#haunted Camaro

[neonponders]

For @billyhargrovebingo 💙🚙

~ read on ao3 ~

B2 - Free Space (Haunted Camaro)

• • •

Old cars have personality.

Billy knew what he wanted as soon as he saw her. The car market had gone in the direction of making cars look like soap box derby contestants. He wanted a car that looked like a car. Like pizzazz on wheels, an exoskeleton of the driver, and a really stylish boom box for his superior taste in music.

She was a little retrofitted from other Camaro models, but Billy liked that just fine. No other car would look like his. Between her age, remodeling, and the fact that this car had been in an accident already, she was a hell of a steal. The biggest chunk of his money went into having her painted. Billy wasn't the type to have a random red door and a green bumper, but he could certainly enjoy the ever so slightly murky, sapphire blue that made his baby girl gleam in the early dawn light.

Billy learned his car inside and out. He knew how she purred, knew her high speed roars, and every tone and pitch of her tires on any surface...

Billy knows the sound of a human voice. There's something about the sound resonance of a voice that carries differently. A voice just moved a certain way on the ear; arrived at the ear with a tangible difference.

He could hear someone humming even with the car's speakers blasting. That's how it started. Billy kept hearing a voice in his car.

It drove Billy nuts. Scared the shit out of him first, thinking that someone had gotten into his vehicle without him being aware. Made him circle his vehicle like a pacing dog every time he came and went from his car.

One time, it was just a split second as he put groceries in the back of his car...but he shut the trunk and thought he saw a shadow in his rearview mirror. But he was seeing it through the rear windshield - plenty of glares on the curved glass and it was gone as soon as he blinked anyway.

His annoyance swung back into fear when the humming returned. Billy had been tired of his tapes so he indulged in the radio for once, at the risk of same old hits beating themselves over his brain. There were worst things than Fleetwood Mac to serenade the drive along the California coast...

Would you stay if she promised you heaven?

Billy blinked.

Taken by the sky.

Billy knew a voice over a speaker, over the phone...

Love's a state of mind.

Billy knew a voice right next to him. He looked in the rearview mirror, and saw the biggest brown eyes he'd ever seen. They were a little a little tilted...sad looking. Too young to be so sad.

Until those irises flicked to meet Billy's tropical water eyes, and smiled.

"Stop the car."

Billy didn't understand, until he realized he was driving off the road and toward the rocks that tumbled down into the jagged surf below.

A large hand reached past him, and turned the steering wheel the same time his car seized up. In an instant, Billy lurched to a stop on the ocean-side curb. Dirt and sand sprayed into the thorned brush, creating a beige cloud around him.

The voice was gone. Billy was the only person sitting in his car.

Billy didn't have a name for the cold, alarmed sensation gripping his spine. The only words he had made him feel stupid and paranoid. Regardless, he pulled an illegal U-turn and parked in front of the local library.

Hours went by, until his eyes burned from reading newspaper scans. His search was already a narrow funnel of variables, how could this take so long? A ghost haunted his damn Camaro, which gave him, at most, fifteen years of a window to find a car accident that would have killed somebody...

A piece. A piece is all that would be needed...right? His car had a lot of pieces, from all over the country.

Sometimes it wasn't the wreck that killed a person, but the wounds afterward.

Billy was at a loss and too exhausted to read anything else. On a whim, as he walked past the librarian counter on his way out, he asked, "Hey, did you ever hear about a car accident that killed a guy? Like a young guy. My age."

Her eyes widened as if she had already been thinking about such things. "Why, yes. People your age are too young to be dying. Of course I'd remember such a thing. Take your pick: there was that poor girl who died in her boyfriend's motorbike accident in Oregon. There was a whole VW bus of youths who drove into a lake - hot boxed out of their minds and unable to get out of the vehicle. There was another young man who died in Indiana under bizarre circumstances - "

"Him," Billy took a guess. "What circumstances?"

"Oh, well, from what I remember, there'd been children driving the car."

Billy's brows furrowed and she nodded. "My astonishment, exactly, but apparently he was already injured. The kids were trying to get him to a hospital, but the poor fools hadn't bothered putting a seatbelt on the young man. When they crashed, they all stayed put, but he didn't make it."

"Do you recall a name?"

"I'm afraid I don't - not the boy's name, at least. But Hawkins. Hawkins, Indiana is where it happened. Beautiful lake country."

"Thanks," Billy grinned, far too brightly after a discussion about teen catastrophe. He went back to the newspapers and found the articles immediately:

Hawkins Senior in Fatal Accident

Hawkins Sheriff's Department Pushes for Seatbelt Awareness

Hawkins Police Ticket Fees Go Up After Teen Fatality.

Steve Harrington's Obituary. With a picture and everything. It was his senior photo, grinning from ear to ear in some kind of rented tux jacket, shirt, and clip-on bowtie that all the men had to wear for the yearbook. His hair was inflated two inches above his hairline, and glossy under the photography lights.

Steve hadn't worn a tux in Billy's car. Billy couldn't believe he even retained such details after a scare like the one that morning, but...

A jacket. Steve wore a simple athletic jacket and a collared shirt. And a watch. A gold-rimmed watch had been on the hand that stopped the steering wheel.

Billy printed every article focusing on Steve, paid in dimes to the librarian, and jogged out to his car.

Billy drove to the beach. The horizon beamed with neon orange, shadows, and the screams of amateur volleyball players.

Billy gazed at the picture of Steve Harrington. He looked handsome, in a high school dreamy sort of way.

Steve Harrington.

Steve was the only son and child to Robert and Annette Harrington. He was a proud varsity student of Hawkins High School. Steve was co-captain of the swim team and the basketball team, as well as a contributive member of the Prom Committee, Student Council, Key Club, Future Business Leaders of America, as well as a beloved babysitter to the Hendersons and Wheelers. His parents are valued members of the Hawkins community, making Steve a bright light of prospects -

"I didn't have any of those."

Billy had been reading under his breath. Now he looked up at his rearview mirror at the young man sitting right in the center of his back seat. "Hey, Harrington."

He'd been looking out the window at a family packing up their car to go home after a long day at the beach. Then his attention rotated to Billy, who fanned his face with the papers. "I guess those little Hendersons or Wheelers were the ones who killed you?"

Steve blinked slowly, almost like he was tired. "I don't remember."

Billy shook his head gently, as if to say, You don't have to.

Instead, he asked, "What did you mean? You didn't have any what?"

"Prospects."

"With all these extra curriculars, nobody was offering you jobs? No schools lined up begging for your family name on their alumni?"

Steve shook his head, looking sad again. "I don't remember."

Billy exhaled a quiet huff. He pursed his lips, nodding as if coming to a decision. "Well, you seem to be a permanent resident in my car. How does that make you feel right now?"

"Like you have bad taste in music."

Billy couldn't help but laugh at his stupid luck. "Jesus," he cursed, setting an elbow on his open windowsill to prop his head. "I get a pretty boy all to myself and he's a total snob."

Steve's eyes squinted at him, like he was needing all cylinders firing to work through his thoughts. "Who are you? I know your music and I know your dates, but I don't know you."

Billy glared at him in the rearview. It wasn't great, having someone know about his cover-up dates with girls, the out-of-wedlock sex they had, or all the men Billy had in here. Then again, who was a ghost going to snitch to?

"Billy. Billy Hargrove."

Steve smiled. It was almost like the sunlight actually touched his skin. Almost.

[seeminglydark]

Happy Friday the 13th from your fave ghostie influencer.

Caro gets real annoyed when people use them for fake haunting publicity stunts, a little hint to the plot of Book 2, which is funny because they aren’t that fond of real hauntings either. Mostly they try to just avoid going to places that could be trouble either way.

Remember to tune in to my twitch channel on Halloween for a livestream of Caro’s hauntings podcast, Mil-Liminal!

Caro Greene (they/them) is a character from my webcomics Seemingly Dark and Mil-Liminal on Webtoon and Tapas.

[heartstringsduet]

Happy Wednesday. Have a snippet from the second chapter of A Few Moons Ago that I just published <3

His hand feels empty as he lets go of Carlos and turns to his truck's hood. Twisting, he jumps to sit on it. The car groans under his weight — it’s turning twelve this year after all — but all TK notices is the way Carlos’ eyes unashamedly run over his body.

One of Carlos’ eyebrows rises. “We can’t eat inside the car at least?”

“Tell me you’d truly want this greasy food anywhere near your fancy car and we can move this into mine. This time.”

The reason TK doesn’t offer his own car again, or even his truck bed, is he’s afraid the smell of the alpha will sink even further in the worn leather seats or his nest and haunt him. Thankfully, the horror of ruining his Camaro makes Carlos put the paper bags he insisted on carrying onto the hood of the truck, before joining TK on it.

Not a second passes before Carlos’ knee presses into his. It’s just because of the full moon, TK tells himself. For the same reason, TK wants to sink into Carlos’ side, put his nose into his neck to breathe and lick and bite. 

The night they spent together as wolves felt so natural. Their fur had made all barriers between them vanish, like they were lifetime friends merely picking up a thread dropped recently. 

On a primal level, they are familiar.

That’s all it is. The fact that Carlos comforted him twice through his shifts doesn’t mean much, and TK rubbing his knee in deeper to meet Carlos’ desire to make him smell of him doesn’t either. They can chalk it up to the moon. 

OPEN TAG &

@carlossreaders @annoyingcloudearthquake @carlos-in-glasses

@paperstorm @strandnreyes @henrygrass @lightningboltreader @eclectic-sassycoweyes

@lemonlyman-dotcom @theghostofashton @ladytessa74 @freneticfloetry

@liminalmemories21 @emsprovisions @sapphic--kiwi @pameluke @neverblooms

@welcometololaland @rmd-writes @alrightbuckaroo @decafdino

@tellmegoodbye @ironheartwriter @literateowl @reyesstrand

@butchreyes @corsage @honeybee-taskforce @orchidscript

@never-blooms @irispurpurea @everlastingday @theghostofashton

@nisbanisba @bonheur-cafe @certifiedflower @firstprince-history-huh

@nancys-braids @chicgeekgirl89 @ironheartwriter @pimento-playing-hopscotch

@butchreyes @rangersoup @the-126-family @carlos-tk @ladyknight1512

@whatsintheboxmh @thisbuildinghasfeelings

[kpop-stories-21]

Day 1: Engineering Fate

Group: ATEEZ

Pairing: Yunho x Reader

Word Count: 3k

Rating: 18-21+

Genres, Tropes, & AUs: Non-Idol AU, Modern Fantasy AU, Magic AU, Spooky Themes, Childhood friends to lovers, Smut, Fluff

Content & Trigger Warnings: Human!Reader, Human!Yunho, spooky content, magic, halloween celebration, haunted house, one short horror scene in the haunted house but it's over pretty quick, unprotected sex(wrap that shit up kids), foreplay, fingering, teasing, size kink, dirty talk, multiple orgasms

Summary: You're not even in town yet and already strange things are happening. Luckily, you encounter a handsome mechanic who is willing to get your car (and maybe your insides) in shape.

General tags: @kpop---scenarios @jeonrose @galaxystardragoness @skittlez-area512 @mybiasisexo @biaswreckingfics @anyamaris @trashlord-007 @liliesofdreamsskz @okiedokrie-main @naturalogre @thelargefrye @yoonguurt @bxffietheblxxdy @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @kwanisms ATEEZ tags: @deltamoon666 @lovelyhange @uraharasfavoriteexperiment

If you want to be added to my taglist, click here

Network pings: @cultofdionysusnet || @sandsofire || @wonderlandnet

MDNI banner, divider, and support banner courtesy of @cafekitsune

Masterlist | Main Masterlist

«-Yesterday | Day 2-»

You'd moved to the city to attend uni, but you made sure to come home every year for the week-long Halloween Festival. By now your professors and friends were used to you disappearing around the spooky season, and there were never any objections to you attending lectures remotely so long as you continued to work on assignments and homework.

For as long as you could remember, Halloween had always been your favourite holiday. So living in a quaint town well-known for being "modernly medieval" and for the Halloween Festival held there every year was like a dream come true. If you didn't have a wish to pursue further education on your path to becoming a lawyer, you might've stayed there your whole life.

This year, however, was off to quite a different start. As you pulled your sputtering blue Mustang convertible onto the gravelly shoulder of the road, you wondered how the hell you would ever make it into town. It was the first day of the Festival and there wasn't much traffic. Most people came early so they could enjoy the entirety of the week without the energy lag from travelling.

As you were pondering your options, the sound of a car engine coming towards you grabbed your attention. Praying the driver would be kind and not an asshole, you stepped out of your car, beginning to wave as soon as the black Camaro came into sight. To your great relief, the driver pulled over when they saw your frantic gestures.

The door opened and a tall raven-haired male unfolded long limbs as he slid out. He was absolutely gorgeous, his smile wide and infectious as he loped over to you with something akin to excitement in his steps. He made you think of a giant puppy as you watched him approach.

"Car trouble?" He asked, voice husky.

You nodded. "I felt a bump like I drove over something about a quarter mile back, but there wasn't an animal or anything in the road so I just assumed I rolled over some object that flew out of another car and went on. Now I'm worried that whatever it was may have hit something underneath."

The man's smile widened. "Well you're in luck! I happen to work part-time as a mechanic and I brought my tools with me, so I'll just pop under there and see if I can figure out what's wrong."

Relief flooded through you and you were finally able to return his smile.

"Name's Jeong Yunho, by the way."

"I'm Kim Y/N. Nice to meet you Yunho. I really appreciate this."

Yunho waved a hand dismissively as he retrieved his tools and lowered himself to the asphalt. "I'm just glad I could help."

As Yunho began to work you leaned against the side of your car, watching him intently.

"So what brings you down this way?" You asked curiously. "Are you here for the Festival?"

"More or less." Yunho replied, grunting. "In addition to being a mechanic, I also work part-time as an engineer. I have a standing job at the Festival every year to make sure the rides stay in top condition all week long. But even if I didn't have this job I'd still come down every year, since this is where I grew up."

Your eyes widened with excitement, finally figuring out why his name had seemed familiar. It had been ages since you last met one of your childhood friends. "You used to live here too?"

Yunho poked his head out the side of your car, recognition flooding his handsome features. "Oh my God, Y/N! I thought your name sounded familiar, but I told myself I was just imagining things." He smiled broadly. "I'd hug you, but I don't think you want grease and oil all over your nice clothes."

You giggled. "I appreciate the consideration."

It didn't take much longer for Yunho to finish by examining your car, the two of you catching up on each other's lives. Once he was out from under your car, you put the key in the ignition and turned it, letting out a joyous cry as the engine roared to life.

Yunho offered to follow you to the Festival in case anything else happened, and you accepted. Upon arriving, the two of you were about to part ways when you invited him to have dinner with you once he was done working for the day. He agreed, and you told him where you'd be staying before waving goodbye.

After Yunho left you checked into your room at the inn and then wandered around, trying out some of the rides and grabbing lunch before approaching the large tower-like building that held the magical haunted house. This was probably your favourite attraction, hands down. It was created with wild Fae magic, offering eight different levels for all who entered. The magic also remembered what levels each person had completed, so you never had to repeat the same experience twice. Really, they were more like horror-themed escape rooms than bonafide haunted house experiences. Taking a deep breath, you pushed the door open and stepped in.

It was pitch dark save for the outside light coming through the open door. In that light you discovered a flashlight, which you happily picked up. As soon as you did so, the door slammed shut behind you. And so it begins, you thought excitedly as you turned the flashlight on and began to examine your surroundings.

You were in some kind of basement, bits of trash all over the dirty floor along with what looked like an old briefcase. Moving forward, you picked up the briefcase and looked it over carefully. You found a numerical padlock keeping it shut and set it back where you found it, making a mental note to keep your eyes peeled for a five digit code.

Further exploration revealed a desk on which were several notes spattered with a dark substance that could have been either blood or something equally unpleasant. You examined them carefully but found no important information, just stuff pertaining to the backstory of the level.

In the back of the room was a wall covered with graffiti. That was odd, since there were no marks anywhere else in the room. Closer examination revealed a blacklight on a stand, and an idea came to mind. Dragging the blacklight around so it was aimed at the wall, you turned it on. Amongst the jumble of paint was the distinct image of five numbers, most likely the code to unlock the briefcase. Repeating the numbers under your breath, you made your way back to the briefcase and put them in. An audible click echoed through the room and you let out a quiet cry of joy.

Inside the briefcase was a large metal key and an odd triangle-shaped artefact made of some smooth material you didn’t recognize. You pocketed both objects and began searching for a door, assuming the key you’d obtained would get you out of this room. As you were walking you suddenly heard a deep, rumbling growl and froze, doing your best to remain motionless in the hope that whatever was in here with you would lose interest and return to wherever it came from.

The tapping of claws against the hard floor reached your ears, coming slowly closer. You regulated your breathing, praying that you were being quiet enough. Heavy, guttural breathing sounded from directly behind you as your heart pounded a staccato beat against your ribcage. Please, just move on. There’s nothing interesting here. Something wet nudged at the back of your knee and you bit your lip to keep from squealing at the disgusting sensation. A massive tongue licked a stripe up your leg and you dug your teeth further into your lips.

A whistle echoed from somewhere above you and the creature turned, bounding toward the sound with thudding steps that shook the ground slightly. When silence reigned once more you exhaled shakily, releasing some of the tension in your body. Locating a fairly clean rag you’d seen earlier, you wiped the creature’s saliva off your leg and resumed your search for the door to the next room. Your leisurely attitude had vanished with the reminder that this was no walk in the park, you needed to get out of here fast before the creature or its master found you.

Determined, you looked around quickly and found the door within minutes. You pulled the key from your pocket and tried it. It slid in and turned without issue, taking a little more of the tension away. You cautiously pushed the door open and stepped into a much brighter room, sunlight streaming through large glass windows. From the opulence of your surroundings you guessed you were in a mansion of some sort, probably a cover for whatever horrors went on in this place. As quietly as possible, you approached the first door you could immediately see and checked if it was locked. It wasn’t, and you tiptoed into the room.

This was a bedroom, possibly the master suite but you couldn’t be sure. On the dresser was a large, golden key with intricate carvings. You quickly pocketed it and resumed looking around.

Aside from the key, the bedroom was pretty empty, so you stepped out and approached the next door. This one was locked, so you tried the gilded key you'd found. The lock clicked and you were in.

You were in what appeared to be an office. A door at the back of the room caught your eyes and you went to open it. Revealed was a set of stairs going down, probably back to the basement. You closed the door back, no way you were going into that hellhole a second time. Searching the rest of the room proved fruitless, and you moved on.

You now stepped into the lobby, the front doors calling you enticingly. Pulling the golden key from your pocket, you eyed it curiously. To hell with it, you decided. Approaching the front doors you inserted the key and turned it. The doors swung open and bright white light filled the area, blinding you.

You stepped back out onto the grounds of the festival, lower lip extended in a slight pout. You'd hoped to see more of the level before leaving, but your curiosity got the better of you as usual.

You'd clearly been in there for a while, the sun was nearing the horizon and many of the attractions were turning their lights on.

"Having fun?" Came a voice from behind you.

Startled, you jumped and whirled around. Yunho stood there, a lopsided grin on his face.

"I didn't scare you, did I?" He teased.

You stuck your tongue out at him, making him chuckle. "I did the first level of the haunted house, so I'm still slightly on edge."

“Understandable. You ready for dinner?”

As if on cue, your stomach growled loudly and both of you laughed.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Yunho said, still chuckling a little.

The two of you began to walk, making your way back to the inn you were staying at. Once in the small restaurant area, you made your orders and chose a place to sit. Once the food arrived you dug in, silence reigning for a bit as both of you enjoyed your meals.

When both plates were empty, you looked up at Yunho and grinned. “We sure enjoyed that, didn’t we?”

He nodded, returning your grin.

Before either of you could say anything more, a server approached and announced that the restaurant was closing. You apologised for keeping them and asked Yunho if he wanted to talk more in your room. He agreed and the two of you went up to the second floor where your room was located.

You and Yunho talked long into the night about various memories from your childhood and where some of your friends went after you both left. Somewhere along the way the conversation came to crushes and past relationships, and Yunho casually dropped a rather shocking bit of information.

“I’ve had a crush on you since like eighth grade, I think. Still do, as a matter of fact.”

You stared at him in surprise as your brain processed what he’d just said. You’d had a crush on him for just as long, but you never in your life imagined he might’ve returned those feelings. “So have I.” You admitted.

You gazed at each other in silence for a moment, then Yunho leaned toward you a bit and murmured “Y/N, may I kiss you?”

“Please.” You whispered, hands coming up to grasp his shoulders as your lips met and bliss exploded throughout your body.

One large hand tangled in your hair, while the other spanned at least half of your waist. You clung to his shoulders for dear life as fireworks went off behind your closed eyelids. He deepened the kiss, and it felt like he was trying to swallow you whole as he gently tugged you closer until you were sitting in his lap. You shifted, wrapping your legs around him as you tried to get impossibly closer. After what felt like years you parted for air, a string of saliva linking you together.

You yanked at the buttons on his shirt as desire rose within you, a sudden want that was almost crippling in its intensity. Shaking hands hindered your efforts and Yunho’s long fingers stopped you.

“Impatient, aren’t we?” He inquired. You whined, and he chuckled. “Patience, love. You’ll get what you want in due time.” Pulling the shirt over his head in one smooth motion, you felt a shiver go straight to your core at the sight of his toned body. You busied yourself running your hands all over his skin, mapping every line of corded muscle you could find and stopping only to lift your arms when Yunho removed your blouse.

“Like what you see, love?” He asked, a coy smirk on his face.

“Yes, very much.” You moaned out as he dragged his thumbs over your nipples, each touch resulting in a jolt of pleasure that heightened your desire to almost a fever pitch. You needed him inside you yesterday, and you made sure he knew it.

“Please, Yun-ah, need you…can’t wait!”

“Easy now, my love. Just a little longer.”

Tenderly he laid you back onto the bed and you relished in how small you felt as his large frame hovered over you. He made short work of your pants and underwear, eyes widening as he took in just how wet you were. “Look at you, soaked already and I’ve barely even done anything.”

He slid two fingers into you, the long digits brushing your sweet spot and drawing a porn-worthy moan out of you. He added a third and you jolted a little, unused to the stretch but not in pain.

Yunho’s gaze darkened with desire as he continued to work his fingers inside you, curling them just right. The sensation was overwhelming, your body arching off the bed in response to his expert touch. Each thrust of his fingers sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, igniting your nerves and leaving you gasping for more.

“Y/N, you feel incredible,” he murmured, his voice low and sultry. “I can’t wait to feel you wrapped around me.” The promise in his words sent a thrill through your core, tightening the knot of desire that was building inside you.

“Yunho, please… I can’t take it anymore.” You whined, desperately seeking his lips with yours again. The kiss was a feverish clash of tongues and teeth, a collision of passion that made your head spin.

Withdrawing his fingers, Yunho leaned back, his eyes locking onto yours, igniting an unspoken understanding between you. “I want you to tell me at once if anything hurts, okay?” You nodded and he positioned himself between your legs, his broad shoulders framing your body perfectly, and you couldn’t help but appreciate how tiny he made you feel. “Just relax, love. I’ve got you.”

“Please, I need you!” You begged, squirming beneath him, your body craving him. He nodded slowly, a teasing smile playing on his lips as he leaned forward, teasingly brushing against your entrance with the tip of his thick length.

“Such a good girl.” He praised softly, his fingertips ghosting over your clit as he leaned even closer, ready to enter you.

When he finally pressed inside you, it was blissful torture. He filled you to the brim, stretching you out in a way that sent sparks of pleasure radiating from your core. You let out a cry of sheer delight, your body clenching around him instinctively.

“Fuck, Y/N!” He growled, pushing deeper as he held your gaze, his expression a mix of lust and admiration. “You’re so fucking perfect. Such a sweet, tight little cunt and it's all mine.”

You moaned at that, body trembling with arousal as the filthy words tumbled from his lips.

He started moving, slowly at first, allowing you to adjust to his size. The stretch felt incredible, and you were all too aware of how small you felt compared to him. Each thrust was deep and deliberate, sending waves of pure ecstasy crashing over you.

“Yunho!” You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as the pleasure built higher. He picked up his pace, his body slamming into yours with relentless force.

“Let go for me, my love. I want to feel you cum around me,” he commanded, and that sent you over the edge. Your body responded to his words, the coil within you snapping as you arched your back and let out a scream of pleasure.

“Yunho! Oh my god!” You cried, your body convulsing around him as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. You could feel the heat of your orgasm pulsing through your veins, every nerve ending igniting in ecstasy.

“That’s it, Y/N,” he urged, his voice dripping with lust. His pace increased, driving you deeper into the haze of pleasure. “Just like that. You feel so good wrapped around me like this.”

He continued to move inside you, your sensitive body still trembling from your first orgasm when the familiar tension began to build again. The way he held you, his large hands gripping your hips, made you feel both safe and completely consumed by desire.

“Yunho, I’m close again!” You whimpered, lost in the intensity of the moment as he chased his own release.

“Then let go, baby. Cum for me again.”

With one final thrust, he found your sweet spot again, and it sent you spiralling over the edge for the second time. You screamed his name, a high-pitched sound filled with pure ecstasy as you felt your body tighten around him, a second orgasm washing over you in waves that left you breathless and shaking.

“Y/N!” Yunho groaned, his own release following closely behind as he buried himself deep inside you, filling you completely.

You both took a moment to collect yourselves, the room filled with the sounds of your heavy breaths and soft whimpers as you rode out the waves of pleasure. As the world slowly came back into focus, Yunho collapsed beside you, pulling you close against him.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead with a satisfied smile on his face. And as you lay there in the aftermath, feeling cherished in his embrace, you couldn’t help but agree. You snuggled up to Yunho, enjoying the warmth of his body as he curled around you and held you close. You drifted off to sleep with a content smile on your face.

«-Yesterday | Day 2-»

[sterek-stuffs]

Do you get annoyed when people say the Sterek fandom is dead? Well, prove them wrong by reblogging this fresh new rec list of fics published in the past three years!

Pulling Strings by Gia279 54k words, M

Stiles and Derek pull off the ultimate game of survival charades: fooling the alpha pack into thinking their leader, alpha of alphas, demon wolf Deucalion himself, is still alive, in order to find the location of the Darach and save Beacon Hills and their pack, while Stiles learns to control this brand new, unusual power.

The Curse of the Love Sweater by HisBeloved 56k words, E

The "sweater curse" or "curse of the love sweater" is a term used by knitters to describe the belief that if a knitter gives a hand-knit sweater to a significant other, it will lead to the recipient breaking up with the knitter. When Stiles and Derek were children, a misunderstanding created a rift between Claudia Stilinski, owner of The Hale Yarn Company, and Talia Hale, the best knitter and spinner in the county, leading to the opening of Lucky Ewe, Claudia Stilinski's yarn store. Stiles and Derek have been lifelong competitors at the Beacon County Fair and after their mothers died, became owners of competing yarn shops. Derek is a budding knitwear designer on the eve of the release of his first book of patterns. Stiles wants him on his popular knitting YouTube show despite the decade-long feud between the Stilinski's and Hales. Hijinks, fluff, and ridiculousness ensue, and the boys get their happy ending.

Don't they know it's the end of the world? by flemoncake, mute90 20k words, M

Stiles thought being in love in a dangerous, post-apocalyptic world was a bad idea. He voted for pleasant, casual sex all the way. But being afraid of love doesn't stop it from coming after you. Being afraid doesn’t stop anything from coming after you.

love in suspension by creationmyth 6k words, T

They walk side by side back to the camaro, Derek’s all tensed up while Stiles hums some unnamable tune under his breath. When they finally break the treeline, Stiles pulls Derek by the arm so they’re face to face. “Thank you,” Stiles tells him quietly, making sure Derek knows he’s sincere. “It’s what we do.” It is. It really is. (or: Stiles and Derek learn, over time, how loyalty becomes love.)

ouroboros (get it right) by yesimirreputable 5k words, M

You try again, and the story's always the same: you never make it past eighteen.

a light and darkness in the heart of the forest by thedaughterofkings 10k words, T

There's a beast in the forest, they say. If you call to it, it will answer. To save his mom, Stiles will face up to it and hope the price won't be higher than the reward.

nothing but hope and virtue by dappledawndrawn, LeafZelindor 60k words, T

Senator Derek Hale, a California Democrat, had considered a future where he needed to hire a new campaign manager. He'd always expected to hire someone from inside the campaign. They'd have been familiar, respectful, come into his office carefully, with nervous excitement, and called him "sir" too much when asking for their first assignment. They'd have been familiar with the ins and outs of working with a werewolf pack, and everything would have been fine. Not great, maybe, but fine. But instead, Deaton retires with no warning, and almost sight-unseen, he hires Stiles Stilinksi, who is sprawled across his office couch, entering random contacts from Derek's Rolodex into his phone. Derek's a little in love with him. It's going to be a long campaign.

Fairy Wings and Beastly Tails by Bliz, PalenDrome (nerdherderette) 8k words, T

The prince knows it’s risky. He thinks about how he could manage without his wings; what his life would be like without flying or the ability to do spells. He thinks about his father and Scott, and all the others he’d leave behind if he fails. But then he thinks about the creature and the sadness in those green eyes, and how the image haunts his dreams. “I’ll do it,” he says as the Oak Witch’s grin grows wide.

Bite the Moonlight & Bleed Gold by raisesomehale 86k words, E

Seven years after being tricked and imprisoned by the Argents, Derek Hale finds himself off the blistering coasts of Antarctica aboard the Argentum Domina, an illegal prison ship out of which the Argents operate their behemoth, underground poaching empire. Bitter and packless, Derek spends his days working off his servitude by poaching creatures for Gerard to sell on the Black Magic Market, no future or end in sight. Until, Allison Argent brings him a capture case with a reward price so ludicrous that he has no choice but to accept. The only problem is, the target creature shouldn't even exist. Derek is flung fast into the deep webbings of a bigger mystery than he could have ever imagined. And discovers that, like this enchanting creature, not everything is as it seems.

My Soul to Keep by jacyevans, Jmeelee 18k words, T

Stiles came with a whiteboard, and blue dry erase marker, flapping it over his head like a white flag on a battlefield. "Come on," he coaxed. "You must want to say something. You've never gone this long without telling me to shut up." He waggled the marker in Derek's face. Stinging alcohol and pungent polymer singed Derek's nose hairs. His fingers itched to pick up the board, and not because he wanted to tell Stiles to be quiet. He enjoyed the babble that filled the apartment every few days, the hearty food, Stiles' particular, reassuring smell: maple sugar buzz, spicy-sweet deodorant, milk-sour frustration, floral shampoo, and spring grass at night. It soaked into Derek's couch, his bed, his skull. If any of it were real, Derek would take the board and write: thank you.

A Functioning Adult’s Field Guide to Enemies With Benefits by BisexualGoblin (LadyBoBo) 31k words, E

The six years Stiles was away for college, he certainly missed a lot—namely the whole best friend turned into a werewolf thing. But he didn’t think he missed enough to get replaced by a douche bag like Derek Hale. Now with Scott’s wedding looming, it’s the perfect chance for Stiles to show Derek who the real brains of the operation is. If only he could stop jumping into bed with him…

Let's build a beehive by GreyHaven 25k words, G

Ten years after he last saw Derek, Stiles' life is in ruins and he has nowhere else to turn. He has Derek's address but will he be welcomed? A post canon AU about healing, growth, acceptance, and love.

Handstands For You by Fenris13 15k words, E

"No, really, you don't have to—!" Stiles hisses, flinching as Derek rubs soap with needless intensity into the cut. "Shut up and keep still," Derek growls back. Stiles whines in response, squirming in Derek’s grip but otherwise following the order. Stupid werewolves and their stupid regeneratey-healy powers. It’s not Stiles’ fault that he’s wimpy and human, so when he gets thrown down a flight of stairs and through a rotten wooden wall by lake monsters, he still remembers it the next morning.

Shaking the wings of their terrible youths by Daisyapples 29k words, N/r

Stiles didn't expect much when he stopped a stranger being attacked in an alleyway. He didn't expect the wolf following him around New York, didn't expect the help when he was sick, didn't expect the psycho blond attacking him, or the place to stay. He didn't expect the new family. Oh, and he definitely didn't expect werewolves.

Dear Fellow Traveler by lanalua (this is me!) 32k words, M

Years after shit went down in Beacon Hills a traumatized Stiles is dating Lydia and living in New York, trying to avoid and get over anything related to the supernatural. When he finally decides to go back to his hometown and face his fears, he will be lead down a path of self-discovery that will change the course he had set for his life. Stiles shook his head. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Derek, it was just that he couldn’t. If he’d had magic the whole time, did it mean he could have been less useless back in highschool? Did it mean he could have helped, maybe kept Erica and Boyd alive? Kept Derek and Scott from leaving? It was too much. Guilt tore through his stomach like an arrow. He felt himself start to hyperventilate again.

As always, check the tags in individual fics to find out if they're right for you, and don't forget to leave the authors some love!

[acute-crashout-jeyuso]

Across the Ropes.. a Zilla Fatu x OC fanfic.

Chapter 7: Choices..

May 31st, 2025 7:58 AM

Before Dahlia knew it, she was smiling ear to ear, her excitement bubbling over as she waited for Zilla to walk out of the airport. Every moment without him felt like an eternity, and now that he was finally back, she could hardly contain the rush of emotions building inside her.

When she spotted him walking through the terminal, her heart leapt. There he was—tired, maybe a little worn from the travel, but all hers. She wasted no time, her legs carrying her towards him with a burst of energy. She ran right up to him, throwing her arms around his neck and leaning up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips.

“I missed you, papi,” she whispered against his lips, the words feeling like a declaration.

Zilla grinned, his hands instinctively pulling her closer as he kissed her back. “I missed you too, mami,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. The distance between them had felt so much longer than just a few days.

He pulled back, taking the keys from her hand and leading her toward the car. He opened the door for her with a small smile, watching as she slid into the passenger seat. Once she was settled, Zilla closed her door and popped open the trunk of his Camaro, tossing his bags inside with a soft grunt.

He slid into the driver’s seat, the familiar scent of the car filling his lungs. As he started the engine, the rumble of the Camaro vibrating through the car, he could feel a sense of relief washing over him.

They pulled out of the parking lot, the sun shining bright behind them as they drove in comfortable silence toward Sabrina’s apartment. Zilla didn’t need to say anything. The familiarity of the road, the weight of Dahlia beside him, it felt right. Everything felt right. However… guilt had a way of popping up at the right time, every time.

Dahlia looked over at him with a small smile. “You okay?” she asked, her voice soft, but it carried a sense of concern she couldn’t hide.

Zilla nodded, his fingers tightening on the wheel as he focused on the road. “Yeah, I’m good. Just glad to be home.”

Zilla kept his eyes on the road, he bit the inside of his cheek slightly as the weight of his guilt washed over him again once more. It’s like whatever happiness he forced himself to have, the guilt would come back. Dahlia’s voice brought him back to the present as she spoke about how her week had been, her words warm but filled with a quiet understanding.

“Did you schedule the ultrasound?” Zilla asked, his voice almost distant.

Dahlia smiled softly, the corners of her eyes crinkling with tenderness. “Yes, we go at 1. The doctor I scribe for is coming in on his day off and will show me how our baby is developing.” She glanced at him, catching the quiet tension in his posture, but said nothing.

Zilla’s heart felt heavy. The thought of the ultrasound should’ve filled him with excitement, but instead, the image of Cora Jade’s face—her touch—kept haunting him. He swallowed hard, trying to shake it off, but it lingered.

“I can’t wait,” Zilla said, forcing a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “But I want to nap before.”

“Of course, baby,” Dahlia replied, her voice soft and soothing. She didn’t push, knowing that Zilla was dealing with something inside, though she couldn’t quite place it.

As they continued driving, Zilla’s mind replayed the events with Cora Jade once more. It all felt like a lie now, and the weight of it ate at him. He wanted to be a good partner to Dahlia, wanted to be excited for the future, for their baby, but he couldn’t shake the remorse that had dug deep into him. They arrived at Sabrina’s apartment, Zilla had grabbed his bags and they headed into the apartment and made their way to the room. Zilla set his bags down and pulled Dahlia into bed with him, the smell of A Thousand Wishes filling his nostrils as Dahlia got closer to him.

Dahlia glanced over at him, noticing the unresolved tension in his face, the way his jaw was clenched, his hands twitching slightly. She reached over, her hand brushing against his leg, offering a small comfort.

“You okay, baby?” she asked softly, her voice gentle but filled with concern.

Zilla closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the guilt wash over him again. “I’m just very tired,” he muttered, his voice showing signs of it. It wasn’t a lie—he was exhausted, but it wasn’t just physical. His mind was heavy, his heart burdened with the shame of what he’d done.

Dahlia didn’t push. She simply nodded, her hand remaining on his leg, a silent promise that she was there, even if he wasn’t ready to share everything with her yet. But in that moment, Zilla felt the comfort of her presence, a comfort he wasn’t sure if he deserved to have.

“You’re my everything,” he whispered.

Now suddenly worried, Dahlia tilted her head to meet his gaze, her brows furrowed. “Isayah, you’re scaring me. What’s going on? You’ve been acting… different.”

Zilla hesitated, his chest tightening at her words. The truth sat on the edge of his tongue, but fear kept it trapped there. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her—not yet. Instead, he kissed her forehead and offered a weak smile.

“In all honesty I am just very tired, mami. It’s been a long few days.”

Dahlia frowned, clearly not convinced, but she let it go for now. “Alright, baby. We’ll talk later if you want to, okay?”

Zilla nodded, grateful she didn’t push further. He stroked her hair absentmindedly as she settled into his arms, and soon, her breathing evened out, signaling she’d fallen asleep.

The Samoan King stayed awake, staring at the ceiling. The guilt felt like a heavy weight on his chest, suffocating him. It wasn’t like him. Dahlia didn’t deserve any of this, yet here he was, hiding secrets she would never suspect.

He glanced down at her peaceful face, her trust in him unwavering. The thought of losing her tore him apart, but he couldn’t shake the sorriness that the truth would destroy everything they’d built so far.

He wanted to be excited, to feel the joy he knew Dahlia felt, but all he could focus on was the shadow of his mistakes creeping in. As the morning stretched on, Zilla made a silent vow: he’d do whatever it took to be the man Dahlia believed him to be, even if it meant burying the truth forever.

—

1:18 PM

Zilla stood beside Dahlia, his fingers intertwined with hers as she lay on the exam table. Dr. Patel gave them a warm smile before grabbing the bottle of gel.

“This might feel a little cold,” Dr. Patel said, squirting the clear gel onto Dahlia’s slightly rounded stomach.

Dahlia flinched at the cool sensation but laughed softly. “You weren’t kidding about that.”

Dr. Patel chuckled as he grabbed the transducer and pressed it gently against her belly. “Now, remind me—how far along are we?”

Dahlia beamed. “About 12 to 13 weeks.”

“Perfect,” Dr. Patel said, his tone focused as he began moving the wand across her skin. The monitor lit up with the first flickers of an image, and he adjusted it for a clearer view.

Zilla leaned forward, his heart racing as the blurry shapes on the screen began to take form. Then, Dr. Patel’s voice broke the silence.

“So here,” he began, pointing to a small shape, “we see baby number one… and here, baby number two… and here, baby number three.”

Zilla blinked, certain he’d misheard. “Come again?”

Dr. Patel laughed, his tone teasing. “I believe the Spanish word is tres, Mr. Fatu. You’re having triplets.”

Dahlia’s jaw dropped as she turned to Zilla, her eyes wide with shock and joy. “Three?!”

“Three,” Dr. Patel confirmed with a nod. “Would you like to hear their heartbeats?”

Dahlia’s hand flew to her mouth, overwhelmed, but she quickly nodded. “Of course!”

Dr. Patel adjusted the settings on the machine, and moments later, the rhythmic sound of tiny heartbeats filled the room. It was fast, steady, and impossibly beautiful.

Zilla swallowed hard, his emotions swirling. He stared at the monitor, watching the three little figures squirming within the screen. “They’re… really in there?”

“Yes, they’re really in there,” Dr. Patel said with a grin. “All three of them seem healthy and active.”

Dahlia squeezed Zilla’s hand tightly, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Three, baby. Can you believe it?”

Zilla nodded slowly, his throat tight with emotion. “Yeah, mami… I can believe it.” But deep down, he felt his chest tighten, the guilt over his mistakes resurfacing with a vengeance. Three lives. Three innocent souls. And here he was, carrying secrets that threatened to break the family they were starting to build.

But as he looked at Dahlia’s radiant face, he pushed those thoughts aside. For now, this moment was hers, and he wouldn’t let anything ruin it. He leaned down, kissing her forehead as the sound of their babies’ heartbeats played on. “We got this,” he whispered. “I promise.”

Dr. Patel worked efficiently, pointing at the screen as he labeled the babies “A,” “B,” and “C” on the sonogram. With each label, Zilla’s chest tightened further, the gravity of his future weighing heavier than ever.

Dr. Patel pulled a fresh set of sonogram photos from the printer and handed them to Dahlia, who stared at the images with tears glistening in her eyes. “Look at them,” she whispered, tracing her fingers over the outlines. “They’re so tiny.”

Zilla forced a smile as he held the second set of photos, his hand trembling slightly. “Yeah… tiny.” His voice cracked just enough to catch Dahlia’s attention, but she brushed it off as emotion.

Dahlia turned to Dr. Patel. “So, when do I come back? I know triplets are high risk.”

Dr. Patel smiled warmly. “We’ll keep a close eye, don’t worry. But for now, your next appointment will be around the 20-week mark. At that point, we’ll be able to determine the sex of these three little birds,” he said, gesturing to the photos.

Dahlia smiled through her tears, nodding. “Three little birds,” she repeated softly.

“Thanks, Patel. I’ll see you Monday,” she added, referring to her work schedule.

“Take care of yourself, Dahlia. And you too, Mr. Fatu,” Dr. Patel said with a polite nod before leaving the room”

The door clicked shut, and Dahlia turned to Zilla, her smile radiant despite her red-rimmed eyes. “I can’t believe it,” she said, laughing softly. “Three babies, Zilla. Three.”

“Yeah,” Zilla said, his throat tight. “Three.” He watched as Dahlia slipped off the exam table and began cleaning the gel off her stomach, completely unaware of the storm raging inside him.

Dahlia paused and glanced at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “You okay, baby? You’ve been quiet since we got here.”

Zilla quickly shook his head and stepped forward, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… overwhelmed, you know? It’s a lot to take in.”

She softened, leaning into him. “I get it. But we’ve got this, Zilla. You and me. And now them.” She tapped the sonogram photos.

He kissed her forehead, hoping the gesture masked the turmoil he couldn’t voice. “You’re right, mami. We got this.”

But as they left the clinic, Zilla felt the weight of the photos in his hand like they were made of lead. Every step back to the car reminded him of what he hadn’t told her—what he couldn’t tell her.

The drive back to Sabrina’s apartment was filled with a tense silence, Zilla’s thoughts a battle between tell her and don’t tell her. He kept stealing glances at Dahlia, who seemed lost in thought as she held the sonogram photos against her chest.

Finally, Dahlia broke the silence. “I’ve been thinking…” she began, her tone uncertain.

Zilla flicked his eyes toward her briefly. “About what?”

She hesitated before continuing, “I’ve saved up some money from working, and… I was thinking maybe we should get our own apartment.”

Zilla raised an eyebrow, keeping his focus on the road. “You really want to do that?”

Dahlia nodded quickly, her voice gaining more confidence. “Why not? Sabrina’s been great and all, but I don’t think she’s going to love three newborns crying every hour, you know? We’re starting a family, Zilla. We need our own space.”

Zilla let her words sink in. He thought about what it meant—another layer of responsibility on top of everything else. But as he glanced over at Dahlia again, seeing the determination in her eyes, he felt a flicker of guilt for even hesitating.

“Whatever you want, babe,” he said softly, reaching over to squeeze her hand. “I’ll support you. You want an apartment, we’ll make it happen.”

Dahlia’s face lit up, her smile chasing away some of the tension in the air. “Really? You mean it?”

“Of course,” Zilla replied, though the heaviness in his chest remained. “I just want you and the babies to be comfortable. That’s all that matters.”

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, papi. I promise I’ll look for something affordable. We don’t need anything fancy—just a place to call ours.”

Zilla nodded, his mind already racing. Dahlia seemed so hopeful, so sure that this was the right step, but he couldn’t shake the doubt gnawing at him. Could he really handle this? The apartment, the babies, the weight of the secrets he was keeping—it all felt like it was pressing down on him, suffocating him.

As they pulled into parking lot of the apartment complex, Dahlia squeezed his hand again. “We’re gonna be okay, Zilla. I know we are.”

He forced a small smile, hoping it was enough to reassure her. “Yeah, mami. We will.”

While Zilla retreated and slept soundly back at Sabrina’s apartment, Dahlia pulled into the parking lot of a Babies R Us. She parked the Camaro, adjusted her purse strap on her shoulder, and stepped out, a smile forming on her face as she approached the store.

The automatic doors slid open, and the faint scent of baby powder and new plastic greeted her. Dahlia wandered through the aisles until she came across the registry station. The cheerful screen caught her eye with its bright banner: “Having a baby? Sign up here to create your exclusive Babies R Us registry list!”

Dahlia tapped the screen, filling in her name, contact information, and due date. When the prompt for how many babies she was expecting appeared, she hesitated for just a moment before proudly typing: Three.

The registry software whirred to life, generating a curated list of essentials for her growing family. Items like triple strollers, extra-large diaper packs, and matching baby clothes filled the screen. Dahlia scrolled through, her smile widening.

She took her time walking through the store, scanning items to add to the registry—a soft, neutral-colored pack of onesies, adorable bibs with little animals on them, and a set of bottles designed for preemies and newborns alike.

When she reached the furniture section, she paused in front of a row of cribs, running her fingers along the edges of the wood. “Three cribs,” she whispered to herself, a mix of excitement and apprehension filling her chest.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, pulling her from her thoughts. It was a text from Sabrina:

“Everything okay? Zilla’s still out cold. Just checking in.”

Dahlia smiled and quickly replied:

“All good! Just picking out some things for the babies. Be back soon.”

After adding a few more items to her list, Dahlia approached the checkout counter with a small basket of essentials she couldn’t resist buying today—three pairs of tiny booties, three plush blankets, and three packs of pacifiers.

“Setting up a nursery?” the cashier asked with a kind smile as she rang up the items.

“Yeah,” Dahlia said softly, a warmth in her tone. “For three, actually.”

“Three?” The cashier’s eyes widened. “Oh, wow! You’ve got your hands full already.”

Dahlia chuckled, nodding. “Tell me about it.”

With her purchases bagged and her registry saved, Dahlia headed back to the Camaro. As she loaded the bags into the passenger seat, she felt a sense of calm settle over her. For the first time in a while, the thought of the future felt exciting, a first time mommy to three beautiful little souls.

By the time she returned to the apartment, she was eager to show Zilla everything she had picked out.

Sabrina was lounging on the couch, engrossed in the vibrant chaos of West Side Story, when the door clicked open, and Dahlia walked in, balancing a bag on one arm. Sabrina muted the TV and turned toward her, raising an eyebrow.

“Now, forgive me if I’m wrong,” Sabrina said, her tone light but curious, “but I could’ve sworn your text said babies—plural.”

Dahlia laughed as she kicked off her shoes and set the bag down on the table. “That’s exactly what I said,” she replied with a grin, pulling her purse off her shoulder.

Sabrina’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Whatcha mean, babies?”

Dahlia paused for dramatic effect, savoring the moment. “Triplets,” she finally said, her smile widening.

Sabrina’s jaw dropped, her eyes darting between Dahlia’s face and the bag of baby items. “Triplets?! Girl, stop playing with me!”

Dahlia chuckled and reached into her purse, pulling out the sonogram printout. She handed it to Sabrina, who stared at it with wide eyes.

“Oh my God,” Sabrina whispered, her voice full of awe. She traced her finger lightly over the image. “Baby A, Baby B, Baby C… You really weren’t kidding.”

“Nope,” Dahlia said, plopping down on the couch beside her. “Zilla and I found out today.”

Sabrina shook her head, still staring at the sonogram. “That’s insane. Three babies. You’re about to have a whole squad.”

“Tell me about it,” Dahlia said, leaning back against the couch with a sigh. “It’s exciting, but… I won’t lie, it’s a little overwhelming.”

“I bet.” Sabrina handed the sonogram back to her and smiled. “But if anyone can handle it, it’s you. And hey, you know I’ve got your back, whatever you need.”

“Thanks, Sabrina,” Dahlia said, her voice soft with gratitude.

“So, what’s in the bags?” Sabrina asked, nodding toward the table.

Dahlia perked up, reaching for the bags and pulling out the tiny booties, plush blankets, and pacifiers. Sabrina’s face lit up as she looked through the items.

“These are so cute!” Sabrina cooed, holding up the booties. “You already got a head start, huh?”

“Just couldn’t resist,” Dahlia admitted with a sheepish smile.

Sabrina held up one of the tiny booties, turning it over in her hands as if it held the answer to life itself. She glanced at Dahlia, her expression soft but hesitant. “So… are you and Zilla gonna leave me?” she asked quietly, trying to keep her tone light.

Dahlia’s smile faltered, and she looked down at the sonogram in her lap. “I already brought up getting an apartment,” she admitted, her voice tinged with sadness. “And he agreed. It’s just… it’s time, you know? I have to start looking for a car, too. Probably something big enough for three car seats.”

Sabrina raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the couch. “With the money Rhea gave you?” She handed the booties back to Dahlia.

Dahlia nodded but didn’t meet her gaze. Dahlia stuffed the items back into the bags.

“You tell him about that yet?” Sabrina pressed gently.

“No,” Dahlia said quickly, shaking her head. “I don’t want to.”

Sabrina tilted her head. “Why not? He’s your man, D. He should know.”

Dahlia sighed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Because it’s not his money, Brina’. It feels… I don’t know, weird. Like, what if he gets upset? Or feels like I’m taking charity?”

“Zilla? Upset?” Sabrina scoffed lightly. “That man worships the ground you walk on. He’s not gonna care where the money came from, especially if it’s for his babies.”

“It’s not just that,” Dahlia said, her voice softer now. “It’s the whole thing. Rhea giving me that money—it’s like her way of saying I’m not in this alone. But at the same time, it feels like a reminder that I’m bringing my past into my future, you know?”

Sabrina frowned, her brow furrowing. “D, you’re not bringing your past anywhere. You’re building your future—your family. And if Rhea wanted to help, that’s her showing she cares. You should give Zilla more credit. He’ll understand.”

Dahlia gave a small, unsure smile. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” Sabrina said firmly, reaching over to squeeze her hand. “Now, when you tell him, make sure he’s not hungry. Men process things better when they’re fed.”

Dahlia laughed despite herself, the tension in her shoulders easing. “Thanks, Brina’. You always know what to say.”

“Of course I do,” Sabrina said with a playful smirk. “And just for the record, I’m gonna miss the hell out of you when you move. But I know it’s the right thing for you.”

Dahlia felt a lump form in her throat as she leaned over to hug her friend tightly. “I’m gonna miss you too,” she whispered. “But you’re always gonna be part of this family, no matter where we are.”

Sabrina hugged her back, smiling through the bittersweet moment. “Just promise me you’ll let me babysit. I need to spoil those little munchkins rotten.”

“You’ve got a deal,” Dahlia said, her voice lighter now.

Dahlia stood up from the couch, picking up the items from Babies R Us with a small smile. “I should probably go see if he’s done resting,” she said, her tone lighter.

Sabrina waved her off, already turning her attention back to the screen. “Go for it. I’m gonna finish my white chocolate and enjoy my musical in peace.”

Dahlia rolled her eyes fondly and made her way toward the room she shared with Zilla. She eased the door open quietly and peeked inside. Zilla was lying on the bed, his phone in hand, scrolling through something.

“I thought you wanted to sleep,” Dahlia said, stepping in and closing the door behind her.

Zilla glanced up, quickly locking his phone and setting it on the nightstand. “I did, but I couldn’t,” he admitted, sitting up slightly against the pillows.

Dahlia set the bags down on the dresser and crossed her arms, studying him. “Something on your mind, babe?”

Zilla didn’t answer right away, his jaw tightening as he glanced away. “No,” he said after a moment, his tone a little too casual. Then, he quickly added, “Hey, what’d you get there?”

Dahlia narrowed her eyes at him, recognizing the deflection but deciding not to press—at least for now. She picked up one of the bags and brought it over to the bed, sitting down beside him. “Some things for the babies. Wanna see?”

Zilla nodded, leaning closer as she started pulling out the items one by one. “I registered us at Babies R Us too,” she said with a small smile. “They gave me a whole list of what we’ll need for triplets. It’s a lot, babe.”

He chuckled, reaching for one of the tiny onesies she’d bought. “Yeah, I figured it would be,” he said, holding it up to examine the design. His fingers lingered on the soft fabric, his expression softening. “This is cute.”

Dahlia watched him carefully, noting the way his shoulders seemed tense even as he tried to focus on the baby clothes. “Isayah,” she said gently, touching his arm. “You sure you’re okay? You don’t seem like yourself baby, whatever it is you can tell me.”

Zilla swallowed hard, the weight of his earlier guilt creeping back into his mind. He really wanted to tell her but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he forced a smile and leaned over to kiss her forehead.

“I’m fine, mami,” he said softly. “I’m just really tired, that’s all. Don’t worry about me, okay?”

Dahlia didn’t look entirely convinced, but she nodded, deciding to let it go for now. “Okay. But if something’s bothering you, you can tell me, you know that, right?”

“I know, I know..” Zilla said, his voice low. He pulled her closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “I got everything I need right here.”

Dahlia rested her head against his chest, her worries momentarily easing as she listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. But in the back of her mind, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was still unresolved.

Zilla pulled her closer, their faces just inches apart, and kissed her. At first, the kiss was soft and tender, but as his hands slid to her waist, it deepened, turning more passionate. His fingers found the waistband of her jeans, tugging gently.

Dahlia reached down and softly pulled his hands away, breaking the kiss with a breathless laugh. “Isayah,” she whispered, her cheeks flushed. “Sabrina is here.”

Zilla smirked, his lips brushing against her ear as he murmured, “Then stay quiet.”

With a slow, deliberate motion, he pulled her jeans down, revealing the lace panties that clung to her curves. His gaze lingered on the sight, a growl escaping his lips as he admired the vision before him. Zilla kissed her again and pulled her onto the bed so she could lay by his side. Zilla broke the kiss and kissed her neck. He grabbed her breast, “Isayah.. baby..” Zilla squeezed it softly, the heat of the moment increasing. Zilla remained sucking on her neck, determined to leave a mark, he sucked passionately on that spot as he pulled up her and shoved a hand underneath her bra.

“Baby.. fuck..” Dahlia moaned, the way Zilla touched her, it was so passionate that it would always uplift her in a way she couldn’t describe. Zilla’s fingers flicked over her nipple as he unlatched his lips from neck, satisfied that he marked her.

Zilla leaned over to her ear, his voice a hushed whisper, "Remember, Sabrina will hear us so be very quiet.” Dahlia nodded, her chest rising and falling with anticipation. Zilla pulled his hand away from her breast and slid a finger down her stomach. Zilla admired the sight of her face, flushed with desire, as his hand rested on top of her pussy, he slowly began to tease her through her underwear. His fingers traced the lace, finding their way to the warm, wet center that ached for his touch.

“Baby..” Dahlia whispered, her hand gripped the sheets slightly, this was something different.

"Your pussy is mine," Zilla murmured, his fingers finding her clit through the fabric and rubbing it.

Dahlia let out a low moan, her hips bucking in response. Zilla leaned in, his lips finding her neck once more as he continued his teasing.

"You're so beautiful to me, Dahlia," he whispered, his words sending shivers down her spine.

He couldn’t help but feel the fear of losing her, fueled something deep in his chest. He couldn't ruin this. He wouldn't. Dahlia was it for him-his beginning, middle, and end. He couldn't let one mistake take her away from him, take away the life they were building.

As much as it killed him to keep the secret, he couldn't tell her. Not now. Not when they were so close to finally having everything they wanted. He'd just have to live with the guilt and do everything in his power to prove he was worthy of the most beautiful, incredible girl on this earth.

Because if he ever lost her, it'd destroy him.

Dahlia's response to Zilla’s rubbing was a low, throaty whisper, "My pussy is yours, Isayah." With that, he slipped his hand inside her panties, his fingers finding her wetness with ease. He circled her clit, his movements slow and deliberate, before sliding a finger inside her. "That's daddy's pussy right there," he growled, his voice thick with desire.

“Daddy..” Dahlia gripped the sheets tight as the pleasure washed through her so quickly.

“Look at you… wetting all of daddy’s hand like that..” Zilla whispered into Dahlia’s ear, as he saw how wet his hand had got.

His jaw tightened as the memory of Cora flashed through his mind. It had meant nothing-less than nothing. It was a moment of stupidity, an impulsive act that he couldn't take back no matter how much he wished he could. And yet, that one kiss had planted a seed of guilt so deep it consumed him into his sacred intimate time with Dahlia.

Dahlia's moans grew slightly as Zilla began to fuck her with his fingers. The sound of her wetness filled the room, a symphony of pleasure that drove them both wild. "I can't keep quiet, it's so hard," Dahlia gasped, her body trembling with the effort. Zilla's response was a commanding whisper, "Stay quiet, baby."

To be quite honest, he was terrified. Terrified that one day, this secret would come to light and he'd lose her forever. Terrified that he wasn't worthy of the love she gave so freely. Terrified that he'd never be able to forgive himself for the way he'd already failed her.

Zilla angled his fingers, hitting a spot that sent Dahlia over the edge. “Stay quiet mami’..” Dahlia was finding it very difficult by each passing second, with this new angle, she had a strange sense of something, the urge to go to the restroom.

“Isayah.. baby.. “ She moaned as her back arched again. “I could feel you tightening on my fingers babe…” Dahlia’s vision was becoming quite cloudy, her body riddled with pleasure.

“It’s only you baby..” Dahlia moaned, her toes starting to curl at the weight of her impending orgasm. “Yeah that’s right.. I own this.. I’m the only one to tap this pussy..” Zilla said, his own pleasure coursing through his veins at the sight of Dahlia crumbling underneath him.

“What’s my name?” Zilla asked as he went faster.

Dahlia couldn’t muster out anything as the felt that strange urge again.

“Tell papi what his name is..” Zilla commanded.

“Isayah..” Dahlia croaked, her pleasure now hitting an all time.

“Yeah that’s right.. squirt for papi..” Zilla said as his lips attached her neck, rough and raw. The feeling of her neck being sucked on, the unknown urge and the penetration from his fingers was starting to be too much.

Her body tensed, a cry of pleasure muffled by her hand as she squirted, her release soaking the bed beneath them. Zilla watched in awe, his fingers still inside her as he brought her down from her high. He slowly pulled away his fingers, admiring the large puddle she made on the sheets.

Dahlia caught her breath, her body riddled with exhaustion from their moment. Her eyes landed on the puddle, and she sighed softly. “We have to wash the sheets.”

Zilla chuckled, his voice low and amused. “I’ll do it.”

Dahlia grinned lazily. “Great, ‘cause my legs are like jello right now.”

Zilla got up from the bed, grabbing the sheets and comforter, while Dahlia adjusted herself so she wouldn’t have to move. She let herself melt further into the mattress, savoring the afterglow.

“There’s some extra sheets and stuff in the hallway closet,” she said, her voice still thick with exhaustion.

Zilla nodded and exited the room. Dahlia’s eyes closed briefly, allowing herself to rest while Zilla handled the mess. The whirlwind of their moment was still so fresh, and it made her smile to herself.

Zilla opened the laundry room door, tossing the soiled sheets and comforter into the washer. He stepped into the hallway closet, pulling out the extra sheets and blanket, but something caught his eye. On a shelf, just within reach, were some cleaning supplies. He grabbed the bottle of cleaner before heading back to the room.

When he returned, he started by blotting the puddle, spraying the cleaning solution over the spot. Dahlia couldn’t help but laugh softly at the sight. “Look at you,” she teased, her voice still light with amusement.

Zilla shot her a grin. “What? I gotta take care of you.”

Dahlia smiled at him, her heart fluttering at the tenderness in his words. She watched him finish cleaning, then saw him spot a small towel hanging on the towel rack. He folded it neatly and placed it over the damp spot.

“I need you to get up, baby, so I can fix the sheets,” Zilla said, his tone gentle but insistent.

Dahlia groaned in protest, whining a little. “Do I have to?”

Zilla laughed softly. “Come on, it’s only for a few seconds.”

Reluctantly, Dahlia complied, sliding off the bed with a dramatic sigh. She helped Zilla stretch the fitted sheet over the mattress, her body still heavy with weariness. Once they finished, Dahlia climbed back into the bed, grateful to be horizontal again.

Zilla threw the blanket over her, tucking it around her shoulders. He leaned over her, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “Do you want Raising Cane’s?”

Dahlia looked up at him, her eyes still a little hazy from their time together. “The Caniac combo, please.”

Zilla smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Coming right up.”

He grabbed his phone to place the order, a small sense of contentment filling him as he looked down at the woman that was carrying his children, feeling like everything was right in that moment…. but only for that moment.

After about thirty minutes, Zilla arrived back with Raising Cane’s, just like Dahlia requested. He set the bags on the bed and handed her the Caniac combo, the familiar scent of fried chicken and fries filling the room. Dahlia smiled up at him, taking a bite of her chicken tender.

“Thanks, babe,” she said, her voice still soft from earlier.

Zilla smiled back at her, but as he sat down next to her, his phone buzzed. He picked it up, and the screen showed an unknown number. He clicked it open, expecting a regular message, but instead, his eyes widened when he read: Papi, I wanna kiss you again.. C.

Zilla’s stomach turned. His mind raced as he quickly deleted the message and blocked the number, not wanting to give it a second thought. He didn’t need this. Not now. Not ever again.

Dahlia, unaware of what had just happened, continued eating her chicken tender. She looked up at him, sensing the sudden shift in his demeanor.

“You okay?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Zilla snapped back to reality, forcing a smile onto his face. “Yeah, babe. Just thinking about you.” He tried to act nonchalant, but the weight of the message still lingered in his mind. He hoped Dahlia wouldn’t press on the issue.

She smiled and took another bite, clearly trusting his words, and nodded. “I’m glad we’re doing this… you know, the whole ‘us’ thing.” She smiled softly, her eyes meeting his. “Feels like things are getting better.”

Zilla nodded, but inside, guilt was brewing. He didn’t want her to know what had just happened. He didn’t want to let anything get in the way of them finally being on the same page again.

Then he thought of the perfect idea to let everyone know he was serious..

Zilla looked at Dahlia, a playful grin tugging at his lips as he put his chicken tender down. “I actually got a text from Jey this morning,” he said, glancing over at her. “He said Rhea booked a villa for the fourth.”

Dahlia smiled, her eyes lighting up. “That’s great, babe.” She paused, thinking for a second. “But I forgot to ask—won’t you be working on Friday?”

Zilla shook his head, leaning back against the headboard. “Nah, the week before we’ll do a double taping for SmackDown, and I don’t have anything booked for RAW. So I’ll have the week off.” He watched her face light up at the news. “It’s perfect timing.”

“Perfect!” Dahlia agreed with a smile, her tone full of relief. “We can finally have some downtime.”

Zilla’s grin shifted into something more mischievous as the perfect idea was set up. He leaned forward, his eyes locking with hers. “Hey… why don’t we announce it?”

Dahlia furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged casually, but there was a certain excitement in his voice. “Well, I haven’t said anything about the pregnancy or you on my socials. I figured… why not let everyone know I’m locked down? Put it out there.”

Dahlia blinked, processing the suggestion for a moment. Then, a smirk spread across her face, and she leaned in closer to him. “Okay, Uso Penitentiary,” she teased, referencing his cousins Jimmy and Jey’s past gimmicks with a playful chuckle.

Zilla laughed, shaking his head at the nickname but liking the idea of it. “Yeah, something like that. Let the world know we’re off the market.” His gaze softened as he reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. “I want everyone to know you’re mine.”

Dahlia’s heart fluttered at his words. “You sure about that? You really want to make it public?”

Zilla nodded. “No turning back now. You and me… the whole world’s gotta know.”

She looked into his eyes, sensing the sincerity behind his playful tone. “Alright, let’s do it then. But I’m holding you to it.” She winked at him.

Zilla smirked back. “You know I’m all in.”

After they finished eating, Zilla and Dahlia laughed as she posed for a picture holding the sonograms. Zilla snapped a few shots of her, making sure the images were perfect. Then, they captured a sweet moment when Zilla kissed her cheek, and she smiled brightly. Dahlia had never looked so radiant, the warmth from the sunset blending with their shared joy. Zilla felt a surge of love and pride.

After that, Dahlia excused herself to Sabrina’s room, who had retreated earlier once she heard specific noises. Zilla pulled up the photos on his phone and started composing his Instagram post. He carefully selected a picture of them on Jey and Rhea’s yacht — the one where Zilla kissed her cheek and Dahlia’s smile lit up the whole scene as the sun set in the background. He then selected one of the pictures he just took of Dahlia holding the sonogram. He grinned as he thought about how perfect the moment had been, and how perfect this new chapter was going to be.

Once everything was set, he typed the caption and hit post, knowing it would be something they would both look back on forever.

“Looks like I’m officially off the market🔒… and my future’s already looking pretty damn good 💯. We got a lot to celebrate — not just the love between me and my queen👑, but the little ones on the way too. Yeah, you heard me right, triplets🍼👶👶👶🤰.

#Blessed #FamilyFirst #OffTheMarket #LockedDown #THEMAINONES #DahliaAndZilla #NewChapter”

Zilla stared at the screen for a moment, letting the reality of what they were about to share sink in. He couldn’t wait to see Dahlia’s reaction, but he already knew this was a moment they’d treasure forever.. he also knew.. that this had to be done.

[ryverbind]

Faceless Fixation (Sal Fisher): The Path We Tread [25]

Sal's freshly folded Breaking Benjamin hoodie is soft in my hands. I haven't washed it, but I figured I'd return it after accidentally stuffing it into my bag the other night.

I set it on top of the cat carrier that's prepped and housing a cheerful Gizmo who purrs like a fully powered motorboat. And he's too cute, too happy to see me, so I grin down at the orange feline and brace one hand on Sal's car door and lean down to give the little guy some scratches.

He purrs against my hand, big green eyes closed as he shoves his head into my palm and basically pets himself. I can't help but huff out a laugh, smile widening because of the little fur ball.

Yesterday, The Faces and I spent the day visiting with Henry and Lisa. Since they aren't moving to LA with us, considering they have their music store here, we wanted to spend as much time with them as possible. Especially Larry and Sal.

"Are you done coddling my cat?" Sal gripes behind me. I sigh a bit disappointedly, rubbing under Gizmo's chin before zipping the carrier closed.

Turning to the cat dad, I back away from the black Camaro. Sal gives me a not-so-serious glare before placing himself in my previous spot, snatching the hoodie I'd just laid down and unfolding it. So particular.

"He likes my coddling," I murmur, tipping my head to the side as I peer at Sal both out of curiosity and admiration. The sun beating down on him, illuminating all the shades of blue in his hair. It's still chilly here, Nockfell's norm. 

Which explains why Sal starts pulling the hoodie over his head, but I still have to try my best not to gape. What happened to him being terrified of my cooties?

"No one likes your coddling," he responds, deadpan.

I regard him nonchalantly, pursing my lips. "Your mom does."

Sal's eyes go wide, the action setting off a warpath of alarm bells in my head. I watch him warily, but then the corners of his eyes crinkle and he whips his head away from me to choke on a... giggle.

My mouth twitches in a smile that I desperately attempt to stomp down. His laughter is so symphonic, so heavenly, so rare. Worst of all, it's infectious. And, most concerning, the joke wasn't that funny. So I hesitantly inquire, "What?"

Sal takes a breath, tucking a strand of cobalt hair behind his ear. Like he's purposefully trying to display that damned dagger that haunts my every sleeping and waking moment. "There's a punchline to that joke," he croons, eyes alight with such mischief that I brace myself, hold my breath.

"My mother is dead."

The breath I held punches past my lips, expelled in a gag-cough tag team on my lungs, my throat, my fucking brain. My cheeks flush scarlet, the warmth of my embarrassment rippling through my body. Sweat beads at my forehead as utter dread courses through me.

His mom is dead?

"I— I'm sorry, I didn't—" I sputter, rushing to get the apology out as soon as possible. Because, while I wouldn't bat an eye if my own mother left this plane of existence for eternity, I certainly would if my father did.

Sal shakes his head, eyes shutting and head tilting forward as if to say he accepts my apology. "You didn't know," he says nonchalantly. "Besides, it's nice not to have to talk about her so seriously. I wish people didn't tiptoe around the topic."

"They tiptoe for a reason," I hiss, although halfheartedly. I'm just relieved he isn't suddenly snapping at my heels with rage again. "Because it is serious."

Sal shrugs, a calm and relaxed glow to his cerulean gaze. For once. I almost forget that he's public enemy number one for a moment. "Yea, well," he sighs dramatically, hands stuffed into his pockets. "Gave me a reason to scare the shit out of you again. Seeing you ready to kiss my feet and beg for forgiveness is just such a lovely sight."

He does all of this on purpose. And screw him for using me as his comedic act constantly. "Suck it, Fisher," I sneer, feeling the terror in my veins finally transform into muted contempt. The anger isn't so bad, not like it used to be.

His gaze snaps to me, and just like every other time we look at each other, I can't tell what he's feeling as he murmurs, "So long as you consent."

I gulp, ditching what wrathful thoughts had gathered in my fortress of a mind. It's all quickly replaced with a throbbing in my very bones, another tinge of color to my cheeks, and a wild replay of all the times he had his head buried between my legs recently.

Hands clamp down on my shoulders and I flinch with the agility of a cat who just lost it's second to last life-- since Sal has taken all my other damn lives.

"Hey, angel," Ash coos from behind. I peek over my shoulder to see her grinning down at me. But her happy expression doesn't quite meet her eyes. "Sal's going to drop us off at the airport. As much as you two live to hate and loathe each other, we need to talk."

Oh, no. Oh, fuck. We need to talk? That statement never, ever ends well. Does she know about us? Is she about to kick me out of the group— or Sal? Or is there going to be this brutally mortifying conversation about how she knows but she'd never tell anyone and she absolutely requires an invite to the wedding?

I suppress a shudder.

Instead, I purse my lips, tongue cemented to the roof of my mouth as every one of my four limbs goes completely rigid. "I'd rather hotbox in a car full of Larry's farts," I declare, more than ready to do just that. He ate about half his body weight in tamales last night.

Ash's eyes go wide, her brows furrowing as a guilty smirk quirks her lips. "You would rather—" she cuts herself off, shaking her head and looking up at the sky to avoid the giggles she would no doubt conjure up if she looked at me for too much longer. "Just get in the car, y/n," she commands, voice wavering with hidden laughter.

I look back to Sal and take note of the lack of color in his eyes. Seconds ago, they were bright and full of mirth. Now... they're empty. Grave. Numb.

It snaps a little bit of clarity into me, so I do as Ash said and climb into his back seat, right beside Gizmo who chirps a greeting to me. I give the orange cat a smile as Ash shuts my door, but I'm roiling with too much anxiety to do more than that.

Ash is about to have a meeting with me and Sal. The three of us. She's either going to ball us out for fighting so much, or she knows that we're fucking. And if it's neither of those, then I don't know what else it could be. I think the unknown scares me more than the other options.

Ash plops herself into the passenger seat, using the 'oh-shit' handle to adjust herself before shutting her door and buckling. She throws her head over her shoulder, grinning at me. "So," she says giddily as Sal climbs into the driver's seat. "Hot rod, old ass, family heirloom. How are we feeling?"

I raise an eyebrow that she can't see. "It's a car."

"And a treasure," she finishes thoughts I did not have, watching me with eyes that say I should cherish this gift of a ride. "How are you not tweaking with excitement? This thing is older than you!"

"Because it's a car," I repeat, narrowing my eyes at her. I don't want to kill her short-lived joy, but I'm too paranoid.

The car suddenly roars to life and maybe— for a split second— I understand Ash's elation. It might be older than my grandpa (bless his heart) but it purrs like a newborn kitten. I'll give it that much.

Sal mumbles something I can't hear then situates his hand on the back of Ash's headrest, head peering over his shoulder to back out of the driveway. His eyes meet mine for a short moment before they avert to the window, making sure Henry's car is down the road before beginning to back up.

Oh, if I was Ash with his hand behind my head like that, I'd be feeling a lot of things. Horny being the most prevalent. I definitely wouldn't admit that though. 

"Hey," Ash mutters, eyes on Sal who switches gears and begins driving behind his dad. "Are you... are you sure?"

So it's something they both know about? A spear of unease slashes through my gut, a clear reminder of this conversation we're about to have. The acknowledgement of it makes the inside of Sal's car grow thick with tension. It's almost unbearable— even Gizmo's purring has halted.

"Just get it over with," Sal grumbles, eyes on the road and fingers wrapped around the steering wheel.

I swallow thickly, watching the way Sal completely checks out of reality. Something about his position, his unblinking gaze tells me he's drifted somewhere foreign. He isn't here right now— he's simply driving.

"Okay," Ash whispers before turning to me. Her glossy lips are stretched into a tight line, a shadow of grief darkening her angelic features. "Listen," she starts, normally light and airy tone morphed into something a bit apprehensive, sad. "I'm not going to get into the details of this because it's not my story to tell. But Sal, Larry, Todd, and I agreed that it would be in everyone's best interest to give you a heads up... and somewhat of an explanation."

I swipe my tongue along the seam of my lips, my mouth suddenly dry with the worry that skitters along my spine. I say nothing, simply wait for her to continue.

"We are moving to LA to be closer to opportunities, and since it's more fitting for our streaming careers," She tells me, viridian gaze zeroed in on mine. "But there's another, more pressing reason as to why we're moving."

I nod along, waiting, biting my tongue in nervous anticipation. This is where I crumble to ruins, right? When every bad decision I've made comes crashing down around me. I mentally brace myself, fingers closing around the door handle a bit tighter.

"There's a... woman." Sal's hands tighten around the steering wheel, unknowingly mimicking my own actions. "She really hurt Sal. She was put in prison for two years, but... she's being released next week. We don't want Sal to be near her, nor do we want to be near her."

Every bit of air leaves my lungs upon hearing Ash's words. Two years? What the hell did she do to him? I glance at Sal through his rearview mirror, noting how he stares disinterestedly through the windshield.

A kind of emotion I can't quite explain rushes through me. It's understanding, shared grief, fury, sorrow. None of it is aimed at him. It's for him. And part of me aches to avenge him, to find this girl and make her hurt the way she made him hurt.

The truth of it is painful, like some part of me is slowly being ripped apart from my body. It's all so unfamiliar. I can't understand why I feel so strongly about it, especially since I don't even know what this unknown woman has done. The sudden influx of emotions and undeciphered realization that's suddenly hit me overpowers every one of my brain neurons, but I make quick work to try and break everything down.

Now, I understand why he was willing to give me anything so long as I agreed to sex the other night. It was as much of an escape for him as it was for me. I wasn't the only one who needed a distraction.

I feel everything so deeply right now, and assessing the depth of all this emotion makes me realize that I must care for Sal a lot more than I originally thought I did.

Ash lets me mull over the information before speaking again. I feel my heart rumbling, echoing through the hollowness in my chest as she spills more to me.

"The reason we're telling you this at all is specifically because there are people shipping you and Sal together online. Of course, the focus on whatever the hell is going on with you and North has taken some of the heat away from you and Sal— but there's still enough going around that it's worth warning you." I suck in a shaky breath. "This woman has been known to target other women who have a close relationship to Sal. It's all via stalking online and harassment, but it's something I don't want you to have to go through. Something none of us want you to go through."

I'd take it all if it meant I'd get to enact revenge. For myself. For Sal. For both of us. I don't know.

Ash must see it on my face; the tidal wave of emotions that keep crashing into me relentlessly. She gives me a knowing look, a sad smile as if to say she understands. "So, keep us in the know, okay?" She says sweetly, reaching back with her hand, opening it for me. I blink, clutching her warm palm in mine. "If anyone messages you and it's really shitty, or if Sal is mentioned or something, tell us. We'll figure it out." She squeezes my hand, thumb running over my skin. "You aren't alone."

My eyes flit over to Sal again, trying to catch his gaze in the mirror. It almost seems as if he's avoiding me. I try to tell myself it's because he's driving, obviously, but it doesn't feel that way. He doesn't even bother to check if there are any cars behind us, just robotically stares ahead with the air condition gently ruffling his hair. Sleeping with Sirens softly playing on his radio.

My gaze drifts to him throughout the rest of our thirty minute drive to the airport right outside of Nockfell. I can't help myself. Can't help the weight that burdens me.

Eventually, Sal looks down from the windshield to shift his car to park once we get into the parking lot. Then he looks to Ash, gestures for her to get out of the car. And Ash, ever the goddess, snorts before opening her door.

I turn to Gizmo, stick my finger through a slit in his carrier, and scratch under his chin before parting ways, preparing to leave through the door that Ash has opened for me.

"Okay," Ash sighs, a cheery lilt in her voice. "Enough of the bad, more of the rad. It's moving time."

Sal throws open his door before it can even fully unlatch, a man desperate to escape the horrors of his past. The sight causes a twinge of pain in my chest, but I ignore it. I can contemplate this conversation when I'm safe on our plane and have nothing better to do.

I warily walk into the parking lot, surfacing beside Larry who has a blanket bunched in his arms and a pair of headphones around his neck. Something tells me his flight is going to be nice.

Larry takes note of me and throws an arm over my shoulder, offering me a sleepy grin that I try my best to fully return The comfort of his somewhat embrace is needed though. I'm still feeling the whiplash of the conversation I sat in on for the ride here.

I gently grab Larry's wrist and hold on, his thumb comfortingly rubbing over the inside of my palm.

"I think I've got everyone's bags ready to go," Henry says with a little sigh, hands on his hips and cheeks colored pink from handling everyone's luggage. I spot the backpack I came with and watch as Neil scoops it up, throwing a strap over his shoulder.

"I can't believe we're leaving," Ash mutters from beside me, frowning at Henry and Lisa. Her parents didn't come along to tell her goodbye. I hadn't asked her about it because the stress of moving is already enough on her shoulders, but I can't begin to imagine how painful the situation must be for her. I remember how tough it was for me to realize my mom didn't want to be a part of my life anymore-- at least, she 'wanted' to be a minuscule part of my life but not for the right reasons.

Henry smiles warmly at her, walking over to ruffle her hair. "You've said that about fifty times in the last 24 hours, squirrel." His dad chuckle follows and I find myself subconsciously smiling at their interaction. Henry became a stand-in dad for Ash the same way Lisa became a stand-in mom for me. Realizing this brings me some solace. It's a little sliver of light in the darkness of my overwhelmed mind. 

Ash smacks her lips then purses them, trying and failing to hide her affectionate smile. "I know, I know," she fusses, running lithe fingers through her chestnut hair. "It just... doesn't feel real. I've lived in Nockfell for so long."

"And I would be failing all of you if I let you stay here any longer," Henry says gently, helping Ash with her hair by tucking a strand behind her ear. "You're all blowing up. Your options and resources are astronomically limited here. We, as parents, don't raise you to walk in our footsteps. We raise you to walk beyond the path we tread. You're all doing that." Henry's gaze passes over all of us, his eyes watery with a mixture of torment and pride. "So I want you to thrive somewhere that you have a chance to exploit your gifts--" Another sweet smile and I'm getting emotional alongside him. I didn't think I'd wake up this morning with a constant lump in my throat. "Just come visit every once in a while, 'kay?'

Larry's arm flexes around my shoulders and I blink past my tears, squeezing his wrist in my hold. I watch as Sal walks up beside Ash, a hand grasping her shoulder as her bottom lip begins quivering.

I didn't expect this to be so... hard. I knew it'd kill me to leave Nockfell a second time, but taking my old friends with me and having to part with people who have slowly become family is deeply gut-wrenching.

I've learned a lot on this trip. I saw so many things that make it hard to leave because I'm afraid of never seeing them again. I found out that Sal Fisher has a heart, and it's a pretty good one. He has issues, some of which have no doubt influenced his personality, but he's not soulless. He can be kind, he can be funny, he can be a friend. And Henry has clearly been a large influence on the good parts of Sal-- his father is the most selfless person I've ever met, gentler than a mother with her newborn. He has a heart of gold with morals and values that defy modern humanity. The moment Sal took my face into his hands and averted my attention during a panic reflected all the things his father has taught him-- all the warmth he has that he's hidden for so long. Hidden from me.

Looking at Sal now, noting his hand that tenderly runs over the back of Ash's head in nearly the same way Henry did, just reinforces the difference I've observed.

Ash wraps Henry up in a crushing hug, squeezing the man close to her. And he doesn't seem to mind-- in fact, he holds her just as tight. The man presses a kiss to her hair before moving over to hug his son.

We all hug Henry and Lisa, our parting about as heart-wrenching as an ASPCA commercial. But the bright side is that we know we'll see each other again. With our jobs in the streaming industry, we'll have enough money to make frequent trips.

Lisa holds me for a long time, her head rested atop mine and her fingers threading through my hair. Giving me the mother-like comfort that I crave every now and again. And Henry, he presses a kiss to my head the same way he did for everyone else. It's a soothing relief to know that I matter as much to him as the rest of The Faces do.

As I break away from my embrace with Henry, I watch Sal pull Ash to him, his hand cupping the back of her head and holding her close. I can't quite describe the kind of emotion that zaps me when he pulls his dad's signature move and presses his prosthetic lips to Ash's forehead. It's such a precious moment to witness. Ash's response makes it even sweeter; she playfully swats at his arm before leaning down a tad to kiss the cheek of his mask.

I can't help but smile fondly at their sibling-like affection, even if it echoes a bit in the hollowness inside me. I want to be cherished so badly in this moment, to be loved the way this family loves each other.

Sal moves around, hugging Larry, Todd, and Neil before taking a step back as everyone prepares to say their final goodbye's.

The disheartened smile doesn't leave my face as everyone mutters saddened parting words. But I spare a glance at Sal to find him watching everyone the same way I am. His eyes are squinted, the sole indication of his smile beneath that prosthetic.

My breath catches when his eyes, a crystal clear image of the overcast sky today, meet mine. He simply looks at me for a moment, then holds up a hand, middle finger on display.

I blanch, oxygen rushing back into my lungs, filling the void I've refused to acknowledge. Compared to his refusal to even come to the airport in Vegas, I'd say this is a step up.

I bite down on my bottom lip in an attempt to disguise the smile that pulls at my lips and the fluttering in my chest as I flick him off in return.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Dragging my backpack onto this rickety airplane takes a lot of guts. It's so run down and beat up that I can't help but wonder if Amelia Earhart was the last person to sit in the pilot's seat. But hey, if I go missing, I'd be solving a lot of problems. Win-win?

I walk down the skinny aisle, pausing to find my seat-- only to realize that Todd and I are riding together for this trip.

I smile warmly at my dear friend, scooting past him and toward the window seat.

Sighing, I plop into my seat and fasten my seatbelt. "Hey, Todd. It's a shame you and Neil got separated."

Todd tips his head in a silent greeting, a little smile on his freckled face. "Not a shame at all. This is his punishment," he replies nonchalantly. I simply blink at him while fighting off an onslaught of giggles. They seem like the type to have random arguments and disagreements every once in a while. They're totally the couple that fully believes their hiccups make their relationship fun, too.

"I stand corrected then," I chuckle as I pull my phone from my pocket. "Just so you know," I continue, leaning toward him to whisper, "I'm on your side."

Todd laughs, the sound much like bells tolling on a lovely spring morning. He pats my wrist, gives it a little squeeze. "As you should be."

I give him another quick smile before looking at my phone.

I probably shouldn't message Sal. I should just leave it be. I'm not obligated in any way, shape, or form, but... the whole situation is weighing on me. I won't be able to stop thinking about our conversation until I extend my hand-- in whatever weird way that I can given this situation Sal and I have found ourselves in.

And, yes. Of course my messaging him is a split second decision that I'm bound to regret. I feel... closer to him. Like we've bonded somehow. 

Famous last words.

This is a true fool's rose-tinted glasses because Sal is complicated. All of this is complicated and I'm probably mistaking my relation and guilt for his traumas as us forming a connection. 

I swallow over the nerves that ravage me whole and pull up discord, clicking on Sal's and my private messages. His last text to me altered our entire situation. It started all of this:

SALLYFʌCɜ: i wouldn't have made the promise if i didn't intend on keeping it. watch what you say and give ash five minutes to remember that you're in the room. actually, give her brain a boost. SALLYFʌCɜ: come here.

I chew on my bottom lip, contemplating his last message to me before typing up a quick message. I want it to be simple, easy, done. Without considering the past too much.

But I end up typing, deleting, and retyping up until our pilot announces that all passengers are boarded.

My fingers quake as I type up my last attempt and use every bit of willpower to refrain from deleting it all over again. My thumb hovers over the 'send' button and I force myself to look away, quickly smashing the button and pursing my lips as embarrassment rips me to shreds.

I spare a glance down.

VIOLETVIOLENCE: i'm good for more than just fucking if you need a reminder

Why the fuck did I say that? Why couldn't I be normal and just tell him I'd listen to his problems?

He starts typing.

I slap my phone face down onto my thighs and refuse to breathe for a full minute and a half. I take the time to build up the confidence to look, give myself a pep talk. I don't really care how stupid it was. It's done-- I can't change it. It doesn't matter and I don't care.

So with my heart knocking on my ribcage, I hesitantly lift my phone and look down.

SALLYFʌCɛ: i know. SALLYFʌCɛ: thank you

The guiltiest grin blooms on my face. I try my absolute hardest to smash the expression down, to tell myself that his appreciation isn't that serious. That this is just basic human decency. But, damn, something about the way he bothered to say 'thank you' instead of just 'thanks' or even nothing at all...

I put my phone on airplane mode then shut it off, look out the window as our plane begins to power up.

"Hey," Todd suddenly says, his voice inquisitive and a little concerned. "So, sorry if this is prying too much but it's kind of fucking killing me."

I turn my head to look at him, brow raised at his tone. "Don't worry about it," I murmur. "What's up?"

His dark eyes stare into mine-- deeply, investigating my soul like some kind of spiritual detective. I can't help but squirm beneath his heavy gaze, waiting for him to share his thoughts.

He starts slowly shaking his head. "I can't tell which one you're fucking."

Mentally, my eye is twitching.

I catch the shocked cough that almost escapes my mouth. Fear claws its way up my spine as I search through filing cabinets full of words in my head. "Uh," I intellectually start with. "Who says I'm fucking someone?"

Todd blinks, something like clarity morphing his features-- like he just got his answer. "Because you have North bricked up in the supply room of Henry's music store and Sal tracking your every movement like a dog salivating over a steak."

My mouth opens and closes silently up until my mental filing cabinet of words flies open and forces unintelligible sounds and words to fly through my mouth. I choke over my panic and slap a hand over my mouth, watching him with wide eyes.

Part of it is absolute amusement and disbelief over Todd's claims, but the other half of me is petrified by the fact that he sniffed me out immediately. Well, he's trying to, at least.

"I'm sorry?" I snort, my words muffled due to the hand that stays clutched to my mouth.

Todd gives me a no-bullshit look. "I won't say anything," he promises with a shrug. "I know I outted you in Vegas, but that's why I'm discussing the situation with you first this time."

"I'm not--" I pause, dropping my hand from my mouth to properly speak to him. I'm trying to school this and keep the terror out of my gaze, but I think he already knows. "I'm not fucking anyone," I declare, tilting my head down to accentuate my claim.

Maybe he'll buy it. I need him to buy it, actually.

It's not that I don't trust Todd, it's just that I know what he's going to say. It's the same thing anyone in The Faces would tell me-- the same thing Sal has insinuated repeatedly. That I shouldn't be fucking him. I want to avoid that because I already know. I don't want anyone else burying themselves in whatever the hell is going on because I don't even fully understand it myself.

This group is tight-knit. They care. They care so much that they would immediately tell me and Sal to end things and forget it ever happened because fuck buddies are 'toxic' and we 'hate' each other. But with Sal and me, it transcends all of that. We don't have half the issues we started out with, not to mention, our arrangement is working fine. And I'll admit that Sal is the farthest thing from shallow. There are so many twists and turns in his maze of a mind that I'm urged to navigate through it.  

Maybe we're nothing remotely close to normal, it's the complete opposite of what constitutes as tradition. But everything before this pales in comparison. God forbid he hear my thoughts, but Sal is becoming a friend. I had to quickly accept that notion the moment I got defensive over his trauma. 

Todd smacks his lips, a clear sign that he doesn't believe a word I've said. "Fine," he sighs. He seems a bit disappointed... but understanding. Todd loves drama, but he's thoughtful as well. He won't push me to talk if I don't want to. And let's face it, I'm sure he's already set on his opinion of the topic. The only thing he doesn't have is my confirmation. 

"Just be careful, okay?" Todd's brows furrow a bit, a small frown pulling at his lips. "I know it isn't my business, but some secrets are a lot worse than you'd imagine. Fuck who you want, just don't get close enough to get wrapped up in feelings you'd regret."

Apprehension wraps its bony, ashen fingers around my heart and chokes the life out of it. I stare at Todd with wide eyes that have reacted of their own accord. I clench my teeth and think hard about how to organize my thoughts into something comprehensible. 

"Is there something I should... know? About either or both of them?" I decide to ask, clearing my throat when my words come out whispered and hoarse, tangled with anxiety.

Todd presses his lips together, showing off his short temper. "I literally just told you they have secrets and to watch yourself. Read between the lines, y/n. Shakespeare should have taught you as much."

The pounding of my heart dies down a bit at Todd's rushed, frustrated sarcasm. The tension and fear are slowly dissipating, so I'll take Todd's claim to mean that he's just worried for me. North's and Sal's secrets can't be so bad-- everyone has baggage. And I mean, Sal's quite literally been through the wringer. An accident so bad it marred his face, a shitty woman who hurt him, and a dead mother. It can't get that much worse, can it?

I scoff playfully. "I hate Shakespeare. He was the worst person to choose for a comparison, Todd," I say gently, giving him a hesitant smile.

That sets Todd off. For the rest of our two hour flight, he argues with me about Shakespeare's genius. He made some pretty legit claims, saying that Shakespeare knew just how to throw backhanded comments to petty royals who didn't have smarts to decipher the true meaning. That Shakespeare was damn lucky he didn't get killed-- unless he was! 

Yep, a whole debacle on his death came from that. It kept me entertained though. More importantly, it distracted me from Sal who, now that we've landed and are heading to our new apartments, I can't help but worry about.

Ash is sitting beside me watching the buildings of LA pass us by. She squeezes my hand here and again, smile widening when we come across landmarks she spent her own time searching up. It's so sweet-- all the places Ash couldn't visit on her first trip here are all available to her now.

Meanwhile, Larry's animatedly chatting with our Uber driver-- somehow he happened upon the topic of Speedos. Interestingly enough, our driver seems more than happy to let our friend talk. Neil chimes in here and again to add to Larry's outlandish remarks, making the driver nod in agreement or chuckle.

I watch the streets, slowly beginning to recall all the times I've walked these sidewalks within the past year. All my surroundings are starting to become familiar. 

It's comforting knowing I won't be walking these streets alone anymore.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

I set my backpack on the floor, taking in the wide expanse of Sal and Larry's brand new living room. It's enormous; tall ceilings to accompany the loft to one side of the room, then a wall of windows with balcony doors across from me. As modern as it is, it has a nice, darker touch to it. The floors are grey oak, the walls a charcoal color, and the ceiling is bright white— a perfect contrast to the shade crawling upward.

I lick my lips, trying my best not to gape at the only room I've seen so far.

Larry whistles his adoration for the place, standing in the center of the room with his hands on his hips, inspecting every nook and cranny of his new home. He's but a speck of dust in a fancy cave. "This shit's pretty hardcore," he murmurs.

Neil places his bag on the floor beside mine, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "Didn't you check the place out already, Lar?" he asks, a cheery edge to his voice.

Larry, in response, snorts and waves Neil's comment off. "Duh," he sarcastically answers. "This place has too much pizazz for me to not admire it like a middle aged man admires his new lawnmower. This is ejaculation material, bro."

Todd sighs obnoxiously, but Neil nods his head beside me, handsome smile on his face as he says, "Fair enough."

I seem to have found myself quite the group.

Ash glides her way through the entrance, giving the big room a once over and an approving nod that says she likes the apartment. She glances over at me, gestures with her elbow. "Looks pretty similar to ours, Vee," she chirps, viridian gaze glittering in the lovely sunshine that filters through the big windows. Sal and Larry didn't get an apartment, these dudes bought a house. In the sky. This thing is too extravagant to be undermined with the term of 'apartment.'

And then Ash's claim spins around my head, hitting all sides of my cranium to solidify the fact that we have a near identical home.

My eyebrows bunch together and I blink at Ash. "Wait, what?"

Ash simply shrugs, little grin plastered on her lips as she scrolls through her phone and plops herself onto the floor. She sits criss-cross applesauce and drags my backpack over to her, tucking it into her lap like a pillow. "I'm calling Sal to let him know we made it," she mutters, clicking on her phone a couple times before putting it on the ground in front of her.

I see a pig-tailed, really tiny Sal on her phone. His contact picture. He and Ash are standing side by side, both of them holding up bunny ears behind each other's heads. Ash looks exactly the way I remember her as a teenager. Sal looks the total opposite of what I thought though.

Part of me expected him to be this super lanky, scene kid. I mean, the hair said enough. But he just looks awkward and childlike here. His eyes are big and bright, happy. He's on his tiptoes to try and add some height to his small stature, so he doesn't look quite as short next to Ash. It's refreshing— clearly, he hasn't always been so... closed off, mean, and unhappy.

The call suddenly accepts and I'm forced back to reality, especially when someone who absolutely cannot be Sal Fisher answers the phone.

"Hey, sweetheart," he starts warmly, tone cosplaying as a literal cinnamon roll. Gooey, sweet, and cozy. "Did you guys make it safe?"

What brain slurping alien has taken over his body? There's no way that's him.

I think back to our night in Nockfell-- he called me sweetheart. He's calling Ash the same. Is this the true Sal? Laid back, caring, and gentle? Is that what he was trying to portray to me when we acted as distractions to one another?

"Sure did, mi corazón," Ash replies in a sing-song voice, rocking back and forth. "How are you and Gizzy? Staying safe? What's the ETA?"

I hear a low, content chuckle from the phone and swear I've been thrust into an alternate reality. "I'm fine, Giz is great. He's napping on my lap while I drive. Staying as safe as an eyeless guy can. And we should be there around midnight tonight."

Ash frowns. "Midnight? Why don't you guys stay the night at a hotel? Kinda risky to drive for so long."

Sal hums in contemplation. "My chances of finding a pet-friendly hotel are scarce. It's more trouble than it's worth. I don't usually go to bed 'til early in the morning anyway— you know that. I'll just get our bags down when we get there and save the unpacking for tomorrow."

"Let us know when you get here then," Ash murmurs worriedly. I grab my phone and check the time. It's six in the evening. Is he really going to drive for another six hours? "And please, drive safe. Don't forget to eat and stay hydrated. You literally take, like, two weeks off all our lives the longer you aren't around," she adds, tone much like a grandma fussing.

Sal laughs heartily on the line and my lips quirk up at the sound. "I will, I will," he replies to her, voice lovingly tender. "I'm about to stop to pick up dinner and feed Gizmo. I'll update you later, 'kay?"

"Okay," Ash chirps, satisfied with Sal's promise. "Ik houd van jou!" She kicks her feet after speaking, pinching her lips together and staring at the ceiling excitedly, waiting. Ash and her languages... I have no idea which one she just spoke, but usually if it's not in English, she's saying 'I love you.'

"You too, darling." Sal knows her as well as I do. This interaction is too precious-- I should not have been present for it.

Ash ends the call then looks over at us. "He's in such a good mood," she whisper yells, exhilaration scrawled across her face. She looks like she just did a line of coke. "He never says he loves me too!?" She whips her head to Larry, eyes narrowing as she inspects him. And Larry, he balks; holds his hands up in surrender to accompany his saucer-sized gaze. 

"Is he on drugs? Did you give him something?" Ash asks, raising an eyebrow but never letting up that little glare she has going. 

"No!" Larry exclaims, voice cracking. His surrendering hands turn upward in an exasperated shrug. "Why the hell would I send him on a road trip with drugs? We're talking about Sal."

"Exactly. We are talking about Sal. Sal who likes to party with you. See where I'm going?" Ash counters, tilting her head to accentuate her point.

Larry opens his mouth to argue, but then his brows furrow and he snaps his mouth shut, looking off to the side contemplatively. I'm still reeling over this news about Sal supposedly liking parties. "Okay, I see," Larry grumbles. "But seriously, I didn't give him anything. Hell, I don't even have anything."

"I wonder what the hell has him so cheery then," Ash mumbles to herself.

"It's trauma, dude, I swear," Larry declares passionately, pointing at Ash with one hand while the other buries itself into his hair. He's just had an 'aha!' moment. "He's fucking coping. Let the man cope."

Ash stuffs her face into her hands. "Larry," she says darkly, voice muffled. My hair stands on end at her tone and I note Larry grimacing beside me. "That is not funny."

Larry purses his lips and takes two steps back. I watch him struggle, cheeks going red as his mouth works. Like he's trying so desperately hard to not say something. But when can he ever keep his mouth shut, right? This is King Cockblock. Emo Buff Daddy.

"Sal would've laughed," he says softly, wincing when Ash's head snaps up and she sends him a cold glare. 

I giggle when Ash launches into a full frontal attack, heading straight for Larry who squeals like a piglet. Todd simply sighs, pinching Neil's arm who laughs at our friends.

As unclear as everything is, I know that I can rely on the people here with me. The excitement on their faces just from knowing they have a new start, surrounded by one another. This is solid, this is good.

Ash and I eventually find our way three stories above Sal and Larry's apartment to our own apartment. It's at this exact moment that reality sets in. Not only will I be beside Ash every single day from here on out, but the rest of our friends are in the same exact building. For as long as I've felt alone, I feel stuffed with company and I love every bit of it.

She wasn't wrong either. Our apartment is essentially the lighter, more feminine version of Sal and Larry's. The floor is a dark, mahogany color but the walls are eggshell white, creating a lovely contrast in the room. Our ceilings are still stunningly tall, but unlike Sal and Larry, we don't have a loft. Just a lot of fan room, as Ash joked. 

We spent time having our 'ooh' and 'ahh' moment, exploring our spacious three bedroom apartment and its bathrooms. And not long afterward, we set up the one blanket I brought with us in the middle of our living room. We ordered ramen and had a picnic beneath the moonlight fluttering in through our balcony windows. 

It's a girl's night that I've been craving since the moment I first left Nockfell all those years ago.

Ash ends up dragging me and our little blanket out onto our balcony so we can stargaze. In fact, we're in the middle of discussing Twenty One Pilots's new album when pale hands suddenly drop onto Ash's shoulders. 

She and I both yelp, Ash's arms flailing and her eyes squeezed shut in absolute terror as she flings herself off our blanket. I flinch, spinning in my sitting position to see Sal who's absolutely grinning beneath his prosthetic.

I look past him, noting Larry and Neil hovering in our living room with bags and suitcases surrounding them.

Oh, an important note, all three men are completely shirtless. Even better, they're a little sweaty too.

"What the fuck, Sally!?" Ash yells, sighing exasperatedly as she lifts herself from the ground and walks over to Sal, wrapping him up in a tight hug. "You're lucky I'm relieved about you being here because I would so twist your dick if this were any other situation."

"Thanks for sparing me then," he chuckles, hand splaying across Ash's lower back as they break their embrace.

I've found myself wordless all day. I feel like a spectator-- like I'm not even here with them on this balcony.

Ash ignores his remark. "Why are your nipples out? Why do you smell like a wet dog?" she asks instead, wrinkling her nose and leaning away from him.

Sal rolls his eyes and moves his arm away from her. "Because I've been unloading. Why else?" He steps aside, ushering Ash back into the apartment with a gesturing hand.

She follows his unspoken command, walking through the balcony doors and beholding the sheer amount of smelly men in our new home. "You should have called us for help," Ash murmurs, hands on her hips as she comes to a stop before Larry and Neil.

Sal doesn't answer her immediately. Instead, he looks over at me with his bright eyes that have been phenomenally captured by the moonlight above. He tilts his head toward the door, silently telling me to follow Ash's lead.

Gulping, I lean down and quickly gather my blanket in my arms, trying my absolute best not to express the nerves ravaging me whole. Sal's here. I don't really hate him like I thought I did. And he hasn't spewed insults at me yet. It's awkward and I feel... shy?

I start walking to the door, making absolute sure not to look at him. 

As I pass through the threshold, I can feel the very tips of Sal's fingers brush along my side. Even in LA's smoldering weather, chills suddenly erupt along my skin. I don't know what kind of touch it was-- a greeting or a reminder of his presence-- but it was certainly something. 

I suck in a quick breath, counting my steps so as not to trip over my feet as I walk further into the room. 

Sal follows, shutting our balcony doors behind him and moving to point at all the luggage on the floor. And, oh, thank God, someone was either smart enough or kind enough to bring an air mattress. "This is all your shit, Ash," Sal sighs sarcastically, though there's some amusement beneath his facade.

"How did you manage to fit all of this into Sal's trunk?" Larry asks, gathering his hair into his hands, a ponytail between his teeth. "Everyone else had, like, three bags. Here you are, bringing your entire closet and then some."

"Uh, yea." Ash's attitude comes out full force, a glint in her forest eyes that says she's ready for this argument. "I brought my entire house, dude. I just moved states away, if you didn't know."

Neil cackles, grabbing onto Larry's shoulder for support. "I'm so glad we all moved together. I never get tired of you guys."

Someone get this man out of the room. Neil's a really handsome mouse surrounded by vultures, especially shirtless like this. Sal blinks at him then turns away and-- honestly-- I'm not far from having to do the same.

Ash smirks at Neil, shifting her weight to one leg to accentuate her little sassy pose. "You're going to get tired of us when we finish unpacking our stuff. After that, we're going pack up all of y/n's stuff to haul it here."

Neil tries to mask the way his face suddenly falls at the reminder that we're moving me here too, but he miserably fails. His quivering lips say enough and the group of us can't help but burst into laughter.

"It shouldn't be too bad." I send Neil a reassuring smile. "I'll rope Nate into helping us somehow--"

"Your hot LA bestie?" Ash squeaks excitedly. She turns to me with her hands fisted beneath her chin, her previous attitude mist in the wind now.

My brows furrow. "You think Nate is hot? You? Ms. Scissoring Expert herself?" I can't help but pick on her a bit.

Ash's excitement morphs into flattery at the name I came up with for her. "Oh, come on. It's not that shocking is it? I indulge in men sometimes."

"Yea, every three blue moons," Sal chimes in, watching us with a tilted head and narrowed eyes.

Ash sticks her tongue out, mocking him before she focuses back on me. "Definitely invite the hottie," she tells me with raised brows.

Whatever Ash wants, Ash gets.

I grab my phone without another word and start typing out a message to Nate. Ash watches over my shoulder, her coconut and poppy scented hair brushing along my chin.

Me: hey, i'm moving. help pack???? pls???? :DDD

Nate: I swear I wasn't serious about revoking your brownie rights. You don't have to leave.

Me: LMAO i promise that's not the reason the faces just moved to la & ash invited me to live with her soooo

Nate: So you hate me is what I'm hearing.

Me: --_--

Nate: Lol. Kidding. You know I'm happy to  help with whatever you need.

Me: this is why ur my favorite ex <33

Ash gasps. "You dated the hottie?" I fling my head around to look at her, forgetting she was in on this entire conversation.

"Woah," Larry adds, hands waving like he's washing windows. "You dated the guy who tried to kill you before our stream?"

I shake my head disappointedly, glancing down at my phone to see if Nate fixed my fuck up. And he has, so I show everyone the message.

Nate: We've never dated. I'm not your ex.

Me: but you're clingy like one so you  might as well be... plus you literally drop everything to help me

Nate: Have fun packing on your own.

Me: I'M SORRY I WAS JOKING

Larry's cackling by this point, watching the conversation over my other shoulder. "I'm so proud of you for inheriting my good humor," he squeezes my shoulder in his big palm, causing a grin to split across my face.

The boy's start talking about something that I don't care to listen to. I just spare Sal a couple glances, noting his unfazed and easygoing persona right now. All day, I went against all that my DNA has decided about him. I've worried and sympathized, battled myself constantly at the expense of my own sanity just because he showed some of his truth to me once. 

Nockfell changed things. 

I left LA lustful and I've returned with a friend.

-----

A/N::::: WHO'S READY FOR THE GANG TO MEET NATE OMGGGGGG

so sorry it's been fucking FOREVER guys >~< this was kind of a hard chapter to write. i had a general layout with certain scenes and whatnot but i've had to do SO many transitions, as you can see. I kinda hate that cuz i'd much rather stick with one theme and gently lead into side pieces in one chapter rather than bouncing ALL over the place. but, as you can tell, this chapter was needed to address some of sal's issues, y/n's thoughts and feelings as of current, as well as the way their relationship has changed a bit :3

ofc the other reason i've been gone is cuz of that stupid accident i had o_O for those who don't know, the summary is that i hit my foot so hard it made me faint and i literally shmacked my head on the floor HAHAAAAA here's the update: it's been two weeks and my foot hurts even more than it did when the accident happened. the day of, i got x-ray's and my doc said that i just had a bruise but i'm going to another doctor for a second opinion. i'm literally not even bruised anymore, but still swollen asf and can hardly walk sooooo that's tomorrow's agenda. i'll update you guys again when i find out more!!! (psa, if my foot is broken/fractured before my beach trip in two weeks, the hospital i went to better start counting its MONEY not its DAYS because guess who'll be going to fucking COURT with my DISCHARGE PAPERS AND WORK EXCUSE STATING THAT I AM HEALTHY AND OKAY TO WALK AROUND??????????)

tell me how i can improve! how could i make my transition smoother? what are some thoughts and/or actions i could add in to make things more entertaining and personal? also give me some fun words!! i need to expand my vocabulary >.<

anyway, as always, i love you guys with all three of my working limbs, even my janky foot. smooches and squishes my loves <333

(p.s. sorry for the long ass note)

(p.s.s. sorry for the shorter chap </3)

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Hi! I've been searching for a fic where Derek left Beacon Hills and Stiles ends up with the camaro, possibly when Derek texts him where to find it after a falling out with Scott. I remember he looks in the glove box and finds everything he would need to leave town as well. I can't seem to remember anything else, but the glove box scene has been haunting me.

Thanks for everything you do!

I don't know it. If anyone recognizes it send me an ask or IM. Thank you.

[welcometololaland]

Is it true you’re writing a sequel to The Ring-In ?

If so that might be the best news I’ve heard in ages. The Ring-In is my favourite fic

hello, anon :) it is true. thank you for asking about it!

i'm concurrently writing eurotrip and the ring-in sequel. my goal is to finish both by mid-late September!

i am SUPER happy with ch 1 of the ring-in sequel. it has exactly the same vibes as the first one (imo), but chapter 2 is a little slow going because i have this particular, kinda silly sex scene i want to write and i think i've built it up in my head too much and now it's haunting me. ANWYAY. we persist. i just finished a circuit breaker prompt fill, so my attention is turning back to the ring-in!

you didn't ask for this, but have a snippet from ch 2:

“I didn’t want to mention it before, but my dad just messaged out group chat—” Carlos grits his teeth. “Where’s he taking the Camaro, TK?” “Nowhere bad!” TK protests. “He’s just excited about driving it to some date he’s got tonight. I guess he thinks it’s a…chick magnet.” Carlos snorts. The very concept of his car being used to seduce women is so foreign from its intended purpose, which is to accelerate fast, look pretty and be a convenient place to make out with TK. In Carlos’ admittedly biased view, the only person who is truly flattered by the passenger seat of his car is his husband. “Anyway,” TK adds, now scrolling their shared roadtrip playlist. “We know that it’s basically impossible to get up to anything freaky in that car because of how small it is—” “TK,” Carlos says sharply. “That’s— He’s your father.” “I’m just saying!” TK protests, dropping his phone into his lap as his left hand flails about demonstratively, “We’ve tried to do road head like, seven times, and—” “You’ve thrown your neck out?” TK throws him a dark look. “No need to rub it in. Last time it needed a lot of ibuprofen.” “Yes, as the almost-beneficiary of road head, I would know.”

thank you for being curious about this fic, it's always such a compliment when people ask!

[fireside-fanfics]

In the Next Lifetime

Based on this prompt.

The Camaro rumbled under Billy Hargrove’s hands as he gripped the wheel, his knuckles white against the cracked leather. Hawkins had never felt so suffocating. The endless rows of houses, the distant glow of Starcourt Mall still faintly visible, even after the fire, all felt like a trap.

But the real prison wasn’t the town. It was his memories.

“I loved you in this lifetime, but I won’t make that mistake in the next.”

The words echoed in his head, sharper than any scream he’d heard in the Upside Down. Her voice, broken but resolute, haunted him like the ghosts of the Demogorgons he’d barely escaped. Billy didn’t know if it was the Mind Flayer’s lingering venom or his own guilt that made his chest ache when he thought of her—the girl who’d seen through his armor.

Lucy Winters had come into his life like a summer storm, all bright laughter and relentless kindness. She wasn’t like the other girls who flirted and giggled at the edge of the pool while he lifeguarded. Lucy had been different. She called him out on his bullshit, refusing to let him hide behind his smirks and swagger. She saw the broken boy hiding behind the bravado, and for reasons Billy would never understand, she cared.

But Billy ruined it—the way he ruined everything good that touched his life. The Mind Flayer had taken his body, but his anger had done the rest. He hurt her in ways he couldn’t undo, with words sharper than knives and actions that made her tears fall like rain. And still, she’d stayed—until she didn’t.

“Billy,” she’d said the night she left, standing in the driveway of his father’s house with her shoulders squared and her heart in her throat. “I can’t save you if you won’t let me. I loved you in this lifetime, but I won’t make that mistake in the next.”

Billy had laughed then, a hollow, bitter sound that didn’t reach his eyes as he said, “There won’t be a next time, Winters. This is it.”

She’d stared at him for a long moment, her expression softening just enough for him to see the pain he’d caused. “I hope you’re wrong, Billy. I hope you find peace, even if it’s not with me.”

He hadn’t said anything as she got into her car and drove away. He hadn’t stopped her, hadn’t told her that she was the only person who’d ever made him feel like he was more than the sum of his mistakes. He’d just watched her taillights fade into the night and told himself he didn’t care.

Now, as he sped down the empty road leading out of Hawkins, he wondered if he’d ever stop caring. The radio crackled with static, the ghost of a song he couldn’t place filtering through the speakers. The sky above was painted with streaks of orange and purple, the last light of day slipping away like sand through his fingers.

Billy thought about Lucy’s words, about the next lifetime she’d spoken of so confidently. He’d never believed in things like reincarnation or second chances, but if such a thing existed, he knew one thing for sure: she deserved better. Better than him. Better than the boy who’d been too afraid to love her the way she deserved.

As the Camaro roared into the night, Billy let the memory of her go, his grip on the wheel loosening as he whispered to the wind, “I hope you’re wrong, Lucy, but if there is a next time … I’ll get it right.”

[dropofbittersea]

Stiles could feel Derek’s blistering fingers against the small of his back, the ache in his body easing away. He didn’t say anything as Derek moved past him, leading them out to the gravel driveway where the Camaro was parked. He knew he shouldn’t look back. He could already feel how his hair was standing up on the back of his neck. He tried to take deep breaths, but there was a terrible pressure against his chest, one that threatened to build until he fucking turned around. He doesn’t want to, but he feels like he will die if he refuses. He dug his toes into the soft ground, pausing in his step as he finally gave in. He turned slowly, his heart in his throat now. He catches her standing in the doorway, the marred, burnt corpse he envisioned all those years ago.

He didn't realize he had vomited until Derek was at his side, voice slightly panicked, “Stiles, what’s wrong?”

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, the back of his hand coming up to wipe at his mouth. His throat burned with the acidity, fresh tears falling down his cheeks as he said, “Derek, I think your house is haunted.

or Stiles sleepwalks and wakes up in all of the haunted places of Beacon Hills

[helsgcddess]

— VEILED SPARKS; iii

READ ON AO3 || PINTEREST BOARD (in the works)

summary: "You should be more careful about what you draw, Toria." In which an artist with a knack for seeing things she shouldn't meets a suspiciously perfect stranger with glowing blue eyes and a possessive yellow Camaro. Set during ROTF.

pairing: bumblebee/original character

word count: 3.1k

a/n— y'all.... the way this chapter wrote itself?? like one minute i was like "lets write toria being high and gay panicking about brooks" and suddenly it's 4am and i have 3k words of her being a disaster??? also yes, jayde ( @morbid-personality ) is absolutely going to be the "what if he's a robot tho" friend and honestly? we love her for it. also also, bumblebee needs to chill with the stalking but like... he won't bc he's Like That (chapter 4 might come sooner than expected bc these two won't leave me alone send help)

warnings — weed use, anxiety/mental health stuff, vague mission city references, highly questionable coping mechanisms

I slapped at my phone when the alarm blared. "Shut up, shut up, yeah, I got it!" I groaned as I finally hit the snooze button. The sunlight streaming through my window illuminated the sketches I'd stayed up way too late working on—pages and pages of impossible blue eyes and edges that didn't quite match reality.

Why had I decided to wake up at 9 am?

My brain slowly pieced together yesterday's events as I stumbled out of bed: broken down Chevelle, suspiciously perfect stranger, weird fog-shrouded maybe-stalking, and—

I froze, hand halfway to the shower knob. My car—my dad's car—was supposedly somewhere "safe." According to the cryptic text from an unknown number who apparently had opinions about my sketching habits.

Oh fuck. I was going to have to deal with that after therapy. And somehow not tell my therapist about the return of my post-Mission City paranoia, now with bonus government-adjacent stalkers and cars that moved like they were alive.

I groaned but stepped into the shower, letting the water blast away some of my racing thoughts. After two washes of my hair, I let the conditioner sit while I contemplated how exactly one explains "I think my dad's military projects are haunting me via an impossibly attractive maybe-human" without getting committed.

"Okay, Toria. It's just therapy. You'll do fine," I whispered to myself as I rinsed my hair out and stepped out of the shower. "Just don't tell her anything about him or the car or—" I caught my reflection's eye. "Wait, how are we even getting to therapy?"

I called my best friend after brushing my teeth. She answered on the first ring. "What's up, bitch?" She coughed into the phone. "Sorry, just did a dab."

"You good if I steal your car to take to therapy? I'll pay you in cannoli," I offered as I checked the weather. I grabbed shorts from my clean laundry basket, along with a black sports bra and a Hawaiian button-up that had definitely been Dad's at some point.

"Only if I can smoke you up after therapy," Jayde replied. "You sound like you need it. Something weird happen at the café again?"

"You could say that." I tucked my sketchbook into my bag, deliberately not looking at last night's drawings. "Deal. Be there in 20."

"Love you," then she hung up.

I laced my steel toes, grabbed my smokes off the counter, and headed into the California heat. My thumb ring caught the sunlight as I twisted it—a nervous habit that had gotten worse since mysterious hot strangers started texting me about my art.

I took the long way to Jayde's place, walking by the pier to get slapped in the face by the smell of salt and ocean. Every yellow car I passed made my heart skip, but none of them were that impossibly pristine Camaro. Not that I was looking.

I paused at the coffee shop by her place, picking up our usual: Red Bull infusions with pomegranate and blueberry syrup, topped with half and half. The caffeine-sugar bomb we'd perfected during our brief stint as art school roommates before... everything.

It wasn't until I lit my cigarette, trying to calm my pre-therapy jitters, that my phone vibrated.

Unknown Number: Your car will be parked at your apartment in time for your shift.

I dropped my lighter in the ocean. "No, fuck! Ugh." I groaned, watching my last lighter disappear into the waves. Perfect. Because this day needed to get more complicated.

My phone buzzed again.

Unknown Number: Also, the alternator wasn't the only thing that needed fixing. You're welcome.

"Oh, that's not ominous at all," I muttered, taking a long drag of my cigarette. "Totally normal to have a suspiciously perfect stranger doing unauthorized repairs on your dead dad's car."

A yellow Volkswagen Beetle drove past, and I nearly choked on smoke before realizing it wasn't the same shade of yellow. Wrong car, wrong driver, wrong... everything.

I threw my half-finished cigarette back into my pack and headed up the creaky steps to Jayde's apartment. The whole building smelled like weed and beach air—pretty much Jayde's signature scent since high school.

She opened the door before I could knock, practically bouncing despite being high. "There's my favorite disaster! One slightly beat-up Civic at your service." She grabbed her drink and took a long sip. "Now spill. What happened to your car? The Chevelle's like, your baby."

"Alternator died," I said, following her into her mess of an apartment. Art supplies competed with bong collections for surface space, and her walls were covered in our collaborative pieces from school. "Some guy helped me out."

"Some guy?" Her eyebrows shot up. "Like, a cute guy? A mysterious guy? A—"

"A guy who apparently knows how to fix cars and sends cryptic texts," I cut her off, pulling out my phone. "Look."

Jayde read the messages, her eyes widening. "Okay, that's either really sweet or really serial killer-y. There's no in-between." She paused. "Is he hot though?"

I thought about impossible blue eyes and too-perfect movements. "That's... complicated."

"Oh my god, he is." She grinned. "You're doing that thing where you want to draw someone but can't quite get them right. Show me your sketches."

"Absolutely not." I snatched her car keys from their hook. "I'm already late for therapy."

"Fine, keep your mysterious hot car guy secrets!" she called after me. "But we're totally talking about this when you get back!"

I slid into Jayde's Civic, immediately assaulted by the smell of weed and her vanilla air freshener. At least it wasn't as pristine as... certain other cars I'd been in recently.

The radio crackled to life when I turned the key—some pop station Jayde always left it on. Not classic rock, not engine purrs that sounded like speech. Just normal car stuff. Totally fine.

"Get it together, Toria," I muttered, pulling onto the street. "You've got exactly forty-five minutes to figure out how to talk about your week without mentioning glowing eyes or mysteriously repaired cars."

My phone buzzed in the cup holder. I definitely didn't swerve checking to see if it was another cryptic text.

Just Mom: Don't forget to ask about upping your anxiety meds!!!

I snorted. Yeah, because that conversation would go great. 'Hey doc, I think I need stronger meds because I keep seeing weird lights like in Mission City, and a suspiciously perfect stranger knows things about Dad's car, and I can't stop drawing his impossibly symmetrical face.'

The traffic light turned yellow—just yellow, not that specific shade that kept haunting me—and I tried to focus on normal therapy topics. Work stress? Safe. Mom's hovering? Classic. The fact that I hadn't touched my college applications since Dad died? Definitely therapist-approved discussion material.

Strange men who moved like machinery and knew things about classified military projects? Maybe save that for next session.

The parking lot of Dr. Clarke's office looked exactly like it always did: half-full with sensible cars belonging to people with probably sensible problems. Not a yellow Camaro in sight. Not that I was checking.

I grabbed my sketchbook out of habit—Dr. Clarke encouraged "artistic expression during sessions" or whatever—then immediately shoved it back in my bag. Yeah, maybe not today's sketches.

The waiting room was its usual study in beige calm, complete with generic watercolor paintings and magazines from three years ago. The receptionist, Amy, gave me her usual sympathetic smile. Everyone here still had that same look since Mission City, like they were waiting for me to crack.

"Dr. Clarke's running a few minutes behind," she said. "But she'll be right with you."

I slumped into my usual chair, twisting my ring and definitely not thinking about how Brooks had known things about Dad. About the base. About—

"Toria?" Dr. Clarke appeared in her doorway, clipboard in hand and reading glasses perched on her nose. "Ready to come in?"

Her office was familiar at least—walls lined with psychology degrees and children's artwork, the leather couch that had witnessed two years of my post-Mission City processing, the view of the bay that was supposed to be calming or whatever.

"So," she said as I settled into my usual spot, "how has your week been?"

I opened my mouth, closed it, then laughed. "That's... kind of complicated."

"Complicated how?" Dr. Clarke asked, settling into her chair with that perfect therapist posture. She probably didn't have to worry about mysterious men fixing her car or sending cryptic texts.

"Well," I started, focusing on the safe parts, "the café's been busy. Mom's stress-baking again. And my car broke down, which is... yeah."

"The Chevelle?" Her pen paused over her notepad. "Your father's car?"

I twisted my ring. "Yeah. Alternator issues."

"And how did that make you feel?" Classic Dr. Clarke, always with the feelings.

"Honestly?" I stared out at the bay, watching fog roll in. "It felt like losing him all over again. Like—" I stopped, remembering Brooks' words about the car attracting attention. About Dad's classified work.

"Like what, Toria?"

"Like maybe some things should stay broken." The words came out before I could stop them.

Dr. Clarke's eyebrows rose slightly. "That's an interesting perspective. What makes you say that?"

I thought about the text messages burning a hole in my phone. About the way Brooks had looked at me like he knew things—about Dad, about Mission City, about everything.

"Sometimes I think..." I chose my words carefully, "Maybe Dad was trying to protect me from something. With all those classified projects he never talked about."

Dr. Clarke shifted in her chair, a subtle movement that meant we'd hit Something Important. "Your paranoia about Mission City—has it been getting worse?"

I focused on a particularly boring watercolor on her wall. "Not... exactly." Lie. "It's just—" I twisted my ring again. "The whispers are back."

That got her full attention. The whispers had been my first symptom after Mission City—constant theories about what I'd seen, about Dad's work, about the lights and sounds that didn't make sense.

"The same whispers as before?"

"Different," I said carefully. "Less about what happened then, more about..." I thought about Brooks' impossible movements, about engines that sounded alive, about texts that knew too much. "More about what might still be happening."

"Can you elaborate?”

"You'll think I'm crazy." I laughed, but it came out shaky.

"Toria," her voice went gentle, "we've talked about this. Your reactions to trauma—"

"It's not trauma this time," I interrupted, then winced. "I mean, yeah, obviously there's trauma, but this is..." I gestured vaguely. "This feels real."

The clock on her wall ticked loudly, reminding me we were almost out of time. Thank god.

"Have you been taking your medications regularly?"

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "Yes. And before you ask, I'm sleeping. Eating. Working. Being a functional human despite my various mental health issues." I stood up, gathering my bag. "The whispers are probably nothing. Just stress about the car."

Dr. Clarke gave me that look—the one that said she didn't believe me but couldn't prove it. "Same time next week?"

"Yeah," I said, already halfway to the door. "Assuming mysterious car trouble doesn't get in the way."

I took the coastal route back to Jayde's, windows down and music up—trying to drown out both Dr. Clarke's concerned voice and my own paranoid whispers. The salt air helped, even if every flash of yellow in my peripheral vision made my heart jump.

Until one of those flashes wasn't just my imagination.

The yellow Camaro was parked at the pier, looking impossibly pristine against the backdrop of tourist shops and street vendors. No Brooks in sight, but something about the way the car was angled—like it was watching the road—made me grip Jayde's steering wheel tighter.

"Nope," I said out loud, definitely not looking at how the sunlight hit the black racing stripes. "We are not doing this. We are going to smoke with our best friend and not think about hot guys with government secrets or their stalker cars."

I pulled into Jayde's parking lot, killing the engine just as my phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: Your artistic talent is impressive.

Unknown Number: But maybe focus on drawing something less classified.

I stared at my bag, where my sketchbook was definitely closed and definitely hidden.

"How the fuck—" I started to mutter, when another text came through.

Unknown Number: The Chevelle's waiting at your apartment. Try not to break it again.

I practically ran up Jayde's stairs, bursting into her apartment where she was already setting up her favorite bong—the one we'd painted with glow-in-the-dark stars during finals week.

"Here," Jayde said, passing me the bong and her favorite drawing pencils—the ones we'd stolen from art school before I dropped out. "Smoke this and draw something that isn't government-spy-boyfriend for five minutes."

I took another hit, letting my hand move across a blank page without thinking. Somehow it still turned into those impossible blue eyes.

"I can't stop drawing him," I groaned, flopping back against her couch. "Like, my brain is just... full of him? His stupid perfect face and the way he moves like... like he's never quite figured out how bodies are supposed to work but somehow it's still hot?"

Jayde snorted, taking the bong back. "You're so high right now."

"No but listen," I sat up too fast, sending colored pencils scattering. "He shows up in this ridiculous car that probably costs more than my entire life, looking like some government catalog's idea of the perfect human, and then he just... knows things? About Dad? About my car? And sends these cryptic texts like he's watching me but somehow it's not creepy? Okay it's a little creepy but—" I paused for another hit, "—okay but he's so fucking hot though."

"There it is!" Jayde cackled. "I was wondering when we'd get to the thirsty part of this crisis."

I grabbed a handful of Jayde's Doritos, still sketching with my free hand. "It's not fair. Like, who told him he could look like that? While also being all mysterious and probably dangerous and definitely involved in whatever classified shit got Dad killed and—" I stared at my newest sketch. "Oh my god, I'm drawing him again."

"Girl, you've got it bad," Jayde laughed, taking the sketchbook. "Damn though, if this is accurate..." She tilted her head at the drawing. "Wait, are his eyes actually this blue? That's not natural."

"Nothing about him is natural," I mumbled around a mouthful of chips. "He's like... too perfect? Like someone tried to design the hottest possible person but forgot humans are supposed to have flaws."

"Maybe he's an android," Jayde suggested, reaching for the bong again. "Like, a really hot android sent to protect you because of your dad's secret government work."

I started laughing and couldn't stop. "Oh my god, what is my life? I'm sitting here, high as fuck, crushing on some maybe-not-human guy who keeps fixing my car and judging my art choices."

"Speaking of your car," Jayde checked her phone, "don't you have a shift at four?"

"Shit," I sat up, the world spinning slightly. "Mom's gonna kill me if I show up high again."

"Drink water first," Jayde said, tossing me a bottle. "And take these." She handed me her emergency sunglasses—the ones we'd decorated with little stars during our last art school all-nighter. "You look absolutely blasted."

"Love you," I mumbled, gathering my stuff and trying not to forget anything important. Like my dignity. Or my ability to walk straight.

"Text me if hot government boy shows up at the café!" Jayde called after me. "I want to know if his face is really that symmetrical in daylight!"

I was halfway down her stairs when my phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: The walk from Powell Street to your apartment has fewer surveillance cameras. Take that route.

Unknown Number: And maybe wear sunglasses. You look... relaxed.

"Oh my god," I whispered to my phone, torn between mortified and impressed. "Are you actually stalking me or just really committed to this mysterious protector aesthetic?"

Another buzz.

Unknown Number: Both. Be safe, Toria.

"Fuck," I muttered, shoving on Jayde's sunglasses and heading toward Powell Street like a good, obedient disaster. "He's so hot when he's being creepy."

I took the suggested route home, only slightly paranoid about every yellow car I saw (which, being high, was probably more than actually existed). The sunglasses helped with both the sun and my dignity, even if I kept wanting to sketch the way light bounced off passing windshields.

My apartment was exactly how I'd left it—organized chaos of art supplies and half-empty coffee cups. But there, visible from my window, sat the Chevelle. Looking... better? The paint seemed shinier, and something about it felt more alive.

"Nope," I told my reflection as I changed into my work clothes. "That's the weed talking. Cars don't look 'more alive.' Get it together."

I threw my hair up in a messy bun, switched to my café-approved black t-shirt, and tried to look less like I'd just spent the afternoon getting supremely baked while drawing a suspiciously perfect stranger.

My phone buzzed again as I was applying eye drops.

Unknown Number: Your mother's making that fusion dessert again. Might want to hurry.

"Okay, that's just showing off now," I muttered, but grabbed my bag faster. Mom's culinary experiments were legendary for all the wrong reasons, and I really didn't need to add 'death by experimental tiramisu' to my growing list of concerns.

I hesitated at my door, staring at my sketchbook. After a moment's debate, I shoved it in my bag. Something told me today's shift wasn't going to be boring.

The walk to the café felt different somehow—maybe because I was still slightly high, or maybe because I kept catching glimpses of yellow in my peripheral vision. But this time, instead of anxiety, each flash just made me want to reach for my sketchbook.

Mom was indeed in the kitchen when I arrived, surrounded by what looked like an unholy union of cannoli and mochi. I quietly rescued the latest batch before it could become a health code violation.

"Oh, tesoro!" She brightened when she saw me. "Did you see? The Chevelle's fixed! Such nice work too—almost like new! Did you find a mechanic? How much do we owe—"

"Let's not worry about that right now," I cut her off, tying my apron and definitely not thinking about mysterious car repairs. "Friday night rush is starting."

I made it through the first hour of my shift almost normally. Almost. Right up until I glanced out the window and saw a yellow Camaro parked across the street, its engine humming just loud enough for me to hear through the dinner rush chaos.

My phone buzzed one last time.

Unknown Number: You look better when you smile.

Unknown Number: Even if it's because you're still slightly high.

"Well," I muttered, tucking my phone away and fighting back a grin, "this should be an interesting shift."

[bucksaiga]

The thing about loving someone—you have to understand that there are times when they'll be far away.

Right now, Billy was far away.

After Starcourt, Billy and Steve were drawn to each other pretty quickly. When they got into a relationship, Billy was running on adrenaline. He was living on a natural high, floating on a sea of love. Everything felt blissful and perfect and beautiful. Everyday with Steve was an exciting adventure—sneaking around, late nights in the Camaro, handjobs when sex was too strenuous for his body. It was all perfect. Steve was so loving and patient, Billy was constantly in disbelief. The Upside Down wasn't the only alternate universe. Billy was living in a totally different reality from before, where everything was a fairytale.

But there was no happily ever after, and the story was far from over.

Once the honeymoon phase ended, things slowed down. The love was still constant and reassuring, but there was more time for Billy to assess life and his trauma. He'd realized he was burying it under all the excitement and it all came crashing down...slowly, painfully.

First it was the nightmares, then the hallucinations, and then, the jumpiness when Steve's hand would slide onto his shoulder from behind.

It got to the point where Steve couldn't touch him anymore, could hardly speak to him, and eventually, they slept in separate rooms.

The love still hadn't changed. Billy told Steve he needed to figure this out on his own.

Billy would disappear a lot, driving around for hours until sunrise. He would talk to El here and there, for the reassurance that the mind flayer was gone. She even gave him confirmation that he was free, and it was only the memories haunting him, like a poltergeist.

Eventually, he realized running wasn't an option. You can't run from your memories. You have to face them head on.

If he could be brave and take on the mind flayer singlehandedly, he could take on his memories and fears, too.

So he tried. He put on a brave face and he fought like hell. "You're not here anymore. You don't control me. I control my life now and no one can stop me. No one tells me what to do. Not anymore."

Eventually, he believed his own words, and he found his power.

For the first time in 6 months, Steve could feel the right side of the bed dipping and fingers running through his hair.

"You came back to me." Steve mumbled, his lips slowly curving into a smile.

"I can't stay away from you forever, pretty boy."

They fell into a peaceful slumber, dreaming about the new adventures they'd share together.

[mrprettywhenhecries]

stubborn love [b.h]

one. | round and round

Billy Hargrove ✘ Win Lewis (OC)

⇾ w.c. 3.1k words ⇾ warning(s). canon x oc pairing, f!oc, angst, anti Karen Wheeler, flayed!Billy, allusions to chemical consumption, angst ⇾ a/n. It's been a while since I've updated this fic, but I've had Billy on the brain recently and was missing him and Winnie. Thank you for being patient and please enjoy! Comments/Reblogs are greatly appreciated 💚

[ masterlist ] [ win lewis bio]

It had felt like hours since Win had given up on trying to keep her mind occupied and away from thoughts of Billy and the date he’d boasted of having that night, instead giving into sleep despite the early hour.  Though she’d tossed and turned at first, she’d finally slipped into a semblance of slumber when a frantic pounding at the front door roused her like a shot, her heart leaping into her throat at the urgent racket.

Nearly falling out of bed, she scrambled up, grabbing her robe on the way to the door.  Switching on the kitchen light, she unbolted the lock and yanked the door open, not ready for the sight that awaited her.

His fist raised, poised to knock again, was none other than the man she couldn’t get off her mind.

Billy Hargrove.

As soon as he saw her, he dropped his arm and looked over his shoulder anxiously, shifting his weight from foot to foot as if ready to make a break for it.

“Billy, what–?” Win began, her indignant exclamation catching in her throat as she got a better look at him.

He looked like he’d been in a fight, the angry gash above his eyebrow was smeared with dried blood and his rumpled curls clung wetly to the sheen of sweat and dust on his forehead, but it was the haunted look in his eyes that made Win pause–she’d never seen him this scared before—not even on the night Max had gone missing and she’d witnessed Neil’s abuse first hand.

“Billy, what happened to you?” she exclaimed, her voice coming out hoarse with concern and she caught him as he stumbled forward, practically collapsing into her arms.

“M’sorry, didn’t know where else to go,” Billy mumbled and Win shook her head, waving his apology away.

“C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up,” she said, pulling him inside.

Before she shut the door, she noticed the cracks across the Camaro’s windshield and the dent in the dark hood and frowned.  It looked like Billy had hit something big.

“Take your jacket off, I wanna make sure you don’t have any other injuries,” Win instructed as she led him to the bathroom and flipped on the overhead light, pausing to wash her hands before grabbing the first aid kid from under the sink.

“Shirt off too,” she added, surprised that Billy obeyed without a word, shrugging off his leather jacket and unbuttoning his dress shirt.  Any other time he would’ve smirked smugly and made some coy comment about how she just couldn’t resist getting him naked or some shit, and the marked difference in his demeanor made Win’s stomach churn nervously.

In addition to the cut on his brow, his palms and chest were scratched raw, as if he’d been dragged across the ground and Win hissed at the sight, trying to wrap her head around what could have caused it, a nagging worry that it was because of his father.

“Billy, what happened?  It looked like you hit something.  The Camaro was all banged up.  Did Neil have something to do with this?” Win asked, using a clean towel to wash his wounds, gently wiping away the dust and dried blood at his temple, careful not to scrub too hard.  

Billy didn’t answer, letting his eyes flutter shut only to wince when Win dabbed at the cut with alcohol, a sharp breath ripping through his nose.

“Billy, please–” she tried again, kneeling at his side to clean the cuts on his chest and trying to catch his gaze.

His hands tightened into fists for a moment before he forced them to relax atop his thighs and he finally opened his eyes to look at her, a wild frightened look in his blue gaze that chilled Win to the bone.

“I’m sorry.  I’m sorry, Win,” he breathed, his voice hushed–hoarse with desperation–and Win had a feeling he wasn’t just apologizing for showing up unannounced in the middle of the night all banged up.

“I’m sorry for everything.  I fucked up.  I fucked up bad,” he insisted, wetting his lips as he held her gaze, imploring with his eyes for her to believe him.

“If anything happens to me, I need you to know–”

“Whoa, Billy wait–” Win exclaimed, cutting him off, not liking the sound of what he was saying.  “You’re scaring me.  What do you mean if anything happens to you?” she demanded, ice filling her veins, but Billy shook his head.

“No, listen,” he growled, grabbing her arms, his fingers digging into her flesh hard enough to bruise, the desperation in his voice enough to make her hold her tongue.

“If anything happens, I need you to know I’m sorry.  Losing you was the worst mistake I’ve ever made, and if I could take it back, I would,” he exclaimed, pain flickering in the dark depth of his eyes.

“Billy–” Win breathed, her pulse pounding loud in her ears, nearly drowning everything else out.  Why did it sound like he was saying goodbye…?

“Please forgive me, Win.  Please?  I’m scared,” he whispered, his voice dropping toward the end, the last words squeezing her heart.

That wasn’t like him.

The Billy Hargrove she’d known would never admit his fears out loud, no matter how frightened he was.

“Billy, I–” she breathed, blinking back the tears she could feel coming.

Did she forgive him?  Could she?

After his explosion the previous year, he’d stayed away from Steve, from Max and her friends.  He hadn’t been in any fights since Tommy on New Years Eve—at least that she knew of—and he’d done as she’d asked and stayed away from her, though it was the furthest thing from what she’d actually wanted.

He’d done everything she’d said and now he was apologizing.

Even if he hadn’t, in that moment Win knew it wouldn't matter and her answer sprang to her tongue without a second thought.

“I forgive you.”

As soon as the words left her lips, Billy clutched at her, pulling her into his arms, pressing his face to the crook of her neck to hide the way his eyes swam with relieved tears and Win held onto him just as fiercely, as if she feared he’d disappear on her–that she’d wake up to find it was all just a dream.

Before she could ask what this meant for them, Billy pulled back, taking her face between his large hands and capturing her lips in a desperate searing kiss that stole her breath and left her reeling.

Win kissed him back, her fingers tangling in his golden curls.  

“I’ve missed you so much,” she breathed, pressing her forehead to his, their panted breaths mingling in the close space between them.

“I–” Billy began, his eyes finding hers before he froze, his expression shifting, warping into a look of terror as he gasped a sharp breath in, every muscle in his body going taut.

Before Win could ask what was wrong, Billy jerked back, his wide eyes rolling wildly, as if he saw something she couldn’t.

“I can’t–” he rasped, fumbling frantically at the thin chain around his neck, his hand circling the little golden pendant and yanking, snapping the chain and pressing it into Win’s hand before closing her fingers around it and squeezing, fear and desperation battling across his visage.

“You need to stay away from me,” he ground out, springing to his feet and grabbing his jacket.  “It’s not safe– I can’t trust what I’ll do,” he exclaimed, swallowing thickly, silently pleading for her to understand.

“Billy, what?  What do you mean it’s not safe?” Win cried, jumping to her feet as well and letting out a sharp gasp as Billy rounded on her, grabbing her arms, his fingers digging uncomfortably into her skin.

“Promise me!” he growled, his face contorting in pain, as if he were waging a battle with himself, but Win shook her head, standing her ground.

“No, Billy.  I don’t understand!” she insisted, her heart in her throat.

Billy took a shuddering breath.

“Stay away,” he repeated, his eyes shining wetly.

Without another word, he released her and ran for the door.  Moments later the Camaro peeled out of the drive in a spray of stones, leaving Win standing in the doorway, more lost than ever.  As silence filled the night once more, she looked down at Billy’s necklace still clutched in her hand.

She knew its importance to him–the only reminder he had left of his mother.  So why had he given it to her?

“It’s supposed to protect you.  I don’t think it works.”

A shiver ran through Win as she held the necklace to her chest, her heart aching numbly.  Something had frightened Billy to his core, enough to push her away after only just getting her back.  And though he’d warned her to stay away, he had to know that was the last thing she’d do.

The rest of the night, Win could barely sleep, it felt like her heart had been ripped out all over again, and by the time morning came, she was ready for some answers.

Stringing Billy’s pendant onto a fresh chain, she dressed and biked down to the pool, determined to get some answers.  He couldn’t just give her hope only to snatch it back in a matter of minutes and then act like nothing had happened.  

Plus there was the matter of what had terrified him so badly to run away like that.  If he was in some sort of danger, Win couldn’t just sit by and do nothing.  No matter what he’d said to push her way, he hadn’t been lying about his feelings for her.

Reluctantly paying the entrance fee, she slipped through the women’s locker room to get to the pool side–already packed and it wasn’t even noon yet.  Shading her eyes from the scorching sun overhead, she scanned the pool for any sign of Billy, but it was Heather that was perched at the top of the lifeguard tower across from some other girl Win didn’t recognize.

Figuring he was either still in the men’s locker room or in the staff office, she set in to wait, leaning against the building in the shade of the overhang.

A thought had clutched her during the night after Billy had left, and she couldn’t seem to shake it.  What had happened to Billy’s “hot date” he had bragged about?  Had he even made it to the date, or had he been waylaid on his way there?

She knew it really didn’t matter at this point, but she couldn’t help but wonder who he’d been supposed to meet.

The office door swung open moments later and Win sank back slightly as Billy emerged, not noticing her as he walked past, heading for the gated storage area marked with an employee’s only sign.

Waiting to make sure no one was paying attention, Win stepped out of the shadows to follow after, only to freeze when he noticed Mrs. Wheeler approaching.  Assuming the woman was merely headed to the ladies’ room, she frowned when instead she slipped through the gate after Billy, hesitantly calling his name.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” Win muttered under her breath as she followed, keeping her distance and peering around the corner.

“Billy?  I– I understand if you’re angry with me.  I just–I wanted to explain why I didn’t come last night.  It’s not you, it’s just… I have a family, and I can’t do anything that would hurt them.  You can understand that, right?” Karen said, taking a hesitant step closer, but Billy didn’t even turn around to look at her, keeping his back to her and Win’s blood boiled, her anger seething hotter.

So that was his hot, older date, she thought, her jaw clenching tightly, until she remembered that he’d come to her last night.

“Billy, please?  Won’t you even talk to me?  Say something,” Karen pleaded and Billy scoffed.

“Stay away from me, Karen,” he finally replied, his voice cold and hard, and Mrs. Wheeler flinched at his tone, clearly surprised.

“Billy, please?” she tried again, and he finally turned to regard her, his eyes flashing dangerously.  

“Get the fuck out.  I said, stay away,” he said, his voice just as hard.

Karen opened and closed her mouth, unable to think of anything to say before giving in and backing away reluctantly, hurrying for the exit and nearly colliding with Win on her way out.

“Oh my God–” she gasped, clutching at her throat in surprise until she realized who she’d ran into and her bright painted eyes went wide in recognition, guilt suffusing her expression instantly as her gaze settled on the all too familiar pendant resting against Win’s chest and she swallowed thickly, trying to work moisture back into her mouth as Win stared her down, her grey eyes turning stormy.

“I-I’m sorry, excuse me,” she mumbled, tripping over her words, her face flushing redder with embarrassment before hurrying out the chain link gate back to the pool, her heels clacking loudly on the concrete.

Touching Billy’s pendant, a frown marring her expression, Win tore her eyes from Mrs. Wheeler’s retreating form and pushed her roiling anger down, remembering why she was there in the first place.

Stepping further into the supply room, she found Billy, setting a half empty bottle of ammonia back on the shelf in front of him, his outstretched arm freezing when he heard her footsteps approaching.

“I thought I told you to leave,” he snapped sharply, not even bothering to look back, his hand at his side clenching into a fist.

“I can’t say I’m all that surprised that it was Mrs. Wheeler you were supposed to meet last night,” Win scoffed, ignoring his words.

At the sound of her voice, Billy straightened, spinning to face her, surprised alarm flitting across his visage.

One look at him and Win instantly knew something was wrong, concern outweighing the anger that clutched her, churning her stomach and racing through her veins. 

Completely drenched in sweat, Billy’s dark golden curls stuck wetly to his face while his dark cut off shirt clung to his chest and back.  She’d never seen him sweat that profusely, not even during basketball practice.

“Billy, you don’t look so good…”

He took a shuddering breath and the tension around his eyes softened for a moment as he took a step toward her, only to freeze, his expression once more contorting, his jaw flexing.

“I’m fine,” he spat, turning his face away from her.  “I told you to leave me alone,” he growled, but Win’s frown only deepened.

“You’re clearly not fine,” she countered, taking another step toward him.  “Just tell me what’s wrong and I can help.”

“I said.  Get.  Out.  I don’t want to see you any more!” Billy exploded, lashing out, his fist connecting with the shelf opposite him, nearly knocking it over, and Win jumped, flinching back at his outburst.

“I don’t believe you,” she whispered, her pulse pounding deafeningly in her ears.

“Dammit Win, can’t you just do what you’re told for once in your life?” he snapped, glaring daggers at her, though this time she held her ground, lifting her chin defiantly and Billy scoffed, jerking his head.  “I doesn’t matter if you don’t believe me, it’s not gunna change anything.  There is no help for me,” he added under his breath as he stepped around her, striding back toward the pool.

“Billy, wait!  Billy–!” Win called after him, but he didn’t look back, pushing the gate open and stumbling out into the sun.

Lingering by the gate, Win threaded her fingers through the chain links, fighting the urge to follow Billy as he made his way unsteadily to the lifeguard tower, climbing the rungs only to collapse wearily into the seat, sweat running freely down his face as he squinted into the sun beating down overhead, his expression practically deflating.

Fighting back the sob that caught in her throat, Win tore her eyes away from Billy and stubbornly turned away.  If he wasn’t going to give her any answers, then she’d have to find them elsewhere.

As she stepped into the women's locker room, however, she nearly ran into Mrs. Wheeler once again and the thread that was just barely holding her together finally snapped.

“M-Miss Lewis,” Karen gasped, hastily stepping back.  “I didn’t see you there,” she said, bleating an awkward laugh.

“What were you thinking?

At Win’s hushed accusation, Mrs. Wheeler flushed in embarrassment.

“I-I don’t know what you mean,” she murmured, not quite able to meet the younger woman’s eyes, but Win didn’t hesitate, her anger only flaring brighter.

“I know he's like, totally bodacious–” she mocked, her words dripping sarcasm “–and every bored housewife’s wet dream, but he’s eighteen!  He’s only a year older than your fucking daughter for Chrissakes!” Win exclaimed, her voice growing louder and more hysterical, and Karen flinched, backing away from her as she advanced.

“I know, but– h-he’s the one who came onto me.  He said– I thought you two–”

“Oh?  He came onto you?  So that makes it all okay, then?  Be the fucking adult, Jesus,” Win spat, interrupting her and Karen flushed redder.

“I didn’t go.  Nothing happened,” she insisted, but Win was too wound up, the words spilling out of her mouth without thought now.

“You have absolutely no idea what his life is like and all the horrible shit he’s had to endure!  No, all you see is a hot barely legal piece of ass to oggle and project your pathetic fantasies onto!  You should be ashamed of yourself!”

By the end of her tirade, Win was surprised to find her cheeks slick with tears, and she took a shuddering breath, trying to compose herself, her chest tight.

Pressed up against the row of lockers behind her, Karen looked thoroughly chastened–face bright red and eyes trained on the tiled floor.

“I-I’m so sorry.  I had no idea,” she murmured hoarsely, finally pulling her gaze up to look at Win, empathy softening her gaze when she saw how distressed she’d grown.  “Are you alright?”

Win swallowed, her expression twisting into contempt.  “You don’t get to act concerned about me now,” she hissed, wiping angrily at her face before turning and striding for the door, trying not to break into a run, though she desperately wanted to.

Grabbing her bike, Win took off toward Cherry Street, pushing down the wave of panic that threatened to carry her away and instead focusing on finding answers.  Maybe Max knew something she didn’t.

⇾ taglist. @b1tchywheeler @super-unpredictable98 @heartbreak-sandwich @babydollbaron @santacarlahorrorshow @elliethesuperfruitlover @birminghamshelbyboys

[fallofneilhargrove]

Prompts!

The prompts are here! See below for more information.

The event - which is for those of us who wants to see Neil Hargrove pay - will run from October 1st to October 7th, and you are free to interpret the prompts however you want.

See here for rules: https://fallofneilhargrove.tumblr.com/rules

When posting, please tag "fall of neil hargrove" and mention @fallofneilhargrove in the post, so we can find it and reblog it.

Prompts in text form beneath the cut!

October 1: DEATH – deathbed/funerals | rest in pieces (dismemberment/beheading and the likes) | “What happens in Hawkins stays in Hawkins”

October 2: HAUNTED- The Camaro | lingering essence | "I keep seeing his face in the crowd"

October 3: PUBLIC SCORN – neighbors | don’t make enemies of the local knitting club | “I always knew there was something off about that man”

October 4: JAIL – realizations | justifiable police brutality | “He’s going away for a long time”

October 5: UPSIDE DOWN – monsters | show of supernatural power | “What is this place?”

October 6: SACRILEGE – The Wrath of God | crucifixion | “You reap what you sow”

October 7: FREE DAY

[robthegoodfellow]

WIP Word Game

Rules: you will be given a word. share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that start with each letter of that word.

The word that @spaceofentropy tagged me in is... BATCH. The C was the hardest to come by, and my sentences are comically hideously long, so I just found passages where sentences in close proximity started with the given letters!

All from next chapter of Only One Bed:

BAT:

Better get to lifting, Robin had joked, only the funny thing was… he had been? And not even just out of some not-so-subconscious urge to impress Billy—as soon as he landed a job that would require prolonged shirtlessness, he’d started hitting the home gym hard.

…And also stopped shaving his chest, though that had been more of a gamble, inspired by a mundane moment that had haunted his psyche: Billy in the parking lot after school, lounging against the hood of the Camaro, shirt unbuttoned to his navel, gaping wide under the leather jacket—and Steve had lost track of things en route to his car, gaze probing the play of shadows on tanned skin, toned chest, when a wolf whistle jerked him back to earth. Munson, hands cupped to holler Hey, there, Knight Rider! And Billy’s laugh, a silky, flirty sound: How about a little Turbo Boost?

Steve had driven home, gone about his evening, only for that laugh to swamp him again as he sat flipping channels—Billy’s head tipped back, lips parted, hint of teeth—when he stumbled upon a souped-up Firebird mid chase scene. He’d watched the entire episode. Hadn’t meant to compare Billy to Hasselhoff, but did.

The main difference was the chest hair—the thatch of dark that peeked from a deep V of fabric—and why was it only called cleavage on a chick? When the plush curve of pecs, hairy or shiny smooth, was just as… slutty…?

Anyway—yeah. He’d rolled the dice, embraced his inner Hoff, rocked the furry chest all summer.

CH:

If his parents were home, they sprawled out in the den and graciously accepted the parade of snacks ferried in by Steve’s mom, who was less invested in feeding them than catching them in the act. Catch him cheating, basically, and prove himself just as much a scoundrel as his father. Which is why they didn’t retreat downstairs to the rec room when she was around—his mother simply refused to believe they had only ever been and would only ever be friends, and any behavior to fuel her suspicions was generally avoided.

He'd come close to biting her head off when she heard Nancy had dumped him and her first response had been to sigh all knowingly, because he couldn’t expect Nancy to put up with it forever—sharing his attention with another girl.

Almost snapped, but he’d stormed out instead, and it was only later that night, tossing and turning in bed, that her words returned to him and he had to laugh. Because Nancy had been sharing his attention—just not with Robin. Not the way she meant, anyway.

.

Thanks for the tag! No pressure tags for others, using the word... SLEEP:

@ihni, @fizzigigsimmer, @adelacreations

@shieldofiron, @intothedysphoria, @imsodishy