ellie

“Morning, sleepyhead,” you murmur, tilting your head back to meet his. He smells like sleep and the familiar, clean scent of his skin. “Big day.”

“Biggest,” he agrees. He presses a soft kiss to your neck, then another. “Playoffs, baby. Round one, game one.”

“Are you nervous?” You ask, turning in his arms to face him. His hair is a disaster, sticking up in a dozen different directions. His eyes, usually so sharp and focused, are soft with sleep. It’s your favorite version of him.

He considers the question, his thumb tracing lazy circles on the small of your back. “Nah. Not nervous. Just … ready. Feel like I’ve been waiting for this my whole life, you know?”

“I know.” And you do. You’ve lived and breathed the relentless grind of the regular season with him. The wins that felt like flying, the losses that tasted like ash. All of it leading to this.

“But,” he says, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. “I was thinking. I could use a little extra motivation.”

You raise an eyebrow, your fingers tangling in the soft fabric of his sleep pants. “Oh yeah? And what did you have in mind? A new puppy if you win the series?”

“Better,” he whispers, his lips brushing against yours. “Something just for us.” He pulls away, just enough to reach for a small, sleek black box sitting on the kitchen island, one you hadn't even noticed. “This came yesterday.”

Your heart gives a funny little kick. The box is elegant, minimalist, with a single silver logo you don’t recognize. “What is it?”

“My secret weapon,” he says, his eyes gleaming with mischief. He slides the lid off. Nestled inside, on a bed of black velvet, is a smooth, silicone vibrator. It’s a beautiful, modern thing, curved just so, in a deep shade of plum. Beside it is a small charging dock and a card with a QR code.

You stare at it, then back up at him, a slow blush creeping up your neck. “Jack … what is this?”

“This,” he says, picking it up. It feels cool and heavy in his hand. “Is a state-of-the-art, Bluetooth-enabled, fully programmable piece of motivational technology.”

You can’t help but laugh, a breathless little sound. “You’re such a dork.”

“Hey, I’m serious,” he says, though the smile playing on his lips betrays him. “I was reading about it. You download an app. It connects to the official NHL stats feed.” He pauses for dramatic effect, his eyes twinkling. “You see where I’m going with this?”

The pieces click into place in your mind, and the blush on your cheeks deepens to a fiery red. “Oh, no. You’re not serious.”

“I am one hundred percent serious.” He sets the toy back in its box and pulls you back against his chest, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “The plan is this: before I leave for the rink, I help you put this in. We set it on the lowest setting. A little warm-up. But for every goal I score tonight …”

“Jack …” you breathe, the word a mix of protest and excitement.

“… the app automatically gets the notification and bumps it up a level,” he finishes, his grin widening as he sees the look on your face. “Five settings. Five levels of … inspiration.”

You bury your face in his chest, half laughing, half mortified. “You’re insane. I’ll be in a suite full of people. Luke’s girlfriend will be there. Your mom might be there!”

“My mom is not gonna be there tonight, and who cares about Luke’s girlfriend?” He says, his hands sliding down to cup your behind, squeezing gently. “It’s our little secret. No one will know. You just have to … hold it together.”

The challenge in his voice is unmistakable. But it’s the final part of his proposition that makes your core clench.

“And the catch?” You ask, your voice barely a whisper.

His eyes go dark, the playfulness replaced by a raw, possessive heat that always undoes you. “The catch is, you don’t get to come. Not until I get home. No matter how many times I score. No matter how high it gets. You wait for me. Can you do that?”

The question hangs in the air, a dare wrapped in silk. This is insane. It’s reckless and exhibitionist and utterly, deliriously thrilling. It’s so quintessentially him. Pushing the boundaries, turning everything into a high-stakes game.

You meet his gaze, your own eyes reflecting his fire. “And if you don’t score?”

He laughs, a rich, confident sound that echoes in the quiet kitchen. “Oh, I’m gonna score.”

***

Hours later, the sun is high in the sky, and the game-day quiet has been replaced by a low hum of anticipatory energy. Jack is showered and dressed in his customary sharp game-day suit, the epitome of a professional athlete. But the look in his eyes as he finds you in the bedroom is anything but professional.

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing the dress you picked out for the game, a soft, comfortable jersey-knit that pairs well with the matching WAG jackets. Your heart is hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.

“You ready for this?” He asks, his voice low and intimate.

You just nod, unable to find your voice. He closes the bedroom door, shutting out the rest of the world. The room suddenly feels smaller, hotter. He retrieves the small plum device, now fully charged, and a bottle of lubricant from the nightstand.

He kneels in front of you, the expensive fabric of his suit pants creasing. He takes your hands in his, his palms warm and slightly calloused. “Hey. Look at me.”

You do. His expression is soft, reassuring. “If this is too much, at any point, you just turn it off. Okay? There’s no pressure.”

“I know,” you whisper. “I want to do it.”

A slow smile touches his lips. “Good.”

He gently parts your knees, his hands impossibly gentle as he lifts the hem of your dress, bunching the fabric around your waist. The cool air of the room kisses your bare skin. You’re already wearing the special lingerie you picked out — a strappy, barely-there thong that does little to hide how ready you are for this.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, his gaze appreciative. He applies a generous amount of lube to the tip of the vibrator, and his eyes meet yours as his fingers find you, parting your folds with an expert touch. “Just relax for me, baby.”

His voice is a hypnotic caress, and you lean back on your hands, your head falling back as he teases you, his lubricated fingers circling your entrance, preparing you. A soft gasp escapes your lips.

“You’re so responsive,” he says, his voice thick with admiration. “So wet already.”

He takes his time, deliberately torturing you. He slides the very tip in, then pulls back, watching your hips buck involuntarily.

“Jack, please,” you plead, the words breathy and desperate.

“Please what?” He asks, his thumb circling your clit, sending shivers of fire through your entire body. “You want me to put it in? You want me to get you all worked up and then leave you for six hours?”

“Yes,” you pant. “God, yes.”

He chuckles, a low, dark sound. “Alright. Since you asked so nicely.”

He guides the vibrator to your entrance again. This time, he doesn’t hesitate. He pushes it in slowly, deliberately, letting you adjust to the feeling of being filled. It’s a perfect fit, the curve of it pressing against your g-spot in a way that makes you see stars. He pushes it in until the flared base rests snugly against you.

You let out a long, shuddering breath. It’s a foreign, heavy feeling. A constant, humming promise.

Jack leans in, his face just inches from yours. He pulls out his phone, opens the app, and you watch as he syncs it to the device inside you. The screen glows with a simple interface. A power button and a sliding scale from one to five. He taps the power button.

A low, deep vibration starts, humming deep inside you. It’s level one. A gentle, teasing pulse that is more of a suggestion than a demand. But it’s there. A secret thrumming away in the most intimate part of you.

“There we go,” he whispers, his breath fanning across your lips. “Just a little something to remember me by while I’m gone.”

He stands up, straightening his suit jacket. He looks impossibly handsome, a predator in tailored wool, and the knowledge of what he’s just done, of the secret you now share, is an intoxicating aphrodisiac.

He leans down and captures your lips in a deep, searing kiss. It’s not gentle. It’s a kiss full of promise, of ownership. “I’ll see you after the game,” he says against your mouth. “Be good.”

And then he’s gone. You hear the front door click shut, and you’re left alone in the quiet of the house, sitting on the edge of your bed with a vibrator humming inside you, synced to the athletic performance of the man who holds your heart, and for tonight, your orgasms, in his hands.

***

The Prudential Center is electric. The energy of a playoff game is a physical entity, a living, breathing thing that seeps into your bones. The roar of the crowd is a constant, deafening wave. From the comfort of the WAG suite, the chaos on the ice below is a beautifully orchestrated ballet of violence and grace.

You’re standing with Riley, Luke’s girlfriend, and a few of the other wives and girlfriends, a glass of champagne you have no intention of drinking clutched in your hand. The low, steady pulse inside you is a constant reminder of the private game you’re playing amidst the public spectacle.

“You okay?” Riley asks, leaning in so you can hear her over the noise. “You seem a little distracted.”

“Just nervous,” you lie, forcing a bright smile. “You know how it is. Game one.”

She nods sympathetically, her eyes turning back to the ice where her own boyfriend is a blur of red and black. “Tell me about it. I think I’ve already chewed off all my nails.”

The first period is a tense, back-and-forth affair. A physical, grinding battle with few real scoring chances. The Devils are playing with a desperate energy, but the Hurricanes are a wall. Every shot is blocked, every rush is thwarted. You find yourself holding your breath every time Jack has the puck, your body tensing for two very different reasons. The constant, gentle thrumming inside you has become a familiar presence, a background noise your body has almost adapted to. Almost.

The horn sounds for the end of the first period. 0-0. You feel a strange mix of disappointment and relief.

During the intermission, you make small talk, nibbling on a shrimp cocktail that tastes like cardboard. Every conversation feels distant, filtered through the secret humming between your legs. You try to focus, to be present, but your mind is tethered to number 86 on the ice.

The second period begins with a jolt. The Devils come out flying, a renewed vigor in their skates. Jack is everywhere. He’s a flash of lightning, weaving through defenders, his skates carving sharp lines into the pristine ice.

Seven minutes into the period, it happens.

There’s a scramble in front of the Hurricanes’ net. The puck squirts loose from a tangle of sticks and bodies. It slides right onto Jack’s stick. He’s in the slot, a perfect scoring position. Without hesitation, he wires a wrist shot. The puck is a black streak, rising over the goalie’s shoulder and pinging off the back of the net with a satisfying thwack.

The arena explodes.

A raw, primal roar erupts from twenty thousand people. The goal horn blares, a triumphant sound that vibrates through the floor. The women around you are screaming, jumping, hugging each other. You scream with them, a genuine, joyous sound, but your celebration is cut short by a sudden, sharp change inside you.

The vibration doubles.

The gentle pulse is gone, replaced by a firm, insistent rhythm. It’s no longer a suggestion; it’s a statement. A gasp catches in your throat, and you quickly disguise it as a cough. The new setting is deeper, stronger, hitting that perfect spot with a focused intensity that makes your knees feel weak.

“What a shot!” Riley yells, grabbing your arm. “Jack is on fire tonight!”

“He really is,” you manage to say, your voice a little shaky. You press your thighs together, a futile attempt to control the burgeoning waves of pleasure radiating from your core. You can feel a slick heat begin to build between your legs. This is so much more intense than you’d anticipated.

The game resumes, but your focus is completely shot. You watch Jack, but you’re not seeing the plays he’s making. You’re only feeling him. Every time he touches the puck, you feel a phantom jolt. The constant, powerful thrumming is making it difficult to stand still. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, trying to appear casual.

Late in the second period, the Devils get a power play. Jack is on the point, quarterbacking the play. He passes the puck to Dougie Hamilton, then circles around, finding an open lane. Dougie sends a hard pass right back to him. Jack one-times it. The sound of the puck hitting his stick is like a gunshot. It’s a blur of motion, a rocket aimed at the top corner.

Goal.

The horn blares again. The crowd is delirious. The suite erupts once more.

And inside you, the world shifts on its axis.

The vibrator jumps from level two to level three. The change is immediate and staggering. The firm rhythm becomes a deep, rolling throb, a powerful wave that seems to resonate through your entire pelvic floor. It’s not just hitting one spot anymore; it’s consuming you.

A strangled noise escapes your lips, and you press your hand to your mouth. Your legs are trembling.

“Two for Hughes!” Someone shouts below you.

You stumble back a step, leaning against the cool glass of the suite’s window. Your vision swims for a second. The sounds of the arena fade into a distant roar. All you can feel is that relentless, rolling pleasure. It’s coiling deep in your belly, a tight, hot knot of need that is rapidly spiraling out of your control. You have to get out of here.

“I’m just going to the restroom,” you say to Riley, your voice strained.

She gives you a quick, distracted nod, her attention glued to the replay on the monitor.

You practically flee the suite, your movements stiff and clumsy. You make it to the private restroom, locking the door behind you. You brace your hands on the marble countertop, staring at your reflection in the mirror. Your face is flushed, your pupils are blown wide, and your lips are parted in a silent gasp.

You are in so much trouble.

The vibrations are relentless, sending shockwave after shockwave through you. You can feel your orgasm building, a tidal wave gathering strength just off the shore. You bite down hard on your lower lip, tasting blood. You have to wait. You promised. The thought is a flimsy shield against the onslaught. You splash cold water on your face, the shock of it doing little to quell the fire inside.

You take a few deep, ragged breaths, trying to regain some semblance of control. You can’t go back out there. Not yet. You sit on the closed toilet lid, pressing your thighs together as hard as you can, willing your body to obey. Minutes stretch into an eternity, each second a new wave of exquisite torture.

You finally manage to compose yourself enough to return to the suite just as the third period is about to start. The score is 2-1. You avoid eye contact, heading straight for a secluded chair in the corner, sinking into it gratefully. You pull your dress down, trying to arrange it in a way that doesn't add any extra pressure.

The third period is a war. The Hurricanes are desperate, throwing everything they have at the Devils’ net. The game is fast, brutal, and utterly captivating. But for you, it’s a blurry, distant drama. Your entire universe has shrunk to the insistent, powerful thrumming between your legs. You’re on the edge. Every muscle in your body is clenched. You’re grinding your teeth, your knuckles white where you grip the armrests of your chair.

With five minutes left in the game, Carolina pulls their goalie for an extra attacker. It’s a last-ditch, desperate move. The Devils are pinned in their own zone, defending furiously.

Then, a turnover.

The puck is cleared out of the zone, sliding into the neutral ice. And Jack is there. He’s a step ahead of the defensemen. He corrals the puck and takes off. It’s just him, a long stretch of empty ice, and a vacant net at the other end.

Time seems to slow down.

The crowd rises to its feet, a single, collective roar. You know what’s coming. Your mind is screaming, a frantic mantra of no, no, no, please, no.

He crosses the red line. He crosses the blue line. He doesn’t even have to aim. He flicks his wrists, and the puck sails through the air, a perfect, elegant arc. It slides smoothly into the empty net.

A hat trick.

The arena ceases to be a building. It becomes a single, deafening sound. Hats rain down onto the ice from every direction, a cascade of celebration.

And the vibrator jumps to level four.

It’s not a vibration anymore. It’s a jackhammer.

A blinding white light explodes behind your eyes. Your back arches off the chair, a silent scream trapped in your throat. The deep, rolling throb is gone, replaced by a frantic, punishing pulsation that attacks your senses from all sides. It’s too much. It’s too fast, too hard, too everything. There is no build-up, no gentle wave. It is the peak, held indefinitely.

Your vision tunnels. The roar of the crowd vanishes. The faces of the celebrating women around you blur into meaningless shapes. You can’t breathe. You can’t think. There is only this overwhelming, all-consuming, punishing pleasure. Your body is no longer your own. It’s just a vessel for this unbearable sensation. You feel your control, the last fraying thread of it, snap.

You’re going to come. Right here, in this chair, in this suite full of people. You’re going to shatter, and you can’t stop it.

***

The drive home is a surreal, silent torture. Jack is electric, buzzing with the high of the win, the hat trick, the first playoff victory. He’s talking a mile a minute, breaking down each goal, the feel of the puck on his stick, the energy of the crowd.

“… and when I saw that net, man, I just knew. It was like everything went quiet for a second …”

You sit in the passenger seat, rigid, staring straight ahead. You can’t speak. You can’t even turn to look at him. Every ounce of your focus, every fiber of your being, is dedicated to not falling apart. The intense, frantic pulsations of level four haven’t let up. They’ve become a part of your heartbeat, a violent, demanding rhythm that has pushed you far beyond the brink of pleasure and into a strange, agonizing limbo. 

You’re so close, so perpetually on the edge of a climax so massive you’re afraid it might actually stop your heart, but your promise to him, the sheer force of your will, is holding it back. It’s a physical battle, and you are losing.

He finally seems to notice your silence as he pulls into the driveway. He cuts the engine, and the sudden quiet is deafening, amplifying the frantic thrumming that only you can feel.

“You okay?” He asks, his voice softening, the post-game adrenaline giving way to concern. “You’ve been quiet.”

You manage a single, shaky nod.

He leans over, his brow furrowed. In the dim light of the garage, he can see the sheen of sweat on your forehead, the tremor in your hands. He sees your wide, desperate eyes. And he understands.

“Oh, baby,” he breathes, a look of awe and something akin to reverence on his face. “A hat trick.”

He’s out of the car in a flash, coming around to your side and opening the door. He unbuckles your seatbelt with fumbling fingers, his own excitement palpable. He lifts you out of the seat as if you weigh nothing. Your legs give out immediately, and you collapse against his strong frame, burying your face in his neck, a choked sob escaping your lips.

“Shhh, I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his arms a steel band around you. “I’ve got you. Let’s get you inside.”

He carries you through the door, kicking it shut behind him. He doesn’t bother with the lights. He doesn’t head for the bedroom. He lays you down gently on the plush living room rug, the moonlight from the large picture window bathing the room in a silvery glow.

He kneels over you, his eyes dark and hungry. He can see the frantic pulse in your neck, the way your whole body is trembling with contained energy.

“Level four?” He asks, his voice a low, rough caress.

You can only whimper in response.

He doesn’t reach for his phone to turn it off. He doesn’t try to remove it. Instead, his hands go to the hem of your dress, slowly, deliberately, pushing it up over your hips, revealing the damp, strappy thong and the vibrating base of the toy pressed against you.

“You waited for me,” he says, and it’s not a question. It’s a statement of primal satisfaction. “Good girl.”

The praise, the raw possession in his voice, is the final crack in your dam. A tear slips from the corner of your eye and traces a hot path down your temple.

He leans down, his mouth hovering just above yours. “It’s too much, isn’t it?” He whispers.

You nod frantically, your hips bucking against the relentless internal assault.

“You can’t take anymore?”

“No,” you gasp. “Please, Jack. Please.”

“Then let go,” he says, his voice a velvet command. “I’m right here. Let go for me.”

He moves down your body, his hands stroking your trembling thighs, pushing your knees apart. He looks at you, at the slick, swollen folds around the base of the toy, and a deep groan rumbles in his chest. He leans in, his hot breath ghosting over your most sensitive skin, and the anticipation is so sharp, so acute, it’s a physical pain.

The second his mouth touches you, the world dissolves.

His tongue, hot and sure, swipes over your clit, and the combination of the frantic internal pulsations and the direct, expert attention of his mouth is a cataclysm. There is no thought. There is no control. There is no holding back.

Your vision whites out completely. A scream is torn from your throat, raw and unrestrained. Your body convulses, a violent, full-body spasm as the orgasm you’ve been holding back for hours finally, finally breaks free. It’s a tsunami. It crashes over you, through you, pulling you under into a dark, silent, peaceful abyss. The pleasure is so immense, so utterly overwhelming, that your consciousness simply … shuts off. You black out, completely surrendering to the storm.

***

You come back to yourself slowly, drifting up from a deep, dreamless place. The first thing you register is the silence. The punishing vibration is gone. The second thing you register is the heavy, comforting weight of a blanket tucked around you. The third is the soft, rhythmic sound of Jack’s breathing beside you.

You open your eyes. You’re on the couch, wrapped in a cashmere throw from the back of the chair. Jack is sitting on the floor beside you, his back against the couch, his head resting near your hip. He’s still in his suit, minus the jacket and tie, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He’s watching you, his expression tender and full of a quiet awe.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey,” you croak, your throat raw. You feel boneless, blissfully empty. “What … happened?”

“You came so hard you passed out,” he says, a faint, proud smile on his lips. “Scared me for a second, not gonna lie.”

You blush, a faint warmth spreading through your blissed-out limbs. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your forehead. His touch is impossibly gentle. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.” He leans in and presses a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. “I turned it off. And took it out. You’re okay.”

You nod, snuggling deeper into the blanket. You feel entirely cherished, completely taken care of.

For a long time, you just lie there in the quiet, basking in the peaceful aftermath. The moonlight paints the room in shades of blue and silver.

“So,” you say finally, your voice still sleepy. “Was it good motivation?”

He lets out a low, breathless laugh, the sound vibrating through the couch. He looks at you, his eyes so full of love it makes your chest ache.

poison ivy  | @scudevils

just talk to her | @adore-u-ls

Prison For Life | @puckinghischier

based on olivia rodrigo’s “prison for life”

Surprise…? | @/puckinghischier

luke gets hurt during a game

Cart Girls & Curly Q’s | @/puckinghischier

luke has a crush on the cart girl

Crowded | @/puckinghischier

reader gets nervous in the crowd, but luke is right there to help her out of it

Spotlight | @/puckinghischier

reader prefers to stay out of the spotlight being luke hughes’ girlfriend brings

but daddy i love him! | @ithinkimokeei

Sea Sickness | @kaitlynpcallmebeepme

Reader gets nauseous from being on the boat at the Hughes’s Lake House and snuggles up to Luke.

PHASES | @babydollmarauders

in which luke is pining for the girl he knows he’s destined to be with

COMFORT | @/babydollmarauders

“Have you seen my hoodie?” “Noo.” “You’re wearing it, aren’t you?”

Chirps | @rowdyluv

Luke’s long term girlfriend is a beautician. The team chirps him about his unruly curls so he goes to see her at work.

𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐓𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭  | @/rowdyluv

“I don’t think I’ve ever met someone that makes me want to treat them like they’re royalty, like they do” in which luke yaps out about his girl to jack, luke hasn’t told his girl exactly how much he likes her, jack takes matters into his own hands.

middle of the night | @/rowdyluv

in which luke and rutger’s twin sister have been dating for months and no one knows. now it’s summer and the siblings have joined them at the lake house

“Yᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ᴅᴏɪɴɢ ɪᴛ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ.” Jᴜsᴛ ɢᴏ ᴛᴀʟᴋ ᴛᴏ (ᴘʀᴏɴᴏᴜɴ).” | @/rowdyluv

Sassy Man Apocalypse | @freeabortionslol

you and your bf luke finally have a night for yourselves after not seeing each other for two months, but your drunk friends decide to crash it

“Baby Zegras”  | @/freeabortionslol

childhood friends to lovers, reader is trevor’s sister, secret dating caught by jack, trevor is portrayed as a mean older brother at the start (im sorry I love him I promise he gets better), italics mean flashbacks

Finally kiss me! | @creativewritersposts

Luke wants to impress you but is too shy to take the next step. He's very anxious to lose you for that.

love language  | @/creativewritersposts

Some situations where Luke shows his love language.

delirious state | @/creativewritersposts

Luke gets injured and the painkillers kick him into a delirious state, which is quite funny.

Rubberband | @chukys-mouthguard

luke comes back to umich, but he can’t avoid seeing you

Family | @be4chywritez

you feel happy that your boyfriend’s brothers like you

uh oh  | @/be4chywritez

you're trying to sneak out your boyfriend but their is one thing standing in your way, Curtis.

Lazar!reader

big hands | @/be4chywritez

compare hand sizes with luke

crush on the waitress | @/be4chywritez

Luke has a big fat crush on his waitress, and he thinks he blew his shot, but did he?

Loathing? | @/be4chywritez

Six Flags | @hughesyodaddy43

You go on a group trip to six flags

‘whats an everything shower?’ | @dearstvckyx

GET COMFORTABLE  | @missqhughes

drunk words are sober thoughts; when y/n gets just a bit too drunk at a date party, she finds herself getting more comfortable with her best friend than she thought she ever would.

reader gets overwhelmed after meeting Luke’s family | @astars-things

"Can- Can you come over please?" | @captain-huggy-bear

Luke Hughes and protective hug | @/captain-huggy-bear

𝐍𝐀𝐏𝐒 | @lcvecove

in which taking naps on your boyfriend is your favourite pastime. and he enjoys nothing more than having his girl in his arms.

the seventh minute | @f4ult-line

you. a curly-headed cutie. a house party. a closet. and seven minutes to spare.

WEDDING NIGHT SHENANIGANS | @jo-speaks

luke gets a few early gifts on your wedding night.

Written by a woman | @sweetdispatch

Moments in Luke and his girlfriend relationship that made them realised, they are made for each other

She’s making me happy | @/sweetdispatch

Luke never shared his love life with his family until he met you

A break | @/sweetdispatch

Luke announced that he's going back home for the break, assuming that you're working anyways but he doesn't know that you took week off from work to spend time with him

Presentation | @/sweetdispatch

You never noticed Luke but he noticed you. He was desperate to get you on a date and you joked what he has to do so you can agree

Quinn and Jack Watching Luke Fall in Love | @brainddeadd

luke and his girlfriend being all cute while jack and quinn are watching all happy bc their baby brother is in love

LOVE SONG FOR YOU | @maryleclerc

After a night of supporting your boyfriend, Luke Hughes, at a New Jersey Devils game, your love for him spills over into a new album. Known for your voice and now for showing up in the stands to cheer him on, you catch the attention of fans from both your worlds. The album becomes a heartfelt reflection of your relationship, and in a playful interview with a close friend, you confirm what everyone had suspected – the album is a love letter to Luke.

ʀɪɢʜᴛ ʜᴇʀᴇ, ʀɪɢʜᴛ ɴᴏᴡ | @star2fishmeg

Luke’s so down bad he loves watching y/n defend him, but he loves calming her down more

Dating Luke and just being so adored by his brothers and Ellen and Jim | @/star2fishmeg

domestic things w luke | @/star2fishmeg

sneaking around | @/star2fishmeg

wrapping paper fiascos | @toasttt11

finding out your boyfriend can’t wrap presents as well as he has been pretending he can.

Glances | @/toasttt11

getting together made everyone think the flirty glances would stop, it didn’t.

Confessions | @/toasttt11

not officially dating yet means surprising visits and surprising love confessions

bf!luke … | @86espresso

BOUND BY TWO HEARTBEATS | @isaadore

an unexpected pregnancy challenges your relationship with luke, forcing you both to rethink your future together. however, despite the uncertainty, luke stays by your side, and the pregnancy brings you two closer than ever.

A LANGUAGE YOU NEVER LEARNED | @/isaadore

you were quiet and driven; the kind of person who colour-coded planners and rewrote lecture notes in gel ink. luke was loud and golden, his dorm room was constantly messy and late-night ramen was the norm; his world revolved around hockey, bus rides, and team dinners. somewhere between the differences, you fell in love, but somewhere along that same thread, something frayed.

SAY YOU’LL BE BETTER | @/isaadore

luke does something stupid, bad enough to leave you questioning everything. he never meant to hurt you, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

HALFWAY TO YOU | @/isaadore

you and luke live on opposite sides of campus, but you still find a way to see each other. your friends say you’re both obsessed, but you don’t want to admit it.

“i’m wearing tennessee orange for him” | @heartsaturn

in which, blood doesn’t run thicker than water

TikTok trend  | @fangirlmermaid

You do the TikTok trend of calling Luke by his name and he gets scared.

operation get luke a girlfriend  | @residentgoaliegirl

jack is tired of watching his brother pine over his best friend so he takes matters into his own hands to get you both to admit your feelings for each other. His plan, however, goes horribly wrong.

NEXT STEP IS LOVE | @bewaryofpity

luke brings you to the family skate, surprising his teammates, and the usual “i didn't know you had a girlfriend” comes up, but this time luke has enough of calling you just his best friend.

IT’S NOW OR NEVER | @/bewaryofpity

luke was raised a gentleman and by the third date you are worried why he hasn't kissed you yet or three times luke was too scared to kiss you and one time you took matters into your own hands.

Not-So-Silent Treatment | @emsdevs

Know Me Better | @/emsdevs

Priorities | @/emsdevs

Say it first  | @pedriache

three years in which you’d been dating luke. three beautiful years in which he always made sure he got in the first ‘i love you’.

Loved You Forever | @sc0tters

four times you and luke knew you both wanted more, the one time a move was made, and the one time you both actually remembered it.

Change Is Hard | @/sc0tters

when the same argument hits you and Luke, you begin to wonder if coming to visit was the right call.

Fraternizing | @notsonian

you and Luke almost get caught fraternizing by his brother and captain

Iconic Scenes | @/notsonian

after driving up to the lake house a day early you and Luke get drunk recreating an iconic Spider-Man scene

Emergency contact | @toonice113

you do the my emergency contact trend on tiktok and feed the snoopy hughes agenda

By your side | @/toonice113

On your last night at the lake house Luke just can’t seem to leave your side for more than a few minutes, before bed he lets you know the reason why.

Please Please Please | @cuteandhughesy

navigating a secret relationship with your brothers teammate is turning out to be a little harder than you expected. the 3 times you and luke were almost caught + the 1 time you are caught.

Another groan emits from you, exhaustion seeping through your bones at the mere mention of doing something else besides rotting in bed. You’re about to type some incoherent excuse, but your best friend beats you to it.

apparently, z and his guys are going. 

chances are jack’s there too.

There’s a messy stutter in your chest upon reading the message and suddenly, you’re more awake than before as you gingerly sit yourself up in your bed. Of course, she’d mention he was going just to convince you further. You weren’t even aware she knew of your crush. Considering you hadn’t mentioned him much besides when asked, his name being referenced feels more intrusive than it should be. Then again, as perceptive as she is, there was no denying the fact.

Jack and yourself had worked on a group project earlier in the semester, which is how the two of you had crossed paths. Upon hearing of the task at hand, you couldn’t help but let out a sigh because you were never a fan of working with others you didn’t know, but considering none of your friends took your class, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to get to know others and build your social circle. When your assigned group had got together towards the end of the lecture to discuss formalities and such, you hadn’t expected the whirlwind that was to come in the presence of a sandy brunette haired boy. 

Jack is as easy-going as he is charming. Cracks a couple jokes and suddenly, all the ice isolating your group dissolves to water and there are constant hums of conversation bouncing off every member of your group. He’s nice too, considerate of everyone’s schedule and what tasks they felt confident in completing, never uttering a word of complaint unless warranted. It’s interesting, he’s interesting, you think to yourself. Perhaps due to the fact that since he’d revealed himself to be in a frat, you had some preconceived notions as to what his personality would be like and maybe at times, he’d fit that stereotype to a tee, there were other times he’d stray away from it completely and leave you curious as ever.

Peculiar is what you’d describe those few weeks to be, your interest gravitating towards any relation to Jack. Heart beating as you walked past your university’s ice arena, knowing he practically lived on the ice beyond his time in class. Eyes lighting up when he texted in the group chat, mental fuzziness plaguing you every time you sat across from one another as you completed your portion of work in the university’s library. You’d be a fool to dismiss the budding attraction you felt towards him, spinning your world round but also leaving you feeling so unsure of everything, yourself included. There’s no scarcity of girls who like him, it proved to be difficult resisting the All-American hockey star with looks to match. However, taking into account the sheer volume of attention directed his way everyday, your lingering glances didn’t seem to be much more significant. So, one-sided this crush remains to you, storing away the quiet memories of shared laughs and time spent together in a place close to your heart. 

That was until he invited you to his game, shortly after your project had been submitted for assessment. You wanted to go, you wanted to go so badly that you agonised over the decision for longer than necessary, but ultimately, as you laid awake that night, eyes blazing red with fatigue, doom scrolling to further delay your dreams, the evidence for your answer surfaced. It was nothing but a silly Instagram post from one of his friends, Trevor Zegras, the boyfriend to one of your friends. A collection of typical photos: the boys, hockey and more of the antics they got to. It’s in the last slide where in the background of a recent football game is none other than Jack, in all his handsome glory, grinning ear to ear as a girl envelopes him in a hug that feels too intimate to be seen. Embarrassment runs your skin hot and jealousy leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, the thought of you entertaining anything more than platonic with Jack a pipedream at best. Naturally, there can be so many explanations for the photo, but what rings true is that you’ve made yourself vulnerable to heartbreak, which is nowhere to be found on your agenda. So, you call it a night, turning off your phone and hoping to put the crush behind you come tomorrow.

And, it works for a bit. Jack doesn’t text you further and you don’t run into him on campus. Summer soon approaches and the last few days before your break have you buzzing with excitement for all the plans you have lined up. Your world doesn’t hinge on every interaction you have with Jack and your mind is freed from the shackles of mulling over every detail in said interaction. It’s liberating and you’d like to keep it that way. A fleeting crush, you reason, all said and done with. A mantra you repeat to yourself as you respond back to your best friend, gleaming as you and your group chat discuss outfits options and pinterest inspired makeup looks. 

-

There’s nothing better than being with your girls, you’re reminded, as the buzzing excitement never fizzles as the night stretches on. Controlled chaos dominates the night as you pack into one friend’s rooms to get ready together, helping each other with eyelash extensions and annoying back zippers. Someone makes the suggestion to drop by the campus bar for a drink or two, just to ease the nerves, and it turns out to be a great idea because by the time you stumble out of the bar and towards the frat house, the party’s in full swing. 

Trashed lawn and red cup galore, the music somehow manages to reach outside the house with hoards of people dotted around and inside the house. With the merry buzz you’ve got from the bar, confidence details your movements as you lead your friends with clasped hands into the packed house, mumbling a thousand ‘sorry’s as you trample on through the crowded hallways to find yourselves in one (?) of the living rooms. 

Hands suddenly grasp at yours and you’re thrown into a fit of giggles as your friends tangle themselves up in a messy but fun dance. You follow suit, fully relishing in the euphoria of the night and the found family you have in these girls as you dance and chatter until you have no choice to venture into the kitchen for a refreshment. 

Surprisingly, the kitchen is vacant as you push through towards its door you were directed to, scanning the room amongst belongings to find some mixer for your helping of vodka stashed away in your purse. Despite your better judgement, you resort to apprehensively searching through cupboards on your tippy toes in search for mixer and as you’re about to open the last cupboard, the kitchen door opens. 

“Looking for something?”

Goosebumps arise and your heart stills. You know that voice like the back of your hand, the same voice that echoes in the back of your mind and whispers sweet nothings in your ear when you dream. The fact that he’s so ingrained in your memory makes you curse at yourself, teeth gnawing on the plumpiness of your bottom lip as you attempt to recollect your racing thoughts. With a quiet breath, you sink back from your elevated posture and turn towards the source of the voice, blinking like a deer caught in the headlights. 

It’s comical how such a simple sight renders you a loss for words. In the doorway of the large kitchen stands Jack, shoulder and head leaning against the doorframe as he looks at you with an expectant look and a cheeky grin to match. His legs are crossed at the ankles and he’s holding a beer, but he’s got this pearl white long sleeved polo on with washed out jeans and a black snapback to top it all off. The outfit in itself is so simple and yet, here you are, heart being sent into overdrive as the effortless combo drives you wild. Sets your skin alight and conjures up electricity that pulses through you like wildfire.

“Lemonade,” you gracefully croak out, gesturing towards your empty red cup. “I didn’t bring much to mix my drink with.”

“Here, I’ll help you with that,” he reassures you, bouncing off the door frame as he draws closer to you, your feet absently shifting a few steps backwards. “No need to back up. I don’t bite, you know?”

You huff at the comment, realising how foolish his mere presence makes you and will yourself to relax, shoulders easing down from your ears as you watch Jack search through the cupboards. It doesn’t take him long to find what he’s looking for, pulling out a large bottle of lemonade that coasts against the marble of the countertop. 

“Feel free to use as much as you like, I never usually have this myself anyways.” insists Jack, turning himself around with his back against the countertop, arms crossed his chest with a peering eye directed to you. 

“How thoughtful of you.” you jester as a brief chuckle is shared between the two of you, the loud thumps of heavy bass music sounding from beyond the kitchen door as silence settles between the two of you. 

“It’s been a while, how’ve you been?” he asks, undivided attention focused on you as you pour the last of the lemonade. If not for the embarrassment of spilling your drink in front of him, the unsolicited awareness he’s currently given you would have resulted in exactly that, so you stop yourself and give him a convincing smile.

“I’ve been good, thanks. It’s the end of the academic year, I have no more complaints,” you muse, bringing the cup to your lips as you peer over the rim to look at Jack, his long lashes fluttering as his focus remains you. Your heartbeat picks up its pace. “What about you? Frozen four’s a big deal, but winning the championship is even bigger.”

Jack gives a lighthearted laugh, smugness adjusting his posture as his shoulders move back and his chest puffs out. Meanwhile, he gives this half shrug and grin that has heat gravitating towards the apples of your cheeks. It’s one of the things you like about Jack, how confident and sure of himself he is without it being overbearing and unappealing. It feels assuring, not having to dim your own light for the sake of his own comfort. 

“Yeah, that was nuts, I can’t lie. We had a really good run and I think our efforts really showed for themselves in that case,” Jack responds, taking a swig of his beer. “Christ, I sound like I’m talking to the media or something.”

“Well, consider this practice for when you join Jersey in the future,” you simper, snickering as you take a sip of your own drink. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of fun speaking to the media.”

He gives an eyeroll, amusement prominent in the way his eyes twinkle and you can't help but laugh more. “So you say. How did you even know about Jersey?”

Your laugh is cut short, ice cold realisation washing over you like a bad hangover as his words hang in the air like a gauntlet waiting for its descent. Of course, this was nothing to be caught off-guard by considering how much your university boasts about how Jack, amongst other talented players, were drafted before committing to your university. However, the painful memory of you awake one late night doesn’t escape you, said night spent hesitantly typing his name into Google to come across all the info you knew to confirm how great of a hockey player he was. You feel shameful even looking him in the eyes right now.

So, your eyes stray from him, the somewhat sticky floor being the source of all your interest. “Who doesn’t know? Our uni does a good job of reminding us of everyone that’s been drafted.” 

You decide to spare a glance at Jack, taking in how a pinkish hue decorates the surface of his cheeks as his lone hand goes to scratch the back of his neck. The timidity that clouds his movement evokes a simper out of you, one that you direct into your cup, its contents rapidly draining under the weight of your continued conversation.

“Oh, man. Maybe, I shouldn’t have asked that,” he jokes, smile all pearly white and heart fluttering. “Can’t blame a guy for being nervous, no?”

“Nerv-”

Suddenly, the kitchen door bursts open and a flood of drunken students come barrelling in, hollering as their drinks splash to the floor and chaos ensues. You’re just as confused at their unexpected appearance as you are at the comment Jack made, but before you have a chance to ponder further, a warm hand settles against the small of your back followed by the gentle waft of Jack’s aftershave, a mixture sea salt with a hint of lavender and spicy nutmeg. It takes everything in you for your knees not to buckle.

“Let’s head out back.” he whispers, breath fanning over your neck as his fingertips ignite fire against your skin. 

Abruptly, you clear your throat, mindlessly nodding along as you blindly follow him out back, Jack’s larger build serving as a shield of sorts as he seamlessly navigates his way through the hordes of students. He does so with your hand in his and as much as your internal monologue unleashes panicked squeals at the contact, you revel in his touch - calloused hands that hold yours like porcelain, warm hands that match together like the universe and all its stars. 

A cool breeze blankets your skin and your focus shifts from your inner thoughts, taking in the generous and lush green outdoor space with sparse camping chairs circling a bonfire and a large tree further up ahead draped in fairy lights. There’s some people here too, but the atmosphere is a 180 from the mayhem inside, hushed light-hearted conversations exchanged beside the lit bonfire with the faint smell of weed filtering through the crisp air. The dazzling fairy lights blind you into bumping into Jack’s back, apologising with a laugh before he collapses onto the daisy white hammock before you. 

You follow suit with the carefree attitude Jack gives you, but you miscalculate horrendously because you don’t fall into the place beside your crush, but into his lap. Shock runs through your veins like ice as your bewilderment freezes you in place, mouth gaping open as you turn to face Jack in absolute horror. He seems to fare better with the unexpected contact, enlarged azure eyes showing his awe and yet his hands are in all the right places - supporting your waist as your weightless body struggles to hold its own. 

“I’m-“ the hairs on your neck are standing and you’re close to crying, the heat of your mortification burning your body hot like a furnace. “-so sorry. I didn’t-I didn’t even-“

“Relax, you’re good,” the chill of his beer against your skin sends a shiver down your spine, the feeling intensifying by the thousands as Jack’s thumb gives your exposed skin the smallest caress. You’re sure you’re the personification of shock at how every inch of your features displays pure alarm. “Unless this was your plan?”

You’re shoving him before your brain is able to comprehend its commands, your flustered state leaping out of his lap and collapsing back alongside him this time, hands clasped over your eyes as you take the time to maybe calm down. “What frat house even has a hammock anyways?”

“Rachel - Z’s girl - thought it’d be a nice touch for the garden,” you hear Jack mumble, but you’re too busy nursing your ego to fully immerse in conversation. “You’re friends with her, right? You guys came in together.” 

“Keeping an eye out for me, Hughes?” 

Apparently, your ego isn’t as bruised to make such a comment, a smirk finding itself onto the surface of your face as you’ve yet to remove your hand from your vision.

“It’s hard to keep my eyes off you.” 

You freeze in place, the heaviness in your stomach incomparable with the hammering of your heart against your chest as your brain picks apart Jack’s comment at the speed of light. None of the comments Jack has made throughout your entire conversation have gone over your head, the flirty undertones as clear as day. He wasn’t as up front with his compliments when you two first started working together, the furthest compliment he’d given denoting how nice you looked despite rolling out of bed twenty minutes beforehand. His directness makes your eyebrows furrow, or rather his intentions have you looking around as if you could find some answers. Perhaps this is how Jack is at parties - all pleasant with a careful flirtation that gradually pulls you inwards. Or maybe, this simply is the case of him showing his interest in you. The concept is not lost on you, but there is still apprehension that manifests within you, for reasons you are yet to discover.

You’re about to say something, your parted lips issuing a single incoherent syllable that dissolves on your tongue when the faint murmur of country music from a group of guys up ahead takes your notice, Jack’s nose scrunching with delight as he exclaims, “Ah, what a banger.”

Your eyebrow quirks upwards, merriment spreading against your features. “I never pegged you as the country type.” 

“Well, I’m not a Drake guy, I’ll tell you that much.” Jack shifts in his seat, extending his arm out behind your back. 

“So, a belieber then?” you jester, taunting eyebrows raised as you can’t keep your snicker to yourself when you watch Jack roll his eyes with the same grin.

“If that makes you happy, then yeah,” Jack reasons nonchalantly, whereas you make a pathetic attempt at stopping the stammer in your chest. “But no, that’s pretty much all that plays when my brothers and I wakesurf in the summer, unless Z is on the aux. Then, he and Quinn have a go at each other for it.”

Chuckles emit from your lips as you picture the image of a sunny summer day out on a boat, Jack’s older brother, Quinn, and Trevor becoming enemies of silence as they bicker over music choices. A warm fuzziness embraces you, the image placing you right beside Jack as laughter bubbles between the two of you whilst Luke wakesurfs in the background. It’s a honeyed depiction, all rose-tinted and for you to hold close to your heart along with other fantasies you allow yourself to entertain.

“We’re planning on going back to our summer house upstate where we do loads of other stuff,” Jack trails off, his fingers tapping against the glass of his bottle as you two share a look between each other. His eyes flicker downwards almost immediately, the top of his ears crimsoning. “You should stop by sometime. It’d be good to see you over the summer.”

For someone as confident as Jack, these rare glimpses of timidity demonstrate themselves as a pure anomaly. So, you can imagine your surprise at not only his incredibly generous offer but also his sheepish demeanour; gaze never aligning with yours as you feel his fingers fiddle with the material of the hammock behind your back. The sight enamours you, a rush of endearment washing over you as you lean into the feeling, not bothering to hide the wide smile growing across the expanse of your face. 

If this is what awaits you at their summer house, you’re already packed and ready to go.

“I could be persuaded.” Jack’s already rolling his eyes and against his better judgement, he finds himself chuckling with you too. 

When your amusement blends into the night sky, Jack's eyelids fall halfway, gaze steady as he mirrors your prior smirk that’s all but gone with the quiet wind. “And, what would that involve?” 

A moment is shared between the two of you. Burning bright like a star and erupting fireworks in your fingertips as your eyes linger on one another longer than explanatory. The landscape of his dotted moles capture your attention first, your sight leading itself to the galaxy-like twinkle dazzling in the ocean blue of his eyes. It’s so precious, this point in time - so delicate and intimate that it feels like a secret, whispers of infatuation pulling you together by their invisible strings as Jack’s extended arm circles your shoulders. You lean in, the temptation of his lips calling your name. Earlier restlessness ceases to exist as your movements read as second nature, the bruising of your chest accompanying the fuzziness that dances in your stomach as Jack leans into too.

“Yo, Jack!”

The moment is all but gone, burst like a bubble as both your heads turn in the direction of the voice, spying one of Jack’s friends, Cole, standing on the porch with a hand clasped around his mouth.

“Get your ass in here, we’re playing Jenga!”

A string of unpleasantries filter through Jack’s mouth in the form of a murmur, remnants of your interrupted kiss lingering as Jack gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze and gives you the most apologetic look you’ve ever seen. Puppy eyes and pouty lips, an image you lock away in your heart forever. 

“Did you wanna head in?” He gives you the choice, head tilted to the side as he studies your expression whilst you ponder the inquiry.

The almost kiss is something to behold and if this has occurred weeks prior amidst the intensity of your crush, you would have begged and pleaded to stay, hinging on the hopes of whatever this is being fabricated once again to fulfil your fondness dreams. But, this feels different. It feels sold, as opposed to balancing upon shaky possibilities. This is undeniable, a point in time that is infinite and kissed upon by destiny. A junction you can return to time and time again.

“Yeah, I’m sure my friends are looking for me anyways,” you unravel yourself from Jack’s loose grip, hoisting yourself up before you turn to face him with a soft beam. His expression reads unsure, gaze scattered before he looks upwards before your sneakers knock against his impossibly white Air Forces. You nod towards the house, the giddiness building within you exceptional as your hand extends out to meet his. “Let’s head in together?”

It comes out more of a question than a statement, but you could care less when Jack gives you that soft smile that’s only reserved for you, grabbing a hold of your hand after he brings himself off the hammock before you proceed to return back to the party.

The bustling atmosphere appears to have maintained itself in your absence, hundreds of conversations mixing in with the booming sounds of some bass heavy hip hop song. You nod your head to the beat, grinning when you see familiar faces in the crowd as you trail behind Jack yet again, following him in promise of your friends who Cole had mentioned joined their group’s game of Jenga. You make do with getting down the stairs of the basement without tumbling due to their frigid nature, face instantly lighting up as you catch sight of your friends, collapsing into a fit of excited hugs and shared giggles as you all catch up on the events of the party.

Amidst all the dialogue, some of which you’re assuming Jack’s sorority brothers and friends make quick work of getting the bare room ready, arranging beers for everyone as the box of Jenga is brought out. The weight of concentrated eyes seers into your goosebump-riddled skin and by the time you volunteer to assemble the Jenga tower, you’re more than aware of Jack’s attention on you. Even with how overflowing the confidence you possessed was as you left the back garden, the heat of his gaze reduces you to a sheepish mess, antsy hands uncertain of their movements as you attempt to achieve some standard of normalcy, your eyes avoiding his. It’s when your hands accidentally touch that you cannot avoid it much longer, peering through clumpy eyelashes with a flush that feels as vivid as painted glass. 

A lone corner of his lips inclines, his look of allurement tangled with blatant attraction enough to make you knock over some of the Jenga pieces. A deep chorus of disapproving sounds holler at your actions, your sheepishness fended off by the laughter amongst you and Jack as you continue to assemble the tower again, this serving as the last of your communication before the Jenga game commences.

Every Jenga piece taken out of the tower involves a dare that has laughter erupting from the pits of your stomach or mouth gaping open at the gull others possess whilst intoxicated. With the muffled sounds of the music upstairs and endless talk in the room, merriment captures your heart in a gentle squeeze as the dares carry on, the harmless fun quickly becoming one of your favourite memories in recent times.

It’s your turn to go and the frat guys are already teasing you with endearing nicknames, putting a smile on your face as your hands steady to pull out a tricky Jenga piece with ease. Wooden block in hand, your line of vision skims the chicken scratch of a dare with an effortless glee that’s swiftly replaced with plentiful surprise.

“What does it say?!’ exclaims Trevor, the anticipation in his voice evident as he squeals his words.

You’re reducing to your meek self again, not daring to look upwards as you enunciate your words to aid your own comprehension. “Spend seven minutes in heaven with the player across from you.”

You’re unsure whether the universe has some really good jokes up their sleeve or this is just fate to begin with because when you lift your head up, already knowing, Jack’s amused facial expression speaks for itself.  

Hollers and cheers fill the room, enough pandemonium to make you crimson as you stumble to your feet, casting a peek at your best friend with a cross between disbelief and delight. Your best friend, the same one that texted you about Jack’s presence at the party tonight, bawls her hand into a tight fist, bringing it to her chest as a sign of victory with mischief painted all over her. The ridiculousness of this farce eliminates you from ruminating about what awaits you in the closet a mere metres away. The guy most pleased with the situation opens the closet door, a few brooms pushed back into the compact space that is surprisingly clean with no cobwebs or dust in sight.

“All clean and ready for you two lovebirds,” Trevor grins with the keenness of a kid in a candy store, pushing back his long locks of hair as he sends a wink your way. “Don’t get too carried away in there, you’ve only got seven minutes.”

Jack says something in reply to Trevor’s cheeky comment but you’re too preoccupied by your own thoughts, feet carrying you to the fate of your Jenga dare as the door closes and darkness shrouds you. 

It’s silent for a minute, nothing but soft breaths and dulled whispers from outside the closet door. The closet is dangerously compact, your back up against the wall not sparing you from establishing your own personal space, the slightest shift of your shoes inevitably going to knock against Jack’s. Outside in the back garden feels so far away now, slipping through your hands as if sand with the daunting weight of unsaid expectations folding your arms and clearing a stubborn croak in your throat.

As the seconds tick on and no communication is shared, the everlasting laps you round around your mind exhaust you for the last time and you decide to face whatever this is head on, a start being making eye contact with the man that makes it the hardest thing in the world. However, with the tiniest sliver of dimmed light peaking through underneath the closet door, you can see him. Jack, in all his glory - soft and boyish, all charming in nature. The round pool blue of his eyes and the moles that dot his skin like constellations. It’s a rush of emotions, all raw and bare, to overwhelm and comfort you, with the easiness of his smile that directs your way and warms your heart like no other.

“We don’t have to do anything in here, I’d never do anything to make you uncomfortable,” Jack explains, his hand reaching to drag down one side of his face as his eyes cast away. “I hope you know that.”

This - you feel resolute in - establishing some sense of security in this room as you smile up at Jack. “The thought didn’t even cross my mind.” 

There’s a double meaning in your words and you don’t bother to correct yourself, reading in between the lines cementing itself as your favourite pastime. But, Jack knows and so do you. Perhaps you knew all along that every nook and cranny in your heart was specially reserved for Jack and no other could do. Maybe, you spent so much time in your head because this unexplored territory felt like the birth of the universe, so big and beautiful that it had more questions than answers. A forbidden fruit of sorts - a sweet mirage that the more you pulled away, gravity pulled you right back. A place where you belonged - with him in this moment forever sealed between the two of you.

Jack offers a smile in the wake of your thoughts, timid yet teasing in nature and you can’t resist, in the almost dark of the closet, grin too because this was sealed from the very beginning. Alone with infamous fratboy Jack Hughes, under some sort of awkward pretence bringing you together because you let your fears get the best of you, a stark contrast to what they are now - engulfed in thoughts, feelings of your lips against his and how this charade will come to a close, the building tension boiling till it overflows

“Hey-” you both say at the same time, silencing as you chuckle at the unison you unite in.

“Ladies first.”

“I’m more interested in what you have to say.” 

Because there’s no doubt in your mind he’ll steal the words right out of your mouth, the mere thought of those words escaping his lips the centre of all your desires.

He pauses, eyes searching yours for confirmation which presents itself in the toothy grin he struggles not to reflect, canine sinking into the corner of his lips before he responds, “If you insist.”

Jack doesn’t miss a beat as he reaches for your hand, absently tracing patterns into the skin with a thoughtful hum that proceeds his words. 

“I think I’ve been a lot more straightforward with how I feel about you, but I’d like to chance to tell you right here that I’m interested in you, in being with you. To the point that the boys get sick of me yapping about it,” you chuckle at his comment, the humour of the joke distracting you from the flood of emotions that submerges you indefinitely. “I felt this way from the time we got assigned to work together. And, if maybe you had any reservations about us, I’d do whatever it takes so that they don’t exist because you’re what matters most and that will never change.”

No feeling can compare to this. It’s almost as if you’re experiencing the full spectrum of emotions for the first time, rejoicing in the sunshine Jack basks upon you in the wake of his confession. A mirage turned reality, the colours are bright and blinding and you’re so elated within yourself that you physically cannot do more than bring Jack’s hand to your cheek to kiss his palm. A confirmation that needs no words. 

The warmth of his hand against your cheek melts you into his skin, eyelids falling shut as you revel in the tender caresses of his thumb, of his love and the unspoken words between you. A graze against your throat has your eyes fluttering open, lips parted as Jack secures his hand gently against the nape of your neck. A soft inhale escapes you as his thumb traces the corner of your mouth, dilated pupils flickering between your own and your lips.

“Can I-”

“Yes, please.” 

A star is born at the centre of your lips as they fold over one another, blending seamlessly together as you move together in synchronised harmony. You taste the remnants of beer, inhale his musky cologne and send yourself flying into another universe as Jack holds you close for impact. All your brain knows to do is convey your sentiment tenfold, kissing him as if touch starved as your fingers thread through the curls of his hair. You commit this to memory - the slowness of the kiss, the scent of his apple shampoo and his curls around your fingers, the feathery feeling of your fluttering heart and the tenderness of your hearts beating as one. So sickeningly besotted with another that everything pales in comparison.

Reluctantly, you pull away from his soft lips when the shared oxygen between you two vanishes, eyes slow to open but ultimately capturing the part of Jack’s rouge lips that quiver in your wake, his gaze meeting yours moments later. 

You kiss him again for good measure.

“Alright, horny bastards. Time’s up!” Cole’s voice thunders from beyond the door.

Lips still pressed against Jack’s, you both smile into one last kiss, just as sweet as the last. Jack savours it for what it’s worth, forehead pressed against yours as you two stand together, bruised chests aching with all the yearning that can fit into your palms.

EPISODE ONE ❝ WELCOME BACK, LOSERS ! ❞ 1.2k

summary. you return to camp evergreen for another summer of sun, laughter and familiar faces. your friends fall back into old rhythms and everything feels perfect, almost too perfect.

EPISODE TWO ❝ SPLISH SPLASH ❞ 2k

summary. sparks flying into the night sky and teasing banter ended the evening, but before it’s over, you let jack take you somewhere. little do you know, the choice to follow him would be the start of something tragic

EPISODE THREE ❝ ATTENTION ALL CAMPERS ❞ 2.8k

summary. waking up before the sun, you're haunted by last night and a photo you were never meant to see. after a tragic accident not too long later, the counselors are forced into silence—some by fear, others by something worse. camp carries on, its songs and games a cruel cover for everything unraveling beneath the surface. and as the lies stack higher, you can’t shake the feeling that someone is always watching.

coming soon...

EPISODE FOUR ❝ FORBIDDEN ❞

coming soon...

EPISODE FIVE ❝ FUCK YOU, PERVERT ! ❞

coming soon...

EPISODE SIX ❝ KICK ROCKS ❞

coming soon...

EPISODE SEVEN ❝ WHODUNNIT ❞

coming soon...

EPISODE EIGHT ❝ WHERE'S YOUR HEAD AT ? ❞

coming soon...

EPISODE NINE ❝ SHUT UP, JACK ! ❞

coming soon...

EPISODE TEN ❝ LIGHTS OUT ❞

coming soon...

EPISODE ELEVEN ❝ ONE MORE NIGHT ❞

coming soon...

EPILOGUE

EPISODE ONE ❝ WELCOME BACK, LOSERS ! ❞ 1.2k

summary. you return to camp evergreen for another summer of sun, laughter and familiar faces. your friends fall back into old rhythms and everything feels perfect, almost too perfect.

EPISODE TWO ❝ SPLISH SPLASH ❞ 2k

summary. sparks flying into the night sky and teasing banter ended the evening, but before it’s over, you let jack take you somewhere. little do you know, the choice to follow him would be the start of something tragic

EPISODE THREE ❝ ATTENTION ALL CAMPERS ❞ 2.8k

summary. waking up before the sun, you're haunted by last night and a photo you were never meant to see. after a tragic accident not too long later, the counselors are forced into silence—some by fear, others by something worse. camp carries on, its songs and games a cruel cover for everything unraveling beneath the surface. and as the lies stack higher, you can’t shake the feeling that someone is always watching.

coming soon...

EPISODE FOUR ❝ FORBIDDEN ❞

coming soon...

EPISODE FIVE ❝ FUCK YOU, PERVERT ! ❞

coming soon...

EPISODE SIX ❝ KICK ROCKS ❞

coming soon...

EPISODE SEVEN ❝ WHODUNNIT ❞

coming soon...

EPISODE EIGHT ❝ WHERE'S YOUR HEAD AT ? ❞

coming soon...

EPISODE NINE ❝ SHUT UP, JACK ! ❞

coming soon...

EPISODE TEN ❝ LIGHTS OUT ❞

coming soon...

EPISODE ELEVEN ❝ ONE MORE NIGHT ❞

coming soon...

EPILOGUE

i didn’t want drama. i just wanted it to stop, so i reached out to her privately. she acknowledged it, and i felt relieved, thinking it was over. here’s that conversation and a screenshot from a previous interaction we had.

later, it came to light that she had also taken from many other blogs, word for word, and even from a lot of erotica websites, which eventually led her to deactivate her blog. she recently came back under the name @/angelichughes, and the first thing i did was block her, just to protect my work. i was fine with her returning to tumblr, as long as i could be left alone.

however, i‘ve now found out that she’s still taking from my blog, and i just can’t describe how upsetting that is. here are the screenshots of her first drabble, next to screenshots of my work. it’s not word for word this time, but it’s strikingly similar and she uses the exact same pictures i used. if this didn’t convince you, then look at the asks. it’s copied exactly from the ask i got. i had already suspected this in the past, but it seems like she sees content on other blogs she wants to take, and then sends the ask they got, to herself.