#Just get it over with Jim. Bones will not give in | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

motherofagony · 5 months

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FIRE WALK - one shot

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: au, no outbreak!joel x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+, minors dni word count: 6.5k summary: a chance encounter at a motel has you crossing paths with a stranger in a blue t-shirt. content warnings + tags: age gap (we'll say 15-20 years), very brief references to past non-con encounters (not with joel, no details just shitty men in general), soft!joel, alcohol, mentions of family trauma and ab*se, unprotected piv, fingering, oral (f + m receiving), A Scene With a Belt™, slight mentions of reader's clothing but no physical descriptions otherwise, love as consumption and women as fruit a/n: this was a brain-worm of a one shot, so i had to press pause on AHFE and get it out. consider it a dirty love letter to strangers with stories in shitty motels. and i have to give the biggest thank-you to @iamskyereads for stepping in and offering to be my beta reader in the final hour. she was so unbelievably thorough and thoughtful and kind. i owe you big.

New-age boogeymen hang two-way mirrors and jiggle motel door handles with broken hangers.

That’s what the news says.

August licks an unforgiving line of heat up your back, and cutoff denim and halter tops do nothing but give the sun more skin to burn.

It’s sweltering, brutal as an Arizona summer is, and The Palms Motel promises a pool and a mini bar on their dirty marquee. You’ll take what you can get, can’t really afford to be picky with fifty dollars in your pocket, but at least maybe you’ll live like royalty tonight.

Some guy you met — Tom, Tim, Jim, whoever — pulls his convertible up to the front office. Your knees knock together over the speed bump, cartilage kissing bone.

It’s the closest you’ve ever come close to a chauffeur, but the chauffeur you see in movies doesn’t usually take liberties with trying to work his grease-speckled mechanic hand up the passenger’s shirt.

You met him at a gas station in Tucson, thumbing your way from northern Texas to put as much distance between you and your whiskey-breathed dad as you could. He’d torn your clothes apart at the seams with his eyes when he spotted you in the parking lot, swimming in blood-infested waters with sharp, sharp teeth.

There was no plan, no directions penned and cities circled on a folded map, just glass in your hair and a final straw.

He asked if you could buy him some booze — revoked license, baby, y’know how that goes — and you shouldn’t have, but when he flashed a leather wallet thick with cash, you knew you’d be stupid not to.

You hid behind a shelf inside the gas station while he idled in the parking lot and plucked a fifty from the wad, stuffing it deep in your bag. You grabbed some shitty malt-something from a fridge along with a 6-pack, flashing the slack-jawed cashier a wink.

He didn’t try to hide the eye contact with your tits, but neither do most men. Sometimes you milk it in your favor, sometimes it just makes your lunch rise to the back of your throat.

And when you’re by yourself, it’s hot iron, ready to strike. A doe in their headlights, a buck with a nice rack. Skipping through the center of their bullseye.

You bought a little palm-sized bottle for yourself and tucked it safely next to the stolen cash in the abyss of your purse. These tiny cons got you by, made power surge deep in your belly. It made loneliness feel worth it, knowing you had an upper hand to lean on if you were ever in a bind.

He bitched about inflation when you came out with less than was reasonable for the amount you spent, and you just shrugged. Not your cash, not your problem.

You bartered for a ride to the nearest motel, and now Tom-Tim-Jim is asking you over the purr of the engine if you need company for the night.

If you were feeling a little more you, you might’ve taken him up on it. Maybe he would’ve even paid for the room, maybe he wouldn’t get angry like your dad does. Maybe he’d be able to fuck you without hitting you.

You’re good at diffusing the temper in most men, can touch them in ways that make them grit their teeth, can be a good girl and go fetch.

But you’re not in the mood to bend, to give someone’s son — someone’s husband with a tan line around their ring finger — a place to wipe their shoes on. You don’t feel like wiping their dirt, your mascara from your eyes and saying thank you while they zip up their pants.

And you sure as fuck don’t fancy being on a milk carton.

“I’m alright, sugar. Thanks for the ride,” you say, dipping your chin to peer over your sunglasses. “I know where to find you, don’t worry.”

Yeah fuckin’ right.

He doesn’t try to conceal his disappointment, just sucks his teeth and squeezes at the exposed skin of your thigh. His way of saying goodbye to something he could’ve dripped sweat on, came in too early. You think your flesh might rot off in chunks.

You open the door and swing your legs out in a way that’s a little too eager.

Tom-Tim-Jim waves solemnly with two fingers up and two bent, and then he’s gone in an aggressive rev.

The motel might’ve been a kitschy dream in its heyday. It’s not a total dump; more of a vintage skeleton of washed-out pink and umbrellas that’ve been ripped by weather and overuse. There are a million faded emblems of cartoonish palm trees. It’s almost endearing how tragic it is.

You can tell that it was popular and swarming with tourists at one time — there are dusty, water-stained pamphlets lining the wall next to the front desk that brag Named one of Arizona’s top destinations in 1996!

A mounted fan whirs and oscillates, but it might as well be someone blowing hot breath down your neck.

There’s a tired woman holding down the fort at the desk with a name tag that claims Brenda, and she looks surprised to see you. You figure most customers are stopping in for a night’s rest on the way to somewhere more important, their final destination. But you don’t look like you have anywhere better to be.

“Hey, honey,” Brenda trickles, laced with an accent that’s more New Orleans than Arizona. “Need a room?”

“Yeah, just for the night,” you say, fishing out your wallet with confidence that doesn’t meet your eyes. “How much?”

“Forty-five a night, ‘less you wanna upgrade to the honeymoon suite.” She looks somewhere over your shoulder.

That’s nearly everything you have, but it sounds a lot like tomorrow’s problem. At least you’ll be safe tonight from the prowling stares of nighttime predators, and the leftover change will give you a decent vending machine dinner.

“Just a normal room’s fine,” you smile, sliding over the crumpled, stolen fifty.

Brenda types busily on the keyboard, asking for your name but nothing else. And when she hands you a plastic keycard, you finally relax your shoulders. Untangle the nerves in your lower back that are choking one another.

Room 17, it reads. Your oasis awaits!

You thank her, spin on your heel, and immediately bump chest to chest with something hard.

You’re eye level with a worn, cornflower blue t-shirt, ringed with a light stain of sweat at the collar. They’re grasping both of your arms to steady you, and you’re snagging the gaze of a tousled man with a bag slung over his shoulder.

“Watch where you’re goin’,” he murmurs, but it isn’t reprimanding or mean like you’re used to, just sickly sweet and Texan. Syrupy in a way that drips right down between your legs.

You don’t remember seeing anyone else in the lot when you’d pulled up. And the stealth of him entering soundlessly behind you sends a jolt of electricity up your spine, the clench of something that would be fear if it were any other stranger.

But he doesn’t look at you with intent to devour or to claim. Just eyes you like you’re anyone else. An equal. The bare minimum, but rare and shiny nonetheless.

“Sorry,” you breathe, and he’s releasing you a little too quickly for your liking. Leaving brands on the creases of where your forearms meet upper and elbow.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

So you don’t.

You brush past him on the way out, a polite nod. And that’s that.

The heat is the kind that feels hotter, unbearable when paired with the shrill sing of cicadas. An endless buzzing that you think might be the sun sizzling on the concrete. If you stood in one place for too long, your flip flops might very well melt you in place.

Your room key clicks to unlock Room 17, and you push the door open to a heavy, humid space that smells vaguely of mold. You’re so grateful for the privacy that you can’t even bring yourself to wrinkle your nose.

Flip flops discarded, your toes sink into shag carpet — a dirty luxury that makes you moan. It’s only been two days since you left home, fled home, but it beats sleeping with one eye open on a bus stop bench.

You up-end your leather bag, dumping all of its contents onto the bed. Cigarettes, some loose film canisters, your toothbrush, a lighter. There wasn’t much time to pack, nothing worth bringing, and the less, the better. Nothing to weigh you down if you had to dip at a moment’s notice.

It takes you only a couple minutes and a light sheen of sweat to realize that the A/C is busted. Smothered, you try to crack open a window in the bathroom, but it’s no cooler than the hell you’re standing in.

When you let Brenda know, she just shrugs with an apologetic kind of half-smile.

“Most of ‘em are out these days, honey,” she says, and you decide then that it’s a small price to pay. “We got someone comin’ to look at it next week.”

You shoot her a smile, figure that she’s had enough rotten backtalk in her day. You scoop a set of flamingo-themed matches from the bowl on the counter and turn around, only to see a familiar blue shirt waiting his turn.

His eyes try not to roam, but he’s giving you a nod and stepping up without hesitation, asking Brenda for extra towels.

The way that she titters and blushes, you’d think he’d asked if he could spit in her mouth.

It irritates you, and you can’t say why.

The door chimes behind you as it closes, and you linger, striking a match and lighting a cigarette. When he emerges, a stack of towels so high it’s hitting his chin, you step in stride on the walk back. Tracing his footsteps, catching up with his shadow.

“You followin’ me?” you quip, a cigarette dangling from your mouth. The cherry ignites on every breath, smoke erupting in tendrils that hug each word.

He answers with a laugh, turns and squints back at you with one eye. Almost as if he was expecting you to ask.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweetheart? Could say the same to you.”

You stop in front of 17, hand over your brow to shield from the sun that’s winding its way down, getting ready to tuck itself in for the night. There’s nothing that touches your tongue that doesn’t sound exactly like a fuck yes. So you don’t say anything.

“Enjoy your sauna,” he chuckles over his shoulder, passing you with his towels on the way to Room 20.

—

Led Zeppelin filters out through the radio, half-static, half-electric. Your legs are crossed in the air behind you, and you’re posted up face down on the bed, kicking along to the beat while you flip through whatever Cosmopolitan someone left behind in a drawer.

Someone raps a few times on the door, and if it’s a repairman, they’re getting their fucking dick sucked.

You army-roll off the flowery duvet, abandoning a how-to on finding your g-spot, and you peer through the peephole.

Your breath hitches on a soft swear.

When you open the door, you see Blue T-Shirt standing there, skin creasing around his eyes slyly. An unopened beer hangs and swings from his restless fingers. He offers it up wordlessly, the butt of it pointed at you.

It’s ice-cold and slippery to the touch, erupting goosebumps on your forearm. Saliva coats your tongue, and you don’t think it’s the thirst for alcohol, but maybe the tall drink of water.

“Um… thanks?”

“Figured you’d either be dead by now or parched,” he says smugly, and it’s velvet to your ears.

“Oh. Yeah, thanks. I got the fan to work at least,” you mutter, jerking your thumb vaguely behind you.

“Listen, uh —”

He’s rubbing the nape of his neck, and you catch the way the network of muscles flex from his elbow to the seam of his armpit. He looks like he’s in pain, struggling with the fit of a puzzle piece into something rough and jagged.

Something he shouldn’t be trying but has to see it through, exhaust it until it’s definite one way or the other.

You just squint, sucking in the corner of your lip between your teeth. You nearly grin, but it’s much more fun to watch than to connect the dots for him.

“A/C works in my room, so ‘f you wanted to… y’know,” he trails off, not even sure in his own offer. “No pressure. It’s hot as hell outside, don’t want you t’get heat stroke ‘f I can help it.”

This kind of approval you like. This kind that sizzles girl-honey between your legs, winning it from a man that’s playing to earn, not to cheat.

“I try not to make a habit out of going into motel rooms of guys I don’t know the names of,” you harp sweetly. But it might as well be a done-deal.

“D’you make a habit outta accepting beers from ‘em?”

You smile. Typically, yes.

“Joel.”

His hand shoots out, strong and suggestive. Fingers like alligator teeth that’ll grip you, hold you under until you thrash.

And you pluck your cigarettes and gifted liquor bottle from the bed, arms full when you carry them down to Joel’s room.

—

You’re sprawled on the full-size bed next to his, head propped up on hand propped up on elbow.

You’ve been trading your little fist of bourbon back and forth, swapping stories in the same way. Somehow, you fall into it easy like old friends, and it’s nice to follow someone’s lead instead of keeping one step, three, seven steps ahead. Arm outstretched to the door knob, feet ready to break into a run at the change in tone, blackening of pupils.

Without meaning to, you’ve wordlessly agreed that the person in possession of the bottle has the proverbial mic, and they swig to help with details and theatrics. It’s counter-productive in flow, but it makes you laugh when Joel exaggerates the story he’s telling on purpose, reaching out to pass it back and suddenly yanking it back, remembering a shade of gray or a funny expression.

Your knuckles keep zapping each other, brushing a little longer than the time before. There’s no numbness to consensual touch.

Joel’s mid-40s. From Texas, like you. He came to visit his daughter Sarah at college, says she’s growin’ up too fast, doesn’t need her old man anymore. It’s a thrill to see someone talk about their own flesh with love, admiration for who she is and who she’s becoming. You find yourself leaning in, enraptured that there are no IOUs or fine-print that you know to come with a parent’s love.

Mentions of his stubborn brother Tommy who he works with and who just can’t stop getting into trouble. The unspoken guilt that maybe he could be the one to keep him out of jail if he tried harder. It doesn’t work that way, and you tell him so.

You tell him about your dad when he asks about your life, your story, and you don’t know why you do but maybe you know exactly why. No one ever gets close enough to ask, so it comes leaking out of the corners of your mouth.

You’ve never told anyone, not even your diary, not even the guidance counselor who slipped a note to your fifth grade teacher and pulled you out of class. Shaky fingers, shaky limbs when they asked if they could roll up your sleeves just to see and you said no.

Crying because you knew your dad wouldn’t let you go back. Not to school, not to your friends.

You omit the nitty-gritty details, but Joel gets the gist. Swigs his share of the liquor a little too angrily with tight lips. Not like your dad does, but you don’t miss the irony of it all.

He holds anger for you, on behalf of you. It simmers as he listens to you in patient silence, coming to a boil at the bad parts when he gets up and starts walking lines in the shitty carpet. Pretending to look outside in interest at his truck parked at the end of the lot, but gripping the curtains until you can see every expanse of bone in his hand.

You don’t need this from him. It’s a hurt you’ve wedged between the pages of a book and doused in flames of acceptance long ago. But it spreads from your toes to your ears, the burn of someone feeling like this. For someone like you.

He finally settles down in an armchair by the window, a funny corduroy thing that would probably light up under a blacklight on one of those crime shows. Legs parted, a warm stare on the way you take up space on the bed. Facing him comfortably, your vision buzzing around the edges. A loose smile shared as if this room was meant for the two of you all along.

“So, what’s your plan?” Joel’s humming, his words getting lost in an echo of the bottle neck.

You don’t have one. Can’t have one when you have nowhere to go but gone.

It stretches on and on between you — a mouth opened and closed too many times on possibilities. If you admit to it, you end up with pity or an upper hand dealt to a stranger. You can’t afford to owe anyone a favor, nor can you front the cost of needing one.

But you’re so tired.

“Dunno. I’ll figure it out.”

“You got enough time for that?”

And you know what he means. Enough time in the motel, enough time before you’re a thief at wit’s end, doing anything for survival. He doesn’t need to ask to know you don’t have a destination, some relative waiting for you in a California dream.

You’ve excused yourself to the bathroom, soft radio bleeding in under the door, arms braced on the sink, all glossy eyes.

You want him, bad. But he won’t make the first move, won’t take advantage of what isn’t his and what others before him took without asking. You’re a pawn, entitled to the first move. The rejection would kill you, but not knowing would be worse.

He could hold you soft, give you something to think about when tomorrow rips you both in opposite directions.

When you pull open the door, Joel’s frozen in mid-stride towards you, like he’s just made up his mind about something.

He straightens but he’s still. Afraid of moving too fast, saying too much, scaring you into flight. Out of the unlocked cage of his room — something he did on purpose, because he doesn’t expect anything from you and wants you to know he doesn’t.

You meet him in his dusty shag quicksand. You take his wrist in your hand, kiss the thrum of life in the dip where veins meet palm. An offering.

Joel looks like he’s in pain, like what you’re doing is excruciating and thorny. The front of his jeans strains. He’s searching you for any hesitation, any obligation because he did something kind. He knows what currency you feel the need to pay in, and this isn’t that.

“Please,” you whisper simply. And he nods, accepting, succumbing.

There’s a careful meeting of lips, wanting to do it the right way, in the right order. When you push your tongue in, used to the pace of animals, he just holds your face and slows you down. It’s languid, his mouth showing you what sweet and gentle can taste like. Your tongues take their time, and your hands slip beneath the hem of his shirt, all ribbed muscle with a sprinkling of hair.

He shudders against the lightness of your feather-fingers.

Joel’s hands are peeling your shirt off, his thumbs resting to press against pillowy hips. He’s not letting your lips go, something like impatience stirring in you.

Doesn’t he want to fuck you hard? Fuck you fast and selfish?

Isn’t there a catch?

He’s taking his shirt off now, up and over. Carved by Michaelangelo, thrown up on a ceiling in a library book you read once. You’re touching him in reverence, but not letting yourself learn too much of him.

His eyes are molten. Joel walks you back to the edge of the bed, scratchy quilt tickling your thighs when you fall back on it. You start to pose yourself, angles that make you look more desirable, pliable. But he’s not paying attention to that, just unbuttoning your shorts, kissing the jut of every curve and permeating down to the bone, punching out a soft groan when he slides the denim off and sees the shining ambrosia that’s waiting.

He’s kneeling, tugging you down to meet his waiting mouth. And you’re just breathless, flinching when he pulls you apart, guiding your legs over his shoulders and wasting no time devouring you. Your legs, his bib.

Joel’s tongue flicks through the shell of you, teasing you in alternates of quick and slow, starving and full. It feels like a slice of heaven.

You pitch out a tangled gasp, hands instinctively moving to knot in his hair. Anything to hold onto, a different kind of grounding.

“So wet f’me,” he vibrates lowly into you, all husk. “Taste so fuckin’ sweet.”

He sinks a middle finger into you, and you’re keening, hips canting and unable to stay glued to the mattress. You feel him smile against your cunt, just pressing his forearm across your lower half to keep you still.

Joel’s twisting and working into you, onto you, and you’re so fucking close from just this — a tiptoeing to the edge that grows longer, more erratic in stride. He sucks your clit — pulsing sensitive, so swollen — into his mouth and grazes it with the tip of his tongue just so. Baring his incisors and closing around you in a delicious scrape like a Venus flytrap taking its meal.

You think you see God behind the flutter of your eyes.

You’re close enough to warn him, to rasp it out in the symphony of moans. His free hand reaches up to roll your peaked nipple between his forefinger and thumb, and he stretches you with an added ring finger. You’re writhing. Possessed.

He’s watching you through thick lashes. Letting your heels dig into his shoulders as the drenched sounds of you fill the room.

“Joel, please — I’m gonna —”

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he just murmurs.

You feel that little pull at your navel.

And you’re tipping in a freefall, seeing stars. You clench down around his fingers, fingers that are still pumping against that spongy spot deep inside you. Your arousal gushes, wet and sticky against the scrape of his beard. He laps you up, the sight making heat creep up your chest and wrap around your neck.

When he lifts his head, he’s high on it. Pupils dilated like tiny, round moons. Your orgasm glistens on him, smeared over lips and chin. The fur of a peach peeled back far enough to sink teeth into.

It’s fucking filthy.

Joel places open-mouthed kisses from your hip up to the center of your breasts, a trail of your orgasm shiny on your skin in perfect, sloppy Os. His breath meets your throat where he nips at you, and you don’t have time to drag in a breath before you’re tasting the saltiness of yourself on his tongue.

Your fingers fumble on his belt, practiced with years of releasing the tension on the metal prongs, the slithering sound whooshing from the loops of pants. You’re good at it, like you used to be good at gymnastics until your mom stopped getting out of bed to drive you.

There was always a little gold for contorting your body.

He detaches from you unwillingly, putting all of his weight on his knees and shins as he straddles the space of your thighs.

You’re pulling yourself up in a sitting position, pushing denim and boxers down past his hips. Letting his cock spring free, the head a dark pink and beaded with precum. You swipe the flat of your tongue against it, peeking up at him while you soak up the taste of it.

When you push the length of him into your mouth, ridged hard with veins, Joel tips his head back, chin to the ceiling. He groans something brutish yet helpless, cradling the back of your head. You’re seated in the driver’s seat, all control.

It’s new, different.

But then he’s moving his hips back, pulling himself from your mouth, wiping the saliva from your chin with a steady thumb.

“Don’t need t’do that,” Joel whispers hoarsely. “Not ‘f you don’t want to.”

Confused, you knit your brows. He laughs darkly, shaking his head.

“Didn’t mean it like that, it’s — it feels fuckin’ good,” he says, awestruck. “Would just rather make you feel good instead.”

Oh.

He doesn’t wait for an answer or a negotiation. The rest of his clothes pool on the floor in a pile, and he’s climbing back over you, an anchor or a buoy in a storm.

He lines himself up at the seam of you, puffy and so wet from before, nudging the tip of his cock at your warm center. A thumb coaxing the bud at the apex of you in lazy circles.

Joel’s sliding in slowly by each inch, filling you full until there’s nothing left and his patch of hair prickles the pearl of your clit. All you can do is whine and tense around him.

He’s resting tentative hands on either side of your face, indenting the weak mattress with handprints. He groans, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t give in when you try to rock against him.

“This alright?”

You’ve forgotten how to do anything, hoping that digging your fingertips into his forearms is communication enough.

“I’m gonna need a yes, baby.”

You feel around in the dark for the tether back to your body, and it jerks you like a marionette, giving him a nod.

“Yes. Fuck.”

That’s enough. He’s rewarding you with a roll of his hips, and you feel like you’re on fire. It’s a stuttering, painfully slow pace at first, his mouth so close to your ear that every grunt is amplified. But it evolves into something eager, unsatiated, snapping up into you with a relentless sort of fucking.

He’s hitting that place so deep within you, letting you unravel and grow hoarse from the moans tearing their way up your throat. That pressure is roiling, the kind that you get only when you touch yourself but intensified by a million.

It just feels so right, because there’s nothing to prove.

You’re ships passing in the night, strangers making a pit-stop on the way to nowhere. There’s no backstory, no history to make mention of. No shame in the morning when he inevitably rolls over and pretends to be asleep, and you scrub off the smell of him with your provided travel-size shampoo.

It’s not love, but it might be the closest you ever get.

The glow of him above you, a deity with his face screwed in agony. Chasing after you when he feels the tightening of your cunt, the easy glide of every thrust that tells him you’re close.

Then, you’re snapping like a rubber band. Gushing in a dripping mess that trickles to where your ass meets thigh. Crying without tears, overstimulated but blissful. Joel is quick to follow, like he’s been waiting his turn.

He’s trembling, emptying inside you in a warm flood. Groaning low and beautiful, gripping your hips to keep you flush to him.

When pulls out, tearing himself away, he’s slinging an arm over his eyes on the pillow beside yours. One hand on your leg to make sure you don’t go anywhere.

“So fuckin’ perfect,” you hear him mutter.

At some point you drift off, his arm draped over you. You open a bleary eye to a neon 2:49AM that casts a halo over the nightstand. Joel’s tucked you in, the thin duvet snug up to your shoulder. He’s not snoring but not not snoring, just breath getting caught in his throat in a satisfied, well-spent way.

It’s all too much, too pure to be real.

Before you let yourself change your mind, you slink out from under the warmth of your generous stranger. You step in your shorts one foot at a time, tugging them up gelatin legs too springy from coiling and uncoiling.

You promise yourself that you’ll take just one mental picture as a keepsake, and it’s this. A sleepy Joel who will be well on his way to a second cup of coffee on the way out of Arizona, maybe even nursing a little headache behind his right eye. And he’ll remember an apparition of some girl he fucked in a motel. The touristy thing to do, a sight to see.

He might even tell Tommy, say you were a crazy little thing with too much baggage, but it was fun to stay up past his bedtime.

You don’t mean to do it, really you don’t, but you flip through his wallet that lays innocently on top of the TV.

If you take a little something, that’ll turn this into another one of your stories that you tell your kids born from a loveless marriage somewhere in the crevices of a future from now. It won’t pull on the tendons of your heart.

And it won’t mean anything. You won’t let it.

—

The next morning, there’s a soft knock at the door, and it’s probably housekeeping kicking you out for overstaying your welcome. Time to turn down the bed for the next lost soul. You imagine Joel’s long gone, hopped in his truck and back to a reality you’ll never meet him in.

Your fingers are slow to gather up your purse, and you’re shoving your toothbrush in from its place on the sink.

“I’ll be out in a second!” you yell in a voice that reeks of years of diner-flavored customer service.

More persistent knocking that borders on pounding. It shakes the chain in the deadbolt.

You’re yanking open the door, and there’s Joel, white shirt and jeans. And it isn’t that cushion of admiration from last night, no greeting with a chaste kiss on the cheek.

Just a wolf coming to claim his continental breakfast.

Fuck.

You try to shut the door, suddenly too ashamed of what you’ve done, and to someone undeserving. Someone that showed you kindness, empathy.

But his boot catches the door before it can close, and he’s inside, slicing through the space between you. It’s not quite anger, but it’s shadowy. Sardonic.

Your shoulder blades kiss the cheap wallpaper.

“You’re real funny, y’know that?” he starts, and he’s smiling but not really.

Shrinking small, so small that maybe you’ll disappear.

There’s a tick of silence. His thumb skates to your collarbone and then to the hollow at the base of your throat. He wants to squeeze but he doesn’t, his fingers wrapping loosely around the column to fix you there. Heat creeps up the back of your neck into your hairline.

The instinct to flinch bubbles up against your joints, but you can’t bring yourself to.

“Y’think you can fuck me,�� he muses, disgustingly deadpan, “‘n steal from me.”

Dread weighs heavy like lead in your stomach. You can’t stop yourself from shaking your head, still playing dumb.

He bristles at that, thunderous. You both know it’s a lie; you’re a hundred dollars richer than you were last night. His fingers briefly flex around you in a way that you’ve seen before, and horror hits a fever pitch in you.

Tears prick your eyes, and you’re putting your palms on his chest and shoving, but he doesn’t give. Unstoppable force meets immovable object, and all that.

It’s not so much the blaring punctuation in a sentence, the ticking of dynamite ready to blow. He’s confronting you with proximity, with your own dishonesty. Wanting to shake you and tell you that it doesn’t have to be this way.

Joel just leans in closer, almost grazing noses. You try to breathe around the lump of panic.

“The hell’s the matter with you?”

It’s disbelief, it’s hurt. In the same way, it’s understanding, incredulous. It’s him stepping back and loosening the hold around your neck like no one’s ever done; it’s softening and imploring.

He’s shoving his hands in his pockets, guilty and recoiling. Sorry he could even make himself look like one of them — a forced penance in the flesh.

There’s no answer that can justify what you did. Nothing simple about nothing personal. But truly… that’s all it was. A pie wafting steam on an open windowsill. Something to make you feel better about the void he’d leave.

“‘F you needed money, you coulda just asked.”

He’s disappointed, desperate. In a tone that really says, I would’ve done anything you wanted.

A dam inside you gives, crumbling deep at the foundation and knocking the walls down around you. Words don’t come, but you shove your hand in blind into your bag, pulling out the loose bill and extending it.

Joel sees the regretful offering and your heart with x-ray vision. That you think of yourself as a doll, less valuable without her box. Used without tags. Free to a good home.

He shakes his head, the softness of a keep it barely peeking out of his mouth.

You’re skinning yourself raw, wanting another way out but having none. With half a mind to say that the next night could come with fangs.

You feel the stab of relief, and shame. So much shame.

Like a soothsayer, he foresees the coldness of a bench, the shrinking of you into the safety of an alley.

You drop to your knees in exaltation, thinking you know what’ll fix this. You can’t see through the watercolor blur of your tears, but you touch his belt with fingers that are cold to the tips.

But Joel knows what you’re doing, shaking his head no no no.

He won’t let you do it like this. He drags you up gently by the elbows. Pulls you into his chest, says stop stop stop. Kisses your hair, then your lips. You cry until he can taste the tears, until the front of his shirt is damp.

“I’m sorry,” you rasp out roughly. “I’m so sorry.”

He tells you to never say sorry to him again.

—

Joel pays for a room for two more nights, but only one — his with the working A/C.

You move your toothbrush and your bag over to Room 20.

You go to the pool, swimming laps around him in a tank top and your cherry-embroidered underwear, squealing and splashing in a flail when he swims underneath your legs and stands up to hold you on his tan shoulders.

Sunscreen streaks greasy on your stomach when you lay out together on the loungers after. Joel likes a cat-nap with his face under a towel, grumpy and tired from the sun. But he never snaps at you, never gets impatient when you ask too many questions while he’s dozing off.

You learn the pinched expression he makes just before he comes. That his right palm has hundreds of lines you can see best by lamplight. He misses the noise of Sarah in his house, of sharing the coffee pot with someone. He doesn’t like the small piling of toast crumbs left only by him on the kitchen table.

He learns that you apologize for wet, clean hair on his pillowcase, for laughing too loud. Things that don’t need a sorry. A collection of oversaturated manners that might take time to unlearn, but he promises to teach you.

He learns that you approach an orgasm with tentative toes in cold water, almost unbelieving that sex can give, give, give instead of take, take, take. He learns that you like the meeting of eyes when he’s buried between your legs, pushing your thighs apart to keep from suffocating. That when he does let you get on your knees for him, you know just the spot to caress with your tongue on the underside of his cock.

Joel’s belt is snaked under your stomach, across your hips, fists intertwined in the leather as he pulls you back, slams himself forward. It bites and creates indents in your flesh, and you don’t care. He gives you marks to love, to admire in your reflection, never ones that are ugly. Never ones out of hate over spilled milk.

There’s a dirty slap of skin, growing louder, competing with your moans. Your nails are tearing into the cheap sheets, and Joel’s so close but won’t come until he coaxes another out of you. A grand total of at least four by now, but you’ve lost count.

At long last, you splinter around him. Pitching off the cliff in a cry. Joel’s leaning — his chest, your back — and spilling deep, holding onto you for dear life. You hear him whimper in a strangle. Big, tough game that’s been taken down with an arrow in his chest.

Hot tears are flowing out of you, stuttering sobs close to follow, and Joel pulls out slowly. Seems to know why. And he rolls you over, into him, hand careful in slow strokes against your hair.

You’ve never been good at goodbyes. Maybe that’s what this is.

Men like to say that women like you are insane, too analytical, too tear-streaked, too conscious of the way they look when they sleep. Because waking up with your mouth open, a drying corner of drool threatening your cheek is too human, not pretty.

Sometimes women like you are dead, rotting pomegranate flesh. Long forgotten in decay on the ground when the weight became too heavy to hold yourself up. And those men pick up your seeds and shove them squelching back into places where they don’t fit.

The winters come bitter and harsh, but you’re always reborn in the spring. And without fail, you grow back fiercely into a tree reminiscent of Eden, low-hanging apples plucked and bruised and bitten into once and spit out in tart disgust.

Women like you choke men like this with your pits, strangle them with vines, poison them with berries. They can consume, but so can you.

But then, in the ripe, cool shade of summer, you’ll have a visitor like Joel that will come with a basket and a blanket and they’ll stay and read books beneath you. They’ll enjoy your fruit, you’ll drip from their mouth and dry tacky like flypaper, and they won’t be able to imagine a day before you.

They’ll collect all the pieces of you on a Tuesday morning and give you change to get a Coke after checkout. They’ll tuck you into the front seat of their truck, let you put your feet up on the dash, hand protective and calm on your thigh while the other steers you both back to Texas. A new home without shouting and bottles thrown.

And they’ll stay through every season.

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us smut #the last of us au #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #fire walk #my writing #joel miller one shot #motherofagony

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bedsyandco · 3 months

Text

Soon you’ll get better

❥ — ꒰ pairing ꒱ lani x quinn hughes

❥ — ꒰ synopsis ꒱ the aftermath of the accident

❥ — ꒰ content ꒱ talks of an accident, medical injuries, death, miscarriage. incorrect medical talk and diagnosis…obviously i’m not a doctor and this is fiction!! unedited. will be edited later!!

❥ — ꒰ note ꒱ title bc I listened to the song while writing!!

Eight and a half hours later when the Hughes family arrived in Vancouver and at the hospital, Quinn was still in the same position he had been the entire night. Sat on the floor, his arms rested on his bent legs, his head rested against the wall. When he saw his family arriving he mustered the little energy he had left after not sleeping last night, to push himself up and meet them halfway across the waiting room.

“Oh Quinn,” is all his mom said as she wrapped her arms tightly around him and held him for a few minutes. Afterwards he gave his dad a long hug, no word being exchanged there because what could he say?

“Have you heard anything?” Violet asks as Quinn hugs her.

“Not really. The doctor comes out every few hours to tell me that she’s still stable and that they’re doing everything they can but… it’s been hours and…” Quinn says, tearing up again and he wipes his face frustratedly.

“You should get some sleep,” Jack suggests softly and Quinn just glares at him.

“I’m not sleeping until I know she’s okay,” Quinn responds

“Quinn we’ll wake you-”

“I’m not sleeping until I know she’s okay,” Quinn repeats and Jack nods.

Jack understood. So did Luke. He spent the 8 hour flight over there thinking about what he would do if God forbid something ever happened to Violet. He determined that Violet was gonna live way longer than him and that he’d never have to live that horrible life without her, nothing was ever allowed to happen to her. Luke wraps his arms tightly around her again, kissing her neck where he could feel her pulse and the pressure in his chest lessens a bit but it returns when he goes back to observing his older brother.

“Do you know how it happened yet?” Jim asks and Quinn nods

“She was on her way to the restaurant, a truck lost control on the road and Lani swerved to miss it, her car rolled off the road and crashed straight into a pole. Apparently she’s lucky she swerved otherwise she would have died on impact with the truck. Doesn’t feel very fucking lucky though, does it?” Quinn asks angrily and everyone flinches a little when he curses but all of them remain silent. Not quite sure what to say.

“God, if I had just…gone home and picked her up. Or cancelled the damn dinner. You know I can’t even really remember what my life was like before the past year, before her. And I can’t even imagine what it would look like without her,” Quinn says, his voice cracking at the end.

“You don’t have to imagine it. Lani’s gonna be okay Quinn. She’s gonna pull through,”Jack says, pulling his brother into a tight hug.

“I’m gonna go get us some coffee,” Blue says to Violet softly and she leaves just as the doctor appears.

“Mr. Hughes?” the doctor asks from a distance away and Quinn walks closer, so only he would hear what the doctor was saying, scanning the doctor’s face for any clues as to what he should prepare for, but the doctor’s face doesn’t give anything away.

“Is she okay?” Quinn asks desperately

“Ms. Reed is out of surgery and will be moved to recovery now. She had extensive injuries. She had multiple fractured bones in her arm, and shoulder. She also took a major blow to the head and there was some internal bleeding that we were able to stop luckily. One of her lungs was punctured-” the doctor’s words get caught off by Quinn turning towards the garbage can to vomit.

“I’m good, you can continue” Quinn rasps out as the doctor sends him a concerned look.

“The list of injuries is long Mr. Hughes but the most important thing is that she’s okay and she’ll make a full recovery. Physically at least. Unfortunately Ms. Reed suffered a miscarriage because of the physical trauma and shock her body went through because of the accident and there was nothing we could do,” the doctor says softly and Quinn stops breathing for a second.

“Miscarriage?” Quinn asks, not quite comprehending the fact that Lani was…

“Ms. Reed was pregnant prior to the accident. She wasn’t very far along…7-8 weeks potentially. It was likely that she didn’t even know yet. There was no permanent damage done and she should have no problem getting pregnant again in the future. I can be the one to tell her if you don’t feel-”

“No, I’ll do it,” Quinn immediately responds, knowing it would be better if it came from him.

“Someone will be out shortly to take you to her room. I’m very sorry for your loss,” the doctor says sympathetically before walking away again and Quinn has to lean against the wall for a second to process what he just heard. The doctor obviously assumed correctly that the baby was his since he told them him and Lani were engaged despite their very obvious missing rings.

Lani is pregnant. Was pregnant. Was.

Quinn walks back towards his family, a little dazed. His lack of sleep and shock of what happened in the past 24 hours finally caught up to him.

“She’s gonna be okay,” is all Quinn says because Lani should be the first person he tells about the baby, and maybe she doesn’t want other people to know and Quinn wanted to make sure he respected those wishes.

Everyone practically deflates with relief and his parents take a seat on the chairs, his mom letting out a few tears.

“Luke and I are gonna stop by your apartment. Get you some clothes and other things. I’ll pack Lani a bag too,” Violet says and Quinn hands her the keys to his car and his apartment. The guys had driven to the hospital with his car and ordered a ride home so Quinn still had his vehicle.

“You know where my stuff is. Lani’s things are all in the same places, just on the left. Same with the bathroom, all her stuff is in the left vanity,” Quinn says and Violet nods giving him a tight hug.

“We love you,” she says and Quinn squeezes her tight.

“Thanks for being here,” he responds

“Of course,”

They leave and when Blue comes back a few minutes later with 2 hands filled with multiple cups of coffee, Quinn feels his chest contract again. Lani loves coffee.

“We’re gonna go get everyone some food. We’ll be back but if you go see her before we return, tell Lani we love her yeah?” Jack says taking Blue’s hand in his own and Quinn nods as they make their way to the exit.

About thirty minutes later a nurse shows up and leads him to Lani’s room, and this is all Quinn’s been waiting for…a moment to lay his eyes on Lani and be sure that she’s okay. That he didn’t lose her. That they were gonna be okay.

But as he stood in the entrance of the room, he was unable to move, or speak, or breathe at the sight in front of him.

There she was. His Lani. Except she didn’t look like his Lani at all. Because his Lani was full of light, and so filled with joy she practically glowed with it. And now she was pale, battered, bruised and blue.

Quinn simply stands there for a moment observing her before he walks closer, taking the seat closest to her bedside and gently as ever, grabbing her hand and holding it against his cheek, pressing multiple kisses on her palm.

He fell asleep like that, clutching her hand tightly and resting his head against her.

A few hours later he awoke to the feeling of fingers gently running through his hair and his eyes instantly shot open.

He lifted his head to meet her gaze and he instantly teared up again.

“Lani,” he whispers, standing up and leaning over to kiss her on the temple

“We should call the nurse,” Quinn says hastily but Lani halts him with a hand on his arm.

“The nurse was already in here, just a few moments ago. She explained what happened and gave me some pain meds,�� Lani says

“How long have you been awake?” Quinn asks

“For thirty minutes or so,”

“You should’ve woken me up,” Quinn says

“The nurse said you didn’t sleep at all last night, I wanted to let you rest a little longer,” Lani explains and Quinn sighs

“Come sit,” Lani says patting the spot next to her and Quinn immediately shakes his head

“No I don’t wanna hurt you,” he argues, choosing to sit at the bottom of the bed instead.

They talk for a little bit but half an hour later the troubled look on Quinn’s face still hasn’t disappeared.

“I’m okay Quinn,”

“You almost weren’t though,” he argues, his voice cracking

“But I am. And that’s all that matters. I'm here. I'm okay.” she says softly and Quinn just stares at her for a few minutes

“I should probably go give my parents an update,” Quinn says but doesn’t move.

“Your parents are here?” Lani asks surprised

“yeah, came as soon as they heard what happened. So did my brothers and Vi and Blue,” Quinn says

“oh. they didn’t need to fly all the way out here for me,”

“you almost died lani,” quinn says incredulously. finding it ridiculous that she’s even having the thought that her almost dying is an inconvenience to others.

“They can visit tomorrow if you’re up for it,” Quinn determines, seeing how tired she looks. She didn’t have to see them today. Or tomorrow. Or at all if she didn’t want to.

Him and Lani spend the next hour or so just talking, reassuring one another that she was okay and everything was gonna be fine. And then Quinn remembered that there was still something he needed to tell her. He really didn’t want to, not wanting to hurt her even more than she was already hurt.

“Lani. I need to tell you something,” Quinn starts but hesitates

“What is it?” she asks concerned, taking both his hands in hers.

“Before the accident, you were- you were pregnant. But the baby didn’t make it,” Quinn says softly and it feels like someone stabbed him right in the heart when she gasps and tears up, retracting her hands and putting them on her stomach.

“No,” she whispers, and Quinn wipes her tears, nodding sadly.

“No,” she repeats again, her body shaking with her sobs and Quinn just wraps his arms around her, holding her tight.

Her sobs eventually die down, but the tears never stop, all ending up on Quinn’s shirt.

“I’m so sorry Quinn,” she apologises softly, pressing a kiss to his neck, knowing he must be hurting too.

“Don’t apologise. You have nothing to apologise for. None of this is your fault, you hear me?” he asks and she nods against his shoulder.

Rationally Lani knew it wasn’t the right time to have a baby. Her and Quinn are only dating for about a year now, she was still in school, he was only now really settling in with the responsibility of being captain. But she also can’t help but be sad at the possibility of what could have been. Of what they could have had.

“We’re gonna be okay angel. The only thing that matters right now is that you’re okay. We’ll get through the rest together okay?” he asks and she nods, tears still falling as he cups her face and presses kisses all over. Kissing every tear away.

“I love you so much. More than I can even try to explain,” Quinn says, kissing her gently, and that just makes the tears fall even more.

“I love you the most,” she replies, snuggling into him more as he holds her. They would spend the rest of the day like that. And the next few days. And a lot of days after that. But they were gonna be okay, as long as they had each other.

#❥ — ꒰ lani + quinn ꒱

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letsgetrowdy43 · 5 months

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Family dinners and childhood dreams—

Au Masterlist

It was the night, the night that the entire family had been buzzing about for weeks, the day that all three Hughes brothers would play on the same ice for the first time. The entire family was now all crammed into Quinn and Honey's new home for a nice dinner before the big game.

The woman was smiling as Ellen was piling the boys into the dining room for family dinner.

Honey sat contently with Quinn’s hand on her thigh and a little Warren in the high chair next to her, snacking on his cooled-down pasta, giving his Nana a big smile with his tomato sauce-covered face.

Honey felt so at peace, finally able to have all of her in-laws in the same room, and finally being able to share this special announcement that she and Quinn had been keeping to themselves. Quinn excused himself from the table momentarily to get the surprises as Honey gave him the go-ahead, her heart skipping a beat as he placed a kiss on the side of her face and left the room.

“Where is he going?” Ellen groaned after just sitting down, finally able to wrangle all the boys and the toddler to the table for a nice dinner made by her and Jim, and now he was already slipping out of the room. “He just had to grab something,” Honey smiled and said a small thank you for the dinner as he returned to their dining room with a grin on his face and the sonograms in his hands.

He placed one each in front of his family and awaited their reactions as he sat back down next to his wife.

A gasp left Ellen's lips first, as she grabbed the little black and white photo from the table and looked up at the couple who were grinning back at her, "Another grandbaby?" Quinn nodded as he looked at Honey who nodded, "A baby girl," he smiled as Jack awed.

"Congrats guys," Luke got up from his spot at the table to hug the both of them. "You're gonna be the best godfather, Lu," Honey mumbled as she rubbed his back, he tensed and pulled away with a grin and what looked to be teary eyes. "Really?" he looked at Quinn who was grinning back with a nod. Luke pulled his older brother into a bone-crushing hug as Quinn laughed at his emotions "Of course moose, couldn't let Jack have all the bragging rights," which elicited a few laughs from the people around the table.

Quinn laughed as Luke pulled away and looked between the couple, "I will be the best godfather to your little girl," he promised as Honey stared up at him with teary eyes, "I'll be here whenever, you call I'm here." "We know Lu," Honey said with tears as she stood up to hug the boy who had been like a younger brother to her for nearly ten years, "god you're so tall," she said muffled in his shirt as he buried her in his chest, swaying her back and forth as he laughed at how his height ruined such a sweet moment.

"You have any name ideas?" Jack asked as everyone sat back down and dried their tears, finally digging into the food on the plates in front of them. Quinn nodded with a mouth full of pasta, going to answer before being scolded for attempting to talk with his mouth open, "we were thinking Hayden James Hughes," she said as Ellen hummed with approval.

"She's gonna be perfect," Jim finally spoke up, emotions in his voice as he patted his oldest son on the shoulder. a perfect way to end the conversation as Quinn and his dad shared a silent conversation that was cut off by a bawling warren who began to involve himself in the conversation as he squished pasta in the palm of his hands and squealed as Luke reached over and ruffled the baby's curls.

Everything was perfect within the Hughes family at this moment. It felt like some right of passage, the small family squeezed around a small dinner table, the boys now adults living out their childhood dreams, no longer babies playing mini sticks in their basement, just mere hours before all three of them would be playing against each other in the NHL for the first time.

#thelittlesthughesau!!#quinn hughes #luke hughes #jack hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes x y/n #dad!quinn hughes

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anewstartrekfan · 1 year

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Why I like Kirk so much and why I think he didn’t resonate as much with general audiences as Spock did

I think what Gene Roddenberry and the rest of the tos crew underestimated is how powerful knowledge of a character can be when they thought Kirk would be popular over Spock. As season 1 progresses while you do get information about both Kirk and Spock peppered through out, how much and how it’s conveyed is important.

Spock is Stoic yes, but surprisingly he talks about his past and what it means to be Vulcan a lot. And other characters comment on Vulcans too like McCoy describing where a Vulcan heart is. Even moving onto season 2, when Spock truly, desperately, does not want to explain what Pon Farr is or that Sarek is his father, he admits these things under pressure. And all of this information is what’s gives the audience an idea of what informs his actions.

Jim Kirk however, despite being very outgoing and charismatic, very rarely talks about himself. With few exceptions, every time you do learn something about his past it’s because someone else explains it or points it out. You’ve got where no man has gone before where Gary talked about their academy days, The naked time while Spock talked about his regrets, Kirk vents that he wants a personal connection and then is literally the only person who is able to will the virus to stop effecting him (on his own I mean) just long enough for McCoy to give him the cure.

The Android copy of Kirk tells us about Kirk’s brother Sam, in Conscience of the king literally everyone except Kirk explains his tragic tarsus iv backstory, we never find out who the Ruth girl is in shore leave, and it’s Bones that brings up Sam lives on Deneva. Even in season 2 in the worst episode ever, the deadly years, when Kirk is in a room alone with his ex fiancé, she explains their history. Not Kirk.

This man is allergic to talking about himself I love it.

Edit: Whenever Jim does even sorta talk about his past, it’s always in the context of what the other people he’s talking to know about it. Take Tarsus IV. Spock tells Jim that he checked the same library records. So when Jim finally opens up at the end of the conversation, it’s information Spock and Bones already know. “I saw him [Kodos] once, 20 years ago.” Then about 10 minutes later when he’s talking with Kodos and trying to get proof, he gives Kodos a copy of the speech Jim heard him read 20 years ago. Saying that he memorized the words. Again, these are things only the two of them would know about. It’s not something Jim exclusively went through.

Then later in Obsession when Jim is talking about his prior experience with the fog, everything he references was in the report he made after the Farragut disaster that he knows Spock and Bones read. There is no new information he reveals about what happened to him or even how he felt about it. Bones has to be the one to say Jim was wrecked with guilt because at the end of the day, Jim will never willingly talk about his past without knowing or thinking the other person he’s talking to has the same information. He will not reveal anything new 95% of the time.

Anyway back to the old blog.

While I’d argue conscience of the king does most of the work you would ever need to explain why Kirk is the way he is, the fact is we don’t learn much about his past through him. Instead it’s Kirk’s actions that inform our understanding of him. Which on some level I like a lot. It’s rare that a tv series doesn’t lean heavily into some tragic backstory explaining why a character acts the way they do. But it isn’t just he doesn’t have multiple tragic backstories. It’s what we know nothing about his past in general. Ffs we didn’t learn he grew up in Iowa until Star Trek IV. It might not even be Riverside! That town just claimed it for themselves and everyone rolled with it.

Edit: SNW did confirm after almost 40 years that riverside is Kirk’s birthplace.

The audience never truly closes the gap with Kirk because he never willingly opens up (at least where I am in the show idk maybe the movies change this) So comparatively Spock just had more going on.

#james t kirk #star trek tos #star trek #Star Trek rambles #captain kirk #star trek meta #Kirk analysis #star trek analysis

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dustykneed · 4 months

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OKAY YALL. jim totally has movie nights/show watching nights with bones and spock (jim's captain's quarters have this big retractable screen meant for conference calls or viewing ship logs but obviously it also effectively doubles as a giant tv screen!!) and it basically turns into sleepover night where they have fun doing the fun kiddy shit they deserve (after bones and jim nearly started brawling after jim wiped the floor at monopoly via "underhanded GODDAMN tactics" according to bones, spock has made a note never to attempt to bring up monopoly on movie nights EVER AGAIN)

but also consider: pre-slash spones watching a show and arguing about favourite characters ("Your parameters for selecting a 'favourite character' are most illogical, Doctor." "Favouritism is favouritism, Spock! I couldn't give a rat's ass about goddamned logic!") but agreeing that their favourite chars would make a great couple ("It would be illogical to deny the high compatibility of these characters. One might be inclined to infer that their opposing characteristics may in fact be complementary and hence conducive to an optimal relationship." "By God, just say that ya think they look good together, Spock!") EXCEPT THEIR FAVOURITE CHARACTERS ARE BASICALLY THEMSELVES RESPECTIVELY lmao

jim is sitting next to them on the couch watching them argue shaking his head like it is So obvious ya doofuses GET TOGETHER ALREADY

until this new character (extremely jim-coded) is introduced in the next season who has shockingly intense chemistry with each of the bones/spock coded chars individually. Which starts a whole ship war between bones and spock, who, ironically, ship the other's character with the new one, and go ham on trying to prove (quoting scenes, acting choices, prop choices, even theorising about behind-the-scenes agendas) that they're right about their ship. jim thinks it's absolutely fucking hilarious seeing his best friends come extremely close to duking it the fuck out on his couch over FICTIONAL CHARACTERS, GUYS, COME ON. all the while bones and spock are losing their fucking minds because occasionally their own favourite characters will have Moments and they'll go insane trying to figure out which ship is definitively endgame. they have a bet going that whoever has their ship sunk will have to hand over a quarter of their lab time to the victor and act as assistant while the other uses the time to work on their own experiments.

jim thinks it's the funniest thing he's ever seen- UNTIL ON THE LAST EPISODE OF THE SEASON ALL THREE CHARACTERS GET TOGETHER. jim (who has Known how much the character dynamics reflected the triumvirate themselves all along) is completely fucking speechless and has a huuuuge epiphany about his own feelings for spock and bones. meanwhile bones (speechless with pure unfettered rage both at the fact that technically he was wrong but also HOW COULD HE NOT HAVE SEEN THIS BEFORE???) and spock (kicking himself mentally for not having considered this possibility previously) are about to argue (all while jim is spiralling lmfao) when the bones-coded character says something like "huh. I guess we were so focused on trying to pair up that we forgot we worked best together as a trio." and bones starts to Get It, and then spock also starts to Get It, and they turn to jim, who gets that they Get It, and begins to giggle hysterically, and it is so contagious that bones starts to die of laughter and even spock cracks a chuckle.

Later, when they're all lying in jim's giant bed sleepy and happy and satisfied, cuddled together and cozy as hell, jim tells them that he's sorta known they (spones) would get together like in the show all along but he doesn't know how he didn't figure out where he came into the equation until now when it was so obvious!! and bones tells him he thinks he had always loved jim and spock but for some reason it took months and months of ship wars to see it (lol) which he's definitely glad for despite the high blood pressure every time he and spock would argue. and spock presses a kiss to the corner of jim's mouth and two fingers to bones' own, and whispers that for once, he agrees fully with leonard on the matters of their new favourite ship. jim doesn't think he's ever grinned that wide in his entire fucking life.

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mystery-star · 5 months

Text

Sure Bet - Spock

Pairing: Spock x reader (gender neutral)

Warnings: swearing

Words: 2277

A/N: Just a short idea I’ve head when reading @sachiko1309 's Spock fanfiction yesterday. Hope you don't mind me tagging you, no need to read if you dont' want to lol.

Please do not repost my work on other sites or platforms!

“What?!” your friend and Captain almost exclaimed, making most of the people in the rec room look at you. Sometimes being with Jim when he was drunk wasn’t fun. “You mean you never kissed someone?” he took another sip from his drink as if to overcome the disbelief.

“Of course I did” you defended yourself “It just only were people that I was in a relationship with” and you only were in your second relationship so there was that.

“Well, we gotta change that” he said with a conspirational glance to his friend Bones. You too glanced at the doctor but he didn’t seem as enthusiastic and said he wouldn’t want to force you to do anything. “No, no that’s not what I meant” he looked back at you “We just should make it... attractive for you”

“Meaning what?”

“Well....” he rubbed his nose “let’s say that next time you come to the bridge to deliver a report, you can kiss someone on the bridge. And if you do, I swear I will wear a female uniform with a skirt for three days”

“You mean kiss someone while on duty?” he shrugged

“Better than while being drunk, huh?” you raised your eyebrows. Not because you disagreed with the whole idea. After all, your current relationship was with Commander Spock after all who did work on the bridge.

“And what if I won’t kiss anyone?”

“Then I’d say the next drinks are on you”

“The drinks on the ship are free” you reminded him

“I meant back on a planet or so. What say you?” he finished his drink.

“I mean... just three days? Does the time you wear it depend on who I kiss or how I kiss them?”

“Okay here’s the rules. The kiss has to be on the mouth. If you kiss someone you’re friends with it’s gonna be three days. If it’s someone else or you know... making out, I’ll wear it for a week. Also you can’t kiss me. I don’t count. Or Bones if he’s there. But anyone else”

“We’re not including Spock in this are we? He’d not only find it very illogical but probably also finds a dozen rules that forbid this” Leonard asked and Jim turned to him

“Tell you what Bones, (Y/N) actually has the guts to kiss him, I wear the dress ten days” trying to hide your smile you nipped at your drink. After all he would definitely be the one you kissed. Not your fault if no one knew of your relationship and Jim was raising the stakes himself.

“You’re on” you said. “But it hasn’t to be tomorrow. In the course of the week”

“Deal”

The next day you needed to deliver a report to the bridge but to your dismay the Captain was nowhere to be seen. Well, now you had to come back another time.

“Yeoman?” you heard Spock ask from the Captain’s chair

“I have the reports, sir” you told him “I was just wondering what to do since the Captain isn’t here. Do you think it’s possible I’ll leave them for him and pick them up later? Or will you sign them?” you hoped he’d say no to the latter.

“According to the Captain he should be back shortly”

“Alright” you said, almost thrusting the PADD into his hands “I’ll come and get them back in a bit”

“Very well” Spock said and you gave a nod, stepping back into the turbolift and letting out a deep breath when it went down. Part of you wished it would already be over. It wasn’t the kiss you were nervous about but Spock’s reaction. Not because you had agreed to keep the relationship a secret, in fact you were planning to let others know soon but to just do it so sudden and kiss him so openly when you hadn’t shared that many kisses - Vulcan or human ones – before.

When you returned to the bridge an hour later Bones was there too and you weren’t sure if you were happy about it or not. Sure he would give you hell for kissing Spock but you also knew how much he would tease Jim when you did.

“Yeoman” the Captain greeted you “I bet you’re here for the reports”

“I am. But not just that” you added the second part a little quieter. He handed you the PADD and as was regulation you quickly checked the signature before giving a nod. Instead of leaving directly as you usually did, unless there was something else you had to do on a particular day, you decided to walk a short circle on the bridge so your two friends wouldn’t know who you’d kiss right away. Oh, you could feel almost all eyes on you because even those that didn’t know of the bet were wondering what you did but suddenly you found you didn’t care. Of course the only who didn’t seem to have noticed what was going on was Spock. Only when you stopped in front of him did he look up and you threw a quick last glance to Jim and Bones, the first looking a little pale and it wouldn’t have surprised you if he jumped up at that moment and retreated from the bet in that moment.

“Is there something you require from me, Yeoman?” Spock asked.

“Kind of” you said quietly and looked at him “I know this may be a bit weird and illogical and I’m sorry” you heard Bones snort but there was a huge smile on his face. Slowly you placed your hands on Spock’s arms, slowly leaning in because even if you were in a relationship you would not force him into a kiss just for a bet. He didn’t move and still stood there ramrod straight. But not because he was not okay with what you were doing, this was a different kind of stiffness. More one of confusion. You got onto your tiptoes and when he realized what you were going to do and didn’t pull back, a sign he wasn’t in the mood for a kiss you ignored his questioning ‘Yeoman’ and placed your lips on his. Of course he didn’t do much to respond but it wasn’t that he did nothing because he leant closer and his hands went to your hips.

“That’s not fair!” Jim’s yell made you break apart and your boyfriend was quick to get a professional distance to you again but there still was some fondness and confusion in his glance.

“Might I inquire the reason for this seemingly spontaneous display of affection; in public nonetheless?” he had lowered his voice, obviously not wanting the others to hear. You gave a shrug not wanting to tell him the truth right now.

“I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable or something but... I just wanted to. And you said you’re okay with letting others know so... well. Might not have been the best moment” he raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything for a while

“Wait a moment” Bones said “Am I missing something there?” he pointed at the two of you and now everyone was looking even more intensely if that even was possible. But you were glad that no one said anything at least. “Are you two...?” you glanced at Spock to see if he was okay if you confirmed

“Doctor, I believe question is lacking the inquired element”

“Don’t make me say it, pointy. Are you two.... you know...?” he made a gesture with his hand

“I must admit that I am not familiar with sign language and therefore still could not understand what exactly you wish to find out” of course your boyfriend seemed the only one who was still unaware of what Bones was trying to ask and even though you felt bad for him it made you also feel better because maybe the kiss now didn’t' seem too strange anymore

“A thing okay?” the doctor spat “Dating. Courting. Seeing each other. Having an affair.”

“While I cannot fully differentiate between all of these human terms for being in a relationship you are quite correct doctor”

“You knew this” Jim shouted at you

“Why yes,” you answered “seeing that I am in the relationship it’s obvious that I know of it”

“I’m not gonna say how much you just sounded like Spock” Bones muttered making you smile. Meanwhile other bridge members were starting to congratulate you or ask question as to how and when you got together. Somehow you were glad that Spock reminded them that they still were on duty and this was something they could discuss after the shift. The Captain then made it an order that everyone got back to work

“That goes for you too, Yeoman” you only nodded and then left the bridge.

Early the following morning Bones was at your door

“What is it?” you asked, fearing there was some kind of emergency

“Nothing, I just figured you might like to come to the bridge and see to it that the Captain honors his part of the bet”

“Oh right” you smiled “give me some minutes to get ready” of course the topic you talked about on the way to the bridge was your relationship with the First Officer. Luckily the way wasn’t that long that you could only answer three questions and then were on the bridge. Jim wasn’t here yet, which was good because you needed to see the other’s reactions. Spock seemed confused what you were doing here because your shift only would start in an hour.

“Just watch and see Spock, this is gonna be good” Bones said with a smirk. After a couple of minutes that seemed like an eternity, the door to the turbolift opened and out of it stepped Jim Kirk, in a short sleeved, yellow female skirt-uniform with his coffee in his hands

“Keptain on...” Chekov started and then let out a hiccup and others too were staring at the Captain. Some tried to hide their smiles, others pretended they were focused on their screens and not looking at all and Spock of course commented it with the raise of an eyebrow.

“Good morning” Jim said nonchalantly, obviously trying to play it cool and sat down on the chair, trying to adjust the skirt making you giggle. “Is there a problem?” he asked staring daggers at the people who looked at him.

“You look lovely Jim” Bones chocked out before laughing and it broke the spell and almost the whole bridge crew did the same.

“How come?” Sulu asked nodding at his superior’s uniform.

“You can thank Spock being in a relationship for that”

“Captain, I fail to understand how my relationship correlates with your choice of clothing, especially seeing that both your demeanor and tone suggest you are neither comfortable nor pleased with it”

“Spock tell me isn’t there a Starfleet regulation against bets?” oh no he was not getting out of this and you threw a glance at Spock but luckily he was already citing the relevant articles, saying that bets per se weren’t forbidden and only gambling or making bets while on duty or cheating were not allowed as well as hosting big tournaments on a Starfleet facilities even with an official license and the like. “That’s not helping. There’s gotta be something. Like... holding back information and making me raise the stakes”

“I would believe the term is a ‘bluff’ which is permitted during gambling or making bets. It is up to the participating individual to determine the stakes as well as the decision to withdraw should uncertainty arise. Once the wages are made however, I believe it is imperative for humans that they do not withdraw”

“Tell him Spock” Bones cheered, making the Commander glance at him.

“Well, then tell me Spock isn’t it highly illogical to make a bet about a we wearing another uniform if (Y/N) kisses someone?”

“Yes Captain, I do agree. However, as I have noticed previously humans tend to take a multitude of illogical actions. In this particular case, while I do not know all the facts, I believe that it would be met with societal disapproval should you retreat. Especially seeing that you are the Captain of this ship and therefore vowed to uphold proper conduct and be a role model”

“Spock, I think that’s the first time I wholeheartedly agree with you. Couldn’t have said it better”

“Fuck it Spock. I don’t think this uniform is proper conduct or being a role model. Do tell, is there any regulation that forbids to wear a wrong uniform?”

“The Starfleet Uniform Code clearly states that each commissioned officer or cadet must wear a proper and official uniform displaying the correct colors and rank of their current position. A certain degree of personalization may be permitted under a superior officer, such as wearing cultural or personal jewelry but must be met with approval in some cases. Since there is no article that restricts certain uniform types to a specific gender or even species and you yourself have authorized such personalizations, I can assure you that your choice of uniform does not deviate from any regulation”

“In plain speech Jim, no way of arguing your way out of there” Bones ‘translated’.

“Oh, just you wait” the Captain growled “I’m so gonna get back at you for this. And at (Y/N) and Spock too. You better watch your backs” Spock threw you a glance, obviously not sure what Jim meant and you only gave a shrug, deciding this was your time to take your leave from the bridge.

#spock #spock x reader #spock x you #spock imagine

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aspiringnexu · 7 months

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Okay so I sort of fell face-first into the Star Trek fandom and went on a Spirk fic reading spree. And, as is usual with my reading, I latched onto a plot that my brain is going nuts over.

There was a fic where Kirk found out he was like, 1/16th Vulcan because some industrious Vulcan lady a while ago decided the only logical way to experience Earth was to settle down and have kids there with a native and not tell anybody. Anyway, its very amusing, turns out Kirk is the last living descendent of some noble Vulcan house and as such can inherit quite a few profitable investments and a potential future High Council seat if he wants, though his taunts of assuming such a position to annoy Spock fall on the back burner when he suddenly goes into Pon Farr because of course he does.

But my brain immediately latched onto 'part-Vulcan Jim Kirk' and went a tiny bit rabid.

So the idea arrived. Kirk, completely unaware of his Vulcan ancestry, encounters Shenanigans on an Away Mission as is customary. Alien medical tech goes a bit bonkers and the captain is hit but physically okay, just unconscious. Bones will still give him hell when he wakes up but Spock can breathe easy. The Shenanigans were mild this time. Or were they? Turns out the medical tech actually did do something. It stimulated the latent Vulcan genes, artificially encouraging growth and change at an incredibly rapid pace, not eleminating Kirk's humanity but elevating him from Human with Vulcan spice, to almost even half n' half.

So we get poor Kirk waking up with undisciplined telepathic powers, a much stronger body, and the worst headache known to humanoids. Bones discovering his patient has miraculously decided to switch species overnight. And poor, poor Spock who just got over the minor heart attack of the previous incident and is now face to face with the prettiest Vulcan he has ever fucking seen.

Because half-Vulcan!Jim is blond, blue-eyed, and radiating 'confused kicked puppy' vibes like the world's most attractive telepathic foghorn.

Bonus points if Spock goes into Pon Farr early because Jim is projecting so much emotion and is also just That Pretty.

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aerialworms-art · 4 months

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Spocktober + Trektober Day 20 - Soulmates

They love each other really! They've just had a long voyage home...

Thanks to @stellucis for giving me the idea of drawing them with the red string of fate!

(Please click for quality! ID under cut)

[Image ID: A black and white drawing of Jim Kirk, Spock, and Bones as seen in Star Trek: The Voyage Home. They are all older than in the Original Series. Spock is wearing his white Vulcan robe and no shoes. Jim is wearing his maroon suit, and Bones is wearing his beige and brown jumpsuit. His cravat is untucked from his neckline and the ends are floating. Both Jim and Bones' trousers are flared and they're wearing simple boots.

Spock and Bones are floating against a starry backdrop, connected to each other and Jim by thin threads attached to each of their wrists. Both of their threads connecting them to Jim are floating, relaxed and looping. However, Bones has grabbed the thread connecting him to Spock and is hunched over, attempting to chew through it. Spock is watching this with detached curiosity. His posture is more relaxed and his left arm is being pulled towards Bones because Bones is pulling on the thread.

Jim is standing in the middle, feet edging over the border of the drawing. His hands are on his hips, and he is looking up despairingly at his soulmates, saying "Can't you two just get along? Please?"

Above the drawing is written "Trektober" and "Day 20 - Soulmates" Below it is written "@aerialworms" and "Spocktober"./End ID]

#star trek #spocktober #star trek fanart #star trek the original series #trektober 2023 #mcspirk #star trek the voyage home #spock #james t kirk #leonard mccoy #soulmate au #i mean. is it really an au when they're literally three parts of a whole #the string of fate thing is the au part mwahahaha #this is gonna be my last trektober/spocktober post from the 2023 prompt list btw #outside of october it's just not as fun #i still have several pieces i want to do inspired by the prompt list though! they just probably won't be the exact same b/w style #anyway. rounding out the year with my favourite grumpy old men #the triumvirate #my three grandpas. and yes they smoke weed #HAPPY NEW YEAR #Oh also everyone better appreciate the detail on their outfits. i loved doing that it was so fun #especially bones'!! such a fancy jumpsuit i love it #i'm genuinely so proud of this one #and of finishing 20 whole pieces *and* posting them!!!#anyway yeah happy new year!!! live long and prosper!!! 🖖🖖🖖

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whumpsday · 6 months

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K&J: Kane's Whumptober Bites #31

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: vampire whumpee, recovery, comfort

@whumptober Day 31: “I thought that I was getting better.” / Setbacks / “Take it easy.”

didn't end up making it through whumptober, but here's the day 31 piece i had planned anyway :)

It was one of those nights. A night where the faces of Kane’s tormenters haunted his mind both in dreams and awake.

Awake was worse. At least a dream, he could wake up from, safe and sound in his room below Jim’s house. But the memories, those were worse. They were real, his skin tingling as he recalled the pain. The snap of a forcibly-broken bone, silver pressed against vulnerable flesh, the sting of a cattle prod, the wrathful kiss of the sun.

He gathered up his blanket and crawled underneath his bed, wrapping himself up there. It still didn’t feel safe, even though he’d been freed. The missing lock on the basement door felt more exposing than ever. Kane never imagined he’d miss being captive so much, but being Jim’s captive was safe.

It only got worse as the sun rose. He couldn’t see it from down here, of course, but his clock told him all he needed to know. Now he was well and truly trapped, a sitting duck for any hunters who wanted to pay him a visit and reintroduce him to the pain he’d been so spared over the past months.

But the sun brought more than just terror, here.

Jim woke soon enough, giving the door a couple of knocks before peeking inside. “Kane? You in there?”

Just as Jim was about to leave– right, it was okay if Kane wasn’t there, he was free to come and go as he pleased now– Kane piped up, his voice small and scared. “Yes, sir.”

Jim sighed, the sad kind. “Bad night?”

“Mm-hm.”

Kane felt the bed creak above him as Jim sat down, the delicious smell of human blood ever-closer. “It’s really over. I know it feels like it’s not sometimes, but you’re not going back.”

“I know, I just–” The memories wouldn’t go away. His mind and body wouldn’t let him forget, no matter how far away he got, no matter how safe he was. “I thought I was getting better.”

“You are,” Jim assured him. “This just happens sometimes. Doesn’t mean you’re back to square one.” He set the blood down. “Take it easy and give yourself time. It’s been five months, you’ll get there.”

“Thank you,” Kane said, already feeling just a little better.

#whumptober2023 #no.31 #i thought that i was getting better #setbacks #take it easy #oc #fic #kanes whumptober bites #kane and jim drabbles #whump #my writing #vampire whumpee #vampire whump #recovery whump #comfort #hurt/comfort

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spockfallsinlove · 11 months

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spirk prompt request: a moment on the bridge or at dinner with the bridge crew where Spock says something off handedly (like maybe Jim mentions having misplaced something and without hesitating Spock tells him it's on his nightstand) that subtly reveals to everyone the level of intimacy between Spock and Jim, with a focus on everyone's reactions. thank you!!

"It's not like I tried to provoke a potential galactic war!" Jim protests as he spears a piece of fried chicken off his plate. "It was a woefully inadequate translation."

"But somehow, those kinds of things only seem to happen to you," Bones shoots back. He glares at Jim's plate. "And I told you to have the chicken."

"I am having the chicken."

"The grilled one, you intentionally obtuse man. Your blood pressure—" Bones starts, face already red with an impending lecture on Jim's health.

"So Spock," Jim cuts in, turning to his First Officer. "How did things fare on the bridge while I was away?"

"Quiet, Captain," Spock says with a dainty swipe of napkin across his lips. "I believe Uhura has some interesting communications she picked up while we were stationed," he adds, nodding to her. (She's sitting across from Jim, also having the fried chicken, but no one's yelling at her about it.)

"It's just a few snatches I managed to translate," Uhura says, handing a PADD to Jim over the plates. "And you should really have asked me to do the translations for this mission. Starfleet HQ means well, but they do tend to hire linguists fresh out of the academy."

"I'll never stray again," Jim promises, setting the PADD down in front of him. He pulls up the document in question and begins to read Uhura's notes. Spock, next to him, bends his head down as well, their temples nearly touching as he reads in tandem. The rest of the bridge crew turns back to their usual lunchtime chatter, the hum of the mess room buzzing around Spock and Jim as they read.

"I can't make any sense of this," Jim murmurs.

Spock nods. "Further analysis will be required."

"Could make a great bedtime story," Jim says, grinning at his First Officer. "Better than that math nonsense you always insist on reading to me."

Bones, across from Jim, drops his fork onto the plate midair. His wide eyes dart between Jim and Spock. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, don't get me started," Jim emphatically sighs, leaning back in the chair and waving off Spock's attempt to speak, pitching his voice even louder. "No, don't try to defend yourself, mister. Every night I put up with that nonsense. No one needs to read twenty different arguments on the Pythagorean theorem, much less talk about it, while the poor sap next to you who understands none of it is just trying to sleep and—What?" Jim finally looks at Spock, who has a panicked look on his face. "What's wrong, Spock?"

He realizes too late that the mess room has gone quiet. At least twenty pairs of eyes are staring him down. Uhura has a hand over her mouth, a huge smile hidden behind it. Sulu's jaw has dropped. Bones looks redder in the face than he ever has. Scotty is very intentionally not giving anybody, much less his senior officers, eye contact.

"Oh," Jim says, stupidly, and a little belatedly. He turns to Spock, giving him a bashful grin. "I think this means that you've won the bet, my dear."

There's a smile dancing behind Spock's eyes. He pushes his knee into Jim's under the table; a small but powerful gesture as far as Vulcan standards are concerned. "Two weeks," he says, soft and low. "You have kept the secret longer than I expected."

Jim shrugs, rolling his eyes at himself, before going back to eating. At least he wouldn't have to work so hard mincing his words anymore. "Well, go ahead," he says to the twenty pairs of eyes on him, waving a hand. "Have at it."

Another blissfully peaceful, silent moment passes before the mess hall breaks into a cacophony of cheers, exclamations, and one Southern-tinged horrified wail rising above the rest.

#i hope this was ok lol!!!!#this was way too fun to write #spirk #stark trek tos #space husbands #my writing #also i did not edit this i am literally throwing it into the world with its hair wild and unbrushed #enjoy!!

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sprite-writes · 4 months

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failed romantics

Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Reader (original female character)

Summary: Secrets can’t be kept forever, and what better time to reveal them than the Enterprise night shift.

Word Count: 5,902

A/N: yay another chapter!! I have been so excited to write this one since I started this series, I hope you all like it. As always very special thanks to @lightning-writes without them these chapters would literally never get finished LOL immediately after finishing this plz go check out their bucky series; good heart (faulty machine of a man) it kills me in the best way. anyways, thank you for reading plz like + comment if you enjoyed :)

Leonard can only barely make out Kirk’s face under the dim bulb, but he is pissed enough that Jim’s mug is the last thing he wants to see. The music is loud, so goddamn loud , loud enough that the whiskey did nothing for his headache.

“This is not what I had in mind when you said you knew a place,” he yells over the music, staring down the side of Kirk's face.

“What?” the captain calls back, still oblivious to Leonard's scowl. Kirk is absent, completely distracted by the crowd, more specifically the women . His gaze filters from person to person as they pass by the table, a dumb smile on his face the entire time. If steam could come out of Leonard’s ears, it would.

“I said this isn't what I had in mind for tonight.” He reaches across the table and firmly flicks his friend’s temple.

“Hey! What's your problem?” Kirk whines. Leonard is satisfied to have gotten his attention—finally.

“You said you knew a nice place– you said it was a bar!”

“Yeah and? This is both of those things!”

“This is a goddamned petri dish!”

It is. Leonard has refused to even allow his bare skin to touch the tabletop, weary of the unknown sticky substances covering it. There are so many bodies— human and otherwise— packed into the space, it's suffocating, and certainly a fire hazard. It's gross, downright unsanitary, and fucking loud.

“You’re dramatic, Bones, it's nice enough. Loosen up! Maybe try to meet somebody. We’re only in Yorktown for a day, y’know?”

Tipsy Kirk is a fucking idiot.

Leonard recoils at the idea. The captain has gained this…habit lately. This advice-giving habit where he tells Leonard to relax, to get out there, to get laid, and every time it passes through Kirk's lips, Leonard becomes nauseous. He abhors this subject, he really does. The only thing he hates talking about more than his dating life is why he doesn’t have one. Sure, he hasn't had much of one since the divorce anyway, but whatever he did have quickly reduced to nothing after meeting Sunshine. He feels so childish even mulling his thoughts over, and how it feels pointless to consider any other woman interesting since he has already met Sunshine, who is the most interesting. Interesting and pretty. Interesting and pretty and kind. He shakes his head before he starts down his mental list (again). Somedays, it feels like his feelings will swallow him whole. It has been so long since he felt it, the wanting . Wanting to talk to her all the time, or hold her hand, or just be around her. It all makes him feel so juvenile, like he’s a lovesick teenager. She makes him feel like a lovesick teenager. It is the single most frustrating thing he’d ever experienced.

“I don't wanna associate with anyone who willingly steps foot inside this shithole,” he snaps, “C’mon man, let's go.” Kirk protests, of course, even more so as Leonard grabs him by the ear and pulls him up from the chair. He tells himself he’s doing Kirk a favor, that the last thing he needs is a hookup— that he’s certainly not taking out his frustrations on his friend.

The pair weave through the bodies, with Kirk stumbling after his friend and out the door. The cool breeze hits them like a breath of fresh air, and Leonard takes it in. Kirk, on the other hand, furiously rubs his reddened ear.

“What the hell was that for? Are you out to get me tonight?”

Leonard feels a quick pang of sympathy, regretting lashing out.

“Look, I’m sorry, but that place had me sweating like a damn sinner in church, there’s other bars, and it's getting late anyways–”

Kirk would usually push it, and Leonard could tell he wants to, which makes him all the more thankful he doesn’t.

“Fine, fine, whatever but we are drinking when we get back to the ship,” he settles, leading the way home.

Yorktown is cold and downright industrial. Leonard hates it. He would usually be thankful for a pit stop if it means he can feel non-artificial gravity, but, between the dirty club and Kirk’s antagonizing, he’s ready to be spacebound again. Both the Enterprise and the USS Endeavor are in Yorktown for the night, in the process of a personnel transfer. The streets are crawling with Starfleet members.

They walk in silence for most of the way, observing the larger-than-life city and the star crafts buzzing overhead. Leonard would be lying if he said he doesn’t feel a bit empty. Perhaps the low-lit, music-blaring monstrosity would have felt more tolerable if a certain lieutenant was with him and not stuck with the enterprise night crew.

“You know, I wouldn’t have even known that place existed if it wasn’t for Sunny,” Kirk laughs. Leonard scrunches his nose.

“She recommended that barnyard?” he scoffs.

“Oh god no, she told me to stay away from it. Said it was the grimiest place on this side of the universe. I just thought it sounded like a good time, y’know?”

Leonard stares, really stares, and wonders why he keeps expecting better of Kirk.

“You’re an idiot, and an ass. The woman gives you stellar advice, and you ignore it, and stick her with the skeleton crew.”

Kirk stops so abruptly, that Leonard stumbles over him.

“ I didn’t put her on the skeleton crew, she requested to be. You think I would make her work more than she already does? I’m not a tyrant, Bones.”

What?

“What?” Leonard says out loud. “Why would she ask to be holed up on the enterprise all leave?”

“I mean, I would too if the alternative was running into my ex and all his coworkers.”

Kirk laughs, Leonard’s head spins.

“Her ex?”

“Yeah her— she didn’t tell you any of this?”

“She said she wanted Jameson to oversee the transfer, give him more experience or something, so you put her on his night shift.”

“No? She wanted Jameson to do it because she used to be engaged to the Endeavors head of security.”

Leonard blinks. And blinks again.

“Dude, I don’t even know how to change the schedule,” Kirk adds.

Suddenly, despite talking to her everyday for close to a year, she feels unfamiliar. Engaged? He can hardly imagine it, nor does he want to. Pictures of Sunshine flash through his mind, and he clenches his fist.

“Didn’t know she had been engaged,” he feigns a casual tone.

Kirk furrows his brows.

“ You didn’t know? You of all people?” Leonard shrugs, as his stomach forms a knot. “She tells you everything, and she’s never mentioned Ryder?”

“Christ, his name is Ryder ?”

“I know! Douchebag name, right?”

He doesn’t respond for a beat, which turns into several beats. The gears in his head turn and turn. Engaged . He doesn’t understand why the idea eats at him. He himself had been married for years. So what if she was engaged? There is no reason for him to be upset that his friend—a coworker–had an ex.

He feels nauseous.

Kirk clears his throat, derailing Leonard's train of thought.

“You’re right, it’s late, we should head back,” he says, offering a reassuring smile. Leonard follows him, hands in his pockets.

“Do y’know what happened?” he asks finally. Kirk casts him a sideways glance.

“What, between them? Not a clue,” Kirk says with sincerity enough for Leonard to believe it. “She wasn’t really keen on discussing it.” He pauses and looks at the ground as they walk. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it though, Bones, I think everyone sees she’s only really got eyes for one person these days.”

“Don't start, Jim,” Leonard warns hotly, clenching his jaw.

“Start what? I’m not starting anything. I’m just laying out the facts.” Jim hiccups. “She adores you, man, like adores -”

“Sunshine ‘adores’ everyone she meets. We’re friends—good friends, but that's all.” His patience shrinks as his annoyance grows.

Jim laughs mirthlessly.

“No, Sunshine and I are good friends. Whatever you two are is something else entirely-”

“Anyone ever tell you you don't know when to shut up?” His tone is as cold as the night air, and Jim shuts up.

Leonard wishes Kirk would drop the subject, trip over a rock, or whatever it took to never have this conversation again. Really—what he truly wants is for everyone to stop dangling this hope in front of his face like a carrot. He’s not an idiot, he knows he spends more time with the lieutenant than his colleagues, hears her laugh more often, and knows her habits better.

He knows what it looks like. He also knows that he's a bitter emotionally closed-off divorcee—

He tells Jim that Sunshine is his friend because she is—and he denies wanting anything more because It's stupid to want things out of his reach.

Frustration heats his cheeks and begins to bloom into a headache. He knows Kirk means well, but that fact does little to comfort him.

“Alright, I’ll drop it,” Kirk surrenders, his voice soft. “But there is one last thing you should know,” He pauses at the crosswalk and turns to Leonard. Eerily stoic, his mouth pressed into a thin line. Leonard's breath hitched.

“Ryder’s got nothing on you in terms of looks, okay? Seriously he's like, 5’7, and his face isn't at all symmetrical-”

Leonard revs up and smacks Kirk in the back of the head harder than he ever had and feels no regret. Not even after Kirk's high-pitched “ Ouch!”

“Would you quit it! You gossip like a damn schoolgirl!”

The sign blinks at them to walk, and Leonard drags Kirk across the street, fingers digging into his arm.

“Ow, ow, I was just saying-“

“Wait a minute,” Leonard lets his friend go and smooths down his sleeve. “How do you know what he looks like anyway?”

Kirk puts himself at a safe distance from the Doctor, cradling his arm. “Well, the operations manager would usually talk to the department heads during a transfer, but Sunshine passed him off to me. I said no at first, obviously, because I hate managing, but then she finally told me she was almost Mrs. Ryder Denver. So yeah, I spoke with him a few times, just business. Have to say though, I couldn't imagine them together. He comes off as a bit of a douche.”

Leonard breathes deeply, reigning in the emotions that he doesn’t need Kirk to pick up on. The idea of Sunshine being engaged does enough to unsettle him without knowing that the man in question “ came off as a douche” . He feels something boil under the surface.

“Yeah?” is all he can strangle out.

“Yeah—He’s like a classic douchey security buff,” Kirk continues, unaware of his friend's white knuckles. “You know the kind– uptight, condescending, has one earring and thinks it's edgy-”

“Wears their uniform a size too small? Yeah, I know the type.”

“Exactly, and Sunshine is so…so-”

“Heart-of-gold?”

“Yeah! Opposites attract I guess, but I don't know, something was off.”

To Leonard, the entire thing is off. All of it. Everything . He doesn’t understand why Sunshine decided he doesn’t get to know, why it is a secret in the first place, why she almost married a douche, why he cares so damn much .

The enterprise comes into view like the sun on the horizon, and Leonard is relieved .

“Your arm’s all right?” Leonard asks, an apology without apologizing. Jim knows this and breathes a laugh.

“Yup, the ear’s fine too.”

The Doctor nods, but his eyes remain trained in front of him. Through the glass window panes, he eyes the ship, eager to hide away in the familiar place. He would have opened the door for Kirk, as a gesture, but of course, the Yorktown Federation Port has to have automatic doors. He huffs, and the artificial lights illuminate his red cheeks. They approach their home in silent tandem, their shoes clinking against the hard floors.

“You should talk to her, Bones,” Kirk breaks the quiet, head down while he taps the access code to the enterprise hull. “Ask her why she didn't mention the ex. I’m sure she has a good reason, probably one you'll wanna hear.”

Leonard wants to be mean. He wants to shake Kirk's words off with an insult and go to bed. But he swallows his pride, and it goes down like nails.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Hope. It bubbles up within his chest, and he pushes it down. Finally, the stark white enterprise interior greets him. He breathes a little easier.

Kirk stumbles over the first step— “ Woah ”-- and Leonard steadies him with a raised eyebrow. “Andorian ale finally catching up with you?”

“Pfft,” Kirk scoffs. “Couldn’t catch me if it tried.”

Leonard pauses, then laughs, the first genuine one all night, and it has Kirk grinning back.

The enterprise is empty, its residents still on the streets they just returned from. So, without restraint, they laugh, and Kirk stumbles, and Leonard forgets for a moment about the unsaid feelings under his skin.

Kirk is an idiot, and he’s a good friend.

He’s happy to banter about whatever comes out of Kirk's drunk mouth and to correct him when he takes a wrong turn in his own ship. Leonard claps his hand on his shoulder and drawls, “It’s this way, captain .”

“Uhh, no , Chekov keeps the good whiskey in his locker, this way,” Kirk insists with a point down the hallway, and Leonard is amazed at his eagerness to get blacked out the night before embarking.

“Are you out of your mind? No way. You can drink like a fish when you don't need to fly a starship in the morning.”

“What are you, my mom ?”

Christ.

“No, but I pity the poor woman,” he huffs and gestures down the hallway leading to his quarters. Kirk frowns and scrunches his nose.

“Raincheck, Kirk, c’mon.”

He begrudgingly obliges, having given his friend a hard enough time tonight anyway. The yawn that crawls out of his mouth a moment later corroborates Leonard's decision. He is tired, and Kirk shouldn't drink anymore, but he’d be lying if he said those were his only motives to end the night early.

“You win this one, Bones, but next time I swear we'll be out till sunrise,” he says between another yawn and a hiccup.

“Uh-huh. Try not to trip.” Leonard reminds himself of the virtue of patience and keeps walking.

Kirk manages to type in his room's access code all by himself, with only a moment of squinting, and a break to roll up the black sleeves of his turtleneck. Leonard is impressed, and the bar is low.

“Drink a bottle of water, and get some sleep, We’ll talk tomorrow.” he crosses his arms over his chest and waits for protest.

Kirk only hums. “You headed to your room?”

The doctor's fingers drum against the doorframe. “Was thinking I’d check in on Sunshine,” he says, blinks, and rushes out, “and the rest of the Skeleton crew, of course. Maybe medbay too, then I’ll hit the hay.” He fleetingly wonders if that sounds believable, or at least casual.

Kirk smiles a genuine smile. “Sounds like a good plan, Bones. See ya in the morning, and tell her I said hi .” Before he can react, his friend waves, and the door slides shut. Then, he’s alone in the hallways, and he has to put his money where his mouth is.

Shit .

The way to the bridge feels daunting now, like climbing Everest. Like climbing Everest with the shittiest rope ever. Like climbing Everest with the shittiest rope ever, several pounds of emotional baggage, and a Starfleet captain breathing down his neck. He considers just going to bed, pretending he never even mentioned the whole thing. Maybe even pretend he doesn't care to get answers. He can just leave it be.

The desire to see her trumps all of it.

The halls are deserted, which he’s thankful for. He doesn’t need anyone around to watch him squirm in the elevator. A deep breath, a punch of the open elevator button and—

“I told you I don't have any threes! Go fish, again .”

He sees the back of the captain's chair first, then Starfleet-issued black boots hanging off of it. The whoosh of the door draws the attention of the room to him. Eyes sweep through the vaguely familiar faces of the night crew, all six staring at him like they are waiting for an explanation, which he doesn’t really have. The heeled black boots plant themselves on the ground, the captain's seat swivels around. His heart works double time.

“ Leonard ? Hi! What are you doing here?”

Sunshine’s got a hand of cards between her pointer and her thumb, and a sweatshirt pulled over her uniform dress, and it distracts Leonard for longer than it should. He clears his throat, and it shakes loose the feelings stuck there.

“Just thought I'd check in on our hard working night crew, who is surely on task.” He descends the bridge steps.

“Well, then, you'll be happy to hear that I am, in fact, glancing at my station every 20 minutes, and I’m the undefeated go-fish champion.”

She waves the cards at herself like a fan, legs crossed and smile wide.

“Undefeated, huh? Glad to see your talents going to good use.” Her smile gets a bit brighter, and she does a quick breathy laugh with her nose. For a moment there's quiet, and Leonard begins scrambling for a way to ask her the thing he wants to ask her. The bridge is crowded, for a skeleton crew, he thinks. The redshirt to Sunshine’s left breaks the silence before he can.

“I’m not sure if I’d call it talent…I’m pretty sure she's cheating,” they grumble, and Sunshine doesn't spare a moment, whipping the chair around. He can almost see the panic fill her eyes, like she’s just been accused of a heinous crime.

“I’m not! Are you still thinking about that last round? Because that was—”

Even Leonard winces a bit at her shrill tone, and he’s pretty sure she just woke the navigator who had fallen asleep at his station, so he claps his hands on her shoulders.

“Sounds to me like this card game has you wound like a spring,” he interrupts her before her voice jostles anyone else awake.

She pouts, lip jutted out and everything.

“Let's go for a walk,” he suggests. He doesn’t even let his nerves talk him out of it. She looks at him curiously, her eyebrows drawn.

“I dunno, I probably shouldn’t leave…”

“I’m sure someone else can deal cards while you’re gone,” he tells her, already offering his arm.

The Ensign, Leonard still doesn’t know their name, waves her off. “Go, Lieutenant, It's fine. I’m sure we can handle a few minutes without you.”

She bites her lip and cautiously loops her arm around his, leaving the captain's chair to her subordinate.

“Alright, but don’t start a new game without me,” she warns lightly.

Leonard doesn’t get nervous with her arm looped around his, really he doesn’t. He’s headfirst into this thing now, no room for nerves.

She drinks her whiskey neat, he learns, and it surprises him. Surprises him even more when she downs it like a shot.

The walk there had been quiet mostly, except for when Sunshine regaled the stories of her card game wins.

“Did you have a nice time with Kirk?” she asks politely.

“I dunno if I’d say that, but maybe Jim would disagree.”

She laughs lightly, and her finger traces the lip of the whiskey glass. He doesn’t know if it’s the best idea, but he refills her cup.

There is a beat of silence, and the conversation with Kirk pushes to the front of his thoughts. There's a heaviness on the tip of his tongue, the desire to ask why . Without really knowing how to.

“Wish I could’ve gone with you guys,” she says, her gaze downcast. There's a rare melancholy to her tone, something vulnerable woven into it.

“You could’ve,” he tells her, and her eyes pull from the table.

“I had--”

“Yeah, I know what you– I just mean–I’m sure Kirk would have given you the night off if you asked… God knows he owes you enough favors.”

“I guess,” she shrugs, “it wasn’t really the best night for it, though.”

He could go along with her lame excuse, vaguely agreeing that, yeah, there will be other nights. But the ache to know what exactly goes on in her pretty head has words tumbling out of his mouth.

“Yeah, Kirk mentioned somethin’ like that,” he mumbles, nerves permeating the sentence.

“...what?”

Shit.

“I mean, he may have-”

“What exactly did he mention?” Her tone holds a sharp undercurrent of something rare for Sunshine– anger.

Leonard runs a hand down his face, suddenly thinking of all the much more tactful ways he could have begun this. The gentle buzz of alcohol still in his bloodstream keeps him from panicking.

“Nothing terrible, just that there was someone in town you wouldn’t wanna see.”

“As if ,” she scoffs. “Kirk’s never been that vague in his life.”

“…fair enough.”

She groans miserably, fitfully pulling the sleeves of her sweater over her hands and burying her face in the fabric.

“You were not supposed to find out like this,” she says, muffled.

“And how was I supposed to find out?” He asks quietly, like the question will frighten her away.

A sniffle comes from behind her hands–the sound tugs at his heart.

“ I don't know. Maybe someone could have told you when I’m dead and then we’d never have to have this conversation.”

He reaches for her slowly, taking her wrists in a gentle hold and pulling them away from her face, revealing her reddened nose and watery eyes. Her hands are cold, and grow stiff under his touch.

“Sunshine. It's an ex , not a damn intergalactic scandal. There are worse conversations to have,” he reasons.

“You don't get it,” she tells him matter-of-factly, pulling her hands from his touch. Embarrassment quickly heats his body, and he wipes his palms on his pants.

“I’d get it a lot more if you talked about it.” He flexes his jaw, frustration bleeding into his voice.

She narrows her eyes, punctuating her glare with a sniffle.

“If I wanted to talk about it, I would’ve.”

“With Kirk? Because he seems to get it.”

“Why are you acting so—”

“Concerned? Oh, I dunno because you’re my friend?” Exasperation colors his tone.

“I was gonna say entitled,” she grits out. Her anger comes out half-heartedly, sounding more like watery sadness than anything. “I don't tell you everything, and I don't have to. You’re not my-” She sighs. “Why does it matter? I was engaged for like, a year, and now, I’m not.”

You’re not my–

Her half sentence sticks in his mind and sends blood rushing to his head. He thinks of all the things that he is to her: a colleague, a doctor, a friend. All the things he isn’t feels like a gaping hole.

He watches her clench her fists and force her tears back.

“It matters because it upsets you enough to work the night shift,” he sighs, the anger he’s been holding seeps out of his hands like water. “I’m not pressing you for the latest gossip, Sunny. I’m asking because it would be lousy of me not to.”

She says nothing, taking in his words.

“I’m no stranger to this stuff, y’know,” he prods her gently. “My ex-wife sent me running all the way to space .” He says lightly, and the corners of her mouth twitch up briefly.

“He didn't send me running, I sent him,” she confesses, shaking her head.

“ You ?”

“Me. The thing is,” she shrugs, “it should have worked, y’know? Like on paper, it was perfect. Ryder and I were academy sweethearts, liked all the same shit, were top of our classes, blah, blah, blah.” She rolls her eyes. “Our friends used to tease us, say that it wasn't fair, and we were too in love.”

“Sounds nice.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” she says, sighing. Her eyes drift nowhere in particular. “It didn’t feel nice after a while though. It felt suffocating. I was half a person with him, we were Ryder and Sunshine–and that was one entity.” Her tears dry on her lashes, as she becomes entrenched in the memory.

“But the person we were wasn’t me . Because he never thought my jokes were funny, or my hobbies were interesting or my friends were cool, so I was willing to throw them all out. Eventually all that was left was him. His ideas, his wants, his needs. I was backed into a corner. I should’ve left when I realized but I loved him… and I was really scared of being alone.”

She pushes her hair behind her ears and lets out a shaky breath.

“I was a coward, and I couldn’t leave. I wanted to try and fix it, figure out who I was, and then maybe Ryder could love that person,” She shakes her head. “I was naive. Ryder always wanted someone I couldn’t be. Someone quieter or someone better at being a person. I’m always so all over the place you know? Too much for him.”

“You’re not–”

“It's okay, Len, you don't have to say anything.” she says, meeting his eyes again, taming the budding fire in his heart.

The idea of Sunshine being anything but completely herself unnerves him. Her jokes are funny, he can’t recall ever laughing as much before she boarded the enterprise. Her ramblings about xenobotany and classic earth songs never fail to catch his attention, even when he barely knows what she's talking about. Being around Sunshine is as easy as breathing, and he’s starting to need it as much too.

“Anyways, he proposed our senior year, like we weren’t a sinking ship, and I said yes and pretended like the ring wasn’t a last-ditch attempt to bring us back to life.”

Her teeth sink into her lip, her eyes dragging to her lap.

“I don't know what it was, but one night I just…broke. I couldn’t keep pretending to be someone I wasn’t, or beg to be loved.”

A few tears slide down her cheeks, she scrubs them away with her sleeve.

Leonard wants to tell her that she should never have to beg for anything in the first place, least of all love; he wants to tell her that she's worthy just the way she is. His fingers twitch with the desire to take her by the shoulders and tell her over and over that she’s perfect, that she couldn’t be too much if she tried. Sunshine has always had a magnetic pull to her, drawing in everyone she meets with her warmth. The idea of anyone taking that away from her pulls his heartstrings tight enough to snap. He holds back his anger, refraining from telling her that Ryder is an asshole who didn’t deserve a second of her time.

The wiser part of him knows that's not what he needs.

“We had planned to be on the USS Endeavor together, but I rescinded my application. I signed up to do on-planet research instead. I wrote a long letter, left it on our bed, packed up my things, and left.”

She coughs in a way that he knows is covering up a sob and takes a deep breath. The sound sends a pang of emotion through him.

“It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done. We were engaged, for Christ's sake, and I couldn’t even look him in the eye when I left him. And don’t even get me started on the fallout. We had all the same friends, and our families were so close… it was all so humiliating . Everyone expected us to live happily ever after, and then, there I was, giving him back his ring in a coffee shop.”

She knocks back the rest of her drink, like a consolation prize for getting all the words out.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Len. I never wanted you to think of me like that, as someone who would do that.”

“ Sweetheart ,” he says like a plea, calling her attention. “No one in their right mind would think differently of you for leaving something that wasn’t good for you– or at least they shouldn’t.”

She's shaking her head before he finishes his sentence.

“But I–”

“I know. You didn’t go about it the way you maybe should’ve– or the way you wanted to. It doesn’t make you a bad person, it doesn’t make you any less… good.”

She hiccups, her chest rising and falling rapidly as another stream of tears drips down her cheeks. He can't help himself – and even if he could, he doesn’t want to – he brings both hands to her cheeks, wiping away the salty tears.

“It's alright,” he says gently, swiping his thumb under her eye again. “You’re alright.”

She nods, breaths finally evening out, and his hands reluctantly fall back onto his lap.

He remembers well the storm of feelings his divorce left him with. The gulit, the lonliness, feeling like the world was ending.

“I get it, y’know. The shitty relationship, becoming somebody you don't wanna be,” the barstool squeaks as he leans on the counter. He hasn't talked about his marriage since he told the story to Kirk years ago. It feels odd to tell it again.

“My ex and I met in college, fell head over heels, and I proposed a year later. I thought… well, we both thought we were soulmates. There was this connection between us that I’d never felt before, and I thought this must be it.”

“After a year ?” she gawks. He casts her a sideways glance and chuckles.

“A perfect year, mind you. Not a single disagreement, not a bad date– every day was straight out of a damn love story or something. Until we got hitched, that is. Then it was all disagreements.”

He anxiously taps a rhythm on the bar top. The memory still burns him now, of the fiery conflict, of the sleepless nights.

“We were the same in all the worst ways, stubborn, headstrong, prideful. We couldn't settle an argument to save our lives. It probably didn't help that I was in the middle of residency and pulling 100-hour weeks. It was miserable. I hardly recognized myself… I know I don’t have the best temper, but I never wanted to be an angry person.”

He lets out a slow breath, “I was mad as hell when she called it quits, said a lot of stuff I regret. But she was right to do it. We brought out the worst in each other, I was just too narrow-minded to see it. All this to say, I’m sure I would have taken the night shift to avoid her too.”

Sunshine rests a comforting hand on his shoulder, her thumb pressing circles into the muscle.

“I’m sorry, Len.”

He leans into her touch without thinking about it. “These things happen,” he tells her decidedly. “When something’s not right, there's nothing you can do to change that. You do the best you can with where you’re at, that's all.” He pictures himself, young and full of fire, holding onto something that had already slipped away. “Which you did, Sunshine. I know it’s hard to see now, but I promise it gets easier.”

When he drags his gaze from the mahogany bar top back to Sunshine, she's watching him curiously.

“What am I supposed to see?”

“That you were young, and scared, and you did what you needed to for yourself. Even if it's not shit you’re proud of, it makes you who you are. You learn, and it makes you better.”

She says nothing, silently considering his words for several moments. “Well, it better get easier soon, because it sucks .”

He chuckles, “That it does.”

She reaches right past him and grabs the half-empty bottle of whiskey.

“We should toast,” she says, the melancholy in her voice fading away, probably tucked back behind a wall. “To failed marriages.”

She’s already refilling their glasses and lifting hers to bump with his.

“Thought you ducked out on the whole wedding thing?” he teases.

“Fine then, to failed romantics,” she impatiently shakes the ice in her glass, “Just do it.”

He knocks his glass with hers and agrees, “To failed romantics, and night shifts, and all the other shitty stuff.”

Her face pinches as she finishes her drink. Gingerly, she takes both of their glasses and stacks them behind the bar.

Like ripping a bandage off and letting the wound breathe, Leonard feels lighter. As Sunshine hops off the bar stool and straightens her uniform skirt, he can see on her face that she does too.

“Thank you for the drink, and the talk, Len,” she says, and he waves her off.

“Don't mention it.”

“ Totally gonna mention it,” she grins, “and when the schedule suddenly gives you two days off in a row, you’ll know why.”

He laughs, and shakes his head, “I don’t think that's allowed, Lieutenant.”

“I have my ways,” she says innocently, as she saunters to the door.

He watches her go, everything she’s told him still buzzing in his head. He can hardly make sense of everything he’s feeling at once, but there's one thought that sticks out among the rest, that sits on his chest, demanding to be heard.

“Sunshine?” he calls before she’s gone, giving into his relentless mind.

“Yeah?”

When she turns around, he’s flooded with everything he’s ever wanted to tell her. How she has seeped into every part of his life since he met her, despite his once armored heart. How she doesn’t see it, but she's changed the entire atmosphere of the bridge, pouring life into it with her energy. How she's taught him how to be a better friend, a better man, even a better doctor. How she’s not too much, she's everything.

“You should know, you’re never too much, that's ridiculous. Anyone on this ship would agree in a heartbeat. Don’t know what I’d– what we’d do without you,” he rushes out. “I hope you never think you need to be anything other than who you are.”

She goes still in the door frame and observes him for a moment. He flounders in her silence, wondering if he should have just kept his mouth shut. She suddenly moves from the doorway, quickly striding towards him, the sound of her boots clacking on the floor. He has no time to react before she gently places her hand on his chest. She wastes no time, leaning down and pressing a warm kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you,” she says meaningfully, searching his eyes for a brief moment before she turns heel again. She’s out the door without him even mustering up a word to say.

His skin heats where her lips had touched him, a crackling feeling left in their place. He lifts his fingers to the skin, ghosting over the sticky remnants of her lipgloss.

He sits, dumbfounded, knowing he’s gone somewhere there's no coming back from.

#guys new chapter whaaattt #theyre so close to kissing I swear #leonard mccoy x reader #leonard mccoy x you #bones x reader #leonard bones mccoy #star trek imagine #star trek alternate original series #star trek #on a cloudy day #leonard mccoy #james t kirk #star trek aos #star trek fanfiction #karl urban #chris pine

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equallyshaw · 4 months

Text

star crossed lovers au | connor bedard x kailey hughes au ↳ new years with you.

↳ part of the star crossed lovers au! ↳ au masterlist!

warnings: none! word count: 2.4k+

the two had not been able to stop texting each other over her holiday break, and ellen quickly caught on.

"hey kailey...just go. go back to chicago." she said the morning of the 31st. "what?" kailey questioned, looking up from her cinnamon rolls and egg. ellen just laughed, "go to chicago. see whoever you haven't been able to stop talking to. im sure becca would love to join you, too!" ellen said bringing her coffee mug to her lips. kailey's eyebrows crinkled, "uh, i don't know what you're talking about." she tried to play off. jim from the living room laughed. "don't lie kiwi, but you also don't have to tell us." he said walking into the kitchen. he plucked a cinnamon roll from the plate, "ill even give you gas money." he mused, before she rolled her eyes. "go go! we wont be upset, our friends invited us over across the street tonight, so we wont be upset if you do go." ellen said trying to get through to persuade her daughter. kailey sighed before giving them a small smile, "alright, ill make a couple calls." she said getting up from her stool and headed upstairs.

an hour later, she was on the road and off to chicago. her body grew with nerves, each mile she passed and each border she crossed. as soon as she was back in the city, she picked up her friend from her friend's house and the two were on the way back to their apartment in the loop. "are we meeting with connor and his teammates?" she questioned, and kailey shrugged. "im waiting for a response, though tessa reached out to me a few weeks ago after alex saw us and invited us out. I've missed her." she said throwing her bags down by the door, and headed towards the washroom. "did you not stop once?" becca teased, as kailey came out. kailey did not respond, which made becca laugh. "hughes genes are strong apparently." she teased and kailey shook her head. "im going to nap, and then we will get ready starting at 8?" she questioned, and becca nodded.

the team was at soho house in the west loop, and tessa quickly went to go fetch them from the door. "hi!!!" she said pulling kailey into a bone-crushing hug, and then hugged becca after introducing herself. "did he ever get back to you?" the blonde questioned the other blonde, and kailey shook her head. "what?!" she asked before looking over at becca, who nodded in agreement. "i know! he's being an ass." becca said and tessa grinned, she pulled the two by the hand towards the bar. "add it to our tab, the team is paying for everything." tessa mused, and becca didn't need to be told twice. kailey nodded softly and without effort, she saw connor from behind tessa. he was in the middle of a animated conversation with alex, who only grinned when the two of them made eye contact. he lifted his drink, as if to say hi. kailey blushed turning away quickly, and a little too quickly. connor had followed alex's gaze towards the littlest hughes. connor felt heat rush to his cheeks, before looking back at alex who only grinned. "did you get back to her?" alex questioned, drinking a bit. connor shook his head, "well good thing tessa already invited her out a few weeks back." alex mused and connor nodded. "go. ill make talk with somebody else, but just please put yourself out of misery and speak to her." alex said before giving him a subtle push towards kailey. connor rolled his eyes with a small smile, before heading over towards the three girls who were on their way over.

"connor! oh, where did alex go?" tessa nodded and connor pointed over towards his direction. tessa walked off, with becca in tow as kailey stayed in her place. "hi connor." she said with a smile. "hey." he responded, feeling somewhat awkward. "i uh, im gonna go head with them." she said about to step past him, but he grabbed her hand. she looked down at it, before meeting his gaze; which was already directed towards her. she now felt herself blush, "do you want to find a quieter place?" he questioned, and she nodded allowing him to pull her through the crowd and towards the coffee bar, in the next room. he pulled her through, not letting her hand fall from his. once they exited the room, he still didn't let go. the two found a few other couples or dates, in the coffee bar booths and they took the last empty one. "you good with your drink or do you want a coffee?" he questioned, and she shook her head. "im good, but thankyou." she said and he nodded going off to get a small cup of expresso for himself. she sat down in the booth, and texted becca that her and connor went to the coffee bar in case becca needed her for anything.

connor sat back down, as she put her phone on dnd. "so! what have you gotten up to this winter break?" he questioned sweetly, "nothing much honestly. lots of reading and writing, and getting some much-needed quiet time with my parents. just me and them." she mused, sipping her seltzer. "did your brothers come home?" he questioned, and she shook her head no. "nah, my parents though flew to new jersey and i went to vancouver to be with quinn. he was thoroughly surprised to see me." she smiled softly. "my parents surprised me with tickets to go see him since they knew i was pretty bummed, to have not seen him since summer." she said leaning back in the booth a bit. "did your parents come? i know you said your sister was here, already?" she asked and he nodded. "yeah, they flew out with my grandparents. it was really nice to have a few days off with them." he smiled. she nodded, "why didn't you respond to my text today? it seemed as if everything was going fine and then you left me on read." she blurted and he cringed. "i uh..-" she cut him off, "don't lie to me connor please. I've had too many people lie to me in my life and i don't feel like adding you to that list." she said giving him an unenthused look. he'd be sure to ask her about that, later.

"i was nervous." he said and her eyebrows creased, "nervous? what for?" she questioned leaning on her elbows. "i was uh nervous, seeing you person... after getting to know you these past few weeks." he said and she giggled, "i hope its good nerves. hopefully i didn't spook you." she said teasing a bit. he shook his head, "no all good. good nerves because..because I've uh grown feelings for you and despite kevin saying you liked me back, i didn't believe him." he said blushing like a fool. "why don't you believe it?" she questioned with a soft glint of humor. he didn't speak for a second, trying to gauge if she was saying what he thought she was saying. "i like you connor..i thought i was being obvious." she said grinning, and connor shook his head whilst blushing. "sorry mr. number one overall, sorry i didn't just come out and say it. i was trying to be organic about it." she teased, and he laughed. "you can take a breather con, everything is okay." she said taking his right hand in hers, and his breath paused for a brief second at the way she said con. "no i know, i just didn't think there would be any reason to like me." he said and her heart fell, did he really think so lowly of himself?

"hey hey, don't say that. i promise there is much to like about you." she said softly rubbing her thumb with his. "especially beyond hockey, you're.. mysterious in the best and most innocent ways." she said sweetly, taking another sip of her drink. "you're also really easy to make blush, i find that endearing." she gushed as connor rolled his eyes playfully. she was about to say something more, but her phone began to ring. her eyebrows crinkled, flipping over her phone and rolled her eyes.

"yes?" she questioned pulling the phone to her ear. "hey kiwi, i tried texting you but your phone is on dnd and i wanted to make sure you were good." she smiled softly over quinns concern. "yes q, im out with becca and a few friends." she said and caught connor's eye. "where are you guys at?" he questioned, and she chuckled. "were at soho house, why?" she questioned. "just curious, but wanted to say happy new years incase you fall asleep before it rang on my coast." he said. "you're probably right though, about that. but happy new years q ill talk to you tomorrow." she hummed before they hung up.

"sorry quinn was just checking in on me." she said turning her phone off dnd, and then looked up at connor. "very brotherly of him." he mused, sipping the expresso that was just set down. she shrugged, "he does the least amount of 'hovering' so its appreciated from time to time." she said sarcastically. "things still rough with jack?" he questioned, referring to the fight her and jack had just had about him being to engrossed in her life. by that, it meant that jack had been nagging her recently, like he used to do growing up. "i could kill him." she said annoyed, before sipping more of her drink. "he's such a child, its comical." she huffed, shaking her head. connor nodded, "and then luke, oh my god i wanted to tell him off the other day. he just was pushing my buttons, begging me to come for tonight but he just couldn't or didn't want to take the word no." she said pulling a piece of hair behind her ear. he shook his head amused, "laugh all you want bedard." she mused sarcastically. he held up his free hand in innocence as people began to count down from 30. "is it really midnight, already?" she said looking around and saw the coffee bar empty. they were the only two left.

connor looked around and saw exactly what he was looking for to be empty. he stood up and held out his hand for her. she took it, an eyebrow-raising. he then led her over to the photobooth, and she giggled. "seriously?" she asked amused. he nodded, "yeah, didn't you say it was your dream to do one of these? you said it was very, '80's.'" he said pretending to think hardly, causing her to giggle. "yes, very!" she smiled as he sat down first. he then held his arms wide for her, and she smiled feeling herself blush. "i wont bite, i promise." he said and she nodded, stepping and sitting down on his lap. "lets figure out how to do this thing." he muttered more to himself than her, and she then pressed the button on the screen. "like that was hard." she said grinning down at him as the camera went off, then she looked forward doing a fish pout, before looking down at once more. then she wrapped her hand around his face, pulling him closer and pressed their lips together. ofcourse, right as midnight rolled around. they pulled apart only a few inches, resting their foreheads to giggle as they laughed. "i cant believe that just happened." she whispered, peering into his blue eyes. "you're kinda cute from this angle." she teased, "kinda?" he taunted, pinching her sides just a bit causing her to laugh loudly and flying around in his gasp. "stop stop stop! connor!" she said as he tickled her just a bit before the only way she could stop him, was by pulling him in for another kiss.

she pulled away from him, and then hopped out before he could tickle her again. "wait! don't move." she grinned, leaning in the booth. "i want some of just you, so that when you're away i can have you with me, always." she said before pressing the screen to begin, and then shut the blind. all connor could do was smile and chuckle just a bit at her forwardness. the flashes ended, and she quickly grabbed the picture's to inspect them.

she smiled down at them, and connor wrapped an arm around her waist from behind and rested his chin on her shoulder. "you're adorable, connor bedard." she smiled looking over at him. his cheeks flushed, as she put the pictures in her bag. "for safekeeping." she teased, moving a strand of hair from covering his eyes. "anywho. lets go back to our friends." she said now taking hold of his hand, and leading him back to the bar area.

"there you are! we i have to show you something." becca beamed, pulling the young blonde away from connor. she looked back at him before they lost sight of each other.

"where are you taking me?" she said as becca pulled her outside towards the rooftop, and then kailey smiled. the cooler air, traveling up and down her body at rapid speed. her pale body covered with goosebumps as she peered at the fireworks going off at navy pier. becca wrapped an arm around her best friend, "i cant believe that we've only dreamed of this our whole lives." becca gushed, as the two thought back to when they were 7 living in toronto and planned to move to a big city when they were older, and promised to go to the same college together. "who'd a thought?" kailey hummed, thinking back to the last few years, and how she had gotten to this point in her life. "here's to another year of friendship." kailey said sweetly, and becca smiled. "here's to another year of tormenting your brothers." she joked and that made kailey laugh out loud.

"becca! kailey!" they heard tessa behind them, and then they saw some of the younger players come up behind her. tessa smiled taking in the city of chicago, and without notice, connor's hand had found hers as becca moved away from her. she looked up at the taller hockey player, who was already looking down at her. she pulled his hand behind her back, resting her head in his shoulder. she felt his head rest on her's, as the two looked out at the west loop neighborhood.

in the middle of it all, she'd found connor. through all the madness of her life and school, she'd found him. and its most likely safe to say, the same thing for him.

thaaaat was longer than i intended it to be lol, hope you enjoyed tho!!

#connor bedard #connor bedard au #star crossed lovers au #connor bedard x k hughes au #connor bedard fic #connor bedard imagine #connor bedard blurb #connor bedard x oc #chicago blackhawks #quinn hughes #nhl #hockey #nhl fic #hockey fic #nhl imagine #nhl blurb #hockey blurb #hockey imagine

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billlydear · 1 year

Text

pairing: billy hargrove x steve harrington / WC: 4501

summary: based on this post by @ariesbilly (i was anon), el shops rather creatively for billy's birthday and steve has some things to say about his new look

this will be crossposted on AO3 as soon as i've got the time to set up a new account there. i hope you enjoy, and please consider leaving some feedback! also, i've got a harringroveson spidey/venom au in the works, so please let me know if you'd like to see that :-)

Billy’s genuinely, truly concerned when Jim pulls him aside at his little birthday dinner, and not just because he’s still a tiny bit wary around the man. He hasn’t done anything awful yet, so far there’s not a bone in his body that resembles his dad’s, but Billy’s lived with Neil all his life, and Jim only a few months. He’s getting better, but he’s not there yet.

“Listen,” Jim murmurs, taking the hand he’d used to usher Billy into the kitchen off of his arm. Billy appreciates it, it’s like Jim knows he doesn’t like being grabbed; like he pays attention to Billy’s comfort.

“She’s come a long way,” Jim praises El, “-but gift giving for anyone but Max is… hard. She just shops for herself, it’s like-” Jim rubs an exasperated hand over the scruff on his chin, leaned up against the kitchen counter while Billy leans in slightly to hear his low voice, “It’s like she finds something she likes. And since she likes the person she’s giving it to, she equates the two. ‘Thinks that whatever she likes, they’ll like too. That’s why I drink out of that glittery cup every morning,” Jim gestures to the tumbler currently drying on the rack, ‘BFF’ written in white loopy letters on the plastic, “She’s got the spirit, just not the know-how. And I was really trying to get her to branch out for you, I took her to the mall but she beelined for Claire’s, and-” Jim sighs, shooting a cautious glance back to the living room where the girls are waiting with their gifts, “Just- please act like you like ‘em. If you want, I’ll give you the receipt, and you can return them for cash, just- humor her. Please.”

“Okay,” Is all Billy says, really all he can think of saying, and Jim reaches out to pat his bicep.

“Thanks,” His shoulders slump in relief, “Alright, birthday boy, let’s get going.”

Billy’s used to birthday gifts, but not nice ones. If he was lucky, he’d get gas money for the week from his dad, but that’s only because Susan insisted on acknowledging the day. Gifts have always been an obligation, never a gesture, so sitting on the couch in front of three tissue-paper-stuffed bags is a bit daunting for the man.

“Mine first,” Max demands, pushing her bag forward. Billy sends her what he hopes she perceives as a smile, a small twitch at the corners of his lips. They’ve gotten a lot better with each other now that Neil’s not goading Billy anymore, and Billy’s glad for it.

Inside there’s a gift card to a surf shop he’d worked at one summer back in California. He doesn’t even know if there’s anything on it - for all he knows, she found it in a box of his old stuff - but just seeing the logo of the place makes him nostalgic, and his barely-smile blooms into an unbridled one. The gift of memory is one he didn’t know he’d appreciate this much.

“Damn,” He huffs out a laugh, plucking the thin plastic out of the tissue, “Where’d you find this?”

“I wrote to my grandma,” Max confesses, “There’s 50 bucks on there, but for the record, all I sent her to put on there was 20.”

Billy remembers Max’s grandma; they’d visited her once. She was awesome, but the kind of awesome that made parents distrust her, and contact was lost after the move to Hawkins. The old lady had crammed Billy and Max into the back of her cluttered bug to get ice cream after Neil and Susan had gone to bed, and it was nice for Billy to hear she was still doing well.

“Thanks,” Billy laughs, almost a scoff as he reaches out to ruffle her hair. She pretends to hate it, maybe she does a little, but she lets him, which is like another birthday gift: Annoying Privileges.

He sees a flash of black as he puts the gift card back in the tissue, and it explains why the tiny plastic was wrapped so excessively.

Don’t show Hopper, the note reads, with an arrow down, so he discretely peels away the paper to find three cartons of cigarettes beneath it. He’ll worry about how she got them later, for now he shoots her a smirk that she returns.

“Alright, mine’s kinda-” Jim fumbles for his bag, “-tied into hers. Here, kid.”

The tissue crinkles under Billy’s fingers, and he peers down into the blue bag to see a paper.

He pulls it out, squinting at the fine print.

It’s a hotel booking. A hotel in California, shit, right by the beach.

“I already called you off of work,” Jim smiles at Billy, “It’s about a month from now. Only condition is you take the girls with you, they’ve got their own room and we’ll send ‘em with gas money.”

Max’s grin is bright, and Billy knows this is just as much of a gift for her as it is for him. His chest feels tight, like each word on the page had sucked air out of his lungs until there was none left, and now he’s struggling to breathe. He’s wanted to go back since the moment he left, but his dad never would have let him, and moving in with Jim and El then immediately fleeing the state seemed rude, so he’s grateful for the push. He doesn’t even know how to begin thanking Jim, so he starts with the words themselves.

“Thank you,” Billy croaks, trying not to let a gush of emotions overwhelm him. “Seriously, I-” His voice wavers and he clamps his mouth shut, looking down and pinching his fingers along the folded crease of the paper to thin it down even more, “Thank you, Jim.”

“Don’t mention it,” Jim reaches out again, gives him that little pat pat to the bicep instead of trying to hug him. Billy thinks just for that, he will let Jim hug him next time.

Once Billy’s regained his composure and only let one gruff sniffle slip, El is handing over her bag.

“Mine was not as much money as theirs,” She looks serious, like Billy’s going to backhand her for not renting them an RV for the trip, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Jim starts, ready to console her and teach her an etiquette lesson, but Billy lets out a weak chuckle.

“Don’t worry about it, El.” He tugs at the tissue paper, “One time I wrote I.O.U. on a piece of paper for Max’s birthday.”

El’s brows furrow at the unfamiliar phrase, and Max leans in, “It means I owe you, like, ‘I owe you one’. He didn’t get me anything.”

“I offered you something,” Billy gripes, pausing in his unwrapping efforts, “Not my fault you chucked it out.”

“Oh, no,” Max laughs, “I still have it. But I wasn’t gonna waste it on arcade tokens. I’m gonna make it count, you’re gonna bail me out of a bad party or lie to the cops about-”

She reconsiders, looking at Hopper who’s stiffened slightly, his eyes narrowed at her, “-Nothing. Lying to cops is bad.”

“Nice save,” Billy deadpans, ducking his head back down towards the bag. The tissue inside is messy, he can tell El did it herself.

Beneath the first layer of tissue, the stuff crumpled up to give the present volume, there’s six individually wrapped packages. Billy’s stomach does a little flip; call it nerves, call it endearment, but whatever it is, he reaches for the first package without paying it any mind.

His fingers peel at the tape sticking it all together, and his strong grip rips the tissue. He goes with it, tearing into the gift, and a purple plastic card falls into his hand. It’s punched in two places near the middle, and inside each hole is an earring. They’re- not his style.

They’re studs, little balls of gel in rainbow colors with squishy spikes sticking out of them. They honestly look like something a kindergartener would make with a hot glue gun, but there’s an expectant smile on El’s face and Billy finds himself smiling back at her, genuinely so.

“Thanks, El,” He flips the package over, price tag ripped off messily and silver backings staring at him, “These are cool.”

“I know you like earrings. There’s more,” She prompts him, the section of her hair that she’s tied up bouncing as she leans forward enthusiastically, “Open them.”

“Okay,” He laughs, setting the earrings aside. The second package yields another pair, this time two pieces of bread with little smiley faces on them, one painted brown for peanut butter and the other purple for jelly.

“That’s cute,” Billy laughs breathily, “That’ll go good with my purple button up.”

“Mhm,” El nods, hair once again bouncing, “That’s what I thought.”

As Billy expects, each package contains a pair of earrings. He gets tiny springs, a gradient of pink to purple to blue covering the curved metal, and they look like they’d be permanently damaged if he stretched them out even once. Then a pair of jellyfish-inspired ones, a clay head with a smile on its face connected by metal rings to all of the tentacles dangling below. Next are lollipops, stiff sticks leading into plastic that’s swirled in design and shaped like a bear’s head with yet another smiley face. Each little black curve on the earrings’ faces only makes his own grow. The fifth pair are meant to look like goldfish, suspended in resin that fills the bowl to make it look like they’re swimming in water. It’s the most intricate pair of earrings he’s ever seen, he’ll give Claire that. The final pair is much bigger than the others, and when he unwraps it, a pom-pom sticks out.

They’re big puffballs, tie-dyed pink and purple, connected to a peace sign stud that goes through his ear. They’re obnoxious, something you’d only see on a child whose grandparents had bought the biggest pair of earrings they could find because their vision was too poor to appreciate any smaller designs. Nevertheless, Billy pops the squishy backing off of one of them, and sticks it between his teeth. He slips his own earring out of his ear, and tucks it into the breast pocket of the shirt he’s wearing. He sticks the puffball into his ear right then and there, and El’s grin is almost unbearably wide.

“It looks pretty,” She gushes, and Billy laughs.

“Thank you, El.” He gives her the obligatory brotherly hair ruffle as well, but she looks honored compared to Max’s exasperation. In leaning forwards to reach her, the metal point of the second earring digs into Billy’s palm where he’s holding the card still, and he glances down at it thoughtfully.

“Here,” He thinks fast, plucking the backing off of it and handing it to El, “Let’s match.”

She looks at it wide-eyed, caught off guard, “You want me to wear the other one?”

“Duh,” He nods, hand still outstretched, “How else are people gonna know who bought them for me?”

She’s more than happy to snatch the second earring from him, sliding it into her own pierced ear and shivering slightly at the feeling of the fluff brushing against her skin.

“Alright,” Jim claps, a loud, striking sound, “You guys look great. Cake time?”

“Cake time,” Max agrees, already rising to her knees to stand and head for the kitchen, “Chocolate, Billy, your favorite.”

Billy’s all Thank you’d out. Not because he’s not thankful for this, because he’s more than that, but because he’s said it so many times today that the words are starting to lose their meaning, and he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want to be insincere, so he’ll save the ‘Thank you’s for when they really count.

Max and El settle on the floor in front of the tv to watch the movie they’ve picked out, clearly one that Jim hadn’t seen until now.

“Oh, not Terminator,” He reaches for the television to shut it off, but both girls scramble to fight him off, “It’s rated R, girls!”

“It’s Billy’s favorite,” Max huffs, and that’s not true, but he knows nothing in the movie will shock her, and El grew up being bounced around dimensions, so she probably won’t lose any sleep over a bit of blood.

“It’s true,” Billy drawls settling back on the couch with his cake and his beer (that Jim only reluctantly handed him because it’s his birthday), “But it’s fine, Jim, we don’t have to watch what I want, they can turn on My Little Pony or some shit.”

Jim wonders briefly how he’s been outsmarted by two tweens and a teenager. If he says no, he’s the asshole that ruins Billy’s birthday. If he says yes, the girls are going to see gratuitous shots of naked Arnold Schwarzenegger that he’d rather them not witness.

“You cover your eyes for the first scene,” Jim finally concedes, narrowing his eyes at Max and El, “I mean it, no peeking or I’ll do it for you.”

“Okay,” They agree, already far too amused for Jim’s liking, and Max turns to grin mischievously at Billy. It’s nice, he thinks, to do dumb shit with her. Like real siblings.

The movie starts, and Jim’s a bit too preoccupied eagle-eyeing the girls to make sure they’re not seeing anything raunchy to notice that Billy’s paying more attention than he ought to be. But once the man straightens back up so does Billy, mentally so, and turns his attention to Jim when he leans over towards Billy.

“Hey,” Jim’s whisper is gruff, but El doesn’t hear, “Thanks for that. She’s really happy.”

“No problem,” Billy admits, “They’re… different, but they’re kinda cool.”

Jim laughs, and Billy gets the sense that Jim doesn’t think he’s being sincere, but really, he is. The earrings themselves aren’t kinda cool, a year ago he’d rather have pitched himself into the quarry than wear rainbow-colored springs dangling from his ears, or a smiley piece of peanut butter toast, but what’s kinda cool is that someone gave them to him because they thought he’d like them; because they like him.

What’s kinda cool is love, Billy figures out that night, and his cake tastes a little sweeter because of it.

El doesn’t usually accompany Billy to work at the auto shop, but that’s only because he leaves too early for her to be awake yet. She’s recently discovered sleeping in, and sometimes she’s not awake before two in the afternoon. Now, though, she’s bursting with excitement for the California trip, even though it’s not for another month. Billy hadn’t slept with the puffball earring in, but he’d put it right back on this morning, and so had El. They’re sitting behind the counter now, planning an itinerary for the trip he’s not too stressed about, because he knows El will lose the paper before they leave in a month.

“And we have to go to In-n-Out,” She decides, “I know those are in California.”

“Yeah,” Billy laughs, “They’re not that good. I mean, I like ‘em, but there’s good burger places everywhere. They have these palm trees though,” He moves his hands to cross over each other, “They cross like an ‘x’, it’s pretty cool. My friend tried to climb one once, we got kicked out.”

El giggles, and her eyes wrinkle at the corners with the expression. Billy likes it, he wonders if his own eyes scrunch when he laughs. But he doesn’t do it very often, and especially not in front of a mirror, so he might never know.

She excuses herself to go to the bathroom, so Billy turns his attention to their customer log instead. There’s a man coming by in two hours to pick up his car, but the repairs are complete, so Billy doesn’t have to do anything about it. And there’s another customer coming at five for an oil change, but it’s only eight in the morning. He hears the scrape of wheels on gravel, and he cranes his neck to see over the reception desk and out the door.

Fuck. It’s a red beemer, one he knows almost better than his own car because of how frequently he’d crammed his camaro in beside it in the high school parking lot. It’s Steve Harrington’s car, and that means Steve Harrington came with it.

Billy tugs on the hem of his tank, tightening the shirt over his chest. It’s not that he wants to look good for Steve, it’s just- well, no, that’s it. The banter he’d shared with Steve over their time at Hawkins High was the most tension he’d felt in his entire life, and it came at a time when he sought thrill and excitement the most; apparently being sweat-covered, shirtless opponents on the basketball court does things to a man’s head. He’s not naive enough to think he’s gonna be able to sweep the guy off of his feet with one suave remark, not when just last week Max had somehow convinced the man to give her a ride back home from Jim’s place after a sleepover, and Steve had seen Billy bleary-eyed, messy-haired, and pajama-clad. He’d tried to own it, leaned back on the couch with his legs spread, one arm up on the back of the couch and exposed by the shirt he was wearing as he nodded with a lazy grin at Steve, ‘Morning, Harrington’. If he’d squinted, he could see a bit of pink coloring Steve’s cheeks. But a success or not, the experience was embarrassing, and he’s glad that he’s a little more put together today.

Billy forgets just how put together he is today. He feels the soft brush of the fuzzy earring against his neck right as Steve starts towards the store, and his stomach drops.

He has a very important choice to make.

He can take the earring out, giving him a better chance at this coy little game they have going, and subsequently insult his new sister, or, he could leave it in, puff up his chest with pride, and greet Steve with confidence, ultimately risking his win.

He almost tears his ear from how hard he rips the earring out.

“Harrington,” Billy drawls, “Car trouble?”

“Battery’s dead,” The man huffs, and there’s sweat beading at Steve’s hairline, “I had to push’er down the street, I was getting groceries.”

Billy feels like a cartoon character; he almost audibly gulps at the thought of Steve muscling his car down the road. He wonders if Steve could see his Adam’s apple bobbing if he really did dry swallow. He wonders if Steve would watch.

“Tough luck,” Billy sends Steve a lazy grin, passing the sign-in book over the counter with a pen, “Just fill that out, I’ll get your service started.”

“Thanks,” Steve mumbles, “Got an estimate?”

“Depends,” Billy shrugs, “I might do you a favor and replace those ugly seats you’ve got, too. That’ll cost extra.”

“Like your car’s hot shit,” Steve scoffs, but his tone isn’t demeaning, and Billy’s chest does that weird tight thing again when he realizes they’ve advanced to friendly banter, “Do you know how ugly that blue and yellow license plate looks against the blue of your car?”

He laughs, but before Billy can quip back, say that it’s California grade, that he’d rather die than replace it, the door to the back opens up, and El comes out.

“Steve!” She smiles sweetly, “Is your car broken?”

“Yeah,” He laments, eyeing her accessory, “Woah, crazy earring.”

“Billy has one, too.” She brags, then notices it’s missing from his ear. Billy’s stiffened where he’s rifling through the desk drawers for a form to give Steve, and before he can make any excuses, El spots the puffball where it’s fallen to the floor.

“Oh!” She lunges for it, handing it to Billy with a sweet smile, “It fell out. Here it is.”

Billy has another choice to make.

Scoff at her, say ‘nice one’, and tell her to put her earring back in. Or, take it from her and embarrass himself in front of Steve.

This time, he decides she’s ultimately more important.

“Thanks, El.” He grins at her, taking the puffball from her hand and hooking it expertly through his ear. It dangles against his neck, and he passes the form over to Steve who’s looking between the two of them with some sort of guarded amusement.

“Fill this out, too.” Billy instructs, “And I’ll start on your car.”

“O-kay,” Steve complies, more of that amusement painting his features as he ducks his head to fill out the form, “Pink looks good on you, Hargrove.”

Billy shuts the door to the back room as a response. He feels like punching the wall, because did that mean ‘good’ as in good? Or good as in ‘ridiculous’? He’s well aware Steve had a mean streak in high school, and Billy isn’t interested in being bullied.He’s never worried about being bullied by his peers before, he was always on top. Now it’s different, this isn’t high school and he doesn’t have backup boys to make his posse. It’s a one-on-one fight, and Steve’s got the advantage. And- and if it did mean good, what’s he supposed to do with that information? Wear a pink shirt the next time he sees Steve? Go as Pink Panther for halloween? He considers just about everything but dying his hair, mind swirling with possibilities.

He starts on Steve’s car to distract himself, and he barely manages to gather the courage to take his shirt off to push Steve’s beemer into the garage like he’d originally planned. He still does, of course. But it’s a hard decision to make.

“Steve,” El steps out from behind the counter, walking over to where Steve’s flipping through an old Highlights that Billy’s boss keeps there for kids, “What did you get Billy for his birthday?”

The man flounders, “Uh, when’s his birthday?”

El’s brows furrow, “It was yesterday. You didn’t get him anything?”

“No,” Steve shakes his head, “Sorry, El. I’m sure he didn’t expect me to, though, ‘probably didn’t hurt his feelings.”

“But friends give each other birthday presents.” She insists, “Why didn’t you?”

“He’s not my friend,” Steve grimaces slightly, but backtracks when El only gets more scandalized, “We- I… Ugh,’ He groans, rubbing a hand down his face, “We, like, hated each other in high school or something. I think he’s only nice to me now ‘cause he has to be, we’re all friendly, y’know?”

“Billy likes you,” El promises, “That’s why he comes out of his room when he knows you’re coming over. And why he always takes us to get ice cream. He likes seeing you.”

“Uh, I think-” Steve stammers, heart pounding so viciously he can hear it, “That’s probably… not what that means. Hey, um, do you have any water I could have? I’m really thirsty from pushing my car.”

He’s out from under her scrutinous gaze for long enough to compose himself, tamping down any hope she might have given him. It doesn’t help that he’s first heard Billy’s genuine laugh today, and the vision of the man’s bright eyes, scrunched and wrinkled at the corners have been plaguing him ever since. Things need to stop piling up, he decides.

When she gets back she sits in the chair beside him, one leg bent beneath her and the other firmly planted on the floor, “You should get him a birthday present.”

Steve hums, bringing the cup she hands him to his lips to buy him time to respond. Eventually, he settles on, “I’ll try to find something,” and she seems to like that answer, so she lets it go.

“I got him earrings,” She explains, and pieces of the puzzle start to fall into place in Steve’s head, “The ones that he’s wearing now. And five other pairs.”

“Wow,” Steve nods, feigning awe even though he knows Jim probably paid for them himself, “That was nice of you. He liked ‘em?”

“Yes,” She nods, “He likes earrings. And he said he’s going to wear them with me when we go to California.”

“California,” Steve echoes, brows raised, “That’s nice. When are you going?”

“In a month,” El recites, “Billy’s from California.”

“Yeah,” Steve nods, eyes drawn to Billy’s framed employee picture on the wall, noticing the tan adorning the smooth skin of his handsome face, “I know.”

“Okay,” Billy turns to look at the girls in his backseat, bright smiles on both of their faces, “Gas money?”

“Check,” Max slides him a wad of cash, and so does El.

“Snacks?” Billy pulls his wallet out, stuffing the bills inside.

“Check!” El takes over this time, a plastic bag in her hand that’s filled with enough ziploc bags of goldfish to last them halfway through the road trip.

“Bags?”

“Check,” Max jabs a thumb towards the camaro’s trunk, “We didn’t forget our suitcases, Billy.”

“If you did, and I hadn’t asked, you would have blamed me,” Billy narrows his eyes at his stepsister, “Don’t make me push you out of the moving car.”

What can he say: things are better, they’re not perfect. She knows he’s joking, though, she sticks out her tongue in response.

“I have one more thing,” El calls, effectively breaking up Billy and Max’s banter. The two look curiously at her, and she passes Billy an envelope, thick towards the bottom left corner.

“It’s a late birthday present.” She informs him, “Open it. It’s for the trip.”

“El,” Billy tears at the envelope with a confused furrow in his brow, “You got me stuff for my birthday. Why more?”

“It’s not from me,” She admits, “Just open it.”

The envelope was sealed well, by whoever sealed it. Billy all but mangles the paper to remove its contents, and when he does, a pair of earrings falls out, mounted on a purple plastic card. Claire’s.

There’s a pink and white striped surfboard on the left side, and a glitter-covered palm tree on the left. There’s a note inside too, and Billy peels it apart much more cautiously than he had the envelope.

Billy,

Happy birthday. Enjoy California.

- Steve

P.S: I wasn’t kidding. You look good in pink.

Billy nearly rips the earring card trying to wrench the surfboard off. Once he gets it out, he slides it into his ear, passing the palm tree back to El and grinning at the girls through his rear-view mirror. He admires the way that the earring looks against his tanned skin, and- oh, look at that; his eyes do scrunch when he smiles.

“Ready?” He raises a brow, sunglasses perched on his head and lost in his curls in wait of the California sun.

“Ready,” They confirm, and El’s nod sends the palm tree earring swinging beside her face.

Billy revs the engine, and it’s never been a happier sound, “California, here we come.”

#harringrove #billy hargrove x steve harrington #steve harrington x billy hargrove #harringrove fanfiction #billy x steve #billy hargrove #billy and el #billy and max #billy and hopper

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