babe, only you.
jack hughes x reader
to feed my jack obsession recently, here’s a bit of angst and fluff (no mature content). please, enjoy.
also: there’s no proofread, so..
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you found yourself always wondering; “am i good enough for him?”, “do i deserve him?”. comments had been lashed out earlier this evening to darken those already eerie thoughts that you fought so hard to not reside with. a long, long stay.
jack came into the room, that was the man that’s ‘in love with you’. those thoughts slashed at your mind little cuts kept wracking your head. the trance you were in was broken by your lovers lips lovingly placed onto your head, and you felt the couch slightly dip when he sat down beside you. his arm snaked around your shoulders and pulled you close to him, your head lying on his shoulder.
no one questioned if he did enough in this relationship. no one made snarky comments on how he was so quiet, how he looked like he never put enough effort into how he showed his love, but they did to you. and it was torture trying to hit those thoughts out of your brain. every single one of those comments lingered for longer and longer each time someone made another.
“what’s wrong?”
his soft voice lingered in the room as he ran his calloused hands up and down your arm. the television was playing in the background, an old re-run of big bang theory, muted, but with subtitles.
“jack, it’s just,” you started, why couldn’t you form words. a pang in your heart stung against your chest. “i don’t deserve you.” you whispered, he froze, eyes straying from the tv and to your slumped form against him.
“what makes you think that?” he murmured, his blue eyes connected with your glossy (e/c) ones.
“i- im not good enough-“ you were cut off by a sweet kiss to the lips. “don’t talk like that. i don’t care if your quiet, i don’t care what people say about our relationship, (y/n)!” he exclaimed. “people don’t know you, and how lucky i am to actually know and to be with you. i thank anyone in the skies above that they let me hold your hands. you are everything, my universe, my world. don’t let people tear into you.”
he rubbed his hands up and down your spine as you sobbed painfully into his chest, dampening his shirt.
the thoughts were still there, but at least you had someone to guide you along this long and winding road.
“i love you.”
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It’s a thing now. Davey doing his hair. It’s not bad – honestly, it’s heaven, because Davey’s fingers are long and gentle and kind as they ease out the tangles from his curls, and his thighs are hooked over each one of Jack’s shoulders, creamy skin just barely hidden by his sleep shorts pressing close to his jaw like a dream – but it’s also hell, because Davey (as usual) insists on talking all the while, which means Jack has to pretend he’s paying attention and not thinking about turning exactly one-eighty degrees and doing some very, very bad things to those aforementioned thighs.
“Too tight?” Davey asks, giving the braid he’s finished a questioning tug – Jack has to bite his tongue to keep himself from saying anything embarrassing.
“Nah,” he smiles gently. It’s a gargantuan effort just to say the word, but it fools Davey well enough.
“Chin up,” he says softly, pressing his fingertips to Jack’s jaw and pushing it just a scootch higher – that’s exactly the phrase Davey would use, just a scootch. God, Jack could cry. “There we are – perfect.”
“All you, man,” Jack chuckles – he’s not entirely aware of what he’s saying, he just needs to say something that’ll keep him from buzzing over how Davey says the word ‘perfect’, the soft ‘p’ that bursts from his lips, the light smacking sound of the ‘c’ against his soft palate, the echo of his tongue on the back of his teeth as he rounds out the ‘t’, all of it directed at Jack of all people. “Fuckin’ hate doin’ this part by myself.”
The nape of his neck prickles under Davey's scrutinizing stare.
"Your wrists acting up again?"
"I don't have carpal tunnel and I'll fight you."
(Jack would be proud of the way Davey laughs at that, if he didn't tug on Jack's hair again - just to be playful, of course, but Jesus fucking Christ-)
"S'just boring is all." Jack mutters, hoping his voice stays even. "I try watching shit while I do it, but I just get distracted."
"Ah, so it's your goldfish attention span that's the problem. Gotcha."
He can hear the little smirk wrapped around Davey's words.
“Like you can talk!" He scoffs - he almost leans back to look at him properly, but then the soft of Davey's inner thigh brushes against his cheek, and he has to weld all his bones into place to keep himself from doing anything stupid.
"You think I don't see you Wiki-spiralling under your sheets at four AM?" He manages to utter once he gets his voice back. "Fucking obnoxious, Jacobs, I swear, I think I'd actually prefer it if you were looking up weird shit, but no, it's always military dolphins, or the history of Velcro, or-"
There's a pressure against his scalp and a writer's callus against his jaw as Davey levers his head back into place, cutting him off entirely with a small, strangled breath.
“Chin down," Davey says softly, pretending to chide, but Jack knows he's smiling, the little shit.
God, he needs to start going to church. Or see a therapist, or - fuck, live on cornflakes or something. It's the only way he's getting through this year alive.
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