#one in eleven million

[unmotivatedwrit3r]

One in Eleven Million (final chapter)

damian wayne x reader x jon kent

(A/N): And we have reached the end! Thank you to everyone who has been following this story and I hope the ending was worth the wait. I also wrote at least some of this and the last chapter while delayed at a train station/on the train so any offhand references I make to either of those things are because of the haha.

And happy new year!

Series masterlist can be found here.

warnings: anxiety, train stations, small amount of cursing

wc: ~1400

~~

Jon blinked awake to Damian tapping him on the shoulder. 

“Huh?” 

“We’re almost there,” he said, nodding out the window. Outside, the scenery had changed from the green of Pennsylvania to the cloudy skyscraper city of Gotham. “Alfred’s meeting us at the station. I’ve already asked and he’ll drive them home if they’re comfortable.” 

Jon looked over at you. He couldn’t remember if you or he had fallen asleep first, but he felt privileged that you did at all. Sure, some of it might have been the exhaustion of the last day, but he had a feeling you wouldn’t have fallen asleep if you didn’t trust them to be there and wake you up. Based on your complaints about the station there, there was no way you wanted to end up in Newark. Or New York. 

Jon shook you gently. You opened your eyes, confused, then sat quickly upright. 

“Shit, I fell asleep? I didn’t mean to.”

“If it’s any consolation, so did I,” Jon shrugged. 

“I didn’t mean to miss the last hour,” you argued. 

“Last hour of what?” Damian stood up in the aisle, pulling Jon’s carry-on out from where he’d tucked it in. Jon grabbed his backpack then helped you pull your suitcase upright. 

“Of—thanks Jon—of time left with you guys.” You winced. Maybe that was too honest. Tugging your backpack over your shoulders, you followed Jon towards the exit at the end of the car. Damian stopped at the car door. You braced yourself with your suitcase to avoid toppling over as the train shuddered on the tracks. It really did feel like the plane turbulence from earlier. 

“This stop, Gotham Station,” the loudspeaker declared. One thing airplanes have going for them, you thought, better sound systems. The train’s announcements were barely audible. “Doors will open on the right side of the train. Please watch your step.” Anything further was indecipherable under the burbling of the speaker. 

“Wait, why did you say the last hour?” Jon asked as the three of you took the escalator up to the station's main area. 

“I have no idea how to contact you after this.” You pulled your suitcase over the lip of the escalator with a tug and continued on. Despite the amount of public transportation you’ve taken, Damian seemed to know the station better than you. You followed him as he weaved through the groups of people sprinkled around the area, Jon right behind. 

Damian stopped just outside a side entrance, and you moved around to his other side to avoid blocking the door. Jon followed. 

“We do all have phone numbers,” Damian suggested pulling out his phone. You assumed he was texting whoever was picking up him and Jon. 

“Oh, duh!” 

Jon’s excitement made you smile. The thought had crossed your mind earlier, but you’d dismissed it as a non-starter. You felt a little silly for that now. 

Jon’s phone was already open to a new contact sheet when he handed it to you. You weren’t sure if you’d ever actually given them your last name or if they remembered ever seeing it on your train ticket or boarding pass, but there was bound to be someone between Gotham and Metropolis that shared your first name, so you added it in anyway. Jon took it back from you and started typing. 

Your phone buzzed straightaway. You pulled it out of your pocket, smiling. 

“hi :)” the first message read. It was sent to you and a third number. Then “it’s jon”

“Huh,” you mused, reading it. “I’ve never seen anyone spell it like that before. That’s cool.”

You unlocked your phone, opened it to the group chat, and held it out to Damian. 

“Would you mind? So I don’t misspell your name?”

Damian muttered an assent and took it from you. He returned it with both contacts filled out. 

“Oh, great, thanks.” You chuckled at Jon’s contact. The name, instead of the Jon offered by the initial text, had been filled out as “Jonathan Kent.” Damian’s name, you were proud to say, was spelled the way you imagined it was. The last name was a funny coincidence, you thought, considering he lived in Gotham. 

“Wayne?” You asked, about to make a teasing joke. 

“Like Bruce Wayne, yes.” Damian said, carefully watching your reaction. 

“Like ‘Wayne Enterprises’ Wayne?” He nodded. “Holy shit. Wow, okay, I didn’t expect that. Wow.” You couldn’t read the expression on his face. Some part of you wondered if he was waiting for you to make a comment about his money or his father. 

“Why did you take the train with me?” You asked instead. The concrete was rough beneath your shoes, a noticeable contrast from the smoothness of airport flooring. “You could have easily had someone pick you up. Pick both of you up. So why–?” 

“Because we wanted to,” Jon answered simply. 

“I am not in the habit of making,” Damian hesitated, “friends and then leaving them behind.” 

“Yeah,” Your heart thudded loudly in your chest. “I’m glad we agree on that.” 

An unfamiliar black car pulled up beside you. You took a couple steps back. It was nice, but anything unfamiliar, nice or not, wasn’t worth the risk. 

Damian, on the other hand, moved in closer. He opened the passenger door and said something to the driver then turned back towards you. 

“Do you want us to drop you off at home?”

You hesitated for a moment. Jon was looking hopefully at you. Damian’s “friends” echoed in your head. 

“Yeah,” you agreed. “That would be great.” 

Jon’s face split into a grin. The corner of Damian’s lips quirked up. There was some warm feeling in your chest at the fact that you caught it. You smiled back. 

Alfred Pennyworth, as you learned his name was, stopped the car right outside of your building less than thirty minutes later. 

“I’ll get your suitcase,” Jon offered, hopping out of the car as you collected the rest of your things. 

“Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth.” 

“You are very welcome,” he answered. 

You shut the door behind you, now face to face with Jon. 

“Is a hug okay?” You asked him. “I’m not sure if that’s a thing you do but-“

Jon gives good hugs, you decided immediately. You could feel the weight and warmth of his arms where they circled your shoulders. 

“I’ll text you, okay?” He let go, hands moving to shove in his pockets. “I’ll take a picture of Metropolis when I get home and send it.” 

You smiled at him; there was something concrete to look forward to. Damian came around the back of the car. 

“You’re not a hug person, right?” You asked him. He shrugged. 

“Only for certain people.” 

You nodded, oddly disappointed. Damian opened his arms. 

“Are you sure?” You asked him. He nodded and you let him set the pace, tightening your grip only when he did. Damian was a good hugger too, you realized. You wondered if the older brother you heard of hours ago on the plane and Jon both had something to do with that. 

“You guys know where I live now,” you adjusted your backpack over your shoulder and pulled up the handle on your suitcase. “So come visit sometime, okay?” Your gaze wandered over to Jon. “Well if you’re in town, I guess. Metropolis isn’t exactly walking distance.” 

Jon chuckled. 

“I’m here pretty often.”

Damian scoffed a quiet laugh. 

“We will. And keep in touch.”

“Yeah,” you smiled. “You guys too.”

You gave a final wave before heading into your building. A cloud of melancholy followed you inside. You ignored it, pulling dirty clothes from your suitcase to toss in the hamper before heading to take a shower. 

Hair dripping but finally clean, you flopped onto your bed, reaching for your phone. Three messages were waiting for you. You answered the one from your parent, asking if you’d gotten home safe. The second was an email. You’d deal with that later, after you got some sleep. The third was a picture from Damian. 

He didn’t even make it through my shower, the attached message read. On your screen, Jon was lying on a couch underneath Damian’s large dog. He was fast asleep. 

You laughed and replied, then set your phone down. A nap would definitely throw off your sleep schedule, you knew, but Gotham was nocturnal anyway. You slept the afternoon away.

[dandelionjack]

i have a maybe lukewarm maybe hot take about this godforsaken show that some people could find mean, but i stand behind it, no elaboration (okay, some elaboration in the tags below… a lot of elaboration)

opinion: if you claim to like clara’s dynamic with the doctor and her character development in series 8 and 9, but simultaneously say you hate the impossible girl arc/elevenclara, you don’t actually understand anything about their relationship and what makes it the way that it is

[chinchillion]

"But here you come just in time, when I can’t see any light that shines, I find your hand to lead me through the day."

— MY SCHOOL PRESIDENT, episode 10

[flowercrowngods]

have a snippet of chapter 11, which is a stupid asshole of a chapter because some idiot thought it would be fun to rewrite an entire netflix show or some shit

“Ellie?” he says quietly, catching all of her attention at once. “I have to go back to school.” 

Her hand stills mid-air and her face goes through several emotions in a matter of seconds. Steve holds his breath.

“Today?” 

He nods, anxiety thrumming beneath his pulse. 

“Now?” 

“Soon,” he says, pointing at the clock beneath the TV. “When it’s Seven-four-zero.” She doesn’t have all the numbers down yet, or a feeling for the passing of time, but she can recognise the numbers on the digital clock when she has to.

“It’s seven-two-six,” she says slowly, squinting at the numbers. 

“Twenty-six,” Hopper says around a mouthful of pancake, and Steve wants to tell him to shut up. 

“Twenty-six,” El repeats, unfazed. Steve nods. She holds his eyes for a while longer, and Steve is worried that she will say that he promised he wouldn’t leave her. They talked about this already, multiple times, made a plan of what would happen and when he would be back. Promising that he would always, always come back. And her promising that she would come find him if he didn’t. It was a promise to him, but a threat to the world. And he believed it. 

Still, he worries that it might be too soon. Worries that she asks why, because telling her that Eddie Munson was worried I overdosed on drugs rambled at me and told me to kick his ass in school today, and somehow that was the first time anything felt normal again even though it wasn’t normal at all isn’t something that makes sense even to himself. 

“Okay,” she says at last, going back to her pancake— but only nibbling on it rather than stuffing the whole thing into her mouth. A testament to the anxiety and worry coursing through her. “But come back.” 

“I will. I promise.” 

“Promise.” 

[manybrokenquills]

I 100% will continue to think that people are echos of those around them

Like, I know people talk about this, but I don't think it works the same way for anyone else the way it works in my mind.

I'm like a pie chart of everyone I've met, and some people only take .02% of the chart, and other people take 34%.

My accent was learned by copying the way people move their mouth, because I can't hear well out of my left ear.

It's a mix of my home town, a British accent, sometimes a little Russian, and so many other parts of the world.

And it all culminates because I met people who talked with that accent and I copied how they talk.

I read a lot, and I mean a lot of books when I was a child, and so my writing style is all of those writers mashed into one.

Some of my mannerisms were learned by going to school in such a large school district, and others were learned by being in and out of the doctors so much, even nowadays.

I am learning and growing and being who I am.

And everyone contributed to making me.

It takes a world to raise a child.

[cat-b0t]

Me while watching stranger things and someone is alittle bit mean to eleven

[ardentpoop]

soundtrack for navigating spnblr:

subdivisions - rush

attacked by an angel - TODAY IS THE DAY

blood on the valley floor - soundgarden

tapping out - issues

unsettling differences - blue smock nancy

deny the absolute - pelican

silk wrapped hands in a masquerade even when things are picture blue I keep it under my pillow now just in case there’s nothing left to do outrun myself - calm

fire gone out - palehorse/palerider

best appreciated by newbie sam lovers who aren’t squicked out by S/D. I am very sorry.

[ageless-aislynn]

Okay, so Eleven Labs AI voices are SCARY ACCURATE, so that, along with using the music and background sounds and dialogue, make this sound like a real and really demented version of The Pillar of Autumn in Halo: CE.

These AI voices have so much emotion and delivery to the lines. Like at 2:20, listen to how Cortana’s “What is it? Sure, whatever” tone is perfectly I have given up in dealing with this overgrown manchild right now. Just... equal parts scary and amazing, IMO.

The real world implications on how well both audio and video can be deepfaked is a discussion for a whole other time. 😳😬 But for now, please enjoy this authentic-sounding AU episode of “Chief Needs His Airpods.” 👀😉

[gayboyrocklee]

College stress again

[cut-catches]

these people are literally insane

Parasocial relationships with gymnasts are a hell of a drug.

No. She didn't deserve gold. She lost about 1.3 between OOB and landing deductions and she didn't have that kind of buffer on the next gymnast.

People got used to the idea that her OOB don't matter because she is such a great athlete. At some point the landings were going to matter. They mattered to Team USA in quals in Tokyo. And they mattered to her individually in this floor final.

That doesn't diminish her as an athlete nor does it make her accomplishment less. But it does mean she didn't earn gold on that day.

[unmotivatedwrit3r]

One in Eleven Million (ch.7)

damian wayne x reader x jon kent

(A/N): this is where the real-life experience I took to write this story runs out so please take any and all airplane/airline logistics with a grain of salt. And with that said, enjoy! I want to get the rest of this series out by the end of fall to hopefully have room to post the holiday fics I want to write so look forwards to the coming final chapters. And apologies, this is a short one.

edit: forgot to link the masterlist so here it is!

warnings: airplane travel, turbulence, emergency (not crash) landings, panic

wc: ~750

~~

The next forty five minutes passed in some part conversation and some part Jon showing you dozens of pictures on his phone. He had a few really good ones of Superman (the older one) and some stunning ones overlooking Metropolis. 

“My parents are reporters so they–they know people who take photos like this,” Jon explained to you, crunching on the airplane pretzels he’d reclaimed from Damian.  

You pulled out a few photos of the Gotham skyline to show the boys in turn. Your photos didn’t live up to theirs, but with your not-high-tech phone camera, those were about the best you had. 

A stronger bout of turbulence rocked even you, hands instinctively gripping the hard plastic of the armrests. A quick glance at Damian gave away that he didn’t find it regular either. 

Jon’s “This is weird right?” overlapped with the concerned cries of other passengers. You turned to Damian. 

“It feels more like a train right now than a plane.” 

“I agree. This is irregular at best.” 

You nearly missed the crackle of the loudspeaker from underneath the raised voices of those around you. 

“Ladies and gentleman, there has been a slight issue with one of our regulators. As of now, all passengers and attendants are to remain seated for their safety. Our next step is to make an emergency landing at the Philadelphia airport where there will then be connecting flights to Gotham. If you would rather find an alternate method of transport, let the front desk know as soon as we arrive so any luggage is forwarded to baggage claim.” 

You could barely process the new information over the sudden uproar. 

“This has never happened to you, I assume?” Damian spoke loudly. 

“No, nothing like this. I’d never even had a delay this bad before but this? No it-it’s crazy.” The answer to your question was chiseled into the shaken expression on Damian’s face but you asked anyway. “Either of you?”

Twin shakes of the head confirmed your assumption. 

“It’s not an emergency right? Like I know it’s an emergency landing but not a fall out of the sky kind of emergency right?” Jon’s blue eyes were wide. You shrugged helplessly.

“I want to say they’d tell us if it was but-”

“But they’ve been less than forthcoming so far so why begin now?” Damian finished. 

“Yeah,” you agreed. “Exactly.” 

Beside your seat, the emergency exit lights lit up. 

“That doesn’t bode well.” Damian pulled the words out of your brain. “But panicking,” he hissed at the woman lamenting in the row behind you, “will not solve anything.” 

You didn’t think Damian realized Jon was clinging to his hand. You didn’t think he knew he was holding yours.  

“Jon, you’re shaking the floor.” The words came out harsher than you intended. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be-I just-it’s-”

“Sorry I just-” Jon switched from tapping his foot to holding Damian’s left hand in his, focus tuned on his fingers. Damian’s gaze was locked on where his right hand was linked with yours. You pulled away as if his gaze burned you. “I’m never flying commercial again,” Jon finished. 

The laughter that bubbled out of your mouth was more hysterical than you intended. 

Another bout of rough turbulence wracked the plane. You kept your hands to yourself his time, arms crossed against your chest to squeeze at your biceps. 

You barely heard Jon’s whispered cursing underneath the panic rising throughout the rest of the plane.

Damian stayed quiet, but the hand that wasn’t held in Jon’s was tightly clenched. If he wasn’t human, you might have expected there to be holes bored into the head of an older man across the aisle. You wanted to quiet the guy yourself; his catastrophic ranting was only adding into your own anxiety. Instead, you spent a couple minutes making sure all of the stuff in your backpack was tucked away. 

“He does know everyone else can hear him, right?” You asked as you sat up. Both boys chuckled. Jon’s fingers tapped rapidly on his thigh. 

“Alright folks,” the pilot’s voice interrupted the catastrophizing. “We’ve begun the landing process. Please be aware that further turbulence is normal. We should be on the ground soon.”

“How much longer can they call turbulence normal?” Damian ground out. You didn’t have an answer for him. 

[thebearer]

nothing in the world belongs to me |carmen berzatto x reader|

prompt: still new in your relationship, you show up to the bear for dinner unexpectedly, surprising carmen and the others.

based off this prompt from the other day :)

contains: fluff lol. really, it's just fluff. established-ish relationship (the others don't know). carmen being a little nervous and possessive but mainly cute <3 language.

“Alright, listen up,” Richie stood next to Sydney, flicking through the piles of tickets that were ringing through by the second. It was normal now, an expected task in their routine. “We need to walk the focaccia to table seven, please.” 

“Yes, Chef!” A chorus of nearly robotic voices rose from the sizzling hiss of the lamb searing in Carmen’s pan, lifting the spatula to tip the meat over, before giving it back to the chef on the line. 

“And for table nine, we’ve got a shellfish allergy, alright? So let’s triple check the cross contamination on that. T, can you handle that one?” Richie moved from his leather bound book of notes back to the ticket. 

“Yes, Chef!” Tina chimed, pulling a freshly washed pan, filling it with the veal stock. 

“Table nine, is that- that’s the senator?” Carmen turned to Richie, tasting the roux bubbling on Victoria’s station, giving her a curt nod of approval. 

“No, that’s table eleven.” Richie hummed, looking back at his notebook. “Nine, is… a birthday. Booked online.” Carmen had already begun to drone him out, mind racing with a million other things as Richie listed the guests name. Until he got to one. 

The name Carmen was sure he was hallucinating. The name no one knew- How would they know? How could they possibly know your name? 

You and Carmen had been seeing each other for a little while. A few weeks that were slowly turning into months. A casual thing that was slowly turning more serious. Dates and meetups are becoming more frequent. You’d even invited him over to your place a few times, he’d spent the night last week. 

Still, Carmen hadn’t managed to tell anyone. Selfishly, he liked that you were all his for now. Privacy was not guaranteed in the Berzatto house, in Carmen’s life still. He knew they meant well, they always did- he knew it wasn’t purposeful, the intrusion that almost always led to a demise. Carmen wasn’t ready for it, not yet, he still wanted you all to himself. 

“Carmen?” Sydney’s voice pulled him out of his panicked trance. “Chef, are you- are you good?” Her voice lilted with that familiar suspicious quip, the one always accompanied with her lifted brows. 

“What?” Carmen blinked, hands buzzing, heart thumping. He could see the window, Richie’s frame blocking most of it. “Sorry, yeah- yeah, I’m good, Chef.” 

Sydney watched him carefully, a slow nod before she continued calling out orders. Carmen could feel Richie’s eyes on him, narrowed with curiosity. Carmen tried to be nonchalant, crossing the kitchen back towards Tina, his eyes cutting carefully, looking out the window. 

There you were. 

Sitting pretty at the middle table, surrounded by friends, some Carmen recognized from your Instagram. He’d actually logged in to the app, looked you up after the first date, consumed every photo of yours in the dark of his room. Cheeks burning with excited heat, stomach fluttering in a way he hadn’t felt since junior high. 

“Alright, walk five salads to nine.” Sydney called out. “Where’s our runners? God, Richie, can you run-” 

“-I got it.” Carmen called, the urgency in his tone making Tina jump behind him. Carmen took the tray before Gary could, his hands shaking as he lifted it. 

“Cousin, I can get it.” Richie frowned. 

“No, I-I got it.” Carmen nodded, swallowing down his fluttering nerves. His eyes cut to your table through the window, heart skipping when he saw you. “I got it. I’ll be- I’ll just be a second.” 

“I don’t- I can’t even handle that one right now.” Sydney sighed in exasperation. “Alright, Chefs. Let’s get back on track.” She announced, shaking her head. Richie frowned, pulling out his phone. 

Sugar’s cell buzzed against the hostess stand, excusing herself to check it. 

From: Richie 

‘Look at table nine.’ 

Sugar huffed. 

To: Richie 

‘Why? Is there something wrong?’ 

She stepped back, casually turning to scan the room, eyes landing on the table. A small group of girls, younger, and amongst them- Carmen? 

To: Richie 

‘Is something wrong with the food? Do I need to comp it?’ 

From: Richie 

‘No. Cousin wanted to go out there.’ 

Sugar frowned, angling her body behind the large plant near the front as casually as she could. She watched through the leaves as Carmen passed out the salads, each girl grinning widely, but their eyes always cut to one on the end. 

Carmen saved your salad for last, hoping the lowlights of the restaurant would hide his boyish blush, setting the bowl in front of you carefully. “Hey,” 

“Hi,” You smiled sheepishly, looking to meet his gaze. “Everything looks so good.” 

“Yeah? Thanks.” Carmen nodded. “I-I didn’t know you were comin’ tonight.” 

“I’m sorry.” You cringed softly, embarrassed heat flooding through your veins. You knew better, knew you shouldn’t have done this- showed up at his restaurant unannounced. 

“I, uh, it’s my friend’s birthday.” You nodded towards Alicia at the end of the table. “And I was telling them about that pasta you made me, and they really wanted to come try it.” Your nerves bubbled, rambling in nervous peals that seemed to pour out before you could stop them.  

“Yeah, no, that’s really nice. Thank you.” Carmen nodded, giving a half smile to your friends, hoping they didn’t see the way he wiped his clammy hands on his apron. “Why didn’t- Why didn’t you just call me? Tell me you were comin’ in.” 

“I didn’t want to bother you.” You muttered softly. “I honestly didn’t think you’d even see us here, I swear. I didn’t mean to bother you or anything-” 

“-You’re not bothering me.” Carmen’s voice dropped to a coo, accompanied with a soft smile that had your head spinning. “Never a bother, but, uh, next time? Bother me, ok? Wanna make sure you get the best seat in the house.” 

Your cheeks flushed with heat, your friends excited giggles only intensifying the rushing heat blanketing over your body. Carmen’s own cheeks heated, tongue rolling on the inside of his cheek to hide his grin. 

“Alright?” Carmen added, and in a complete act of shocking boldness, his hand squeezed your shoulder affectionately. A small gesture on the outside, but for Carmen, it was huge. 

“Alright.” You grinned, leaning into his touch, your hands sliding over his. 

“How’s everything so far?” Carmen turned to the table, nodding at the excited gushes of compliments, not missing the way your friends cut their eyes to you with animated glee. 

“Just let me know if you need anything, ok?” Carmen turned to you.

“I will.” You nodded, starry eyed with love sick affection. 

“Good. I’ll see you before you leave, alright?” Carmen muttered, ducking down towards you. His lips brushed over your cheek, your perfume clouding his senses. “You’re not botherin’ me. ‘M glad you’re here.” 

Your cheek pressed to his, a gentle, affectionate rub before Carmen parted. Both of your features painted with shy delight. 

Carmen could feel everyone’s eyes, through flickering gazes and lifted brows. Sydney’s gaze lingering over him skeptically, still counting tickets. Fak’s wide grin from the corner, loading trays to take out. 

“Hey, uh, Marcus.” Carmen ignored Richie’s raised brows, a teasing, questioning remark on the tip of his tongue. 

“Yes, Chef?” Marcus muttered, looking up from the cannolis he was garnishing. 

“Table nine has a birthday. I was thinkin’ maybe the chocolate ganache, punch it with the little circle to make it look like a cake. Add a candle?” Carmen muttered, hand rubbing across his face. 

“Yeah, Chef, I can do that.” Marcus nodded. 

“Thank you.” Carmen nodded. “And Chef? Let me know when it’s ready before you walk it.” 

Marcus frowned. “No, it’s not- I just wanna walk it, ok?” Carmen shook his head. 

“Alright.” Marcus nodded slowly. “Heard, Chef.” 

Richie smirked, leaning against the stainless steel table. “So,” Richie hummed. “There a complaint or somethin’? Need me to go talk to ‘em-” 

“-No,” Carmen snapped, the possessiveness in his tone startling the both of them. “Sorry, it’s- No, I-I don’t need you to do that, Chef. Everything’s good.” 

Richie nodded slowly, passing the dishes to Gary with a nod. “You gonna tell me what that was about?” 

“No, Chef.” Carmen clipped, an edge to his tone that was teetering on annoyed. “But, uh, there’s not gonna be a check on table nine.” 

“What?” Richie frowned. “Did you mess somethin’ up? Seriously, Cousin, if something's wrong it’s my job to know-” 

“-No, it’s not-.” Carmen huffed, eyes pinching closed, running a hand over his face in frustration. “Look, that’s… The girl on the end? I-I’ve been kinda seein’ her, ya know?” He muttered. 

Richie gawked, blinking in disbelief. “No shit.” He grinned. “No shit? You-You’re serious?” He turned to look out the window. 

“Don’t fuckin’ look.” Carmen hissed. “Look, it-it’s not a big deal, alright? Just don’t-don’t say anything o-or do anything.” 

Richie swallowed back a teasing remark, a reactive reaction from years of being with Mikey. How the two of them used to tease Carmen endlessly, until they were fighting on the front lawn, Mikey howling with laughter while Carmen was red faced with mortified anger. 

This time, Richie held back. He wasn’t sure why, call it divine intervention, a gut feeling maybe, but it felt different this time. 

“Alright.” Richie nodded slowly. “No ticket for nine. Heard.” 

Carmen’s foot tapped anxiously. “I mean, right? Th-That’s what I should do right?” Carmen looked over his shoulder out the window. “That would be shitty to give her a check? Be a complete jagoff move to charge her?” 

“Yeah,” Richie scoffed lightly. “Jagoff of the fuckin’ year. Makin’ your girl pay to come to your place.” 

Carmen’s heart swelled at the term- your girl. His girl. You were his girl. 

“Walk four Pappardelle to nine. Walk one Pappardelle vegetarian style to nine.” Sydney called. 

Carmen dipped the spoon in the glaze, garnishing the plate before sliding it towards Sydney. “So, you gonna take these out?” He muttered. 

“No,” Carmen huffed. “Gonna wait until the cake.” 

“Yeah, good idea, Cousin.” Richie nodded with a proud smile. “That when you’re gonna tell them no check tonight?” 

“No,” Carmen shook his head. “I don’t- It would feel weird comin’ from me.” He looked up at Richie. “I was gonna let you do it.” 

“Yeah, I can handle that.” Richie smirked. “And I won’t say anything, Cousin.” He stopped Carmen before he could say it. “I got you, Cousin. I won’t fuck it up, alright?” 

Carmen nodded slowly, a strangled thank you on the tip of his tongue. The door swung open behind Richie, and for a second, Carmen caught a glimpse of you. Smiling and laughing, leaned in over the table, no doubt giggling with your friends about him. Carmen’s heart squeezed, but this time, without fear. No, there was no dooming fear that you were mocking him, making fun of him. This time, he felt the content rush of adrenaline filled love. A change in his routine, yes. Unexpected, sure, but he was glad for it. Glad that you were there- here, with him.

[aetherictree]

Were Stranger Things set two decades later, the army would have been able to track El down by simply finding the source of the viral video "Girl attempts to use psychic powers against her classmate".

Yeah, the internet of the early and mid 2000s didn't exactly bring out the best in us... it has always been thus.

[mhaccunoval]

'that's got to sting' YEAH. IT DOES. BECAUSE. ARGH.

[andvys]

Dancing with our hands tied | S.H.

And my, my love had been frozen. Deep blue, but you painted me golden.

Warnings: 18+, mdni! there will be smut in the future chapters. enemies to lovers, 'she fell first, he fell harder' kind of trope, allusions to unrequited love, mentions of death, injuries, allusions to self hatred, mentions of bullying, this story is set post s4, Vecna and the upside down are gone. slow burn. ‘hate’ sex. fwb kinda thing but they’re ‘enemies’. mean!reader, mean!Steve, hurt/comfort, happy ending.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: You and Steve have never seen eye to eye, and it never changed, not even when you were pulled into a world of monsters and risked your life to save him. But tension had always been between you both, something that neither of you ever wanted to admit -- but how much longer can you take it when the pull between you gets stronger and stronger each second you spend by each others side?

♡

Prologue ⭐︎

Chapter one ⭐︎ Waiting Room

Chapter two ⭐︎ I want you to notice, when I’m not around

Chapter three ⭐︎ So if you need to be mean, be mean to me

Chapter four ⭐︎ Every single thing I touch becomes sick with sadness

Chapter five ⭐︎'Cause you know it could never be

Chapter six ⭐︎ Secrets I have held in my heart

Chapter seven ⭐��� Got a feeling your electric touch, could fill this ghost town up with life

Chapter eight ⭐︎ Say my name and everything just stops

Chapter nine ⭐︎ And I'll show you if you let me, girl

Chapter ten ⭐︎ Weigh down on me, stay 'til morning

Chapter eleven ⭐︎ Yeah, I know it seems surprising when there’s lipstick still on the glass

Chapter twelve ⭐︎ When the curtains call the time, will we both go home alive?

Chapter thirteen ⭐︎ For a moment, I was heaven struck

Chapter fourteen ⭐︎ Somewhere in these eyes, I'm on your side

Chapter fifteen ⭐︎ I thought the plane was going down, how'd you turn it right around?

Chapter sixteen ⭐︎ Hold me, love me, touch me, honey

Chapter seventeen ⭐︎ What am I supposed to do? If there's no you.

Chapter eighteen ⭐︎ Tell me 'bout the first time you saw me

Chapter nineteen ⭐︎ For you, I would ruin myself, a million little times

Chapter twenty ⭐︎ Tell me it's love, tell me it's real

Chapter twenty one ⭐︎ Please, I've been on my knees, change the prophecy

Chapter twenty two ⭐︎ Let the world around us just fall apart

Chapter twenty three ⭐︎ And the first night that you saw me, nothing was gonna stop me

Chapter twenty four ⭐︎ I once believed love would be black and white, but it’s golden

Chapter twenty five ⭐︎ Who could stay? You could stay

The Epilogue ⭐︎

[hischierhoney]

Just Friends

Jack Hughes x Best Friend!Reader

summary: You’ve been best friends with Jack for ages. He’s also been in love with you for ages, but he’s got that completely under control. Really, he does. Right? 5.2k words

warnings: alcohol/intoxication, non graphic mentions of surgery/blood/stitches, hospital stay, reference to Jack’s shoulder surgery :(

Jack finds you in his apartment kitchen, a black tie in his hand. He’s already dressed in his suit pants and shirt, and for once, he feels like hair looks almost presentable. You take the tie from him without a word, and you loop it around his neck, underneath the collar of his shirt. Meanwhile, he grabs your necklace off the counter and fiddles with the clasp.

You hum to yourself as you start to tie the tie. “Ready for the game today?”

He shrugs. “I’m always ready.”

Luke is there, too, shoveling cereal into his mouth and watching the two of you warily. As you loop the tie around your fingers, Jack slips the necklace around your neck, your skin soft under his fingers. He latches it, blindly, with expert precision, muscle memory. He’s done it a million times now.

You tug the tie into place and then smooth it out on his chest. He hasn’t put his jacket on yet, but you’ll fix the lapels of it, too. You take a half a step back and give him a once over. He stands, waiting for your approval with his breath held in his chest. It shouldn’t mean this much, you making sure he looks good, but it does. You reach up and tuck a lock of hair back into place atop his head, and he smiles happily.

“All good,” you say, dusting your hands together as if you’ve just finished a hard day’s work.

Jack squints at your face, spotting something, and he brings a finger up to brush against your cheekbone. “Eyelash,” he explains, and you hum, closing your eyes as he brushes it away. “Got it.”

“Thanks,” you murmur. “Come on, don’t wanna be late. And no cereal in the car, Luke.”

Jack rushes off to grab his jacket. When he comes back, Luke is dumping the last of his cereal into the sink, and Jack grimaces. You’re in the hallway, stepping into a pair of shoes. Luke turns to him with a smirk, and Jack shakes his head before his brother can even open his mouth.

“Don’t,” he whispers.

Luke rolls his eyes. “I just think you guys are-“

“You thinking is dangerous,” Jack says. “Save all that energy for the game.”

He walks away, down the hallway to find you. You reach up to fix his jacket for him, and then you reach for the car keys and hand them off to him. He grins and nudges his elbow against your side.

“You’re such a passenger princess,” he teases.

You shrug. “I’m very good at it!”

He’s not complaining, really. There’s nobody he’d rather see in his passenger seat than you. Your jersey hangs proudly from your shoulders, his name and number on the back, and it makes his chest feel warm. You’re his good luck charm. He just hasn’t told you that yet.

…..

Jack’s spent so much time convincing his brothers and his teammates and his parents that he’s not in love with you, that he can’t pinpoint when it actually happened. He’s not sure there was some big moment, some realization, some day where he looked at you and everything changed. You’ve just been so present in his life that maybe it was a sort of gradual thing. Maybe it’s always been there, and he’s been in denial since he was eleven and Quinn was teasing him on the playground near their house.

Now you’re in New York, closer than you have been in years, both distance wise and friendship wise. You have season tickets, because he’s playing in the NHL and he wants you at every game possible. You spend half your nights at his place when he’s home, and he ignores the funny looks Luke gives him about it. Honestly, he’s a bit tired of denying it all. He thinks maybe if someone just asked point blank he’d let it all spill out.

He reads the text from you and smiles- you’re on your way to the Rock, one of your friends in tow. He’d gotten you two seats for the season, so you wouldn’t have to sit alone. He sort of dreads the day you decide to bring a date, but then he wonders what guy would be stupid enough to go along with that. Jack’s cocky, he’ll admit it. He knows he’s good at hockey. He laughs at the thought of you dragging a date along to see him play.

Someone announces they’re ordering food before the game, from the deli down the street. Jack listens as his teammates put in their orders. Luke goes with his usual. Timo changes things up. When the assistant gets to him, he grins. He orders his go to, and then another, and asks for a can of Coke, too, for good measure. Luke gives a knowing roll of his eyes.

When the guy brings the food in, Jack takes his bag, fishes his sandwich out of it, and hands the other sandwich and the can of Coke back. “Can you get this to seat B322?” He asks, grinning widely. He knows your seat number by heart.

Luke sighs heavily next to him. The guy agrees, of course. Nico, who’s standing nearby, cocks his head in confusion.

“She’s coming straight from work,” Jack defends. The ribbing he gets from the guys will be worth it when he sees you after the game. “She’s gonna be hungry.”

“It’s a hockey arena,” Luke says drily. “There’s so much food here.”

“But she loves Krauszer’s,” Jack says, and Nico rolls his eyes. “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t order her some?”

“Friend,” Nico says, drawing out the word. “Sure.”

Jack ignores him. He ignores Luke’s smirk, too. He eats his sandwich and finishes getting ready, and then he heads out onto the ice, knowing you’re there somewhere, probably sipping on a can of Coke.

…..

The issue, Jack finds, is that it’s getting harder to ignore the fact that he’s in love with you.

It was easier, before, when you were younger and he was more dumb and less aware of… everything. He could convince himself it was just puppy love, just absence making the heart grow fonder, when post high school saw the two of you split apart. But now you’re here, close, and yet not close enough. Jack wants more, and he can’t really ignore that feeling these days.

He’s out at a bar, team bonding, as Nico put it. Except that half the team is drunk, including Nico, and the only bonding Jack’s doing is the brotherly kind, trying to keep Luke from sneaking drinks, or worse, getting caught sneaking drinks. Sometimes he hates being an older brother. He’d wanted to come out, maybe talk to a girl, maybe take said girl home, or get her to take him back to her place so he wouldn’t have to worry about Luke overhearing. But it’s not really working, not with Nico hanging off his shoulder like a leech and Luke sneaking another shot, and god, Jack’s going to kill him. If you were here, you’d be keeping an eye on Luke, too. He wishes you were here.

He has a shot to take the edge of the annoyance off. Then he has another, and another, and then there’s a girl across the bar, smiling at him, and- she sort of looks like you, is the thing, but not quite. The sort of uncanny valley of it all is freaking him out. For a moment he wonders if hooking up with her would make it better- would get it out of his system, would scratch the itch. The sane, more sober part of him thinks it might just make it all worse. To have some girl under him and hear a voice that isn’t yours. Jack used to do this all the time. The thought of it makes him feel sick now. That’s new.

He downs another shot and passes his leech of a captain off on his problem of a brother, hoping the two of them will keep each other in line. Then he pulls his phone from his pocket and gets an Uber.

It’s only when he’s standing at your apartment door that he realizes he probably should’ve called first. You might already be asleep. You might be out. Maybe you have a guy over. His stomach does a somersault at the thought. He raises his hand to knock anyways- he’s come all this way.

You open the door with a smile on your face. “Nico called to ask if I knew where you went. Thought you might be headed here.”

Jack lets his shoulders drop. “They were annoying me.”

That’s not the real reason he left, but he can’t exactly tell you he saw the uncanny valley version of you and decided to leave. That would be… a lot. You seem to take his answer as the truth, because Luke is annoying on a night out, and Nico can be, too. Jack still probably should’ve told them he was leaving. He’ll get an earful about it. Oh well. The way you step aside to let him into your apartment makes it worth it.

He heads for the couch, and you laugh when he flops onto it, facedown. He likes your laugh. It sounds so much like you. He remembers the years when you were in college and he was far, far away from you, when he’d crack jokes on the phone calls just to hear you giggle. He presses his face into a pillow and hopes you don’t see the blush on his cheeks, or that you’ll attribute it to his drunkenness.

“Want food?” You call out, from the kitchen, he thinks. He groans loudly in response. “I have mozz sticks.”

He turns his head to the side and says, “fuck, I love you.”

He can say it here, in the comfort and privacy of your living room, in the relative safeness of the fact that he’s been drinking. You won’t think anything of it. You won’t realize how much he really means it.

The sound of your laugh is music to his ears. “Love you too, Rowdy.”

You don’t mean it the way he wants you to. That’s okay. He came to terms with that a while ago, listening to you say it over staticky phone calls. But you’ll make him mozzarella sticks, and you’re not upset that he’s here, so he’ll take it. He’ll take anything, really.

You come into the living room a few minutes later, plate full of food in hand, and make him roll over. He sits up slightly, leaning against the arm of the couch, and you lift his legs to sit under them. He doesn’t complain when you turn on some stupid reality tv show he hates- there are mozzarella sticks for him to eat, and the warmth of you under him, the weight of your arm where it’s draped across his calves. He can put up with the host’s annoying voice for this.

He falls asleep on your couch, half a mozz stick in his hand. When he wakes up, he’s tucked in with the quilt you’ve had for years now, a pillow under his head, and water waiting for him on the coffee table. You’re probably at work by now. He’ll send you a text to say thank you, later, unless he decides to just wait here until you come home. That doesn’t sound like such a bad idea, really.

…..

It’s a Saturday, and Luke is out for lunch with some of the other younger players, so Jack’s fending for himself. Trevor, knowing this due to what he would call their cosmic connection, has seen it as an opportunity to talk Jack’s ear off over FaceTime. Jack has his phone propped on the kitchen counter, half listening as he cooks.

He loves Trevor- really, he does, but the guy could talk for hours upon hours and never run out of things to say. Jack lets him, because he knows Trevor likes talking, so he’s not going to be mean. He just chimes in with noises of agreement or disagreement at the right times. Then Trevor says your name, and he zones back in.

“I fucking knew you weren’t listening!” Trevor cackles, wide grin taking up most of the phone screen. “But the second I mention-“

“Shut up,” Jack groans, rolling his eyes. “I’m listening. I’m just also making lunch.”

“Right, right,” Trevor snarks. “Just for you?”

Jack knows what he’s insinuating. Honestly, as much as he hates to admit it, it’s not a bad idea. You’re not working today, and he could probably convince you to come hang out with him in exchange for free food. He’s bored enough to listen to Trevor go on and on. You could save him from it.

“Yeah,” he says, and immediately contradicts himself by picking up his phone and sending you a text.

He tries to listen this time, he really does. He cares about Trevor, he wants to hear what he has to say. He finishes cooking lunch, and then Trevor has to go, shouting something to someone in the background, and he hangs up. Jack sighs at the empty, quiet room. He thinks about texting Luke to see when he’ll be back, but that feels pathetic. Maybe Nico’s not busy.

His heart leaps when his phone buzzes with a text from you.

Lunch sounds good. I’ll be over soon.

He can’t wipe the grin off his face the whole rest of the day. You come over, and eat the rest of the food happily, sitting at the kitchen counter. He watches fondly and tells you all the drama Trevor just told him- screw you, Zegras, he was listening. You smile brightly up at him.

“Got plans for the rest of the day?” He asks, hoping desperately that you don’t.

You shrug. “Nope. I’m all yours.”

God, he wishes.

…..

Jack thinks that maybe, just maybe, he can’t really be blamed when it all comes crashing down on a Wednesday afternoon in April. It’s been coming for a while. He’s had time to prepare. It shouldn’t take him out the way it does, because he’s seen it coming from miles away. It shouldn’t, but it does anyways.

They pull him from the games and finally, finally, ship him off to Colorado to have surgery. He gets an email with the flight information, another with a hotel to stay in the night before, and instructions on how to book his flight back to Jersey after he’s released. They don’t want to book it now, for fear of something going wrong in surgery. Hockey teams are superstitious like that, even their travel management.

There’s another set of emails, too- ones from the surgeon, about his prep and things he needs to do and bring and what to expect from the healing process. He hasn’t bothered to open it. That’ll make it real. He just packs up some of his clothes, shuts himself in his room, and waits. He ignores Luke, then he ignores Nico, who he’s sure Luke has brought over. He ignores Quinn’s phone calls, too, and everyone else’s.

When you show up, though, knocking on his bedroom door and calling out his name, he can’t ignore it. He makes a noise that isn’t a go away, and you take it as an invitation in, which he supposes it was. You make a soft noise of disapproval when you see him, curled up in his bed, hood pulled up around his head to block out the world.

“Hey, J,” you murmur, padding your way across his bedroom. “What’s going on?”

He sniffles and presses his face into the mattress. “The surgery.”

You sigh and sit down on the edge of his bed. “Yeah.”

Jack’s not afraid of having surgery, really. He’s never been very squeamish, never one to shy away from blood draws or stitches or IVs. You know this. Everyone knows it, which is probably why they’re all so worried about his reaction to this. He doesn’t want to admit it really, but it’s you, so he finds the words slipping past his lips.

“Mom can’t come,” he says, voice raw and scraping. “Or dad. Too short notice. And- and Luke and Nico and Quinn are gonna be busy, obviously, and I just… all this talk about surgery all this time and I didn’t think I’d have to do it alone, you know? It couldn’t wait till after the season so I could-“

He breaks off into an embarrassing, breath stealing sob. You make a soothing little noise and lean down next to him, scooping him up into your arms. It sort of helps and sort of makes it worse. The tears flow freely now. It’s just you. All his walls are down.

“You won’t be by yourself, Jack,” you murmur, and he waits for the reassuring words, that you’ll all be with him in spirit, that he’ll be home in no time, that he’s never alone. Instead, you say, “I took some time off. I’m gonna fly out with you, be there for the surgery.”

He pries one eye open, waiting for the punch line. There isn’t one. Just you, watching him carefully, holding him close. He knows how hard it is for you to get time off right now. It’s your busy season at work. And yet, here you are. Tears start running again. The whole world goes blurry. You just brush them away, one by one.

“Oh, honey,” you soothe, voice low and soft. “You didn’t think I’d let you do it alone, did you?”

God, he loves you. And he thinks this might be the final straw, the last puzzle piece. There’s no denying it now. You brush stray hairs from his face and press warm kisses to his forehead while he admits that he’s scared, not of the surgery but of what comes after, of the healing and the rehab and everything involved in it. You draw soothing patterns on his skin and just listen, because you know him well enough to know he needs to get it off his chest. He thinks about telling you how much he loves you as he starts to drift off, but he thinks better of it. There’ll be a better time than this, tear stained and curled up in his bed like a little kid. For now, it’s enough to know you love him, in any way, shape, or form.

…..

Jack wakes up in a hospital bed in Vail, Colorado, utterly disoriented and freezing cold. The ceiling is this ugly grey color, just like the rest of the ceilings in the building have been. He’s spent a lot of time staring at them in the last 24 hours. He blinks, and the tiles blur and swirl, and he hears his name in your voice. He tries to hold on, but he’s so, so sleepy, so he closes his eyes.

He wakes up again with no idea how long he’s been out. He’s warmer now. There’s an extra blanket laid over him, and a hand holding his. Hm. It feels nice. He squeezes his fingers experimentally. He hears movement to his left. A plastic cup appears in his field of vision, and he suddenly realizes how thirsty he is. He turns, slightly, and finds you.

“You’re here,” he says, quietly.

Your face is a little out of focus, but he thinks you smile. “Yeah, of course I am. Told you I would be.”

He knows that. He knows you flew out here with him, eating snacks on the plane before he hit the 12 hours before surgery mark and he had to stop. You checked into the hotel with him, got all the supplies ready for after the surgery, got him here, promised you’d be waiting when he woke up. But now he’s here, post surgery, and you’re holding his hand, and his chest hurts in the best way.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry,” you murmur, lifting the cup to his lips. He takes a sip. “Does it hurt?”

He shakes his head gingerly. He’s a little achy, but nothing that would make him cry normally. He can’t help it, it’s probably the meds. He remembers crying when he got his wisdom teeth out, too. He tries to tell you as much, but it comes out garbled and teary and raw. You shush him, smoothing your hand over his forehead and pushing his hair out of his face. That feels nice. You’re warm.

“Okay. It’s okay,” you soothe. “Take a breath. It’s alright.”

He does his best. You help him take little sips of water, and eventually the tears dry up. He’s left sitting there, your hand running through his hair, and he suddenly feels so, so sleepy. He turns his head and blinks at you. You’re clear in his vision now, beautiful as ever.

“You’re pretty,” he mumbles.

He thinks it all the time, he may as well say it. Nothing’s holding him back now. You laugh, and your face gets blurry again. He sighs.

“You’re pretty,” you say back.

He rolls his eyes, but he smiles anyways. “Hmm.”

“Are you sleepy?” You ask, thumb brushing against his temple. He nods. “You can go to sleep, okay?”

“You’ll be here when I wake up?” He asks, feeling a little vulnerable, suddenly.

“Yeah, Jacky,” you murmur, and when he closes his eyes, he thinks he feels your lips against his temple. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The third time he wakes up, you’re sitting next to him, eating ice cream out of a little plastic cup with one of the tiny wooden spoons. The tv in the room is playing that same stupid reality show. The host’s voice would piss him off if he wasn’t so focused on how adorable you look. He inches the fingers of his good hand towards you, towards where your knee is pressed against his bed. When he makes contact, you jump nearly a foot in the air. He can’t help but giggle.

“Jesus,” you mutter, shaking your head at him.

“Nah, just Jack,” he teases.

You roll your eyes. “Someone’s feeling better.”

If he’s being honest, he still feels a little loopy. Your face is in focus, but everything feels a little softer around the edges. His fingers scramble against your knee, and you laugh, leaning close. You set down the ice cream and reach to tangle your hand up in his. That’s nice. He doesn’t get to do that a lot- hold your hand. Maybe he should have surgery more often. You smooth his hair out of his face again. It’s such a caring motion that it sends his heart stuttering.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, quietly.

You shrug. “What kind of best friend would I be if I wasn’t?”

And. That’s nice, but it’s not really what he wants to hear. He wants you to be here because you love him. He probably wouldn’t spend hours in a hospital waiting room for Nico, probably wouldn’t sit and wait for him to wake up. He’d bring him food after, when he got home, would help him however he needed. But to fly halfway across the country just to be here? He’d do that for you in a heartbeat, but he’s not sure there are many others he’d do the same for.

You seem to notice the way he’s staring, and you wave the wooden spoon at him. “You want some ice cream? The nurse said to call when you actually woke up. I’m sure she’ll give you one if you turn on the charm.”

He blinks slowly. “I love you, you know that?”

It’s past his lips before he can take it back. It should be terrifying. He should feel sick to his stomach. Maybe it’s the hospital drugs, or maybe it’s just that he’s been holding it in for so long, but it doesn’t feel scary. He sort of just feels relieved.

You smile brightly. “Yeah, I love you, too, Jack.”

He huffs. “No, you don’t get it-“

Before he can get another word out, the nurse comes in. He wonders if you pressed the button when he wasn’t paying attention, or if hospital staff just have comically bad timing. He lets out a groan. You give him an amused smile.

“Welcome back, Jack,” the nurse says. He reads her nametag- Nancy. “I’m just going to do a little checkup, alright?” She turns to you. “If you want, you can step out into the hall.”

By the time he’s squeezing your hand to keep you there, you’re holding onto him tightly, too. Huh. That’s interesting.

“She can stay,” Jack says.

You nod. So does Nancy, a knowing smile on her lips. Jack wonders if she sees this a lot. Guys with friends who sit by their bed, oblivious to the fact that said guy is hopelessly in love with them. Maybe it’s a common thing in hospitals. Maybe it’s not just Jack. That’s a nice thought.

He gets his blood pressure taken, and his pulse, and he gets asked to take a few deep breaths for what seems to be just the fun of it. She asks his pain level- a 3, at which point you break in and tell the nurse that his three is more like a five. She smiles at the two of you. When she goes to leave, Jack speaks up.

“Could I have some ice cream?” He asks, hoping the way his voice cracks on the words makes her sympathetic.

Ice cream does sound good. His throat feels raw, and his mouth is dry. And he’s starving.

Nurse Nancy smiles and looks at you. “What do you think? Has he been well behaved enough?”

Normally, Jack would take a little offense to it. But he turns to you, and you’re smiling bright, lighting up the whole room. His stomach does a somersault. He wonders if the way he feels about you is visible on the heart monitor, if his pulse picks up every time he looks at you.

“He’s the best,” you answer, and he melts. “Give him all the ice cream you’ve got.”

Ten minutes later, you sit there, holding a container of chocolate vanilla swirl. He’d been ready to eat it on his own until he remembered his arm, the surgery, the whole reason he’s here. He’d had to settle for letting you feed it to him. Maybe settle is the wrong word, really. It’s nice to be taken care of, even nicer when you’re the one who’s doing it for him.

He thinks maybe he’s still loopy, because in between bites, he pauses, looks at you, opens his mouth, and puts his foot directly in it. “I meant it, you know. I love you.”

You nod. “I know.”

He’s too far into this to stop now. “No, I-“

You interrupt, dropping the spoon in the cup to place your hand over his. “Jack, honey. Tell me later, when you’re not high off anesthesia, okay?”

Oh. He cocks his head, slightly. His mouth tastes like chocolate and vanilla. You smell like flowers. Like the lilacs in the backyard of his childhood home. There’s a light and warmth in your eyes that makes everything feel a little bit better.

“And if I tell you later,” he says, feeling braver than he ever has before, “are you gonna tell me something back?”

You laugh. It’s still music to his ears. You pick up the spoon again, scooping up a bit of ice cream. His gaze stays locked on you.

“Yeah,” you say with a nod. “That I mean it the same way you mean it.”

That’s enough for Jack, for now.

He tells you again the next day, waits a full 24 hours because a part of him is worried it was all some sort of drug induced dream. But you’re packing up the suitcases, that same stupid show on the TV, and he turns to you where he sits on the edge of the bed and says it.

“I love you. Like, really love you. As more than a friend.” His heart is in his throat.

You drop the hoodie you’d been holding into the bag, walk across the room to him, and come to stand between his legs. He’s holding his breath. You hook your finger under his chin and pull his face to yours. He thinks he recognizes the look on your face, from the kitchen when you helped him tie his tie, from the living room with a plate of mozzarella sticks in your hand, from every moment he was feeling all his feelings for you.

“Yeah,” you say, kissing his cheek. “I really love you too.”

When you kiss him on the lips, soft and sweet and everything he’s wanted for ages now, he thinks that maybe the whole mess has been worth it.

…..

He sits in a wooden chair on the back deck of the lake house. It’s mid summer, the week of the 4th of July. The heat is nearly unbearable, heavy and sticky and inescapable. Trevor and Luke are on the grass, throwing a football back and forth. Jack’s trying not to check the time obsessively.

Quinn, who’s sitting next to him, gives him a look when he picks up his phone again. “She’ll get here when she gets here.”

Jack rolls his eyes and sinks further into his seat. “You’re a dick.”

“Jesus, I know she’s your friend but…” Quinn is shaking his head. “You’re being obsessive.”

He hasn’t told any of them. Not about the hospital bed confession, or the kiss, or anything that came after it. The flight back to Jersey, his head on your shoulder. The way you took care of him before he flew to Michigan for the off season. The late night calls the two of you have shared since then. He’s itching to see you. It’s been far too long. He’s been scared to tell them because he’s scared you’ll get here and it won’t be real. He’s being ridiculous, he knows it, but he can’t help it. It’s you.

He hears it when your car pulls up in the driveway. He stands up, ignoring the look Quinn gives him. He’s not quick enough- you must’ve parked and ran inside immediately. You come racing out onto the back porch, eyes wide, smile even wider, and he could melt into a puddle right there in the hot summer sun. You’re brighter than all of it.

He pulls you into a kiss right there, in front of everyone, earning a series of surprised yelps and gasps and cheers. He doesn’t care about anything else. You’re here, and you’re kissing him back, and that’s more than enough.

“Fucking called it!” Trevor yells, and Jack laughs.

“We all did,” Quinn says. “Glad you two finally figured it out.”

You won’t be here forever. You have work, and a life in the city. But for now, for this little slice of time, he gets to have everything he’s always wanted. That’ll hold him over for the rest of the off season. Or, more likely, until he caves in and gets an early flight back to Jersey to spend more time with you. From the way you smile when you stare up at him, he thinks it probably won’t be long.

a/n: thanks for reading! have been wanting to write about Jack for a bit & he’s just so best friends to lovers coded. so here we go!