#jhughes

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

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

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

"Jack!"

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

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

"I tripped over your stupid hockey bag."

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

"I'll hold you to that."

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wait-I need to shower before you-"

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

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

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

-

Y/n had drunk a lot of alcohol.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jack: don’t freak out

Jack: but I’m at urgent care lol

Her heart dropped.

She snatched the phone, already typing.

Her: JACK WHAT

Her: urgent care isn’t “lol”

Three dots… then:

Jack: I’m fine

Jack: kinda cut my hand

Jack: I’ll explain

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

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

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

“Try me,” she said, arms crossed.

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

She blinked. “And cut your hand.”

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

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

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

Her chest tightened. “Jack…”

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

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

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

That, she felt all the way to her ribs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her lips curved. “Always.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s all an illusion obviously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It just left a pit in your stomach. 

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

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

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

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

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

All you want is someone. You need someone.

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

You should leave.

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

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

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

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

“Hi.”

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

He doesn’t look away.

“Hi. I- uh, I’m Luke.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time slows when you look at him.

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

Not everything is lost to intoxication however.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you,” you breathed out. “where?”

“everywhere.” 

and who was jack to deny you? 

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

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

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