#detached 2-car garage

[nurkussmich]

Porch Side Yard Boston

Large, elaborate side porch design with an addition to the roof

[fishervk]

Boston Porch Side Yard

Large ornate screened-in side porch idea with a roof extension

[sushiprincessgame]

Siding - Craftsman Exterior Inspiration for a sizable, one-story, mixed-siding, craftsman-style home with a shingle roof.

[psychologistproblems]

Large ornate screened-in side porch idea with a roof extension

[prisimic]

Siding Exterior Inspiration for a sizable, one-story, mixed-siding, craftsman-style home with a shingle roof.

[samifeur]

Mediterranean Exterior in Miami

Example of a large tuscan beige one-story stucco house exterior design with a hip roof and a tile roof

[wingedwolves]

Traditional Garage - Large Ideas for remodeling a large, traditional detached two-car garage

[elodiegendreau]

Garage in Richmond Mid-sized elegant detached two-car garage photo

[badaboomx]

Every night (doing you right) | Bada Lee x Reader

PAIRING: G!P Bada Lee x Fem!Reader.  SETTING: Underground dancer Bada Lee is quite the popular girl in town and way out of your league. Or so you think. (Continuation of 'Did I mention') WORDS: 6k PART: 2 of 3

ⓘ This one doesn't have smut, but it does have risque elements. Proceed with caution.

Lusher’s encouraging words were one thing, but the next thing was getting over this strange block that kept you from uttering a single word about the subject. By not bringing it up, it seemed that Bada didn’t feel like bringing it up either, creating a strange and stupid situation that wasn’t entirely hopeless but infuriating.

For example, the next time you saw Bada was not the time or place to bring it up. Lusher needed to bring back a couple of jackets that Bada borrowed her, and so she dragged you with her. Bada was at home, doing some maintenance to her car by the time you both arrived. And just by being in her presence you could feel yourself slowly reverting to when you first met her – nervous, unsure of whether you should be there or not. But when you both were close enough…

“Hey,” Bada said simply, giving Lusher a quick hug. “You look like hell.”

Lusher, who hadn’t slept trying to study, playfully growled at her. “Whatever,” she sounded so tired, too. “Where do I put these?”

Bada pointed her head to the table deep into the garage, watching Lusher go.

Her greeting to you? Bada looked at you for a second, the most subtle smile appearing on her face. “Hey, scared puppy,” she said lowly. “Still afraid that I’ll bite?”

You shook your head, unable to even say anything.

“Then come here,” she said, beckoning you to come close for a hug. 

You hesitated for a second, but still let her do so. It was a quick, simple hug too. Yet it felt really nice, comfortable. You felt safe all over again for that brief moment before you both pulled away. Quietly looking at each other; she didn’t mention it, you didn’t mention it. Bada smirked a little and patted your head as she pulled away fully, looking back at Lusher and talking to her about the jackets.

You stood there, like an idiot. Watching, yearning, debating whether or not to take this time to do anything. But it wasn’t the time, you just couldn’t.

Bada went back to work while you and Lusher left her to get back to it.

But let us not fool ourselves. Opportunities weren’t lacking at all. You both just never brought it up for some ungodly reason. Listen, it’s almost hilarious, let us recount the time.

It would be a whole week before you would get to see her again, however. First off, you were added to the girls’ group chat and introduced to all the girls in the crew, which just grew your social circle just as you wanted. But what was interesting was just how little Bada spoke in that group chat as a whole, despite being the leader. Every now and then she joked with the girls, but by comparison to how chatty everyone was she certainly didn’t talk as much. While the girls kept you entertained, and you were very happy to meet them, a side of you longed to hear more of Bada. That detached presence made her look all the more cool and elusive, but it made you yearn to see her more. It gnawed at you to the point you went to her profile, seeing her social media and noting there was only instagram to check out. As you’d expect, she had only shared a few pictures of herself with the team during practice, some outfit from a competition three months ago, and a clip of her working on a drawing. Not as updated as you wanted to, but it checks out as someone who keeps to themselves.

Truly a woman who was a privilege to witness in the flesh, you’d come to realize. That only made Bada’s presence all the more cathartic to you, especially when you met her again after a while.

Picture this, you were walking down the streets after a class and Mr. Annoying (as you’d come to call him) classmate insisted on following you home. Not walking you, cause that would imply that you said yes. He just had temporary deafness whenever you said ‘Leave me alone.’  Still, you did your best to ignore him as he chatted away and tried to get you to respond to something, subtly throwing an insult disguised as a compliment to get you to shout at him, or even apologizing for how weird he was. But you really didn’t say anything, knowing that because you were the new kid in town he thought he had the advantage to do whatever he wanted.

You were wondering what the hell to do, where to run, until–.

“Hey.”

You stopped in your spot and turned around at that voice that was like the heavens had opened up for you.

There Bada was in all her towering height and imposing presence, wearing a black cap that obscured her eyes and baggy, hip attire that felt just as menacing. That relief washed over your body entirely the moment you recognized that woman, like she was your Prince Charming but better. Behind her were Lusher and the others who were unsure of what to do and kept their distance, but were ready for anything. Bada, instead, approached casually and cooly, getting closer to you. “We’ve been looking for you,” she said, staring at you and then at Mr. Annoying, pointing at him casually. “He’s with you?”

“Yeah!” The guy didn’t like this, but he pretended to be a normal friend of yours. “I was just walking her home,” he lied, starting to back away – perhaps intimidated by Bada’s presence.

Bada looked at you as he said that and you shook your head rather violently. To which Bada only looked at him and smiled. It was an odd smile you’ve never seen on her, but you could tell it was merely to avoid escalating the situation and putting you in danger. “Thanks, I’ll take it from here,” she said firmly and matter of factly, reaching a hand out for you to take, which you did instantly and moved to get behind her immediately.

“H-hey, wait just a minute,” the guy said, reaching out to try and grab you. 

Bada stood in front of him to avoid even getting closer to you, swatting his hand away. “I’ll take it from here, you can go,” she sounded less nice now, with more authority, but spoke low to not create a commotion.

Which the guy had no issues in creating. “How do I know you guys are her friends, huh?” He pointed at Bada with an accusatory finger as he yelled, relentlessly (even if slowly) trying to find a way to circle around Bada to get to you, but Bada was faster and taller. People around you either ignored him babbling or turned to look with a bit of concern. “She doesn’t have any friends, I know that.”

Bada on the other hand, discreetly took the keys to her car and subtly motioned to Lusher to take them, which the brunette did quickly dragging you and the rest of the girls towards the car and hopping in. The guy saw that and started to get a bit more physical with Bada, now throwing his body to get past her only to receive a hard shove from her that sent him back hard. But he was like a desperate, drunken man who kept lunging forward and threatened Bada with violence now, trying to get the bystanders to be on his side by shouting that you were his girlfriend and that these bandits were taking you. The only thing he was getting was the attention of two waiters from a nearby restaurant trying to hold him back and placate him. The girls had hopped in the car, Lusher had started it and backed up a bit so that Bada could make a quick getaway.

But then the guy called Bada a freak and a multitude of… other very offensive things that I would rather not say here. 

The girls heard it, you heard it and you thought Bada would just let it go and get in the car. It hadn’t dawned on you then. But Tatter’s immediate reaction of getting out of the car after hearing that told you everything about it.

Bada decked the man right in the face, cleanly, watching him fall backwards on the floor and pathetically lay there for a second. She was angry, and if it wasn’t for Tatter holding her back she would’ve lunged forward to give him more. You hopped out of the car yourself, just to give Tatter a hand, coaxing Bada to just get in the car. With both Tatter’s and your calming words, Bada only warned him to leave you alone from now on and got in the car with both of you. 

The car screeched out of there, leaving skidmarks and a cloud of smoke and then you guys were out of there.

The atmosphere in the car was tense at first, with Lusher driving off quickly and Tatter keeping her eyes peeled on the road. Kyma and Minah sat tensely, looking around and at the window as if scared that the cops might approach them for what just happened. But Bada was still angry, at least at first. The labored breath gave it away, seated against the other window and almost unable to face the girls after that – unable to even face you, who sat right next to her. 

Just looking at her you were fascinated at this new side of her. Someone so composed, so chill, losing their cool and even looking angry at herself for showing that side to you and the girls. It… made you want to care for her, pushing aside any nervousness you had.

“Hey,” you softly said to Bada, making her look at you. “You okay?”

Bada shook her head a little, taking off her cap. As she did though, you noticed the slight bruising on her knuckles. 

Without realizing, you reached over and grabbed her hand to look at her knuckles and that made you both stop to look at each other for a brief moment. She looked a bit surprised, but you kept going, brushing your thumb lightly across her knuckles. “We gotta get you something cold.”

“I’m fine,” Bada said softly, a slight smile cracking up her stone-cold expression. “Just…”

You looked back up, waiting for her to keep going, placing your palm gently on top of her knuckles.

And she seemed to like that, looking at both of your hands and then up at you with a small smile. “Just keep your hand on mine, that feels better.”

Thump.

That made your heart beat very loudly in your chest, it trembled at the sweetness of that statement, at the loving look in Bada’s now visible eyes. She stared at you, straight to you, without caring if anyone else noticed or if anyone else heard it. Electrifying, tentacling all over your body. 

Then as you guys got further and further away (metaphorically and literally) from the crime scene, the tension lifted. “That was sick,” Lusher laughed out, breaking that heavy air and making the rest of the girls cackle at the suddenness.

Hell, even Bada seemed to find it a little funny. 

It turns out the girls had just finished their dance practice and were just about to drive to eat somewhere. By freakish coincidence the girls were just walking out of the studio and were going to take off, and you had walked right past them without noticing. Bada was the first to catch the situation given the way you seemed stressed and the way the guy kept talking up a storm, so she came to your aid without hesitation. Not thinking it over for a second, just acting on the instinct to protect a friend.

You looked over at Bada, muttering a soft ‘thank you’ to her. 

Bada merely smiled and bowed her head a bit to you. No more words spoken.

I’m almost exaggerating. You both didn’t really speak much for the rest of this impromptu hanging out session. When you all arrived at the crew’s favorite place, you and Bada were just inexplicably drawn together, walking near one another and instinctively sitting next to one another. You were about to sit on your own, until you saw Bada pull the chair for you to sit proper. Then, as everyone was eating, she was taking care of everyone as it was her tacit responsibility as the leader and the oldest member, but with you…

“Open,” Bada said softly, holding a piece of food up.

And of course you let Bada feed you. It was a gesture that made you shy, but it filled you with a lot of warmth. It felt different than how she took care of others in some way, but you couldn’t exactly put your finger on it. Not like there was a space in that nogging of yours to think about anything else but the elephant in the room that you had to bring up at one point. 

One point.

“Hey, you have some sauce under your lip,” Tatter warned you, showing you where exactly.

You looked at the blonde woman, still partially lost in your wordless thoughts, so you unintentionally just stared at her in total silence. 

Lusher, who was the only one who knew anything, laughed to herself while Kyma and Minah tried to get your attention. 

Bada gently grabbed you by your chin and made you look at her while she looked at the stain and kindly wiped it off you with her thumb. A slight graze, her thumb barely touching your lower lip, but it paralyzed you and created a warm flush to run down your spine. “There we go,” Bada said with finality, sucking the sauce from her thumb and returning to her meal like the rest of the girls.

You would have to bring it up at one point…

But that moment wasn’t now, because just like that the moment was gone. When you and Lusher returned to your dorms, Lusher hit your arm playfully and hopped a little in her spot. Gushing over what happened today and how romantic it was, and all you could do was stand there and blush.

The next time you both would meet wouldn’t be for another three weeks, though some interactions were sprinkled in between. Brief moments that were not substantial enough for you to bring up whatever happened at the party, but enough to remain in your mind. 

First off, Mr. Annoying has resorted to never even looking at you, but initially he tried it again. Just like she was called by some ethereal being to help, Bada re-appeared to aid you. Ah, it was like she emerged from the shadows off the Café nearby, standing so casually besides you, but just off enough that she was behind. The guy noticed instantly and just walked away, popping up his collar and hiding his shameful face. When you turned around to see Bada, she smiled. 

“If he gives you more grief, let me know,” she merely said, walking away with what she had ordered. A chance meeting, where you could barely thank her.

He never tried it again.

You also got to know more about Bada through the mouth and perceptions of others, beyond the dance crew. 

Lusher dragged you out of your books and back outside into the real world, getting you to meet someone else from her seemingly endless circles of friends. This time it was a quiet bar in the middle of the week, meeting up with a woman who was like that older sister you would love and hate to have.  A conversation over a pool game had you three traveling to many topics, but it briefly stopped on the topic of Bada.

The woman, whose name escapes you, and who was winning the game, casually chatted while playing. “That Bada has a lot of the girls in the scene thirsty,” she laughed, shaking her head. “Apparently, she’s quite the lover girl.”

You gulped quietly, looking over at Lusher who instantly chimed in.

“How so?” Lusher asked, acting oblivious but having a subtle shit-eating smile and glance.

“Well–.” Smack! Another ball in her favor. You weren’t going to play any time soon. “These are just rumors, of course. But I hear she’s quite the heart throb, a very–.” Smack! Another one in. “Good lover, I guess.”

“Ooooh, really?” Lusher wiggled her eyebrow, looking at you.

But this only made a strange gut feeling emerge for you.

“Bada’s a good dancer,” the woman shrugged. “So, you can do the math. It figures she would be a –.” Smack! “Good fuck, pardon the expression.”

Ah, there was a swift twinge of jealousy when you heard that. It was irrational, right? Women that were with Bada before you even met Bada, yet they seemingly had such an easy time getting with her. THAT is what made you feel jealous, as ridiculous as it is. But it’s not just that jealousy, is it? It’s the implication that Bada has been here before. Bada had plenty to choose, plenty to chase, it was so easy for her and she wouldn’t sit down and think about you. 

But the previous incidents and everything you knew now made it difficult for you to fully believe that and give up. But you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Especially after meeting up – on a different occasion – with one of Bada’s previous flings. This time, Lusher and Tatter were with you. A workout session together at the gym led to meeting with Bada’s fling by chance. The conversation wasn’t naturally landing on Bada this time, but Lusher – who is more invested in this than the rest of us at this point – directed the conversation towards it.

“You know,” Lusher started, patting the unknown woman we don’t really need to describe in the back. “We’re going to have a party at Chocol’s sometime next week. Me and the girls are coming over if you want us to–.”

The lady seemed to pause a little, slowly turning to see Lusher. “Who is going to go?”

“It’s a handful of people, Bada’s coming to pick me and m–.”

“Oh, I’ll have to pass darling,” the lady laughed in good humor, patting Lusher’s shoulder. “I’m in the process of getting a boyfriend, and he’s not very fond of Bada.”

Lusher was actually surprised and now you just felt bad, but before she could even think about anything to say…

“What’s wrong with Bada, though?” Tatter asked.

“That’s just the problem, nothing’s really wrong with Bada,” the lady shrugged. “We just… had a very intense but ultimately stringless relationship.”

Silence reigned but not with tension. Because Lusher and Tatter were standing there still like the emojis, it was pretty funny. I think they both didn’t really understand the implication, but you did. “And that matters because…?” Tatter asked, shrugging.

“Let’s just say, Bada and I never resolved that. And he’s… a little jealous about that.”

“Wouldn’t this be a great time to just… talk it out?” Tatter said, not knowing the entire reason Lusher even brought it up.

You could tell Lusher hated that because her eyes widened to the point where murdering Tatter was written all over her orbs, but she quickly relaxed back to her normal expression. I, too, want to murder Tatter because this means now we have to name this random lady and give her some importance, UGH.

The lady in question, Hyemi, merely told Lusher and Tatter that she would give it a thought and call them to confirm her attendance.

When she walked away, Lusher looked at you apologetically.

Now you truly didn’t feel confident about whatever was going on. Was Bada just after another conquest? Were you just another future fling? Or… was there more?

Tatter looked at you both with confusion. “What… is going on?”

Bada’s car had a strange air to it that night, with you in the passenger seat and feeling like someone was staring dagger glares at you from the back.

The night of the party finally came and you, Lusher and Tatter all gathered in your dorm room an hour before being picked up by Bada. Just as you all chatted away, a text message popped up on Lusher’s phone. It was Hyemi confirming her assistance and asking if she could be picked up. Lusher looked so annoyed by it, and Tatter – who now knew about everything – was apologetic to you both about it. You told both of them it was alright, that there was no need to show animosity to Hyemi. But deep down inside your feelings mirrored Lusher.

Fast forward to you four meeting up outside your dorm complex waiting for Bada. The conversation and the vibes were as chill as Lusher and Tatter could make them, the tension not there yet – or at least something only you could feel. But when Bada’s car slowed down across the curb, suddenly there was some visible tension on Hyemi’s part. 

“Yo,” Lusher said, walking up to the passenger seat.

“Come on in, ladies,” Bada merely said at first, looking at the girls getting in. Until–. “Yo, puppy,” Bada started, turning to see you about to hop in. “Sit shotgun for me, will you? I need a good pair of eyes where we’re going.”

Hyemi looked at you then at Bada. “I can do it.”

Lusher was faster than lighting though, dragging you out from your position and getting in instead of you to block Hyemi’s path. “I thought we were going to Chocol’s?” Lusher asked, just to drive the conversation away from having Bada change her mind. 

You got yourself comfortable in the passenger seat, closed the door and could feel Bada’s eyes on you for a moment too long. 

“We have to pick up Minah,” Bada replied with a chuckle, pulling out her phone to text her. “You guys look good, by the way.”

“Thaaaank you,” the girls all said harmoniously, all sounding just as giddy. 

And you just quietly blushed with a big smile, unable to respond verbally.

Bada put the phone away, looking at your reaction and smiling. “Put your seatbelt on, puppy,” she said lowly, starting to take off.

The silence in the car made it so that everyone could hear that, so you slowly looked back and noticed Hyemi’s look – or what you could see in the darkness of the car. You put your seatbelt on and started to feel that tension among all of you on this silent ride. It isn’t until Lusher and Tatter start to chat it up and lighten up the mood that you felt that suffocating tension let up a little bit. You weren’t sure if Bada felt it, or if it was just you who knew all the context. The tall, elusive dancer just kept her hand on the wheel cooly and let everyone else do the talking. You wouldn’t know, you couldn’t tell.

This party was going to be quite a disaster.

Despite it being a house party, there were quite a few people attending. Yet, this felt like a private little gathering, private enough that they weren’t letting anyone in without someone who knew Chocol personally. For this, Bada personally grabbed your hand and said. “I have to vouch for you, stay with me.” While the girls all were allowed in without hesitation and with warm greetings. 

By the time Bada came up to whoever was acting as the doorman, they had eyed you and squinted. “She looks like a scared puppy.”

Again?! Damn it, you really couldn’t get that look off your face. 

Bada laughed and patted your head a little. “She does, doesn’t she? I’m taking her under my wing, this scared little puppy.”

But when Bada said it, you consistently melted without hesitation. Instinctively, you hugged her arm a bit when she said that, which made the doorman look at you with some surprise.

“So, can she come in?” Bada asked politely, but still as cool and confident as ever.

Without a word and just giving Bada a look that you couldn’t decipher (but it was definitely cheeky), they moved aside and let you and Bada into the on-going party. Good music blared from the speakers, the people were up talking, or dancing,or by the nearest table playing poker, chatting it up in a group near the couch – and god knows what else. It was a brand new world opening for you, it was overwhelming.

And yet, something about this felt somewhat familiar. Like a smaller version of the party Lusher took you at the beginning of this story.

Bada looked down at you and chuckled. “You’re gonna rip my arm off.”

It took you that comment for you to realize you’ve been clinging to her arm like crazy. Instantly, you detached yourself with a barely coherent apology. 

“No sweat, puppy,” Bada laughed, patting your shoulder and looking around. “Let me get you to Lusher and the girls before I leave you.”

You looked up at her instantly. “Leave me?”

Bada laughed a bit more and patted your head again. “Not for long, I just gotta do something.”

And you knew Bada enough to know she wasn’t going to explain, instead she locked eyes with Lusher, tilted her head up just enough in knowledgement and held your hand as she made her way through to Lusher. Once you were near Lusher, Bada bid you farewell and disappeared from your sight.

“W-where is she going?” Lusher asked you.

You could just shrug and shake your head, knowing just as much as they knew. Hyemi stayed put in her place though, even though she had followed Bada with her eyes and was laser focused on talking to her.

Still, Lusher pulled you into the conversing bunch on the couch and introduced you to them, wanting to distract you while Bada was inexplicably gone. And while it worked, every now and then you instinctively looked around for her. Until the people around the couch felt in the mood to play a little good ol’ truth or dare, then your attention was fully drawn to this fairly entertaining game. In the mixtures of truths and silly dares you found solace and laughter, even connection with these people. Your first turn was a truth and you were giving leniency, a question that was safely scandalous but not too revealing. It got people chuckling, it got you blushing, but it got you in the mood of the game.

However, at one point Bada had returned to the group without explaining herself. Cooly just grabbed a drink and a snack from the nearest table and sat between Lusher and Tatter. Without a word uttered unnecessarily besides greetings, she had joined in the game and was soon asked the imperative question. Truth or dare. Without thinking much, Bada shrugged and called for a dare. And because someone up there has a sick sense of humor…

“I dare you to go 7 minutes in heaven with someone here.” 

The Oohs and Aahs weren’t as big as you thought they would be, instead there was quite a bit of laughter. For a second you thought there was a joke you were missing, or perhaps an incident that you weren’t told about. By the way Bada laughed and rolled her eyes it was perhaps the latter. Wordlessly, Bada chugged down the rest of her bottle and without much flare placed it on the ground, right in the middle of the group. With one twist of the wrist, it spun like crazy.

And then it slowed down to a steady stop. The mouth of the bottle slowly came to a stop and your heart stopped the moment you saw it slow down on you – but not enough. It skimmed past you onto the person right next to you.

Hyemi.

The reaction was mixed, with some people laughing and others discussing whether or not that should be allowed, but nothing concrete. Tatter felt horrible and Lusher wanted to eat the bottle on your behalf.

Hyemi, on the other hand, looked anxious about it. Not quite disappointed, but not quite celebrating.

Bada had the subtlest smirk on her before she got up. “Alright, let’s go. Start the timer,” she said, simply walking away from the group and hoping Hyemi would follow suit. And Hyemi did, no words spoken on her end.

Oh, jealousy boiled madly inside of you, but you tried your best to keep in your spot and keep track of the game around you – that undoubtedly continued while Bada was in… those 7 minutes of Heaven. The laughter and chatter became background noise as the minutes went by though. You could almost hear the clock ticking away, chipping off at the time nibble by nibble. Silly dares came and went, sour and hard-hitting truths and the philosophical discussions that came after it persisted and you were just entrapped in your own circle of thoughts.

What if Hyemi decided her chemistry with Bada is better and most important? What if she opts to cheat (well, she’s not cheating yet) on the guy she likes with Bada? What if Bada finds herself more interested in Hyemi and doesn’t… look back at you?

What if Bada gets bored of this chasing around, cat and mouse thing?

You felt like you could no longer stand around and wait for answers to rain down to your lap, not like this. At that moment you stood up and excused yourself from the game, trying to be as discreet as possible as you made your way through the small group of people lounging about. Lusher was confused, Tatter was even more so, but they figured they would get the gossip later. You barely even made it outside of the living room space before you stopped in your tracks in the hallway. Hyemi and Bada were just walking out of the closet from under the stairs, turning off the light as they chatted very… amicably about something. You didn’t know what, you couldn’t hear, but you didn’t care to.

Nearly stomping your way there, you walked up to the girl’s face and you could only hear Bada briefly say. “7 minutes passed already?”

But you didn’t care, nor did you stop to think. You only said. “I need to talk to you,” to Bada, looking up at her and then pushing her back into the closet. You turned to Hyemi who looked utterly confused and apologized briefly before going into the closet and closing the door shut.

Bada was the one to turn on the light, a bulb hanging loosely from the closet’s ceiling. She was hunched over just a bit, the place a bit cramped for her height. The expressions in her face for once betrayed her coolness and showed confusion, but you had never looked more determined. Well, okay, maybe a bit like a scared puppy, but desire was written all over your face and Bada could only catch a glimpse from it before you just went for it.

Cupping her cheeks, you leaned in and pressed your lips against hers in a passionate yet pure kiss. It made Bada’s gasp get caught in her throat, her hands not sure where to go, until she eased into it. She responded smoothly, a hand placed gently on the middle of your back. Not pushing you in, but not pulling away, just letting you lead in this moment of boldness from yours. You, without realizing, pushed your body against hers and made her walk backwards against the nearest wall. With her back against the wall and with you pressed against her, her other hand caressed your arm and the other one pulled you closer in – the kiss going from a rather desperate and chaste kiss to a more passionate one that still held that restraint of a first kiss. Which was surprising coming from Bada, who seemed like the kind of woman to go full speed ahead even in a kiss. But no, she was slow, touching you in the most gentle way, like you were the petal of a rose that she was trying to preserve for as long as she could. 

As much as you didn’t want the kiss to end, you had to pull away to breathe. It was like the kiss had knocked the winds out of you, like you weren’t prepared for this, so when you pulled away you realized just how much you went in unprepared. Your labored breath in no way matched Bada’s; you looked so much more worked up about it that you could only hope Bada didn’t notice. But why were you playing all cool? You were blushing hard, still pressed against her, you had pushed her in here to kiss her; you didn’t have to pretend to be so cool.

But Bada… seemed to find it quite cool, smirking. “I’ll be damned.”

You gulped, looking at her and taking in the way she looked at you. Her eyes were fixed on yours and had a vague look of surprise that you hadn’t seen on her. Her cheeks slightly flushed, her lips so thick and delightful. Something about the way she looked at you had you bewitched, shaken down to your core. You pulled away further, clearing your throat as if to recompose yourself, and then noticed a little tell-tale bulge from Bada.

Oh my, you couldn’t stop staring. A dormant beast that was only half awake and it already seemed to be quite the… endowment. You felt that exquisite, fuzzy pressure in the pit of your gut and it excited you. God, you couldn’t stop staring at it and that amused Bada quite a bit.

“Never seen one?” She cheekily commented, getting your attention.

You looked up at her, probably confused or–.

Then someone knocked on the door. “Yo, Bada? We gotta go.”

You had instinctively looked at the door, then at Bada. It dawned on you that this might have not been the best moment. With a small smile (was… that annoyance in her eyes? a twitch in her lips betrayed her composure but you didn’t know if you were imagining it), she patted your head and walked away from the situation, hiding her hardness as she did – like it was nothing. And just like that, she was out of your grasp.

And while some self-doubt plagued you, there was something there. A sliver of hope that Bada might actually like you. When you walked out, Hyemi looked at you with slight dejection but overall with some respect. Whatever she was thinking about she did not tell you, but frankly it wasn’t your business either. You both just silently walked back to the group who saw the absence of Bada and figured not to bring it up. Lusher was confused as Tatter was, but ultimately they did not bring it up either.

The rest of the night was enjoyable, even if it went by in a flash. A hazy flash that you remembered bits and pieces of, namely the craziest confessions in truth or dare, the tensest games of poker and the silliest dances ever seen on the dancefloor. All in all a pretty fun spectacle that seldom had Bada as a witness, seeing as she had only returned at one point towards the end of the evening party to catch up and drive all of you back home.

The ride back was quiet, like everyone had partied out their energy and didn’t feel like even chatting about it. In the passenger seat was Hyemi, Bada was the one driving and Lusher, Tatter and you were all decompressed and nearly limp in the backseats. At one point Lusher was even heard snoring, which seemed to bring a smile to Bada’s lips. Tatter quietly slept and you pretended to sleep, wrapping your head around what happened. Quietly untangling the complicated feelings you had and trying to figure out how to… well, get some alone time with Bada to talk to her about whatever the hell happened there.

But you suddenly heard a quiet voice break the silence.

“So, what are you doing after you drop us off?” It was Hyemi, careful not to disturb the sleep of those next to you, perhaps thinking you were asleep too. You carefully listened while pretending to be asleep as well.

Bada shrugged at the question. “Get back home, maybe.”

There was a small beat of silence, then Hyemi boldly spoke. “Do you… wanna come over to my house then?”

Your heart sank and you didn’t know how you managed to stay quiet.

Bada responded with silence, eyes forward on the road.

“Bada?”

“I’ll think about it,” Bada said firmly, bringing a full stop to the conversation that Hyemi wanted to continue, but she listened to that implicit command from Bada and kept quiet.

First one dropped off was Tatter, the second and third were you and Lusher. You were nearly carrying Lusher at this point, who was way beat and too sleepy to coherently stand on her own. So, Bada hopped off the car to help you carry Lusher. On the way to your dorm room, you both kept quiet – foolishly perhaps, or maybe you both didn’t want to bring anything up with a half-asleep Lusher. Either way, Bada dropped you both to your dorm. Curiously, she looked around after placing Lusher on her bed, smiling at the homely feeling but not telling you a thing. Instead, you both looked at each other, like you both wanted to say far more than you both let on.

But you both bid your goodbyes and the opportunity slipped past your fingers. It drove you crazy looking at her walk away, knowing that she’s going to be with Hyemi for god knows how long. Knowing the history between her and Hyemi…

You could only catastrophize, unwillingly imagine how it was going between them as you stared at the ceiling. Lusher soundly asleep, almost snoring, and you only hoping you could be wrapped around with the warmth of deep slumber.

Until an hour later, you received a text you never thought you’d receive.

[phie04]

Inconvenience | g. clarke

Chapter 2 - A New Home

Word Count: 1.3k+

Summary: Noa reaches her destination, and gets reunited with bestie number 2

Warnings: swearing, very mild angst / reference to it

“Noa, oi, wake up.” Chris whispered, gently shaking her shoulder, causing Noa to jerk awake.

“Huh? What happened?” She asked blearily, trying to get a grasp of her surroundings as her eyes adjusted. “Shit, did I fall asleep? I’m so sorry Chris, that can’t have been fun for you.”

Looking round, Noa realised that they were in the parking garage underneath their apartment building. The bright white lights were harsh upon her eyes as she glanced round, squinting to get a better view.

“Noa, you were exhausted, I really don’t mind. C’mon, we’re here and I’ve already picked up your keys, so we can get you moved in.” Chris replied, popping the boot to start unloading boxes.

“Have I ever told you that you’re a godsend Dixie?” Noa asked, climbing out of the car to stretch. “God that felt good.”

“Yeah you might have mentioned it and imagine what sleeping on a nice mattress will be like tonight.”

“Just need to source one first.” Noa shrugged, taking a couple more boxes out of Chris’ car and setting them down on the ground.

“Wait. You do have furniture, right Noa?” Chris asked, slowly turning on his heel, to look at his friend incredulously. “Noa, I swear to god-“

“I’ve got an air mattress for tonight, and then I’m going to ikea tomorrow to break my bank account.” She shrugged, putting her backpack on nonchalantly.

“I honestly can’t believe you.”

Noa chuckled, patting Chris on the shoulder. “I would have thought that after 24 years you would have gotten used to me by now.”

Chris rolled his eyes and pulled her into a hug. “You still somehow manage to surprise everyday. And hey, it’s nice to have you less than two minutes away from us again, instead eight hours away in the car.”

Noa nodded gently, letting her head rest on Chris’ shoulder. “Yeah, it’s good to have you guys back again.”

“Are you two having a cute moment without me?” A voice from across the garage called.

“ARTIE!” Noa exclaimed, detaching herself from Chris to break into a light jog, so that she could launch herself at the figure of one Arthur TV. He laughed, wrapping his arms around her as the pair swayed side to side.

“Good to see you Murph.” He sighed, ruffling her hair kindly. They pulled away from each other and grinned, basking in their presence.

Noa sniffed, her eyes welling up. “It’s been too long Arthur, too fucking long.” She said, her voice choked with emotion.

Arthur nodded, taking a deep breath as he too started to become emotional. “You’re back, and that’s all that matters.”

Biting her lip, Noa wiped her eyes and held out an arm, so Chris could join in on their group hug. “The Jersey bitches are back together again.”

“We never were and never will be called that.” Chris muttered, as Noa gently whacked the back of his head.

“Just you wait, it’ll catch on.” She said, grinning. “God I can’t actually actually believe we’re all together again.”

“Agreed. And Noa you don’t know this, but Chris and I are kidnapping you now that you’re here.”

Chris nodded. “It’s true. You’re not leaving our sights again.”

Chuckling, Noa lovingly ruffled both of the boys’ hair. “So if I were to theoretically tell you that I wanted to do a PhD in Yale-“

“Nope not happening, never.” Arthur said quickly, bending down so that he could throw Noa over his shoulder, which she wasn’t too pleased about.

“TELEVISION! PUT ME DOWN!”

“No,” he said happily, “this is a kidnapping.”

————————————•———————————

Noa collapsed onto her freshly blown up air mattress, sighing contentedly. Even though most of her apartment was barren of furniture, decorations and overall character, there was a small glow of hope in her chest.

The place had potential. But what was even better than that was the fact that she had Chris and Arthur two floors below her, accompanied by their two other roommates whom she had yet to meet.

“You sure you don’t want help unpacking?” Arthur asked, setting the boxes marked ‘Kitchen’ on the small dining room table.

“Yeah, I’ll do it sometime tomorrow after the ikea trip.” She said, struggling to keep her eyes open on her mattress. Chris, noticing this nudged Arthur and gestured to the door with his head.

“You want to go around 11 tomorrow?”

“Sounds great guys, and thank you for all your help, really, thanks.” Noa said, standing up to give both of them another warm hug.

“Always Murph, we’re here for you.” Arthur replied, beaming.

“Now go get some sleep yeah? You look in desperate need of it.”

“Aye aye captain.” Noa said, saluting the two of them. “See you tomorrow guys.”

Chris and Arthur waved goodbye and headed towards the elevator, the pair stood in silence, however they could tell what the other was thinking.

“It really is good to have her back.” Arthur said happily, as the elevator arrived.

“And she’s acting like her old self again.” Chris agreed.”

“I think she’s gonna be really happy here.”

Back in their flat, George and Arthur Hill were mid argument.

“Yeah but can she really be that good of a friend if she fucked off to Scotland for four years?” George retorted, as a tired Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose whilst trying not to burn his toast.

“Yes, yes she can.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I trust Arthur and Chris’ character judgement, and from what they’ve told me it sounds as if she had stuff going on.” He replied shrugged.

George however, wasn’t convinced. “Surely if you’re a good friend you’d keep in contact? I mean, how hard is a text now and again? It’s not as if Chris and Arthur were shockingly busy. And having stuff can’t always be an excuse, surely she’d want to talk to them if they’re some of her closest friends.” He ranted from the sofa.

��George! For the last time, I don’t know the whole story, neither do you, so stop speculating.” Arthur said frustratedly. “I would have hoped that you could see how happy those two are that she’s close by now, and used the brain that I believe you have in there to know that she’s not the spawn of Satan.”

George, sensing he has lost this one held his arms up in defeat. “Fine, fine. But I’m not changing my tune until I meet her myself.”

“Yes, fine whatev-“ Arthur cut himself off at the sound of the front door opening. “Be nice.” He hissed at George, trying to re-enforce his ‘no nonsense’ message by pointing his knife at George, but he wasn’t taken wholly seriously due to the copious amounts of Nutella on the end.

“Be nice.” George mimicked, screwing his face up at Arthur as he rolled his eyes.

“Hiya!” Arthur called as he emerged round the corner with Chris in tow.

“Noa not with you?” Arthur (Hill) asked, causing George’s head to snap up.

“Nah, she’s exhausted, but you’ll get to meet her when we go to ikea!”

“How can she be tired after an hour and a half drive?” George asked, a skeptical undertone in his voice that earned him a glare from Hill.

“She only got four hours of sleep last night, and I’m guessing she was crashing from all the Monsters she had.” Chris answered, throwing himself on the sofa and picking up one of the PS5 controllers.

“Sounds as if she enjoys a healthy diet.” George snarked.

“Oh shut up George - he’s been like this all day Chris.” Arthur complained, moving to join Chris on the sofa.

“Are you not gonna use a plate?”

“No…why?”

“Because you’ll get crumbs and Nutella on the sofa dingbat.”

“How did you guys even meet Noa in the first place? Like, I get you all lived in Jersey and went to the same school, but she’s like four years younger than both of you.” George asked, taking a seat across from Chris.

“We were neighbours,” Chris replied, loading up a game of FIFA. “And her and Arthur’s parents are good friends, so yeah that’s all there is to it really.”

“All it took was one summer barbecue when we were kids, then we were practically inseparable.”

“Yeah, she’s like our little sister.”

“That’s cute and all, but right now I’d like to focus on beating Christopher’s arse at FIFA now.” George sighed, picking up the controller.

Arthur TV, confused at the comment glanced over at his fellow Arthur, who just shrugged, but then waved his phone in the air.

The two Arthurs nodded at each other, content at the conclusion they had come too, however uncertain at what it would lead to.

[indigosunsetao3]

Chapter 1

It's always interesting when the new neighbor(s) move in.

AO3 (Full list of tags/warnings. Please check them.) Masterlist 2.2k Words

Chapters 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Celeste offered as a farewell as she slung her purse over her shoulder.

The café was only partially packed at this time of day, after the lunch rush and before the early dinner customers. During the off-season, it was easier to predict the day-to-day schedule; during peak tourist time in the summer and winter, it was a crap shoot on how busy they would be. Too cold and people wouldn’t brave the mountains to ski even if that was why they came to visit. Too hot and they weren’t going to be out boating in the heat of the day, opting for an early dinner then perhaps hitting the lake at sundown.

“See you tomorrow. Are you still good to work over with Andrea needing off for her kids?” Her boss asked as he shoved another tray of fresh bread into the display case and stood up with a groan, holding his lower back.

“Oh, yes, no problem,” Celeste answered, having already forgotten she had agreed to that last week. Not that it mattered; she had no one at home waiting on her. Well, except for Samson.

The day was overcast, as it usually was this late in the winter. The snow mostly melted, even on the highest peaks, with temperatures rising to give way to spring. It was rainy season, and as Celeste yanked open her car door, she felt a few errant drops catch her arm. She hated driving in the rain and hated everything about that particular weather, so getting home quickly was the goal.

The fifteen-minute drive, the average time when only the locals were around, passed without much fuss. The roads weaving through dense woods before opening to spectacular views of the lake on the left were why people came to this sleepy place. It had something for everyone: a lake for sailing, racing, and water skiing. Mountains in the not-so-far distance for hiking, camping, skiing, and even sheer rockface mountain climbing for the bravest.

Celeste hadn’t bothered with any of that in months, barely left her own home unless it was for work or to go to the grocer. She had only officially moved into the family cottage right before Christmas, though the place still looked like a vacant house. She hadn’t even entered the den; the furniture was still covered in sheets, and packed boxes littered the halls.  She just didn’t have the energy or willpower to finish, only pulling out the bare minimum to get by the past three months.

Putting her car in park, she stared in her side mirror at the bins she needed to drag into the detached garage. Just as she had pulled in, the sky opened up to deluge the area, and she didn’t want to get soaked messing with them. How long could she get away from leaving them before the neighbor up the road came calling to remind her? Trash day had been three days ago; leaving the bins out all week wasn't proper. As she twisted in the backseat to try and find an umbrella, she noticed movement at the cottage next door that made her pause.

The place had been for sale since she had moved in. It had been falling into disrepair for as long as she could remember. The owner's adult children had moved from England years ago, and the parents were too old to maintain the property. They had rented it out for a while but stopped when the roof collapsed on the sunroom while guests were staying. No one had repaired it, and the house sat empty month after month until the For Sale sign appeared. It caused a fuss in the town; people were mad that the family home would likely go to strangers, but Celeste kept quiet. She was also a stranger here; the family cottage she moved into was her husband’s.

She watched quietly as a man climbed out of the sleek town car, jacket pulled over his head to shield himself from the rain.  He ran to the backseat and wrenched open the door one-handed before digging around inside, leaning slightly to reveal his other arm was wrapped tightly in a sling. He found his quarry after a moment, a large duffel before he slung it over his back and slammed the car door shut. His steps were quick to get to the front door, and she watched him fumble one-handed with the keys for a moment before he shouldered the door open and slipped inside.

It seemed like an odd choice for a man to move into a cottage that was falling apart. He could barely do anything one-handed, and guessing by how he juggled everything, the hand in the sling was his dominant one. Maybe his partner would be coming along to help. Or perhaps this guy was just the investor who bought the place to flip it and sell it to some out-of-town rich people. Just another outsider moving in.

What was she thinking? She was also the outsider, and here she was judging another person who probably had no idea anyone was even paying attention to them.

With a sigh, she gave up on her search for the umbrella and grabbed her purse. The bins would have to wait another day. After one last search of the car to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, Celeste opened the door and ran for it. The rain was freezing, sliding down the back of her shirt and soaking her hair. She shoved the key in the lock and wrenched the door open, lifting it a bit to keep it from scraping the floor before stepping inside.

----------------------------

Kyle stared around at the inside of the cottage with a small sigh. When Price said it needed some work, he had sorely undersold how much it actually needed. The smell of must hit him square in the face just a foot inside the place. Then, when he dropped the duffel in the entryway, a cloud of dust floated back up to him, telling Kyle that the place had been empty for months, if not years.

He shuffled down the small hallway to the kitchen, bypassing the living room to the right to find it wasn’t much better. A few cabinet doors were still half open, with plates and cups inside that were probably older than he was. The stove had grease stains all over the top, and Kyle made a face as his feet stopped short of some old mouse droppings in front of the fridge.

“You said it needed a little work,” Kyle muttered into the phone a few minutes later as he climbed up the steps to the bedroom area.

“Not sure I said little, Sergeant,” came John’s voice over the line. It was crackled, sounding like it was coming from a long distance.

“Let me ask Johnny if he remembers what you said,” Kyle answered with a small smile as he toed the metal bedframe of a twin bed.

“He’s busy,” Price answered. Through the tone, Kyle could tell he was grinning as well. “I’ll be there in a couple of days. See what you can get figured out.”

“Yeah, I’m sure I’ll get along just fine one-handed. I’ll have that collapsed porch built in no time,” Kyle answered, his voice dropping humor to reveal his frustration with his injury.

“Don’t overdo it,” Price answered quietly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kyle answered as he peeled back the faded yellow comforter before collapsing on the bed. It squeaked ominously under him, and he stiffened, expecting it to give way under his weight, but it still held. “A new bed is the first thing I’m getting,” he answered after a moment. As he shifted, the metal whined loudly under even the slightest movement, threatening to cave.

“Put it on the list,” Price answered before the sound of his hand covering the speaker muffled his voice.

“Just go,” Kyle said before Price could return, telling him he had to cut the conversation short. “I’ll see you in a few days, Captain, as long as this place doesn’t fall apart with me in it first.”

He hung up the line and threw the phone onto the nightstand before rising with a groan. He needed a shower and food. Strolling to the window to peer out at the lake, he watched the rain bounce off the surface, churning the calm image from the pictures Price had shown them all into a raging mess. He stared briefly, taking in the view of the small dock and boat bouncing on the waves and the mountains across the way before a light caught his eye.

This was supposed to be a tourist town, one that many people didn’t truly live in year-round, but yet someone else was here. Kyle narrowed his eyes to watch as the backdoor opened, and a figure appeared. They were wrapped in a bright yellow rain jacket, and he smirked a bit as they gestured for someone to hurry up. He assumed it was a dog that needed to be coaxed to go out in the rain, but when nothing came, he watched as the person stomped out into the rain. They went right toward a bush, and when they bent down, a flash of bright orange streaked in from under it and into the house.

The person righted themselves and stared at the open back door for a moment. He saw the person, a woman, push back her hair into the hood where it had fallen out and saw her mouth moving. If he were to place bets, he would have taken a fiver on the fact that she was cursing up a storm at her errant cat. She stood in the rain a moment longer, twisting to glance out at her dock, where two chairs sat, before making her way back inside herself. When the light finally cut, Kyle turned around and headed down the hall to find a bathroom. He hoped he didn’t fall through the floor or the pipes wouldn’t explode when he turned on the water.

---------------------------

“I will leave you out there next time,” Celeste threatened as Samson sat in the middle of the kitchen floor, licking his paws. He was soaked to the bone but still seemed pleased with himself. Celeste was careful never to leave him out when she wasn’t home, especially in the evening. But the little shit had used one of the floor registers to get under the house and out that way. She would need to place another one of the boxes on his newest escape tunnel and figure out a way to secure it from her little Houdini properly.

Bending down, she dried him off as best as he would allow with a tea towel before throwing it in the washing machine. The laundry was piling up again, spilling out the front of it, and she eyed it angrily. She knew she’d need a fresh apron and undergarments for her shift tomorrow. Laundry was just one of those things that always fell to the wayside for her until she was left sniffing a shirt to see how bad it was and if she could reuse it for a third day.

“Dinner first,” she muttered, opening the fridge to stare at her options. Fuck. When was the last time she had been to the grocer? She had half a loaf of bread, a few slices of deli cheese, and some questionable leftovers from the week before. The rest were all condiments and half-drunk bottles of wine. “Cheese it is,” she decided, grabbing the bag and a bottle of wine before wandering to the pantry to open a can of cat food for Samson. He was still attempting to dry himself, but the minute the can popped, he trotted over and began to eat.

Celeste shoved a piece of cheese in her mouth before finally peeling off her dirty work apron and pushing it into the washing machine. She jammed a few buttons, threw in some soap, and started it before collapsing at the kitchen table. The rain was still coming down in sheets outside, and she swigged directly from the bottle, debating how she was going to spend the rest of her evening. Nothing seemed appealing. She could read, of course, but books had lost their charm over the past months. Television was nothing but trash, love stories, or bad news. And unpacking the rest of her boxes was off the list for the time being.

The last time she tried to dig through her hastily packed things, she was smacked in the face by one of his unfinished projects. It was a little thing he had started on a rainy day on a creative whim. She always bugged him about his new hobbies and ideas, how he’d start things but never finished them. But he promised this one would be different because he was making it for her. A promise that felt cruelly ironic as she turned the thing over in her hands while she sat alone in the hallway and cried.

Just another vow that would remain forever unfulfilled.

[legendary-69420]

Languages of Attraction

Chapter 2

(Racing Hearts : VOLUME 3)

racing hearts

A/N : Google translate level Languages. I do not speak any of the languages mentioned here. Sorry If i wrote something wrong

(Context : Carlos is in Williams but came in Ferrari Garage to hang out with Charles)

The paddock was alive with the usual hum of pre-race energy. Teams scrambled around their cars, crew members adjusted final settings, and drivers mingled in groups, waiting for the day’s events to unfold. Mark, on the other hand, was seated on the edge of the Ferrari garage, casually scrolling through his phone, blissfully detached from the frenzy around him. He wasn’t entirely antisocial—just selective about when and with whom he chose to engage.

Across the way, Charles and Carlos were deep in conversation. They were speaking in French, a language they often used to discuss matters away from the scrutiny of others. Today’s topic seemed to be Mark—his performance, his confidence, and a little more than just the racing.

Charles (with a slight frown, speaking in French): “Il est bien pour un nouveau, mais parfois j’aimerais qu’il arrête de se comporter comme s’il avait déjà tout compris. Et il est tellement… comment dire, sûr de lui.” (“He’s good for a rookie, but sometimes I wish he’d stop acting like he already knows everything. And he’s so… how should I put it, confident.”)

Carlos (laughing): “Oui, il a cette confiance, c’est vrai. Mais je pense qu’il en a besoin, tu sais ? Ça lui permet de tenir tête à tout le monde.” (“Yeah, he does have that confidence, true. But I think he needs it, you know? It helps him stand his ground against everyone.”)

Charles (nodding, but with a hint of concern): “Je sais, je sais… Mais parfois, il pourrait être un peu plus… vulnérable. Ça pourrait nous aider à mieux le comprendre.” (“I know, I know… But sometimes, he could be a little more… vulnerable. It might help us understand him better.”)

Mark was half-listening, his focus mostly on his phone as he scrolled through social media updates. His mind wandered, and for a moment, he let the French words slip in through his peripheral awareness. Charles and Carlos were discussing him, but he didn’t mind—after all, they weren’t talking badly. He’d gotten used to this sort of chatter.

Then, as if it were some cosmic joke, the conversation took a turn that made Mark blink. He looked up and caught Charles’ eye.

Mark (in fluent French, speaking without hesitation): “Ragazzi, vi rendete conto che posso capirvi, vero?” (“You guys realize I can understand you, right?”)

Carlos froze mid-laugh, and Charles’ face immediately turned a shade of red that was impossible to ignore. Both of them stared at Mark as if he had just revealed a hidden talent for flying or something equally unexpected.

Carlos (chuckling awkwardly): “Wait, you understood all that?”

Mark (with a lazy shrug, smirking): “Yeah. I mean, I don’t usually make it a point to show off, but I'm pretty sure I already mentioned that I speak French, Italian, German, Spanish… and a bit of Russian now.”

Charles (flustered, trying to laugh it off): “I didn’t know you… could… you know… speak so many languages.”

Mark raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying their reaction.

Mark (teasing): “Should I be offended that you thought I didn’t understand you?”

Charles (grinning, though still embarrassed): “No, not at all… I just… well, you’ve never really used them, so I guess I forgot.”

The awkwardness hung in the air for a second before it dissolved into a comfortable silence. But Charles couldn’t shake the thought that had just bubbled to the surface—he’d been talking about Mark without ever realizing he was listening, and now Mark had caught him, completely off guard.

Later that day, during an interview session with the team, Mark was asked a few questions. The interviewer tried to steer him through the usual English responses, but when the subject shifted to Italian racing culture, Mark switched gears effortlessly, responding in his flawless Italian. The room fell into a stunned silence for a split second before the camera crew regained their bearings.

Mark (in Italian): “Penso che la passione che c'è qui in Ferrari è unica. Ogni gara è una sfida, ma è anche un’opportunità di crescere.” (“I think the passion here at Ferrari is unique. Every race is a challenge, but also an opportunity to grow.”)

Charles watched from the sidelines, an unexpected stir of admiration bubbling in his chest. He had always known Mark was talented behind the wheel, but hearing him speak with such ease in multiple languages—each one more charming than the last—had him captivated.

Charles (under his breath): “Damn… how does he do that?”

He couldn’t help but notice the way Mark’s accent changed effortlessly with each language, the smooth, natural flow of his words. It was as though Mark had lived in all these cultures, seamlessly blending into each one. His voice, deep and smooth, made everything sound even more magnetic. And when Mark smiled while speaking, Charles found it hard to focus on anything else.

Carlos (noticing Charles’ lingering gaze): “You okay there, mate?”

Charles (snapping back to reality, shaking his head): “Yeah… just… never thought I’d be so into… language lessons.”

---

The next time they were alone, Charles was too intrigued to let it slide.

Charles (grinning): “So, can you say something else for me? In French, or Italian, or… anything, really.”

Mark raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by the attention.

Mark (smiling mischievously): “Why? Want to hear more of my ‘sexy’ voice?”

Charles tried to play it off, but there was a glint of excitement in his eyes. He leaned in a little closer, eyes locked on Mark.

Charles (in a teasing tone): “Maybe. It’s… pretty hard to resist.”

Mark (grinning): “Well, I could speak German… but you wouldn’t understand a word.”

Charles (laughing nervously): “Try me.”

Mark leaned back, thinking for a moment, before casually switching to German.

Mark (in German): “Ich habe keinen Grund, dir etwas zu sagen, wenn du es sowieso nicht verstehst.” (“I have no reason to tell you anything if you don’t understand it.”)

Charles chuckled, but there was a certain playfulness in his voice when he spoke again.

Charles: “I have no idea what you just said. But I like the way it sounded.”

Mark’s smirk only deepened, enjoying the attention—he couldn’t deny that he loved getting a rise out of Charles. But there was something else there, too. Something that hadn’t quite formed yet, but was undoubtedly there. The way Charles looked at him, the curiosity, the admiration—it wasn’t something Mark could easily ignore.

As the day wore on, Charles found himself replaying the conversations in his head. Mark had always been captivating—he knew that. But hearing him speak in multiple languages, with such fluidity and charm, left Charles wondering just how much he still had to learn about him.

Mark was more than just the another guy on the team. He was a mystery, an enigma wrapped in confidence and charisma, and now, Charles couldn’t stop thinking about how much more there was to discover. And, maybe… just maybe… he wanted to hear more.

The paddock had settled down for the evening, and the team gathered for a casual dinner in the hospitality lounge. Conversations flowed easily over plates of pasta and glasses of wine, and as the group laughed and traded stories, Charles found his gaze returning to Mark. There was something endlessly magnetic about the way he carried himself, effortlessly charming everyone around him.

The evening took a turn when a reporter approached the group, recognizing Mark and asking if he could answer a few questions on camera. Mark agreed, standing up and smoothly switching between French, Italian, and English as he answered questions. Each language flowed from him with such ease that he seemed to be holding an audience captive.

The team, especially Charles, watched in admiration as Mark handled each question with grace, slipping effortlessly between languages.

Mark (in French, when asked about his future in racing): “L’avenir? Je ne pense pas trop à ça. Je suis ici pour courir, pour donner le meilleur de moi-même.” (“The future? I don’t think too much about it. I’m here to race, to give my best.”)

Interviewer (impressed): “Vous êtes vraiment polyvalent, Mark. Quelqu’un d’autre qui peut suivre le rythme?” (“You’re really versatile, Mark. Anyone else who can keep up with you?”)

Mark shot a playful look at Charles.

Mark (in Italian, with a grin): “Vedremo chi riesce a stare al passo.” (“We’ll see who can keep up.”)

Charles, caught off guard by the direct look, felt a slight blush creep up. Mark’s smooth confidence and effortless transitions between languages left him feeling… captivated. He tried to focus, to keep his attention on his meal, but Mark’s voice had a way of lingering in his mind. The warmth in his tone, the precision of each word, the charm—each element was enchanting, and Charles found himself smiling.

After the interview, Mark rejoined the table, and the night continued with laughter and friendly banter. Charles couldn’t help himself—his curiosity was too strong.

Charles (leaning closer to Mark, with a playful grin): “Alright, let’s hear it. Say something else in German, maybe Russian? I’ll try to guess what it means.”

Mark chuckled, clearly amused by Charles’ sudden interest. He took a sip of his drink, then leaned back, pretending to consider Charles’ request.

Mark (in German, smirking): “Du wirst kein Wort davon verstehen, Charles.” (“You won’t understand a word of this, Charles.”)

Charles raised an eyebrow, attempting to read Mark’s expression.

Charles (pretending to understand): “Oh, that’s easy—it means I’m an amazing driver.”

Mark burst into laughter, shaking his head. His carefree amusement only made Charles more intrigued.

Mark (in Russian, with a mischievous grin): “Ты действительно ничего не понимаешь, верно?” (“You really don’t understand anything, do you?”)

Charles had to admit defeat, throwing his hands up in mock exasperation.

Charles (laughing): “Fine, fine—I give up. You win, multilingual man of mystery.”

Mark only laughed, clearly enjoying the banter. For the rest of the evening, Charles found subtle ways to keep the conversation going, trying to get Mark to speak in other languages whenever he could. Each time, Mark obliged, offering playful responses in German, Spanish, and even some Russian. With each new phrase, Charles felt himself drawn deeper into Mark’s world, the mystery of his many sides becoming more intoxicating.

The night was winding down, and most of the team had dispersed. Mark and Charles lingered, comfortable in each other’s company as the lights of the paddock glowed softly around them. Charles felt a warmth settle between them, something unspoken but unmistakable.

Charles (quietly): “You know, I think I could get used to this… hearing you switch languages like that. It’s… impressive.”

Mark glanced at him, a soft smile playing on his lips.

Mark (smiling): “Maybe I’ll teach you a few words. But don’t expect to be fluent anytime soon.”

Charles chuckled, shaking his head. But there was a new thought forming in his mind—a hope, almost. He didn’t need to be fluent. Just hearing Mark’s voice, feeling the warmth of his presence, was enough for him.

---

(Dividers by @omi-resources)

[solivagant242]

losing you pt. 11

remus lupin x f!reader

warnings: hospital, car accident, angst

pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4 pt. 5 pt. 6 pt. 7 pt. 8 pt. 9 pt.10

amberly is used as the MC here since i used to write a lot of fanfics with her, but feel free to self-insert or use whatever name you’d like <3

________________________________________

“James, have you fed him yet?”

“I thought you did”-

“Well, I didn’t so now he’s apparently had two breakfasts”-

“DAAAA!” shrieks baby Harry, waving his chubby fists in the air. Lily kisses his forehead in passing as she tugs the oven door open, using her hip to nudge Harry’s high chair further back. 

James pokes his head through the kitchen door. Sawdust speckles his hair and coat. “Amberly, would you like to help me carry this over to Sirius’ place? I’ve finished the chair and we can leave it there while he’s at work.”

“Breaking and entering, I see,” quips Amberly as she grabs her coat. “Shall I bring my wand?”

He scoffs. “As if Sirius has ever remembered to lock his front door in his life. Now his garage, though- where Minerva is- that’s a different story.”

Amberly laughs, tugging on white earmuffs. “Are we taking the van?”

“You’ll have to put down the back seats,” chimes Lily. She places a paper bag in James’ hand, standing on tiptoes to hug him. “And move Harry’s car seat.”

Amberly turns to tug on her boots, trying to ignore the little twinge of pain in her chest that always pops up when they’re affectionate with each other. Trying to tune out the loneliness that’s been running rampant in her head. 

She’s been staying with James and Lily for the last few weeks, ever since getting discharged from the hospital with no more than a concussion and a stern warning to “take it easy” over the next few days- a task that Sirius immediately surrendered after he brought her home at eleven p.m. and discovered her up at two vacuuming his (admittedly dusty) living room. Barring the occasional headache in bright light, she feels fine. Back to normal.

Minus Remus.

Amberly hasn’t heard from him. At least she doesn’t think she has. James and Lily have kept him out of her recovery; even though they try to keep it from her, she’s positive she’s heard his voice on the doorstep for several nights in a row now, always followed by James’ voice speaking firmly but softly. 

She hasn’t seen him, and she hasn’t even been back to their house. Her phone, which had been cracked in the hit-and-run, has been entirely useless for contacting anyone, and Lily has insisted on waiting till the end of the month to get her a new one (“that’s when they’re the cheapest, you know!”). 

But she misses him. 

She misses the smell of his cologne when she hugged him, and the soft of his hair in her hands, the rough scratch of stubble on her cheek when he kissed her. She misses his touch in the night, warm arms curling around her.

A tiny part of her wants to go back to before, even if it meant hiding from his bad moods and dodging his irritability. But another, much larger part abjectly refuses to entertain the idea. 

Have you NO self-respect? screams her subconscious as she makes her way to the garage with James, tugging on her gloves. They’ve spent the last few weeks building an elaborate rocking chair with carvings of pawprints on the back, a birthday gift for Sirius as the autumn fell over the evenings like a cloak. Would you put up with that now? 

Amberly is ashamed to admit that she might. Because as much as she tries to detach herself, she knows that she’s still in love with Remus. 

[spnbabe67]

A Girls Guide On How To Disappear

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem Original Character

Warnings: Drinking, cursing, angst, mentions of reckless driving,

Summary: Heartbroken from Dean's drunken outburst, Tori flees the Bunker. Dean, regretting his actions searches in vain for Tori, and after months of no luck, he goes on a hunt at the prompting of Sam and in the process, runs into a familiar face.

Word Count: 2191

Authors Note: Here's the long-awaited part 2 of The Simple Act of Breaking Hearts. There will be a part three wrapping everything up coming soon.

It was late by the time that Tori slammed the Bunkers door shut; the hollow clanging echoing through the empty halls. The tears had long since dried on her cheeks, leaving faintly distinguishable tracks. As she quietly made her way from the garage, Tori fervently went about removing the keys from her key ring.

“Tori?” Sam’s sleep-addled voice sounded from behind her. “D’you find ‘im?”

Tori sighed, rubbing the last vestiges of anger and sadness from her face, replacing it with a mask of neutrality before turning to Sam.

“Yeah,” Tori said, forcing down the bitterness that laced the one syllable word. “Belly up at The bar.”

Her blood threatened boiling levels as flashes of a bottle blonde damn near turning Dean's neck into her own personal lipstick tester. You'll still be a pathetic whore who sucks the life out of people. Deans voice, cold and detached, echoed through her consciousness. Tori ran a hand over her head, pushing back through flyaways that had come loose from her braid, courtesy of the wind whipping through the open windows of her car as the tears that filled her vision blurred the red line of the speedometer as she sped back to the bunker.

“I bought him a hotel room for the night along with a bottle of water and Advil. Left the Impala in the parking lot.” While it was a lie, Tori knew deep down that a motel room was where Dean was gonna end up in the morning, and most likely not alone. 

Sam mumbled some incoherent answer, ending in something sounding like a ‘goodnight’ before disappearing back into his bedroom with a soft click of the door. Tori let out a small breath of relief, dropping the mask of pleasantry, thanking Chuck that Sam's sleep-fogged brain didn't question her half-assed lie. Tori's sneakers made little noise as she continued the rest of the way down the hall, stopping before a door. She could see her reflection in the pair of shiny brass ones screwed into the door. Dean's room; their room.

When Tori first moved into the bunker, she'd been put up in room 15, four doors down. But, last week, when she finally stopped fucking around, biting the bullet and telling Dean how she felt, they'd moved her minimal amount of personal items into Dean's room, the latter complaining jokingly about a lack of closet space now for his flannels. Well, he doesn't have to worry about space anymore. Tori shook her head to derail the downward spiral her thoughts were heading on as she knelt to grab her duffle bag from under the bed. Her hand brushed something solid nestled beside the canvas bag. With a quiet swish, Tori pulled her duffle and the shoe box from under the bed.

Her brows furrowed, setting aside her bag and pulled the box into her lap, sitting cross-legged on the cold cement floor. Truthfully, Tori had no idea what was in the box. Her first thought was to Dean's extensive collection of Busty Asian Beauty mags, but those she knew for a fact resided in his nightstand drawer having found them while searching for a lighter Dean had nabbed from her. So, it was a complete shock to her when she found herself staring back at her as she gingerly removed the lid. 

Photos upon photos were nestled in the box amongst other odds and ends, most of which she never knew existed. Her shoulders dropped, remorse flooding her system. Tori picked up a stack of glossy snapshots of the not so distant past. The most recent ones were at the top, like Dean had organized them, the soft edges indicating that he looked at them frequently enough. Some were candid shots of herself unawares of the camera: standing in line at the drive in, waiting for food; Her sleeping form sprawled across the backseat of the Impala after a hunt. Others were posed: herself and the brothers cheesing wide at the cellphone camera; ones of just her and Dean, his arm around her shoulders or waist to hold her close to his body. 

There were funny ones, like one showing herself flipping the camera off, hair wrapped up in a towel after a shower, toothbrush hanging out the side of her mouth; one capturing a particularly ridiculous costume, a glittery mermaid getup from a hunt where a changing was stealing kids from birthday parties, giving Dean the ‘bitch face’. Some had memento’s paperclipped to them like a movie ticket for a double feature of Scream and Friday the 13th attached to a selfie of her and Dean in front of the movie theater. Lotto's and napkins from places they'd stopped around the country. 

Out of all the emotions coursing through her body, shock was the easiest to put a name to. Unable to keep her hands steady, Tori put the pictures back into the box exactly how she’d found them. Shock swiftly turned into confusion, who brought its friend anger as she shoved the box back under the bed. Tori stomped over to the dresser, hauling open the drawers. Vaguely, in a mind a world away than where her psyche was now, she felt the apples of her cheeks grow damp. No longer was the salt laced water expressing sorrow. No, these tears were filled with ire. A sharp, seething, rage, one Tori wasn’t sure who it was aimed at more: Dean, who’d pulled her in, only to let her drop and shatter on the pavement, or herself, for letting him woo her, for letting her walls that had been built and fortified over many years, lower just enough for Dean to worm his way into the foundation and send it crumbling to the ground.

Tori shoved her clothes into her duffle bag with little regard, pulling what little she had in the closet down, taking enough care to not break the hangers. The zipper of her bag, barely containing the balled up cloth, groaned in protest as Tori deposited it onto the bed. Colored pencils and markers clacked together, sliding against whispers of paper as they were stuffed into a backpack until all that was left on the desk sat two sheets of lined paper and the blaze of a yellow pencil. By this time, the rage had evolved from a rolling boil to a light simmer. Ire had shown itself out, leaving in its wake defeat and numbness. Empty, was a good word for it, the lack of emotion and caring that normally buzzed around in her head; the droning static of a tv now shut off, leaving only silence.

Tori had curled herself onto the chair before the desk, knee pulled up to her chest. She rested her cheek on the top of her knee, fingers idly tugging and removing the rough edges of the papers before her where they had been attached to the metal spiral of her notebook. She sighed through her nose, twirling her pencil around her fingers. A slew of words, half-baked thoughts, some more coherent than others traveled through her mind, sifting through them like sand through a sieve. Finally, pencil met paper and from the graphite Tori produced a few lines, just enough to explain herself and say a simple goodbye. Two folds, creases straight and even with Dean’s name on it completed the final severing of ties. Sam’s letter was longer, less clipped language; kinder and warmer than his brothers. She folded it in the same fashion as Dean’s, setting it to the side. 

The chair creaked under her shifting weight as she stood, placing the key to the car she laid claim to and the copy of the key to the garage Dean had made for her on the desk next to the folded piece of paper. Guilt gnawed at her as Tori palmed Sam’s note, hefting her backpack over her shoulders, the weight like a yoke. Her qualms weren't with the younger Winchester. Sam had been nothing but kind to her. A big brother. Another surge of frustration crashed over her, but waned away as quickly as it came. The door clicked shut behind her, like the tumblers of a lock sliding into place. Tori slid Sam's note under his door, pausing for a moment, sending a silent apology before moving on. 

Finality washed over her, Tori’s lip quivering as she dug her blunt nails into her palms, slicing into the half closed wounds from earlier. Her gait halted at the top of the stairs, gazing over the map room lit by a soft glow from the table within. The ghost of laughter echoed through her memory, urging her to remain in the place she'd called home for nearly two years. Exasperation was bellowed back until her body at the harsh reality of leaving. So Tori turned on her heel, storming out of the bunker, letting the door slam shut behind her.

3 Months Later

“Damn it!” Dean shouted, clenching his phone hard enough to make the plastic groan.

Sam looked up around his older brothers, his lips pulled into a thin line. “Dean-”

“Don't ‘Dean’ me Sam,” The older Winchester jabbed his finger at his brother, pacing back and forth in front of the table in the Bunkers kitchen. “She's been gone 3 months and somehow nobody has seen her. It's like she's disappeared off the face of the Earth.” Dean leaned back against the island, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I fucked up, Sammy.”

“Yeah,” Sam sighed, tapping away at his keyboard. “You kinda did.”

Dean shot Sam a look, glaring at his brother through lowered brows. Sam threw his hands up in a placating gesture.

“All I'm saying is you have a pretty good track record of self sabotaging the good things in your life. And I'd be lying if I didn't say that Tori was the best thing that happened to you since Lisa. Hell, since Cassie.”

“Look, I don’t know what you want me to say man!” Dean threw his arms up in the air. “She’s gone. We have no leads. Nobody has any idea where she is. I’ve called Bobby, Garth, Jody, even the Banes.” He counted the names off on his fingers before snatching the glass off the island and pouring himself a healthy amount of whiskey.

He shuffled over to the table, slumping down onto the stool, gazing into the amber liquor. His emerald green eyes unfocused and gaze clouded with thought and swimming with pain. “Have you heard anything from Eileen?” Dean looked up at his brother over the rim of the crystal tumbler.

Sam sighed, rubbing his forehead before combing his fingers through his hair. He was silent for a moment, eyes meeting Dean’s before returning back to the screen of his laptop, a contemplative look crossing over the younger Winchesters face before he spoke. “No. She hasn’t. But she did mention something about having a case. A salt and burn.”

“Do I look like I’m in the mood for a hunt right now, Sam?” Dean gulped down a mouthful of his whiskey, sucking in a breath through his teeth as it burned his throat going down. The green eyed hunter was clad in days old, wrinkled flannel lounge pants and a gray henley stained with alcohol and caked in crumbs from the snacks he’d binged an ungodly amount of in the last week.

“Yes, actually.” Sam shot back. “You need a distraction. Something to get your mind offod the whole Tori thing. And I need a week away from your,” Sam sniffed, nose wrinkling, “cloud of self loathing.”

“First off, fuck you.” Dean downed the rest of his drink. “Secondly, I hate to say this, but you’re right. Maybe, maybe a hunt would help.”

“Alright then. Eileen has a contact in the city who has the details. I’ll send you the address and time.” 

“Fine.” Dean stood from the table, exiting the kitchen.

“Fine.” Sam muttered into thin air as his brothers footsteps faded down the hall.

The blue light of Dean’s phone screen danced across the topography of his face in the dark of the night as he double checked the motel room number Sam sent him on the drive over. The Brass Sierra Motel, room 204. His nose crinkled as he scanned the outside of the decrepit building; the stained and moss rotted siding, windows cracked on some of the windows and ill fitting doors set in door jambs let harsh light creep out from the rooms, including the one in front of him.

Alright, lets get this show on the road. Dean reached up, knocking three times before shoving his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket pulled tight against the pouring rain, and stepping back. From behind the flimsy door muffled shuffling followed by an equally muted voice sounded. One second Dean was listening to the metallic rattle of the security chain being removed and the thunk of the deadbolt being disengaged. The next, the dented and worn wooden door opened revealing a familiar set of dark brown, almost black, eyes and long waves of raven hair.

“Tori?”

[shywhumpauthor]

The Merry Whump of May—Day 2

“Need a ride?”

Wrench | Paranoia | Club

Masterlist

Cw: detailed descriptions of gore, all hurt no comfort, torture, heavy abuse, restraints, kidnapping, hand/eye/mouth whump, heavy dehumanization, broken bones, blood, amputation, implied death/murder, whumper turned whumpee, caretaker turned whumper, just be careful with this one friends

The garage light flickered.

Caretaker glanced up, their lips pressing thin together. It must have been years since they’d last changed it—if ever. They weren’t prone to spending time in the garage. Detached from the house, it served more for storage than anything. There had been a point where they had parked their car in there, but it hadn’t lasted more than a few weeks before it came more inconvenient to store it away than just leave it in their driveway.

Now, the garage was home to many boxes, bins covered in dust and stacked messily. There was a workbench against one wall, scattered with tools and stray nails. Their woodworking phase hadn’t lasted very long either. But that was alright. They found a different use for all the tools they had bought, birdhouses in mind when they had first gone to the hardware store. That certainly wasn’t what they had been shopping for the last time they had walked out of the shop, three bags weighing their arms.

Some of the stuff had been for Whumpee. A lock for the inside of their bedroom door, because the door to Caretaker’s guest room didn’t have a lock and they wanted Whumpee to be in control. Never again would they be on the other side of a lock. They had free rein of the house, Caretaker encouraged them to poke around and explore.

“It’s your house too, Whumpee. There’s nothing in here that will hurt you.”

They had bought a can of pale green paint, and a plastic sheet that they had draped over the bed, desk, and dresser Whumpee helped them push to the center of the room—though they weren’t particularly strong anymore, quite likely hindering the effort more than helping, Caretaker had let them. They spent the entire day painting the dull beige walls. Whumpee’s favorite color was green.

They bought lights, the kind that strung across rooftops when Christmas was near, a soft yellow glow, and they had hammered small tacks around the crown mounding to hang them as a surprise for Whumpee.

That hammer, they had bought too. They had one, somewhere in their indoor toolbox, but it had the build of a rock tied to a stick. They needed a better hammer than that, so they had splurged a bit. It was heavy and steel, a clawed end opposite the head. If Caretaker dropped it, it would likely shake the entire house.

It was a nice hammer.

The garage had a stale feel to the air, dry and dusty. It was cold outside, in just a month or so, Caretaker would have to start preparing for it to snow. They wrapped themself in a jacket before going out, a black pullover that they zipped and flipped up the hood.

They shut the door behind them with a slam, rattling the walls. A grin, a genuine smile curled across their lips at the panicked little whimper that cut through the dim room.

Caretaker didn’t think of themself as a violent person. Not at all. They were gentle and caring and nurturing—just look at Whumpee, seriously. Barely a month into their recovery, after years of captivity, torture, and conditioning, they were already beginning to show fragments of their old self. Little broken shards, but Caretaker could see, when they made Whumpee’s favorite for dinner, or invited them to curl next to them for a movie night, the little light that would flicker in their eyes. They recognized it. Slowly, they were putting the mirror back together, the glass that had shattered on its way to becoming whole.

They would never hurt anyone, especially not Whumpee. Caretaker was the kind of person who, if they found a spider in their house, would grab a cup and a piece of paper and move it out to their back yard, rather than smush it.

Caretaker hummed to themself, a single melody echoing through the exposed insulation like a cavern. They crossed the garage, after making sure to lock the door, to their workbench, where they pulled on a thick pair of gardening gloves. Something else they had gotten from the hardware store.

That place really had everything.

They stopped humming.

“You know what Whumpee told me today?” They spoke lightly, voice carefree, a tone that one might use when discussing their day with a partner over dinner.

“They told me about this one time, when they tried to escape, you made them choose. Either have both their ankles broken, or have two fingers cut off.” Caretaker tugged open one of the drawers, grabbing their new hammer. Not a single mark on it. Not even a scratch from the tacks or a dent. They set it on top of the desk, before reaching back in to grab a wrench, pliers, and a box cutter, setting it all in a neat pile. They turned to look across the room, leaning one arm against the desk.

They had cleared out a corner of their garage, moved all the bins out of the way to create an alcove of sorts. They had laid a tarp down over the cement, not because Whumper didn’t deserve to sleep in fucking cold cement for the rest of their life—however long Caretaker decided to drag that out to be. Only because they didn’t want to get blood on the floor. That crap stains.

They were so fucking pathetic, Whumper. Their hands bound in front of them, duct tape winding countless times around their wrists and forearms, inhibiting all movement. The tape snared around their torso, pinning their arms to their sides. Their legs were bound also, with a coil of rope, tied at the ankles, knees, and thighs, as tight as Caretaker had managed to pull it.

Their fingers were free, Caretaker supposed that they could simply reach out and grab something that could help cut them loose, but they’d taken care of that issue, weeks ago.

Their bones had snapped surprisingly easily in Caretaker’s hands. At least their pinky and ring finger. The other ones, Caretaker had to resort to stomping down on them, crushing the joints beneath their heel as they ground their boot against the flesh.

Now they doubted that Whumper could even twitch their fucking fingers. Crooked and swollen, blood trapped beneath the skin, knuckles split open.

They were covered in blood and grime, built up over weeks. Their skin was pale, mottled with bruises of all stages and colorings, slick with sweat. Caretaker had only taken them out once, dragging them behind the garage when they were sure Whumpee was asleep to drench them down with the back hose. They’d need to do that again soon. Their nose wrinkled as they stepped closer.

They weren’t blindfolded, but Caretaker doubted Whumper could make out much. One of their eyes nearly swollen shut, the other slit with a deep gash cutting from their eyebrow to their cheekbone, they weren’t seeing crap. They were gagged, though, an old cloth shoved in their mouth and secured in place with duct tape, winding around the back of their head. It couldn’t have been good for their jaw, which Caretaker had broken only a week ago. The teeth, a handful molars which Caretaker had first cracked and knocked loose with the hammer, twisted the rest of the way and ripped out with the pliers they now picked up, were certainly not feeling great now. They didn’t care. Really, it amused them to see the way Whumper squirmed and mumbled, incomprehensible sounds behind the gag that they were sure were pleads for either mercy or death—Caretaker supposed those would be synonymous by now though.

The funniest part, though, was something Caretaker had decided at the last moment. Whumpee had never mentioned anything about it, but Caretaker had noticed the bruises. The slight indented ring around their throat, only visible if you were really looking for it, finally fading with a special balm that Caretaker had spent a week’s paycheck to get. The shit was expensive, but it helped, and the scars—the older ones, at least—were finally beginning to lighten. A thick leather collar, one Caretaker had found in the pet care aisle. A small box on the back, two short studded prints jutting out into Whumper’s neck. The remote sat tucked in Caretaker’s dresser, the top drawer. It had a hell of a range. Sometimes they’d wake up in the middle of the night and twist the dial for no good reason.

Scratch that, there was a good reason. With Whumper, any reason was a good fucking reason.

They had been half tempted to buy a crate, as well, when they were at the store. One of those wire ones that would be uncomfortably small for any animal, let alone a human- if Whumper could even be considered that anymore. They certainly weren’t in Caretaker’s mind. But they had already spent more money than they should have, not that they were tight on funds, but Caretaker always liked to have at least a couple hundred emergency cash on their card, so they didn’t get it. Maybe they’d go back, after they get paid for the week. Toss a blanket over it, make sure Whumper was tied up as cramped as possible, maybe they’d shove a pair of noise canceling headphones over their ears, and let Whumper really suffer for a bit, left alone with only their pain to keep company.

“Their limp is getting better, you know, they don’t need the crutches anymore.” Caretaker stopped only a foot from the edge of the tarp, looking down in disgust. The hammer hung loosely from one hand, pliers and wrench and box cutter held together in the other.

“I think that would be equal to… ankles, knees, and four fingers? Five? Ah, it doesn’t matter. You’re going to lose them all eventually. I say we start with four, then if you’re still conscious, we can continue. Sound fair?”

Of course it did. Whumper wouldn’t agree, panic flickering through the small slit of their eye, some sort of whine swelling in their throat. But it didn’t matter if Whumper agreed. They didn’t get a choice.

Caretaker took the sound as an affirmative.

“You agree? Oh, Good.”

They dropped the tools, hitting loudly against the floor.

“I was thinking we’d start with the middles, remember how you broke Whumpee’s when they flipped you off?“

Caretaker grabbed the box cutter.

“We’ll take this nice and slow today. Whumpee’s staying the night at Old Friend’s place, so we have all the time in the world.”

They couldn’t keep the blood contained on the tarp this time, a trickle of red running off the edge and spilling onto the floor.

This was far worth having to clean up afterwards.

———————————————

@themerrywhumpofmay

There’s so many tropes I want to write for the rest of may but I want to write them all right now and I can’t decide aaaahhhhhh I’m probably going to end up writing nothing lmao

[redlegumes]

Steddiemas Day One

December 1st - Deck the Halls

Buying and decorating a tree, decorating the house, hanging lights, mistletoes, holiday display wars, etc.

@steddiemas

Going to do my best to write/draw some fun things for these but this first prompt matched really well with a recent fic of mine If it's Just till St. Patrick's Day

(I understand since it's not *new* it may not get reblogged)

2023 RedLegumes Steddiemas 1 2 3 4 5 6 10 SteddieHolidayDrabbles 1 2 3 4 6 8 9 10

⍋↟⍋⋆꙳•̩❅‧͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⍋↟⍋ The end of November crept up sooner than Eddie'd expected. Anyone around and available was invited to go tree cutting with the Byers. It was a whole thing involving saws, a Christmas tree farm, and copious amounts of hot chocolate. Eddie got some cut greenery himself, with the thought that it wouldn’t hurt to have a little solstice spirit.

After what felt like an impossible task, finding a tree that Will, El, and Joyce all liked (Hopper and Max being the indifferent parties), they finally chose one. After all of Max's sass and sarcasm, wandering the hillside for the perfect pine, she and Lucas were elected tree cutters. They both came away sticky with sap and the others promptly stuck crap they found to them. They ended up covered in pine needles, old receipts, and candy bar wrappers much to everyone else's amusement. Hopper, Eddie, and Steve hauled the tree back down to the farm's outpost to be wrapped and strapped to the roof of their SUV.

Eddie knew his arrangement with Steve wasn't one they necessarily wanted to share with the family. It was frankly, a bit more sexual than he wanted to explain. Steve had mentioned something similar on Black Friday. But Eddie had always been flirty with Steve… Stopping now would be suspicious, he thought smugly. So Eddie stayed flirty and found himself rewarded. Passing cocoa, brushing hands, getting tugged back into the trees for chocolatey tasting kisses... Eddie felt full of crackling fire that Steve kept building.

Mature after the cut - Explicit on AO3 ノ¬‿¬ ノ ⋆꙳•̩❅‧͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

Steve had driven, and there was an understanding that they were headed back to his place that night. Eddie hopped in the passenger's seat after 'goodbyes' and profuse 'thank yous' to the Byers-Hopper fam for including them. It was a bit of a drive to get back to Hawkins, part of why they had 'carpooled’ together.

When they got on the road again, Eddie began to fiddle with the stereo, and Steve staunchly insisted on no Christmas music until December officially began the next day.

Eddie held his hands up off the console in surrender. "Wasn't gonna baby girl.”

After a long drive with Eddie and Steve approved tunes, they reached Steve's place. He pulled the Beemer into a detached garage not far from what appeared to be the home it belonged to. Eddie followed Steve out of the garage as he closed the door behind them. They used the stairs on the outside of the building to climb up and enter Steve's 'studio' apartment above. Steve entered first and briefly stood awkwardly at the door while Eddie walked in. Looking around, Eddie was just thankful the bathroom had a door. There was a small fridge, stovetop, and microwave with some cabinets along the back wall that counted as the ‘kitchen.’ The sad excuse for a kitchenette very much looked to have been slapped together and attached to that wall as an afterthought. There was no way the small shower/toilet space was up to any sort of building code either.

Eddie looked around, and while Steve appeared to have kept it clean it was… "So fucking ugly."

"Yeah. Apparently the owner finished this space as a room for his son when he was a teen." Steve ran a hand over the plaid wallpaper. "That was in the 80s. Guy left it exactly as his son had it." Steve's smile looked forlorn. "But it was furnished and cheap and wasn't the back of my car. So…" Steve gestured around the space.

Eddie kissed her on the cheek and poked around while Steve took off her boots and jacket. He saw a few femme pieces that hung in the open wardrobe, a couple of tops and way in back what looked like a sundress. Eddie felt as though his heart strings had been directly tugged, and hard at that.

He turned back to look at her, sitting on the bed, watching him. Her hair brushed her shoulders, all bounce and shine. She is such a sun kissed babe… Eddie already thought Steve was beautiful. One hundred percent Earth angel vibes. Now why the fuck am I wandering around when I could be wrapped around her right now? He kicked off his own shoes by the door and shrugged off his coat, onto the floor. Eddie waltzed over, straddled her legs, and sat onto Steve’s lap. He kissed her with the fire burning in him still. The fire they built up that evening from all those small touches out in the crisp, piney air.

Steve worked her hands up under Eddie's shirt and touched all the scars he never did. She worked the shirt off, over his head, and began kissing his chest. She rested her lips against his nipple before pausing and looking back up at him. Big brown eyes through long lashes.

"Christ, baby. What's that look supposed to mean?"

"Mmmm just wondering how sensitive your nipples are. Do you like them played with?"

"Angel, I'll get 'em pierced for you if you like, just don't stop kissing me?" He already ached to have her keep going. Steve batted her eyelashes and licked his nipple. Her tongue was pointed as she played with the hard tip. Circling and practically flicking it. "Fuck," Eddie murmured. It was definitely working for him. Steve seemed to like his response as she lightly sucked it, carefully setting her teeth on his nip to pull back gently. He moaned, and she bucked up against him. So this is turning her on too.

"Can you take me tonight gorgeous," she asked.

"I can try…" Eddie hesitated. He wasn't prepped to bottom, but Steve hadn't seemed to care that much before…

Steve read it on his face. She laid a hand on Eddie’s cheek. “You can go do whatever you think you need, but I don't… um don't worry about being… ah, pristine?"

Eddie giggled and got up off her lap. "I don't think anyone has ever called me pristine, princess. But I'll be back with you in a minute."

He watched her blush deepen when he said princess. She seems to really like the right gendered terms. Good to know. He did a quick clean in Steve's terribly tight bathroom and came back out to see her standing, waiting for him. Nude. She held a condom up.

Eddie bit his lip. "You're negative."

"Yes."

"And I trust you."

"Sounds like a question.” Steve laughed and shook her head. "It's not a problem."

Eddie stared longer at the circular package. "Wait." He walked over to her and relieved her of the prophylactic, tossing it onto the nearby desk. "I want to, bare."

Steve's eyes widened a little as their arms worked around one another. They pulled each other in closely, chest to chest. "I've never been in without one."

"Even girls?"

"Especially girls," Steve chuckled.

Eddie took in a deep breath and pulled out of Steve’s embrace. He began to strip the clothes he still had on. “That's a perk to this whole exclusive hookup deal right? So let's go for it.” Eddie bent over, braced on the bed. “Like this okay?"

Steve’s eyes raked over him, slack jawed. “Uh, yeah. If you’re comfortable?”

Eddie laughed. “I don’t want you to comfort me angel. I want you to fuck me.”

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