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fennecfox44 · 4 months ago

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landslide

jack hughes x reader

summary - my attempt at nice jack.. takes place years before radio nowhere so u dont need to read that first but maybe u should bc i liked it.. also might do a series idgaf who gaf id ont gaf...

Well, I've been afraid of changing 'Cause I've built my life around you But time makes you bolder Even children get older And I'm getting older, too

04 30 2019

The summer sun is burning a hot hole through your back. You feel the scorch creeping up your shoulders and you know you should flip off of your stomach already but you’re too comfortable, sun-baked. Cicadas hummed and buzzed but you only heard them in between songs shuffling through your wired headphones.

Some time passes before you eventually decide you’ll flip over once this song ends—no, the next one—and then you finally do. You tug your sunglasses off the top of your head and push them up the bridge of your nose, shutting your eyes as you settle into your new position on your back.

Luke had invited you to fish with him and Quinn. Jack was off on a tournament in Russia, so they let you use his rod. But your patience for it dwindled quickly, deciding your time would be better spent tanning in a bikini than waiting aimlessly for a fish to poke. You’d fallen asleep in the chair, the sun soaking up your energy, and when you’d woken up, the brothers were gone. Probably to eat. But you weren’t hungry, so you stayed on the dock.

Your eyes are shut but you can still sense a cloud or something pass over you through the thin veil of your eyelids. You squint and push your glasses up over your head, worried it’s rain and that you’ll have to make a run for it back to the house. But it’s only Jack.

Your heart might’ve lept—well, it does, but not with excitement—if you hadn’t already known he was coming back today. He hadn’t text or called. You only got your news on him relayed to you second hand from Luke. The games he won, how his practices went. Luke had even offered a handful of times to put you on the phone whenever he called, but when prompted, Jack had always just said that he had to go and that he'd call back later.

You scowl up at him when you see his shit-eating grin, and pull your sunglasses back down.

“Is this my—hey, this is my chair,” Jack says, stifling a laugh as he pulls your legs up and on to his lap as he shoves his way onto part of the chair.

“Oh god, go back to Russia,” you grunt, tugging your headphones out of your ears. “It was so nice with you gone.”

“Hello to you too,” he grimaces as you kick at him, trying to wrestle your ankles into submission. “Fuck, chill out.”

“What do you mean, you didn’t even say hi!” you whine.

“Hi,” he smiles, snatching your sunglasses off your face. “Wow, it’s sunny. I forgot what the sun felt like.”

“Yeah, you look super pasty,” you retort, trying to grab your glasses back. He smacks your hands away. You give up and huff, laying back down against the chair.

“This is my chair,” he says again, more intently.

“Yeah. And I was using your rod earlier, too.”

“Yeah? My rod?” Jack grins cheekily, the fact that you hadn’t caught your own innuendo. “You wanna use it again now?”

You scoff, really kicking him hard in the side this time. Jack grunts, clutching at his side.

“Ow, you bitch,” he huffs. “The fuck’s up with you?”

You glare at him. “Giving me a hard time about not saying hi is really funny when you didn’t even call me once, Jack.”

Completely serious now, he pulls the glasses off to really look at you. “I called you!”

Technically. He called you a couple times in the middle of the night so that you could help him get off, not minding the time difference or that it threw you off your sleep schedule. You had tried to talk to him after, but he would say he had to get to bed, big game tomorrow or whatever excuse and that he’d call for real after. But he never did.

“Right,” you roll your eyes, finally retrieving the glasses back. You put them on, not wanting to look at him. “You’re right. I’m wrong.”

Jack groans, exasperated, running a hand through his hair. “See, this is the shit that pisses me off about you or us or whatever. You’re not my girlfriend. We’re not dating. Why do I have to call you? Why are you so up my ass?”

You bite the inside of your cheek but can’t help how your nostrils flare, trying not to react. You lived on eggshells around him, afraid that showing too much feeling would send him running.

“We’re friends,” you mumble, drawing your legs up to your chest. Felt really naked and vulnerable, suddenly very conscious of yourself and that you were only in a bikini with him sat beside you fully clothed. “Just would've been nice.”

Jack sighs, laying his head on your knees. “Sorryyyyy,” he drones, looking up at you. He wraps his cold hands around your warm calves. Then drops his head and presses a kiss to each of your knees. “Sorry, sorry.”

You can’t help but giggle. “Stop,” you pretend to be annoyed, tangling a hand through his hair like you were gonna pull him off, but really, you only wanted to make sure he stayed.

He splits your legs open, kissing the inside of your thighs, punctuating each one with a ‘ sorry’ in between.

“Jack,” you hiss, really tugging his hair this time as he makes his way lower.

“Sorry,” he keeps on, trailing closer to your core. At one point, he even bites at you playfully, and you whine, trying to squirm away, but he holds on to your hips, dragging you towards him. He’s knelt before you. You glance over your shoulder, and you convince yourself that the chair’s big enough to conceal him. And all the way from the house, through a window too. No one could see.

He hooks his thumbs round your bikini bottoms and tugs them down. His hands crawl back up as he spreads you open, glistening, wanting, before he latches his hands back onto your hip bones, pulling you up to his mouth.

You mewl desperately, your head lolling back, chewing your lip as he licks at you. Reflexively your hips buck against him but he holds you down while he apologizes so kindly. This was so rare. Even if there was a chance of getting caught, you think you’d take it, if it meant having him be this nice to you.

“Fuck,” you whimper, tears brimming your eyes as you tug his hair, urging him closer. Jack grunts, a hand trailing up your body, grazing your ribs before you snag his hand in yours. Without really thinking, you mindlessly pull his hand up to your mouth, sucking a finger past your lips. He groans into you, the vibration of it shooting a bolt through you.

He pulls his hand free, looking up at you, his mouth glistening. You whimper down at him as he wraps a bruising grip around your waist, pulling you down the length of the chair. “You little fuckin’ devil,” he says, looming over you, and you’re not sure if he’s mad or not, but decide it’s the latter when he presses his mouth to yours, kissing you hotly. "Fuck, you taste good." He murmurs against your mouth.

Jack pulls away, and you think he’s gonna really start in on you now, but he just stares. He brushes some unkempt hair out of your face, tucks it behind your ear before rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone. You look up at him, hoping your internal mix of shock and fear and hope and awe don’t betray you.

“You got prettier,” he says. “I mean, you’re always pretty. But you look prettier.”

You pinch your eyebrows together, drawn up tight in the middle. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he smiles strangely, then pats your cheek like a child. “Keep it up, kiddo.”

He goes to pull his hand free and against your better judgement, you reach for it, wanting to keep him close.

But he’s already pulled free, yawning, stretching. “Fuck. Jet lag’s a bitch.”

You wrap your legs around his middle. “I wanna make you feel better,” you say. Too forward. Too much all at once. He’ll think you’re trying to get something more out of him, tie him down to you, but you can’t help it. All you’ve ever wanted is to make him feel good, even when he’s constantly leaving you wanting.

He pats your leg, bending down to press one last cheeky kiss on your knee. “You’re sweet. I really am sorry.”

You frown. “Did something happen in Russia?”

Jack shakes his head, grinning. “Nah. Maybe I missed you.”

It was so hard to believe him, but you wanted to. Even if it meant you knowing you were going to let him let you down again. He would never want you this way. Fully, forever.

“Gross,” you say, but you both know you missed him more. It’s why he gets away with everything he does. He rolls his eyes again. This was good as it was. It didn’t need to change. Nothing needed to change.

#jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes x you #jack hughes smut

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fennecfox44 · 4 months ago

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radio nowhere

jack hughes x reader

summary - mean boy mean to sad girl

I was tryin' to find my way home But all I heard was a drone Bouncing off a satellite Crushin' the last lone American night

He knew, the second he saw you—that trembling mouth, those watery eyes—that letting you pick him up after this game was a mistake.

Naturally he hadn��t intended to get in a scrap, he never does. Fucked shoulder and all that, not wanting to cut his career shorter than it needed to be. But Luke was sitting this one out, home sick with a fever, and you—

He knows he’s a dick to you. He hates that he’s a dick to you. And he hates that you let him treat you like shit. But you’re just so easy. So convenient. You’re always there and you always have been. Ever since Luke brought his new friend over after school in second grade, he’d gotten your attention, not even trying. You’d spent all your afternoons after school fawning over your best friend’s older brother, and he knew it. He didn’t know how much he’d like it ‘til you got older, but it still stood. You were always there.

And you were here now, shivering outside your car so that he could spot you easier in the parking lot. Jack stalked over to the passenger side bitterly, not even saying hello. Your teeth chattered as you followed suit, getting inside, turning the heat on.

You just sit there for a moment, his negative energy eating at you but not enough to make you look away from him. He hadn’t scrubbed the blood off his face, so he looked worse than he actually was. The blood from his mouth scabbed all over, making it look like his chin was split in half. He hadn’t even said anything to you still—for all you knew, he could’ve lost a tooth again.

“Jack,” you whine, cracked and broken. You wanna lean over and touch him but he’s already groaning, rolling his eyes, shaking his head, annoyed, disgusted even, that you care so much.

“Hey, I would’ve called a car if I knew you were gonna get like this,” he almost spits, running a hand through his sweaty hair.

You recoil, sniffling. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he seethes. “Fuck. Can you drive or no?”

“Yeah,” you mumble, hands trembling as you fumble with the gear, flicking your lights on. You don’t even bother asking if he wanted food or anything. He’s usually better after a shower. You think he’ll let you help him too, but then your mind wanders to how bad his body might be if this is what his face looks like, and your eyes start to swell up with tears again. You wipe your eyes quickly as you drive to his apartment, hoping your hand covers your warbling lips.

You glance over at him when you get to a light, and he’s got his forehead pressed to the window. The stoplight bathes him in such a pretty glow. Skin red, the devilish embodiment of his team. You think about when he first got drafted to Jersey, how mean he was when you had the nerve to cry at the thought of him leaving you in Michigan. I don't know what you think this is, he’d spat at you. I’m not your fucking boyfriend.

Yeah, he’d made sure you knew of that. Bringing girls home while you sat at the kitchen table doing homework with Luke, flaunting how replaceable you were, fucking them loudly as you tried to block out the sound while your watery eyes blurred your pre-calc. You don’t think it would’ve hurt nearly as bad if it’d gone both ways, but you were such a goner for him, and he knew it. Knew he was your first and last and one and only. Part of him had hoped you’d move on, for your own sake. Selfishly, he needed you to never do that.

It’s still like this now. You’re in school and visit when you can. You drop everything when he calls. You’re amazed at the little he allows but you take anything he gives.

You park in a guest spot, biting your lip as you look back over at him, slumped against the seat. You stare a little longer until you realize he’d passed out, exhausted. You jut your bottom lip out, pouting. He worked so hard. You didn’t know anyone like him, someone that’d throw their whole entirety into the sport. Watching him work was electric, breathtaking.

It takes you a minute to build up the nerve, but you softly touch his thigh. He inhales sharply, blinking his eyes open. Light sleeper. He looks at you, as if trying to remember where he was, why you were here.

“We’re home,” you whisper. Your eyebrows pinch together and you’ve got your lip between your teeth again. You looked so small. You didn’t know how you were killing him, gutting him from the inside out with that look.

“Awh,” he frowns, reaching his arm out to touch your cheek. “That sad face. Is that for me?”

You nod pathetically, leaning into his hand. You were like a sick puppy, starved and desperate. He pouted his lip out, mimicking you.

“C’mere,” he rolls his eyes, like letting you be sweet to him was a kindness he was so generous to bestow on you. But the moment he says it you’re climbing over the center console, clambering onto his lap. He pulls a face, seizing your hips as he winces, like you’d prodded a bruise.

“Sorry,” you hiss, your eyes wide and whiney. “Sorry, I’m sorry.”

“‘s okay,” he grunts, lowering your weight back down on his lap gently. “‘m fine, ‘m good.”

“Yeah?” you whisper, braving another move as you draw your hand up to touch his cheek. Your thumb touches his split lip. He tries not to wince again, but the cut is fresh and the sting is bitter.

Part of you wanted to like hurting him, gently, opposed to how he clearly loved hurting you, intentionally. But you couldn’t even bring yourself to enjoy it even a little. Your heart ached and throbbed. A little rivulet of blood leaked out onto your thumb. You wanted to cry.

“Stop it,” he groans, and you know you must be tearing up again, the way he tugs your face down to his, his hands pulling your hair at the root. The sting makes you whine. “You’re so fucking annoying.”

You don’t retort. You can’t. He’s kissing you quiet, kissing you with a bruise to match the rest of the ones that cover his ribs after getting boarded. You try and match his intensity but you’re so skittish and awed over him. Every time feels like the first, when you came over to do homework with Luke but he was the only one home, and told you you could stay and wait, even though you’d already known Luke’d gotten detention and you just wanted an excuse to be alone with Jack.

You mewl softly against his mouth, your hips guided by the bruising force of his hands steering your hips down against his, rolling, grinding. You swallow the blood from his mouth, the taste like coppery pennies. Your tongue runs over the cut, prodding more blood out. He moans into your mouth, his grip on your hair tightening.

“Fuck,” he hisses, a line of spit between your mouths as he pulls you off him. You think he’s mad, the way his brows furrow angrily, but he’s not looking at you. His hands fumble hastily at the waistband of his sweats, trying to shuck them down. You’re in dolphin shorts, easy enough to pull to the side once he gets himself free.

It’s an agonizing stretch every time but you do it for him. Let him hold your hips down and force them to move even when you’re digging your nails into his shoulders, trying to bear the pain of it. You hide your face, gnawing your own lip bloody as he guides your hips, squeezes your ass. “So fucking—fuck, you’re so—” Jack grunts, never wanting to say everything he wanted to, scared you’d like it too much. He was such a dick for making you come all this way. Making you think that maybe this time he’d come around. Let you hold his hand. Go out for lunch. Coffee.

He comes inside you and he thinks you come too, the way your nails dig into his skin. His vision blurs for a second. He knows you don’t think he feels your tears on his neck, your lips pressing these soft, desperate little kisses on his skin. Jack draws a hand up your back, petting you gentle, calming, dog-like. If it were possible, you find a way to curl up closer to him. Something about it cracks a piece of his heart.

The least he could do is let you come to bed.

#jack hughes x reader #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes x you #jack hughes smut #jack hughes imagine

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