#rug cleaning solutions

[rugcleaningmelbourne]

Rug Cleaning Melbourne - A Professional company for all rug cleaning solutions. Contact for cheap rug wash and steam cleaning in Melbourne Eastern Suburbs.

[ricketybonez]

after barely moving around the house and walking to the 7/11 two blocks over approximately once every two to three weeks i have now spent the last fourish hours going absolutely fucking apeshit on our carpets and am still not done but so help me god our floors will be SPOTLESS

[selfinflictedgunshotwound]

started deep cleaning my bathroom today and i felt like i was gonna have a heartattack after throwing a bunch of old shit out and sweeping 🤦‍♀️ BUT it felt very good to put in some work and start to make it look nice again 👍 i actually can't wait to get my own place and do regular maintenance cleaning because growing up in a hoarder's house is just. fucking horrendous. i wouldn't wish this shit on anyone

[carpetsclinic1]

Top Handmade Rug Cleaning Services in the UK

Handmade rugs are a beautiful and valuable addition to any home, but they require special care and attention when it comes to cleaning. If you have a handmade rug that is in need of a deep clean, it's important to find a reputable and experienced rug cleaning service. Here are some of the top handmade rug cleaning services in the UK:

Rug Wash London: Rug Wash London is a highly recommended rug cleaning service that specializes in handmade and Oriental rugs. They use gentle yet effective cleaning techniques to ensure that your rug is cleaned thoroughly without causing any damage to the delicate fibers. With years of experience in the industry, Rug Wash London is a trusted choice for handmade rug cleaning.

The Persian Rug Cleaning Company: The Persian Rug Cleaning Company is another top choice for handmade rug cleaning in the UK. They offer a range of cleaning services specifically tailored to handmade rugs, including hand washing and deep cleaning treatments. Their team of skilled technicians is trained to handle even the most delicate rugs with care and precision.

The Rug Laundry: The Rug Laundry is a boutique rug cleaning service that specializes in handmade and luxury rugs. They offer a range of cleaning options, including traditional hand washing techniques and eco-friendly cleaning solutions. The Rug Laundry is known for their attention to detail and commitment to providing high-quality cleaning services for handmade rugs.

The Carpet Clinic: The Carpet Clinic is a family-owned rug cleaning service that has been in business for over 30 years. They have extensive experience in cleaning all types of rugs, including handmade and antique rugs. The Carpet Clinic offers a personalized approach to cleaning, ensuring that each rug receives the individualized care it needs to look its best.

The Rug Company: The Rug Company is a well-known and respected rug cleaning service in the UK. They have a team of expert cleaners who are trained in the latest cleaning techniques for handmade rugs. The Rug Company uses environmentally friendly cleaning products and methods to ensure that your rug is cleaned safely and effectively.

When it comes to cleaning handmade rugs, it's important to choose a service that has the experience and expertise to handle the job properly. By choosing one of the top handmade rug cleaning services in the UK, you can rest assured that your precious rug will be cleaned to the highest standards and returned to you in perfect condition.

[katrinaisha]

MaggyMaid Housecleaning Services in Los Angeles can take the hassle out of outdoor rug cleaning for you. Our professional cleaners are equipped with the right tools and expertise to ensure your outdoor rugs are thoroughly cleaned and maintained. With our services, you can enjoy a clean and allergen-free outdoor space without the stress of DIY cleaning. Contact us today to schedule your outdoor rug cleaning appointment and let us handle the dirty work for you!

[whitehallcarpetcleaners]

Carpet Cleaning Company

The Ultimate Guide To Professional Carpet Cleaning

Welcome to the ultimate guide to professional carpet cleaning. This comprehensive resource is designed to equip you with all the knowledge you need about maintaining clean carpets, whether at home or in a commercial setting. We’ll delve into the benefits of enlisting professional carpet cleaners for your needs. From deep cleaning methods that remove dirt and grime to specialized stain removal techniques – understanding these advantages will underscore why regular vacuuming alone isn’t enough.

Next, we explore various types of carpet cleaning services available. We’ll discuss steam cleaning, dry cleaning, and even carpet shampoo options so you can decide based on your specific requirements. In this ultimate guide to carpet cleaning, we also provide tips on how best to prepare for a visit from your chosen service provider. Finally, our discussion wouldn’t be complete without ]advising you on selecting the right company for reliable results – like Whitehall Carpet Cleaners in Columbia, SC.

Benefits of Professional Carpet Cleaning

Considering professional carpet cleaning? Smart move. Not only will it make your carpets look new, but it’ll also make your home healthier.

Improved Air Quality

Carpets can trap all sorts of nasty stuff like dust mites, pet dander, and allergens. Gross. But a professional cleaner can eliminate all that gunk, leaving you with fresher, cleaner air to breathe.

Extended Life of Carpets

Dirt and debris can wear down your carpets, making them look old and dingy. But regular professional cleanings can help extend the life of your carpets, saving you money in the long run.

Better Appearance

Nobody enjoys having dingy carpets. But with professional cleaning, your carpets will look brighter and cleaner than ever before. Plus, you won’t have to break your back doing it yourself.

Don’t believe us? Learn more about the benefits of using a professional carpet cleaning company. And when you’re ready to get started, call Whitehall Carpet Cleaners. Your carpets (and your lungs) will thank you.

Types of Carpet Cleaning Services

Depending on the type and condition of your carpet, various professional cleaning services can be used to suit your needs. Realizing the various techniques can assist you in picking the most suitable one for your requirements.

Steam Cleaning

Steam cleaning, a form of hot water extraction that uses high-pressure heated liquid to dislodge and dissolve dirt in carpets, is one of the most effective methods for deep cleaning. High-pressure hot water is used to agitate the carpet fibers and dissolve dirt in the carpet.

Dry Cleaning

Dry cleaning, or chemical cleaning, involves applying a specialized compound onto the surface of your carpets, which attracts dirt like a magnet. After allowing it some time to work its magic, vacuuming removes both the compound and trapped soil with minimal drying time required.

Deep Cleaning

A more intensive form of steam cleaning, deep cleaning penetrates even deeper into your carpets’ fibers using special equipment and solutions for those tougher stains or heavily soiled areas.

No matter what type you prefer – whether steam cleaning’s thoroughness or dry cleaning’s convenience – Whitehall Carpet Cleaners has got you covered. Our team uses advanced equipment and years of experience handling all sorts of carpet conditions, ensuring top-notch service every single time. For more information on carpet cleaning, check out Good Housekeeping’s guide.

Preparing for Professional Carpet Cleaning

Before engaging a professional carpet cleaning service, it is advisable to do some preparatory work for smoother and more effective results. These preparations will make the job easier for your cleaners and help achieve optimal results.

Vacuum Your Carpets

Before your professional cleaner arrives, make sure to vacuum your carpets thoroughly. This will remove any loose dirt or debris on the surface of your carpet that could potentially hinder the effectiveness of deep cleaning methods used by professionals. Vacuuming is especially important if you have pets because, let’s face it, they shed like crazy.

Spot-Clean Stains

In addition to vacuuming, spot-cleaning stains before professional cleaning can be beneficial too. If there are any specific areas with stubborn stains or spills, pre-treating them with an appropriate carpet stain remover may enhance the overall outcome.

Move Furniture Around

To ensure every inch of your carpet gets cleaned effectively, consider moving furniture out of the way before the arrival of cleaners. This gives them unrestricted access and saves time on shifting items around during their visit. Plus, it’s a good excuse to rearrange your living room.

Note Down Areas of Concern

Last but not least, note down any areas you think require extra attention due to heavy soiling or high traffic; this information would be helpful for technicians from Whitehall Carpet Cleaners. They’re professionals, but they’re not mind readers.

By taking these simple steps ahead of time, you can ensure that when our experienced team arrives at your home with advanced equipment ready for action, they can spend more time focusing on delivering exceptional results rather than dealing with avoidable obstacles.

Choosing the Right Professional Carpet Cleaner

Don’t let dirty carpets cramp your style. Here are some tips to help you choose the right professional carpet cleaner:

Check Customer Reviews

Before you hire a carpet cleaner, check out their customer reviews. Yelp and Google Maps are great sources for honest feedback from previous clients.

Ask for References

A reputable cleaning company should be able to provide references from satisfied customers. Obtaining customer testimonials can help you understand their proficiency, dependability, and workmanship.

Evaluate Their Experience and Expertise

Experience matters when it comes to carpet cleaning. Look for companies with years of experience and efficient methods to handle different types of carpets and stains.

Inquire About Their Equipment

The type of equipment a carpet cleaning company uses can greatly affect the outcome of their work. Look for companies with advanced machines that ensure deep cleaning and faster drying times.

Note:

Opt for companies that use eco-friendly products. They are safer for humans and pets and more effective at removing dirt and stains from carpets.

For more information on eco-friendly carpet cleaning, check out this EPA resource.

Whitehall Carpet Cleaners: The #1 Choice in Columbia SC

Looking for top-notch carpet cleaning services in Columbia, SC? Look no further than Whitehall Carpet Cleaners – the best choice for all your carpet cleaning needs.

Experienced Technicians

At Whitehall Carpet Cleaners, our technicians are renowned for their expertise and proficiency in carpet cleaning. Our team undergoes rigorous training to ensure they can handle any carpet or stain situation with ease.

Advanced Equipment

What sets us apart from other companies is our state-of-the-art equipment. We use high-powered steam cleaners that penetrate your carpets to remove dirt and allergens without damaging your floors. This means you get a thorough clean every time.

A Wide Range Of Services

In addition to standard carpet cleaning services like steam and dry cleaning, we also offer specialized services such as upholstery and disaster restoration services. Whether it’s an everyday spill or a major flood damage scenario – we’ve got you covered.

Why Choose Us?

Quality Service: We believe in providing quality service that exceeds customer expectations.

Fair Pricing: We offer competitive pricing without compromising on quality.

Satisfaction Guaranteed: Your satisfaction is our priority; if you’re unhappy with our work – we’ll make it right.

Don’t just take our word for it – check out our customer reviews to see why we’re the #1 choice for carpet cleaning in Columbia, SC.

Conclusion

Our Ultimate Guide to Professional Carpet Cleaning offers valuable insights on the perks of hiring professional carpet cleaners, the different types of services available, how to prepare for a cleaner’s visit, and tips on selecting the right company to do the job right. Looking for a reliable and experienced carpet cleaning service in Columbia, SC? Look no further than Whitehall Carpet Cleaners, where our team of experts is committed to delivering top-quality service at an affordable price. Regular carpet cleaning not only enhances the appearance of your carpets but also extends their lifespan, making it a smart investment for any homeowner.

Don’t settle for mediocre cleaning services that leave your carpets damp and smelling funky.

Choose Whitehall Carpet Cleaners’ professional carpet cleaning services for a thorough and professional cleaning experience that will leave your carpets clean, looking, and smelling fresh.

Our team uses state-of-the-art equipment and eco-friendly cleaning solutions to clean your carpets perfectly.

Don’t let dirty carpets ruin the ambiance of your home. Contact Whitehall Carpet Cleaners today to schedule your appointment and experience the difference!

Contact Whitehall Carpet Cleaning for all your floor, rug, and upholstery cleaning, disaster restoration, tile and grout cleaning, and disinfection services today!

[wondersinwaynemanor]

Tim, who out of nowhere, enters Jason's safehouse through the window.

Jason, arranging his books on the shelf: Doesn't mean I'm back for family brunches or whatever the fuck you guys do, doesn't mean you get to do that.

Tim, unbothered, approaches Jason: I have something to tell you, Jay.

Jason, looks at Tim for the first time: Which is? And Jesus, Timmy, don't put your dirty shoes on the clean rug!

Tim, grins: I'm getting better at cooking!

Jason, doubtful: Really?

Tim nods.

Jason: You asking Alf for lessons too?

Tim, grins wider: By playing mobile cooking games.

Jason, blinks: Uh.... Suuuure. But why come to me?

Tim: To show you. Duh.

Jason, very doubtful: Okayyy.

Tim: I'll make it a surprise even! You go on do something outside then I'll have some food ready when you get home.

Jason, shakes his head: I think it's better when I'm here and-

Tim: Trust me, Jay!

Jason: This isn't a prank or something, right? Dickface didn't pay you for this?

Tim: I'm here on my own will.

Jason, sighs: Alright then. Make something quick. I'll just go to the store and get something for Roy.

Jason, before exiting: And if you burn my books.... The safety of my gun will be useless, Timbo.

minutes later, Jason gets an alarm from his safehouse.

there's smoke coming from the pots. a spatula is on the floor. some sauce of some kind is on the cream colored walls. but thankfully, the place isn't on fire. yet.

Jason, enters the kitchen: What the fuck just happened, Tim??? You said I could trust you.

Tim, with bloodshot eyes and messy hair: WHERE ARE MY BOOSTERS? WHERE ARE MY UNLOCKS? WHERE ARE MY UPGRADES???

Jason, already turning off the stove: The fuck--Timmy, you are not playing one of the games on your phone right now!

Jason, picking up the utensils on the floor: This is the real world and there are no boosters, unlocks and fucking upgrades!!!

Tim, grabbing Jason by the shirt: You lie!!!!

meanwhile in Jason's safehouse.

Jason: So the clone is the solution for Tim's meltdowns. When did they become a thing?

Roy, chuckles: I think they've been together for quite some time, Jaybird.

Dick, sighs: Apparently. And I already told Timmy about those games in his phone. He gets too passionate.

Jason: Too passionate isn't the right word, Dick. He nearly burned down the place.

Dick: He wanted to impress you, Jay!

Roy, smiles: At least Lian's got some other playmates aside from me and Jaybird.

they watch as Lian pours tea on Tim and Kon's toy cups.

[pearlessance]

Feelin' Empty? - Idle Threats [iv]

Series Summary — Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for.

Chapter Summary — Joel reminds you to heed his warnings.

Pairing — Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings — Explicit sexual content MDNI, brat taming, age gap (32yrs), mean!Joel, religious imagery and symbolism, catholic guilt, jealousy, light angst, spanking, edging

SERIES MASTERLIST

[cross posted to AO3]

Joel waits several minutes before leaving the bathroom. He cleans himself up, tries to collect his thoughts, tries to swallow down the bitter taste you left behind.

And when he emerges back into the front of the bar, it isn’t Kelly’s smiling face that grabs his attention. It’s you, of course it’s fucking you, because you’ve picked up your things from the bar and moved instead to a booth. 

You’re not alone, either. Abel sits at your side, grinning down at you with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Joel doesn’t know Abel well. He knows he works in the armory, that he keeps stock of all the weapons and ammunition that pass through Jackson. He doesn’t know about the knife wedged in Joel’s boot right now, though.

He pushes the thought from his mind. His jaw clenches, and he takes in a slow breath, and then he’s forcing himself to return to the bar. Tara’s refilled his glass, and Joel has never been more thankful.

“I was starting to worry,” Kelly says as Joel sits on the barstool at her side. “You feeling okay?”

Other than the fact that he just had a religious experience with a girl half his age only to find her nearly sitting in the lap of another man moments later? Yeah. Fine. “Peachy,” he answers, taking a long sip of his whiskey.

Abel’s older than you by several years. Younger than Joel, but far from age-appropriate. He’s gotta be in his mid forties, but Joel can’t deny that he’s handsome. Tall and built and rugged, with a thick black beard he keeps trimmed up like some sort of pretty boy. Beneath the cream colored cowboy hat he wears, Joel can see matching dark curls poking out of the sides. And he’s got those bright blue eyes, too, which are currently swallowing you up with no remorse. 

Joel grinds his teeth. Takes another sip of whiskey. He hears Kelly say something. A question, maybe, but he doesn’t hear it. “What was that?”

“I was just asking if you two have history.”

It takes him a little off guard. Is he so obvious? He must be, though. Because Kelly’s sunshiny smile falls as she looks over at you, and Joel begins to feel a little bad for her. Because this date is going nowhere, and he thinks she knows it, but she’s still trying. “Not really,” he answers. “We were on patrol together a couple of times.”

She nods slowly, mulling his answer over like there’s a secret hidden between his words. Joel supposes there is. “Did something happen?”

Christ. Was she this nosy with everyone in Jackson, or just with Joel? He doesn’t want to answer. So he doesn’t. Finishes off his whiskey and nods to Tara for another.

This is too much. And Joel suddenly realizes the solution to all of his problems right now; Kelly, Abel, you—is just to simply get the fuck out of here.

But he can’t leave you alone like this. It’s not safe. He knows exactly what sort of thoughts are running through Abel’s mind right now, knows exactly what he’s thinking when he licks his lips and smirks down at you. Joel can hear him faintly, saying, ���You’ve got such a pretty smile, darlin’.” 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Kelly suddenly says. She laughs but there’s no joy in it, no amusement at all. She rises to her feet with a heavy sigh. “I’m gonna go, Joel.”

It’s only with her words he remembers why he came here, remembers that he was supposed to try on this date with Kelly to distract himself from you and has, catastrophically, failed. He thinks about asking her to sit back down, but then realizes he can pay closer attention to you without her chattering in his ear, so Joel apologizes instead. “Kelly, look, I’m…I’m sorry. I don’t think I’m…cut out for this kinda thing.”

She nods slowly, looks over to you one last time. “I get it,” she says, reminding him of your conversation in the bathroom. 

I get it, but I don’t understand. It hurts just as bad in his memory. Cuts just as deep.

When he looks up at her, a storm cloud has replaced all that carefree sunshine on her face and rainwater lines her lashes. His eyes soften, and Joel wishes he would’ve ended this the moment he stepped through the door to save everyone a little bit of pain. “Kelly…”

She shakes her head, clearing any remaining sadness away. “Really, Joel, it’s fine. I’m not blind, alright? You can’t hide something like that.”

His brows furrow. “Like what?”

Kelly gathers her jacket with one hand and waves the other between you and him. “That,” she says as if it’s obvious, like the magnetic energy pulling him to you is some physical, tangible thing. “Whatever it is, it’s not exactly subtle. And, Joel, that girl’s trouble but she doesn’t deserve any more hurt. Neither of you do. So, whatever it is, just make sure it’s real.” She turns to leave, but at the door she turns her head back to him, watery eyes making their grand return. And then she says, “Nothing’s promised anymore. Take the good where you can get it.”

Joel tosses his whiskey back in one gulp. He presses his fingers into his temple, trying to alleviate the ache, grateful for the soft hum the alcohol has created in his bones. He hears the ring of your sweet laughter and his eyes follow the sound. 

He watches through hooded eyes as Abel pulls you to the other end of the bar where there’s a small, open space near the jukebox. He takes your hand in his, the very hand that you licked clean moments ago, and raises it above your head. Abel’s spinning you in a circle, and there’s a carefree smile on your face, and it makes Joel feel hollow. Like the part inside of him that you’ve carved out for yourself has been vacated, demolished. It makes him feel empty.

You look happy. And that’s the part that kills him.

Joel wants that for you. Wants you to be happy and safe and satisfied and loved. And it can’t be him that gives those things to you, can it? It would put a target on your back for cruelty, and Joel has to protect you from that. You say you don’t care what the people of Jackson have to say about you, but he does. Joel knows himself. Knows that if he ever overheard someone talking bad about you and it was his fault? There would be more than just an argument with his little brother as punishment. 

There would be blood, and loss, and death. And Joel doesn’t want that. He only wants you—sweet and soft and innocent and bratty and perfect. He doesn’t want to taint you with bloodstained hands, doesn’t want to tarnish you any further than he already has.

But then you glance over at him from around Abel’s shoulder as he sways you to the soft blues song that plays. He’s got one hand wrapped in yours and the other on your back, a respectful distance above your ass. Far more respectful than Joel has ever been to you.

And there’s that look in your eyes again, the one that makes him feel warm, comforted, safe. It grows and grows the longer you stare at him until it’s engulfed every cell in his body, thawing him from the inside out. And when you look away as Abel whispers something in your ear, that warmth in his chest remains. Muted, but ever-present.

Joel is a selfish man. He’s come to terms with it. He knows from experience that if it ever came between choosing the few and choosing the many, he’d let the world burn if it meant keeping his people safe. The ones he loves, the ones he’s chosen. He’s not ignorant to the fact that you have, inescapably, found your way into that category of people he’d sacrifice the world for.

But he doesn’t want to be selfish with you. He doesn’t want to, even though he already has been. Because the selfish thing he’s doing now will hurt you later on, just as Tommy said. No matter what, even if things go perfectly to plan, someone will suffer for what the two of you have done. And Joel really, really doesn’t want it to be you.

If there was a way to guarantee that he would be the only one left bleeding at the end of this calamity, Joel would be snatching you out of Abel’s hands and taking you home before the song was over. He’d damn himself without a second thought, without a single regret because Kelly is right; nothing is promised anymore. And Joel wants to hold onto that warmth for as long as he can, wants to hold onto you for as long as he can. 

Even if it’s selfish. Even if it’s sinful. Even if it hurts.

But he doesn’t want to make a scene, doesn’t want to embarrass you. Which leaves him stuck, sitting at the bar, sipping whiskey to fill the void you left behind, watching Abel play all his tricks to attempt to woo you. Joel even watches some of them work. 

Abel’s funny. Or at least, you find him so. Joel knows because every couple of minutes you’re giggling or snorting or grinning with a shake of your head. He queues up music on the jukebox and the two of you dance to Have You Ever Needed Someone So Bad by Def Leppard and Joel thinks about chewing on glass.

You’re glancing over to the bar every few minutes, but Abel is completely unaware of Joel’s hard stare. He understands, though, how easy it is to succumb to your witchery. How being in your presence makes everything else—people, problems, morals—fade into the background. Joel wonders if he gets that same lovesick look on his face that Abel currently wears.

It’s painful to watch. Every second of it makes Joel feel like he’s splintering apart. But he forces himself to stay put—to keep a close eye on you. To keep you safe. Because he can see the thoughts as they flit through Abel’s head, can see him appreciating the curve of your neck, the softness of your lips, the arch of your nose. Joel can relate because he’s been there—enthralled, captivated, hypnotized. And he knows Abel will do anything to take you home with him, to make you his. But that’s not going to happen because Joel will never allow it.

So he watches the two of you dance until the sun sets below the horizon. He watches Abel push your hair behind your ear, watches your cheeks turn crimson when he compliments you, watches him pluck his cowboy hat from his head and place it onto yours. And it makes him sick—makes his knuckles go white, makes him grind his teeth, makes him sweat. 

But Joel has never, ever, been as angry as he is when you lay your head against Abel’s chest and he presses a kiss into your hair. Because holding your hand and touching your spine over your jean jacket with the other is one thing—but kissing you? No. 

Fuck. No. 

It sends him into a blind rage. Joel realizes it’s been simmering since the moment he left the bathroom, that watching the two of you become real cozy in front of the jukebox only served to stoke the flames of fury beneath his skin. 

He’s going to kill him.

Joel grabs a half empty beer bottle by the neck and smashes it against the bar top.

The commotion grabs all the attention in the room, including yours, but Joel doesn’t notice. He only sees Abel and his hands on you and his lips against your head and the smiles he’s stealing from you, smiles that should belong to Joel.

His ears are ringing. Fuck the people of Jackson and the bullshit they’ll have to say. Fuck watching you when he should be holding you. Fuck your age difference and the notion that it’s wrong and fuck the wrath of God. But more than anything, fuck Abel.

He doesn’t take more than two steps before someone pushes him back. A solid force standing between Joel and his vengeance. He shoves and shoves but it doesn’t move, and he thinks about raising the glass bottle in his hand to whatever stands in his fucking way—until Tommy’s voice cuts through the red fog in his mind. 

“Joel,” he says. “ Joel. Joel, take a walk. Talk a fucking walk. Right now.” 

His brother stands in front of him, one hand wrapped around Joel’s wrist, the other shoving his chest, pushing Joel backward. 

On the other side of Tommy, Abel stands with his shoulders squared and his fists clenched at his sides. He’s pulled you behind him protectively, completely oblivious that Joel is no threat when it comes to you. 

In fact, Joel realizes that maybe you’re the true threat in the room. Making him feel these things, tempting him toward sin. The true forbidden fruit, the snake in the grass. And it’s only now Joel realizes it’s far too late for him.

Tommy pushes him out of the bar. The winter air stings Joel’s face, his hands—ice cold compared to the boiling temperatures within. “Go home, Joel,” his brother says, leaving no room for argument. “Don’t be stupid.” There’s something in his eyes. A warning, maybe. Joel listens, leaving you alone in the bar with Abel and Tommy and Tara and whoever the fuck else.

Because Joel is lucid enough to know Abel won’t hurt you. He’s also lucid enough to know that if he did, there would be nothing strong enough to keep Joel from ripping him apart. 

So, he appeases his brother. 

He walks the streets of Jackson but he doesn’t go home. He can’t go home, not now. He’d only lie in his bed and convince himself to come find you. And Joel’s tired, so fucking tired of beating himself up for this.

It’s too late. Too fucking late. He’s already sunk his teeth in deep, already cracked the bones and sucked out the marrow, already given into his lust, his gluttony, already listened to the hissing from your forked tongue and let himself believe it. The poison will set in later down the line, he knows. But later isn’t now and forbidden or not, Joel Miller is starving and you’re fucking delicious.

There’s a big willow tree on the side of the street opposite your house. Joel stands beneath the weeping branches, comparing the sway of the limbs to his grip on his sanity. He leans against the wide trunk and waits. 

And waits.

And waits.

He sees you less than twenty minutes later. You’ve got your jacket pulled tight across your chest and your steps are hurried as you skip up the stairs and try to fight off the midnight chill. The moonlight reflects in your hair, and Joel thinks you look like some sort of angel. His desire for you is incessant; a gnawing against his psyche, a want that’s both unholy and divine.

Joel watches you fumble with the key, wondering if you intentionally forgot to lock your front door that night. It wouldn’t surprise him anymore—you bratty, venomous little thing.

He waits until you disappear inside before he pushes away from the tree and crosses the street. Joel’s careful as he steps up the creaky stairs. And, much to his relief and satisfaction, the door has been, once again, left unlocked. 

It’s dark on the other side, nothing to illuminate the space but the soft glow of the lamp in your bedroom. He follows it like a moth to a flame, but Joel stops when he notices his coat hanging over the back of the couch. 

He only just now remembers he left it at the bar in his haze of fury, and can’t tell if it makes him feel tender or irritated, seeing the dark brown canvas hanging there so casually, looking far from out of place. On the one hand, he loves that you thought of him, loves that you saw it, and felt entitled to claim it as yours for the time being. Even though you danced with another man all night, even though he knows Abel likely begged to walk you home, it was a piece of Joel that you decided to take. And the realization brings him a deep satisfaction, knowing you chose him. 

But bringing it home means you assumed Joel would show up here at some point. And he can’t help but feel a little played. Like this has been your plan all along; to provoke him to anger, to incite a reaction from him. And the worst part is that it worked��Joel did just what was expected. But he doesn’t regret it for a single second, still feels the residual wrath in the palms of his hands and he wants so badly to give you a spoonful of your own medicine. 

You want to be bratty, to taunt him? Fine. But you need to understand that your actions are not without consequence.

When he pushes open your bedroom door, Joel ignores the gasp of surprise you let out. Your hand goes to your chest in an attempt to slow your racing heart, and his hand finds a home around your neck. He pushes you against the wall, and expects you to fight back or shove him or shout out curses or something— but all you do is rest your hand against his wrist. His touch is bruising but yours is affectionate and, just like that, Joel’s lost all control yet again.

His knees go weak at the sultry look in your eyes, at the smirk playing at your pretty mouth, at the deviance you exude. “Tommy told me to stay away from you,” you say.

Joel realizes his brother is now playing both sides, trying to drive from the back seat. But Joel’s already driven over the cliff, now in a complete free fall. It’s too late. Too late. And he thinks it might’ve been from the moment he first saw you. “S’that right?”

“Said I’ll be the reason you get kicked out of Jackson if I’m not careful,” you continue. “You should go, Joel. It’s not smart for you to be here. Go back to Kelly.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he says. And he means it—there’s no getting rid of him now. Not anymore. 

“Maria won’t let you stay. Not if you kill someone.” He’s not talking about Jackson or Maria, and he thinks you know it, but he can see your hesitance beneath all that sinful seduction and decides the conversation can wait until tomorrow.

“You did that shit on purpose.” It’s a statement, and the wicked gleam in your eyes all but confirms his suspicions. 

“Yeah. And what’re you gonna do about it, huh?” Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and a breathy sigh escapes him at the sight. 

“I oughta spank you till your ass is red,” Joel says, noting the way your pupils dilate at the threat. And it is a threat—one he swears to make good on. “Always being so disrespectful.”

“Abel’s nice, Joel. Says he’s good at making girls come, that he’s been practicing longer than I’ve been alive. Said he’ll make me feel good, that he’ll be real gentle with me. And you and I both know just how much I like older men. ”

The image you create has Joel’s fingers tightening around your throat. “Gentle?” It’s laughable. “That what you want, little girl? Want me to be gentle with you?” He tilts your face up with his thumb beneath your chin, presses his body against yours. Your hand goes to his belt buckle as it digs into your belly, and your legs fall apart on instinct as he wedges his knee between them.

You seat yourself right over his denim-clad thigh, hips rolling already, desperate for friction, for relief.

He chuckles darkly and says, “Yeah…didn’t think so.” Joel presses into you harder, because he knows just how bad it hurts. Knows just how that longing feels, knows how bad it aches. He grabs a fistful of your dress and hikes it up over your hips. He wants to see the mess you make, and he’s rewarded with the embarrassed whimper you let out in response. “Filthy little thing,” he says. “Don’t want it gentle at all, huh?”

At the sight of you grinding against his thigh, Joel forgets what he came here to do. Forgets he’s supposed to be giving you a taste of your own medicine, supposed to be showing you just how difficult it was to watch you flirt with another man. Because he thinks you look so pretty like this, he doesn’t have the strength to stop you. Joel wants to watch you fall apart just as much as you need to, wants to touch you till you shake, wants to lick your clean afterward, wants to make you feel so good no other man will ever compare.

But you’re not quite there yet, he knows. He can feel you’re not quite relaxed, not quite as pliable as he wants you to be. But he knows how much you like hearing his disgusting words, and so he lays it on thick. “Dirty fuckin’ girl. Lettin’ me fuck you with my fingers in public and that still ain’t enough for you, hm? You want more, always wantin’ more. Beggin’ me all the time.”

He’s surprised when it doesn’t work as well as he hopes. You’re moaning in his ear—breathy, needy little sounds that make his hard cock seek you out behind his zipper—your hips move restlessly, creating more and more friction, and there’s a telling dark spot beginning to form on his jeans. But something is off. 

Joel can’t quite put his finger on it, but there’s something. And he begins to spiral, heart racing behind his ribcage. Because what if you’re finally coming to your senses, finally realizing he has nothing to offer you? What if the whole thing was just some fantasy to you? Maybe you’ve gotten your fill of him, gotten your rocks off enough times to be satisfied. What if he’s here, willing to sacrifice everything just to be close to you, while you’re slowly growing tired of him?

But then he tears his eyes away from his knee and sees the downright evil look in your eye as you let out a dramatic moan and say, “Oh, Abel!”

And he’s had it. Absolutely fucking had it. 

Joel steps back, fists his hand in your hair, and pulls you towards the bed. You’re giggling and he’s seething as he sits on the edge of the mattress and takes you over his knee. “Fuckin’ brat,” he says. “Tired of your attitude. Think you know everything. Think everything’s a goddamn joke.”

You spread your arms straight out above you, fingertips disappearing beneath the pillows. And you're sitting on your knees, ass arched beautifully, and Joel’s mouth waters when he pulls your dress up to expose a pair of royal blue panties, ones he hadn’t been able to properly appreciate in the dimly lit bathroom. “What are you gonna do, Joel? You’re gonna spank me? Really?” You scoff in disbelief. “All bark and no bite. Why don’t you— Joel!”

The sound of his harsh slap reverberates through his head, sharp and delicious. He feels his muscles relax almost instantly—almost as if he needs this more than you. “I told you, baby,” he says with a slight tilt of his head. “I don’t make idle threats.”

“Joel! You can’t—you—! What the fuck?”

He smacks your ass again, harder this time. Your whole body tenses and a soft little whimper leaves you, one that sends shivers down his spine. “Watch your fuckin’ mouth,” he warns.

There’s already a hand-shaped mark blossoming across your smooth skin, and Joel rubs the tender flesh to soothe. Your hands are fisted in the sheets, shoulders shaking with each desperate inhale. “Joel,” you cry.

“Wasn’t it just five seconds ago you were moanin’ some other man’s name?” He brings his hand down against your ass again, a stinging slap that has you shoving your face into the pillow. “C’mon, now,” he says. “Where’s he at, baby? Thought he was gonna make you feel good.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, words muffled through both the sheets and your giggles. “I was just kidding!”

“Nah. I don’t think you were.” When he strikes again, it’s lighter this time, on the opposite cheek. Your skin is reddening beautifully, and Joel licks his lips as he watches the damp spot in your panties become more and more prominent as the seconds tick by. “How’s that feel? Hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Yes! God, Joel—I said I was sorry!” You sprawl out further in front of him, spine bending, thighs clamped tightly together. He knows you're enjoying this, can see it in your face, but Joel doesn’t think you’re quite getting it and he needs you to understand. 

He brings his hand down again, so hard this time his palm tingles. Your legs cross at the ankles and your muscles go rigid. He holds you in his lap with one hand and uses the other to stroke your hair out of your face. “Imagine how I feel, baby. Imagine how much it hurts to see him makin’ you laugh, makin’ you go all red. How much it hurts to see him kiss you.”

“Then you should’ve taken me away from him,” you say quietly. And it forces Joel to pause—to see through his frustration for just a moment. Because you’re right. He should have. He wanted to.

“You know I can’t do that, sweet girl,” he says, thumb stroking gently over your reddened flesh. “Can’t let you get away with bein’ bratty, either. Think five is enough?”

Joel laughs when you press your face into the mattress and let out a dramatic groan.

“Gonna make you count with me, baby,” he says. “Can you do that for me?”

When you lift your head and look up at him, Joel gets that zealous feeling again, twisting up his insides—warm and intense and heavenly. It makes him want to lean over and kiss your cheek, your forehead, makes him want to hold you so close the concept of disconnect becomes foreign. You nod slowly in answer, and he wonders if you can feel it, too.

He watches your face this time as he brings his hand down sharply against your ass. The cutest crease forms between your brows, and your knuckles turn white as you clutch the sheets. He caresses the supple flesh, squeezing softly as he waits.

You let out a long breath. “One,” you choke out, and Joel feels pride swell in his chest. Already you’re following his direction. All it took was a little discipline.

“Good girl,” he praises. “Bein’ so good for me, baby. Sittin’ so pretty.” Joel’s attention leaves your flushed face as you begin to squirm. And it’s only then he realizes just how much this is affecting you—the seam of your panties is soaked. The fabric has gone from blue to almost black, wet material clinging to every dip and curve of your pussy, leaving nothing to the imagination. And Joel moans at the sight—he can’t help it. “Oh, little girl…look at that,” he whispers, voice thick with admiration. “Now you’re finally gettin’ it.”

This time when his palm connects, it’s right in the center of your ass, lower than before—and Joel can almost see your clit pulsing. “Two,” you whimper, eyes squeezed tight to try and fight your oncoming tears. When you catch your breath, you begin pleading almost immediately. “Please, please, touch me. I need you.”

He clicks his tongue. “Shh, baby, I know,” he says. “I know it’s hard, wantin’ something so bad…having it so close…” He slides his middle finger over your panties, right through your slit. It’s featherlight and teasing and torturous. You tilt your hips back to meet his soft touch, but he only pulls away, leaving you trembling in his lap. “And then it gets taken away from you,” he continues. “Leavin’ you all needy and cold and hungry. ”

Joel strikes your ass with his tingling palm, grinning to himself in satisfaction at the art he’s made of your skin. “Joel,” you cry, shoulders shaking with every deep, ragged breath. “Joel, please.”

“See? Knew you’d forget his name. Happened so quick, darlin,’” he mocks. He snakes his hand beneath your dress, tracing the curve of your spine, stroking in reverence. “S’posed to be countin’ for me.”

Your voice is breathy and broken as you say, “Three, Joel I need it, oh my god.” This time the tears do come, sliding slowly down your flushed cheek. Joel reaches over and swipes it away. He runs his knuckles softly over your jaw, ignoring the rocking of your hips.

“Shh. S’alright, little girl. I’m here, nothin’ to cry about,” he coos. And then he takes your arm in his hand, pulling you up off the mattress. “C’mere, baby. I’ve got ya.” When you lean back on your heels, knees pressing against the side of his thigh, Joel kisses the tip of your nose with his lips stretched into an amused grin.

You reach for him, hands finding the coarse hair of his beard, pulling his face to yours, crushing your mouth to his. You taste like heaven, and Joel lets you take control for a single moment. Lets you bite his bottom lip, lets you lick into his mouth, lets you run your hands through his hair and tug the curls at the nape of his neck. But the moment you reach for his cock, Joel grips the back of your neck and pulls you quickly away. “ Please,” you whimper, and you sound so fucking pretty begging for him that his resolves wavers.

But then he remembers the way it sounded when you said Abel’s name and Joel’s jaw feathers. “Arms up, sweetheart. Still got two more to go.”

A whine leaves you in protest, but you do as he asks. Joel helps you take off your dress, tosses it to the floor in the pile where he left his faith, and runs his rough fingertips down your bare chest. 

“You’re so pretty baby,” he says truthfully, thumbs ghosting across your nipples. “You know how pretty you are?”

No answer comes in the form of words, but you clue him in on just how desperate for him you are when he sees your head fall back at the light touch. Your lips part with a ragged breath that turns into a moan when he leans forward and takes one nipple into his mouth. 

He swirls his tongue, flicking it over the hardened peak. He pinches the other gently between his thumb and forefinger, massaging the delicate flesh of your breasts. And when he pulls away, pushing you back down against the mattress, Joel can’t hold back the grunt that leaves him at the pressure your body creates over his cock. He’s so hard it hurts. And he knows the cure, longs for it, but he has to finish this. He has to make sure you remember what happens when you disrespect him, when you entertain another man.

Joel hooks his fingers in your panties and slowly pulls them down. A low, throaty groan leaves him as he sees the mess you’ve made. It’s pornographic and dirty and obscene and Joel has never, ever wanted something so bad in his life. “Fuck. This all for me, little girl?”

“Yes,” you say, breathless. “It’s yours, Joel, all for you.”

He pulls your panties further down your thighs, cock throbbing as he watches strands of your slick snap as they disconnect. Your pussy is glistening, and Joel wants to feel it, wants to taste it. But he resists, knowing it’ll be worth it in the end. “I know it is, baby,” he mutters.

This time when he brings his palm down against your ass, the sound is sharper, louder than before without the fabric between you. Now it’s just his hand and your flushed skin, and it isn’t until now that Joel realizes just how badly he needs to touch you.

Your hips lift up towards his hand, looking for relief that won’t come. “Four,” you sigh.

“Good girl,” he says. “One more, yeah?”

Through panting breaths you ask, “And then you’ll touch me. Right, Joel? Right?”

The words are so innocent and hopeless that he can’t hold back his dark laughter. You’re being so good for him right now, and Joel knows you don’t deserve any more punishment than this…but the opportunity to tease you is just too sweet to resist. And Joel has already established that, when it comes to you, he’s got no restraint. “What’s wrong? Hm?” He slides his middle and index finger through your pussy, chuckling at the blissful moan you give in response, down to your clit where he circles once, twice—and then back up, gathering your wetness on the pads of his fingers. He spreads you open and traces your entrance, careful not to push inside. “Feelin’ empty, little girl? S’that it?”

You’re nodding frantically, eyes transfixed as he lifts his fingers covered in your slick to his mouth and sucks them clean with a groan. “God, Joel, I can’t take it anymore,” you say. 

But he knows better. If he can sit there and watch you dance with another man for hours, you can handle a little desperation. “Good. Now you know how I feel. One more baby,” he says. “Then I promise I’ll touch you, just like you said. Yeah?”

“Yes, yes, please. One more.” 

He makes it the worst one yet. When he slaps your ass the sound reverberates through his ears, and Joel knows it hurts because his palm stings and he starts to feel a little bit guilty. Because the relief it brings him to have finished, to have made you suffer in the same way he has, is incredible. So much so that he wants to do it again—wants you to act out, to be bratty, just so you’ll end up over his knee with his handprints on you again. And that’s wrong, isn’t it? It has to be. It’s fucked up, wanting to punish a little girl for his own satisfaction.

But then your shoulders drop, and delight shines in your eyes, and Joel knows you enjoyed it as much as he did. So, even if it is fucked up and wrong and immoral, it’s something he shares with you and, somehow, it makes it all worth it. “Five,” you whisper. And you immediately go to sit up, to crawl into his lap, but Joel stops you. 

“Stay still, baby. You just lay right there, I’m gonna take care of you, ‘kay? Just like I promised. Don’t gotta lift a finger, pretty girl.”

Joel shifts from underneath you. He stands up, admires the way you look sprawled out over the sheets with your pussy dripping and your ass marked in the exact shape of his hands. You’re so beautiful it pains him, so flawless it hurts. Joel has to remind himself to breathe as he unbuttons his flannel and tosses it aside. 

By the time he’s unbuttoning his jeans, you’re getting desperate again—needy little thing. He watches you squirm, watches you press your thighs together and arch back towards him. 

Once he’s got his jeans off, he climbs over you, takes his aching cock in his hand, and presses a kiss between your shoulder blades. “My perfect little girl,” Joel murmurs against your skin. He slides the head of his cock through your slit, coating himself in your slick, smirking as you whine for more. “This what you want? Yeah?”

“Yes, yes, God, give it to me, I need it, I’ll be so good,” you beg as he circles your clit.

And what is he supposed to do but give in to you? You’re always good when he’s got you alone like this. “I know you will be, baby. Say please.”

“Please, please, please — ohh.”

You feel like damnation as he eases inside. Your long moan sounds like a psalm, his fingertips on your ribs are like keys to the gates of heaven. It feels so fucking good to be inside of you that Joel feels like a thief. A brigand, a predator, a vulture. Because in the back of his head, he knows the truth, knows you can never really be his, knows that the age difference between the two of you means that you’re not meant for him. And he’s stealing, taking from whoever it is you should belong to…but he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to stop.

He moves slowly, pushing in deep until there’s no spot inside of you left untouched. And when he pulls out, his cock is wet with your slick, and Joel shivers at the sight. “Oh, God, Joel, it feels so good.”

“I know, baby,” he says. He leans back, straightening his spine so he can watch himself disappear inside of you. The dark hair between his hips has been made darker by your wetness, and the muscles in his thighs flex with each slow, meaningful thrust. 

There’s something different tonight. Something even more holy than any other time he’s been this close to you. His heart aches behind his sternum and pressure builds in his throat. The feeling chokes him, runs through his veins as naturally as blood. And though it’s never felt quite like this, Joel knows this feeling. Knows, too, that it terrifies him.

But he doesn’t want to ruin the moment. Doesn’t want to take himself out of the sacred time he has with you. So, he leans into the feeling, letting it take over all those thoughts of sin and doubt, all those thoughts of guilt and shame. He pushes them away and loses himself in you instead, picking up his pace, fucking you hard. “Feels real good, hm? You know he’d never make you feel like this, sweetheart. Just me, ain’t that right?”

“Yes! Yes, mmhm, just you, just you.” He can feel you clench around his cock, squeezing your walls tighter with each cruel thrust. His name sounds so pretty in your mouth, Joel thinks.

Already he’s fighting release, fighting to hold himself back. “Fuck, baby. That’s right, just me.” He snakes his hand beneath you, fingers finding your sensitive clit a moment later. He swipes his hand back and forth quickly, delighting in the way you begin to shake. “Don’t want nothin’ fuckin’ gentle. Wanna be fucked just like this, hm? Fucked like the little slut I know you are. You fuckin’ love this cock, don’t you baby? Hm? Say it, sweetheart.”

“I love it, I love it, I love it, ” you say, and Joel’s heart pounds a little faster in his chest. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, God,” you cry out. And he knows you’re right there, can feel it in your trembling limbs. Joel grabs your ass with his free hand, raised skin hot to the touch, and spreads you open for a clearer view.

The sight of his cock stretching you open nearly does him in. But he resists, because he wants to come with you, wants you to drown him. “Give it to me,” he says, thrusting in deeper, stroking your clit faster. “Give it to me, baby. C’mon. There you go, thaaat’s it. Good girl, that’s a good fuckin’ girl. Shit, pretty little pussy’s soakin’ me. Gonna come inside, hm? How’s that sound, sweetheart? Want me to fill you up?”

There’s a moment of hesitation, but then you’re nodding and you look back at him with hazy eyes and say through your moans, “Yes, I wanna feel it. Please come inside me, Joel, please.”

He doesn’t last another second. His orgasm hits him so hard his vision blackens and he sees nothing but bursts of light, hears nothing but your sweet sounds, feels nothing but admiration and devotion and worship. For you, all for you. 

Everything for you. 

He fucks you through it, doesn’t stop until he’s completely spent, even though you've finished and come down and your knuckles are white around the sheets, too sensitive to care about anything else but the steady movement inside of you. He gives you every last drop, makes fucking sure of it. And when his muscles go slack, he presses his sweaty forehead to your spine and tries to catch his breath. He breathes you in deep, holding you in his lungs, in his heart.

And he doesn't want to move, but then you let out a sated little giggle and say, “Joel, you’re squishing me.”

He laughs quietly, presses a kiss to your shoulder, and slowly pulls out of you with a groan. He crawls to the other side of the bed, pulls the comforter back, and helps you crawl underneath it. And when he nestles in beside you, he’s a little startled when it’s a natural reaction to pull you close. He wraps his arms around your waist, hooks your thigh over his hip, leans into your hands as you thread your fingers through his hair and scratch lightly at his scalp. 

It’s intimate and closer than he’s been to anyone in a very, very long time. But he doesn’t hate it. And he doesn’t hate it when you pepper kisses over his face, either. And he really doesn’t hate it when you arch your back, tits pressing against his chest, and smile like there’s nothing in the world that makes you happier than being here with him, just like this.

He knows you are, but he has to ask. “You okay? It wasn’t too much, was it?”

You shake your head. “No, not at all. I…” You stop, chewing on your bottom lip. “I, uhm…”

“What is it?”

You look away from him, suddenly very interested in the shadows you make on the ceiling by rubbing your cold feet over his legs. “In the morning, I’ll have to go talk to Robin,” you admit. “She…she makes this tea, something you can drink to prevent unwanted…uhm,”

Joel thinks it's real cute, the way you’re struggling over your words. But he decides to grant you a little ease. Thinks you deserve it. “You don’t have to do that. I had a vasectomy before the outbreak,” he says. And when a crease forms between your brows, the question written plainly on your face, he explains, “It’s a procedure that, uh…makes it so I can’t…you know. Do that. Shootin’ blanks.”

It’s only then he realizes the gravity of the situation. Realizes that you didn’t know, because the two of you have never had this conversation, and you were ready and willing and begging to risk everything, to risk being tied to him forever, all for a single moment of bliss, of sweet relief.

“Oh. How convenient,” you say. 

“That’s somethin’ you were worried about?” He begins to wonder if you’ve ever felt pressured by him to do things you didn’t want all in the name of pleasing him. Realizes that never once has he asked for your permission. He’s always just…told you what to do. Bossed you around. And there’s a power imbalance here because of his age, isn’t there? His mouth runs dry, his blood runs cold. “You can say no, baby. At any time, with anything. You know that, right?”

You nod, and he feels the panic bleed from his chest as you explain, “I know. I wanted it, too. And I wasn’t worried. I trust you, Joel.”

That fucks him up. Blows through all the defenses he’s put up, all the walls he’s built to keep you out, to keep you at arm's length.

I trust you.

God, he’s fucking done for.

You let out a long breath. He feels at ease the moment you nestle your head in the junction of his shoulder, muscles relaxing as the tension subsides. “I don’t want to see you with her,” you whisper against his throat. 

“You won’t,” he says quickly. “I never should’ve gone in the first place.” It’s the truth, and Joel means it. There’s no one for him but you and he knows by now that there never will be.

“So…I’ll only be with you, and you’ll only be with me, and we’ll keep it quiet for a while. That way everyone’s happy.��

“Yeah,” he says. But it’s not enough. Just seconds after the words leave your mouth, there’s a pull within him for more. He wants to parade you around Jackson, to hold your hand and kiss you over dinner at The Tipsy Bison and dance with you so every man in the commune knows who you belong to. 

But he can’t. He can’t.

It’s not enough, but it has to be.

Joel can tell there’s another question on the tip of your tongue. He gives you time to work through it, to form the words in whatever way makes you most comfortable. But the longer you stay silent, the deeper that crease between your brows becomes. You swallow thickly, open your mouth, close it again. And Joel feels his heart shatter in his chest because he knows. He knows because he feels it, too. And the words crack in your mouth as you say, “Joel…Joel, I—”

“I know,” he says, because he can’t hear you say it. He can’t. It’s too much. It’ll rip him apart. But he gets it, he understands. He presses his lips to yours, kissing you deeply, hoping you can sense his piety. When he pulls away, your eyes are wide and glassy and you look just as frightened as he feels. “S’okay, baby. I know. Get some sleep.”

Joel holds you a little tighter.

[part three] [part five]

[spookypete-94]

Dark Horse-Violent Men

Chapter 7

PriceXFem!reader

Reader is a single mother, working double shifts at a restaurant. Father of the child starts to become a problem while reader is at work and Price offers a solution. Slight age gap between reader around 25 and Price around 35. Will be around 3-5 Chapters once finished (Probably will be more about 6-8 chapters total now)

This one still may seem a little bit dark. Trigger warning for death mentioned and language. John not in this one, but will be in the next. Just setting things up for further down the road :)

The man standing before you. The one who had been sent to your aid by your new loving and devoted husband. Realizing, this is what their life looked like to them on a regular basis.

Blood. Torn skin and broken bones.

Still. As gruesome and difficult as it may be to bear witness to, you found words.

“Let me help.”

Ghost looked up at you, kneeling in front of the man he had put downed after you had failed to do so. His dead eyes barely peeking up at you through his hood. Did he really think you were that useless?

“Let me help.” You said firmer, stepping into the watered-down massacre.

“Grab his feet.” Ghost finally spoke, kneeling at the ready as his hands looped through your ex’s shoulders.

Doing as you were told; you mirrored his same movement looping your arms around his ankles for better support. It took a moment for you to feel steady enough to stand… you know carrying dead weight and all.

“Got him?” Ghost’s question rang out to you, making you look up and nod.

“Yeah.”

“Your rug in the living room… how much do you like it?”

Glancing behind you, you looked at it and back to him.

“Can always get a new one.”

“Good answer.” he said nodding to it, telling you to go ahead and back up in that direction.

Shuffling towards it, slowly, you finally arrived. He took his leg out and shoved your coffee table rather roughly out of the way dropping his half of the body onto the rug.

Finding the irony in it you snorted at how rough he had just dropped him, matching the same.

“Can’t wake the dead.”

He grabbed a side of the rug and began rolling him into it.

“I’ll get rid of this. Go clean the bathroom the best you can, soon as I’m done with him, I’ll come back and check on you again.” His head jerked in the direction towards the mess. You watched out the corner of your eye as he grabbed the rug and drug it to the window your ex had come into and pushed him out.

The way he came in, and the way he left… both in completely different state.

It was that thought that made you start to panic. Breathing erratic, heart racing.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Ghost said large strides to you. “Now’s not the time, you gotta keep it together. We aren’t done yet.”

He was commanding you. Trying to lead you.

You placed a hand on your chest, trying to calm the thunder you could feel inside.

“When it’s all said and done, then you can break down. But for right now, we need to take care of this.”

Breath. Abel. Breath. Out.

You must do this for Abel. This man tried to kill you. The father of your child tried to kill you. You defended yourself. This is not your fault, you tried to justify with yourself.

A hand on your shoulder squeezing tightly made you open your eyes.

“Good?”

“Better.” You answered trying to be honest. You weren’t good yet but would do everything you could to function. “I’ll start cleaning,”

Ghost’s hulking black form crawled out the window after his dead body burrito, slipping the screen back up first before he left.

Once he left it was all so eerily quiet… Standing for a moment. If you were someone called to the scene, you’d be left with so many questions as to what happened. Why is there such a mess? Water, blood, broken glass and dirty towels… but better yet where is the body? The thing that had made such a mess.

What was he going to do with the body?

Maybe it was better you didn’t know…

Using the blood and water-soaked towels, you tried your best in squeezing out the water into the tub and repeating the process, not wanting to further contaminate your things with his DNA by using other towels. Sure, you had watched enough crime shows… but did you ever thing you could hide a murder? No way in fucking hell.

The familiar knock from before returned a little over an hour later. For the most part you had things cleaned up, but sure there were things you had missed. Opening the door, you let Ghost slip back in, allowing him to look over the bathroom one more time. He shut it, locking you out of it, leaving you to wonder what he was doing.

It wasn’t long before even through the door you could smell some sort of chemical.

“What are you doing?”

“Less you know the better.” Scrubbing could be heard behind the door.

It left you to your own devices. You wanted to call John… wanted comfort. But deep down... you knew it wasn’t a good idea. Doubt creeping into your mind of getting caught with murder.

Sitting down on the couch, you sat hunched forward, picking at your nails. Was his skin still under there from where you had clawed at him wanting out?

The bathroom door opening, and the harsh smell of bleach wafted out with Ghost as he came out. Somehow his black clothes… still black. He had scrubbed your entire bathroom, murdered and taken care of the body all for you… what a gentleman.

He stood at your kitchen sink, washing his hands.

“Didn’t realize your name was Simon.” You said quietly breaking the sound barrier.

Ghost glanced over his shoulder to show he had heard you but still said nothing.

“Call Price around 8 in the morning. Don’t communicate with him or anyone else about what happened for now. Don’t need red flags.”

“What did you do??”

“He is going to be found. Maybe an officer is going to come to your door or contact you to see if you have seen him- but it’s not going to come back on you. Either way, I’m sure since you’re tied to him someone is going to notify you. Leave the overhead fan on in your bathroom on to help with the smell.” He was drying his hands off with the towel on the hook.

“How do you all treat this like its no big deal?”

“It’s just part of our lives. We deal with it. Bury it and move on.”

“You think that’s what I should do?” Eyes looking up at him trying to find answers.

“Think you need to do what’s best for that boy. Unfortunately, his father didn’t think that.”

You bit your lip and looked down, tears welling up, but you refused to sob in front of a man that you new less then your freshly married husband.

“I’m glad he is taking care of you. Soap was right, any one of us would have been happy to find what he has found.” Soap? He meant Johnny from the comment he made at the diner.

It made you scoff wiping the tears away.

“Yes, a mother forced to have a child with a violent man… what a catch.” Sarcastic. Dry. Why do they keep saying this?

“How do you think we were all raised? Soldiers don’t come without knowing violence… You’re a soft spot for us. A soft spot for him. I only came ‘cause he asked me to... We will make sure that boy never has to see violence or know it anymore.”

His strange way of comforting you seemed to have worked. This nightmare was over, you would never have to see him again.

“I’m grateful for John… for you all.”

"Try to get some sleep.” The stone wall had returned. Simon or now Ghost said heading to the door. He was brushing you off as if he was the one uncomfortable from what you had just said. “Lock your doors… and your windows.”

The quiet shut of the latch leaves you alone in your thoughts once more. Your mind still buzzing so loud in contrast. Quickly, you got up checking everything to make sure no more intruders would surprise you anymore. Laying in bed craving the security of your husband. Aching to hold Abel. But deep down, somehow you knew everything was going to be alright. John and his Task Force willing to do everything they can to keep you and Abel safe… you didn’t have to live in fear anymore. Somehow marrying one leaving you bound to them all. Sleep eventually found you, nightmare and anger free.

Previous

Next

Captain John Price Masterlist

Taglist:

@cutiecusp @angeldemon28 @simplyymee98 @beebeechaos @cadotoast @talooolaaloolla @lhhlver @hon3y-cloud @spktrgantenk @generalruinsexpert @freshlemontea @hearmesingoutfromthelostandfound

[noideabutsims]

 [Exciting Announcement! 🎉] Donut Co.'s Pre-School Play Set is ALMOST HERE!

Hey Simmers! We know you've been patiently waiting (and we've been sweating) over this massive project... but the wait is ALMOST OVER! Donut Co. is thrilled to give you a sneak peek of the creative explosion that's about to hit your Sims' worlds:

🍩 Donut Co.'s Dream-Build-Play Blocks: Unleash your little Sim's inner architect with this colossal collection of colorful, kid-safe foam blocks. Build towering castles, sprawling towns, or anything their imagination can dream up!

🚗 Build-Your-World Rugs - Explore With Me Edition: Take playtime to the next level with these nostalgic, detailed town rugs. Watch as your Sims embark on epic adventures, cruising through bustling streets and discovering hidden corners.

✨ Little Ones Reading Time Rugs: Make story time extra special with these vibrant and durable rugs, designed to spark imagination and foster a love of learning.

About The Set: Hold onto your hats, Simmers, because Donut Co. is about to revolutionize playtime in your virtual worlds! Introducing the Dream-Build-Play Blocks – a mind-blowing collection of 24 unique block creations that will transform your Sims' homes into vibrant wonderlands of fun and imagination.

Picture this: towering playhouses bursting with color, adorable dollhouses begging to be explored, and stacks of nesting blocks just waiting to be built into towering masterpieces. Your little Sims will squeal with delight as they dive into a world of endless possibilities!

But wait, there's more! We've sprinkled in a rainbow of vibrant hues, a playful nod to Pride Month and a guaranteed way to make your Sims' spaces pop! Toddlers will giggle with glee as they tumble through block tunnels, children will create sprawling cities, and even your adult Sims will be tempted to join in on the fun.

And don't forget those oh-so-cozy reading nooks! Our Little Ones Reading Time Rugs now come in "classroom clean" and "playtime messy" versions, perfect for sparking a love of learning or simply adding a touch of realism to your Sims' homes. Plus, our Explore With Me rugs will transport your little ones to a world of imaginative play, with their charming towns and winding roads.

This set is a Simmer's dream come true, with endless options for customization and play. Whether you're building a bustling metropolis or a cozy corner for quiet time, the Dream-Build-Play Blocks are sure to inspire hours of fun for Sims of all ages.

So what are you waiting for? Unleash your inner child, let your creativity run wild, and give your Sims the playtime they deserve with Donut Co.'s Dream-Build-Play Blocks!

Behind the Scenes:

This project was a labor of love that faced its fair share of challenges. We dealt with so many snags, for a moment we didn't know if this set would be finished or released at all. But a HUGE thank you goes out to @taurusdesign for all the help they have given with this project. They are the only reason this set is able to be released, as they were able to help me fix all the meshing issue and the shadows. From technical hiccups to design dilemmas, we've poured our hearts (and a few tears) into bringing you the best possible experience. But trust us, it's been worth every minute, and the finished product is just around the corner! Truth about shadows: There is one small issue that is noticed, that I can not find a solution for. There are some shadows before placing a few of the objects, but they disappear as soon as the objects are actually placed (Pictured below). I am not sure how to fix this, so this may end up in the final project, unless someone has an idea in which case please let me know! <3

Get Ready to Play!

Stay tuned for the official launch date – it's coming VERY soon! In the meantime, start dreaming up the amazing creations your Sims will build with these new additions.

Thank You!

We couldn't have made it to this point without your unwavering support and enthusiasm. Your patience throughout this journey means the world to us. So, from the bottom of our sim-loving hearts, THANK YOU! We can't wait to see the amazing creations your Sims will build with these new additions.

Stay Tuned for the Big Day! 💖🍩

[askinkiskarma]

ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ ᴅᴀʏ xxɪɪ - ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʀɪᴠᴇʀ

pairing: dilf!jake x omatikaya!reader

➽ words: >800 words

➽ a/n: i honestly don't know if i should keep writing these, but i couldn't help myself with this one. dilf!jake thoughts will what do what dilf!jake thoughts do best, it's like a trance taking over me.

➽ warnings: it goes without saying, but all of these works (kinktober-related) are smut and therefore minors should NOT interact with them. other warnings include: pet names (doll, kid)

➽ taglist (x) ➽ kinktober masterlist (x)

Your muscles are aching and sore, a common occurrence recently, since the Olo’eyktan has decided everyone needs to work harder to pull their weight, to ensure the clan is ready for the inevitable offensive onslaught brought about by the demons coming from the stars above. It’s been non-stop, the training and drills, your body so drenched in mud at all-times, it almost became a second skin. You can feel your satin top clinging to your form, perfectly moulded to the shape of your breasts, accentuating your hardened nipples and your flawless, fuckable little body. 

Jake felt like such a perverted old man, staring at you making your way to the riverbank, no doubt trying to wash away the day, trying to loosen the tight knots in your shoulders and back. It was so strange - never before has Jake found someone to look somehow even better all disheveled and muddy, but there you were, a beautiful doll with the most perfect tits in the world and an ass that was begging for a thick cock to sit on. Luckily for Jake, he had some time to spare and just the perfect solution to… loosen you up after such a hard day.

You jumped a little as you noticed how close the Olo’eyktan has gotten to you, his musky, earthy, woody scent inundating your senses and making slick pool in your already clinging tewng. It was hard, being close to him. You tried to avoid it, because you hated feeling week, or like a child, but around him, taking in his rugged beauty and his muscular, strong body, bulging muscles always on display, thick thighs almost calling out for you to ride them, dragging your soaking folds against the tight, taut, azure skin until the pressure exploded all around you... let's just say all rational thoughts went swiftly out the window.

"Alright there, kid? I didn't work you too hard now, did I?"

"N-no, sir."

"Sir?" His eyes bore into your own, and you couldn't break away from his gaze, preying and teasing, intense and fascinated. He swirled the word around his tongue like a precious liquor, before he made his appraisal. "I like that. Sounds good coming from your lips."

It took no time for him to join you in the river, the icy temperature of the water not eliciting as much as a bat of an eyelash to this hardened specimen of a man.

"Let me help get you cleaned up, what d'you say? It's the least I can do after pushing you so hard these past few weeks."

His muscles tense as he sits down, the water falling in a tumultuous stream as it hit his back. He pats his lap lazily, welcoming you in between his legs. Your breath hitches in your throat at the sight, at the way he was maintaining eye contact, at the way he was devouring you with his darkening stare.

"C'mon, doll. I won't bite, I promise."

Unable to resist any further, you oblige, turning your back to him and dropping until you were perched in between his thighs, allowing the water to submerge you to your collarbones, feeling your nipples harden again, as you struggled to adjust to the coolness of the river.

"There you go, good girl."

He took no time in reaching across and caressing your body with his huge hands, moving them across your abdomen and back in soothing motions that did wonders for your tense disposition, making you instantly forget that you were in public, and that anything too conspicuous would inevitably be visible to all the other Na'vi scattered across the ever-moving body of water.

You moan and keen into his touch, throwing your head back as his fingers find the sensitive skin of your breast, kneading them carefully, catching your erect buds in between his thumb and index finger, twisting and pulling. The sensation was intoxicating, heightened by the hard-on pushing against your aching, desperate, needy cunt and the way his tongue was dragging across the nape of your neck. You start moving on his length involuntarily, dry-humping him through both your messy, wet loincloths.

"Let me take it off, baby girl. Need to feel you take every inch of my cock."

When his fingers wrap around the band of your tewng, undoing it expertly, you gasp - it was big, so big, bigger than you've ever imagined.. or ever had. You were almost scared, intimidated at the thought of being stretched by him, filled to the brim and split open until you were merely a toy, to be used and abused however he saw fit. There was excitement, too, stupid relief at the thought, at how it'd feel, at how good you'd feel.

"S-s'big, sir. 's not gonna fit."

As he dragged his tip across your folds, teasing you before pushing in just past the entrance, you mewl and push back into him, silently begging him for more.

"Shh, doll. So fucking needy, aren't you? So gorgeous, make an old man like me drop to my knees. Gonna look so good, bouncing up and down on daddy's cock."

taglist: taglist: @pandoraslxna @sulieykte @blue-slxt @eywaeveng @neteyamsikran @elenamoncada-ibarra @spicymayyo @itsjazzsworld @daddysmurfslefttoenail @eyrina-avatar @iameatingmyhair @neteyamyawne @eyweveng @tiredwitch1113@hadesbabygurl@linydoll @the-mourning-moon

[thalialunacy]

[for the @calaisreno May Promptosaurus Rex; cw for toddler stuff, eg 💩 & 🤮]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) 19: weather (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28) (29) (30) (31)

'A-ha! We did it!' John says, possibly too chuffed as he holds up a freshly changed and dressed Rosie. 'We--'

She makes a very distinctive face, then grunts. John eyes her. 'Tell me that face doesn't mean what I think it means.'

Then he does the sniff test, and yes. Yes, it does mean that.

He lays her down yet again, fond exasperation tugging at his lips. 'Wee girl, why do you do this to me?' His mum has used the endearment on Harry their whole lives, so it's comfortable on his tongue as he reaches for wipes and a new nappy -- only to discover the stashes depleted. As in… nill.

John rolls several expletives around his teeth. But then Rosie giggle-gurgles up at him, and he swoops in to expel his breath instead on her cheek in the form of a huge raspberry. He almost doesn't hear the knock on the door.

He pauses, but then shrugs and picks her up. 'Sorry, sweetheart. Let's go see who's at the door, yeah?'

She is notably non-nonplussed. 'Livery?'

'Might be,' John replies as he reaches the building door and opens it. 'And it is!' His daughter claps and immediately reaches out for the spotty young man trying to wrestle a rather large box. 'Whoa, there.' John reins her back in; she wants to be friends with everyone, which is both endearing and alarming.

'Do I need to sign?' he says to the carrier, who, now that John's looking, isn't wearing any sort of uniform. He looks like a dishboy haphazardly and temporarily promoted.

'No, sir. I'm to bring it up to the flat.'

A seed of a thought germinates in John's head. 'That was your instruction?'

The lad nods, clearly trying not to show his impatience. John holds back a sigh, and opens the door wider to let him pass. 'By all means.'

And it's as John expected: Wipes, diaper rash cream, and nappies. They're even--though he really shouldn't be surprised--the correct size.

As soon as Rosie's changed (again), he's got his phone out.

'I trust the delivery made it in time?' Mycroft answers.

John spares them both the niceties. 'How?'

'Nothing untoward, I assure you. Sherlock texted me.'

'Right. And where is he?' They may have an… evolving relationship, but Sherlock is still Sherlock, and John can also admit he only vaguely remembers what the detective had said when he'd left earlier in the day.

'I believe the words "spleen" and "unidentified poison" are involved.'

'Excellent. Listen.' He clears his throat. 'I'll pay you back.'

'My mother would call that "vulgar," as you know.'

'And she's a lovely woman, but--'

'Discuss it with Sherlock, please. I've got work and must get back to it.'

He rings off. John stares at his phone.

Death by Holmes. That's it. That will be how his life ends.

---

Rosie has broken the laws of physics and/or cloned herself. She has. She must have done.

That's the only explanation for the sheer reach of mess he finds waiting for him after his clinic hours the next day. 'Bloody hell,' he breathes, standing in the flat's doorway and taking it in.

It's more than the usual whirlwind that happens when Sherlock's between cases and takes Rosie for the day - He claims loftily that he's putting her through intellectual paces, but really he just indulges her every whim, including her lack of enthusiasm for cleaning up. And it's not as if the flat was shining and organised to begin with.

John doesn't even have the bandwidth to log all the bits of chaos surrounding him. For heaven's sake, he hadn't even known they owned bubble solution. But, then again, they don't now, judging by the rather large soapy stain on the rug in front of the window, and the family of tipped-over empty bottles next to it.

'John!' he hears from Sherlock's bedroom. 'Come join us!'

He rolls his eyes, but goes anyway. The noises make it clear as to what they're doing, and John hangs his head before pushing open the door. He'd been hoping to at least have one nice mattress in the flat for a bit longer.

But no, currently Sherlock is holding onto an absolutely delighted toddler while, obviously, jumping up and down on the bed like he's seven. Actually, John fleetingly wonders if Sherlock even got to do such things when he was seven--

'Come on, John!'

--and the unabashed joy in Sherlock's eyes tells him his answer. With that, the resistance whooshes out of him. He toes off his shoes and joins them.

'We're testing the durability,' Sherlock explains, loudly, then swoops Rosie like an aeroplane.

John laughs, huffs of air as he jumps and watches his daughter. She seems to be enjoying herself, except-- 'I think she might--' He stops, reaches out. 'Sherlock, she's going to v--'

With a small noise of surprise, Rosie is, indeed, sick. The remnants of whatever they'd had for tea form a lovely puddle on Sherlock's expensive sheets.

The grown-ups both manage to avoid it, scrambling backwards and into each other, somehow. John, lungs tight, reaches for his daughter, not caring that she's got sick all down her front. 'My girl,' he says, going for soothing, knowing her reaction could go either way. 'Did that surprise you?'

Rosie, wide-eyed, lets out a small hiccough. Then her face crumples, and she starts to sob.

'Oh dear,' Sherlock says faintly.

John, because he's a bastard, feels laughter start to bubble up in his lungs.

Then he hears Sherlock repressing chuckles next to him, and the floodgates are open, them laughing together like errant schoolboys.

'We musn't giggle near an ill child!' Sherlock admonishes, but it works no better than it had the week they met. John bumps Sherlock's shoulder and curls Rosie into his chest, rubbing her back and putting his lips to her forehead in between breaths. She's not feverish, she just likely got swooped about like an aeroplane too soon after tea, so John relaxes and lets himself go, laughing like an idiot in dirty sheets with a dirty baby and a spotless Sherlock (somehow, the bastard).

Then there's a knock at the door. The door of the flat, not the ground floor.

He and Sherlock exchange glances, no longer laughing; even Rosie has geared down from wailing to whimpering. John shrugs.

'Come in,' Sherlock says, loudly, because of course he does; he doesn't give a toss what people think of his cleaning habits. 'We're in the master bedroom.'

A formidable grey-haired woman with a tight chignon and very no-nonsense shoes appears in the bedroom doorway. She takes in the situation, and then she tuts. Actually tuts, in a distinctly Edwardian way that John hasn't heard since his grandmother passed. 'Just as Mr Holmes suspected.'

Sherlock purses his lips. 'Mycroft sent you?'

'He certainly did. Now, out of those clothes and into the bath, please, all three of you.'

Sherlock opens his mouth to protest but the Look she gives him has him shutting it with a snap.

John would laugh if he had the fortitude. 'Beg pardon, ma'am, but he sent you because…?'

'Because you lot are a mess, a fact of which you seem to be unaware.'

John and Sherlock exchange another look. 'Fine,' Sherlock says curtly. 'But could you be so kind as to leave the room while we undress?'

'Certainly.' She gives a short nod, then turns on her heel and exits down the hall.

'Hang on,' John whispers loudly as they start to unbutton and unzip. 'Mycroft sent us a nanny?'

'I'm relatively certain she's his housekeeper, and just on loan for this evening.'

'I guess I should be surprised.'

'No, you shouldn't, as you're not entirely without wits.'

'Such flattery.'

'Dull.'

'It's almost sweet of your brother, really.'

Sherlock points a finger at him. 'Don't you dare.'

John's lips quirk. 'Don't worry, I won't send him a fruit basket or anything. I just-- I appreciate that he indulges a child he hardly knows, that's of no relation to him.'

Sherlock clears his throat. 'Yes, well, be that as it may, I say we take full advantage.' He pulls the now-naked toddler out of John's hands and heads towards the loo.

John watches them go, feeling quite swirled around by the last half an hour's events. But then he shakes his head at himself and his navel-gazing, and follows them.

---

John's phone buzzes while he's at work the next day, and he doesn't pay it much mind until he sees it's the day nursery. After he reads the message and is able to breathe again-- Jesus, being a father is not for the weak, is it-- he thumbs one to Sherlock. 

Did you get the updated pickup address from the minder? Trip to park rained out. 

He doesn't get a reply, not right away or in the next few hours. 

This could, of course, mean a few things. John firmly puts away the worst case scenario, and reckons a case has taken priority, seeing as Sherlock knew John was available for pickup if necessary. 

So, needless to say, he's surprised when he arrives at the given address. One, because Sherlock is there waiting. And two, because it's… 

John stares.

'John,' Sherlock says after a moment. 'I'm afraid my brother has outdone himself.' 

'Yes, well.' He coughs. 'I'm afraid he's turned an indoor football pitch into a Disneyland for toddlers.'

'As I said.'

'Jesus Christ.' He wonders how long Mycroft's been planning this. 'Wait-- Was this just because of the rain today?'

'Knowing Mycroft? Yes. Is that not a proportional response?'

John can hear the amusement in Sherlock's voice. 'Definitely not,' he replies, but his cheeks hurt from repressing a smile. 'Hang on,' he says. 'Why are you here? You didn't return my texts, I figured you were in the middle of a corpse or something.'

'Mycroft told me to stay put.'

John snorts. 'Didn't you think he might be using trick psychology to get you here?'

Sherlock scoffs. 'Soft science, that.'

'Sure.'

'Daddy! Sherlock!' John looks away from Sherlock at that particular mispronunciation of his flatmate's name, and is barreled into by a clumsy sparkly dervish. 

'What--' He automatically reaches down to pick her up, then does a double take at the elaborate butterfly painted onto nearly her whole face. It's basically a work of art, honestly, and he has no idea how someone got her to sit still for that long. 

'They are hired for speed,' Sherlock says to him, and he laughs, still impressed after all these years. 

'Incredible.'

Sherlock glances at him. 'Whether you mean the artwork or my deducing your question about the artist, you are correct.'

John ignores him and listens to his daughter chatter enthusiastically. The words "bouncy castle" and, somehow, "golf" filter out of it, and John chuckles.

Then he hears her say something that makes him double-take. 'Pardon? Say that once more, sweetheart.'

'Uncle Mycroft!' she repeats. Or at least, most of those letters. Enough to confirm.

John's jaw clenches. 'Did he tell you to call him that?'

She nods enthusiastically. 'He's fun!'

This jars John from his confused dismay, and he hears Sherlock snort, too. 'I suppose he can be, in his own way.'

'Don't lie to your daughter, John.'

John tries not to laugh, and nearly succeeds.

You're going to have a hard time topping this for her next birthday, he writes to Mycroft. He doesn't get a reply, but he supposes that's fair.

They get halfway through the relatively short walk home. Halfway. Before the heavens open up, changing from an aggressive mist to actual splotchy rain.

John swallows a curse, ducking under an awning and already anticipating Rosie wailing about prematurely losing her face art, about being cold and wet and out of doors. 

But when he looks at them, at Sherlock swinging his daughter down from where she'd been perched on his shoulders, he sees nothing but joy on her face.

Joy, and wet streaks of glittery violet paint. She's clinging to Sherlock's hands, and Sherlock looks -- Well, he looks really bloody happy, if John had to label it. But he hesitates in doing so, and resigns himself to just enjoying the moment.

'What,' he says once he's recovered his voice, 'Mycroft can't have a drone deliver us an umbrella?'

Sherlock chuckles, then sobers. 'He does adore her, you know.'

John looks at Sherlock, not quite hiding his surprise. 'And you're alright with that? With "Uncle Mycroft"?'

Sherlock's eyes flash with something, but John isn't quick enough to categorise it. 'A child should have a variety of influences in their life.'

'True, but--'

'And an expanded support structure they can rely on. I daresay Mycroft qualifies, don't you?'

John nods shortly, finding himself unable to form useful words.

Luckily, Sherlock does it for him. He sweeps Rosie back up into his arms and boops her nose, which makes John's eyes cross with cognitive dissonance but there it is all the same. 'Shall we continue walking and enjoying the rain?' the detective asks Rosie. 'And then have a nice bath and some tea? I'm sure your father will make up a fire, too.'

John swallows. 'Sure, yeah.'

Heart warm enough to hurt, he follows them out from under the cover and into the storm.

Time's too short, he reckons, to fuss about dreary weather.

[ <3 ]

[inspiration: Richard Shindell's 'The Weather'. Also consulted bubbleinc.co.uk, obviously.]

[csuitebitches]

Interiors: Basics of Styles

The 9 Styles of Interiors are maximalist, brutalist, coastal, minimalist, rustic, art deco, Hollywood Regency, midcentury modern and modern organic and they all have unique characteristics. Let’s dive in.

Maximalism

* Bold colors.

* Bright wallpaper.

* Mixed patterns with contrasting motifs, like animal print, geometric shapes, or florals.

* Ornate accents, like chandeliers.

* Layered fabrics.

* Statement pieces.

Notable people: Kelly Wearstler, Martin Brudnizki, Dorothy Draper and the Greenbriar Resort

Brutalist

* Raw Materials. At its core, Brutalist interior design honors raw materials—showcasing the honesty of construction

* Geometric Shapes

* Textured Surfaces

* Unadorned Minimalism

* Focus on Function

Notable people: Le Corbusier, Marcel Breuer, Moshe Safdie

Coastal

* Natural Light

* Crisp whites

* Layered blue tones

* Jute textures

* Stripes

* Linen upholstery

Notable people: William Pahlmann, Amy Aidinis Hirsch, Brett Sugerman and Giselle Loor Sugerman

Minimalist

* Simple lines.

* Monochromatic or neutral color palettes.

* Limited furniture.

* Limited decorative objects.

* Storage solutions that keep the space uncluttered.

* Open floor plans.

* Natural light

Notable people: Donald Judd, Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, David Chipperfield

Rustic

* Main Colors: Wood grains or browns, beiges, or warmer shades

* of white.

* Accent Colors: Muted colors - tans, reds, blues, greens, yellows,

* and grays.

* Shapes: Rugged, imperfect lines and silhouettes.

* Fixture Finishes: Iron, pewter, copper, or brass.

* Aesthetic: Imperfect but warm and inviting. Decor/Art Style: Animal hides and fur, antlers, throws, pillows,

* and rugs with simple motifs or patterns.

Notable people: Alexander Waterworth, Grey Walker, Katherine Pooley, Bill Hovard, Jean Stoffer

Art deco

* Streamlined, symmetrical forms.

* Geometric designs as ornamentation; it's common to see shapes such as: Trapezoids

* Rich material and textile palettes

* Ornamental light fixtures such as chandeliers or sconces.

Notable people: Jacques Ruhlmann and Maurice Dufrène, Eliel Saarinen

Hollywood Regency

* richly layered textures

* high contrast patterns

* metallic finishes

* vibrant colors

Notable people: Dorothy Draper, George Vernon Russell, Douglas Honnold, John Woolf, and Paul R. Williams.

Midcentury Modern

* clean lines

* muted tones

* a combination of natural and manmade materials

* graphic shapes

* vibrant colours

* integrating indoor and outdoor motifs

Notable people: Arne Jacobsen, Charles and Ray Eames, Eero Saarinen

Modern Organic

* The modern organic interior design style mixes minimalism, midcentury modern, and boho flair

* Clean minimalism and sleek lines meet nature-inspired shapes, organic textures, and rustic elements

* By adding natural textures and shapes, the modern organic decor is warm, inviting, soulful, and elegant.

[carpetcleaningnyc03]

Best Carpet Cleaners in New York - Carpet Cleaning NYC

Are you tired of looking at those dirty carpets in your home and office? Carpet Cleaning NYC in NYC can restore your carpets with eco-friendly carpet cleaning services in NYC.

[whateveriwant]

Marvel Masterlist

* indicates smut/18+

! indicates dark!fic

Bucky Barnes

* On His Shoulder (Oneshot)

Summary: Five separate occasions in which Bucky tells you to put something on his shoulder.

Warnings: language, enemies-to-lovers, SMUT

* ! Happy to Help (Oneshot)

Summary: As the newest Avenger, you lead a stress-filled life. Not only are you juggling the pressures of a new career and new fame, but also new teammates. In particular, James Barnes is an... unsettling character. Are you misjudging James, or should you have reason to be wary of him?

Warnings: language, yandere, deceit, manipulation, POV shifts, SMUT, NON-CON

* Dreaming of Angels (Oneshot)

Summary: Bucky finds himself dreaming about his girl. His gift from heaven. His angel.

Warnings: violence, SMUT, ANGST

* ! Teacher’s Pet (Oneshot)

Summary: It’s the start of a new semester and a student has caught Bucky’s eye. He wants to maintain a professional boundary between them, but can he hold himself back? For how long? College AU

Warnings: language, manipulation/grooming, deceit, abuse of power, mentions of depression/suicide ideation, SMUT, NON-CON aspects

Watch My Six (Headcanon)

Summary: A headcanon for Bucky being protective.

Warnings: brief violence

* The Magic Word (Oneshot)

Summary: Bucky agrees to try something you've always wanted to do with him, but only under the condition that a certain word be employed if need be.

Warnings: SMUT

My Heart and Soul (Oneshot)

Summary: Bucky commits the ultimate act of betrayal. Can you find the strength to forgive him?

Warnings: language, ANGST

* A Long Night (Oneshot)

Summary: Date night with Bucky takes a sticky left turn.

Warnings: 18+ content

Steve Rogers

* Ruby Digits (Oneshot)

Summary: Your menstrual cramps are being particularly bothersome and Steve has an interesting proposition for helping relieve your pain.

Warnings: language, mentions of blood, SMUT

A First Goodbye (Oneshot)

Summary: Steve isn't one for saying goodbye, but one day he's forced to say it to you.

Warnings: mentions of sex, mentions of explosions, Endgame spoilers, ANGST

! The Tooth Fairy (Oneshot)

Summary: Steve books a wisdom teeth extraction with your practice. While he’s under, maybe you can do more than just pull teeth.

Warnings: medical procedures, angst, NON-CON

* Rug Burn (Oneshot)

Summary: You love giving Steve head, but sometimes it’s killer on your knees. Luckily, Steve comes up with a solution to help cushion the blow.

Warnings: language, SMUT

* Oopsy Daisy (Twoshot)

Summary: In order to keep the animal shelter from closing, your sorority holds a car wash as a fundraiser. Besides cleaning cars all day, you have another goal in mind involving a certain football-playing frat member. College AU

Warnings: language, slight angst, SMUT

* Easy Peasy (Twoshot)

Summary: Friday night at the frat house means it’s time for a party. Besides booze, beer pong, and bro-nanigans, the brothers have something else up their sleeves to help get the party going. College AU

Warnings: language, 18+ content

[copperbadge]

[ID: Three images; top left, a spray bottle of clear liquid, labeled PRO SPRAY, sits on a gleaming cutting board; top right, Dearborn the tortie glares at the camera from the work desk's copilot basket. Bottom, a white rug with blue patterning in my hallway, surrounded at the edges by dark dustbunny-looking lumps.]

NaClYoHo Day Two! Pardon my grossness.

Yesterday afternoon I did the first of what is usually several trips to the hardware store; I bought spackle, gnat traps, and a PROFESSIONAL spray bottle. PRO SPRAY. It has an adjustable nozzle and measurement marks on the side, so I can dilute the vinegar pretty accurately. Last night I filled it up with vinegar water and laminated the kitchen, and this morning found and killed several weevils it drove out of hiding. It's sitting on the wooden cutting board because I had taken ALL the cleaning supplies out from under the sink and was reminded I should oil my cutting board with some Walrus Oil.

Dearborn is very skeptical about this morning's activity: carpet cleaning.

I threw on an episode of A Date With Dateline, popped in my earbuds, took down my Tineco One X vac and vacuumed for the first time in Slightly Too Long. I didn't get all the way through the house because I was running it on high which drains the battery, but usually vacuuming is a multi-day process. For what I paid for the Tineco I could have a high-end corded vac that does a better job, but I know that I won't use corded vacs because I hate the cord, so I'm okay vacuuming more often with the cordless. In any case, I hit the rugs because the next step was to break out the Hoover Powerdash Pet carpet cleaner and figure out how to use it.

I know I'm dropping a lot of brand names but just because I usually get asked; I don't make money from affiliate links or anything.

Anyway, the Powerdash came to me secondhand from friends who were moving, and for a long time it sat in my hallway in its plastic wrapping because I was intimidated by it. We never had one growing up and I've never really seen one in use. But it turned out that it was super easy to use, you just add water and cleaner to the tank and go; you go over the rug once with the trigger down, to spread water/cleaner, then a second time without the trigger to rinse/dry. I only hit about half of the rugs in my home, just to see how it went, and then stopped because they all seemed to remain very wet after cleaning. (They've since pretty much dried and I'm assured by the internet that's normal.)

The white patterned carpet above is the cats' favorite place to roll around and shed on, and as you can see, those dark dustbunny looking things around the carpet? That's cat hair and other dirt the cleaner pulled up. Gross but visibly effective.

I got a slightly late start so I had myself on a hard time limit; I started at 7, finished up at 8, and still had half an hour left on A Date With Dateline (they sometimes run a bit long). The cleaning solution definitely adds a certain chemical smell to the air, so I'm running the HVAC's fan and I've added "scented candle or incense" to the shopping list. Which I wanted to do anyway; some people always have such nice smelling houses and scent never seems to stick around in mine, but I've never gone hardcore on Making This Place Smell Nice. (Yes, I promise to be careful about what scents I use, I know diffused scents can harm cats.)

Disposable nitrile glove count: Still just 1!

Hardware store trips: 1.....so far.