#new jersey devils

[heartsforjh]

ʙɪʀᴛʜᴅᴀʏ ɢɪʀʟ

pairings: luke hughes x fem!reader

warnings: none

word count: roughly 2.2k

summary: luke plans a special day for his special girl

a/n: this is my first ever fic that’s actually being posted as a fic and not just changed into one later! it’s made in honor of my sweet emmy’s birthday TODAY! happy birthday @emsdevs ! 🧡

The sun shines through your window curtains, spilling soft light into your bedroom, as gentle kisses are peppered onto your face. Stretching your arms and legs, you try your best to shake off sleep, only to hear your boyfriend, Luke, let out a small chuckle.

“Good morning, birthday girl,” he says softly, his voice tender as he looks down at you. He leans closer, covering your face in even more kisses, making you giggle sleepily.

“Shhh,” you sigh, settling back down and shutting your eyes, clinging to whatever bit of sleep you can preserve.

You don’t need to look to know Luke is offended by that, his tone making it obvious. “Shhh? It’s your birthday, baby. You can’t go back to sleep! I’ve been waiting all morning for you to wake up, and now you’re already trying to go back to bed?”

“Lu, you’re the one who woke me up,” you mumble, stifling a yawn. “I didn’t do that on my own.”

He huffs, dramatically. “Yeah, because I have a surprise for you! You have to get up!”

Before you can protest, he grabs your hands and carefully pulls you up into a sitting position, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You groan, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

“Don’t give me that look, baby. I can’t let you sleep through your birthday,” he insists, brushing your hair back from your face.

When Luke finally gets you up and moving he’s buzzing with excitement. He slowly guides you out of the room and across the apartment, using his hands to to cover your eyes.

Based on the route you’re moving, you can only assume he’s leading you into the dining room. He shifts to covering your eyes with just one hand, fumbling around for a moment before returning his stray hand to your eyes.

“Okay, baby. Are you ready for this?” he asks, his voice filled with eagerness.

You laugh at how much more elated he is than even you are for your own surprise. “I’m ready for this.”

He pulls his hands away, immediately craning his neck to watch your reaction. When you open your eyes you see a pile of questionably wrapped gifts sitting on the table. Your heart instantly melts, as a warm smile spreads across your face.

“Luke… babe. You’re so sweet,” you say, pouting slightly at his thoughtfulness. You reach out your arms, and he wastes no time pulling you into a tight hug.

He’s absolutely beaming with pride, thrilled that he was able to make you happy. “You can only open one of them right now, though. Is that okay?”

“One?!” you exclaim, surprised.

“Yeah, just one. It’s special for today. You can open the rest later tonight,” he explains nervously. “I promise it’s worth it.”

Your smile softens when you notice his nerves. “Of course, babe. I can wait. But let me open the one I’m allowed to now, please!”

He laughs, grabbing a floppy, rectangular gift wrapped in beige paper with a pretty bow.

“Ooh, I think I know what this is!” you say innocently, reaching for it.

Luke immediately shakes his head. “Hush. No, you don’t. Pretend you don’t, baby.”

You’re amused but also feel a little bad for pointing out that it’s not much of a surprise. So naturally, you decide to play along. “I’m kidding. I have no idea what it is.”

“Wait, really?” he asks, genuinely believing you’re clueless over this suspiciously clothes-shaped gift.

You give an innocent nod, trying not to laugh as his face lights up. “Mhm.”

When he finally hands it over, you begin unwrapping the gift, your smile widening with each tear of the paper. As the contents come into view, you see a cute outfit—the very same one you sent Luke months ago during your rant about needing to revamp your wardrobe.

“I bought it a while ago,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was hoping you wouldn’t buy it for yourself… or stop liking it before now. Do you… like it?”

You place a hand on his cheek, leaning in to press two meaningful kisses to his lips. “I love it. Thank you, baby.”

His shoulders relax with relief. “I’ve got more things planned. We’re gonna have a good day today.”

You fold the outfit neatly, smiling up at him. “We have a good day every day.”

“Alright well, today’s going to be an extra good day,” he corrects himself, planting a kiss on your cheek. “Oh yeah, and don’t get dressed for the day yet.”

“Lu… you know we could’ve made this from scratch, right?” you ask curiously, picking up the box of cake mix and turning it over to read the instructions.

Luke laughs, shaking his head as he scrolls through a recipe on his phone, and shrugs. “No way. It would’ve been all messed up, baby. We don’t know how to do that!”

You raise a brow at him, amused. “We? You mean you don’t know how to do that! I do. We are not the same buddy,” you tease, gently taking his phone from him, you power it off and set it aside. “Look babe, I got this.”

He chuckles, loving your confidence. “Oh yeah? You gonna impress me with your baking skills?”

“Yup,” you say, as cocky as possible.

He leans against the counter, crossing his arms as he watches you get to work. “Alright, then. Show me how it’s done.”

The kitchen quickly fills with laughter and playful banter as you take your chance to boss him around. Luke’s “help” mostly consists of him sneaking tastes of the batter and throwing in the occasional ridiculous comment that makes you laugh so hard your sides ache.

“Um… are you sure an egg goes in there? Like, the full wet egg yolk?” he asks, peeking over your shoulder with a concerned expression.

You pause, staring at him in disbelief. “Babe… you cannot be serious right now. Have you never made a cake before?”

“What do you mean have I never made a cake before? Of course not. Nobody just makes cakes, honey,” he shoots back, defensively.

You burst into laughter, completely baffled. “Lukey, yes they do! People make cakes at home all the time.”

“I don’t think so, but it’s your birthday so I’ll just act like I believe you,” he nods.

You playfully roll your eyes, an amused smile stuck to your face. “I guess I’ll take it.”

“That’s not fair! My brain is tired!” Luke whines, throwing his head back against the headboard dramatically.

You can’t help but laugh at how worked up he’s getting. “Babe, baking a cake was not that hard! Your brain is fine!”

Luke gives you a wide-eyed, incredulous look. “Not hard? What about decorating it? That was the hardest thing I’ve done in my life. Be honest—that was hard!”

You shrug playfully, fighting back a grin. “You’re the one who wanted to play this game, so no excuses.”

“I only wanted to play because it’s your birthday and I know you love it,” he says, his voice taking on a pitiful edge as he tries to justify his sixth Scattergories loss in a row. “I just wanted to make sure you have fun.”

You laugh even harder, shaking your head at his misfortune. “Then quit whining and keep playing, crybaby!”

“No cause you’re just gonna beat me all over again, and have no remorse about it!” he says, deadpanning. “Actually, let’s go shower and get ready for dinner instead. It’s almost time for what I have planned anyway.”

Your teasing tone quickly turns excited. “Ooooh! I’m so ready! What’s for dinner?”

He gets up off of the bed, refusing to give anything away. “It’s a surprise baby. But you can wear your new little outfit… gonna look so pretty.”

After a relaxing shower, slipping on your new outfit, and a short car ride filled with Luke chatting about everything and nothing all at once, you finally arrive at the restaurant he’s been so secretive about.

As you step inside, your breath catches. The restaurant is stunning—soft lighting casts a warm glow across the elegant decor, and everything feels effortlessly luxurious.

“Luke, this place is so beautiful,” you say, looking around in awe.

He smirks, pleased with you reaction. “Not as beautiful as you.”

You roll your eyes, laughing. “Please, don’t start with the corny lines right now.”

“I’m not being corny. I’m being nice! You look amazing,” he says, his gray eyes scanning you with pride.

You’re touched by his words, and you lean into his side. “Aww, thank you. You can be so sweet sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” he teases, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense.

“Don’t ruin it for yourself,” you reply with a laugh as he leads you to the host stand.

Once Luke verifies the reservation, the host leads you to a cozy, elegant table. He pulls your chair out for you—earning another playful “aww” from you—and then sits down across the table with a big smile on his face.

“Okay, baby. So, me and the team ate here once, and I’ve been looking for an excuse to bring you. The food is so good,” he starts, his tone adorably enthusiastic. “I already know what’s good on the menu. Do you want me to help you pick?”

You nod, amused by how much thought he’s put into this. “Sure, tell me everything. I trust you.”

That confirmation is all the encouragement he needs. Luke launches into a passionate rant about the menu, describing every dish he tried at his dinner with the team in detail. You listen with a fond smile, soaking in just how happy he looks. After minutes of careful consideration, you both decide what you want to order.

“You’re gonna love this, baby,” he promises, leaning back with a satisfied smile.

The two of you pass the time with easy conversation and laughter, though Luke’s mood grows increasingly impatient every time a waiter walks by with food that isn’t yours.

When your meals arrive Luke doesn’t even touch his own, watching for your reaction. You take a bite and you can gladly say that Luke hyping this place up was not an exaggeration. The food is incredible, but honestly, it could be the worst thing you’ve ever tasted and you’d never tell him so he could keep that proud smile on his face.

The moment you step back into the apartment, a new wave of excitement rushes through you. The cake you both worked on earlier that’s in the fridge, and the pile of gifts sitting on the table are practically calling your name.

“Let’s do uh… cake first,” Luke announces, heading straight to the fridge. He carefully pulls out the cake, still looking pleased with his lopsided frosting job. “Sit down, baby,” he says, gesturing towards the dining table.

You listen, sitting down at the table, and watching as he sets the cake down in front of you. Then, with a sly grin, he opens a drawer and pulls out a pack of birthday candles.

“Oh no, Luke, you did not,” you laugh, already knowing where this is going.

“Oh, I did,” he says, sticking the candles into the cake with zero regard for symmetry. As he lights them, he pulls a chair up next to you and plops down with a grin. “But you have to sing with me. It’s already awkward enough, I can’t do it alone.”

You giggle at his straightforwardness. “Okay. We’ll sing it together. Team effort.”

With that you both painfully start a hilariously off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday.” You can barely get through the song without bursting into laughter, but somehow you manage. By the time the final, awful, note rings out you’re both grinning like fools.

“Now make a wish, baby.” Luke says faintly, resting his chin on his hand as he watches you.

You close your eyes for a moment, letting yourself soak in the pure joy of the day. When you open them, you blow out the candles and glance over at Luke, who looks completely pleased with himself.

He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “You know I love you, right?”

You turn to face him, smiling as you reach for his hand. “I know. And you know I love you too, right?”

His thumb strokes gently over your knuckles as his eyes search yours. “I do know that. You have a good day?”

The question feels almost silly to ask, considering all the thought he’s put into making this day special. From the moment you woke up to now, every thing he’s done has made you feel more loved and appreciated than ever.

You nod, your heart full. “I had the best day. Thank you for everything, Luke.”

He pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest. “Thank you for being born,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

tags: @beenucks @mainly-miracle @lukey-pookie-hughes43 @emsdevs @puckmedude @joesnumerouno @alex-wotton @r0wdymaize86 @macklin-celebrini-71 @randomcuboidshape @when-im-with-you @quillycrow @rainyvalentines @alwaysclassyeagle

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[777bae]

WITH YOU JACK HUGHES

Summary :: After a brutal injury, you’re left to navigate recovery on your own. But Jack, despite the distance, becomes your lifeline—calling every day, offering comfort, and doing everything he can to be there. When he finally returns, his unwavering love and support help you heal, proving that together, you can overcome anything.

Warnings :: description of injury

Word count :: 5.6k

It all started at an NHL-run community skate event. You’d been invited along with a few other women’s league players to skate alongside the NHL stars, giving young fans a chance to meet their idols in a laid-back, personal setting. You didn’t expect much from the event—just another community outreach, another day to interact with fans and grow the game you loved. But that was before you met him.

Jack Hughes had been one of the NHL’s rising stars for a while, and despite the buzz around him, he was surprisingly down-to-earth. Tall, with his bright blue eyes and easy smile, he was exactly as you’d imagined him—charismatic, charming, and somehow completely approachable.

As you laced up your skates, adjusting the blades on your boots, you’d heard his laugh first, a genuine, warm sound that made it hard not to smile. You hadn’t even looked up when you realized he was skating toward you until you felt the brush of a glove on your shoulder.

“You here to show us how it’s done?” Jack’s voice was playful, but there was a hint of curiosity behind his words. You glanced up, met his gaze, and for a moment, both of you seemed to just… stop. He wasn’t towering over you, but there was a light in his eyes that made you feel like you were suddenly the center of attention.

“Me?” You raised an eyebrow and smirked. “You’re the one who’s been stealing all the spotlight. I just came to get some practice in. You know, to make sure I don’t show you up.”

He laughed again, this time shaking his head as he lowered himself into a comfortable skating stance. “I’m not worried. I’ve seen how fast some of the girls on your team can skate.” He leaned in a little, his voice a touch quieter. “But I have to admit, I’m hoping I’ll learn something today.”

It was all playful banter, but somehow, there was a connection that flickered between you in that brief exchange. Something about his easy confidence mixed with a genuine curiosity about the women’s game. It wasn’t like the typical interactions you had with male players; there was no condescension, no weird power dynamic. Just a guy who appreciated the game and the players—regardless of their gender.

The rest of the skate went by in a blur of friendly competition and shared laughter, with Jack occasionally pulling you into a race around the rink. You couldn’t deny that his speed on the ice matched his charm off it. It was fun—refreshing, really—especially since you were used to competing against men who sometimes didn’t seem to understand the level of skill and commitment women brought to the game. But Jack, he didn’t seem like that at all. If anything, he seemed eager to learn, to listen.

Afterward, while most of the other players were heading off to grab something to eat, Jack caught up to you again as you were packing your gear away.

“Hey, you wanna grab some dinner?” he asked, his voice casual but with that little spark of hopefulness. “I promise I won’t make it weird—just thought it’d be nice to hang out, talk about the game… maybe see if you’re as competitive off the ice as you are on it.”

It was a little unexpected, but something about the offer felt right. You’d spent so many years in a world of competition, sometimes too focused on the next game, the next practice. The thought of having a simple, easy evening, talking about something other than hockey, sounded like a refreshing change.

“Sure,” you agreed, trying to hide the small smile creeping onto your face. “I could use the company.”

That first dinner was nothing extraordinary—just a low-key meal at a local diner, where you both dug into greasy comfort food and swapped stories about your respective teams. But the conversation never lagged. Jack talked about his early days in hockey, his family, his goals, and somehow, you found yourself opening up in ways you hadn’t expected, sharing things you usually kept locked behind a barrier of professionalism. It felt natural, easy, like you’d known him much longer than just a few hours.

By the time you were leaving the diner, you felt something click. It wasn’t just the conversation. It was the way Jack made you feel seen, valued. He didn’t view you as just a player; he saw you as someone who belonged in the same conversation as the men he idolized.

That night, as he walked you to your car, he hesitated before speaking.

“Do you think we could do this again?” His tone was soft, uncertain—nothing like the cocky attitude you sometimes saw from athletes. There was a real vulnerability in his question, an openness that you hadn’t expected from someone with so much attention on him.

You smiled, already knowing the answer before you even said it. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

The following months passed in a whirlwind. The connection you’d felt that night only deepened as you found yourselves spending more time together, whether it was over quick dinners after games or stolen moments between practices. The distance between your homes had been a challenge at first, but Jack made it work. His busy NHL schedule and your packed NWHL calendar had their limitations, but you made it a priority. Phone calls, FaceTime, and text messages became lifelines, bridging the gap when you couldn’t be in the same place.

And then came the moment when it all felt a little more real. One night, after a game where you’d scored the game-winning goal, Jack called you to congratulate you. As you chatted about the game, the conversation shifted.

“So, I was thinking…” Jack’s voice dropped a little, a teasing edge creeping in. “What if we make this official? You know, like, ‘dating’ officially. I mean, we’ve spent enough time together at this point, and I’m kind of starting to like you.”

You’d laughed at first, but when you heard the sincerity in his voice, you felt that flutter in your chest.

“I think I could be okay with that,” you’d said softly, feeling something in your heart shift.

And just like that, what had started as a casual meeting at a community skate turned into something real, something deep. The spark between you two grew into a full-blown flame, one that, despite the distance and the challenges ahead, seemed unstoppable.

That was how it all began. From a community skate to something much bigger. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you weren’t just fighting for your place in the game—you were fighting for something real, with someone who understood and shared your passion for both hockey and life.

It had been a few months since you and Jack had officially started dating, and even though the connection between you two had only deepened over time, the long-distance nature of your relationship had taken its toll. Jack was a rising star in the NHL, and your team’s season in the Women’s Hockey League was just as intense, if not more so. So, when Jack had to leave for a week-long stretch of West Coast games, the distance felt particularly harsh. But you both had your routines, and you had become experts at making the most of what time you had together.

The first night Jack was gone, you walked through your shared apartment, the silence of the space more apparent than usual. You had been here before, used to being away from each other for stretches of time, but it didn’t make the loneliness any easier. Still, you had your own games to focus on, so you pushed aside the feeling and settled into your familiar routine of stretching, preparing, and strategizing for your upcoming match.

That week, your team was on a roll. You managed to secure comfortable victories in your first two games, and no matter the late hours or time zone difference, you made sure to FaceTime Jack after each of your games. His voice was always a small anchor that pulled you back into a sense of normalcy. His tired face would appear on the screen, grinning with excitement or offering words of encouragement as you recapped your performances. The calls were a lifeline, a reminder that even though the miles between you stretched across the country, you weren’t alone in this. You’d FaceTime on his days off, too, taking solace in the familiarity of his presence, even if it was only a screen away.

But it was that third game that shook everything.

You had been feeling sharp and focused, your team’s momentum riding high. You were confident going into the match, your movements on the ice instinctively flowing with each pass and play. The puck was on your stick as you skated into the offensive zone, eyes locked on the net ahead, the crowd’s roars swelling around you. But just as you prepared to make your move, you felt a brutal shove from your side. The force was unanticipated, and before you could brace yourself, you were sent spiraling off balance.

The hit slammed into your leg, pain shooting through your entire body like a bolt of electricity. Your vision flashed white for a moment, the rink around you spinning as you crumpled to the ice, unable to register anything other than the excruciating ache in your lower body. You could hear voices, distant and muffled, but you couldn’t focus on anything but the raw agony. Your leg felt like it was on fire, every inch of it screaming at you in ways you didn’t think possible.

The next few moments were a blur. You were helped off the ice, each movement sending shocks of pain through your leg as your teammates rushed to your side. You were placed in an ice bath to try to numb the swelling, but it was clear from the first glance—the leg wasn’t just bruised. It was broken.

At the hospital, the diagnosis hit like a hammer to the chest. You had multiple fractures in your leg—some clean breaks, some more complicated. Surgery was the only option, and it needed to be done as soon as possible. You were too overwhelmed to process anything. The pain was all-consuming, and the physical shock of it was enough to dull your thoughts. The one thing that kept repeating in your mind, though, was that you hadn’t messaged Jack. You had forgotten. You had promised him you’d let him know if anything happened, but now, you couldn’t even remember if you had the energy to tell him.

You were rushed into surgery, the doctors prepping you quickly for the procedure, but you couldn’t shake the guilt of not reaching out to him. When you fell unconscious from the anesthesia, your thoughts faded, but that nagging feeling remained.

Meanwhile, in California, Jack had just finished his game. He had played well—scoring a goal and getting an assist—but his mind was elsewhere. His phone buzzed as he walked into the locker room to cool down. As he picked it up, his heart stopped for a second. It was a video message from one of his friends, a clip from the game he had just missed. It was you.

The footage was grainy, taken from the stands. He saw the hit happen in real-time, the moment when your body was slammed to the ice. And then, the terrible sight of you crumpling, unable to move as pain clearly overtook you. His breath caught in his throat, and panic surged through his chest.

Without thinking, he immediately called your number, but it went straight to voicemail. His hands were shaking now, his mind racing with worry. Why hasn’t she answered? He called again, and again, his anxiety growing with each unanswered ring.

“Come on, come on,” he muttered to himself, growing frantic. He tried texting you, then calling your teammates and coaches, but no one picked up. The seconds seemed to stretch into hours as he dialed number after number, panic creeping up his spine.

Finally, one of your coaches picked up. The calm, steady voice on the other end didn’t help to alleviate Jack’s mounting panic.

“Coach, what happened to her?” Jack’s voice was tight, strained. “Is she okay? Why isn’t she answering? What happened? I saw the hit—she looked… she looked like she was in so much pain!”

Your coach’s voice was reassuring but firm. “Jack, calm down. She’s in surgery right now. She fractured her leg pretty badly. The doctors are taking care of her. They’re going to monitor her recovery closely. But she’s going to be okay.”

He froze, his heart still pounding. “Surgery? Is she awake? Can I talk to her? I need to talk to her.”

“She’s still under, Jack. They’re finishing up. She’ll be okay. You can’t be here right now, and I know that’s hard. But she’s in good hands.”

Jack closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself. “How long is she going to be in the hospital?”

“At least a couple weeks. They’ll want to monitor her closely to make sure everything heals properly.”

The words barely registered at first, but Jack’s mind finally began to slow, even as frustration and helplessness gnawed at him. He had a whole week of games ahead. There was no way he could be by her side—he would have to wait. And the thought of being this far away from her, with nothing but the distance and his uncertainty, felt unbearable.

After the call ended, Jack sat in silence for a long moment, trying to collect himself. He wasn’t sure how he would make it through the next few days, but he knew one thing for sure—he couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. He would call her every day. He would check in, even if it was through a screen, and he would make sure she knew he was there for her, even if he couldn’t be there physically.

Hours after the surgery, you began to stir, the soft beeping of machines pulling you from the thick haze of anesthesia. Your body felt heavy, your head foggy, and the ache in your leg was muted but persistent, a constant reminder of what had happened. Blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights, you slowly registered your surroundings—the sterile white hospital room, the IV taped to your arm, and the faint murmur of voices outside the door. Everything felt surreal, like you were caught between waking and dreaming.

The door creaked open, and your coach stepped inside. She offered a soft smile, her familiar presence grounding you amidst the disorientation. “Welcome back, kid,” she said gently, pulling up a chair beside your bed. “How are you feeling?”

You managed a weak laugh, though it sounded more like a croak. “Like I got hit by a truck,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s about right,” your coach replied, crossing her arms. “But the surgery went well. They said you’ll be back on your feet eventually—it’s just going to take some time.”

You nodded slowly, letting the information sink in. The details of the injury and the hit felt blurry, distant, as if they belonged to someone else. What you did remember, however, was the pressing need to call Jack. You opened your mouth to ask about him, but your coach beat you to it.

“Your boyfriend,” she said with a knowing smirk, “has been losing his mind. He’s been calling non-stop since he found out. I had to take one of his calls during your surgery just to calm him down. I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone freak out that much in my life.”

Despite the lingering grogginess, you chuckled softly, though the motion tugged at your sore muscles. “Did I… Did I at least tell him I’m okay before I went under?” you asked, your voice cracking slightly.

“Not a chance,” she said, shaking her head. “You were out cold before you could even grab your phone. But don’t worry—he knows you made it through the surgery. Barely, though. The poor guy sounded like he was about to hop on a plane mid-road trip.”

You smiled faintly at the image of Jack pacing in some hotel room, his phone glued to his ear as he pestered anyone who would answer. Your heart ached at the thought of how worried he must have been. You motioned weakly toward the bedside table, where your phone sat, its screen dark but promising missed calls and messages. “Can you hand me that?” you asked.

Your coach retrieved the phone and placed it in your trembling hands. As you fumbled with the screen, your fingers clumsy and unsteady, you saw the barrage of missed calls and texts from Jack. Over a dozen calls, countless messages—all timestamped from the moment he must have seen the hit. Swallowing hard, you tapped his name and brought the phone to your ear.

It barely rang once before his voice burst through the line. “Hey!” Jack’s tone was frantic, a mix of relief and worry. “Are you okay? Are you in pain? Is there someone there with you? Do you need something? God, I should’ve been there—I should’ve been with you—”

“Jack,” you interrupted softly, but he didn’t stop.

“I saw the clip. I saw it. That hit—it looked so bad. You just went down, and I—God, I felt like my heart stopped. I’ve been calling everyone, and no one was picking up, and then your coach finally called me back and said you were in surgery. Surgery! I should’ve been there—”

“Jack,” you said again, more firmly this time, though your voice was still weak. His words slowed, but the panic in his tone was still evident. “I’m okay,” you assured him, even as your own voice wavered. “The surgery went well. I’m sore, but I’ll be alright. I promise.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, the silence filled with his uneven breathing. “You’re sure?” he asked finally, his voice quieter but still laced with worry. “You’re really okay?”

“I’m sure,” you said, your lips curling into a faint smile. “They said I’ll make a full recovery. It’s going to take a while, but I’m okay, Jack. You don’t have to worry.”

His sigh of relief was audible, but it was short-lived. “How could I not worry?” he said, his voice rising again. “I saw the hit, and then I didn’t hear from you, and I was stuck here, a thousand miles away, with no idea if you were okay or if you were—” He stopped himself, his voice breaking. “I hate this. I hate that I’m not there with you.”

The raw frustration in his voice was enough to bring tears to your eyes. “It’s just hockey,” you said softly, trying to reassure him. “Stuff like this happens. It’s part of the game.”

“Not to you,” he snapped, the sharpness of his words catching you off guard. “It can happen to anyone else, but not you. You’re the last person I want to see getting hurt, and now you’re stuck in a hospital bed, and I can’t even be there to hold your hand.”

“Jack,” you whispered, but he was on a roll now, his frustration spilling over.

“I can’t believe this stupid schedule,” he muttered. “I should be on the next flight home. Screw the games. They can deal without me for one night—”

“You can’t do that,” you said quickly, your voice firmer this time. “Jack, I need you to focus on your games. I’ll be fine. You’ll see me soon enough.”

He sighed again, the sound heavy with reluctance. “I just… I feel so helpless,” he admitted. “You’re hurt, and I can’t do anything about it.”

“You’re doing plenty,” you told him gently. “Just hearing your voice right now is enough.”

The conversation eventually calmed, though Jack’s worry never fully faded. He promised to call every day—and he did. Over the next week, he became your lifeline.

The first night after your surgery, Jack called you just as he promised he would. The moment your phone buzzed with his name on the screen, a sense of comfort washed over you. You answered immediately, his face appearing on the screen before you could even get out a greeting.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft but still edged with worry. His hair was damp from a post-game shower, and you could see the dark circles under his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” you admitted, shifting slightly against the pillows propping you up. Your leg throbbed dully beneath the cast, but seeing Jack’s face helped dull the ache. “Sore, but okay.”

“You look pale,” he noted, his brows furrowing as his eyes scanned the screen, like he could physically assess you through it. “Are you sure you’re okay? Have you been eating? What about water—have you been drinking enough?”

“Jack,” you interrupted gently, your lips quirking into a faint smile. “I’m fine. They’ve been taking care of me here, and the doctors said the surgery went well. You don’t have to worry so much.”

His sigh was audible even through the small speaker of your phone. “How can I not worry? I hate that I’m stuck here while you’re dealing with all of this alone.”

“You’re not stuck. You’re doing your job,” you reminded him. “And I’m not alone. My team’s been in and out, and the nurses here are great.”

“It’s not the same,” he muttered, his tone low. “I should be there.”

You reached up and adjusted the angle of your phone, so he could see your reassuring smile. “You’re here, Jack. Maybe not physically, but this? These calls? They help more than you know.”

His face softened slightly, though the worry in his eyes didn’t entirely disappear. “I just wish I could do more.”

“You’re doing plenty,” you said firmly. “Now, tell me about your game. How’d it go?”

Jack hesitated for a moment, but when you raised an expectant eyebrow, he relented. “It went alright. We won, but it was closer than it should’ve been. I missed an open net in the second period, and the guys gave me hell for it.”

“Missed an open net?” you teased, your tone light. “Wow, Jack Hughes is human after all.”

He groaned, though you caught the faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I’ll make up for it next game.”

“I’m sure you will,” you said with a grin. “You always do.”

The conversation shifted after that, Jack asking about your day in the hospital. He wanted to know everything—what you ate, what the doctors said, how much pain you were in. His questions were relentless, but you didn’t mind. If anything, it warmed your heart to know how much he cared. By the time the call ended, your eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, but the lingering sound of Jack’s voice in your mind made falling asleep a little easier.

The calls became your anchor over the next week. Every night, without fail, Jack would call you after his game, no matter how late it was. Some nights, he’d FaceTime you, propping his phone up on a stack of pillows in his hotel room while he lounged on the bed in sweats and a hoodie. Other nights, he’d call you during his downtime at the rink, his voice echoing faintly in the empty locker room as he checked in on you.

On the third night, after another win for his team, Jack’s call came through just after midnight. You answered groggily, your phone resting on your chest as you blinked sleepily at his face.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” he asked, his voice soft with concern.

“No, it’s okay,” you murmured, shifting slightly to prop yourself up against the pillows. “How was the game?”

“Good,” he said, though his expression was a little sheepish. “I scored a goal, but I got into it with a guy on the other team. He cross-checked me, and I might’ve, uh, shoved him a little.”

“Jack,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him playfully. “You can’t get yourself hurt. One of us in the hospital is enough.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and familiar. “Don’t worry, I can take a hit. But seriously, how are you feeling? Is the pain manageable? Do you need me to call someone for you?”

You shook your head, smiling at his endless concern. “I’m fine, Jack. They’ve got me on some good meds, so I’m not feeling much pain right now.”

“Good,” he said, though his gaze lingered on you for a moment, as if trying to detect any hidden discomfort. “Tell me if that changes, okay? If you need anything—anything at all—you call me.”

“Jack, you’re on the other side of the country,” you pointed out, your tone teasing. “What could you possibly do from there?”

“Plenty,” he said stubbornly. “I could call your coach. Or your doctor. Or the president, if I have to.”

You laughed, the sound soft but genuine. “I don’t think the president can help with a broken leg, Jack.”

“Then I’ll find someone who can,” he shot back, grinning. “I’m serious, though. Just tell me if you need anything.”

“All I need is for you to win some games,” you teased, your voice light. “That’s all the help I need.”

Jack rolled his eyes, but you could see the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you said, smiling back. “But you love me anyway.”

By the end of the week, the calls felt like second nature. Jack would update you on his games, sharing every detail with the enthusiasm of someone desperate to distract himself from his own worries. In turn, you’d tell him about the progress you were making in the hospital, even if it was slow. You joked about how the nurses were starting to recognize him just from the sound of his voice, and he teased you about how bossy you were getting with your requests for snacks and drinks.

Through it all, Jack’s constant presence—whether through a screen or a phone call—was what kept you going. And even though he couldn’t be there in person, he made you feel as though he was never truly far away.

Finally, after what felt like the longest week of your life, the day finally arrived when Jack’s West Coast road trip came to an end. He had called you every day, just like he’d promised, but it wasn’t the same as having him by your side. Through the screen, you could see the worry etched into his face and hear it in the tone of his voice. He hated being so far away from you, and every conversation ended with him muttering how much he wished he could teleport home.

The waiting had been agonizing for both of you. Jack barely slept, the guilt of not being able to be there gnawing at him, and you had spent your days in the hospital, frustrated by your immobility and longing for his comforting presence. So when you finally got the text that he had landed and was on his way, the anticipation became almost unbearable.

You sat up in the hospital bed, your leg propped up in a brace and wrapped in layers of bandages, staring at the door like a puppy waiting for its owner to return. You heard the sound of hurried footsteps in the hallway, and then the door swung open.

“Jack,” you breathed, and there he was.

He looked exhausted. His hair was messy from the flight, his eyes shadowed from lack of sleep, but the relief on his face was so palpable it nearly brought tears to your eyes. He crossed the room in three long strides, not even bothering to set his bag down before he wrapped you in the gentlest hug he could manage. His arms circled you carefully, mindful of your injuries, but the embrace was so full of love that it made your chest ache.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he pulled back just enough to cup your face in his hands. “God, I was so scared. Watching that hit… hearing you were in surgery… I didn’t know what to do. I felt so useless.”

You could see the guilt swimming in his eyes, and you shook your head, resting your hand on top of his. “Jack, you’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

“I should’ve been here sooner,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I hate that I wasn’t here when you needed me most.”

“Stop,” you said softly, your fingers brushing against his wrist. “You did everything you could. You called, you checked in—Jack, I knew you were with me, even if you weren’t here physically.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his emotions flickering across his face like a storm. Then he leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I’m here now,” he murmured, as though saying it aloud made it more real. “And I’m not leaving until you’re back on your feet.”

The first day of Jack’s visit was spent catching up—he pulled a chair close to your bed, his fingers intertwined with yours as he asked about every detail of the surgery and recovery process. He flinched when you described the pain of the initial hit and visibly winced when you told him about waking up after the surgery. His worry was written all over him, and it didn’t fade even when you assured him that you were healing.

But he didn’t just stop at sitting by your side. By the next day, Jack had transformed into a one-man care team. He brought you your favorite coffee every morning, carefully maneuvering around the hospital room as though he’d been doing it for years. He kept your water bottle full, adjusted your pillows to make sure you were comfortable, and even insisted on helping you wash your hair when you mentioned you felt gross from lying in bed for so long.

“Jack, you don’t have to do all this,” you said one evening as he helped you shift positions, your leg still immobilized in the brace. “You just got back from a road trip. You should be resting, not waiting on me hand and foot.”

He scoffed, his hands steady as he fluffed your pillows. “Resting? What kind of boyfriend would I be if I wasn’t here taking care of you?”

“A tired one?” you offered, raising an eyebrow.

He smirked, but his expression softened as he leaned down to kiss your temple. “I’m exactly where I need to be. Don’t fight me on this—I’m taking care of you whether you like it or not.”

And he meant it. Jack spent every moment he wasn’t at practice by your side, helping you with the little things that had become impossible with your injury. When you were finally discharged and sent home, Jack took charge of setting up the apartment to accommodate your limited mobility. He rearranged furniture, set up a cozy corner on the couch where you could elevate your leg, and made sure your favorite snacks were within reach.

At night, when the pain was at its worst and sleep felt impossible, Jack was there. He’d sit beside you, his hand resting on your arm as he talked you through the discomfort. Sometimes he’d read to you, his voice low and soothing, and other times he’d just sit quietly, his presence enough to calm your racing thoughts.

One evening, as you lay curled up on the couch with your leg propped up on a stack of pillows, Jack sat beside you with a bag of takeout from your favorite restaurant. The smell of your favorite dish filled the room, and you smiled up at him, your heart swelling with gratitude.

“You’re kind of amazing, you know that?” you said, watching as he carefully plated the food for you.

He looked up, his face flushing slightly. “I’m just doing what anyone would do.”

“Not everyone would fly across the country after an exhausting road trip and spend every waking moment taking care of their injured girlfriend,” you pointed out. “You’ve been… incredible, Jack. I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through this without you.”

His eyes softened, and he leaned down to kiss you, his lips lingering against yours as though he was trying to convey everything he couldn’t say. “You don’t have to go through anything alone,” he murmured. “Not as long as I’m here.”

In the weeks that followed, Jack became your rock. He helped you through the frustration of physical therapy, cheered you on as you regained strength, and reminded you every day that you were stronger than you thought. And though the road to recovery was long and grueling, the love and support Jack gave you made it feel a little less daunting.

As you sat together one evening, your head resting on his shoulder and your cast resting across his lap, you realized something profound: this injury, as difficult as it had been, had only brought you closer. Jack’s unwavering dedication had proven, without a doubt, that he was in this for the long haul. And with him by your side, you knew you could face anything.

[tonyspep]

this was soooooooooo cuuuuuuuuute. luke gives me boy dad vibes but i see the vision of him as a girl dad! ava is the most adorable little girl. i love this slice of life piece. this moment is so sweet and i could tell you loved writing it because it's such a happy and fun piece. you did a great job as always. your writing is so vivid and so lyrical i love reading it

THE LITTLE THINGS LUKE HUGHES

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ pairing dad!luke hughes x mom!reader

SUMMARY mornings in the hughes household are never quiet—not with ava waking up early, demanding pancakes, and cracking eggs a little too hard. luke might pretend he wants to sleep in, but there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than in the kitchen with his girls, sneaking chocolate chips into ava’s mouth and stealing sleepy kisses from you. it’s messy, chaotic, and perfect. these little things are the best part of his day. word count 0.7k

warning fluff, established relationship, fem!reader

note @cyberhughes read it first🤞

LH43 MASTERLIST MAIN MASTERLIST

THE FIRST THING you heard when you woke up was the soft pitter-patter of tiny feet on the hardwood floor. The next was the quiet creak of the bedroom door opening, followed by a hesitant whisper.

“Mama?”

You smiled sleepily, already knowing who it was before you even opened your eyes. Ava stood by the bed, clutching her stuffed bunny in one arm and rubbing her eyes with the other. Her curls were a mess, and she was still wearing the purple pyjamas she insisted on last night, the ones with little hockey sticks all over them.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” you murmured, reaching for her.

She didn’t hesitate, clambering onto the bed and settling against your chest with a happy sigh. “I waked up,” she announced.

“You did?”

“Mhm.”

Ava was still warm from sleep, and her tiny hands clutched your shirt as she snuggled closer. You stroked her hair gently, letting the peaceful silence settle over you.

Then, from beside you, a deep groan.

Luke shifted under the covers, rolling onto his side. His arm immediately found its way around both of you, pulling you and Ava close. “Too early,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

Ava giggled, reaching up to poke his cheek. “Dada, wake up!”

He cracked one eye open, peering at her with a dramatic frown. “What time is it?”

“Morning time,” Ava declared as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Luke groaned again, burying his face in your shoulder. “I’m never sleeping in again, am I?”

You laughed softly, running a hand through his messy hair. “Nope.”

Ava hummed in agreement, poking at his nose this time. “Pancakes?”

Luke peeked at her. “You want pancakes?”

She nodded eagerly, eyes bright.

“Well, in that case—” In one swift motion, Luke lifted her up, making her squeal as he flipped onto his back, holding her above him. “Only if I get extra cuddles first!”

Ava giggled wildly as Luke smothered her with playful kisses, blowing raspberries on her tummy until she was laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t help but smile, watching the way Luke looked at her—like she was his entire world.

Finally, he set her down and stretched. “Alright, alright. Let’s go make some pancakes.”

Ava cheered, sliding off the bed and sprinting toward the kitchen. You took your time getting up, but Luke caught your wrist before you could leave. When you turned back, he was looking at you with that sleepy, soft smile—the one that still made your heart race.

“Good morning,” he murmured, pressing a slow kiss to your lips.

You smiled against his mouth. “Good morning.”

Downstairs, Ava was already dragging a chair toward the counter. Luke followed, yawning as he rolled up his sleeves. “Alright, Chef Ava,” he said, lifting her onto the chair so she could reach the mixing bowl. “What’s first?”

She grinned, tapping a tiny finger against her chin. “Eggs.”

“Good call.” Luke handed her an egg, watching carefully as she cracked it (a little too hard) against the bowl. A bit of shell fell in, and she gasped.

“Oh no!”

Luke chuckled, fishing it out. “It’s okay, baby. Happens to the best of us.”

You leaned against the counter, watching them with amusement. “She’s learning from the best.”

Luke winked at you before turning back to Ava. “Alright, what’s next?”

“Milk!”

As the two of them worked, you set the table, humming softly to yourself. It was such a simple morning, but it was perfect.

Ava’s laughter filled the kitchen as Luke tickled her side, sneaking chocolate chips into her mouth instead of the batter.

“Dada!” she scolded through a mouthful of chocolate.

Luke grinned. “What? Taste test.”

Ava huffed but giggled, and you shook your head with a smile.

Eventually, breakfast was ready. You all sat together, Ava babbling happily about everything and nothing as she shoved bites of pancake into her mouth. Luke listened intently, nodding at all the right moments.

And when she reached over—tiny, syrup-covered hands pressing against Luke’s cheek as she beamed at him—you swore you saw his heart melt.

“Love you, Dada.”

Luke’s voice was softer when he answered. “Love you more, baby.”

You squeezed his hand under the table, and he turned to you with that same look—the one that said, This is everything I ever wanted.

And you knew exactly how he felt.

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ LH43 MASTERLIST ✷ MAIN MASTERLIST

[kawhh]

4 Nations Challenge | Jack Hughes

[httpuckdrop]

ashes – day 116

jack had gotten a bad hit.

sure, tackles and hits are just a part of hockey – but this one was worse than usual.

he wasn't even sure how he got himself into the situation, but during his game against the bruins, his head had been bent down far too much when he had tried to shoot off a pass along the barrier. when an opponent went in for the tackle, jack's head hit the boards in a nasty angle, and everything had gone black instantly.

the directions from the team doctors were clear: he needed to stay in a dark room, with no lights or loud sounds. he wasn't allowed to use his brain too much, since that would only worsen the concussion. no phone, no stepping outside the bedroom for at least three whole days.

thankfully, your apartment was the perfect place to keep someone who'd just gotten a concussion; the blackout curtains of your bedrooms were of the best brand, keeping the room perfectly dark during all hours of the day. that's why jack now found himself lying flat on his back on your bed, with his arms relaxing restlessly along his body, just as he had for the last 48 hours or so.

this wasn't the first time jack got a concussion. even back when he was a young player, he was too intense, too focused and too stubborn that he didn't care about the risk of injury when doing certain things on the ice, meaning that he had been forced to go through the boring process of recovering from head trauma several times. he recognized the feeling, and he hated it just as much as he had when he was still a teenager, when he was forced to stay inside while his brothers and friends could still practice. he wanted to do something, anything, but the pounding in his head limited his actions to pretty much none.

he felt helpless.

but even through the pain, there was one thing that made him smile.

you.

he was so thankful that you were there for him. he slept for most of his days, not having enough energy to stay awake for longer periods of time. but every time he woke up, you were there; reading him a book, telling him a story from your childhood, catching him up on the recent news. he was so thankful, because he thought he would have gone insane if he had to endure this all on his own.

"jack?" you asked from your side of the bed, voice hushed as it had been for the last two days. there was a small hum of an answer. "don't you want anything to eat? it's been…" you squinted, trying to make out the time from the clock on your wall. "seven hours since you had breakfast."

jack stayed silent, taking a few deep breaths before opening his eyes. "yeah, i think so."

your little nightlight, a lamp in the form of a fox in a far corner of the room, was the only source of light. jack could still make out your face clearly, probably due to the last two days of practicing his night vision. the concern on your face translated to worry on his, and then it was all just a downward spiral. you hated seeing him like this. jack was usually so energetic, so happy, so… tireless. seeing him like this really hurt you – and suddenly, you were back in your old mindset again. the pain and the worry and the anxiety all boiled up into one big soup of guilt. for the way you've treated him, for the way you care for him, for everything that has happened these last months. you stood up from the bed, about to make your way to the kitchen to cook something for him, but you stopped at him calling out your name in that raspy voice of his. "i'm sorry." when you looked back at him with a confused look, he spoke again. "for last week, for-"

"jack, it's okay." you shook your head at him, putting on a small smile. you didn't want him to worry about this now, not when his head was already overworked. "really."

now it was his time to shake his head – or, as much of a shake he could handle without his brain exploding from the jolt of pain shooting through it whenever he moved even an inch – and his voice was firmer when he spoke again. "no, please don't interrupt me now. i want you to hear that i'm serious about how sorry i am."

your heart fluttered like never before. not once until today had a man spoken to you like this. like you were someone worth apologizing to, someone worth fighting for.

"i am so sorry about pushing and pressuring you. i never should have." he took a deep breath. "you have your reasons not to trust me and not let me in, i understand that. however," his hand reached for your side, wanting you closer. "i also hope that in time, things might change. and i hope to stick along to find out if they do, without pressuring you, no matter how long it takes."

at this point, you wanted to throw yourself into his arms, bury him in kisses and hug the life out of him. but with the memory of his concussion still in your mind, you settled for leaning down to his height and pressing a sweet kiss to his lips for the first time in weeks.

maybe things would be okay, after all.

[ostin-jpg]

hello to all those who partake the magical trio of the Hughes brothers 👋

Here is my not-so-comprehensive """guide""" on how to draw 'em 🫥

((hopefully it's readable?? Sorry for my handwriting lol))

[tonyspep]

THIS IS LITERALLY LUKE!!! HE'S NOT OUT HERE ADVERTISING HIS LIFE BUT HE'S SECURE IN HIS RELATIONSHIP AND IS SO IN LOVE HE DOESN'T EVEN THINK ABOUT OTHER WOMEN OR LOOKING AT THE GIRLS THE GUYS SUGGEST!!! you write luke so well.... like his easy going vibe, how he would shrug off the guys and omg jack knowing the entire time is so jack. this was so adorable. i need all the luke fics from you, like, please 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

Luke would be the type to keep his private life very private so him having a gf only really his family and friends in michigan know so the devils have no clue and i could see the boys always trying to get luke to hookup with people for like a whole season till next season when they finally learn luke has had a gf the whole time

Oh boy, 100%. He always just politely tells them he's not interested in dating anyone or having a casual hookup or pretends he doesn't notice what they're doing. Jack 100% does not help, he finds it hilarious when any of the guys are trying to get Luke to talk to some random girl in a bar, but he will 100% confirm to you that Luke is the most loyal boyfriend you could ask for. I also see Luke feeling guilty about it even though he hasn't done anything, so every time he gets back to the apartment he's telling you if you live together or phoning you if you don't and basically confessing his 'sins', like 'i'm so sorry, baby, Marky tried to get me to go out with this blonde and she wouldn't stop touching my arm and I told her I wasn't interested and I only love you.' Definitely reaches a point where he breaks and just goes 'STOP! I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND' and all the guys are just like 'why the hell didn't you tell us this sooner?' Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :) Writing Masterlist

"Hey, C'mon, Rusty! What about the blonde at the end of the bar?" Curtis points to a young woman around Luke's age, platinum blonde hair, little black dress, who's eyeing Luke like he might be candy. It doesn't flatter him, if anything it sends a sick feeling to his gut, a roiling discomfort because only you're allowed to look at him like that. You can eye fuck him, no one else. He feels objectified.

"Curtis, I've told you I'm not interested. Not my type." Not his type because his girlfriend is his only type and there's only one of you. It doesn't matter if 100 attractive women all tried to get his number right now, he wouldn't care, wouldn't give it out because you're the one he wants. Literally no one compares to you, he's smitten, whipped, absolutely in love.

"C'mon, seriously! You didn't go out with anyone all last season! Not even a hook up, you're celibate, man! You're young, you should be having fun!" Curtis knocks his shoulder with a grin and Luke just grips his beer tighter, feeling a familiar frustration at the situation. He spent all of last season dealing with the boys trying to goad him into hook ups and flings, throwing women at him like it was their duty to get him laid. He hated every minute of it.

"Yeah, Lukey, you were practically celibate, a monk," Jack chimes in, arm thrown over Luke's shoulder with a grin, the irony of his words not lost on either of them because Luke was definitely not celibate last year. He just wasn't hooking up with random strangers, because he'd started dating you, because you were the only person he wanted to see, to kiss, to sleep with and that still stood firm and true.

"Just go talk to her, maybe you'll get lucky and go home with her tonight! C'mon, what's wrong?" It's Dougie that chimes in this time and Luke wants to die. He wants to die. Or alternative go to your apartment and curl up with you in bed because this is the worst.

"Yeah, are you scared, Lukey?" If Jack wasn't his brother he'd have killed him already, killed him for encouraging all of this bullshit for a year, knowing full well that Luke wasn't single. But, he can't because his mom would be upset if Jack died...he rolls his eyes at him instead, shrugging his arm off of his shoulders.

"You're not secretly a virgin or anything, right, Rusty?"

"Fuck off, Lazar." He snaps, not because it would matter if he was, but because it's stupid that that's the only reason people can comprehend he wouldn't want to sleep around. Maybe it's just not his thing to have hook ups? Maybe he's focusing on his career? Maybe he's already in love and anything else would be cheap and insignificant in comparison?

"Oh, that's hit a nerve, some truth in that?" The guys are all grinning at him like they think they've got it all worked out and it just...it makes him snap, slamming the bottle of beer he'd been cradling to the bar top.

"No, y'know why I don't want to go talk to some random fucking blonde in the bar or hook up with whatever girl you throw my way? Because I've got a fucking girlfriend, okay? I'm not virgin! I'm not celibate! I just don't want to fuck a girl that isn't my girlfriend!" Luke's breathing heavy by the end of it, red it the face because it is so fucking annoying to constantly be bugged about it and he just wants everyone to get off his back. He's happily with you, he doesn't need random hook ups and he certainly doesn't need his team mates trying to get him laid like they have some moral duty to do so.

The way they look at him makes him feel stupid because suddenly they're all calling out variations of, "Dude! Why the fuck didn't you tell us this sooner?!" and he realises that maybe he could have solved this all months earlier by just saying he was seeing someone...like a normal person, maybe? But he'd wanted to keep things private...

He flounders for an explanation, mouth opening and closing, running a hand through his mess curls like that might help his brain to function.

"I just...it was new and...we were keeping it private."

It's Marky that turns to look at Jack, "Did you not know about this?"

"Oh, I knew." Jack is all smug enjoyment, leaning back against the bar and winking at the blonde Curtis had been trying to set Luke up with. Satisfaction rolled off him in cocky waves.

"Why they hell did you let us shove girls at your brother then?" Curtis asks, shocked, nay baffled because Jack had just spent an entire season practically encouraging the behaviour all while knowing full well Luke was dating you.

"It was funny," He shrugs with a grin and mentally Luke is considering whether the price he'd pay is worth putting itching powder in Jack's underwear drawer or maybe if cutting his hair in his sleep would be a better punishment since he can't rip another set of braces off him like Quinn did.

"That's messed up, Jack!" "Yeah, man!"

Luke sighs as the guys all ripped into Jack, downing the last of his beer and grabbing his phone off the bar top.

"Fuck this, I'm going to see Y/N."

"Ohh, you're girlfriend!?" And just like that Luke knows...he knows he's not out of the woods, it's just that the woods have changed from teasing and taunting him about hook ups, to doing so about his girlfriend.

Fuck, he hates being a younger brother.

[sleepretreat]

He brought the shirt back with him to Jersey.

[lovecla]

TBH ; LUKE HUGHES

PAIR ex-luke hughes x fem!reader, auston matthews x fem!reader

SUMMARY maybe luke hughes’ passion isn’t enough. he just doesn’t know about it, yet.

WORD COUNT 1.1k

WARNINGS suggestive, jealous luke, size kink, heavily inspired by the song ‘tbh’ by partynextdoor, lowkey toxic luke, mentions of sex.

FROM ME TO YOU listen, i know i have, like, one hundred and twenty things to write but this is one of my favorite songs and i just wanted to leave this here!!! this is something super short, messy and not at all my style, but i still wanted to do something with this song. i’d recommend reading this while listening to the song ;) as always, i love you and have a nice reading!

𐙚

HE COULD’VE swear he felt it when you entered the room.

It wouldn’t be easy to explain if he tried to, but with the way the hairs on his arms stood up when you stepped into the room, he knew he was screwed.

He was sitting on the couch across the room, with a couple of people standing in front of him, as he discussed with Curtis about something he now can’t seem to remember.

“Duude.” He heard Curtis calling him, and he nodded, his perfectly styled curls moving with his head.

“Yeah?” He answered, but he didn’t bother turning around to look at his teammate. No, he couldn’t. Not when you had just entered the room with no one other than the captain of the Toronto Maple Leafs, Auston Matthews.

Luke didn’t know what he was feeling, but he knew it wasn’t right. He was sitting somewhere angry and frustrated as he watched the way your body seemed to float towards Auston’s. The dress you had chosen for that night would probably be in his thanksgiving speech, because he was, indeed, thankful for the opportunity to see you wearing something like that: short, white, almost transparent with a huge slit in the middle, that left little to the imagination.

He didn’t even know why he was noticing you in the first place, since he remembers how he was the one who fucked everything up between the two of you, but fuck. He can’t really help it.

The way you’re laughing at the shit Matthews’s saying, the way you blush slightly under the warm lighting whenever he touches your waist or lower back. The way Luke can tell everyone thinks how much the two of you look good together.

And it infuriates him.

But now— now, you have finally noticed him. You were scanning the room with your eyes when you made eye contact with him, dropping your smile in a millisecond. He can see the way you gulp and hold Auston’s hand a bit tighter.

Luke watches as you force yourself to draw your attention back to the conversation happening in front of you, but he feels accomplished when he notices that, once in a while, you will look at him, for nothing more than a second.

Still.

He finishes the rest of his beer, feeling the bitter taste of it fill up his mouth. He wants to scream at himself to let you go, to stop staring at you like a fucking creep, to not let his mind wander through dangerous, dangerous memories.

Yet, he does none of these things.

He just watches the way your nipples pierced the dress you were wearing, hard and there for everyone to see. He licks his lips, remembering how happy he was when you’d told him you weren’t much of a bra type of girl.

You say something to Matthews before kissing his cheek and excusing yourself, walking towards what Luke assumed to be the bathroom.

“Man,” he hears Curtis, again. “She’s not yours anymore.”

And? He wants to ask. “I know.” Is all he says.

Knowing that you aren’t his anymore doesn't stop him from getting up and going after you, leaving the beer bottle on the table sitting in the corner before walking down the expensive hallway until he’s standing at the door.

“Luke, what—” he hears you asking, but he doesn’t say anything. He just walks inside the bathroom with you and closes the door behind him, hungrily eyeing your body, as he had been doing for the past few minutes.

“Y/n,” is what he says, and you have to pretend that hearing him say your name for the first time in months doesn’t affect you. Because it shouldn’t. “I miss you.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Luke?” You hear yourself asking— you’ve fantasized about this scenario several times before and you’re still not sure of what you’re supposed to do. “You can’t just say things like that. I’m with Auston now and God,” you put your right hand on your forehead. “If anyone sees us here, together, then—”

“I can see that you’re with him,” he scoffs. “It’s all over your face. The way you look at him makes me sick.”

“I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do about that,” you say, crossing your arms in front of your chest, not missing the way his eyes linger around your boobs for longer than they should. “Luke.”

“Does he know you used to belong to me?”

His question takes you by surprise, and you bite your lips, suppressing a frustrated moan. “If you let me end things with you because you didn’t want to make our relationship public, then why would I tell people about it? It was your choice not to.”

He knew you were right. And that made him even more upset.

“Then he doesn’t know about the things we did,” he whispers, standing tall in front of you, making you realize once again that he’s much larger than you, much bigger, much stronger. “He doesn’t know about how loud I could make you scream, how wet your pussy would get whenever you saw me, how you loved when I threw you around like you were nothing but a toy.”

“Luke—” you sigh, but he shakes his head, while pressing his thumb against your bottom lip. His touch burned.

“How when we first started dating you’d cry because you were so worried that I wouldn’t fit,” he chuckles, like the memory itself is enough to make him laugh. “And how you cried even more when I made it fit, when I forced my cock inside that tight, little cunt of yours.”

“Luke, stop,” you mumble against his finger. “You… you shouldn’t be telling me this. We’re— we’re over.”

“No, Y/n, we aren’t,” he says, kissing your cheek, gently. “I miss it when you’d lay with me, body so tiny next to mine it makes me hard just thinking about it,” he presses his finger harder against you. “I miss it, Y/n.”

You sigh, closing your eyes.

“So, tell me, baby, are you with me?”

You shake your head.

“No,” you say, even if you don’t want to. “Not anymore.”

“Y/n, fuck. I loved you.” He reasons, and you open your eyes, just to frown at him.

“Your passion, or whatever you want to call it, isn’t enough,” you answer, stepping away from his touch. “You don’t have what I need.”

“Liar.”

“Maybe,” you whisper. “But that’s just how life is.”

“You’re not being honest with yourself, Y/n, you want me.” He argues, scrunching his curls in his hands.

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” You ask, raising your eyebrow before turning around and leaving the room.

Leaving Luke and your history with him behind.

if you want more… ! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

LUKE HUGHES MASTERLIST.

NHL MASTERLIST.

[puckinghischier]

https://x.com/qhughes86/status/1888294742020038722?s=46

he really said i’m not loosing another tooth

he said no more owies

[sgt-peasncarrots]

😉

*big sigh*

[snowangel415]

Screenshots from the nj devils insta reel

[hughesfilm]

also quinn not playing in the 4 nations to me just shows how much he appreciates the role he was given and how much he cares and loves vancouver

i'm not sure he would leave so easy as people been saying, even if it's to new jersey

[777bae]

SWEETENER LUKE HUGHES

- A small series of imagines for Luke Hughes, each individually based on a song from the album ‘Sweetener’ by Ariana Grande, all being sfw, though some have suggestive incentives.

TRACK ONE | Raindrops (An Angel Cried)

:: (1.5k) In an empty rink, Luke Hughes breaks your heart, leaving you alone to face the silence and the pain of a love lost forever.

TRACK TWO | God is a Woman

:: (2.1k) In the city’s pulse, you take control of the night, shifting the power between you and Luke. With every move, you leave him breathless, uncertain, and surrendered to your lead.

TRACK THREE | Sweetener — Coming soon

:: (1.2k) In Luke’s embrace, the world fades away. There’s no rush—just the quiet sweetness of being together, where every touch and word makes everything feel right.

TRACK FOUR | Everytime — Coming soon

:: (2.0k) Caught in a toxic cycle, you can’t resist Luke, no matter how many times you swear you’re done. Every time he returns, your walls crumble, and you’re pulled back into his arms, knowing nothing ever truly changes.

TRACK FIVE | Breathin — Coming soon

:: (1.7k) Drowning in anxiety, Luke Hughes becomes your calm, reminding you that with him, you’ll never face it alone.

TRACK SIX | No tears left to cry — Coming soon

:: (1.9k) After months of healing, you run into Luke, and everything you thought you’d moved past comes rushing back. Disoriented and lost, you realize you haven’t truly moved on.

TRACK SEVEN | Borderline — Coming soon

:: (2.3k) As the sun sets over the lake, the distance between you and Luke fades, replaced by his promise to meet you halfway. In his touch and words, you find hope for something real.

TRACK EIGHT | Better off — Coming soon

:: (3.6k) A chance encounter with Luke turns into a deep connection, but your fears and insecurities lead you to walk away, believing he’s better off without you, despite the heartbreak it causes.

TRACK NINE | Goodnight n go — Coming soon

:: (4.0k) You can’t stop thinking about Luke Hughes—the quiet, magnetic presence in your life. From fleeting touches to charged conversations, every moment with him leaves you questioning if he feels the same. Torn between holding on and letting go, you’re left trapped in the ache of almost-love.

[puckdrunklove]

Damn ok

I'll be in my bunk | Jack Hughes