#devils x reader

“please, baby,” he pouts up at you from between your legs, “just for a little while.” his big puppy eyes stare at you as he shifts a hand to rest on the button of your jeans. luke knows better than to jump straight in, so he just sits and plays with it for a while, twiddling it between his finger and thumb as he begs.

“lukey,” you hum, “i’m tired…”

“you don’t have to do anything,” he says as he hits his bottom lip out. “just sit there and look pretty for me… like always.”

you roll your eyes into the back of your head, letting out a small huff of laughter. it’s that which assures him that you’re close to saying yes. that all this posturing is nothing more than you delaying the inevitable. with a grin, he pops your button.

“luke…” it’s supposed to sound like a warning, but there’s no heat behind it. ultimately, it does very little to stop him unzipping your fly and exposing the very top of your underwear.

there’s a shit eating grin on his face as he trails a finger back and forth over the lace. his movements are gentle, but the look in his eye is anything but. long gone is the pleading glint, replaced by something more predatory. he has you where he wants you, now, on the verge of saying yes to his selfish whims.

“i’ll be quick,” luke promises, although you know it’s a lie, “just one taste and then i’ll let you rest. we can go up to bed; i’ll run you a bath. anything, baby! i’ll do anything you want. just give me one little taste.”

and maybe it’s pity that makes you give in; the pure desperation that drips from every single word. somehow he manages to convince you that he needs this more than you need your peace and quiet right now, and so you nod and luke moves like a man possessed.

his hands are on your hips, lifting them just enough to slip both your jeans and your panties over your hips. he pulls them all the way down your legs before abandoning them at your ankles and diving straight in.

luke’s hands feel huge in your thighs as he spreads them, licking his lips at the treasure pot before him. you’re awfully wet for someone who did such a good job at playing hard to get, but luke doesn’t hold it against you. you’ve been good enough to let him get what he wants; the little games you like to play mean nothing to him now.

“fucking look at you,” he purrs, blowing softly at your clit just so he can watch you twitch. your thighs tense beneath his hands and he grins, lips parting to give you a glimpse of his teeth. he never looks happier than when he’s here, sitting between your thighs with your wet pussy staring him down. maybe it’s insane, but you’d let him eat you whenever he wanted if it meant you could see him smile like that. “you’re beautiful…”

you let out a scoff as he leans in, nuzzling his nose up the crease of your thigh.

“are you saying that to me, or my puss— oh my god!” your words are cut off with a gasp as he connects his lips to your clit, sucking harshly at the little bundle of nerves. he knows what to do with his mouth, you’ll give him that; at least his addiction is beneficial to the both of you.

“you, dingus,” he grumbles against your centre. the vibrations make a shiver run up your spine and you let out a soft whine. the fact that he calls you dingus flies straight over your head, getting lost somewhere deep in the pleasure. “prettiest thing i’ve ever seen, aren’t you?”

luke’s eyes shut as he delves further in. his tongue flattens against your clenching core, lapping up the juices that have pooled at your enterance. a groan falls from his lips as if you’re the best think he’s ever tasted in his life. he’d probably agree with that sentiment, and given the groan that falls from his lips, you think you’d be an idiot to deny it.

your hands fly to his hair as he swipes his tongue between your folds, fingers laces through his curls, nails scraping at his scalp. you’ve pinned him to your core — as if he’d ever move before he was ready — chasing your pleasure like nothing else matters. it’s close, you can feel it in the way your stomach ties itself in knots, and as luke laps at you, you it only gets closer and closer.

“lukey,” you whine as he flicks at your clit with his tongue, “please, baby. please, i’m close.”

he hums in acknowledgement, but makes no move to change his pace. his tongue still works against you, alternating between licking and sucking at your sensitive bud before shifting down to drink up your juices. when he angles his face right, his nose sits just right between your folds, sliding back and forth in a way that has you gasping. it’s easy to lose yourself in the pleasure, and soon enough, it hits you like a bus.

your jaw hangs open as your legs spasm around his head, but still he doesn’t let up. his hands grip your thighs tighter as his mouth works you through it, carrying on even as your hips begin to buck in overstimulation. it isn’t until every breath slips through your lips as a ragged gasp that he pulls away, shaking his head free of your grip and looking up at you with lidded eyes. his tongue swipes over his slick lips with an exaggerated moan, and he sighs.

It’s not like he can really blame them, either. The hockey industry is precious, even for people who aren’t playing. If these girls want in, an internship is a great way to start. Any entry post’s a good one if it gets you where you want. Only, social media’s a pain. Jack came here to play hockey, not be in a dozen new photos and videos a day. It drives him crazy sometimes, or all the time.

So, when his brother tells him they’re getting another intern, he really couldn’t care less. Luke, more prone to fits of passion over the latest girl in Devils red, is still staring at him wide eyed, waiting for a reaction, so Jack rolls his eyes and gives him one.

“Good,” he says dully. “It’s been too long since I saw a phone camera shoved in my face. Can’t wait.”

Luke groans. “Come on, man. They’re fun, don’t give me that bullshit again. Besides, I saw you trying to buy the last one drinks.”

Jack can’t argue with this. He had been trying. It was something to do. “Won’t do it this time. I’ll leave that for you.”

Luke heaves another dramatic sigh. Jack wants to do something to stop the oppressive judgment, so he does, snatching the hat off Luke’s head and shoving it towards his mouth. Luke, predictably, nearly falls out of his chair and starts squawking indignantly. Jack just chuckles and gets up from his seat, heading towards the door. They’ve been idling in one of the cafes in the massive arena where they practice, called there early for business stuff that ended up getting delayed. Meetings always run late, and now Jack has the rare feeling of tardiness not actually being his fault.

He heads down the hall towards the locker rooms, ready at last for practice. Luke follows a few paces behind him, still complaining, something about saving violence for the ice. Bullshit, obviously. Jack does what he wants, where he wants. Hasn’t Luke figured that out by now?

Jack steals a glance over his shoulder just to rub in the injury. Luke meets his gaze and glowers, still pissy from almost taking a nose dive off his chair, but all of a sudden his eyes widen at something in front of them. Jack whips around just in time to collide with someone exiting one of the offices.

It’s not an accidental almost-impact, either, this is a complete disaster. Papers go flying. Jack manages to keep his balance, but the victim of his distraction is worse off. He has to fling out both hands to steady them, catching at their arms at the elbow before they fall over. A dozen apologies rise to his lips, but Jack only gets through about half of them before he actually looks at the person he’s just bumped into– and look, indeed, he does.

Jack has just run into a girl his age, and a very pretty girl at that. He gets lost in her eyes without even meaning to, captivated by the way the light shines in them as she opens her mouth and says, “What the hell are you doing?”

Jack blinks in surprise, feeling like he’s just been abruptly pulled out of a dream. “Huh?”

The girl stares at him like he’s crazy. “Why are you holding onto me?”

Too late, Jack realizes he never actually let go of her when he was trying to steady her. He snatches his hands away, the sinking feeling settling in that he actually has no idea how long he was standing there, captivated. No wonder this girl thinks he’s insane. This random guy comes up, runs into her, then silently holds her in his arms for what’s probably more than just a second or two? Yeah, that’s crazy in anyone’s books.

“Sorry,” Jack says again. They look at each other warily for a moment longer, then collectively, both gazes drop to the papers spilled across the ground.

Immediately, Jack dives for them, trying to gather as many as he can. He springs up again, and, not trusting himself to say anything that isn’t stupid, just awkwardly holds out the papers until she takes them. The girl gives him one last disbelieving glance, then walks purposefully past him. Jack turns and watches her go, wondering why he feels vaguely disappointed that she hadn’t stopped to talk longer. He didn’t even get her name.

Raucous laughter breaks out the second the girl disappears around a corner. Belatedly, Jack remembers that Luke has witnessed the whole thing, which is just great. The last thing Luke needs is more ammunition for making fun of him.

“That was, like, the least smooth thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” Luke chokes out. “What the fuck was that?”

Heat flares into Jack’s cheeks. “Shut up,” he says, turning back to continue walking down the hallway.

Luke, however, is unwilling to let go of the horrific blunder. He trots up to walk by Jack’s side, regardless of how much Jack tries to pick up the pace. “I mean, Jesus. Way to make an entrance. Poor girl’s probably going to log that with HR.”

“Shut up,” Jack repeats through gritted teeth. “I’ve seen you do worse in front of fans.”

“We’re not talking about me right now, we’re talking about you,” Luke says happily. “I’m so telling Quinn about this.”

“You are not,” Jack warns, but even after many threats of serious violence, he’s not entirely convinced that his older brother won’t hear about this.

Jack almost manages to put the whole thing out of his mind until he and the others are hanging out in the locker room later that day. They’re all dressed, but their coach wanted a few words before they hit the ice, apparently something bureaucratic that Jack can’t wait to forget.

Instead of being introduced to a new friend of the owner or some wealthy donor, however, Coach announces that they’ll be meeting their new social media intern. Online presence is crucial for sponsors, apparently, and the Devils need to up their game. So they say. Jack thinks it’s a lot of nonsense, and is fully prepared to treat it as such until their coach beckons the new intern into the room and Jack realizes he knows her. This isn’t a stranger, someone he can ignore without another thought. This is the pretty girl Jack just ran into earlier today, and she’s the one in charge of most of his Internet footprint.

Great.

Across the room, Luke is grinning ear to ear. This is so not what Jack wanted. The coach is saying something about how they’ll all be pulled one by one today for introductions and a few quick videos that can be parceled out during the next week or so. Usually, they would ask Nico first, captain rights and all that, but they need him to advise on some drills, so they go for the next best– Jack himself.

They’ll be filming TikToks or whatever a few halls over so as to not distract anyone, so Jack makes his way over with no small amount of trepidation. She hadn’t seemed so excited to meet him earlier, but maybe she’ll have forgotten who he was. It was a fast exchange. Maybe this means nothing at all, and they will have a great meeting, and he could even get her number or something. Yeah, not a problem.

The girl is setting up a phone on a stand when Jack shows up. She glances once at him as he approaches, then nods. “Oh, we’re starting with Mr. Observant. Cool.”

Jack feels his face turn a bright scarlet. “I’m not– I’m sorry about that. Honestly. I just didn’t see you.”

“That’s fine,” the girl says with a listless wave of her hand. “It was funny. I just thought hockey players would have more reflexes or something, I don’t know. Anyway, what’s your name, again?”

This is a simple question. It really is. Yet for some reason, Jack finds himself bothered. He’s been with the team for a while now, had that A on his uniform for a while now, and maybe he shouldn’t, but he’s gotten comfortable with his reputation. People know who he is. He’s recognized on the street, asked for photos while he’s getting coffee, all of that. And now this girl– this intern– is pretending like she doesn’t know who he is, and insulting his reflexes to boot?

“Jack,” Jack replies tersely. “Are you going to tell me your name, or should I just guess?”

“Y/N,” the girl answers him. “What do you do on the ice except run into people?”

“I play hockey,” Jack deadpans. “What else do you want me to say?”

Y/N just smiles at him, the picture of innocence. “Your position? This is supposed to be an introduction, isn’t it? I have to make sure I have a good picture of the team.”

Fine. Fine. Jack can be civil. He’s going to play along and then he’s going to leave and make somebody else deal with her.

“Yeah, position. I'm an alternate captain, a center. Left wing. That matters.” He feels like he’s rambling. This is stupid. He’s stupid. He never does this.

“Sure it does,” Y/N says, one eyebrow raised. “Do you have to tell everyone you’re cool or just the interns?”

“Huh?” Jack asks. “I’m not– I’m just talking.”

Y/N nods. “I’m sure you do. Talking and hockey, that’s impressive. I can see why the Devils wanted you.”

“Your team spirit needs some work,” Jack notes. “Why’d they hire you, your winning personality?”

“That, and I’m wonderful at making infographics,” Y/N informs him breezily.

“I bet they’re terrible,” Jack says on instinct. “Clashing colors and all that. Can you even draw a straight line?”

Y/N cocks her head to the side. “I don’t know, can you shoot on goal without getting injured?”

Jack takes a step forward on instinct before he remembers that he cannot fight social media interns and backs down. Still, the anger simmers in his head so bad he’s not sure if the red all around him is for the Devils or just the film of rage clouding his eyes.

This isn’t good for him. His team needs him out there on the ice with a level head, even in practice. Jack forces a smile and says, “I guess you’ll see at our next game, won’t you?”

Y/N meets his gaze with a mirror smirk, which bothers Jack more than if she’d tried to one-up him again. He grabs his stick with more force than necessary, making himself step past her and onto the ice before he does something he’ll regret. Once he’s out there, skating broad loops to warm up, Jack can almost put the whole exchange out of his head.

Almost. 

Luke finds him after practice, because of course he does. Somedays, Luke swears that little brothers must be born with an innate knowledge of how to stick their heads into other people’s business. Fleetingly, he wonders what Quinn would think about that, then moves on before that lesson can settle in.

“I love our new intern,” Luke says happily on the drive back to their apartment.

Jack scoffs. “Sure you do. You love rubbing this in my face.”

Luke glances at him, surprised. “No, honestly. I think she’s great. Super funny, too.”

Jack turns to stare at him with disbelief so abruptly he almost swerves the car into a telephone pole. Veering to correct course, Jack spits out, “Y/N? You think Y/N is great?”

Once Luke stops pretending like they’ve almost died– which they didn’t, by the way, Jack had everything under control– he calms down enough to say, “Yeah, I do. She was super nice to me. I need to ask if she’s local so we can hang after the internship ends.”

Jack feels as if he’s been dropped into an alternate reality. “You’re serious. You really do like Y/N?”

Now Luke’s looking at him like he’s the crazy one. “Like I said, yeah. Why, what happened when you talked to her? Was she still mad about earlier?”

“You could say that,” Jack grits out, knuckles white around the steering wheel.

Luke chuckles. “That’s kind of funny, actually.”

“It is not,” Jack mutters, but Luke remains in high spirits the whole drive back anyway.

To the great amusement of his younger brother, Jack and Y/N continue to be at odds the next time the Devils have to film social media videos, and the next time, and the next. Even when they start off a meeting on relatively stable ground, something will happen to have them sniping again, and they’ll be at each other’s throats by the time they leave the building in the evening.

What makes it worse is that Jack is apparently the only one suffering from Y/N’s cold shoulder. Everyone from the captain to the rookies seems to have gotten along just fine with their newest social media intern, yet Jack feels like he walks around with a target on his back every time she’s in office. They’ve started to ignore each other instead of purposely tossing insults, but that’s as close as he’ll ever get to a truce.

Jack has started counting down the days until she leaves. He would love some peace and quiet. Maybe the next intern will be normal, or they’ll all be poisoned forever just because Y/N L/N showed up and changed Jack’s life for good.

God, he feels like she’s crept into every part of his world. He’ll be scrolling on his phone and the videos she filmed will appear on his For You page out of nowhere. Jack swears he can sense her in every quick cut, every box of text, every song selection. Walking through the arena, he sees her everywhere– ducking into a meeting room, discussing potential videos with some of the PR agents, tucked into the bleachers so she can watch them practice and snap some shots. Jack is starting to seriously wonder if there has ever been a time when she hasn’t been wound around him like a loose thread come undone from his favorite coat.

Even now, he can see her. Jack has finally left a late-night practice, breath fogging up in the cold evening air. He’s glad for the warmth of his car when he slides in. Luke went back with some friends, but Jack had wanted to hang around a while longer to practice some skills before the next game.

Y/N must have been working late too, because he can see her now, walking out of the parking lot and towards the sidewalk leading into town. Jack assumes she’s waiting for someone to pick her up, but Y/N’s steps don’t show any indication of slowing down. Is she actually walking on a night like this? Jack is cold just thinking about the weather outside. Y/N has a coat on, but it won’t be enough to discourage the bite of the wind.

Before he can even think about what he’s doing, he’s pulled his car alongside her. Y/N looks panicked when he comes to a stop, but relaxes somewhat when Jack rolls down the window and calls out to her. “Are you waiting for someone?”

Y/N shakes her head. “No, I’m walking back. Have a nice night.”

She turns back to the sidewalk, evidently expecting him to keep driving. Jack also expects himself to keep driving, but he doesn’t. “It’s awfully cold to be walking. How far is your apartment?”

“Not far,” Y/N says. “Twenty minutes, maybe?”

That settles it. “You’re not walking twenty minutes in the freezing cold,” Jack decides. “Besides, I thought you were dropped off. Isn’t someone coming to pick you up?”

Y/N pauses oddly, and it occurs to Jack that he probably shouldn’t be noticing how she gets to and from work each day. Still, when she speaks again, he’s pretty sure the annoyance in her voice isn’t directed at him, for once. “I was dropped off, but my friend canceled on me. Hence the walk.”

Jack’s mood immediately sours. That’s a shitty move for sure, and even if he doesn’t always see eye to eye with Y/N, he’d never leave her out here, shivering even after a few minutes of walking. And he won’t tonight, either.

“I can drive you, if you like,” Jack offers abruptly. He’s not sure why he does it. He never has before. They’ve never been in a position like this before, and maybe they won’t either. Still, he doesn’t take it back.

Y/N, apparently heedless of the gravity of this offer, just smiles and shakes her head. “That’s alright, I’ll just call an Uber. Thanks, though.’

Jack blinks and stares at her. It had taken such a rush to get the words out that it honestly didn’t occur to him that she would just say no. “Is this because you’re mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you, Jack,” Y/N laughs. “I’m walking. You should get going soon, you’re going to disrupt traffic.”

“Fuck traffic, you’re cold,” Jack says disbelievingly. “Get in the car, Y/N. Please?”

She looks like she’s going to argue, but a particularly frigid gust of wind rips through that thin jacket and a moment later, Y/N is settling into his passenger seat. She turns to look at him, and Jack looks back at her, just a few spans apart. They’re close enough that he can see the flutter of her eyelashes as she blinks. Close enough that he could reach out and touch the slow bloom of cold on her cheek if he just tried.

“So?” Jack manages to pull himself together long enough to ask, “What’s your address?”

Y/N blinks, evidently startled out of some reverie, then pulls it up on her phone. Jack follows the directions, fingers drumming absentmindedly on the steering wheel. The car is quiet, and it weighs on him like a burden until he finally blurts out, “Why do you hate me, though?”

Y/N looks baffled. “I don’t hate you.”

Jack snorts. “Of course you do. You get along with every single member of this team but me, it’s a little hard not to take that personally. Come on, just tell me. Is it because I ran into you that first day?”

Y/N laughs again. It’s one of the few times it’s with him, not at him, and Jack lets the sound wash over him like sunlight. It’s a good sound. He wouldn’t mind hearing it again, maybe.

“That was funny. No, it wasn’t that. It’s just–” Her voice drops off, suddenly serious. “Do you remember Emma? She was your social media intern last summer. She’s the one who suggested I take this program, actually.”

Vague memories appear in Jack’s head. “Kind of? We’ve had a lot of interns.”

“Yeah, well, she’s one of my best friends, and the most important piece of advice she gave me before I started was to stay the hell away from you.”

Jack almost misses his turn. “What? Why?”

He risks a glance away from the road and towards her, but Y/N is keeping her head perfectly straight, not allowing herself to look at him in the slightest. “Something about you breaking her heart. She seems to remember you flirting a lot, buying her drinks, then dumping her for someone more interesting the second the internship ended.”

Jack winces. “That does sound familiar, actually. Sorry. I didn’t mean to–”

Y/N interrupts him with a wave of her hand. “Yeah, no, I get it. I love Emma, I really do, but she’s got a habit of moving quickly. Still, she was really hurt for a while. I figured anyone who could do that to my friend and not even remember was someone who didn’t need me to be nice to them.”

Guilt starts to pool in Jack’s stomach, icing him down to the core. “Still. I was a dick.”

“You still are, on occasion,” Y/N says, smiling slightly, “But I’ve been bad too, I think. I wanted to get revenge for my friend, but I’ve been more mean than needed. I’m sorry too.”

Jack comes to a slow stop in front of one of the notoriously long red lights of their shared city. As the scarlet of the traffic light washes over them, Jack takes advantage of the stopped traffic to hold out a hand to her. “How about a truce, then? If we’re both sorry?”

Y/N considers his outstretched hand, then nods at last and shakes it. “I’m good with that. Let’s start over.”

“Let’s start over,” Jack repeats. 

Her hand is still a little cold in his, even after the few minutes they’ve spent talking. It occurs to Jack that he could probably sit here for a while longer, warm her hands up with his, and then Y/N nudges him in the side and Jack realizes the light has turned green. He drops her hand hastily, turning back to the road in the hopes that she won’t notice the slow flush of heat to his cheeks.

The rest of the drive back is uneventful. Jack offers to walk Y/N to the door of her apartment complex, which Y/N jokingly calls creepy then smiles for real when he insists. They part with a promise to try harder next time, and Jack doesn’t think his feet have ever felt so light on the walk back from practice. He goes to bed that night like a little kid, practically giddy at the thought of the day ahead.

Looking back on it, Jack isn’t sure what he expected to happen with them after that. A celebration, maybe some fanfares? Or just a normal conversation in which she expressed how glad she was to see him and Jack could do the same? He doesn’t get any of that. In fact, they hardly see each other for most of the next few days. This isn’t too unexpected; although they love to complain, the players and media don’t see each other that often unless someone’s sworn on live TV or otherwise messed up their online presence.

Still, by the time Jack’s path finally crosses with Y/N’s, he’s really hoping for something special. He’s sort of crazy the whole time they’re filming videos, all raised eyebrows and hopeful glances, but instead of seizing the opportunity to make fun of him, Y/N just giggles a little and goes on with her life. It’s not bad, all things considered, but Jack– Jack wants more.

When hasn’t he, after all, wanted more? He wants to be better at skating. He wants to score more goals. He wants to stop getting brushed off by the commentators. He wants, more than anything, for some reason, for the pretty girl interning for their media department to do more than just look at him with a faint smile every now and then.

The sheer wanting starts to consume him. Jack goes out of his way to be exceptionally funny, astoundingly clever, practically fantastic in every way, yet nothing seems to wow Y/N. They’re just talking, which is certainly more than he had a few weeks ago, but Jack doesn’t want to just be talking to her, he wants to be back in his car again, with her leaning over and laughing at his jokes, her cold hands in his, telling him that maybe she’d misjudged him after all. Jack doesn’t just want more, he wants her, and that is making him insane.

Worse still is the fact that he doesn’t have her. Jack has spent his whole life, it feels like, hating the ‘pretty boy hockey player’ persona. He’s certain it’s cost him deals or trades or something over the years with the way people refuse to take him seriously. Yet now, Jack isn’t cursing its existence, but rather wondering why the hell it hasn’t worked. He’s still the same guy, same face. That stubborn acne patch on his chin has been clear for weeks now. He got a haircut, and people said it was good this time. Everything should be in his favor, looks-wise. So why doesn’t it seem to have a single effect?

It’s baffling, honestly. Jack cannot stand it. Worse still, the internship period is starting to slip away, and soon enough Y/N will be gone for good, leaving Jack to reel in her absence and wonder why he couldn’t make her like him enough to stay.

His mood sours whenever he thinks about it, which is often. Like now, even, in between Jack’s hours on the ice. They’re swapping out players in shifts, and Jack won’t be on for another five minutes or so. He’s sitting on one of the metal bleachers, hoping that watching the others will help keep his mind off things, but it’s not working too well.

Someone sits down right next to him, and Jack is about to start asking why they couldn’t pick anywhere fucking else to sit when he realizes it’s Y/N.

“Oh,” he says, trying desperately to sound cool and not bone-tired from practice, “Hey. D’you need another TikTok or something?”

“No TikToks,” Y/N says, smiling. “We can do a bonus one if you want, though, I know how much you love them.”

Jack chuckles. “They’ve been growing on me.” No reason why.

Y/N grins like she knows exactly what he’s thinking. “High praise. I hope you carry that spirit to the next social media intern, too.”

Jack sighs plaintively. “Do you really have to go? You fit in well, you know. You might as well stay a little longer.”

“That so?” Y/N asks, one eyebrow raised.

Jack looks away. “I don’t know. I heard some of the guys saying–”

Y/N cuts him off, lips twitching up into a smile. “I don’t care about the guys, Jack. What do you think?”

“I think you should stay,” Jack mumbles. He still can’t look her in the eyes. “With me.”

As soon as he says it, he knows it’s true. It doesn’t have to be through the Devils or not. He just wants Y/N with him for a while longer, to tease him when he’s being stupid and cheer for him during the games. He wants to hear her laugh longer than just the next few days. He wants to get coffee and buy flowers and match outfits and do a hundred things that would be special because he’d be doing them with her. That, more than anything, is what he wants.

A soft pressure on his hand; Jack looks up to realize Y/N has put her fingers over his, and squeezes slightly. He squeezes back by instinct.

“I want that too, Jack,” she tells him.

The smallest spark of luck is creeping back into his veins. “I thought you didn’t go for hotshot hockey players,” he says. “Especially not ones that flirted with the interns.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, but she’s laughing slightly, so they’re okay. “I wasn’t supposed to do that. The idea was that I would try to avoid it.”

Jack grins. “How’s that working out for you?”

“Surprisingly badly,” Y/N confesses. “I’m not too mad about it, though. Something tells me we’re going to make this work out.”

“It will,” Jack promises. He’s going to make sure of it. Looking at Y/N, the light in her eyes when she smiles, Jack knows that he’s going to do everything in his power to keep her. He rubs his thumb over her hand, still in his, and cannot help but think about how lucky he is.

Y/N looks like she’s going to start blushing. “Let’s talk about this when all of your teammates aren’t watching,” she says suddenly.

Jack glances up and realizes that he’s on the receiving end of quite a few curious looks from the Devils still on the ice. Luke, especially, looks like he has several questions he wants to ask. Jack groans, mentally preparing himself for the absolute nuisance his little brother will become on the drive home.

Still, it doesn’t faze him for long. “How about we talk about it this Saturday?” Jack asks. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Y/N is breathtaking when she smiles at him. Jack might have to keep looking forever, just so he remembers. “I think that sounds alright to me.”

Jack opens his mouth to say something stupid like how he can’t wait, but the coach blows a whistle to usher him and some of the others back onto the ice, and Jack is saved from himself. “I’ll see you then,” he repeats somewhat needlessly.

Y/N nods, and Jack turns to leave. He’s still got most of his senses intact, despite evidence to the contrary, and Jack does know better than to kiss Y/N in front of his whole team and coach in the middle of practice, but– well, there’s a difference between what Jack knows and what Jack does, and today, he kisses her anyway. It’s good. Really good. Good enough to deal with the teasing when he finally makes it down to the ice. Good enough to keep him hooked until their date, and the next, and the next. Good enough for forever.

hockey tag list: @locke-writes

Apparently, you weren’t convincing, because a few hours later, someone was knocking on your apartment door.

You didn’t hear it at first.

You were half-asleep on the couch, still in yesterday’s clothes, your phone dead on the floor and a barely touched glass of water sweating on the coffee table. Your limbs felt heavy, your mouth dry. Your body was past tired — it had crossed into something else. Something quieter and more dangerous.

The knocking came again. Harder this time.

“Hey,” Jack’s voice called from the other side. “Open up.”

A pause. Then:

“Quinn sent me. Said you weren’t answering.”

You tried to lift your head, but even that made the world spin. Dull nausea curled in your stomach.

Jack knocked again, more insistent now. You heard the door creak open — you must’ve left it unlocked. Footsteps. Then:

“Yo—” His voice cut off sharply as he saw you.

You blinked up at him, disoriented and foggy. He looked huge in your tiny entryway, the afternoon light behind him casting sharp angles across his face.

“What the hell,” he muttered, crossing to you in a few long strides. “You okay?”

“Just tired,” you mumbled, but the words felt slurred, distant. “Just need a minute.”

He crouched in front of you, concern overtaking the usual sharpness in his expression. “Have you eaten?”

You shook your head slowly. “Forgot.”

“And water?”

You gestured weakly toward the glass on the table, barely touched.

“Jesus,” he breathed, standing up. “Alright, that’s it. You’re not going on the boat. You’re not doing anything. I’m taking you back with me.”

You tried to protest — something about needing your bag, or needing a second to change — but he wasn’t listening. Or maybe he was and just didn’t care.

He helped you sit up, carefully looping an arm around your waist when you swayed. His touch was steady but gentle, like he was handling something breakable. You hated that — how vulnerable you felt. How seen.

Still, you didn’t fight him.

Once Jack realized helping you to the car would take too long, he lifted you up bridal style and placed you gently in the passenger seat. The silence on the drive back wasn’t uncomfortable, just weighted — thick with everything unspoken between you. Jack kept glancing over, jaw tight, fingers drumming against the wheel.

You could feel how angry he was, but not at you. At the situation. At the fact that he’d been the one to find you like that.

At the fact that no one else had.

Back at the lakehouse, he helped you up the stairs and into the guest room, ignoring the questions from Luke and Quinn with a short, “She’s fine. She just needs rest.”

You heard Quinn murmur something about checking in, but Jack shut the door behind you both before anyone else could enter.

You sat on the edge of the bed, dizzy, heart pounding in your ears.

Jack didn’t speak right away. He grabbed a bottle of water from your nightstand and some snacks Luke had handed him on the way up. You took them without meeting his eyes.

“I’m not helpless,” you said finally, voice hoarse.

“I know you’re not,” he said. “But you scared the hell out of me.”

You looked up.

His expression was open, vulnerable in a way that caught you off guard. No sarcasm. No teasing. Just raw honesty.

“I thought something was really wrong,” he added. “You weren’t answering. You didn’t look—” He broke off, running a hand through his hair. “You looked like you were about to just… disappear.”

That landed harder than you expected. Because part of you had felt that, too.

“I didn’t mean to ignore anyone,” you whispered.

“I know.”

Silence stretched between you — not tense, but heavy with meaning.

And then something shifted.

He stepped closer. You didn’t move away.

His hand reached out, fingers brushing your cheek, like he was testing the line between restraint and something else entirely.

“I don’t know what we’re doing,” he said softly. “But I don’t want to pretend it’s nothing.”

You nodded once, heart in your throat.

He leaned in, slower this time — nothing like the rushed heat of the bathroom.

This kiss was softer, deeper. Like he meant it.

You kissed him back, your hands curling into his shirt, grounding yourself in something real.

When you finally pulled apart, foreheads pressed together, the room felt quieter. Steadier.

He stayed with you after that. Just sat with you on the edge of the bed, your head against his shoulder, the silence between you no longer something to avoid.

You didn’t define it. Didn’t talk about what it meant.

But you didn’t run from it, either.

Over the next few days, things shifted.

You still kept your space. Still worked. Still pretended like nothing had changed.

But now, Jack found reasons to linger in the same room. To pass you your coffee. To bump your shoulder gently when no one was looking.

You didn’t call it anything. Not yet.

But Luke was definitely watching.

One afternoon, while you packed up supplies from the youth clinic, he grinned and said, “You and Jack are weird. But like, weird-cute.”

You rolled your eyes. “There’s nothing going on.”

Luke snorted. “Sure. You wanna try that again, but say it like you mean it?”

You smacked him with a clipboard.

Quinn, meanwhile, stayed blissfully unaware. He still called you his “anchor,” still asked for your opinion on whether Luke’s shoulder was actually healing or just “being dramatic”, still planned movie nights and dinners.

If he suspected anything, he didn’t say.

“shut up,” you hear him say over the running water, nothing but glee in his tone, “i’ll be with you soon, baby. the water is taking forever to warm up because someone took an hour long shower earlier.”

in your defence, it was an everything shower. between scrubbing and exfoliating every inch of skin on your body, washing and deep conditioning your hair, and the impromptu concert you performed for the bottles lining the side of the tub, a lot of time mounted up! a lot of hot water too, you suppose, but it’s not like luke was complaining when he was laughing and begging for ‘one more song, baby!’ from the bed.

“but i’m sticky,” you whine as you writhe around atop your sheets, kicking out your legs, only to regret it when you remember just how sore your thighs are. having a boyfriend the size of luke makes fucking him a workout; maybe you should’ve stretched before giving yourself leg cramp.

“you’ll be less sticky in a minute!” you can practically hear his smile in his words; thank god he finds you endearing even when you’re at your most annoying. “it’s not my fault you begged for it raw.”

at that, you gasp, although you can hardly deny that there’s some truth to his words. sure, ‘begged’ may be a little extreme, but you had certainly whined a little when he’d pulled a rubber from his bedside drawer. putting on a condom takes time and you were desperate. an extra step between taking your towel off and getting your boyfriend inside of you seemed unfathomable at the time. now, with his cum seeping out of your tired hole, you have to admit that you can see the logic.

“you should’ve put your foot down,” you argue, although it hardly holds any weight to it. you know luke too well to think he’d pass up an opportunity to feel you so closely.

“or maybe—” the faucet turns off and a moment later luke appears in the doorway, still naked as the day he was born. you take a moment to appreciate him before he pushed away from the doorframe and takes a few steps closer. the room is just small enough for the trip to take no more than a few seconds, and before you know it, he’s sitting by your side, looking over you with a shit eating grin on his pretty face. “—you should have more self control, baby. you know i can’t say no to you.”

a shiver runs down your spine when the wet wash cloth comes into contact with your sore clit. luke had made you cum too many times to keep count, and the poor, sensitive bud had suffered for it. rubbed and pinched and smacked, it had gone through a lot, and no matter how gentle your boyfriend is, you can still feel everything. you suck in a breath through your teeth, eyebrows pinching together in a wince.

luke just shushes you softly, pressing his lips to the wrinkle in your forehead. you know he knows how sore you feel, and that’s enough to soothe you, even just a little bit.

your taught muscles melt as he shifts the cloth down to your weeping hole. his touch is soft as he wipes the remnants of his love away; almost as soft as the way his eyes are gazing into yours. you can’t help yourself when you lean up to kiss his jaw. he tenses, giggling a little as if this is enough to make him shy.

as if you wasn’t just spitting the filthiest words you’ve ever heard into your ear mere moments ago.

“you’re so cute, lukey,” you purr against his skin.

“shut up,” he says again, although it’s whinier this time. you can hardly believe how easy it is to reduce him down to a giant puppy-dog.

he pulls the cloth away from you and throws it into the corner of the room to be forgotten about until later. now isn’t the time for responsibilities. not when the two of you are so determined to do nothing but bask in one another’s presence, sharing soft touches filled with adoration, passing warmth back and forth between your bare skin.

luke lays his weight down on top of you, gentle with his movement so as not to crush you. the pressure of his body atop yours is nice. relaxing, even. it grounds you, and beneath him, you melt. his face finds its home in the hollow of your neck, nose rubbing up and down your skin before settling to a stop just below your jaw. you can’t help but squirm when his warm breath runs down your neck, tickling you, but luke’s body keeps you firmly in place. lay beneath him, pressed so close together you might as well be one.

so instead of fawning over him, like you so desperately want to, you just watch him instead. the way his eyebrows raise when he reaches something particularly interesting, or when his bottom lip just out upon reading anything that confuses him. he’s an expressive person at the best of times, but it really does come to fruition at times like these; when he’s focussing so hard on something else that he has no time to think about what his face is doing. a soft giggle escapes from your throat as you think about just how precious he is.

it grabs jack’s attention almost immediately.

“what?” he purrs as his gaze shifts from his phone to your face, and despite the pain that you’re in, you can feel your expression softening.

“nothing,” you say through your gentle smile, “what are you reading?”

jack rolls his eyes, an incredulous scoff tumbling from his lips as if he can tell you’re trying to twist the conversation away from whatever it is you were giggling about. he doesn’t fight it, though; simply sighs and turns his phone screen around.

‘ten bizarre ways to get rid of period pain,’ is what it says at the top of the page, and as your eyes pass over it, you can feel yourself melt. how you ended up with someone like him will forever remain one of the great mysteries of the universe. he handles you with more care than you think you deserve, but you’ve learnt the hard way that rejecting his affections only encourages him. he’s a little bit like a hydra, in that respect…

“jack…” you coo softly, a pout settling itself on your lips, “that’s so sweet!”

he just hums, turning his phone screen back to face him.

“it’s pseudoscience, is what it is,” jack says as he begins to read once more, “i’d like to see the scientific evidence that proves that orgasms help with cramps. a bibliography or something might be useful…”

you begin to wonder how many blog posts your boyfriend has read that include bibliographies at the end. a few seconds later, you push that thought away. jack hughes’ mind is a puzzle you fear you may never piece together.

“i guess it’s just based off of personal anecdotes.” your hands shift to rearrange the water bottle on your tummy, pushing it down slightly as another wave of cramps hits you hard. a deep breath in and out and you push through the pain. “y’know, what works for her!”

jack pulls a face you can only describe as perturbed. “well that’s a little tmi, isn’t it? what if i don’t want to know that ‘jessica-talks-girls.com’ cums her way out of period cramps?”

you can’t help but laugh at that comment.

“well, maybe ‘jessica-talks-girls.com’ wasn’t made with international prude, jack hughes, in mind!” you lift a hand to chuck his chin playfully. all you get is an exasperated glare in response. it’s cute.

“we both know i’m not a prude, babe,” he argues, because of course that’s the bit he was focussing on. ignore the very valid point that jack is being judgemental about a blog post that clearly didn’t include him in its target demographics. oh no, it’s far more important that jack reminds you that he does, in fact, fuck.

as if you’re not well aware of that fact.

“okay, pretty boy,” a small hum of laughter leaves your lips, “whatever you say.”

you twist your body until you’re lay on your side, no longer staring up at jack’s face, but instead at the blank screen of the tv across the room. initially, you were just going to do it to irritate jack — to goad him into arguing back before turning away so he can’t — but now you’re in this position, you can’t deny that it makes your aching uterus hurt just a little less.

foetal position it is, you think to yourself as you bring your knees to your chest, trapping the hot water bottle against your abdomen. you’re sure that in 10 minutes or so, the magic will have worn off and the pain will be back, but you might as well enjoy it while you can.

one of your hands reaches out to grab one of jack’s, checking his skin for warmth, and when you’re sufficiently pleased with the temperature, you slide it down to rest upon your lower back. jack just goes along with it like a good boyfriend, despite the fact that his teeth are still grinding over your annoying little stunt. he must really love you to be so soft even when you’re being annoying. you press a quick kiss to his thigh in thanks.

a few more minutes of silence pass. jack is still reading, although you assume he’s moved on from the blog by now. the lack of a bibliography alone seemed like cause enough for jack to dismiss it, a complaint that you find endlessly funny. so much so that it makes you smile even in hindsight.

“have you ever tried it?” jack asks after a while, and you crane your neck to look at him.

“tried what?” you say, although you think you know what he might be referring to.

“the orgasm thing.”

jack shrugs as if it’s just a normal question with no ulterior motives. but you can see the way he’s looking at you, with a familiar heat building in his eyes. you can feel the tips of his fingers begin to move along the bottom of your spine too, edging closer and closer to the waistband of your pyjama bottoms in a way that is anything but subtle. it makes you shudder a little, a shiver running right from where his fingers lay to the top of your spine. he knows how to push the right buttons, you’ll give him that.

“i’ve used a vibrator from time to time,” you admit, “but it’s never done much to get rid of the pain.”

jack hums in interest, as if he’s the one writing a scientific paper on this; ‘the effectiveness of orgasms on reducing menstrual pain by jack hughes’. as amusing as the idea is, you can’t help but thank the universe he already has a time consuming hockey career…

“maybe you should try a few other methods of getting an orgasm,” he says, “y’know, get a bigger sample size.”

“you mean like jacking off acoustically?” you’re being purposefully dense with the sole intention of teasing him. when he rolls his eyes, you can tell it’s working.

“i mean, you should let me help.”

his fingers finally breach your waistband, dipping into your pyjama shorts and finding the elastic of the panties you wear. they’re nothing exciting; just an old cotton pair that you set aside for periods. over the years, they’ve accumulated a few new blood stains that have lingered even after a million washes, but you doubt that would be enough to deter jack.

“i could try that,” you hum, a little smirk settling itself on your lips, “but think of the cleanup…”

“i could deal with that.”

“you’d have to lay a towel down, and even then, it might soak through,” you let out a dramatic sigh, “then you’ll have to wash it all tonight, before the blood has time to stain…”

“no biggie,” jack says, “i do late night washes all the time.”

“your dick is gonna look like it’s been involved in a massacre—”

“you know, you can just say no,” jack interrupts, slipping his fingers out of your pants and resting it on your hip instead, “i’m not going to be offended if you don’t want to have sex.”

you let out a soft huff of laughter.

“who says i don’t want to have sex?”

jack just rolls his eyes.