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itsjusthockey · 1 year

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When The Party’s Over - Jack Hughes

I have a problem with writing angst and this is much longer than expected. I'm not sorry.

Big announcement coming soon. Get excited.

I'm needy, so the more love I receive, the more I write. So please follow, comment, repost, and talk to me. I really do cherish this blog and want to be more active

Anyway so yeah, come talk to me. Please, I want to know what you guys think.

Should there be a part two? I don't know

wc: 3,423 (credit to gif maker)(don’t steal my work)

Content warning: Swearing and light NSFW? I don’t know it’s not super explicit but it’s all my first time writing it and I’m not sure

Part 2

Don't you know I'm no good for you?

I've learned to lose you, can't afford to

Jack may not be much of a coffee guy, but he is nothing but a weak man when it comes to his favorite bagel place. It’s a regular part of his routine, a constant thing. He goes before practice, grabs his usual order, and then he’s gone.

Usually, he keeps his head down, Jersey isn’t the biggest place, and he likes to avoid attention on his mornings off. Yet, he lifts his head when his name is called and moves to thank the lady handing him his food and walk out when he quickly scans the room, his eyes stopping when he lands on a familiar face.

You’re sitting at a small table close to the edge of the room, surrounded by notebooks, highlighters, and staring hard at your computer. He takes a mental note of your concentrated state, knowing you’re probably in the zone, but he elects to ignore that fact as he makes his way toward your table.

You jump slightly when he takes a seat across from you, only to relax, just barely, when you see it’s him.

“Jesus, Jack,” You breathe out, “Scared the hell out of me.”

Jack can’t help but let a smirk take over his features, and his heart twinges a bit when you let a breathtaking smile take over your own face.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.” He teases. “What’re you doing here?”

You look at him briefly, then gesture vaguely to your coffee and your wide range of studying supplies. “Homework, or at least trying to.”

“Ah, I see.” He smiles again, relishing in the company of your presence; it’s been over a week since he last saw you.

“Anyway,” you scoot your chair closer to the table, “Come here often? Their bagels are great.”

Jack lets out a small laugh. “Yeah, almost every morning. It’s pretty close to my place and the rink.”

Once he finishes, a look of recognition crosses your features. “I knew this area seemed decently familiar.”

Jack nods, and he watches as you scan over the coffee shop, then finally rest your eyes back on him. The eye contact doesn’t last long, though, when your phone begins to buzz on the table, and you sneak a quick glance down. Jack can’t help but notice the slight smile after you read the message, and his heart falls ever so slightly.

You snap your eyes to meet his and place your phone face down on the table, leaning back in your chair. “Not that I don’t love this reunion in the daylight, but don’t you have somewhere to be?”

The question is fair, he does, in fact, have someplace to be, but if he’s honest with himself, the last thing he wants to do is remove himself from this chair across from you.

“Yeah, but being a little late never hurt anyone.”

You snort at his statement, rolling your eyes at him.

“Go to practice, Jack.”

He knows you’re right, he doesn’t want to leave, but with playoffs around the corner, he shouldn’t be here, no matter how much he wants to stay.

“You’re right,” As he gets up, he notices your almost empty coffee cup. “Can I at least get you a refill before I leave?”

You glance at your coffee, contemplate his offer, and shake your head. “I’m okay, Jack. Thanks anyway.”

He nods, grabs his bagel, and turns to leave, but not before he pauses and turns around again. “You busy tonight?”

Your eyes dart back up again, but before you answer, your phone buzzes again, and you glance down. You take a few seconds to read the message before you answer him.

“I’m not sure. I’ll let you know.”

You give him a warm smile, but there is also a hint of awkwardness behind it. He chooses to ignore the possibility of rejection and nods your way one last time, and makes his way out of the shop.

As he exits, he glances back to your table one last time, already seeing you consumed back into your schoolwork, forgetting he was ever there.

Jack knows he’s not the smartest guy in the world, but he’s smart enough to know when he’s fucked. The idea was not to fall in love, which is easier said than done. He couldn’t help it; it came out of nowhere. You’ve been sleeping together for a while, longer than both of you could care to admit. He knows that the arrangement is simple, and it works. You’re not his, he’s not yours.

But fuck, does he want you to be.

Tore my shirt to stop you bleedin’

But nothin' ever stops you leavin'

Jack gently traces his fingers along your skin, relishing in the feel of your curves beneath his touch. He watches in awe of how your body responds to every move he makes, and he can tell you’re close. Your fingers dig hard into his back, your head falls back ever so slightly, and he slows down his movements to the pace he knows drives you crazy.

To get you there, he concentrates. He knows your body like the back of his hand, but he still tries to watch your face for cues, even though you're not meeting his stare. He didn’t notice it right away when you started sleeping together, but now it’s hard to ignore. No matter what he’s doing, you always look away.

He desperately wants to see you, stare deep into your eyes, and show you, somehow, that when you’re beneath him, it's the closest thing to heaven on earth.

Tonight is different for him, and he needs you to look at him, to see him.

He pulls your face gently to look at him, and reaches down to capture your lips in a heated kiss. He makes sure he’s got your attention. Your pupils are blown with bliss, and the soft look goes give him makes him feel like he’s the only person in the world. Before he can stop himself, he presses his forehead to yours and lets himself fall deep into the endless pools of your eyes.

It’s intimate, you both know that, but for a moment, just that moment, you allow yourself to get lost in each other as you meet your highs.

Jack rides it out as long as possible, loving you in every way he knows how and making sure you feel just as good as him. When you both finally come down, your heavy mixed breathing filling the room, reality sinks in.

You’re the first to break, as always, gently pushing him off you. Jack watches silently as you get off the bed, grabbing various scattered clothing items and pulling them on. He watches with a mixture of longing and disdain. He knows you’re going to leave, you always do, but he can’t help but hope this time you’ll stay.

“Stop being a creep.” A playful grin plays on your face as you catch him staring, finishing pulling on your shirt.

He ignores your joke, “Where are you going?”

You shrug your shoulders way too casually.

“Not sure, maybe out?”

His heart sinks, and he doesn’t want to acknowledge the fact that you’re killing him.

“You could stay? It’s pretty late.” He glances at the clock next to his bed.

The dry laugh you bark out makes him cringe.

“And risk running into the next girl? I’m okay, Jack; I’ll see you later.”

With that and a quick check of yourself, you leave. He’s left with his lingering thoughts and regrets. He knows you’re bad for each other, and he knows that this arrangement will eventually kill him, but he can’t seem to get away.

Jack hears the outside door slam, and he’s truly alone. He decides that his best option is to sleep you off, try to forget the way you felt in his arms and the way you make his heart feel like it’s about to burst. He falls back into his bed, staring at the ceiling. The sheets around him smell like the familiar scent of you, and he hates how it’s comforting. He feels himself falling deeper and deeper into himself, and you didn’t even know he was drowning.

He knows it’s best if he just tries to sleep, flush out any thoughts of you. He doesn’t need to think about where you are or who you’re with because you aren’t his, even though he’d do anything to make you love him as much as he loves you.

He thinks about the last comment you made. About another girl. He knows his reputation and the fact that many people think he’s a player. He’s not, though, and he wishes you knew there wasn’t another girl; it’s only you.

Don't you know too much already?

I'll only hurt you if you let me

Jack's eyes are fixed hard on your back, watching almost every move you make across the dimly lit bar. He can tell you’re relaxed, and your head is thrown back, laughing along with your friends. Though he isn’t close enough to hear the laugh that makes him happy and destroys him, his heart clenches anyway. You look like you’re having the best time in the world, and he can’t help but wonder if he’s crossed your mind, even once.

He is nursing a drink that is too watered down for his taste, and his focus is pulled back to you every time he manages to integrate himself back into his teammate's conversation. While he catches a few snippets here and there, he has no idea what the hell they’ve been talking about for the last twenty minutes, and he hopes they don’t notice that his attention has been elsewhere.

He isn’t that lucky, though, because Nico elbows him slightly in the ribs, leaning toward him.

“You okay, Jacky?”

He nods, feeling horrible. “Yeah, sorry.”

He knows he needs to focus, pay attention to the guys, and have a few drinks after a good week. So he tries, his absolute hardest, to keep his eyes off of you.

He lasts about five seconds, and when he looks back toward your table, you’re gone.

He quickly searches the room and sees you making your way toward the bar. It’s honestly embarrassing how fast he moves, and before he can stop himself, he removes himself from his table and makes a beeline toward you.

He reaches you just as you put in your order, throwing the bartender a thousand-watt smile and leaning ever so slightly over the counter. When you finally notice someone beside you and turn to face him, It’s the brief look of unrecognition that practically kills him.

“Jack?” You recover quickly, slipping on a bright smile. “What’re you doing here?”

He stares hard for a second, unsure if you’re messing with him. He knows he’s told you this is his team's favorite bar, but when you’re still waiting for his answer, he clears his throat.

“Uh, it’s the bar closest to the rink,” He hates the sound of his voice. “I’m here with the guys.”

Your eyes flash behind him to his teammates, and a sly smirk takes over your features.

“Well, don’t they look like fun?”

He lets out a light laugh, “They are.”

The bartender interrupts the conversation, setting down your various drinks. You go to hand him your card, but Jack beats you to it.

“It’s on me.” He hands over his Amex before you can protest, and you shoot him a look he can’t decipher.

“You don’t have to buy my drinks, Jack.”

He shrugs his shoulders as if it’s nothing.

You thank him and the bartender as you pick up the drinks.

“Need help?” Jack asks, watching you struggle to get the last glass.

You finally grasp the cup and flash him another smile. “I got it. Thanks again, Jack.”

As quickly as you came, you were gone, heading back to your table where your friend celebrate your arrival as if you’ve been away for years. Jack watches as you all cheers your drinks, and his heart warms a bit when you catch his eye one more time, winking and raising your glass to him ever so slightly.

He nods and heads back to his own table, determined that at the end of the night, he will get to you somehow. He only wants to have you within reach, talking with his teammates or dragging him out to the dance floor. Above all else, he wants you in his arm. So, he texts you, hoping you’ll invite him over and the night will officially begin, and he can be happy. He waits and continues to glance your way.

You never respond.

Call me friend but keep me closer

And I'll call you when the party's over

When Jack's phone buzzes loudly on his nightstand the first time, he ignores it. It’s late, and he has a big game tomorrow. When it buzzes again and continues, signaling an incoming call, he finally shifts his weight and grabs it.

It’s been a week since he saw you at the bar and even longer since you’d texted. You’ve also never called, which causes his heart to beat a little faster than it should. He presses answer.

“Hello?” He asks, hearing some brief static on the other end.

“Jack?”

Your voice sounds small, and he immediately sits up straighter in bed, suddenly wide awake.

“(Y/N)? Are you okay?”

He hears your sigh softly on the other end.

“Honestly,” You hiccup, “No. I’m wasted, and my best friend has my apartment keys, and they all don’t want to leave, but I feel sick, and my phone is almost dead, and I didn’t know who else to call in Jersey, and I-“

You continue rambling, and Jack can hear you softly sniffling in between words, and It takes him less than ten seconds to throw on a shirt, pants, and make a beeline toward his Range Rover keys.

“(Y/N)” He finally interrupts you, “Where are you? I’m coming to get you.”

He doesn’t hear you for a moment, and he thinks for a second that you hung up.

“No.” You suddenly say sternly, as if you just realized you called him. “Fuck, I’m so stupid. I shouldn’t have called you.”

As you finish, Jack can sense the panic starting to rise in your voice, and he knows that you’re falling deeper into your own head, and he has to pull you out before you disappear.

“Hey, don’t say that. But please, send me your location.”

“No.” You repeat, “You have a game tomorrow. You should be asleep.”

Jack's heart skips a beat when you mention his game. He didn’t know you followed his schedule. His mind begins to run a million places, different places, until he grounds himself and remembers the problem at hand.

“(Y/N),” He says it as hard as he can to force you into telling him where you are. “I’m not gonna be able to sleep until I know you’re home safe. Send me your location.”

It’s silent on the other end of the line, and after a moment, his phone lights up with your pinned location.

“Do not move. I’m about fifteen minutes away. Okay?”

“Okay.” You whisper back to him.

What should have been fifteen minutes turns into less than ten as Jack ignores every driver's safety training he’s ever had. He would do anything to be able to teleport to you, but instead, he goes as fast as he can.

When he pulls up to the crowded bar and doesn’t see you outside, he’s instantly filled with worry. His pulse continues to build until he sees you a small distance away from the entrance, sitting on the curb with your head in your hands.

As soon as he parks, rather badly, he bolts out of the car toward you. When he gets within a few feet of your form, your head snaps up. He watches as a mix of emotions crosses your face, and his heart finally does crumple when he sees a tear slide down your cheeks. It takes everything in him not to wipe it away as he kneels in front of you.

“Can you stand?” He asks softly.

You slowly nod, and he takes both your hands, helping you get to your feet. He watches as you wobble a bit too far to the left, and he catches you in his arms.

The second you’re in his hold, you melt into his touch, and he hates the way that he his entire body finally relaxes, knowing you are safe and in his arms.

Jack continues to steady you, feeling the weight of your body against his. He can smell the alcohol on your breath, and you’re way too cold for his liking after sitting outside. He grabs your shoes and phone and begins walking you toward his car. Once you’re there, he gets you into the vehicle, buckles you in, and hands you a bottle of water he’d thankfully grabbed from the fridge.

“There we go,” he says, making sure you’re set.

Your eyes follow him as he climbs into the driver's seat, and once he turns the car on, you break the silence.

“Thank you, Jack.” You whisper, your head falling a bit toward the window.

Jack focuses on the road as he makes his way back toward his apartment. He knows you’re in no state to be brought home alone, and he’d never forgive himself if something happened to you.

“Jack?” You speak again, and he hums. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He means it. “I’ll always be here when you need me.”

He turns to face you briefly, and he has never seen you look so sad, and it crushes him all over again. He wants to talk to you, figure out what’s going wrong in that beautiful mind of yours, and do anything to fix it. But he knows that this conversation can be had at a later date. Instead, he turns on a radio, and when he steals another glance at your figure, you are asleep.

Jack drives slowly and carefully to his apartment, knowing he has the most precious cargo to him sitting in the passenger seat. When he finally pulls into the parking ramp and turns off the car, you are still dead to the world.

He quickly unbuckles and moves to get you, gently trying to shake you awake.

“Hey, (Y/N),” he whispers, “we’re here.”

You let out a soft groan and rub your eyes. “Can’t I just stay here? It’s so comfy.”

You snuggle deeper into the seat, and Jack thinks he will die. You look so goddamn adorable, and it’s driving him insane that he can’t kiss you.

“Sorry baby,” the nickname slips before he can stop it. “I gotta get you inside.”

He smiles at your pouty face, and he unbuckles your seatbelt. He lifts you out of the car and sets you down for a second, grabbing your things and handing you his keys before scooping you back into his arms.

You softly hum in contentment as your head lolls against his chest. Jack thinks you’ve dozed off again until you open your eyes slightly.

“You're pretty strong," you slur. “Clearly, hockey is good for a person.”

Jack lets out a deep chuckle as you snuggle deeper into his hold, and after a few minutes of struggle to get through doorways without hitting you on something and teamwork to open his door, you’re safe in his apartment.

Twenty minutes later, he’s helped you take off your makeup because he knows your skin care is essential, he’s gotten you water and Advil, and you're wrapped in his clothes and lying beneath his duvet.

As he watches you breathe, gathering a few things to sleep on the couch, he can’t help but feel a sense of protectiveness wash over him. He wants nothing more than to climb next to you, but he’ll resist.

He stares a bit longer when suddenly your eyes peel open.

“You have a staring problem, Jack.”

Your tone is teasing, but his entire body grows hot, and all he wants is to get the hell out of his bedroom. He tries to make his escape, but not before you speak again, and it stops him dead in his tracks.

“You know, I broke my own heart loving you first.”

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