows as you drag your gaze over him.

Damp hair, curly and messy. A plain white t-shirt clinging to barely visible muscles that rippled under the surface. Rough and calloused palms, something entirely incongruous to the almost nervous man before you, switching leg from leg with each passing beat. You feel hot all over at the mere insinuation of what is under that thin cotton and those loose jeans.

You smile back, “Luke, I’m- well everyone just calls me Sugar, really.”

“Sugar.” He grin, leaning in, bare arms resting down on the bar as he sips on a beer. He gestures to your now empty glass, “I don’t suppose you’d want another of them, would you?”

Intoxicated by the rich smell of his cologne and the sweet awkward smile on his lips, you nod and pinch your cheeks with your teeth to keep from smiling too much as he leans over the bar area to practically shout a drink order at a free bartender. It shouldn’t feel as romantic as it does - but it is. You are already halfway gone for him. For Luke.

Time slows when you look at him.

Between the two of you, three or four more rounds disappear. Somewhere between the first and second round, your memory begins to blur, colour, light, sound all bleeding together

Not everything is lost to intoxication however.

His warm palms on your bare skin, spreading out against the expanse of your body, guiding you as you dance round him to the late night country songs that have no business playing in a New York bar. His legs press against your burning thighs in the darkened back hallway, hot breath on your neck, the allure of a terrible mistake. The warbles of a long lost Dolly Parton song playing out while your eyes flick to and from his lips and he leans in just far enough to make you keen for it.

Your breath is whispery as you pull him in by his beltloops, “Luke.”

You’ve always loved a terrible decision, and this is the embodiment of one.

His hand slips up your shirt, you can feel each groove and the scrape of coarse and marked skin, unsubtly grazing the lace of your bra. It sends heat pulsing right through you.

“Sugar.” He rasps and you fall right into it.

[elitegoalie]

Good his groin is tight

[ruinix]

CUTIESSS.

From Instagram. Feb 7, 2026.

[vxmpirebyrumor]

hi! i love your blog and saw requests are open. i love to request play wrestling with jack hughes that perhaps leads to more 😋

have a nice day/night (:

you wanna try that again .ᐟ.ᐟ JH 86 .ᐟ.ᐟ

tw/cw: play fighting with jack will end only one way, suggestive at the end but nothing explicit, tickling but consent is important and honored always

thank you so much for the ask nonnie! i hope it's just what you were looking for c:

word count: 1406 words

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

jack leaned over the kitchen counter, scrolling absently on his phone. he wasn’t paying attention to anything he was seeing in particular. he didn’t even notice when you walked into the kitchen, looking for a snack. you found your boyfriend instead, staring off into space.

giggling, you said, “aren’t ghosts your brother’s thing?” 

this pulled jack’s attention. “huh? oh, hey, baby, what’s up?” he glanced over at you but didn’t set his phone down. 

you pouted, “i was looking for a snack, and i found a tall glass of water instead.” you giggled at your fake flirtation. jack didn’t seem too amused by your choice of words, turning back to his screen. your pout deepened, wanting at least an acknowledgment. it wasn’t very often that jack got into a mood like this, but you weren’t going to have any of it. a distraction was in order. 

“jack,” you huffed, drawing out the vowel. you would simply fade away if you didn’t have his undivided attention. you would shrivel up and die in the next thirty seconds if jack hughes didn’t look at you. 

sighing, you let out all the air out of your body. then, a shit eating grin spread across your face. having been around jack’s family enough, you knew how much roughhousing he did with his brothers. jack never turned down a challenge, so you knew what you had to do. you raised your fists, assuming a fighter’s stance. you noticed him glancing at you in his peripheral, but not enough to look at you directly. you determined you were a safe distance from him to throw a punch and not actually hit him. you jabbed at him, pretending to dodge an imaginary punch back. then, you threw a hook and followed it up with an uppercut. “come on, jack, i could take you,” you said with confidence. 

finally, jack’s attention was captured. he placed his phone face down on the counter before turning to face you. he maintained the distance but watched you. he wanted to know how long you’d go on for, raising an eyebrow. he bit the inside of his cheek, holding in a laugh as you continued to throw fake punches towards his face and stomach. you wouldn’t stand a real chance against him, but he liked that you thought you could try. 

the smirk was too strong to fight back, so jack simply shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest. “let’s go, then,” he stated evenly. your body froze and drooped as you processed his words. you didn’t expect him to agree, despite knowing him and how competitive he was. he clicked his tongue, pushing his hips off the counter and approaching you. “oh, come on, baby,” he stepped into your range of motion, trusting that you wouldn’t try to hit him. “you wanted a fight; let’s fight.” 

your eyes widened as he entered your space. you were so fucked. you tried to reposition yourself, but it was too late. he grabbed your hand, pulling you towards the open space of your living room. you swallowed the lump in your throat as reality settled in. you were about to get your ass kicked by jack hughes. 

“i didn’t mean it,” you blurted out, hoping jack would show mercy. all you wanted was jack’s attention, but you should’ve known better than to challenge a professional hockey player with a middle child complex and two brothers like that. jack chuckled deep in his chest and shook his head. there was no backing out of this one. 

jack positioned you in the middle of the living room before taking a few paces back. he held his arms out wide and shrugged. “i’ll go easy on you, baby,” he smirked, which told you he was lying through his teeth, “give me your best shot.” 

you hesitated. it couldn’t be that easy to attack the man standing across the room from you. he was planning something. you could see his eyes analyzing, scanning your movements. he was anticipating your next move. you hated that he had such quick reflexes. you waited a beat longer than he anticipated, and it threw jack off. it gave you the advantage, and you launched yourself at his legs. you knew he was stronger than you, so you had to keep out of reach of his arms. 

jack fell back on his ass immediately, which caused you to erupt with a giggling fit. you weren’t supposed to be good at this. “i think you fell,” you giggled before squealing as you scrambled to get away from jack’s onslaught. jack quickly maneuvered his body to shift his legs under him. “no no, i give up, jack! please!” jack wasn’t letting you get away so easily. 

grabbing at your ankles, jack pulled you back towards him. “where do you think you’re going? i thought you wanted to fight, and now you’re running away?” his laugh was low in his throat as he managed to grab your hips and flipped you onto your back. more giggles exploded from you as you tried to kick at him and fight him off. he laughed at your pitiful efforts. you would tire yourself out before he had to put in any of his own. jack grabbed under your knees and pulled your legs over his hips. you squirmed, trying to put up a fight against the man, but you knew it was useless. you never stood a chance. you pushed at his shoulders as a smirk graced his lips. he leaned over you, and you kept pushing, giggling away. “what’s so funny, baby?” he teased. if you weren’t giggling up a storm, jack wouldn’t be pressing you. it was a dead giveaway that you were having fun. if you weren’t, jack would back off. so, he pressed you further. 

he allowed you to keep pushing at his shoulders while he slid you further down on your back. his hands gripped under your thighs, slotting your hips perfectly against his. you blushed, still squirming, but it only caused you to blush more, as there was nothing left to the imagination. a smug look graced jack’s features as he shifted his hips forward, pressing against you as he finally grabbed your wrists. 

capturing your wrists with one hand, jack pinned them over your head. his other hand trailed up your body, starting at your legs. his fingers barely brushed over your skin, causing you to squirm for an entirely different reason. your breath hitched. your legs tightened, but his hips prevented you from closing them. his hand hovered over your stomach, and you shook your head. “no, jack, don’t you dare,” you whined. a twinkle in his eyes gave away his plans. “oh, but i dare, sweet girl,” he laughed. 

still keeping you pinned, jack wiggled his fingers over your stomach. you tried to wiggle away from him, but it was no use. you were trapped. your breath quickened in anticipation, and jack smiled. just like you waited a beat longer, jack did too, letting the wait drive you crazy. he also liked how your hips felt grinding against his, but that was unrelated. finally his fingers pressed into the soft flesh of your tummy, and you leapt out of your skin. you were trapped with no way to escape. 

“jack, jack,” you gasped out in between giggles, “you’re cheating!” you tried to use your legs to fight him off, but he had the advantage and was able to dodge your feeble attempts. “jack, please,” you twisted your body, but your legs around his hips and your wrists pinned over your head restricted your movements a lot. “stop,” you finally squeaked out. 

his hand froze immediately. your chest heaved. you watched him, steeling yourself for him to start his tickle tirade again. it never came, though. jack placed his free hand next to your head, shifting his weight forward, leaning over you. your breath quickened again for an entirely different reason. you licked your lips before biting on them. your eyes flicked between his eyes and lips, silently willing the man to close the gap. seeming to read your mind, jack pressed his lips against yours. your thighs squeezed around his hips, and you pulled at his hand, trying to escape his grasp.

pulling away from you just enough, jack smirked, “need something?” 

“you,” you breathed out. “where?”

“everywhere.” 

and who was jack to deny you? 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

as always, dedicated to @definitelynotdomanique for listening to the whorish thots first and letting me run ideas past you c: i love you forever baby girl

special tag belongs to @maluvv for helping me flesh out the request idea c: yapping with you means everything

tag list: @kodzuvk @miserymeats @hodgepodge-musings @majestyceleste

want to join my taglist? you can find it here! never miss a fic c:

[definitelynotdomanique]

I love being nosy and reading all the comments on TikTok bc then I find things like this!!

[33forthew1n]

be that easy ♡

🖤🏒 obsessed!jack hughes x gf!reader 🏒🖤

fluff

written ff

synopsis: jack loves and spoils you. its your turn to return the favor. or: four times you showed jack that loving him is easy

part one

inspo: be that easy by sade

WARNINGS: parental death, genuinely sweet, mentions of his injury, fluffy!

requested: anon asked for 'more obsessed!jack'

a/n: this is more a back and forth of him being obsessed and you being the same ⭐️

❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.

01.

You're notoriously cheesy. Everyone teases you about it. Why would you be any different with your boyfriend?

You've collected an entire shoebox worth of keepsakes from every date you two have been on.

From your first date? A movie ticket stub.

From your second date? A seashell from Myrtle Beach, after a road trip he insisted on taking you on.

Your most recent date? A dried rose petal from a bouquet he greeted you with.

Since your anniversay is tonight, you decided on the perfect gift that simply needed a few finishing touches. A photo album of every big and small moment you thought Jack would like to see again.

The keepsakes would be used to decorate the book.

The rose petals on the book's bindings and the satin bow you had specially made to have a NJD logo on it adorn your masterpiece.

You smile softly as you shuffle through the pages. All the memories. The smiles. The stolen kisses in the dark, the public ones in the stadium.

They were all so...easy. Loving him has never been hard, but outdoing his displays of affection have been. You're certain you've outdone him today.

But, you realize how wrong you are when you two are at your dinner table with glasses of wine and candles lit.

He insists on going first, the competitor in him never failing.

"I don't know how much you'll like this, but", he trails off.

You undo the bow and open the box.

Oh.

Oh.

"Jack. How did you remember?", you ask between tears.

An exact replica of your mother's reception dress. She passed away when you were young, but you still remember her like she was still here.

Your most prized posession is a locket she left behind. A heart-shaped locket she gifted to your father with a picture of her from their reception. She's all smiles and happiness. All newly-wedded joy.

You'd told Jack once how beautiful you find your mother's dress to have been. How you want to see if you can find a dupe somewhere somehow.

But, he beat you to it.

"It's not exact", he begins delicately. "But, I have a friend who I went to UMich with. He knows a guy who knows a guy who just so happened to have been your mother's tailor."

You gasp when you place the fabric closer and realize all the details. The little silk flowers and iridiscent pearls.

"Jack, I-I", you say through real tears that fall down your clavicle at this point.

"Shh. You like it right?", he asks after pulling you close.

"Yeah", you sniff, "just makes my gift look like child's play."

You hand him the photo album and in real time you see his eyes water. You can see the memories flashing through his mind. You can see his love for you.

"From our first date? How'd you know to keep it?", he laughs emotionally.

"When you know, you know", you say like a wise woman.

He chuckles into your shoulder, hand tight on your hip.

Nothing feels more like love than being known. Jack knows you like no other.

❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.

02.

The first time you got one of those charm bracelet- making kits you were seven years old.

Years later, your dad has continued to put them in the stocking he still makes for you in your childhood home.

He says it reminds him of a simpler time. A time when his little girl needed him like air and would ask for ridiculous gifts just because she could. A time when his little girl still slept in her pink room right next door to his.

Really, you know he means a time when your mom was alive and you were all happy together. You don't mention it, though. Some truths are never said aloud.

Since Christmas is over, you've been thinking about what to do with the kit.

You already made your dad a keychain with your name and his on it. You know he'll tear up when he sees it, yet will claim he has nowhere to put it. (By next week, it'll be on his fanny pack.)

You still have so many charms and beads left. A good amount of string left.

Light- bulb moment!

Make one for Jack.

Maybe something you always tell him..

I love you? A bit too cheesy even for you.

Have fun? You're not his mom, that's just weird.

Drive safe? Now, we're getting somewhere.

You always tell Jack to drive safe, even when someone else is driving. You hope your well wish works regardless of whoever is actually driving.

By the time Jack gets home two hours later, you've finished.

You don't hear the door open or him come in. You're too busy reading the book in your lap.

Suddenly, you feel a chin on your shoulder and strong arms around you.

"Jack!", you yelp.

He chuckles and kisses your neck, mostly out of habit.

"Hi, baby. Whatcha got here?", he questions.

You hold it up for him to read.

"For one of those concert swaps?", he mutters confusedly.

"No, silly. For you", you whisper.

You can feel him go still for a second. You look back into his blue eyes, wondering why he wasn't speaking.

"That's what you always tell me. Before a roadie", he realizes.

You nod, nestling yourself deeper into his arms.

He kisses the crown of your head and settles himself comfortably behind you.

You look back at him one more time, only to see him already looking into your eyes.

❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.

03.

You don't ever pack Jack lunches.

That's what moms do for their sons, not working girlfriends for their very capable boyfriends.

But, today you're going to break that rule.

It's his first day back at morning skates on a rigorous routine and you decided you'd come by and surprise him with lunch.

No biggie, right?

Well, apparently Jack didn't get that memo. He hadn't seen you when you came in, but heard the sound of the thermos you packed clanging on the bench. He whipped his head around and immediately broke into a smile when he recognized you.

Very puppy-like of him, if you may say so yourself.

"Hi, baby! Whatcha doin' here? Came to see the greatest Devils player in action?", he smirks out.

You roll your eyes and say, "Hm. Didn't see Luke anywhere. Or Nico..."

He pretends to feel wounded then breaks into another smile when he hears you giggle in response to his childish antics.

"I've gotta go soon. Just came to drop off some lunch", you explain softly.

His eyes widen like a kid in a toy shop who just got told the RC car was going to be his very soon.

"Lunch?", he asks.

"Yeah. Followed your nutritionist' recipe, he sent it to me after I asked. Hope it's not too different from how your chef makes it."

His eyes soften at your words.

The look in his eyes tell you that he'd eat it and brag about the lunch even if it was all burnt and under-seasoned.

"Than-", he begins before the coach yells his name.

You shoo him away with pride in your eyes.

You know he's taken this injury harder than anyone could ever imagine.

Standing in the kitchen for an hour was worth seeing him happy and surprised.

As long as you're both happy together, you know that no challenge can stop you. Stupid steakhouse incident included.

❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦.❦

04.

It's late at night and you're going through the steps of your routine.

Jack calls it "The longest routine on this side of the world". You call it self-care.

You've just finished cleansing your face when a light-bulb goes off in your head. Face mask with Jack. He'll hate it, you're sure of it. But, you're just as sure that he'll do it for you. Only because it's you.

"Jack! Honey?", you call out.

Thirty seconds later, he's by your side.

"Yn? Honey?", he mimics.

You lightly tap his torso to quit all that nonsense. He smiles and cocks his head to the side.

"Face mask time. Yeah?", you ask.

You see trouble flash through his eyes. He hates getting anything put on his face, like most men. He's probably better with the sensation of skincare on his face than most men with all the makeup he wears on carpets and PR. Doesn't mean he likes it any more.

He groans for an entire minute.

Then, he nods and hides himself in your neck.

"Look. I've already applied it all", you say a minute later once the clay face mask is on your skin.

He snuggles in closer to you. God, he can be so clingy when he wants you to forget things. Good thing you've been together long enough to know better than to fall for his little charms.

You gently grab his face off your shoulder and get a hold of the applicator. His eyes dilate as they look into yours.

It's insane that even when you're making him put on face masks he hates, he loves you more than you've seen any other man love his girlfriend. You catch yourself smiling at the simplicity of this moment and the tenderness it holds.

"I love you", you whisper.

He kisses you on your nose. Silly error. The face mask is still wet.

He's spitting out the clay face mask into the sink for three entire minutes while you're bent over laughing your lungs out.

Jack loving you enough to put up with your daily shenanigans is proof.

Proof that what you have is real.