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puck-luck · 2 months ago

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smutception | jack hughes

warnings: EXTREMELY META, elevator sex, oral (m! and f! receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, spit kink, dom/sub tones, thigh riding, attempted phone sex, cum on the body, slight degradation, name calling, masturbation, handjob, squirting, tittyfucking, i don’t even know what else. this was a long one with a LOT of shit. pairing: jack hughes x fem!reader summary: inspired by a request from @captainlexaproluvr, which is far too long to paste here. here’s our summary instead: when jh accidentally picks up his gf’s kindle for a roadie instead of his own, he finds some surprising books downloaded. they give him a few ideas for what he’ll do when he gets home in a week… wc: 10,002

The bus rides to the airport are never fun, in Jack’s opinion. He loves his teammates, but they’re loud and annoying. He’s loud and annoying too, most of the time, but he started a really good book yesterday. He’s been thinking about reading it all day. Jack made sure to pack his Kindle in his bag, even though he had gotten distracted by your goodbye.

It started when he got back from Prague, after the Global Series. He had written off your excitement to see him as a one time thing, fueled by missing him and manifesting in an intense need for him to make it up to you– you had stopped the elevator from the garage of his apartment building and begged him to take you right there. He did, obviously, and the rush that went up his spine from how public it was led to a conversation about how Jack definitely wanted to do stuff like that again.

He was right about one part: you jumping his bones after a roadie was a one-time-thing. The pattern changed– now, you have a habit of doing something different in bed before his roadies. It’s become somewhat of a superstition for Jack.

There was the short roadie in mid-October, when he’d gone down to Carolina and up to Ottawa for a few days. You had woken him up early that morning, kissing him and poking at him until he got fed up and pinned your wrists down. You made him late that morning, delaying the team bus for the airport, because you just had to roll your hips against his morning wood. Then, while you packed a little roadie snack for him, you just had to be naked. It’s not his fault he wanted to bend his pretty girlfriend over the counter and ruin her again.

When you joined him for the first game of his Canadian tour (Vancouver for the Hughes Bowl, then Calgary and Edmonton), Jack and Luke decided to fly with you from Jersey to Michigan to meet up with the parents ahead of time. Then, you all flew together from Michigan to Vancouver. That was normal.

What wasn’t normal was when you leaned over to Jack in the middle of the plane ride and whispered, “You know what might be fun?” with a squeeze to his clothed cock before disappearing towards the bathrooms. It took a few minutes for that one to click (and a picture of your bare tits that you sent Jack from the bathroom over the airplane WiFi), but he ended up fucking you in that tiny, cramped, closet-sized bathroom. It was thrilling.

Jack went to Florida after that– before he left, you rode his face on the living room couch while jacking him off until he came with the tip of his cock just past your lips.

He really missed the goodbyes for the first half of December, when the only away game he had was about an hour away on Long Island. It barely counted, but Jack whined about needing his good luck charm anyway, so you’d gotten down on your knees and sucked his cock all while grinding against a pillow between your legs, coming from just that. Jack was too distracted by the thought of you rutting against the pillow because you were drunk off of his cock to play well that night.

He’d liked it so much that he’d asked you to do it again before he left for Columbus and St. Louis and you’d eagerly complied. It wasn’t any less sexy the second time around.

Jack loves your goodbyes. He loves you, obviously, and would love you even if you weren’t giving him these goodbye gifts, but they’re just so special. Jack is addicted.

He doesn’t know where you’re getting the ideas from– the position or act is never something that pops into his head. Maybe that’s why he likes it so much. Maybe he likes that you’re the one taking charge and expecting things from him, although he equally loves when he gets to do whatever he wants with you on a regular day.

Now, he’s leaving for California. He has two games in Carolina first, but then he’ll be on the west coast for a while. He’ll be gone for Christmas and New Years, which is annoying. He knows that it’s just the way that things worked out scheduling-wise, but he likes getting to shower you with presents and watch you open them, and he likes to drink a lot of alcohol with you and kiss you at midnight to ring in the next year.

You made up for it this morning, your goodbye causing him to forget about any gripe he might’ve had about missing you for so long. You appeared in the doorway as he was packing up the last of his bags, wearing this flouncy little white nightgown with tiny roses decorating it like polka dots. It was the picture of innocence, but your actions were anything but. That enough was to drive Jack crazy, but when you sat him down on the edge of the bed and straddled his thigh, it shattered any possibility of functional thought. You told him not to touch you, pouting about being left alone for so long on your own– and you proved to him that you can take care of yourself just fine.

If he thought watching you grind against a pillow was bad, it was even worse to have you soiling his dress pants with your slick and your cum. All the while, he couldn’t touch you– it was torture. It was madness. It was the hottest thing Jack has ever seen.

After you came all over his thigh, you helped Jack change out of his pants– that was your excuse to get your lips on his cock and prevent him from arriving to player check-in with a raging erection– and chose a new outfit for him to wear. You’d kissed his lips and patted his side, reminding him not to forget his Kindle because you knew how excited he was to finish his new book on the way to Cali.

You left to get ready for the day and he had, on embarrassingly wobbly legs, wandered around the house to find his pocket-library. It wasn’t where he left it, but he ended up finding it on one of the bookcases in his living room, swiping it and tossing it into his backpack without another thought because he was, once again, running late.

It’s a habit now. The boys have joked about buying him a better watch and Jack goes along with it, but he knows that he’ll be late no matter how good his watch is or how early he sets it. As long as you keep saying goodbye to him like this, he’s going to be a poor teammate– he’d rather experience this than be on time, any day of the week.

Your moans from this morning are echoing in his mind, so Jack pops his headphones in and presses shuffle on the playlist he was already listening to. He digs his Kindle out of his book to offer himself another distraction. It’s going to take a lot of overstimulation to prevent another boner, which means he’s going to read his book, the one he’s been so excited about. If he finishes it, he’ll get to update his Good Reads and recommend it to Quinn.

He traces the lines of the electronic before turning it on, touching the charging port and the power button. Jack smiles. The Kindle had been a gift from you on his birthday. The week after, he had bought you the exact same one. You had matching Kindles and you often shared books like your own little book club. He’s read romances because of you and you’ve read biographies of athletes because of him. It’s fun for him. This is special to him because he’s never done something like this with any of his other girlfriends. It gives him hope that you guys will stay together as long as possible.

Jack finally turns the Kindle on, stopping short at the sight of the photo of the home screen. This isn’t his Kindle. He accidentally swiped yours.

It’s too late to turn the bus back and with him being on the move, it would just be too much hassle to ask you to mail his Kindle to the hotel.

Jack chuckles to himself a little bit, digging his phone out of his pocket. He types out a text to you: Accidentally took your Kindle instead of mine :(

It isn’t long until the text bubble signaling your incoming reply appears. Sorry :( just download your book onto my account <3 I’ll read my books on yours in the meantime.

Then, a second text: At work so can’t reply again til later :( have a good trip J ily!!!! Talk to you soon!!!

Jack replies I love you too and puts his phone away. He clicks through your Kindle, which automatically opened to the app that houses your library of books. He scrolls through, recognizing some of the titles and not recognizing the others. While sliding his finger along the screen, he accidentally fumbles the Kindle as the bus goes over a bump. When he gets a hold on the device again, he sees that his finger tapped one of your books and it opened.

Jack goes to exit out, ready to download the book he’d been waiting for, and then he spots a familiar name in the first line.

He reads the sentence like a habit– that’s what you do when you see your name somewhere, right?

The first page is just half of a page. It’s exposition and it’s looking like this book is somewhat of a romance, but he can’t really tell all that much.

“Every year, you go to the lake house with Jack.”

Like any good first line, it leaves Jack intrigued. Who is Jack? Where’s this lake house? How long have you been going? You say every year, but how many years is that?

Jack immediately thinks of his own lake house. He misses Michigan. His imagination solves one of his questions: the lake house in this story, in his mind, is in Michigan. It’s on the same lake as his and it looks the exact same. ‘Every year’ is vague enough that Jack can accept it. It’s meant to be vague. Only one question remains: who is this Jack guy?

It’s fun to have a character that shares a name with you, so Jack reads on. He’s determined to figure out who this guy is.

“The past few trips, it’s been a special occasion. You get your mid-summer break from work and you get to spend time with your boyfriend.”

So Jack is the boyfriend of the main character. Jack laughs to himself again– maybe you downloaded this book so that you could think about your boyfriend while you read it. He’s tempted to text you again with a picture of the page, but since you’re at work, you won’t reply for a while. If he’s going to rib you for reading a book about a guy with the same name as him, he wants you to be able to reply immediately.

“You’ll sit on the patio and watch him fool around with his brothers. You know them both well after dating Jack for so long, but you’re closer with Luke. After all, he rented out the second bedroom in your and Jack’s New Jersey apartment this entire past year. You know Luke better than you ever thought you would because of that.”

Jack is starting to purse his lips as he reads. He has brothers. One of them is named Luke. He lives in New Jersey with his girlfriend and Luke lived with them last year. He’s since moved out, but the coincidence is still there. It’s still…

Weird.

He reads on anyway.

“Jack loves your relationship with his brothers–”

True.

“but what he doesn’t love is when all of your skin is on display all day for everyone to see. Your little bikinis drive him insane– because everything he wants is right there, but he can’t have it.”

Jack is a little confused about the turn this is taking. This is only the second page of the book– he told himself he wouldn’t read past the first one, but this is just too intriguing– and it’s already talking about sex? The characters are in a long term relationship, so it’s not like this is a one-night-stand, inciting-incident sort of thing. Why would the book start here?

Also– the romances he’s read because of you are a lot more tame than this. Already, he’s starting to squint at the Kindle in disbelief. Is this the kind of shit that you read on your own? He’s ribbed you in the past for not updating your Good Reads enough and now he gets it. Maybe you don’t want the whole world (all of your followers, including your boyfriend and his older brother) to know that you’re reading porn.

“All of his frustration at not being able to do anything about your skimpy clothing comes to a head one day when the Hughes house–”

Jack stops in his tracks. The other coincidences were fine. Jack is a common name. Luke is a common name. Everyone has brothers. Lots of people have lake houses. New Jersey is just one out of fifty states in the U.S.– almost ten million people live there, partially because of its proximity to New York City.

But all of it together– Jack and Luke Hughes, living together in New Jersey, with another, older brother and a lake house– Jack is convinced. This book was written about him.

He knows fanfiction exists. He’s never interacted with it before, but he has known about fanfiction since the early 2010s. There were a couple of girls in his classes in middle school that loved One Direction and they would talk about fanfiction all the time. It was just amongst themselves, but Jack sat right next to them, so he couldn’t really help but eavesdrop.

Jack knows that he went viral after the draft, considering the influx of people that have followed him in the years since. A lot of those followers, and he’s not bragging, have been women. He just didn’t expect to ever find fanfiction about himself. He thought that was a thing for actors and musicians, not athletes… but the evidence is right in his hands.

Another thing clicks. You, his girlfriend, were reading fanfiction about him. You have it downloaded to your Kindle. Why would you do that if you’ve got the real thing? You could just call his name and he’d be there. Jack isn’t exactly coy about wanting to get it on with you. You’re the one who’s batting him away more often than him brushing you off. He’s always had a higher sex drive than you and been more overt about it–

…until recently.

Jack looks up from the Kindle and he starts to grin. He catches himself and brings his hand to his mouth, tracing the line of his bottom row of teeth with the tip of his fingernail.

His initial surprise, which manifested in that weird smile and his breath of laughter, turns into a brief flash of judgment.

It’s weird that his girlfriend is reading fanfiction about him. He’s right there. Does he not satisfy you enough? Are you unhappy with how he acts in bed? You’ve never complained– if you don’t like something, you should talk to him. Right?

Jack finds himself frowning and clicking through the Kindle again. He’s searching for something in particular– the book that compiles all of your highlights and notes. He knows how you are– you’re a highlighter. You have a lot of opinions and thoughts about the things you read and you’re all about writing them down. You do it so you don’t forget what to say when you talk about your books with Jack later. There’s no way that you didn’t have anything to say about the porn about your boyfriend.

He finds the highlights and notes easily. He starts to flick through it, scanning the page for comments from books that he doesn’t recognize and doesn’t find anything until the tenth page of notes.

He catches the first comment in the same way that he discovered your smut-stash in the first place. He sees his name.

“Jack moves like he’s drunk on the feeling of you, soft noises falling from his lips like he’s trying not to be too loud. You can almost feel the elevator shaking with his movements.”

Jack’s lips part in surprise. He taps the highlight, looking for more information. He’s looking for your comment– and all he gets is an “oh.”

It’s frustratingly vague. “Oh”? What does that even mean?

Jack releases a scoff and clicks along. He reads the sentence again, this time focusing on a familiar detail. Jack was fucking his girlfriend in an elevator. You jumped his bones in the elevator a few weeks ago. Jack’s not sure that’s a coincidence– after all, none of the details in the first story were coincidental.

He checks when you left that comment– and he was right. You left the comment while he was in Prague.

Jack feels a bit like a detective as he repeats the process, searching for more highlights and comments. He finds several interesting ones:

“Maybe, if you’re lucky, you can cut down on Jack’s time to get ready by making his breakfast for him, and he’ll reward you by bending you over the counter. He can never deny you another round when he sees himself dripping out of you so beautifully” was also highlighted while he was in Prague.

“You make your way into the bathroom and press your back against the door, feeling lightheaded at the rush– in just a few minutes, you’re going to have your boyfriend’s cock inside of you, but thousands of feet off the air. The thought of it, how dirty it is to have sex in such a public yet confined space, makes you whimper” while he was in Carolina and Ottawa.

“‘Wanna sit on this pretty face,’ you tell him. ‘While I gag on your cock’” while he was in Edmonton.

The next one is– dirtier. Jack feels warm when he reads it. You highlighted it while he was gone in Florida and it’s clearly the inspiration for the goodbye you gave him before he went to Long Island that one night, the night when you nearly gave him a heart attack by coming on the pillow between your legs.

The other part that you highlighted… didn’t happen… but Jack has a feeling that you want to try it, given the comment you left on the highlighted page.

“Jack tilts your head up and you open your mouth, showing him that you swallowed every drop that he awarded you. Jack spits a thick wad onto your tongue again, the weight of it heavy on your muscle although, in reality, his saliva would weight next to nothing.”

Your comment says: “...& he spits on the ice all the time but never in MY mouth??”

He would if you asked. But that’s not the end of the quote– his favorite part is yet to come.

“The heat in his eyes and the taste of him in your throat pushes you to your peak, your hips erratic against the pillow. Your legs are shaking, trembling as you tip over the edge and release over the object between your legs.”

Yeah, he likes that one.

The final comment that Jack reads is from his most recent roadie in Ohio and Missouri. It’s what happened this morning.

“‘Nah, I don’t think I will,’ Jack replies. ‘How about you get yourself off on my thigh and I’ll consider rewarding you for being so pretty and self-sufficient?’... ‘Let me see how pretty you are when you make yourself come, thinking of me.’ Your hips are rocking along the strong muscle of his thigh as he kisses you again.”

“Dirty girl,” Jack murmurs aloud, not realizing that he said such a thing audibly. Luckily, Nico is the only one close enough to hear him, and he always sleeps like a rock when they’re driving to the airport, or on the plane, or driving to the hotel from the airport. It’s the perfect combination.

So you’ve been reading smut while Jack is away. You’ve been getting ideas from fanfiction about how to fuck him.

Jack should be upset and uncomfortable because you’re reading about a fake version of him, but really, he’s just turned on. You think about him. If it was some other guy, maybe he’d be more upset… but no. You’re reading fanfiction about him and recreating the parts you like with him. Even in your little romance books, you want to read about him.

He’s elated, because, well… two can play at that game.

Jack was excited to read his book, but reading your books seems like a much better time and a much better way to entertain himself on this roadie.

He spends the next two weeks perusing your Kindle library for more books about him. They’re all short and most of them are written in second person, although some are in first and third person. Most commonly, though, it’s in second person as some sort of “Reader-puts-herself-in-Main-Character’s-shoes” sort of thing. Jack doesn’t like the books where the author writes “Y/N.” He’s not quite sure what it stands for, so he just tries to avoid it.

Is it weird that he’s reading fanfiction about himself? Maybe, but he tries not to think about it too long. He’s doing it for you, for his girlfriend, because he wants to show you exactly what he found. Dirty, dirty girl.

About halfway through the roadie, he tries to hint that he knows about your secret. You’re on the phone and he tries to start a little phone sex action based on something he read the other day, when Merc left the hotel room and Jack was left alone. He’s alone again now. He doesn’t know where Dawson is, so he isn’t very subtle with his hinting.

He just parrots his favorite sentence back to you.

“So, baby,” Jack says, grinning to himself. “‘Why don’t you touch your pretty little clit for me?’”

It doesn’t work. You just start laughing. “Jesus, J. That came out of nowhere.”

Jack pouts to himself. Maybe you haven’t read that one yet. He figured you would recognize the words.

He gives up on the reveal, deciding to save it for when he’s home in just another week. He gets to tell you how much he misses you and how much he wishes he could see you. He wishes you a belated Merry Christmas and he gets to spend midnight on the phone with you– your time, not his. He blows a kiss through the phone… and that’s that.

He’s back to being alone with your little stories. Jack’s able to restrain himself for the most part, but he is willing to admit that they pique his interest... and his cock sometimes grows to reflect just how interested he is.

He returns to the first story on the bus ride back from the airport to Jersey. It’s symmetrical that way and he kind of likes the idea of finishing his journey with your Kindle and your fanfictions where it originally began. It’s a full circle moment.

The story is a few thousand words, just about ten pages on the device. There are multiple rounds written into it– definitely a score, because in real life, multiple rounds is a luxury for Jack. He gets sleepy after the first and needs a break. Fictional Jack might be setting some unrealistic standards compared to real Jack, but at least real Jack can actually fuck you. All fictional Jack can do is… allude to it. He never actually gets to do it.

Jack’s favorite part of the story comes toward the end. You’ve been wearing your bikinis all summer, teasing Jack with the knowledge of what’s beneath the scrap of fabric. He’s seen your tits plenty of times before, but it always gives him a thrill to see them. One of his favorite things is getting to come all over them and mark them as his, which fictional Jack gets to do.

“You kneel below him, looking up at him with wide and bleary eyes. Jack smirks at you, his hand leisurely stroking his cock. His tip is an angry red, bleeding precum from his slit, but he still doesn’t increase his pace.

‘Ask me for it,’ Jack says, tilting his head to the side. When you open your mouth, Jack taps the head of his cock against your bottom lip, distracting you. Your tongue darts out to lick the salty precum away, but Jack evades you, laughing softly. ‘Such a slut. Well– for me, right? You want to walk around with your tits out all the time, but you’re so easy for my cock. You’re all mine, aren’t you?’

‘Jack, please,’ you pout. ‘I want your cum. Come on my tits.’

Jack slows his hand. Then, he stops stroking himself altogether.

‘What–’ you question involuntarily, brows furrowing and frown deepening. You push your chest out, trying to make the canvas more appealing for Jack. Why did he stop?

‘Give me your hand,’ Jack instructs, holding his hand out with his palm up so that you can take it. You give him your hand, waiting for him to help you up like a gentleman. That’s how this feels, like the momentum of the moment has completely halted. You’re so confused that you’d accept it if Jack just… denied you completely.

Instead, he brings your hand to his cock. He encourages you to curl your fingers around the length, watching your eyes as it slowly dawns on you. You resume his pace, lacking confidence at first and then realizing that this is better.

‘Do it yourself,’ Jack says. ‘You want me to mark you up?’ He bucks his hips forward once, just to throw off your rhythm. ‘Make me.’

You’re whimpering a little bit, puffing out your chest again and shuffling closer on your knees. Your body is practically brushing his from mere proximity. Your other hand comes to Jack’s thigh, tracing his light hair gently in comparison to the increasingly rapid strokes to his length.

Jack gathers your hair in his hand like he does when he fucks your mouth. As if on instinct, you open your mouth. Jack’s smirk reappears. ‘Easy,’ he reminds you again, taking his other hand and cradling your chin. He tilts your head back and spits, aiming at your lips. The difference is, he’s standing and you’re kneeling, so the spit doesn’t find its mark. Instead, it lands on your face. You blink in surprise and Jack uses his thumb to corral the saliva towards your mouth. There’s nothing really left by the time his thumb finds your lips, but you latch on like his digit is a flowing faucet in the middle of Death Valley.”

It turns out, spit is a thing for Jack too. He’s always liked to come on your body, but he didn’t even consider the possibility of a different liquid. Coming on you is a possession thing, and spitting is similar… it’s demeaning, showing that you’re under his control, but Jack likes it because you’d trust him enough to take it. It’s gross, but you’d still let him spit on you and into your mouth.

Well, in theory. He’ll see if you’re actually willing to do such a thing tonight.

Like he said, two can play at that game.

Jack barely bids adieu to his teammates. He speeds home, probably faster than he should knowing how the NJPD can be. He has no plan for if he gets pulled over. Luckily, he doesn’t, and he makes it home in record time.

You’re asleep in bed. It’s early in the morning, but only about an hour before your alarm goes off for work. Timing might be the one thing that really annoys Jack about his job– the game wasn’t finished in California until almost one in the morning in New Jersey, then he had to take the bus to the airport, fly home, take the bus back to Prudential Center, and drive home. It took more time than he wanted it to and he feels bad waking you up, so Jack just climbs into bed and wraps his arms around your sleeping figure. You must’ve felt bad about waking him, because when he blinks his eyes open, you’ve already left for work.

Jack doesn’t find a good time to reveal your secret in the days after his return. You both do your normal routine. Jack returned on Tuesday. His next away trip isn’t until Friday, and once again, it’s a one-night, tiny roadie. He’s only going 30 minutes up the road to MSG. You’re coming with him. By all accounts, he shouldn’t even count it as a roadie.

Jack is desperate to show you that he knows. He also wants you to know that he’s okay with it– that he likes that you read about him and imagine him while he’s gone. He might be eager and rushing things, but this is his first chance to catch you off guard and he’s going to take it. He wants to establish this new routine early– now.

He sits on the couch, his hockey bag already packed and by the door. It’s a night game, so you’ll have time to get ready after work. Jack doesn’t have time. He’s hoping to intercept you as you walk through the apartment door, getting his kicks before he ends up being too late to the arena. Because it’s so close, he gets to drive himself to the arena. He can speed again, but New York City is so fickle with traffic that he knows he’ll run into trouble if you don’t get home, like, imminently.

Big word, yes, but he’s been reading a lot lately. He was always better in school than Quinn and Luke, too. Not a brag– just a fact.

He also seems to have a future (ha, get it?) in predicting the future, because you arrive home just a few minutes later. You set your stuff down on the dining room table before joining Jack on the couch and greeting him with a little kiss.

“Thought you’d be gone by now,” you say, pressing another kiss to his lips and curling into his side.

Jack wraps his arm around your waist and grins at you, crooked and shit-eating. “Couldn’t leave without getting my good luck charm first, eh?”

You laugh at him, pressing your hand against his chest, right over his heart. “It’s barely a roadie. You’re literally coming back here tonight and I’m going to the game.”

“You know how hockey players are with their superstitions,” Jack pouts, poking your side until you let out a sarcastic and dramatic sigh, rolling your eyes while you climb onto his lap like you don’t love sitting there.

“I know how my hockey player is with his superstitions,” you reply, placing your palms on Jack’s jaw and squishing his cheeks together a little bit.

Jack wiggles beneath you, still grinning and jostling you on his lap in the process. He’s already half-hard from his excitement about surprising you with your own fantasy.

“But,” you continue. Your hands fall to his chest again. “I don’t have any ideas for you, sweetheart.”

“That’s okay,” Jack says. “I have plenty.”

You laugh, tossing your head back. “Of course you do.”

“Well, I was reading this book on my roadie,” Jack starts.

“Oh, yeah, we never talked about that. Was it good? I know you were really excited to read about–”

“Not that one,” Jack interrupts. “I didn’t end up reading that. I’ll probably read it when we go to Toronto next week.”

A look of confusion passes over your face. “Then what did you read?” You question.

Jack just smiles, waiting for it to click in your head. There’s only so much that he’d be able to read on your Kindle. You’d read one of your normal books last night and clearly hadn’t noticed anything different on the device, so you can’t immediately think of a book that Jack would read.

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicious. “What did you read?” You repeat, voice cautious.

Jack wiggles his eyebrows, hands inching down to cover your behind. He rolls his hips up against your core. He’s still smiling.

Your lips part, mouthing half of an interrogative word to yourself while you think. You’re fiddling with Jack’s t-shirt, evaluating him.

Jack brings a hand up to your neck, cupping the back and pulling you in for a kiss. You come easily, kissing Jack’s lips. Your movements are slightly stilted, still thinking about Jack’s literary options.

His hand moves from the back of your neck to your jaw. He lets his thumb and his forefinger smush your cheeks.

“What are you doing?” You ask.

“Wait– open your mouth again, baby?” Jack prompts, feigning concern.

You automatically obey him, still looking confused. “What?” You try to ask with an open mouth, the word coming out garbled.

Jack grins, subtly gathering a wad of saliva in his mouth while he looks into your mouth. There was nothing there, he just needed an excuse to get your mouth open. This is better than outright saying it. From your comments, he knows that you’re at least interested. If you hate it, you’ll talk about it later. He wants to see the realization on your face. It’s a big risk, knowing that you could cringe and flinch and react negatively, but Jack has a feeling you won’t.

He grips your cheeks, keeping your mouth open as wide as you’ll allow. Jack misses the flash of alarm and understanding in your eyes because he’s busy aiming at your mouth. Jack spits his saliva onto your tongue and releases his grip on your cheeks. Your mouth clamps shut and you stare at him, eyes wide and thoroughly shocked.

Jack quirks an eyebrow at you, satisfied by your frozen figure atop his lap. He checks the clock over your shoulder, seeing that he’s really running out of time. He was supposed to leave about five minutes ago.

An idea pops into Jack’s head. He could leave you here, processing things, and go play his game. Then, he can come back later and pick up where he left off.

Deciding to do that, Jack plops a chaste kiss on your lips before he stands, still cradling you with your knees squeezing his hips, but legs not quite wrapped around his middle. He lays you on the couch and kisses you again before returning to his full height. He thumbs over your bottom lip as if he’s wiping away his kiss.

“Bye, baby,” Jack bids you, then gathers his stuff and leaves the apartment.

You don’t say anything or move an inch until after he’s gone.

Jack plays a great game. He knows you’re in the wag suite and he knows that he makes it onto the jumbotron a few times– probably even more on the live television feed that plays in the suite– just because of how well he’s playing. He makes sure to spit on the ice way more often than he normally does, just to send you a message.

In the back of his head, Jack realizes that people who write fanfiction will be thirsting over these clips of him spitting. Good. More things for you to read while he’s gone.

You’re home by the time he makes it back. You’re on him from the second he walks through the front door.

“You read my–”

“Your secret fanfiction?” Jack teases. “It was an accident at first, but then I realized who it was about.”

You groan, whining as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and bury your face in his neck. Jack knows you’re blushing and he just laughs, cradling your body in his arms. Jack kisses the side of your head, burying his nose in your hair and smelling your shampoo.

“Is that why you spat in my mouth?” You question, voice muffled against his skin.

Jack laughs again, smiling and swinging you around in his arms playfully. “You seemed to like that bit in your books.”

“It was only in, like, one,” you deflect.

Jack snorts. “It was in four, baby, and those are just the ones that I read.”

You grumble again, pressing your lips against his neck in a miserable kiss. “You’re so weird,” you tell him.

“You’re the one reading fanfiction about your boyfriend while he’s away,” Jack replies. “Then you’re recreating it.” He pauses. “‘Such a slut. Well– for me, right?’”

“Oh my God,” you wail.

“Tell me, baby, what do you do when you’re reading those little stories? Do you touch yourself?”

“Jack,” you complain.

“C’mon, sweetheart. You’ll take my spit in your mouth but you won’t tell me if you touch yourself to the thought of me?”

“You are so weird,” you say again.

Jack feels triumphant, proud of himself. He’s glad that you’re still wrapped up in his arms, even though you’re embarrassed and red.

“Can I recreate my favorite one?” Jack asks, kissing your head again. “Like you did?”

You pull back from him, fingers finding the nape of his neck and toying with his hair. You seem skeptical, eying him. “You really read them enough to have a favorite one?” You ask, bottom lip sticking out for Jack to lean down and capture between his teeth.

He nibbles playfully until you start tugging at his locks, convincing him to back away. “‘Course I did,” Jack says, shrugging. “These writers seem to think I’m very good at pleasing you.”

You start to laugh, shaking your head.

“Do you write them?” Jack asks.

That brings you up short. “Do I write them?”

“Yeah. You know how I fuck best, don’t you?” Jack taps your nose with his own. “So, do you write?”

You make a face. “No. I’m not much of a writer.”

That’s true– you’ve often complained to Jack about how you’d like to be able to write as well as your favorite authors. He should’ve thought about that. Instead, he goes back to his most pressing question.

“So?” Jack asks.

“So, what?”

“Can we recreate one?”

He wants you in a tiny bikini or your prettiest push-up bra, your meticulous hand jerking his cock until he comes all over your chest. He wants to spit in your mouth again.

“Which one?”

Jack detangles you from his arms and crosses over to the thermostat. He punches up the heat to 80ºF, turning to look at you.

“Oh, no,” he simpers sarcastically. “It’s so hot in here. It’s like when we’re at the lake house in Michigan during the summer and you wear your bikini around the house all day, teasing me.”

You look thoroughly unimpressed. “You don’t have to turn up the thermostat. You can just ask me to put on my bikini, baby.”

Jack sticks his tongue out at you and resets the thermostat. “Will you put on your bikini for me?”

“Yes. Also, J, I didn’t read that one yet.”

Jack is delighted. He really gets to guide you through this, leaving you in the dark like he was the first few times you acted out a fanfiction together without his knowledge. “Good,” he says. “Then you’ll be just as surprised as I was when I read it.”

You roll your eyes once more, hiding a smile, before you disappear down the hall and into the bedroom. Jack puts his hockey stuff on the balcony like always. You tend to complain that it stinks. He’s used to it by now, having played hockey for so many years. The smell is nothing.

He joins you in the bedroom and finds you in your bikini, just like you said you’d be. It’s the white one that you’ve had for ages, since before Jack started begging you to go to the gym with him. He asked you to do so so that he could watch you work out and get all sweaty– hot– and he doesn’t regret it one bit. You were less broad then. The musculation broadened your hips and your chest, like it was expected to. Age has also helped– you once complained to Jack about looking different than you used to, so he looked it up so that he could find some way to comfort you that was steeped in fact rather than sympathetic words, and he found that women go through a second kind of puberty in their life where they become even more womanly. That’s the best way he can describe it. Jack doesn’t care that your body has “changed” since he started dating you. He barely even notices, except in moments like these.

The swimsuit is small on you. It doesn’t cover everything the way it used to when you first bought it. The triangular cups spread only so far over your tits, leaving sideboob for Jack to gawk at. The bottoms are wrenched up over your hips and you’re facing away from him, so he gets to see the way that the fabric bunches and tries to ride up between your cheeks.

He can’t help it. He crosses the room and grabs at your ass, completely groping you. It would be inappropriate if you weren’t together and minutes away from fucking. Luckily, Jack gets to touch you whenever he wants. It’s the best thing ever.

“Ja-ack,” you complain, drawing his name out and turning towards him. Jack is reluctant to let go of your lower half, so he circles his arms around your waist to keep his hands on your skin. He splays his fingers out as much as he can before he cups the weight of your behind in each palm, pointedly inching closer to grind his hips against your front.

“Pretty girl,” Jack compliments, claiming your lips again with his. He never gets enough of kissing you.

You kiss him back, then you bring your hands down and grope his ass in the exact same manner as he’s groping yours.

“Hey,” Jack exclaims, his touch flying to your hands and removing them.

“Oh, so you can do it but I can’t?” You question. “That’s not fair.”

“I don’t have an ass like yours!”

“Are you calling me fat?”

This is your go-to line when Jack compliments your figure– particularly your ass and your tits. He was absolutely shocked and affronted the first time you pulled that line out of thin air, but this time might be the millionth time you’ve asked him if he thinks you’re fat, so he’s used to it.

Jack bites his lip and wiggles his eyebrows, putting his hands on your assets again. “Calling your ass fat,” he replies. “I love this fat ass.” He punctuates his tease with a squeeze.

You burst out laughing. “You’re so fucking weird!” You repeat again.

“Get on your knees,” Jack says. He’s trying to inflect his words like Bob asking Linda to undress in Bob’s Burgers. He knows you’ll get the reference, even though you don’t react.

You give him a little look, just a slight cut of your eyes, and then you kneel down. Jack’s cock twitches in his pants at the mere sight of it.

He cups your jaw with one hand and tilts your chin up, biting his lip as he admires you. “Easy,” Jack says.

“Well, I’m not going to fucking fight you, Jack. You’re the one who wants to recreate this fanfiction and I’ve never read it, so obviously I’m going to listen–”

While your mouth is moving, Jack gathers spit. Instead of letting it fly from his mouth towards your face, Jack lets it drip in a long line until you realize what he’s doing and stop talking. He quirks an eyebrow, prompting you.

You open your mouth again and let his saliva fall onto your tongue.

Jack pats your cheek and you close your lips. Jack waits, but he sees no movement in your throat.

“Swallow,” he tells you.

And you do.

Jack can’t really describe the feeling that washes over him. It’s simultaneously exciting that you will take anything he gives you and like an honor that you’ll do something so– odd? Is that the word? Jack doesn’t know– just because he asked you to.

There’s also the sexy bit, where it’s something from his body that you’re swallowing. He’s always loved it when you swallow his seed, but that’s so much more normalized. Every guy likes that. Not every guy does this spit thing.

“That’s my girl,” Jack says. He bends down and kisses your forehead as a reward.

You don’t seem to have the words to form a reply.

“Was that okay?” Jack asks. He needs to make sure that your speechlessness is because it’s sexy and you like it, not because you’re staying quiet and dealing with his actions, just waiting it out until he’s finished. Then, you’ll never do it again and he’ll never be the wiser that you hated it.

You nod. “Yeah,” you agree quietly. “I like it.”

Jack’s anxiety melts. “I’m not making you do this?”

You shake your head. “No. It’s–” You shrug and look down.

“Tell me,” Jack implores gently. “I need to know.”

“It’s different is all. Now I’m thinking about it too much, I don’t want to think about it.” You pout up at Jack, looking a little sad.

He wants to solve it for you. “Okay, we don’t have to talk about it. As long as you like it, that’s enough.”

“I like it,” you confirm. You touch his knee, then the front of his pants. “Can I show you how much I like it?”

Jack nods, bringing his hands to his belt and undoing it. He unzips himself and drops the dress pants to his ankles, letting you do the work on his briefs. “You can,” Jack says. “But you have to stop before I come.”

You’re pulling him out of his underwear as he speaks, but you pause when he tells you when you have to stop. You look up at him, hand circling his cock. He’s been growing hard this whole time, so his cock is standing out towards your face even without your hand guiding it. Once, you were making fun of him, and you compared his dick to a compass trying to find “true North”– you. Jack has thought about that moment every single time you take his cock out since you said it. He’s been able to move past it, but he thinks about it nonetheless.

“I’m never the problem when it comes to stopping,” you bite at him, your words pointed and knowing.

“Fuck off,” Jack sneers playfully. You might be right, but that’s not fair. He likes to come, he doesn’t want to stop himself. “Suck my dick, baby.”

You stick out your tongue at him, but then you take him in your mouth.

Like most times, all thought leaves Jack’s head. When he fucks you, or when you’re taking care of him, there’s rarely anything actually flowing through his head. His mind is just automatically filled with holy shit– mouth– warm– tongue– oh, I hope you do that again– fuck, shit, oh my God– wait, don’t thrust, you don’t want to gag too much– on a loop.

When he looks at you, his heart is lurching because of the slopes of your cheekbones and the wide, blown out look in your eyes. He can’t look at you and feel your movements at the same time because he will come down your throat. He’s just a man. He’s simple.

Jack takes you by the hair and stops you, pulling out of your mouth and stepping away. He’s breathing more heavily than before and his cock is throbbing with a need to release. His hand circles his base, trapping himself and providing a bit of relief.

Some of your spit keeps his dick connected to your mouth. It’s hot. Briefly, Jack tries to decide if he’d let you spit in his mouth, but it requires too much thought for the moment, so he tables it for later.

“Give me your hand,” Jack says.

You comply and Jack curls your fingers around his shaft. You wait for him to tell you what to do– which Jack definitely likes.

“I want to come on your pretty tits,” Jack says, trying not to twitch and jerk his hips when you start to move your hand. “And I want you to make it happen.”

You grin up at him, dipping your head to press a kiss to the tip of his cock before you guide him towards your chest. Jack’s cockhead bumps your collarbone before you start to drag your hand in thorough strokes, pointing the tip towards the valley of your cleavage. You look up at him all the meanwhile, watching his face as he succumbs to the pleasure you’re providing to him.

Jack touches your face with one hand. Your free hand is resting on the front side of his hip, just feeling him. He places his other hand over yours, gripping the appendage in a distorted version of holding your hand.

Warmth shoots through his body, your clenches and twists along his cock hurling him towards the powerful climax that he’s been anticipating since he started reading your little stories on the bus on the way to California.

“Fuck, baby, you’re always so good at that,” Jack tells you, praising you in the way that always brings a sweet blush onto your cheeks.

You thank him quietly, bashfully, continuing your ministrations until the pleasure overcomes Jack and he moans, watching his cum splash over your skin. It’s the strokes of a masterpiece, but at the same time, Jack is marring the masterpiece that is your body with the white ropes that you’ve drawn from his cock. He’s privileged because he gets to ruin you.

After he comes, Jack brings you up to your feet and kisses you again. He can taste himself on your tongue, tangling with his as you kiss him back. Jack brings his hand between your legs, dipping into the fabric to find that you’re deliciously wet between your folds.

He teases you with his fingers while he kisses you, letting time pass until you’re wiggling against him and making little noises into his mouth. Jack dips his finger into your hole, only going up to the first knuckle. It’s barely enough to satisfy you, but it allows Jack to belittle you a bit before giving you more, when you beg for it.

Surprisingly, you don’t beg for him to finger you more. You don’t ask him to take your bikini off. You keep kissing him and whining into his mouth, grinding your hips. After only a few more rolls of your hips, you pull away.

“Let me try something,” you whisper, kissing him once more before returning to your knees.

“‘Kay,” Jack agrees, watching you carefully.

You kneel tall, pursing your lips and focusing on his cock, which is doing its best to fill up entirely for the second time.

Jack’s eyes nearly pop out of his head when you push your breasts together so that Jack’s cock can rest between them. The pressure from your hands against your boobs, sandwiching Jack’s cock, drives him crazy.

The smug look on your face, knowing what you’re doing to him, makes Jack even crazier. It’s like when you’d recreate your little stories. You were in the know, but Jack was not. Now, you knew that you’d be tittyfucking your boyfriend, and you knew that he’s got a thing for your chest… oh, it’s a dream. Jack might never be able to look at anyone else sexually ever again. Holy shit.

It doesn’t take long for him to become fully hard again. He’s about seconds away from blowing a second load on your chest– an appealing idea, but evidently one that you won’t let happen.

You pull back, drawing a complaint from Jack’s throat. You stand and push him back onto the bed, Jack pulling you with him. You land on top of his chest with a little ‘oof.’ You push yourself into a seated position, heavy on his lap.

“Did’ya like it?” You tease, hands planted securely on Jack’s ribcage. You grind down against his naked cock. The soaked fabric of your bikini bottoms bunches up as you roll your hips, then shifts the other way when you rock back. The sensation is far too much for Jack in this state.

Jack puts his hands on your hips and halts your movements. You resist a little bit, ironically going against your words from earlier about not fighting him.

“If you keep doing that, I’m going to come,” Jack says. “I want to come in you, baby.”

“Okie,” you agree like a goof, which gives Jack a little reprieve. You laugh and pat his chest, kneeling up a bit so that you can take his cock in your hand. You shift the crotch of your bikini bottoms to the side and sink down on Jack’s member, enveloping him entirely.

Jack breathes out as you settle against him. He has to close his eyes and push all the air out of his lungs before he can look up at you again.

His cum has dried on your chest. Your hair is wild. Your fingernails are digging into his chest as you start to rise and fall. Your tits bounce, drawing Jack’s eyes. He can’t really decide where to look– your tits, your face, your pussy… which is swallowing his cock greedily and perfectly, the way only you can.

Your walls are gummy and hot. It’s impossible to escape the pleasure or stave off his second orgasm, especially not when you flex your abdomen and rotate your hips in a little figure-eight that has you inadvertently clenching down on him. You’re like a vice, the one with the crank that takes a tight grip and makes it almost clinically impossible to un-attach.

Jack is probably babbling, although he’s more focused on the sweet little moans and breaths that escape from your mouth. You’re biting your bottom lip, so Jack reaches up to pull it from your teeth. He thinks again of what it would be like to have you spit into his mouth from this vantage point, but then you start to bounce again and he loses the idea into the ether of pleasure. His first two fingers find your tongue and you start to suck, more noises leaving your mouth and sending vibrations up his arm.

His insides start to feel warm and fuzzy, which is when Jack stutters out a brief warning that he’s going to come. He doesn’t know how close you are, but your fingers on one hand have started to flick against your clit in quick motions. Jack watches your fingers move, enraptured by the sight because they’re just so deft– and then he remembers that those fingers spurred him towards an orgasm before, which landed across your chest– and then a little bit of your saliva slides between his fingers and cools in the bedroom air– and Jack comes inside of you. It knocks all of the breath and all of the tension out of his body, leaving him completely blank and new like he’s floating in space without anything around.

The first thing he sees after whiting out from the orgasm is you, legs shaking, writhing so violently from the gratification of your own climax that his cock is displaced from its home in your cunt. His cum drips out of you and the rapid emptiness allows you to pull off Jack’s favorite trick– your orgasm manifests in a squirt that washes over Jack’s pelvis and leaves you grinding into the air for more.

Jack pushes himself up to a half-seated position to catch you when you sag forward from sheer exhaustion, kissing you again and bringing you to a position where you can straddle his thigh and continue chasing the aftershocks of your climax. You’re mewling into his mouth desperately, hips working, and Jack wants to give you another but he just can’t. He’s entirely spent.

He plugs you with two fingers, filling you because he knows that’s what you need. You hump against his hand as you come down, your kisses becoming less wanton and needy as you exit the rush of emotion you’re experiencing.

Your kisses turn sweet and long, sensual but not intentional. You’re making out just to feel each other, just like how Jack has his fingers inside of you just so that you’re full.

“That wasn’t exactly what I read,” Jack is able to joke after your rocking stops.

“No?” You ask, voice thick, the way it is when you first wake up in the morning and you’re not sure what’s real and what’s a dream. Jack loves when your voice gets like that after he fucks you– it means he did a good job and you’re so satisfied that you’re sleepy. Your eyes are closed now and you wrap your arms around Jack’s neck, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder.

“I was supposed to spit on your face before you made me come,” Jack says.

You hum. “I think ours was better.”

“Maybe you should write it down,” Jack teases, which earns him a sharp tug to his hair. He laughs. “Okay, message received.”

You sit in silence for another few minutes. Jack draws shapes all over the expanse of your back– although his favorite is the attempted rose that he puts between your shoulderblades or the series of loopy hearts at the base of your spine.

“I have another question,” Jack says.

“Hm?”

You really are sleepy. Jack might have to sit you on the counter in the ensuite bathroom and clean you up with a wet rag instead of washing your body of his cum in the shower, which is what he was fully planning to do. That being said, Jack asks his final (series) of question(s).

“That stuff wasn’t, like, actually published, right? People aren’t making money off of my name and life? I don’t have to sue anyone? I feel like that would be a little embarrassing. I don’t want to go to court because of fanfiction.”

He makes you giggle. “No, baby. They’re not real books. Although, there are probably some real books whose love interests were inspired by you.”

Jack hums. “I’ll allow it.”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure they don’t even compare to the real thing.” You kiss his shoulder and toy with his hair a little more before Jack decides to take you to the bathroom and clean you up.

You continue to share your sweet kisses, puckering your lips to ask for another every few minutes, and Jack is hopeless to deny you. Not after you did so well, anyway– letting him do exactly what he wanted, and even improving it by working him over with your boobs and squirting because of his cock.

Jack takes you back to bed after you’re all clean, cuddling up behind you and spooning you. “Love you,” he murmurs in your ear before kissing your neck.

“Love you,” you parrot back. “Can’t believe you’re making me find a fanfiction that’s better than that for your next goodbye.”

“I’ll do some research, too,” Jack offers.

You scoff, shaking your head fondly and laughing at Jack one last time before falling asleep. “So fucking weird.”

notes: this has been in my inbox since MAY ELEVENTH. Cappy's patience cannot be overpraised. she sent me FIVE requests outlining this whole thing, complete with dialogue, most of which was completely thrown out the window when i got my own ideas and actually started writing. you all will likely never see the original requests, but they are so silly goofy looking back on it. i have them written down in my notes app, having done that before i embarked on this journey, and i will probably not delete them because it's a nice little memory. back to my roots.

like i told cappy: this fic was a canon event, a fixed point, in my writing journey. i hope you all SINCERELY enjoy it. i know i've said this before, but this could be my magnum opus <3 i think it is the best contender at the moment.

i hope you all enjoyed!

#puck-luck's fics #andy writes anything🍄#jack hughes #jack hughes smut #jack hughes fanfiction #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes x you #jh86 #nhl smut #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl #hockey smut

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