#shampoo and steam car wash

[oliviachows]

Normal Missteps to Avoid in Carwash and Detailing.

Car detailing is a significant piece of keeping a car's worth and appearance. Nonetheless, it is not difficult to commit errors while washing and detailing a car that can bring about harm to the paint and inside.

Proficient detailers suggest washing the car in a concealed region on a cool day with a spotless pail and towels. Washing the body of the car in areas, beginning with the haggles first is ideal.

To do a perfect carwash and detailing in Kingston, Ontario, you can contact Maple Carwash. They do full-service carwash and vacuum at $15.

Using the Wrong Products.

Most car detailing items are designed for explicit kinds of cars and surfaces. Utilizing a cleaning item that is not intended for your car or surface might harm it. This incorporates items for inside cleaning like calfskin and floor covering cleaners. You ought to continuously adhere to the directions cautiously while applying these synthetic substances.

Essentially, utilizing some unacceptable sort of water while washing your car can harm it. Water with a lot of minerals can cause scratches and dull the completion. Involving refined or sifted water for washing and rinsing is ideal.

You ought to abstain from using a similar fabric for flushing and drying your car. Doing so will spread soil starting with one region and then onto the next, causing unattractive streaks and water spots. You ought to wash your microfiber materials and containers completely before starting your detailed work. Along these lines, they'll be liberated from soil and trash that could scratch the paint. With the present great car care and detailing items, you can accomplish proficient outcomes with just the right amount of tolerance and care at home.

Using Too Much Pressure.

Car detailing can appear to be convoluted, however, with the present great car cleaning items it's simpler than at any other time to accomplish proficient outcomes. With a couple of basic devices like a water hose, pails, Wash Glove, and The Safeguard, you can have a lovely shine and be faultless inside in a matter of moments.

Nonetheless, it's not difficult to commit a couple of errors that can harm your car and take more time to fix. These normal mix-ups incorporate utilizing some unacceptable items, applying them excessively fast, and neglecting to permit the synthetic compounds to stay.

Another slip-up is washing a car in direct daylight. While it might appear to be normal to do, experts will generally differ for a couple of strong reasons. In the first place, the sun will dry out the cleaning item excessively fast before you can clear it off and besides, it can abandon water detects that are challenging to eliminate. All things considered, track down a cool concealed spot to work and you'll obtain improved results. You'll likewise save investment.

Applying Liquid Wax or Polish Directly.

Proficient car detailers adopt a multi-step strategy for the use of auto wax and protectants. They start by utilizing a cleaning agent that can swamp off light surface soil and garbage before polishing the car. Next, they apply a clean to eliminate scratches and oxidation. They follow this up with a protectant that can repulse water and diminish smirch and streaks.

The most ideal way to keep away from any slip-ups while applying fluid wax is to sparingly apply it to the utensil cushion instead of straightforwardly to the paint. This takes into consideration better control of inclusion and can save you items. Frequently it is prescribed to work in little segments, like a portion of the hood, so you can be predictable with your item position.

Additionally, make certain to apply the wax when the car is cool and out of direct daylight. Applying it to a hot surface can make the wax dry excessively fast, making it harder to buff and leaving unattractive spots.

Using a Regular Towel for Drying.

The towels you use can incredibly influence the completion of your car. Using old or grimy towels can make twirls, water spots, and foreign substances on the paint. The ideal way to avoid this is by having a different pail for washing and flushing and continuously utilizing a perfect towel while drying.

Towels are a major venture and ought to be treated all things considered. Kube recommends segmenting out your assortment by type to guarantee that each is appropriately utilized for its work. For instance, extravagant or profound strands are better for fragile undertakings while short or circled filaments convey predominant scouring and cleaning power. Waffle weave towels are a decent decision for non-fragile positions and have the most elevated retentiveness gram for gram.

New towels ought to constantly be washed and dried before they are utilized in a carwash. This will assist with killing the build-up that normally happens from the assembling system. After a couple of washes, if a towel begins to give indications of being tainted or stained it might be resigned to less significant errands and supplanted with a new, clean towel.

[chemicalsgreenz]

The Ultimate Guide to Car Maintenance

Maintaining your car’s appearance and performance involves more than just a routine wash. With advancements in automotive care technology, tools like car cleaning machines, steam car wash machines, and machine polishers have become essential. Additionally, the right car washing shampoo and ceramic coating can elevate your car care routine to a professional level. Here’s a comprehensive look at these key components to help you keep your vehicle in pristine condition.

Car clean machines are engineered to optimize and enhance the vehicle cleaning process. Equipped with features such as high-pressure water jets and built-in vacuums, these machines are versatile tools suitable for both exterior and interior maintenance. They effectively tackle dirt, grime, and stains, making them particularly valuable for those who wish to keep their car clean between professional washes. Investing in a high-quality car clean machine not only saves time but also ensures a thorough and consistent clean every time.

For a more eco-friendly and deep cleaning, steam car wash machines are becoming increasingly popular. These machines use high-temperature steam to dissolve and lift dirt and grime without the need for harsh chemicals. The steam penetrates crevices and hard-to-reach areas, effectively cleaning surfaces while sanitizing them. This method is gentle on your car’s paint and finishes but tough on stains, making Steam Car Wash Machine an excellent choice for those who prioritize both cleanliness and environmental responsibility.

To achieve a showroom-quality finish, a machine polish for cars is an invaluable tool. Unlike hand polishing, which can be labor-intensive and inconsistent, machine polishers offer even application and effective results with minimal effort. These devices can remove scratches, swirl marks, and oxidation from your car’s surface, restoring its shine and enhancing its appearance. Whether you’re a professional detailer or a car enthusiast, investing in a high-quality machine polish for car can significantly improve the visual appeal of your vehicle.

Selecting the right car washing shampoo is crucial for maintaining your car’s finish. Unlike regular household soaps, car washing shampoos are specially formulated to be gentle on automotive paint while effectively removing dirt and grime. They often contain lubricants to prevent scratching and protect the car’s clear coat. When choosing a Car Washing shampoo, look for one that is pH-balanced and free from harsh chemicals to ensure it is safe for your vehicle’s exterior.

For long-lasting protection and a glossy finish, ceramic coating is an excellent choice. This advanced protective layer is applied to your car’s exterior to create a hydrophobic surface that repels water, dirt, and contaminants. Ceramic Coating for Car provide enhanced durability against environmental factors like UV rays, acid rain, and road salts. The result is a vehicle that not only looks fantastic but also stays cleaner for longer and is easier to maintain. Proper application and maintenance of ceramic coating can significantly extend the life of your car’s paint and reduce the need for frequent washing.

In Conclusion, Combining the use of car cleaning machines, steam car wash machines, and machine polishers with high-quality car washing shampoo and ceramic coatings can transform your car care routine. These tools and products work together to ensure your vehicle remains in top condition, offering both protection and aesthetic appeal. Whether you’re looking to achieve a professional-grade clean at home or seeking advanced protection for your car’s finish, investing in the right equipment and products is key to maintaining your vehicle’s beauty and value.

[teddybeartoji]

彡 WEEPING, CARVED OPEN HEARTS

☆. contains: bf!toji fushiguro x gn!reader; mild angst with comfort (they had an argument oh no), toji learns how to apologize, toji is in love wc: 2.3k

your throat is sore and your eyes burn. you're tired and sad and upset and you just want it to be over already. but his sharp words swim laps in your head and you can't think about anything else. the ceiling of your shared living room is the only form of solace at this point, the shadows of the street putting on a show just for you.

the warm light of the lamps that stand tall behind the apartment window use the ceiling as a canvas, the passing cars as little characters running around. you hear hollering – it's saturday night, people are having fun. and you're curled up on the sad couch with a sniveling nose.

you hear steps and the bathroom door clicking shut and you use the moment to grab your stuff; a pillow, a blanket and a change of clothes – the very same sad couch will be your best friend tonight.

he turns on the water and you stand behind the door, longingly staring at the wood, wishing the night had gone differently.

but it didn't. so, you put on your pyjamas and sink into the couch. letting a few last tears fall from your eyes, you try to get some rest.

try.

while you're cocooning yourself away from the world, toji is staring at his own reflection in the foggy mirror. hands splayed on the cold countertop, his head hangs low and the running water turns into a muffled sound in his ears; dark strands of hair fall in front of his exhausted eyes, and he too, can't stop thinking about his own words.

regret fills his veins, threatening to explode under his skin. he can't tear his eyes from the disappearing reflection, the steam covering up more and more of the glass, hiding his guilty stare. his heart beats in morse code, calling out your name with every breath he takes but he's still stuck in this tiny shrinking room while you're out there – in the dark, in the cold, drowning in the impact of his words. he didn't mean them, he didn't. toji squeezes his eyes shut and his head drops to his chest. he thinks about your trembling hands and your shaky voice.

a sigh.

a miserable one.

he drops his towel and stands under the hot water. the warmth takes him in but it's nothing compared to you. the droplets comb through his hair but it's nothing compared to you. they cascade down his scarred shoulders and the muscles of his back, but it's nothing.

compared to you.

the smell of the shampoo makes him want to vomit. your shampoo. his shampoo. he rubs at his scalp and lets the suds drip over his face. he scrubs his body and he wishes he could do it harder. he hopes that you're sleeping well. no, he doesn't. he wants to say goodnight to you.

he tilts his head up towards the shower head and closes his eyes, letting the water run over his neck and his adam's apple, washing away all of the remaining ugly words that might've still been lurking in his throat.

he turns the water off and steps out. only throwing on his sweatpants, he doesn't even bother drying himself off, he just needs... you. he needs to hold you, he needs to hear you. he needs to feel his heartbeat.

one step out of the bathroom and toji can already see the corner of your blanket hanging from the edge of the couch. he fists the material of his pants at his side as he breathes out. it hurts. slowly, he approaches your bundled up body, trying to figure out whether you're already asleep or not. your face is hidden in the pillow, your back facing him and he just wants to see you.

"leave me alone."

it hurts.

his head falls back, his eyes raking over the faint shadows on the ceiling. a car honks on the street below, the wind blows behind your cracked open window. his chest feels heavy, his shoulders hurt.

"why aren't you in bed?"

quiet. you think about not answering. you thought about not talking to him throughout the entire night, but now that he's here... it's harder than you thought.

"because you're mean. and you hurt my feelings." your fingers dig into the pillow under your head. "and i don't want to fucking see you."

his knee cracks when he squats down beside you. his fingers itch to play with the ends of your hair, to pull you into his body and never let you leave.

"well, thank god you can't see anything when yer sleeping then, hm."

he's infuriating. he sounds tired. you want to slap him, you want to push him away. you hate that you can hear strain in his voice. you want him to say that he's sorry. you want to hold him. you want him to show that he cares.

leaving the safe confines of the warm blanket, you whip your head towards him. the light coming from the outside is barely enough to show you his eyes. they're soft, softer than you've ever seen them before. a dark forest; the green circular windows are pleading for you. please, don't be scared of what's inside.

"no arguments for the first two statements?"

you're a inches away from bumping your nose against his, your warm breath hitting his skin as you scoff. the pain is still there, slowly but surely turning into anger but he understands.

"i'm– trying, yeah?"

your eyes flick between his, searching for... something.

"why is your own pride more important than my feelings, toji?"

...

he fucking hates the way you're looking at him. loathes.

you look exhausted too, eyes swollen from all of the crying from before and now there are fresh tears forming in the corners of them.

because of him.

why is his pride more important? it isn't. it isn't, it isn't, it isn't. and yet... silence. something scratches in his throat – it wants to get out but it's hard. a drop rolls over the apple of your cheek and his head falls against your shoulder with a sigh. you don't push him away, you don't invite him in either. why is it so hard for him?

"i just feel like you don't care at all sometimes. when you refuse to apologize – it seems like we're competing against each other but i don't even know what the game is."

your voice is shaky and you're doing your best to come off as composed as you can because you want him to hear you out. you're scared he's going to brush you off. again.

he fiddles with the edge of your blanket, his weight heavy on your body.

"apologizing doesn't make you weak, you know. you're not losing anything – toji, we're not competing over anything. it would simply show that..." you take a big breath in, and let a big one out. "it would show that you do care. that you listen to me, that you want me here."

somebody laughs in the distance. toji smells so good. you close your eyes and focus on what you're about to say.

"it's okay for it to be hard, i don't expect you to spill it right away but it is important to me. i need to know that you're not just dusting away my feelings just because you find them difficult to deal with."

pulling your one hand from under the covers, you let it dig into his wet dark locks. your shampoo, his shampoo.

"but if they are too difficult to deal with..." you trail off, your own thought making more tears fall from the corners of your eyes. he buries his forehead into your body as you play with the hair on the nape of his neck and you feel his fingers digging into your blanket.

"don't say that... fuck– please, don't say that."

"i can't do it like this, toji. i'm not gonna apologize for being emotional. i'm not gonna apologize for being myself, for being alive." you hiccup. "i'm not gonna apologize for not being a brick fucking wall."

"i know, sweetheart, i know."

"do you?"

his teeth sink into his bottom lip and he thinks about your smile. about how your eyes shine in the warm sunlight. how you cling to him even when in your sleep. how you keep ruffling his hair even though he pretends to hate it. how cute you look when you steal his massive sweatshirts. how comforting your voice sounds, how well your hand fits into his. how intently you always listen to him, how you wash his back after a long day at work. how stupid your jokes are. and how much he lo—

...

how much he loves you.

your fingers comb through his hair and you're still coddling him despite the fact that you're upset. and sad, and angry. he thinks about how he doesn't deserve you. how you'd be better off with someone else.

he feels you falter, just a bit, and he knows he's wasting time. you're tired and you want to sleep and you want to feel his love. you want to hear it. and nothing gets to be more important than you. he makes that promise in his head, in his heart.

his sun, his moon, his stars. the smell of coffee in the morning and the feeling of your arms around his waist. his everything.

"i'm..."

fuck.

you turn your body, now fully laying on your back, and pull his head against your chest. he listens to your heartbeat and his hands snake around your middle.

"i love you."

he knows for a fact that you're too good for him.

he hasn't even said it yet but you're determined to let him know how you feel. he knows it's not meant as an encouragement either – you're completely bare before him; honest and straightforward, meagerly waiting for him to do the same. hoping he'll do the same. he's not stupid, he knows your patience is running low but you're still trying. still giving him the chance to do right by you because you want him to do right by you.

he gives you a squeeze, nuzzling his face into chest as if he could somehow reach your ribcage that way. he knows his rough hands have to work overtime to hold your big delicate heart and he's scared.

but your heart is probably scared too, isn't it? wouldn't it be scary to be held by these calloused hands; hands that only know pain and hurt?

this is how it goes. you're both scared and you'll both hold each other. whispering praise into the other's ears, regardless of the fear of getting hurt. trust – it's about trust.

i love you. you make me feel safe. stay with me. let me get that for you. let's shower together. i made you coffee. i want you to come with me. hold my hand. kiss me. hug me. hold me. i want you.

i trust you.

"i'm sorry."

...

muffled, and spoken into your skin – it's enough. it's more than enough for you.

soft, warm hands cradle his jaw and raise his head from your chest. soft, warm eyes hold his gaze and he knows his on the right path.

"fuck–" a shaky laugh; his own emotions are swallowing him whole and you're the only thing holding him up. he watches your lips curl up and relief takes over. he melts into your touch and you guide him to your lips.

you hold him there for a moment – noses touching, breaths mingling together. "thank you."

a bear hug, a high-five, a burst of laughter. an ocean wave – intense, and a lot. freeing. the feeling washes over him and he lets himself sink into you. lips against lips, chests against chests, hearts against hearts; without parting from you, toji climbs onto the couch, resting his entire body on top of yours. you don't complain.

he breathes you in and you do the same. he leans to the right and you do the same. he keeps you close and you do the same. his hand kneads the soft flesh of your waist and your hand rakes through his still wet hair. it feels right. it is right.

toji scrambles to push the blanket from between your bodies, desperate to rid of the barrier that's keeping him from his beloved. his rough hands push your shirt up just enough to feel your skin against his. he sighs into your mouth and he feels you smile against him.

your hands clasp behind his neck, pulling him flush to you and you hook your leg over his hip. latched together, forged together.

"i love you." a murmur, accompanied by a kiss to the corner of your lips. he places another onto the curve of your jaw before hiding his face in the crook of your neck.

you turn your head and press your lips to his forehead. "i love you, too."

he's warm and his arms feel so good around you. he's heavy, borderline crushing you under him but you wouldn't have it any other way. you're also a breath away from falling off the couch but you know he wouldn't let you do that. not today at least.

right now, toji is determined to keep you safely in his arms until one of you is dying of hunger and thirst. absolutely nothing else will make him move – he just might let you piss your pants if it comes to that.

for the sake of love, of course.

[holymusicalmothman]

spencer make my brain go numb like i wanna lazily makeout with him :(

Smosh Masterlist

Aight my lil guys. I’ve been ✨inspired✨. It gonna be short tho

Mkay but I feel like it’s just tender af. Ya know? Like all the time in the world kinda lazy kissing but it’s still absolutely breathtaking. Like. Y’all are just doing nothing on a Sunday afternoon, just watching a movie or smth and like ten minutes later you’re just seated on his lap and oof.

Also. I can’t remember whether or not I know what Spence’s cats names are. I know Damien’s, but I don’t think I know Spencers 🤔 Let a girl know lol

Could be included in my Ian’s Sister AU. This lil fic took me on a journey.

Word count: 500-600???

TW: Kissing!!! Nothing expletive. Established relationship.

******

Lazy Sunday Confessions

What had started as a planned movie date with your boyfriend had slowly turned into a lazy make out session on his couch.

Not that you were complaining. The movie had been quiet and rather slow, so you had found an entertaining pastime in each other that fit the vibe given by the slow Sunday afternoon.

His lips moved slowly but purposefuly with yours, one hand against the back of your neck and the other rubbing circles into your hip through your shirt.

Spencer’s apartment was silent apart from the gentle lul of the tv and soft, breathy sighs. His cats were no where in sight, napping in another room for sure. It was just the two of you.

You could lose yourself in the moment forever, everything outside of your boyfriend was long forgotten. Nothing existed save for the feeling of his lips moving against your own as his stubble lightly tickled your face. Your hands moved from his shoulders upwards to tangle your finders into messy dark curls.

Spencer did something nice with his jaw as he continued to kiss you and you sighed happily, your heart fluttering in its contentment.

You finally pulled away for a moment, and he trailed slow, gentle kisses across your cheek and to your jaw, only stopping when your forehead came to rest against his neck.

How could kissing be so…tiring? You thought to yourself. There was so much more that went into it than you had once thought. But you didn’t want to stop.

“It’s getting late, pretty girl. Gonna be dark soon.” He mumbled into your hair, his hand moving from the back of your neck to brush through your hair.

“‘m t’red,” you mumbled back and you felt him shake in silent laughter.

“If you’d like, you could stay here tonight.” There was a waver in his voice and it betrayed his nervousness. “Just to sleep, baby. No funny business until you say you’re ready.”

You smiled. You really did have the best boyfriend. “It’ll stay.”

You felt him tense in excitement. “Really?”

“Mhm. I finally picked up all the clothes I keep leaving at ‘Manda’s on wine night. I’ve got some sweats I can wear,” you began sitting up. “Just gotta run out to my car.”

“You could leave some of those clothes here, too.” He said.

Your eyes met his dark blue ones.

“I may have already made some space for you in my drawer.” He confessed. “You don’t have to if it makes you uncomfortable.”

You had your hands on either side of his face and you were pulling him back into your orbit before he had even finished taking.

He tasted of Kickstart and something so distinctly Spencer that you weren’t sure if it existed anywhere else. The smell of cologne and what was either body wash or shampoo wrapped back around you as the world once more shrunk down to just the two of you.

“I love you.” Slipped past your lips and across his skin and you froze, thinking the confession had been shoved deeper into your subconscious.

But the grin that broke across Spencer’s face could have powered the sun and erased any anxiety you had. It reached all the way to his eyes which had suddenly teared up.

“Really? I’ve been waiting so long to hear that, pretty girl. I love you, too.”

I ran out of steam towards the end there. But I’m not someone who writes anything super intimate, so this was a well accepted and well welcomed challenge.

[murdrdocs]

fully charged | f. odair

description. a grueling week spent in the arena where you thought about two things, survival and finnick odair, has come to an end, leaving you to make your way back to finnick's arms to finish what you both started.

aka part 2 to saber tooth

includes. SMUT 16+, fem!reader, reader has hair to wash, loss of virginity, unprotected p in v sex (don't do this irl), fingering, super soft finnick, brief mention of trauma from the games, finnick loves consent ! (so do i), switches pov for a line but don't focus on that okay focus on the sex, not proofread but its 3 am

a/n: i stayed up super late to finish this and i didn't do my homework so don't ever say i never do anything for yall (i wasn't gonna do my work anyway and i was gonna stay up but shh). title from disco tits by tove lo

word count: 5.0k+

Blood on your hands, a headache that makes your ears ring and your vision spin, a simultaneous feeling of indescribable hunger and tear-inducing nausea, but the only thing on your mind is Finnick. 

The Capitol airlift coming to the area was quick, and you’d never been happier to leave somewhere. You don’t look down at the open meadow that you’d spent the last days in. You look up into the jet, both joyed and disappointed to see the nurses and medics who awaited you. 

Hours of injections and force feedings and encouragement to sleep later, and you were finally closer to Finnick than you had been in the last week. 

The little notes he sent through sponsored care packages gave you the strength to make it out of there, and now that you are out, just the thought of seeing him is what keeps you on your feet. 

“And everyone is so thrilled to have you back. There is a feast planned later tonight, and another for when you get home to Four, and of course a housewarming party to get you settled into the Village,” Mitch, your escort, rambles on as he leads you through the train cars, all the way to your personal area. Through each car that you walk through, your eyes scan the area for the golden blonde boy that you’d been happiest to see. And when you come up empty again and again, your heart feels as if it shrinks. 

“But first, you need a shower. No offense,” Mitch smiles, his hands on your shoulders to turn you around to face the bathroom. 

“None taken,” you mumble. Truth be told, you had more things on your mind to worry about other than how you smelt. The sound of Mitch’s dress shoes clacking against the floor announces his intended departure, but you turn around to stop him before he can leave. 

“Yes, dearie?” 

“Do you know where Finnick is?” The train hadn’t started moving yet, you were still at the Capitol’s station, so if Finnick were not aboard yet there was still time for him to join. 

“Um, no.” Mitch looks disappointed by his own answer. “He said he had business to take care of and he might be traveling home with us. But I do not know for sure.” 

Mitch’s answer leaves you with an intense feeling of loneliness, but you push it down as you make your way to the bathroom. 

The shower is hotter than it needs to be, but the sting on your skin is welcomed. You scrub along your body with the exfoliating cloth until it’s visibly irritated, and even then, you continue a few more times. Images of the arena attempt to surface, a knot in your throat with each memory and self-deprecating thought that accompanies it, but you push it down with another pump of shampoo and you wash it away with the suds. 

You’re on your third round of washing your hair whenever the whirring sound of the door to the bathroom opening meets your ears. 

You stop rinsing, your eyes opening to look out around you. An unusual thick cloud of steam clouds the pristine area, you squint as you attempt to see who, or even what, has entered. 

You come up short. Not knowing who was there makes you anxious and you regress into the thought process that you’ve become well acquainted with.

Your eyes scan the spacious shower, looking for something sharp. There’s nothing to defend yourself with, which means you’ll have to rely on your hands. Quickly, you rinse them in the running water, getting rid of the suds, and then you reach out to pull the shower door open. 

“Hello?” you ask, your voice stronger than it would have been if you were in this predicament 7 days ago. 

It’s silent for a few seconds, then a breath is heard, followed by a smooth timbre. 

“Hey, sweetheart.” 

Finnick. 

He stands in the corner of the bathroom, just out of sight from where the shower had you angled. His back is turned, leaving you to see the linen of his shirt and the dark-honey blonde of the bottom of his hair as his head is bowed. You want nothing more than to see his face. 

Your foot reaches out to meet the plush rug, but you stop when the cool outside air enters the shower and you’re reminded that you’re naked, wet, and your hair is nowhere near presentable. But in the grand scheme of things, none of that matters. 

So you step out of the shower, your feet sinking into the plush rug and your heart banging against your chest, and a smile reaches your face when you say, “Finnick.” 

His head turns first, then his body, and you’re met with the sea-green eyes that you’ve thought about every night since that night. His eyes stay on your face, even though you’re completely nude. 

You barely feel any shame or insecurity. 

“Hey,” he says again, his pretty pink lips pulling into his own smile. 

“Hi.” 

There’s a few moments of serene silence, both of you just taking in the presence of the other, and then Finnick makes the move to cross the room. 

His hands lift and his palms find the wet skin of your cheeks. He smiles. He blinks. Then he moves in. 

When Finnick kisses you, it’s like nothing else in the world even exists. The entire Universe in that moment is just you and Finnick, two people who have always existed together. Nothing else. 

His lips gently pull from yours, but he doesn’t go far, his forehead resting against yours. 

“It’s good to see you again,” he tells you. 

“I’ve missed you,” you tell him. 

He smiles. “I’ve missed you too.” 

Finnick lets you finish cleaning up. He was going to leave the bathroom, but when you asked him to stay, your eyes welled up with tears and your voice cracked and he wanted  to stay anyway, so he planted himself right outside of the shower then. 

It takes a while for you to get ready, you spent most of the time scrubbing dirt out from under your fingernails and trying to scrub out the stench that permeated inside of your nose, but dinner was delayed for you, and no one complained. It’s when you were sitting at the table, eating food that was somehow still warm, with Finnicks hand on your knee and proud and sympathetic looks from your stylist and escort, that you realize that things are going to revolve around you for a while. 

A nightmare plagued sleep on the train, a welcome party at the station in Four, a housewarming party in a renovated mansion in the Victors Village, another dress from your stylist, and a large dinner with friends you haven’t considered friends in years, with your family and Finnick in attendance. 

And now you’re alone again. 

Not exactly alone. Finnick’s sitting outside of your new bathroom, waiting for you, which is as alone as you’re going to get for a while. 

Your makeup is gone, you’re out of the dress and into a pair of comfortable pajamas, and there’s a nervous anticipation in your chest. Not the kind of nervous anticipation that you’d felt in the area, but the kind that you felt last week when Finnick came to visit. 

The kind where you hoped that something sentimental was going to happen soon, and as you pull the door open and come face to face with Finnick who sits at the edge of your bed, you knew that something sentimental was going to happen. 

“Hey,” he scoots over to make room for you. 

You take the space beside him, resting your head on his shoulder. “Hi.” His shoulder works as a comfortable pillow, which you’d dreamed of for many nights when you only had grass as an actual pillow. . “Are you planning to stay here tonight?” You lift your eyes to look at him, a fluttery feeling spreading all over your body when you see that he was already looking at you. 

He blinks, his tongue moistens his lips. “If you’d like me to.” 

You hum. “I would.” 

“What would I do?” 

A shrug from you. “Help me settle in.” 

“Oh so you’re using me staying as an excuse to have me kill bugs, chase out mice, dust the corners.” 

You laugh. It feels good to laugh. 

“Maybe.” Your shared laughter dies down and a still silence places itself over the room. You stare ahead, take a deep breath, and say, “And to keep me warm.” 

Finnicks hand snakes around your waist, cupping the outside to pull you flush into his side. His lips are against the crown of your head, pressing a kiss into your hair. You can feel them move when he assures you. “That’s what I’m best at.” 

There’s a bit of silence that you use to turn yourself to fully face Finnick. His hand gravitates to your lower back with the movement. 

He stares at you expectantly, and you smile gently. “Thank you,” you tell him. 

His eyebrows furrow. “For?” 

A small shrug from you. “Keeping me alive … in there. And for being my best friend and so much more that I can’t think of right now.” 

Both of Finnick's hands cup your cheeks and his forehead knocks into yours, then his nose, then his lips. 

He kisses you softly, pressing a single kiss into your parted lips, the two pairs molding and sticking together as if they were always meant for each other. You melt into the second kiss, thankful to get to feel this again. A thought arises within you, one that details you and Finnick getting to do this for the rest of your lives, no longer plagued with the thought of being reaped. If that’s something he also wants. 

The kiss is nice, but it’s also not quite what you want. 

You communicate that by tilting your head, letting your hands meet the back of Finnick’s head, and scooting yourself closer. 

Finnick mimics your new found ferocity, but it seems like he’s still not getting it. You push your chest into his, you slide your hands down his torso, letting them rest on his abdomen, and then he pulls away and furrows his eyebrows. 

Now he’s getting it. 

“Are you sure? Are you ready?” 

You can feel the touch of his hand on your lower back getting lighter as if he’s anticipating your denial. But you nod, no hesitance behind the movement, and since you know he’s going to want to hear it verbally, you part your slick lips and say, “I’m sure. And I’m ready.” 

Finnick has you on your back in the center of your bed quickly. You’re still fully clothed, but obviously not for long with the way his large hand is roaming under your shirt. The other rests beside your head, pressed into the pillow and keeping him afloat above you. 

You can feel the ghost of his knee between your parted legs and he’s too far away. You need him closer. You need his chest against yours instead of a few inches away, you need his knee pressed against your center, you need his entire being to become fused with yours. 

There’s no way for you to communicate that when he’s kissing you so hard that you consider the possibility that your lips would bruise. Not that you’re complaining one bit.

Finnick pulls away from your lips to press kisses into your jaw and neck, where he switches from simple kisses to sucking actual bruises into your skin. The feeling of his lips sucking the skin and his teeth nipping stings, not in the way an ant bite does, but in the way that has your back arching and you feel the scratch of the linen of Finnick’s shirt against the cotton of yours. 

You let out a breath, not meaning for it to sound as much of a moan as it does, but Finnick’s lips curl up against your skin. He presses a final, chaste kiss into the bruise that you know to be forming, and he leans back to give you a full look. 

“Can you take this off for me?” His hands tug at your shirt once. 

You nod, sitting up to fill the space that Finnick makes by leaning back, and you swiftly pull the shirt over your head. For the sake of comfort, you’d opted out on a bra tonight, and the decision is clearly thanked by Finnick. 

He’s staring, marveling, at your bare chest, taking in the sight. You know the way he’s looking at you is a good sign, but you can’t help but feel a little insecure, something in your mind telling you to cover up. Your hands twitch at your sides to make the move to your chest, but then Finnick’s speaking. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He says it like he means it. There’s something in you, the same thing that tried to convince you to cover up, that tells you that he doesn’t mean it. He’s just saying it in the heat of the moment. 

But your better judgment comes into play then and it notices that Finnick’s tell still isn’t there. He’s still telling the truth. 

You smile, just a little bashful, and reach to tug at the end of Finnick’s shirt. 

“Even the playing field, Odair.” He does as you say, his hands finding the neck hole of his shirt and pulling it over his head, tossing it off the side of your bed. 

Then his lips are back on your skin, kissing at your collarbone and steadily moving down your chest. He’s just pressing little kisses along your skin, not staying in one place too long, but the anticipation swims low in your stomach and makes you push your chest up into the air, waiting for Finnick to hopefully reach the destination you want him to go to. 

When he does, when his lips wrap around your nipple, you sigh blissfully. 

He gives the bud the same treatment that he delivered onto your neck, sucking and nipping, just a tad more gentle. All the while, his sea-green eyes stare up at you, gauging your reaction, seeing if he’s doing the right or the wrong thing. 

Your face is one of nothing but pleasure, mouth parted, eyes closed, eyebrows pinched together with enough tension to tell him that he’s doing right, not wrong. 

He switches to the other bud, and his hand trails down to the elastic waistband of your pants. Your hips wiggle, impatience finding you quickly, and then his hand slips past the elastic and his middle finger nudges between your clothed folds. 

You shiver, a quiet mewl escaping past your lips. Your sounds only increase in volume when Finnick adds his ring finger and works then up and down your slit, circling them at your clit when they reach that point, and then working their way back down and teasing your hole. 

When Finnick’s warm mouth detaches from your hardened bud, the cool air hits it and sends goosebumps onto the finest layer of your skin like a wave. They multiply when he speaks. 

“You’re so wet, darling,” His fingers trail back up to circle your clit languidly, not fast enough to give you any real satisfaction, but enough to let you know that they’re there. “‘S all for me?” He’s teasing, pulling your leg, because who else would it be for? 

The corner of his lips pull up into a smirk, confirming your suspicions, and you mean to say something equally as teasing back, something that would make his smile drop. 

But your mouth works faster than your brain. 

“Of course, Finn. Always all for you.” 

He swears under his breath, his fingers stopping right on the hidden nub. He blinks, inhales, then fixes his gaze on your expectant one. 

“You really mean that?” His hand flexes beside your head and you turn your head, your eyes fixed on him, and press a kiss into his forearm. 

“I do.” 

Finnick has your pants and panties off and thrown to the opposite side of your bed so quickly that you barely have time to process it. You only start to process how bare you are whenever his thick fingers come back to your center and this time, you feel them. 

You feel the rough skin of his finger pads, the way they glide through your slick, toy with your clit, then sink down to begin to probe at your entrance. 

You let him, your legs falling open even more when his middle finger sinks in to the first knuckle. He glances at you before he continues, and you’re in a state of bliss already, so he continues until the deft digit is sheathed completely inside your walls. 

Finnick only fucks you with the single finger for a few moments, then you’re reaching down and wrapping your hand around his wrist, pushing your hips into his hand, silently telling him that you want more. 

So he adds another. 

He curls them, reaches them deep inside of you, searches for the spot that he’ll memorize for minutes from now when you get the real deal. 

His watchful eyes search your reactions, too. He watches the way your tongue darts out to lick your lips and the way your lips part and how your eyebrows pinch together more and more until there. He finds it and your back arches off the bed and your hiss turns into a pretty cracked moan. 

“Right there?” he asks for confirmation. 

“Right there.” 

You feel lips kiss your inner thigh and then Finnick’s focusing on that spot a few more times, then he’s abandoning it. You hold in your disappointed sigh, but the feeling of Finnick separating his fingers, scissoring you open, is one that’s greatly welcomed as a replacement. 

You gasp, moan, your back arches, your nails dig into the sheets. Finnick’s other hand goes to your clit, rubbing little circles. “Holy shit, Finn.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Better than my own.” 

An image of you in a similar position, but with your own hands between your legs and not Finnick’s, flashes in his mind and is that a sight to see. 

“Are you close, sweetheart?” 

You nod, expecting Finnick to work you harder, faster, to guide you to the edge. He does the exact opposite. 

He pulls his fingers away from your cunt and your eyes open, staring down at him with bewilderment written all over your face. 

“You still want me to fuck you?” His eyebrows raise. 

You nod. “Yeah.” 

“Okay then.” 

You watch him stand, slip his pants and boxers off, and you shamelessly stare at his dick, propped up on your elbows for an unobstructed view. 

The way it sits so prettily, erected, reaching right at his abdomen. Flushed the same pink as his lips at the head, leaking a picturesque drop of precum. You could just sit and marvel at Finnick’s cock for a while longer than you’re given. But he bends down to search the pockets of the pants he came in, and swears when he doesn’t find what he needs. 

“What? What is it?” You think you know what it is but you’re really hoping you don’t. 

Finnick stands straight again and looks at you, obviously dejected. “No condoms.” 

Fuck. 

You’re silent, attempting to think of a solution. 

“I could just go to mine, it's right next door, you know. I’ll be quick.” 

He could. But you truthfully don’t care at this moment. 

You’re sure there has to be some sort of morning after preventative that you could get your hands on now that you're Victor, and Finnick looks so appetizing just standing there, there’s no way you would be able to survive the few minutes that you would have to sit there without him. 

“I don’t care if you don’t.” Your admission has his eyes widening just a bit, then his eyebrows furrowing and his face scrunching into one of slight worry. 

“Are you sure? This isn’t something lighthearted.” 

You nod. “I’m sure. There’s a preventative out there, right?” He thinks for a second, then nods. “Then I’m sure.” 

Finnick climbs back onto the bed, wraps one hand around his cock and the other around the outside of your thigh. He glances at you, “Just relax, okay?”, and then back at your cunt when you nod. 

He lines himself up and your immediate reaction is to tense up, but you take a breath, and relax, and then he breaches. 

It’s painful, not in the way that you’ve felt pain just days ago, but in a stinging way. You can feel yourself stretching around him, allowing him in, and every few inches he stops to remind you to breathe. 

You feel like his member is endless, there always seems to be more and more, but he’s almost there now, home stretch, but you don’t know that until he tells you. 

“Breathe with me, sweetheart. ‘M almost there,” he says, his eyes locking into yours as he takes a deep inhale, nodding when you mirror the action, then he slowly exhales. When you do the same, he slides all the way in until you can feel the base of his dick pressed against your mound. 

When he’s all the way in, the curls at the base of his dick tickling you, you’re able to focus on how good it feels to have Finnick Odair’s dick nestled inside of your walls. The stretch is addicting. Your head’s spinning, your mouth salivating, and you just know that you’re gonna be addicted after this. 

Now that he’s situated within you, Finnick brings his forearm back to push into the pillow beside your head. He presses a kiss to your cheek, then to your lips when you turn your head. 

“Let me know when it’s okay to move, okay?” 

You nod. “You can move.” 

Finnick seems a little unsure, but your hips wiggle and you moan and he takes your word for it. 

He starts slow, pulling out halfway then pushing back all the way in. You’re so receptive, little breaths and moans leaving your lips and immediately meeting his ears. He relishes in the sounds, the auditory display of satisfaction going right down to his groin, encouraging him to fuck you harder and deeper. 

He starts to pull out more, inch by inch, and push back in with more force. There’s no way for you to describe the feeling you’re in other than euphoric. For a second, you search your brain for descriptors, ways you can put the feeling to words for when you think about it later on, but you come up so short and Finnick is making you feel so good that you forget what you were thinking about in the first place with the next thrust. 

“Doing okay?” 

“More than okay, Finn.” 

“Yeah? Tell me about it.” He lifts his face to level it with yours, green eyes staring at you, watching you get lost in his gaze and blink yourself awake multiple times. “You can do it, baby. Tell me how good I’m making you feel.” 

Is he reading your mind? 

“You’re an asshole.” He laughs. 

“That’s no way to treat the guy making you feel this good, is it?” 

He tilts his head, waiting for your response. You shake your head, back to being fucked out, and Finnick decides to let you off the hook for now. 

He leans down, pushing his lips to yours and letting you sloppily kiss him while his hips rock into yours. 

You didn’t think there was a way that you could feel better than this, but Finnick shifts his hips when he pulls out, then he pushes back in with more assurance and confidence and he finds that same spot and your back arches, your chest pushing into his. 

“That’s it,” Finnick coos, either talking to himself or you, you’re not really sure. Either way, you still nod. 

The linen sheets rub at your back, the crisp pillow cover crinkles with each thrust that sends you up the bed a little more, you can feel your pussy leaking around Finnick. You can smell him, a mix of the smell of the sea and a musk that is so unique to him that you want the scent to live permanently in your nose. 

Your eyes are open, somehow, and you’re watching Finnick. The way the vein in his head pops out every so often, how his tanned skin looks in the low light of your bedroom, the way sweat reflects off of his forehead and a bead looks as if it’s going to trickle down and land onto your tit. You watch it, lost and mesmerized by everything that is Finnick Odair, and when it lands on your chest you just feel like he’s giving you even more of himself. 

You want to give him more of you, too, but you don’t know how. Not here, in this position, with this hazed state of mind, so you do what you can. You dig a hand in his hair, scratching at his scalp and pulling at the strands with just enough tension, and you arch your back from the lowest point, pushing your hips further into him. 

“You feel so good, sweetheart. One of a kind.” His hips are starting to speed up a bit, getting a little sloppier too if you really focus. But all you can focus on is the slight rasp in his voice when he praises you. “Don’t think I’ll ever be able to leave this pussy after this. Don’t think I’ll ever be able to leave you.” 

You know what he means. You’ve known Finnick most of your life, long enough to be able to read between lines that sometimes aren’t even there. You know what he means. 

You keen, the sound a little embarrassing but not enough for you to reflect on the thought for more than a second. 

“‘M close, Finnick.” You can feel it low in your belly, burning, begging for your attention. This build up feels different from the last, a little more urgent, maybe. A little more prevalent. 

This build up has you desperately chasing after it, terrified that you won’t catch it, that it’ll somehow slip past your grasp and you’ll be left unsatisfied. You know you don’t have to worry about that when Finnick’s the one making you feel so good. 

The hand on your thigh inches towards your core, his thumb singling out and connecting with your clit. It only takes a few tight circles and a few more expert thrusts for you to fall over the edge, your legs lifting, hooking behind Finnick’s back to keep him close to you. Not like he was planning to go anywhere. 

He feels so good like this, fucking you through your orgasm. You don’t want him to pull out, but you know he should. You know he has to. He tells you as much. 

“Squeezing me so hard, sweetheart. Fuck, I gotta … gotta pull out.” You really, really, don’t want him to, but you let your legs drop and Finnick pulls out and his hand wraps around his lubed up dick, pumping a few times and then he’s spilling warm spurts of cum over your tummy. 

You watch your stomach rise and fall rapidly with your breaths, the white substance glistening against your skin. Finnick watches it too, then he’s coming back for more kisses. 

These are a little less sloppy, a little more gentle, a little more loving. 

You feel yourself slipping out of it as he kisses you, your lips a little less receptive with each passing moment. Finnick notices and he pulls back, leaving you with one more chaste kiss before he’s leaving the bed and the sound of his feet on your hardwood lets you know that he’s moving towards your bathroom. 

You don’t bother opening your eyes, you just listen to the sound of the closet door opening, the sound of running water starting and stopping, more feet against hardwood, then you feel the bed dip with Finnicks weight. 

You flinch, then giggle, when the towel rubs at your inner thighs and then your stomach. 

Finnick giggles with you, and you feel so domestic, so loved and cared for. 

You peek your eyes open, watching the way he gently cleans you up. As if he feels eyes on him, he lifts his gaze, and smiles, dimples on display. 

“Hi,” he says. 

“Hi.” 

“Am I still invited to spend the night?” 

You pretend to think, but you’re too tired to even do that. 

“If you make me breakfast in the morning,” you settle on, your hands under the folded back sheets of your bed. 

You slip under the sheets and you watch Finnick carelessly throw the towel off to the side of the bed. Your mouth falls open. “And clean that up,” you add. 

Finnick doesn’t bother responding. He just climbs to the top of the bed, slips under the covers with you, and pulls you to his chest with a kiss to your head. 

Cuddled up with Finnick is a feeling you know you could get used to, and you hope you’ll be able to. You try not to think about how fleeting this could be. Instead, you force yourself to be optimistic, focusing on the riches you now have, and the beautiful home that’s on the beach and next to your best friend, and the way he’s holding you so securely to his chest, and the peaceful sleep that’s begging to be welcomed into the equation. 

You decide to count it in, nestling even further into Finnick’s warmth and closing your eyes. 

They immediately reopen and squint at the corner to the left of your bed. 

“Finnick,” you whisper, continuing when he hums. “There’s a bug in the corner.” 

“Where?” 

You lift a finger, pointing to where it is. “Right there.” 

Finnick sighs and stands. 

“And pick that towel up while you’re at it please.”

[juicesgf]

Relax {Happy Lowman}

Warnings: none just cute fluff with Hap,

a/n: i live for soft Happy imagines oml.

Happy looked down at the flowers in his hand, slightly nervous. That was the affect you had on him, somehow you turned the Tacoma Killer soft whenever he was around you.

Happy knew you were having a bad day, having heard so by Gemma, who told him how you called her complaining about work, and your shitty boss. So he wanted to do something to make you feel better.

10 minutes before you were set to walk through the front door he started a bath, putting some bubbles inside, along with some of your favorite smelling salts. He let out a hum as he lit some candles as the tub filled, steam filling the air.

He placed the flowers down on the little table you guys had beside the bath when he heard your car approaching the driveway. He looked around the bathroom proud of his work as he slipped out walking towards the door to greet you.

When you walked inside the first thing you saw was Happy standing there, a grin on his face. “Hi, baby” you smiled, kicking off your shoes.

“Ma,” He murmured, his voice low and raspy, “Close your eyes” he spoke as he walked behind you.

You looked at him confused for a moment before closing your eyes as his hands slid to grip your waist as he lead you towards the bathroom. “Ready?” He questioned, his tone playful

“I think so” you smiled, waiting a moment before opening your eyes, letting out a small gasp as you took everything in, a huge grin breaking out on your face. “Hap..” You whispered, looking at the flowers and candles

“You’ve had a bad day, i wanted to make it—“ He was cut off by you wrapping your arms around him, placing your lips on his.

“Thank you!”

He let out a chuckle as you undressed, watching closely as you got inside the bath, letting out a content sigh. He sat on the tubs rim, grabbing your shampoo before squirting some into his hand, using the other to run some water over your hair before he started massaging the shampoo into your scalp. He let out a hum as he saw the way your body relaxed, the pleased look on your face. It was only when he went to wash your shoulders you stopped him.

“Join me.” You whispered, looking up at him, sliding further up the tub, leaving room behind you so he could get in. He contemplated it for a moment, before taking off his clothes, getting in behind you.

You turned your body around so you were facing him, before moving yourself on his lap, grabbing the cloth and running it over his chest,

“This is supposed to be for you” He groaned, closing his eyes.

“It is, I prefer you in here with me.”

The look he gave you after you said those words sent shivers down your spine, he looked as if he was in love. Like nothing else mattered but this moment. Because it didn’t.

The only thing that mattered to him was you.

[20-th-centurygirl]

showers

mason mount x fem!reader

warning: smut, disgustingly sweet fluff

summary: showering with Mason and doing skincare with him but he can't control himself so reader has to give him a handjob 🫣

a/n: what I would give to experience this. I was actually in two minds about including the smut in this just because it was so romantic and sweet but I decided to keep it in because it's only a little bit smutty 😉

Masterlist

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

Mason was absolutely drained, there was no arguing that fact. He'd been working his arse off in training and you knew it was starting to become overwhelming for him. You were desperate to help him release some of the tension in anyway you could, but from being with Mason for so long you learnt that just your presence was enough to do that.

You sat on the sofa patiently waiting for your boyfriend to come home from training, wanting to smother him in your love and affection. You heard his car park on the drive before he opened the front door, and when you checked the time you realised he was home earlier than normal. "I'm home love" He said, smiling widely when he saw you. You walked over to him as he engulfed you in his arms. "You're back earlier than normal. Everything okay?" You nuzzled your head more into his chest as he rested his chin on top of it. "Yeah, I just wanted to come home to you. Skipped the shower and everything." You pulled your head away and held his face in your hands. "I can tell. Think you need to go and get in that shower right now." You pretended to pull a face of disgust that made Mason burst out laughing, a sound you hadn't properly heard in too long. "Oi watch it you." He pinched your bum lightly before turning on his heels towards the stairs. He reached out to grab your hand "come on then."

You smiled and took his hand as you both made your way to the bathroom. Showing together wasn't uncommon, physical touch was one of yours and Mason's main love languages, so the chance to share such intimate moments with each other was something that you both valued. Mason turned on the shower, making sure that it was hot, too hot for him but he knew that's how you liked them. You helped to undress each other, flashing grins everytime you both made eye contact. There was nothing sexual about it, instead a mutual need to be close to each other.

Once the shower was warm enough Mason held your hand and guided you both into the shower. Times like this made you eternally grateful at the size of his house, resulting in him having a large enough shower for you both to fit in comfortably. You both stood under the water, letting the steam consume you both as Mason had you wrapped in his arms. He pressed a few gentle kisses on top of your now wet hair before releasing his grip and grabbing your shampoo. "You don't have to do that Mase" you said softly as you watched him lather it up in his hands as he shook his head, "I want to." You smiled and closed your eyes, wrapping your arms around his waist as he gently worked his hands through your hair. Once he was sure it was washed he tilted your head up by lifting your chin with his finger so he could rinse it out with water. Once he'd done than he applied conditioner in his hands and ran it through your hair before pulling away, knowing that you usually let your conditioner sit in your hair for a few minutes.

While you waited you grabbed Mason's shampoo, mirroring his actions as you leaned up on your tiptoes. Realising your discomfort he leaned his head down, moving his hands to cup your boobs and massage them lightly. "I'm so happy you don't use a 3-in-1 anymore. Can't believe you used to live like that before I met you." Mason chuckled into your shoulder. "You've converted me." "Mhm, still need to work on your skincare routine though. Head up please." You rinsed the shampoo out of his hair before putting conditioner in his, another thing you'd made him add to his routine. "What? I wash my face and moisturise. Just cause I don't use a million different products like you." He rolled his eyes but you caught the amusement in his voice. You pulled his hair gently as to not hurt him "watch it mount.". You pecked him on the lips as you washed the conditioner out, him doing the same to you.

You turned around, bending slightly to choose a shower gel and unintentionally turning Mason on. "Right, you can choose the smell. Vanilla or lavender? I think you should choose the lavender because it will help you relax." "Yeah right, you just wanna use that because it's your favourite." You turned around with the shower gel, faking a look of hurt "I would never." You noticed his semi but decided to leave him alone instead of doing your normal teasing.

You grabbed a loofah and gently began to wash down Mason's body, his eyes falling shut as he let out small hums of appreciation. "Turn around so I can wash your back darling." Mason turned without a word, before turning back once you told him you were done. You moved the loofah down both his arms before going down his chest and stomach.

You couldn't help but notice his dick pressing against your thigh. His eyes were still closed so you moved back slightly to spit on your hand before taking him in it. He let out a breathy moan and rested his head in the crook of your neck. You moved your hand up and down slowly. Not slowly enough to tease him but at the same time the right pace to help relax him. Your other hand stroked the back of his neck with your nails. Mason let out small whimpers, normally when he was tired he became more submissive and that was something you loved more than you would ever admit to him. His hands had found their way to your waist as they gripped it softly, his breath warn on your neck and it was growing heavier and faster by the second. You felt him twich in your hand and you knew he was close, so you pressed a light kiss to the side of his head "Are you close love" He simply nodded and he bucked his hips forward a few times before finishing over your hand and thigh, whimpering as he did. He stayed in that position for a bit, pressing open mouthed kisses of gratitude on your neck as you ran your nails up and down his back. After he'd caught his breath he pulled his head back to look at you, cupping your cheeks in his hands. "Thank you. Didn't realise how much I needed that." He let out a breathy laugh before pressing his lips to yours. In that moment you felt as though nothing else mattered. Mason was your entire world and he was yours.

"Let me clean you up then we can get settled in bed, it's too hot in here I'm going abit dizzy" He grabbed the loofah and ran it over your body and you found the fact that he was paying extra attention to your boobs was amusing to you. "You sure you're not dizzy because your girlfriend is absolutely legendary with her hands?" You teased and you raised your eyebrows at him. "I can't argue with that darling."

Once he'd finished he turned off the shower, wrapping you up in a towel and handing you one for your hair as he tied a towel over his waist. You both dried each other off, exchanging kisses in the middle. Mason handed you some underwear and one of his hoodies to wear as he pulled on some fresh boxers.

"babe, can we do one of your face masks tonight?" His voice was quiet, almost as if he was embarrassed to ask and his face was decorated with a light blush. "Course we can, let me just brush my hair and we can. Go wash your face n wait for me in the bathroom love." You flashed him a side smile that made his heart flip. It amazed him just how much he loved you, he would do absolutely anything for you and knowing you'd do the same made him happier than he could ever describe.

Mason made his way back into the bathroom, carefully following your instructions. Despite this now practically becoming a weekly ritual for Mason to join you on your skincare nights, he still got shy asking about it.

He smiled from ear to ear when you appeared behind him, quickly washing your face before you both made the hard decision to choose which face mask you were going to use. "Which one do you want? I chose the shower gel so you can choose the face mask." Mason pretended to think hard, but he always chose the same one every week, a cucumber face mask that he was especially fond of because it 'smells and feels nice'. You grabbed two matching headbands before you grabbed the face mask. "Close your eyes for me Mase" He said as you said as you carefully applied the mask. "'S cold" Mason couldn't help but partially open his eyes to be greeted with a sight he thought was downright adorable. You biting your lip as you were extremely focused on the task at hand. "Mase close your eyessss" you whined, tickling his side with your free hand. You finished applying the mask before putting it on yourself.

Mason stared at you intently, he felt like his heart was going to explode. "Stop staring" you whispered, staring to feel abit embarrassed. "Sorry. You're just so beautiful. Can't believe you're my girlfriend." You felt a blush creeping up on your cheeks. In your opinion this wasn't your best look, wet hair that made you look like a drowned rat in your eyes, an old oversized t-shirt of Mason's and your face covered in a green face mask but to Mason it wasn't about your physical appearance (despite him thinking that your face and body was the most beautiful thing he'd ever had the privilege to lay his eyes on) but your personality. You were the most generous, loving, selfless, caring woman he'd ever met in his entire life and he thanked whoever graced his life with your presence everytime he looked at you.

He was pulled out of his trance when the timer went off, signalling that you needed to wash the masks off. You grabbed a damp cloth and gently wiped it all away before applying moisturiser to Mason's face, pressing a light kiss to his lips before he did the same to you. "Thank you" you shot him a confused look, not really sure what he was thanking you for. "For everything tonight. The shower and this. This little routine had become one of my favourite ways to spend time with you. I love you so much." He pulled you into a hug and he kissed your temple "I love you too Mase, so so much." You leaned in and shared what felt like the most loving kiss you'd ever shared with him. "Bit weird that you didn't mention our shower antics in that speech." You teased. "Well I'd like to think that went without saying." He smiled before being interrupted by a loud yawn. "Come on, let's get to bed darling." But he shook his head lightly "I wanna thank you properly for everything."He pouted, clearly unimpressed. "Mase, you can tomorrow, you're exhausted and you need rest. Just cuddling with you tonight is enough, I promise." He simply grinned before taking your hand in his and guiding you both to bed. He pulled the covers up as you both climbed under them. "Can you cuddle me tonight?" He asked sheepishly, and you grinned ear to ear. "Course I can." You gently patted your chest "come here baby." Mason placed his head on your chest, one hand on your waist and the other travelling up your shirt to cup your boob. You wrapped one arm around his back and your other went to his head and massaged his scalp gently. "I love you so much baby. Goodnight" "I love you too Mase, forever"

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One Two Three Four Five Six

TW: violence, choking, mentions of bdsm, abuse of authority, cops, unfair power dynamics, harassment, body fluids and drug use mentions, mentions of harm/accidents

For California, it’s a bit chilly out this morning. The sun is getting a lazy late start, just beginning to yawn golden orange and fiery yellow over the horizon. Julian’s hair in that light is the high shine of fashion magazine model locs, and you’re, as usual, opening your mouth before you think. “What shampoo and conditioner do you use?”

He seems thoroughly amused. “Honestly? You’re going to be mad about it.” 

“Try me,” you prod, slipping inside his little sports car that smells like lemon air freshener and coffee. 

He seems a little cramped in the seat, knees bent up and head almost touching the ceiling, and you wonder if he actually even tried to get into this thing before buying it. 

“It’s a rental,” he explains.

“Did you get into an accident?”

“A truck hit mine while it was parked.” 

“How are you so calm about that? I’d punch someone.” 

He looks over at you with a sculpted, raised brow. “I just cannot imagine you hurting a fly, y/n.” 

“Flies are innocent, truck drivers are free game.” 

He gives you a big laugh that strokes the flame of your ego. “You’re hilarious. I use men’s body wash.” 

“What?” Okay, he’s right, you are a little mad. You use shampoo and conditioner that are specifically supposed to soften your hair, but the poof on your head absolutely pales in comparison to his soft, beautiful mane that gets the luxury of … what? Old spice? Axe body wash? 

“I told you,” he sings, turning on the engine. 

Genetics is a bitch. 

He takes you to a fancy little French inspired coffee shop cuddled into the center of an outlet mall with salt lamps and big ferns and comfy chairs. You settle into a nook closests to the sunned windows so Julian can keep an eye on his rental, which is understandable. No part of LA is good to have a Porsche in, but especially not the inner city. 

“This is delicious,” you tell him through a mouthful of warm croissant, covering your lips in embarrassment when you realize that your table manners are less than adequately prepared for a date with a doctor. 

“They have the best coffee,” he agrees, taking a sip of his steaming latte. 

You don’t have time to stop your brain from comparing Julian to a certain cop you know who prefers his coffee black and bitter, or at least that’s what he told you when he saw you drinking your vanilla cream cold foam at the nurse’s station. 

Julian is talking, you think, and you’re only half listening while you remember how Tom had snatched that drink right out of your hands and held it up in the air. 

“Give it back!” You hissed, reaching up on tiptoes while he laughed at the pathetic rescue attempt. 

“Careful, honey, don’t hurt yourself for this pathetic excuse of caffeine. What is it anyway? Is there even coffee in here?” 

After he walked away with his discharge paperwork, your coworkers were understandably curious about the tall, puckish cop who fucked with you any chance he got. 

Miguel watched his ass move the whole way down the hallway and out the glass exit doors while literally clutching the rosary under his scrub shirt as if a devil had just walked by, then looked over at you. “What a man.”

“Are you alright?” Julian asks, bringing you back to the present conversation with a hand over your forearm. He does seem concerned, and it makes you feel like a piece of shit. This guy is a gentleman and here you are on a date with him fantasizing about the brute that is Tom Ludlow. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You wave away his concern. “Tell me about you, Julian. What do you do for fun? Doctor-by-night, Violin-player-by-morning? 

He chuckles. “Nothing that cultured. I like riding motorcycles.”

“Really?” You ask, genuinely surprised and trying to imagine Julian in a gang of bikers with cracked leather skull and snake jackets. 

“I love them.” He nods. “I have three that I take for long rides along the coast. You get lost in it, the wind and salt and sand. The rumble of the engine under you.”

“I’ve never been on one,” you tell him, “and I’m honestly surprised you ride them after what we see in the ER. Don’t you remember that guy that had his calf hanging on by a tendon? Or that woman who had half her face missing?” 

“Yes, I do. But I go the speed limit and wear the proper gear. And I like the thrill.” 

It’s not just the casual t-shirt and worn jeans or the way the light halos his thick silk nest of hair or the roguish grin that makes you see Julian in an entirely new way, now. “You’re wild, Dr. Mercer.”

He licks spilled cream at the ridge of his coffee cup, rubs at the skin of your forearm with his fingers, and winks. You wonder what he would look like between your legs doing the same thing, except with your fingers gripping that luscious hair. 

“You should let me take you for a ride, sometime,” he suggests, and for a minute you forget you’re talking about motorcycles. 

“Oh, I don’t know, Julian.”

“C’mon.” He nudges your knee under the table and relaxes back into his seat, now reminding you too much of someone else you know. Same height, same hair color, same facial structure. 

Fuck. Really? 

“Good boyfriends take their girlfriends on long, romantic motorcycle rides.” 

“But you’re not my boyfriend.”

His smile droops a little bit and it makes you feel bad for being so illiterately ignorant. Well, you feel bad until he opens his mouth. “I am, though.”

He paints it playful, but it sounds a little bit pushy-bossy, even. “I don’t know about that, either, Julian.”

He tries a different angle. “You know, believe it or not, most women would consider me quite the catch.” 

You hope your face doesn’t betray the little bit of ick you get from him saying something so egotistical. “I don’t doubt it, and you deserve someone that can give you what you’re looking for.” 

“You think you can’t give me what I’m looking for?” He leans across the table in sudden intensity, and you balk at the notion. 

“No, I honestly don’t.”

“Why?”

You start to say something, but he cuts you off. “And, I really mean why? Why can’t you give me what I’m looking for? Enlighten me.” 

“I’m not-I have too much baggage.” You unconsciously lean away from his swelling intensity. 

“That’s a little vague.” He frowns. 

“I’m not normal, Julian. You seem like you would like normal women.” You cringe at the childish sentiment, but truly have no idea how to get the point across except for basically telling him that you’re a freak with a bad past and worse coping mechanisms. You eat slices of bread for dinner and drink out of the milk carton. Julian probably irons his shirts. This will not work. 

“You’re assuming I’m normal?”

“Yes. I guess I am.” You lean back and cross your arms over your chest. 

“Well, I’m not. In fact, I’ll prove it to you.” He takes out his wallet, pulls a laminated card from it, and slides it over the table to you. 

“What..” It’s a little red card framed in black with big bold letters on the front advertising a BDSM club in the heart of downtown Venice. “What is this?” 

“BDSM is bondage, domination-“

“I know what that is,” you interrupt. “I just meant.. You go here?”

“I do.” He nods and takes a drink. “I occasionally engage in scenes.”

You decide that you should coat your suddenly very dry mouth and drink a big gulp of your coffee. “Like with a dominatrix?”

He laughs at you, puts his head in his hand and shakes his head. “No. I prefer to be the dominant one.” 

You look at-really, really look at this man for the first time and honestly cannot imagine him taking that role. 

He must see the confusion on your face, because his laughter grows. “That’s the usual reaction I get.”

Curiosity killed the cat. Curiosity killed the-you know what, fuck it. 

“So, what do you do at the club?” 

“A typical play scene, you mean?” How in the hell he can be so casual and relaxed about this you’re not sure. Because you can already feel the cold sweat breaking along your shoulders and neck. 

“I guess? Yeah.”

“Well, ideally the woman is tied up in some fashion, and of course there’s a safe word, negotiated limits. Perhaps a punishment scenario with pain play. Are you okay?” 

He looks at your table-clutching, white knuckled hands, searches your face, giving you a genuine concerned expression that makes you wonder what actually is going on with you right now. You feel like you're on a tightrope over a ravine of crocodiles and Julian’s on the other end lazily sawing at the rope with dull scissors.

“I’m fine,” you say breathily, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. “Honestly, I’m not sure how I feel about all that.”

His gentle smile is nothing less than kind, though maybe also, a little disappointed. “I get that a lot too.”

“Is that…the only way you enjoy sex?” you ask quietly, leery of the blue-haired old lady just two tables away.

“No,” he seems happy to tell you. “Though it is…the way I enjoy sex most.”

You blink, digesting this with understandable trepidation. He’s basically telling you that it would be impossible to be in a relationship with him without dipping into this eventually. And you…? 

Are definitely intrigued, and you’re not really sure why.

“You said you have baggage,” Julien probes cautiously. You can feel him looking at you, but you’re not quite up to eye contact with him yet. You fix your gaze out the window. “Well, I do too. I haven’t had a perfect life. No one does, and I’m not interested in a perfect girlfriend. I like you, y/n.”

You feel your breath go out in an audible whoosh. It actually makes him smile-you feel it like rays of the sun. How can this man be so warm, and yet have such a dark side?

Well, maybe it’s not a dark side, you reason. Maybe it’s just…a thing he likes, and between consenting adults, what’s the harm?

“So…” You can’t help but think about how odd this is, discussing this in this coffee shop filled with mild-mannered caffeine addicts. What you really want to ask, is what happened to him that makes him like this kind of sexual play, but you know it would be too far, and you damn well don’t feel like talking about your own fucked up past. But there is something you do feel you have a right to know. “Is this something you want to do to me?” 

Again, he fixes you with that bad boy smirk that gives you chills and utterly ruins your panties. “Since the moment you stood up to me over that patient,” he admits. And maybe that should alarm you, that he wants to tie you up and hurt you for being defiant about something that deserved defiance. It does alarm you, but… It also… It sounds a little thrilling. “In fact-“

Julian and the rest of the world and even your own thoughts disappear when you meet a pair of familiar, sun tinted eyes out the window of the coffee shop. He’s grinning-when is he not grinning at you like he knows what it does to your helpless insides?-and licking his fingers, tearing off a yellow parking ticket to slap it under the windshield of Julian’s rental.

“Uh, Julian-“ 

“Just let me finish,” Julian insists. His bossy tone irritates you, but Tom brightens the mood by making a jerking off motion towards the doctor, and then winking at you. 

You can’t help but laugh. It’s honestly involuntary, the loud wheeze that tears from your chest and makes Julian look outside to see the yellow ticket shining under his wiper as Ludlow’s ass saunters away. 

You’re not sure what Julian’s plan is when he storms outside to catch Ludlow by the arm, but you’re definitely following ten strides behind to prevent his untimely death. 

“I’m parked legally.” His voice is a menacing growl instead of the smooth honey you’re used to, and yeah, maybe now you can see a little bit of that Dominant Persona he was talking about. 

“Not after 9AM,” Tom says, unbothered by Julian’s anger, still grinning like an idiot. 

“It’s eight-thirty,” Julian argues, tugging on Tom’s sleeve-that earns him a bent back arm and even the appearance of handcuffs. 

“Tom, stop it, fucking really?” 

“Sorry, honey, your boyfriend’s going to jail.” 

“For what?!” You and Julian both demand at once. 

“Putting his pristine fucking hands on what’s mine.” Tom tugs Julian up on his toes and clicks one handcuff into place. 

You hope he means his uniform, but you have a feeling he doesn’t. 

“That’s way too tight and you know it,” Julian grunts. 

“What, someone likes to dish it out but can’t take it? Don’t be a bitch,” Tom muses, grabbing Julian’s other arm and twisting it-not gently-behind his back. 

“Tom, you fucking dickhead.” 

He looks at you as he’s putting the other cuff on your date. “Oh, I’ll deal with you later.” His grin looks more like a snarl at this point, and you think that Julian could probably take some pretty good Dom pointers from Tom, because your heart is galloping and your clit is pulsing despite the absolute absurdity of the situation. Also-it's a miracle-your sassing mouth has snapped shut. 

After Officer Ludlow practically throws Dr. Mercer into the back of his Charger, slamming the door, he turns to you with a smirk and his thumb in his belt. Goddammit, if that fucking look doesn’t go straight to your lady parts.

“Tom…you cannot do this.” 

A tow truck has pulled up, and is in process of impounding the sweet little Porsche.

He steps up to you in those big black boots that make him a mile tall.

“You’d be surprised what I can and cannot do, sweetheart.”

“Please.” You hate how desperate you know you sound. 

He taps his chin. “Well, I do like the sound of that. But it would be a lot more convincing if you got on your knees and said it.”

“You asshole,” you seethe, even as you can feel the moisture pooling between your legs.

“That kinda language definitely isn’t going to get Doctor Bitch Boy out of my car.”

“What the fuck do you want then?” You know it was a stupid question the moment it flies from your mouth. He’s going to reply with something filthy, and demeaning, and-

“Have dinner with me.”

You’re going to need another tow truck just to get your jaw up off the ground. 

“You’re going to get in trouble for this,” you say. “This isn’t harassing a lowly broke-ass nurse. He is going to sue the shit out of you.”

Tom just snorts at that, unimpressed. “Did you know your friend likes to hang out at a BDSM club in Venice Beach? Whips and chains and shit? Bet this asshole has mommy issues from here to Pasadena. Come on, y/n, you don’t need that in your life.”

It almost sounds like he’s…worried about you?

Officer Ludlow has no idea how badly he’s misjudged you, now that he’s pissed you off. “Maybe I like it,” you snipe back, stretching up so you’re almost in his face. “Fact is, it’s none of your fucking business.”

Ludlow just narrows his eyes down at you, those dark orbs glinting like sharp obsidian. “Well, sorry, guess he’s not tying you up tonight, baby. He’s gotta cool down in the tank.”

He makes to go, but you reach out, not grabbing him, per se, but just touching his chest. He freezes, and you can practically feel him vibrating beneath your hand. With excitement, because he fucking lives for being an asshole, or…you hate to think you know the real answer.

His mitt of a hand covers yours, holding it just above his heart.

“Tom….” Caught up in this tension between you, you’re not even sure what you’re asking now. 

You expect him to say something dirty, or snide, but instead you swear that just for a moment, his gaze softens as he looks down at you. “Dinner?” he asks again, with a note of hope in his voice that is almost endearing, if he wasn’t being such a class A jerk.

“I can’t.”

His demeanor changes in less than a second, drawing up to his full height, his shoulders squared. He flicks down his sunglasses that were on his head, so you can no longer even see his eyes. His voice changes, drops an octave, something. The authority in it makes you shudder inside. “Wave to Dr. Bitch Boy, y/n, we’re going for a little ride.”

Before you can grab him, or do anything, really, Tom is behind the wheel, speeding off with a very pissed off Julian in the back seat.

Your heart drops to your feet as you are left standing there alone on the sidewalk without a ride, and completely at a loss as to what to do.

***

“I’m going to fucking sue you,” Julian grits, kicking the back of Tom’s seat for good measure. 

“Yeah, yeah, with your doctor money,” Tom grumbles, taking a big swig of coffee with one hand and steering recklessly with the other because it’s fun to watch that skinny fuck bounce around helplessly in the seat. 

“I’m not getting booked tonight, Officer Ludlow. I’m calling my fucking lawyer.”

“Sorry, Doctor Bitch, your Lawyer’s busy until tomorrow afternoon, didn’t you hear?”

“You son of a-“

Tom gasses the car over a big pothole and it sends Julian flying into the opposite door. It’s a sight he could almost get off to.

Julian, big goose egg swelling up on his temple, gets yanked out of the squad car and tossed on the shit smeared, needle peppered streets of South Central. “They probably need you here more than the hospital, Doctor. Have fun–”

“Wait! Fuck. I’m still cuffed for fuck’s sake!” Tom gives the little guy credit for being able to get up on his feet so fast with his hands behind his back and a probable minor concussion. “You can’t leave me here.”

Tom pauses with his hand on the lip of the hot car door, but only to memorize the sight of a sweat-stained, wild eyed, trembling distinguished doctor about to get his shit wrecked on the mean LA Streets. He’s guessing Julian’s never visited much outside of Hollywood, Venice, and Santa Monica, and the cute little horrified expression on his face is testament to that. 

Tom taps the hood of his car. “See ya, Doc.” 

“You know,” Julian says, “this isn’t going to stop me from seeing her, Tom.” 

Well, if he wants a fight. 

Tom slams the charger door, whips off his belt, backs Julian up until he falls on his ass into a steaming puddle of unknown origin, and loops the leather around his neck. 

He tugs him up by the belt, onto his toes, eliminating that fraction of height difference just so he can see the whites of this prick’s eyes. 

He doubles the wrap of the belt in his fist, and Julian sputters something unintelligible through a thick choke. 

“What’s wrong? Thought you liked this shit?” Tom pretends to wait for an answer that he prevents. “Oh, that’s right, you like being the one doing the choking. That gets your dick wet, huh? Beating on women?” 

He wants nothing more than to choke this fucker unconscious and leave him on the streets for the hepatitis rats to chew on his toes, and, fuck it, if he ends up passing out by the time Tom’s done saying his peace, then so be it. 

“You can see her all you want, asshole. Take her on as many dates as you like. But if I see one fuckin’ bruise on her-one red mark on that pretty skin-I’m gonna make the rest of your short life very fucking unpleasant. Comprende?” 

[3-2-whump]

The Scent of Jasmine

<prev next>

Who's in the mood for some carewhumping after the emotional rollercoaster of almost dying? I know I am!

Thank you @whumped-by-glitter and @generic-whumperz for being awesome beta readers

TW/CW: aftermath of mock execution, trauma aftermath, extremely dubious consent, nonverbal whumpee, whumper turned carewhumper, dubiously consensual nudity, death threats, chastity devices (yes, it’s back), forced domesticity, food whump (sort of) (tagging it anyway to cover my bases), intimate whumper

The boss noticed Khaled’s grateful enthusiasm slowly fade into a catatonic silence on the drive home. He didn’t think much of it, though. Poor boy is just shocked is all, he told himself, we can work on that. He parked, got out of the car and led Khaled out of the garage and to the elevator.

His first order of business was to strip Khaled when they got home. The poor thing was soaked in melted snow and cooled piss. He was barely responsive as Thomas pulled him into the laundry room and slowly peeled each layer of clothing off his shivering body. “You need a bath, Khaled.”

Khaled didn’t reply, instead opting to stare at his bare feet with empty, starless eyes. I can’t blame him for being quiet. Anyone would be a little messed up after a mock execution, he figured. He sighed, gently taking the slave’s hand in his and leading him to the master bathroom.

Once inside, Thomas deposited him at the entrance and turned on the lights and the fan. Khaled stood silently watching him by the door as he knelt by the large, deep bath tub. “Come on in,” he beckoned. Khaled inched closer to the bath tub as Thomas poured a generous glug of bubble bath solution into the marble expanse and cranked the water full-blast, making micro-adjustments to make sure the temperature wasn’t too hot. As a finishing touch, he uncapped a tiny bottle of jasmine oil and dripped a few drops into the tub. The floral scent rose on the plumes of steam coming from the frothing tub.

Once the tub was full enough, Thomas turned off the tap and pulled Khaled closer to the tub. He effortlessly scooped the young man’s cold body into his arms, settling him on the edge of the bath tub before gently lowering him in. “I’m going to help you wash your hair and body. Nod if you understand me.”

Khaled faintly nodded, eyes fully closing as he slumped into the soapy water. “Good boy.” Nothing but a small, contented sounding whimper answered him. At least he’s becoming verbal again.

Thomas methodically washed the young man’s body and hair, being mindful of not getting any soap in his eyes as he massaged his scalp with the shampoo. He noticed the newly forming chafe marks on Khaled’s wrists as he scrubbed his body. All the while he whispered sweet nothings into his ear, like “good boy, you’re being so good right now, we’re almost done, I gotta rinse you off and drain the tub next.”

The awareness in Khaled’s eyes was flickering back on once Thomas helped him out of the bath tub and began towel-drying him. “Back with me, beautiful?” he teased.

“Mmm.” Inky dark eyes glittered up at him from dark lashes and damp strands of black hair as Thomas wrapped a soft fluffy towel around his shoulders.

“Yeah, good. Very good.” He procured something small and metallic from behind his back.

Khaled instinctively backed away as soon as he saw what it was. “Khaled,” he warned. It was all he needed to say for the boy to stay rooted on the spot. “I haven’t forgotten about you running around and getting an STD,” he explained as he wrapped the cock cage around Khaled’s privates. “And I’m still mad about it. But maybe I will let you out once we’re both all better.” He padlocked it in place and held the small caged appendage in his hand. “Or once I put that dumpster lover of yours under, like the horndog he is. Whichever comes sooner.” He marveled at how it was but a microcosm of Khaled’s greater captivity. As he craned his gaze upwards, he saw Khaled pout. “Oh, don’t give me that look –I’m doing this for your own good!” The boy smoothed his frown back into a neutral expression of apathy as he hid his eyes behind his lashes.

“That’s more like it. Now, can you change into your pajamas and wait in the living room until Master is done in here?” He measured out his words slowly and carefully, explaining it as if Khaled was a child again. Another quiet hum answered him. “Good boy. When I’m done, we can eat, and then we’ll watch whatever you’d like.” He gestured him out with a small wave of the hand, then hopped into the shower for a quick rinse off himself.

When he got out of the shower, towel-dried himself, and changed into a fresh pair of flannel pants and a wife-beater tank top, Thomas made his way to the living room, where Khaled sat on the floor, at the foot of the couch, gazing down at the carpet with desolate eyes. He was still wrapped in the bath towel. Seeing him there brought back memories of when Khaled was younger, when he would lean against his shins and let him brush his thick black hair. The memory brought back fond feelings in Thomas’ chest. He turned around and went back to the bathroom for a hairbrush.

Once he was done brushing his slave’s hair, they ended up sitting opposite each other at the dining room table, each with a plate of reheated takeout from a new Indian restaurant Tom had wanted to try. While the boss himself ravenously devoured the bhuna ghost, Khaled kept tearing the same corner of buttered naan between his fingers while staring apathetically at the murgh cholay.

“Are you sure you don’t want any more food?” he asked again. “You hardly touched your portion.”

The boy merely shook his head.

“Come on, at least two more bites, Khaled,” he coaxed. “Give me at least two more bites before I put it away.”

Khaled cast him an empty, weary stare, not breaking eye contact as he tore off the weathered chunk of bread, dipped it into the curry, and ate exactly two more bites.

They ended up cuddling onto the couch together after dinner, a rarity in their household. Thomas man-spread on the couch and rested his arms outstretched along the back. Khaled, still wearing nothing but a damp bath towel around his shoulders, leaned against his side with his head resting on his chest. His hands curled around a steaming mug of chai, which he occasionally sipped as they watched a rerun of the AFC World Cup. Khaled didn’t cheer, or groan, or offer any commentary of any kind throughout the whole match. It was unusual for Khaled to remain this quiet and glum during a game. Thomas gently took the mug from his hands and set it on the table. “What’s wrong? Why are you so quiet this evening? Is it –oh, is it because of that little scare off the side of the road?” he guessed. Khaled pushed his weight up against him, just short of burrowing into the man’s side.

“I guess I scared you pretty badly, didn’t I? Look, I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I know now it wasn’t you, but I had to be sure. I promise I will never fake you out like that again.”

The young man remained silent as he leaned against his chest.

“If anything, you should be blaming that boyfriend of yours,” he continued. “I bet he never would’ve attempted that hit if he knew what I was about to do to you tonight. But, what’s done is done, and now you’ll never see him again.”

Khaled did not respond.

It took about an hour more of mind-numbing soccer footage for him to realize the boy had fallen asleep on him.

Oh. He softly smiled as he turned off the TV. He carefully got up and lowered Khaled onto the couch, disentangling the towel from his unconscious, nude form. He propped a throw pillow behind his head, then unfurled a fleece blanket and draped it over him, making sure his feet were covered and he was properly tucked in for the night. “Goodnight, Khaled,” he whispered, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on the side of the boy’s parted lips. “I… love you...”

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @defire

[bellysoupset]

Hiiii

I was wondering if you would ever do like Bella sick with Wendy as a caretaker I know it’s different but we don’t see our girls get enough time together 💐

Bella had never been a "girly" girl. She had never been a part of a clique, spending most of her teenage years navigating between the goths and punks and the losers, she had most definitely never had a girl best friend.

So having Wendy in her life was new and exciting.

Wen was the sort of person who lit up a room, but not in the same way that Luke or Vin did. She wasn't this powerhouse of extroversion, but she was fun, sweet and joyful. She was sunshine personified and Bella was the type of gloomy person who loved the sunny ones.

When Wendy had asked her if she wanted to tag along for Family Addams, not for a second did Bell entertain the idea that this wasn't meticulously planned beforehand.

Wendy was a planner, she loved to create experiences for people and Bella was happy to delegate the task, enjoying herself simply taking Wendy's instructions and driving them to NYC, through the night.

Driving had always been therapeutic in Bella's life, she had lived in her own car for a little stretch during teenage years, when her mother's boyfriend of the month turned out to be a bigger prick than imagined and Bell butted heads with him way too many times. It was mechanical and relied a lot on instinct, so she could just lose track of time and not have to fill in the silence with pointless chatting.

It was an eight hours long trip and Wendy had suggested they split it down the middle, so when it was about 10 PM, Bell should've woken her up. Instead, she took one glance at her friend — curled up like a ball in the passenger seat and seemingly knocked out, but still whining whenever Bell tried to change the music from girly pop to grunge rock — and kept driving.

Eight hours was nothing compared to the days long drive to New Mexico, so Bella wasn't sure why she was so exhausted when they finally arrived to the hotel.

"You're so stubborn," Wendy was grumbling next to her, as they got inside the elevator, "why didn't you wake me up! Now I'm gonna be awake all night."

"No, you won't," Bella yawned, pressing her forehead to the metal wall, however unsanitary that was. There was an annoying pounding behind her eyes, "I've seen you sleep for over twelve hours, you'll be fine."

She saw Wendy pout, "still... Look at you, you look terrible."

"Gee, thanks, Tink," Bella rolled her eyes, yawning once again, "I'm just tired, this is nothing a good night of sleep can't fix."

"Sure," Wendy squinted at her, as if she didn't believe Bell.

Their hotel room was a one bedroom, with two queen beds and a large bathroom attached. Bella dropped her bags on the ground, kicking off her boots as she collapsed face first against the pillows and let out a pleased moan when the mattress sunk under her weight, like a fluffy cloud.

"Shower," Wendy dropped all of her bags as well, walking back to Bella's bed and touching her shoulder, trying to force the ginger to sit up, "c'mon, stinky."

"Uhhhhhhm, you hate me," Bella whined, but allowed herself to be steered to the bathroom easily, hearing as Wendy snorted at her dramatics.

Under the stark white lights of the bathroom, Bella cringed at her reflection. She wasn't white to begin with, but her skin tone had deteriorated straight into sickly yellow, dark circles surrounding her eyes and her hair looked greasy. No wonder Wendy had said she looked horrible.

She entered the shower with all the intentions of washing her hair and getting rid of the lethargic feeling, but instead Bella found her arms were terribly heavy and all she managed was to shampoo her curls, before letting her head drop against the tiles and considering just napping there.

There was a knock on the door and Bella opened her eyes, which she didn't remember closing. The bathroom was now covered in steam and she felt woozy as she snapped her head up too quickly.

"Bell, c'mon, I gotta pee!" Wendy was yelling through the door and Bella shut off the water, grabbing the thick hotel robe and wrapping it around her, with no energy to actually dry herself. She stumbled out of the bathroom, nearly stomping on Wendy since the other girl was shorter.

"Sorry..." Bella mumbled, falling back on the bed, half asleep already. In the far distance, she heard Wendy ask if she wasn't gonna dry her hair first, but Bell was already drifting away by then.

She woke up many hours later, without any idea why.

Bella sat up slowly, breathing through her mouth and trying to understand what was the weird pressure in her chest. Their room was dark and Wendy was curled up under her blankets, only the top of her head poking out.

There was a weird churning in her stomach and Bella blew out a small burp, getting up to splash some water on her face. Vaguely she started to identify the tingling feeling as nausea.

Bella stumbled back into the bathroom, washing her face with cold water and then at her own reflection. Her lips had paled almost to the shade of her skin and her curls had become a cloud of auburn around her head, glued to her temples since she was clammy all over.

Bella's stomach squeezed and she felt a tangy taste in the back of her tongue, causing her to retch over the sink. She pressed her lips into a thin line, breathing through the sudden nausea spike and hoping it was just that.

A very vivid image of her last meal flashed before her eyes and Bella slammed a hand to her lips, trying to suffocate another gag. Realizing there was no way she was going to win this, she shut the bathroom door and knelt on the ground, staring at the water inside of the toilet.

A burp caused a ripple against the still surface and Bella leaned forward, hands on her thighs as her spine curled with another heave, but brought up nothing.

Her head was pounding, so Bell pressed her forehead to the porcelain rim, hygiene be damned, trying not to gag. She really didn't want to get sick. Not only the act of vomiting, but she didn't want to be getting sick, when they had such cool plans.

She wanted to enjoy this trip, not spend it puking in a fancy hotel bathroom.

Bella let out a groan as her stomach churned harder and her mouth filled with up saliva, leaning over the bowl to spit it, her jaw feeling heavy. A frizzy curl fell in front of her eyes and she pulled it back, looking around the bathroom for a hair tie and finding none.

She sat back down, trying to breathe through the nausea, gulping down convulsively. It was like an iron grip in her stomach and the next gulp simply wouldn't go down, causing Bella to quickly lean over the bowl, just in time for her lunch to make a nasty reappearance.

Bella nearly choked with it, coughing a bunch and burping once more, before reaching for the flush and collapsing next to the toilet. Her head was swimming, eyes hurting, and she wanted Luke. He always knew how to cheer her up.

She wasn't aware how long she spent lying on the cold floor, pressing her overheated forehead to the tiles and sitting up every fifteen minutes or so to puke again. She was dry heaving and more than a little dizzy when there was a knock on the door.

"Bell? Are you alright?" Wendy's voice was sleepy, blissful unaware, and Bella let out a groan, curled up on the ground and trying to muster up energy to sit up again, as her stomach was starting to squeeze with what she guessed was another empty heave.

Wen knocked again, before opening the door when she didn't get a response.

Bella didn't have any energy to lift up her head, but she saw her friend's feet freeze at the door, before she was rushing inside the bathroom with a shocked, "Bella! Oh my God-"

"Uhm, no- Don't," Bell groaned as Wendy grabbed her shoulder and tried to pull her sitting up, "gon'hurl..."

"For how long have you been sick!?" Wendy's voice was distraught and Bella guessed it had been a gruesome picture to find your friend collapsed to the ground, "Jesus, Bell, you're burning up..."

"Hurts..." Bella mumbled, when Wendy successfully managed to pull her sitting up, with much huffing and puffing, "I'm sorry, Wen..."

"About?" Wendy frowned at her, then cringed, "aw, babe, you got it in your hair..."

"Ugh," Bell wrinkled her nose, before her throat bobbed up and down, "gonna be sick again..."

"Okay, okay, here-" Wendy grabbed her arm, helping her lean over the toilet, "I got you-"

Bella let out another retch, which brought up nothing and only made her wince since her throat felt raw, before burping over the water and panting, "my head hurts like a motherfucker."

Behind her, she heard Wendy let out a snort, "you're empty, no wonder your head is hurting. All this strain," she seemed to have regained her cool, "stay there, I'm gonna get you some water."

Her friend rushed out of the bathroom, before returning with a small water bottle and grabbing the hand towel from the sink, wetting it.

"Here, drink this. Small sips," Wendy shoved the bottle in her hands and started wiping the puke off Bella's hair, "you should've woken me up, Bell..."

"As if I could," Bella teased her lightly, leaning forward and planting her forehead to Wendy's shoulder. Her friend nearly went down under the sudden weight, scrambling to hold them both up with a squeal, "you snore."

"No, I don't," Wendy sounded offended, but she started rubbing Bella's back in a soothing manner, "I wanna get some meds in you, you're really warm, B."

"That's what he said," Bella teased her and Wendy scoffed.

"That doesn't even make any sense," she pushed a curl behind Bella's ear, "think you're ready to get up? Water is staying down?"

"Definitely not," in order to prove her point, Bella muffled a burp against Wendy's frilly shirt, "but my ass hurts."

Wendy shook with a chuckle, "you're such an eloquent person," she threw one of Bell's arms around her shoulders, "okay, help me, I cannot carry you to bed."

Bella let out a long suffering sigh, "I miss Luke."

"I miss him too right now," Wendy groaned, her face all pink as she stumbled forward with most of Bell's weight on her, "how are you so heavy?! You're skinny!"

Bella fell in the bed with a groan, burying her face in the pillows, "it's muscle."

"Sure, it is," Wendy scoffed, patting her thigh, "scoot up, sweetheart, I don't want you choking-"

"Wen," Bella let out a groan, gulping down, "get me the bin...? Water-" her mouth got all sticky and she gagged weakly, "comin'up-"

"Here, here, here-" Wendy mumbled frantically, jumping from the bed and grabbing the waste basket abandoned across the room. She held it under Bella's chin and the ginger promptly hugged it like a pro, gagging only once more before all the water came back up, nearly just as clear as it had been in the bottle.

"Oh, ewww," Bella groaned, burping over the bin once more and clearing her throat, "my water..." she said in a pathetic manner, causing Wendy to let out a surprised chuckle.

"You're ridiculous," the shorter girl giggled, taking the bin, "lie back, I'm going to phone the front desk for meds."

"You can do that...?" Bella mumbled sleepily, rolling on her side, "you rich people are so weird..." she grimaced as her stomach let out another growl and curled up more, blowing out a sickly little burp against the pillow, "ugh."

"I hate to break it to you, Mrs. Martinez-Atwood, but I don't think you can keep you-rich-people-ing at me," Wendy rolled her eyes, sitting on the bed and picking up the phone on the little bedside table between the two beds. She started combing her fingers through Bell's frizzy curls while waiting for the front desk to respond and much like a ginger cat, Bell scooted closer until her head was resting on Wendy's lap.

"Hi! Hello, goodnight- I'm sorry about the hour," Wendy started to say, cringing as she looked out of their window and saw the sun just starting to color the sky purple. It was barely 5 AM, but Thank God, they were in NYC, the city that never slept.

She ordered the meds and asked them to add the service in their bill, before glancing down and letting out a snort. Bella had seemingly dozed off against her thigh. The ginger looked really pale, dark circles like bruises and her hair had become a cloud of auburn cotton candy.

Wendy didn't dare move, she simply lied back against the headboard and kept petting her friend's hair, not liking one bit the heat radiating off of her, until there was a knock on their door.

Gently, Wendy walked back to the bed, crouching before it and stroking Bella's cheek, "Bell, Bell, wake up," she whispered, shaking her lightly. It took a second, then Bella opened her eyes, dark and sparkly thanks to the blazing fever, and let out a groan.

"My stomach-"

Wendy jumped back, but the woman didn't throw up on her, instead curling up with a grimace, "I feel so fucking queasy..." she gagged, emptily, and Wen let out a sigh.

"I know, B," she grabbed her friend's arm, "I brought some meds for the fever and something for the nausea. Two little pills, okay?"

Bella's face scrunched up, "I don't take pills."

Wendy blinked at her, blankly, "I'm sorry, what?"

"I don't like them," the ginger pouted, sitting up, "Luke never buys pills."

Wendy stared at her, pressing her lips into a thin line and wishing she could be filming this. Never, in a million years, did she think Bella could be this much of a baby, "you don't drink pills, so you take... What. Syrup?"

The sick woman nodded, hugging her knees and pressing her cheek to them, breathing through her mouth, "I wanted to see Family Addams..."

"Then take the meds," Wendy rolled her eyes, sitting on the edge of the bed and grabbing the water bottle, "one gulp of water, okay?"

"It's too late," Bella shook her head, looking distraught, "we missed it already, because I got sick..." She sounded close to tears and Wendy had to fight not to laugh.

"Bell, Family Addams is only at 8 PM, relax," she pushed to bottle towards her, "you're gonna feel better by then." She hoped so.

"What time is it?" Bella stared at the pills with a pout, before taking them and making a show of swallowing, coughing and spluttering.

"6 AM, babe," Wendy grinned, "plenty of time for you to rest and feel better."

"I'm really sorry," she sighed, sliding down on the bed once more, "I know you were looking forward to it."

Wen frowned, feeling a pang in her chest, "Bell, I've watched it before," she said, crawling in the bed with her friend and smiling as the ginger immediately rolled closer, snuggling up as much as she could, "I was looking forward travelling with you, showing you my city... We can hit Broadway any other day."

"You swear?" Bella looked up, speech all slurred and clearly exhausted, "that you're not mad? Those tickets are so expensive, Wen..."

"I'm not mad, even if we spend all weekend locked here or when I inevitably catch this, I'm not gonna be mad," Wendy glared at her, "now get some rest, we just might be able to save the tickets."

[rentsukino]

Princess

pairing: re6 Leon x fem reader

summary: Leon finally gets a night off and he wants to spend it pampering you.

warnings: smut. oral (f receiving). p in v. unprotected sex. creampie. use of pet names. leon being soft and loving.

note: this is like my second fic ever written 😭 IDK HOW MANY WORDS THIS IS BECAUSE I WROTE THIS SITTING IN MY CAR IN A PARKING LOT LMAO

Steam filled the bathroom, hot water caressing your body like a warm, gentle hug as you sank further down into the bathtub. Leon was always treating you like a goddess, constantly doting on you and making sure that your every need and want was granted.

He finally had a day off from work and wanted nothing more than to pamper you, so he drew you a nice, steamy bath with your favorite bath salts, lit candles, and rose petals sprinkled around the tub. He sat on the edge of the tub, gently running his fingers through your wet locks. You sighed and closed your eyes as your body relaxed.

“Do you need anything, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice so velvety smooth, like thick and sweet honey.

You shake your head and bring a hand up out of the water and gently stroked his forearm, smiling up at him with those sweet eyes that always made him melt.

He smiles at you and a small chuckle rumbles from his chest and he kisses the top of your head.

“Let me wash your hair for you, princess,” he murmurs against your wet hair and you nod in response.

Leon grabs the shampoo and lathers it between his calloused palms and then gently massages it into your scalp. Your eyes flutter from the soothing feeling, nearly putting you to sleep.

He rinses the suds from your hair and conditions the ends of your strands, combing through them to detangle any knots.

Once you were nice and clean, Leon drains the water from the tub and helps you stand up, taking a fresh towel and drying off every inch of your body.

“Thank you,” you murmur softly, pressing your forehead into his shoulder. He smiles and scoops you up into his arms and walks out of the bathroom and into the bedroom where he gently lays you down on the silk sheets.

“You don’t have to thank me, baby. You’re my princess,” he coos, bringing his face close and brushing his nose against yours. He cups your cheeks and presses his lips to yours in a searing kiss. It starts out gentle and sweet, but quickly turns more intense.

You pull away, nearly gasping for air and look into his eyes, the blue irises nearly swallowed by his dilated pupils.

“You know, I know you just got out of the bath, but I kinda wanna get you dirty again,” he mutters against the shell of your ear, his large hand coming to slide up and down your thigh, making your breath hitch.

“Leon,” you whispered, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer as slick begins to pool between your legs and your cunt throbs. His smirk turns into a wide grin.

“Hmm? Want me to make you feel good, princess?” he coos, sliding his hand from your thigh to your aching core. His rough fingers gently rub against your wet hole and then slide up to circle around your clit. “You’re already so fucking wet, baby.”

“Please,” you breathe, rolling your head back and biting your bottom lip, hips bucking up against his hand. He chuckles and moves lower down your body, peppering sweet kisses along the way until his face is hovering over your glistening pussy.

“So needy. Don’t worry, honey. Princess will get anything and everything she wants,” he purrs, his hot breath fanning across your sensitive skin. His tongue flicks out and he licks a stripe from your hole to your clit, lingering and swirling around the sensitive nub and making you jerk in response. His hands grasp at your thighs, spreading them wide and holding you down to the bed so that you can’t squirm away from him.

As he devours your cunt, Leon’s cock is hard and throbbing, straining against his sweatpants and leaking precum from the tip onto the fabric. He grinds against the mattress while he’s licking your pussy. You look down to see how his hips are practically humping the bed and your lips part to speak.

“Leon. Want your cock,” you manage to choke out between the soft, pathetic whimpers.

He groans against your cunt from hearing your soft voice and pulls away. “Yeah? Want me to fuck you, princess?” he growls, his voice rough and deep. You nod your head weakly, hands coming out towards him, trying to grab onto him to pull him closer.

Leon chuckles at how desperate you look, eyes glazed over as you try to paw at him. He quickly pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it to the ground beside the bed and then pulls down his sweats just enough to pull out his dick. Your eyes dart down to his cock, half-lidded and you just lay there admiring how fucking pretty it is. You’ve seen it a thousand times, but it really is the prettiest dick you’ve ever seen.

He drags the tip along your pussy, coating himself in your slick and nudging at your clit, making you whine and dig your fingers into his shoulders. He smirks and then pushes his thick cock fully into you slowly and sensually, making your eyes roll to the back of your head as you stretch out around him.

“Fuck,” he breathes shakily. “Always so fucking tight for me, baby.”

He tries his very best to take it slow, but the feeling of your cunt clamping down on his cock sends him into a frenzy, slamming his hips into yours as he grips onto your thighs and pulls your legs over his shoulders. Your moans and mewls only serve to encourage him as he bullies his cock in and out of you.

“Leon, I-,” you babble, eyes fluttering as your bury your face into his shoulder.

“What is it, baby? Wanna cum?” he coos, moving his hand between your bodies to thumb at your clit. You nod your head and whine, clutching at him and digging your nails into his back. “That’s it, princess,” he growls, “I want this pretty pussy to cum all over my cock.”

His words send you spiraling, eyes rolling to the back of your head and back arching off the bed as the heat in your belly begins to overflow and spread throughout your veins. Cunt fluttering and clamping down so hard on Leon’s cock that his hips start to sputter.

You’re a moaning mess, whimpering and whining, driving him over the edge even more. Leon slams into you with a loud groan as he spills every drop of his thick, hot cum deep inside you, coating your walls white with stickiness.

He sighs and reluctantly pulls out of you, his dick twitching at the sight of his cum oozing out of your stretched out hole. “I love you, princess,” he says hoarsely before planting a sweet kiss to your forehead and stroking your hair.

You smile sweetly at him, panting and trying to catch your breath. “Well, now I’m gonna need another bath. But I love you, too,” you tease.

[oliviachows]

Why Do Hand Wash Carwash?

Hand washing your car can ensure the individual touch that a touchless wash can't. It likewise offers an intensive cleaning that might better safeguard your car's paintwork and clear coat finish.

With lower startup costs than automatic car washes, hand-washing organizations offer an exceptional open door.

It's Personal.

Some car proprietors like to wash their cars since it's an individual method for really focusing on your car. Hand washing your car can likewise give you more command over the items and synthetics utilized. It likewise permits you to venture into the little hiding spots of your car, which can be challenging to do with a programmed wash.

If you have the opportunity and a readiness to put resources into top-notch containers, cleansers, microfiber gloves (like those from Clean Tools), and towels, you can set aside cash and get a more exhaustive clean. Additionally, it's harmless to the ecosystem since you don't lose as much water. At the point when you're done washing, a microfiber drying towel will permit you to rapidly clean up the excess water and forestall water spots. This can assist your paint with jobbing to put its best self forward.

It's Safe.

Washing a car yourself can be hazardous, particularly on the off chance that you don't have legitimate instruments. The utilization of cruel brushes and high-pressure water can prompt scratches in the paint that will corrupt the car's completion.

Notwithstanding, if you know how to wash your car appropriately, you can limit these dangers and have the most ideal outcomes. This is an expertise that is genuinely simple to learn and can be exceptionally useful in the long haul, expanding your car's resale worth and extending its life expectancy.

It means a lot to clean your car out of direct daylight when you are washing it the hard way. Daylight can make the sudsy water dry and stick to the car, making hard water detects that will be challenging to eliminate.

It's Affordable.

Eventually, hand washing your car might be more reasonable than a fast excursion through a programmed wash. It costs more to fabricate and work an automatic car wash than it does to run a hand car wash, so assuming you're searching for a cheap choice that gives an excellent clean, consider a hand wash.

However long you follow legitimate washing procedures, including a spotless wash glove and complete flushing, a hand car wash won't harm your paint. This is an incredible method for giving your car a careful clean and arriving at every one of the little hiding spots that are difficult for machines to reach. It additionally forestalls water spots, which can happen when air blowers are utilized in the last phases of a programmed car wash.

It's Time-Saving.

Hand car washing is an additional tedious than mechanized burrow washing, however, the additional work can be worth the effort over the long haul. This technique is great for individuals with restricted investment, as it permits them to clean their car rapidly without forfeiting quality or well-being.

It's likewise reasonable, with a great many people just requiring cans, wipes, and cleansers to get everything rolling. It's not difficult to set up and should be possible whenever any place there is water access. The main disadvantage is the likely harm to paint that can happen while cleaning with clothes or wipes stacked with hard soil particles.

Another disadvantage is the sun's intensity, which can make foamy water dry excessively quickly and stick to the car's surface, leaving water spots. Have a go at washing your car in a carport or under concealer.

It's Environment-Friendly.

Hand washing furnishes a spotless car with a degree of care that is difficult to come by at a programmed car wash. Hand car washes can likewise be an extraordinary expansion to a retail or shopping center parking area, as individuals want to get their cars washed while they shop.

As well as giving better client care, hand-wash car washes are harmless to the ecosystem. Numerous auto washes send cleanser and soil into nearby water supplies, which can be an issue for untamed life. In examination, hand washes can utilize less water and are a lot gentler on paint. The main disadvantage is that arriving at each cleft of a car without harming the finish can be troublesome. For this situation, an air dryer or polishing might be required.

[goldenempyrean]

Tricks, Treats, and Tissues

〚 Notes - Haven't written in a while but wanted to get something done! I missed these two so here we go! :D 〛

〚 Pairing - Maya Bishop x Carina Deluca 〛

〚 Summary - Halloween means fun, spooks and parties... well, if only somebody was feeling well enough. 〛

〚 Wordcount - 3,256 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙

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Trees swayed in the crisp early morning breeze of that Autumn morning. The sound of a beeping alarm roused Carina from her sleep, yawning and sighing contently as she sat up and stretched out her arm to silence the alarm.

Rubbing her eyes, she looked over, expecting Maya to be doing the same but the blonde was still out cold. One of her arms was loosely hanging off the edge of the bed as her messy bedhead sprawled on the pillows.

The OB allowed herself a small smile before gently squeezing her shoulder, “Come on sleepy girl, you’ve gotta wake up now baby.” She cooed quietly, continuing to lightly massage her shoulder until Maya made a small, sleepy noise of irritation to indicate she’d woken up.

Maya groaned softly, squeezing her eyes shut and nuzzling further into the pillow as if she could stave off morning for just a bit longer.

The brunette chuckled, giving her a playful nudge. "Alright, alright, I’m up," Maya mumbled, pushing herself up slowly. Her hair was still a wild mess, and she blinked at Carina with groggy, half-lidded eyes.

It was only as she sat up however that Maya noticed the dull throbbing of her temples, an indication of what was to come. She cursed to herself inwardly; she’d been in the clinic a few days ago and had been on the majority of Aid-Car calls, and the vast majority being for person with symptoms of the flu... She sniffled, already feeling some congestion building at the front of her sinuses. It wasn’t hard to work out that she was getting sick.

As she swung her feet over the side of the bed, Maya’s eyes glanced up to the two costumes hung neatly on the back of their bedroom door. Shit. She’d forgotten about the party tonight that Vic and Travis were hosting - her and Carina had bought matching zombie costumes to wear together.

Carina had picked them out herself and had spent hours planning how to do their makeup. Simply saying she was excited was an understatement. It was why Maya instantly knew that she couldn’t let her girlfriend find out about this. She knew what the brunette was like, she’d insist on staying home and missing out, but all Maya wanted was for her to enjoy herself tonight.

The blonde took a deep breath, trying to ignore the tickle in her throat as she stood up. She glanced at her girlfriend, who was already gathering towels and humming softly as she prepared for their morning shower. Carina’s enthusiasm was unmistakable; her energy brightened the room as she practically bounced toward the bathroom.

She was just about to follow her in with a desperate tickle ran down the bridge of her nose, she barely had enough time to bring the hem of her shirt over her nose before- “HhhhMpp’shhu!”

“Bless you!” The Italian’s warm voice called the bathroom just before the sound of running water began out, steam rolling out into the bedroom from the open, “You joining me in here?” There was a hopeful tone to her voice, one the firefighter couldn’t resist.

Within 5 minutes she was under the warm water, closing her eyes as it ran down her body. Still, she couldn’t help but shiver involuntarily as Carina ran a hand around the front of her stomach, pulling their bodies together.

“Mmh?” She moaned quietly, opening her eyes as she looked over her shoulder at the smiling brunette.

Carina smiled, grabbing the shampoo, and squirting some into her hands, “You’re cute when you’re groggy bambina.” She cooed before beginning to massage her hand through Maya’s scalp, gently washing her thick hair. She felt the younger woman lean against her as she continued, humming quietly to herself as she finished washing her hair.

They swapped positions, Maya wanting to return the favour. The blonde was lost under her touch but jumped as she felt two hands suddenly grip her hips. Carina squeaked a little as Maya abruptly hitched forward with a set of itchy sounding sneezes against her shoulder, using the woman to keep her balance.

“Ugh, excuse me baby.” Maya sniffled a little thickly afterwards, “Shampoo tickled me.” She quickly offered an explanation before clearing her throat and continuing.

“You’re okay, don’t worry,” Carina soothed, turning to press a soft kiss to the surgeon’s collar bone. She hummed at the subtle warmth coming from her skin but said nothing as the two finished up their shower and began getting ready for work.

Luckily, it was only a short shift, they’d both already arranged cover in preparation to head out tonight. Still, the idea of Maya dragging her arse round the station for 10 hours wasn’t exactly appealing, she stifled a groan as she dried herself on and pulled on her clothes, her muscles feeling tight and knotted as she moved.

The drive to work wasn’t awful. She did her best to match the blonde’s bubbly attitude, chiming in every now and then as Carina excitedly explained her plans for the day. She’d organised some sort of event for the kids on her ward and couldn’t wait to get it started. The blonde nodded along; she found it adorable how somebody could get so excited about a holiday. It wasn’t like she didn’t care; in fact, Maya did often enjoy jumping out and spreading the seasonal spooks, but it was just hard to be excited with a throbbing headache drumming at the front of her sinuses.

By the time they’d arrived, Maya had almost drifted back off as her head rested against the cool passenger window, “Have a good day bambina.” The two exchanged a small goodbye, the blonde kissing her girlfriend on the cheek before climbing out of the car and waving off her girlfriend as she drove off.

The cold air nipped at her skin and she quickly headed inside, wasting no time in heading inside that station at the hope it’d warm her up a little. Once she was in the changing rooms, the firefighter let herself relax a little, her tense shoulders slumping as she momentarily sat down on a bench.

She let out a congested sigh as she stretched up and pulled her sweater over her head as she grabs her uniform. But she tugged her sweatshirt off, she felt the telltale tickle creeping up her nose again, her breath hitching before she could even think to cover. She quickly pulled the sweatshirt up in front of her face, her shoulders hunching instinctively.

She buried her face into the fabric, muffling a series of sneezes that left her sniffling thickly, the sweatshirt doing its best to shield her from making too much noise, “Fuck…”

Maya took a deep breath as she wiped her nose on her sleeve with a grimace, feeling a sudden wave of exhaustion wash over her. She tossed her sweatshirt into her locker and finished changing into her uniform, her nose still prickling from the lingering itch.

The morning seemed to crawl by as the blonde made her way through a seemingly endless set of drills, apparently Sullivan wasn’t in the mood for a light, low effort day – not surprising. As she struggled to catch her breath, the fluorescent lights above only seemed to amplify her headache. Trying to keep a low profile was proving to be increasingly difficult as the growing ache at the back of her throat has her ducking into her elbow with rough, increasingly congested-sounding coughs, earning her side glances from the rest of the team who knew Maya usually breezed through these sorts of things.

Finally though, the klaxon blared with on oncoming call and the drills were forgotten as the team rushed to clamber into their gear and engines as they raced off to the scene.

By the end of the call, Maya felt like her entire body had been backed over by a truck. Dull aches ran over her entire body, and she’d had to change her shirt since she’d sweated through her first one despite the fact she felt utterly freezing.

“God, I just need a minute.” She muttered to herself as she grabbed a bottle of water from her locker. The room seemed to spin as she took a sip, and the urge to sneeze was once again prickling at the edges of her already raw nose.

She ducked into her elbow with a damp set of sneezes, the sound clawing at her throat. The firefighter groaned to herself, grabbing a tissue from a nearby box and giving a thick, congested blow, grimacing at the sound she’d made as she threw her soggy tissues in the trash.

“Damn, you sound horrible Bishop.” A sudden voice made her jump a little, Andy standing behind her with her arms crossed, before reaching forward to hand her another handful of tissues, “You even good to be here?” She asked, reaching up to press a hand to her forehead which she quickly ducked out of the way of.

“I’m fine.”

The thick sniffles that followed did little to plead her case. Hererra gave her pointed a look and she blew her nose once more, giving a small, defeated mumble, “It’s not that bad.”

“Shouldn’t your girlfriend be doting on you or something?” She rubbed her as she came to sit beside the blonde.

Maya looked up at her for moment before diverting her eyes, gazing to the ground, “Carina doesn’t know. She’s been so excited for this halloween thing tonight, if she knew then she wouldn’t any even about going.”

“You can’t tell her… please. Plus you know Sullivan’s got it out for me at the moment after that last scene. I can’t just go home.” She did have a point there. Her exhaustion had caused a silly error – nobody was hurt and things resolved but the Captain was not pleased.

Andy didn’t look convinced but she seemed to mull it over for a minute before he finally sighed in resignation. “Alright, fine. I won’t tell anyone,” She grumbled in defeat, her voice dropping into a more concerned tone, “Only, on the condition that you’ll take something - at the very least drink some tea. Seriously Mai, you look like you’re about to pass out.”

“Promise,” Maya nodded, managing a faint smile that quickly faltered as another prickling itch flared up in her sinuses. “H-hold on… I hh- nee-need to- Hhh’ESHHHoo! She sneezed openly down into her lap this time, too exhausted to keep her usual efforts to muffle the sound.

Herrera shook her head, muttering something about her stubbornness before standing, giving her shoulder a supportive squeeze as she headed off.

After another few hours of struggling through calls, Maya was feeling worse than ever. She couldn't tell if the constant chills were due to the station’s air conditioning or her worsening fever, and her headache now throbbed with every step. Her limbs felt weighed down by bricks, and she’d started shivering so hard that she could barely hold her pen steady. This wasn’t just a cold; the surgeon was half sure she had a raging sinus infection on top of this damn flu.

It was clear to anyone she was ill. Warren had already began nagging at her to leave for the past few hours, she’d had to stop several times to catch her breath and had ended up sitting out for the final part of the call. She was just about to head inside after they arrived back at the station when Sullivan suddenly stepped in-front of her, reaching forward to gently grab her shoulders to stop her from continuing, “Enough Bishop, wrap it up. You’re going home.”

Maya blinked up at him, her brow knitting as she tried to summon up some defence, but the argument died in her throat as she caught sight of her own reflection in a nearby glass panel. She looked just as terrible as she felt - pale skin and dark, exhausted circles under her eyes, cheeks tinged with an unhealthy crimson flush.

There really was no point arguing, the both of them knew that. She breathed in - as much as she could through her clogged sinuses. At the corners of her eye, she could see Andy giving her a sympathetic look as she came over to join them, “Go home Maya. We both know you’re too sick to be here right now. You’re gonna get yourself or somebody else hurt.”

“Fine.” She grumbled, her voice catching in her throat a little and she muffled a short cough into her elbow. She really didn’t have the strength to argue anymore, not when the room seemed to be spinning around her.

“I’ll help her with her stuff.” Andy explained to Sullivan as she wrapped her arm around the blonde’s waist nudged her towards the lockers, lending a hand as she gathered up her stuff, “You know you can’t go out like this tonight.” Andy went to pull out her phone to order her an uber, “Carina won’t mind if you cancel.”

Maya had just finished ducking into her arm was a harsh cough, “I know but she’ll be disappointed, even if she says she isn’t. She’s been looking forward to it.”

“Rather be disappointed then have her girlfriend pass out.” Gibson’s voice came from behind them, leaning against a support bean as she joined the conversation, Maya gave him a look to back off but he only smirked as he reached into his pocket to pull something out, “Candy?” He offered a handful out, not taking no for answer and putting some in her pocket.

That earnt him a smile - a small, stuffy, exhausted smile but a smile nonetheless. “You’re exhausting.” She grumbled, getting the last of her stuff from her locker.

“You’re exhausted.” Andy pointed out, as she looked down at her phone and ordered an uber.

*^*

By the time Maya made it home, she felt like a ghost of herself. She fumbled with her keys, her vision blurred from fatigue and fever, so much that she didn’t even notice Carina’s car parked in the driveway. Her head was spinning with a haze of exhaustion as she stumbled through the door, desperate to collapse into bed and pretend she wasn’t feeling this awful.

“Hh’ETSCHuu!” She couldn’t hold back the sneeze and barely managed to turn away in time, doubling over slightly as she sneezed once, then again, unable to muffle them. The firefighter groaned thickly, leaning against the wall and sliding down as a wave of dizziness ran over her - a thick, damp cough rattling from her lungs.

Just a few feet ahead of her, Carina frowned, she’d been standing in the doorway to their bedroom, having a perfect view of the whole thing. Her last surgery had been cancelled and she’d gotten home a few hours ago. “Maya Bishop,” Her voice was dripping with concern as she stepped out with her hands on her hips, “You got something you want to tell me?”

Maya froze, caught in the act, her cheeks flushed as she lifted them from her hand and looked up at her, “Carina! You’re, uh... home early.”

“Uh-huh.” Carina folded her arms, trying to hide her concern. She stepped closer, kneeling down to place a gentle hand on Maya’s forehead. “Bambina! you’re burning up.”

Maya pulled out a small piece of candy from her pocket and offered it to her, “Trick or treat?” She rasped, hoping to get away with it - she didn’t.

Carina narrowed her eyes a little, her frown crinkling as she gave her a look that said, “I’m not letting this go.” but nevertheless she unwrapped the candy and popped it into her mouth, unable to hold back a subtle smile as she enjoyed its sweet taste.

The enjoyment was lost a few moments later however when she watched Maya duck into her hands with a damp sneeze.

“God bless you! You sound awful sweet girl.” Carina murmured, extending a hand as she supported the blonde in standing back, instantly bringing her hand to support her waist when she wobbled a little, “Come on, let’s sit down for a sec, yeah?.” She guided her girlfriend over to the sofa, making her sit on the sturdy arm as she checked her over.

“So how are you really feeling?” The brunette reached forward to cup her face, her thumbs gently moving over her cheeks and sinuses instantly recognising the congestion she was holding, “Oh baby, you do not feel good at all, do you?”

The firefighter shook her head, “I just wanted to be okay for tonight…” Her voice broke as she rasped, a painful cough rising from her chest.

Carina’s heart softened, a small sympathetic sigh escaping as Maya looked up at her through glassy, feverish eyes. “No stupid party is worth you getting so sick sweetheart. You shouldn’t have even gotten out of bed today.”

Maya went to argue her chase but the deep itching at the bridge of her nose snatched her breath as she sneezed again, the action being followed by a congested sounding cough.

“Bless you, poor thing,” Carina whispered, her voice brimming with sympathy. “That’s it. Let’s get you into bed, okay?”

Maya just nodded miserably, unable to deny how much she just wanted to curl up and let the world disappear. Carina helped her up, keeping a steadying hand on her waist as they moved to the bedroom, and soon had the brunette had settled under the blankets, tucking them snugly around her. “Wait here, I’ll be right back,” The Italian promised softly.

She only took a few minutes to gather up some essentials, tissues, lozenges. The brunette also made sure to grab one of those little fever gel patches from their first aid kit as well as the thermometer they kept in there.

Soon enough, she was back by her side, rolling the thermometer across her hot, damp forehead. She sighed at the high number before peeling off one of the patches and gently laying it across before running her hands through her messy hair, “You really know how to overdo it, don’t you? Silly girl.”

Carina felt herself sigh again as she crawled up into bed and let herself sit next to Maya, smiling when the brunette leant against her. She stayed quiet for a moment, her hand still trailing through her hair. “You should have taken care of yourself first,” The OB said softly, her voice low and soothing. “I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

“You were just so excited; you love all the holidays. I just wanted you to enjoy the night.” She sighed, looking up at their costumes still hanging on the back of the door.

The brunette reached down to cup her face, tilting her chin to look her girlfriend in the eyes, “I’ve told you already, nothing is more important than you. I’d pick staying here, cuddled up over heading out to a party any day.”

Maya let out a soft, tired chuckle, the sound echoing in her chest. “Even if it’s just the two of us and a box of tissues?”

“Especially if it's just the two of us and a box of tissues.” Carina smiled back, reaching down to pull her laptop onto her lap, turning on Netflix and scrolling through to pick the brunette’s favourite spooky movie, “Happy Halloween, bambina.” She whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to her hair.

“Happy Halloween.” Maya replied, her voice soft and sleepy, her hand finding Carina’s and intertwining their fingers as she finally let herself relax into her hold.

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[kissingkiszka]

The Sweet Symphony - Chapter Six: Best He’s Ever Had

Jake Kiszka X Reader series

Words: 1.6k+ (a bit of a shorter one, but it helps the story to really take off)

Summary: After the album release party, Jake offers you a tempting opportunity.

CW: MDNI, 18+, smut, shower sex, fluff, oral sex (male receiving), pet names, cursing, cuddling, idk I think that’s all ?

Masterlist

_____________________________________

The car ride home from the album release party was different, to say the least. The sexual tension between the two of you continued the whole way home. It didn't help that your mind was still racing over what had just happened.

He placed his hand on your thigh that was still quivering. His hands firmness was holding you steady. His hand began to travel higher, and higher, until his hand once again found its way under your skirt. He began to play with the sides of your lacy thong. All you could do was stare at him in awe. He kept playing with the hem, and you placed your hand on top of his. You tucked your fingers under the hem of his sleeve, playing with the fabric. He barely was looking at the road in front of him, he was looking only at you.

He pulled into his driveway, hopping out of his car and running over to your side to open your door before you could open it yourself.

"I gotta be a gentleman to my lady." He grins.

"Thank you, sir." As these words leave your lips, you see his eyes light up. He must like to be called this. You made a mental note of that.

He grabbed your hand and led you into his house, opening the door for you and all. He took your jacket off your back and hung it up on the coat rack. He bent down and slipped your boots off. He placed them gently down on the shoe rack next to his front door.

"I'm gonna go wash up." He took off his own jacket and shoes. "You might want to join me. That pool table looked dirty," he leaned in your ear, his voice taking on a whisper, "and that was before I fucked you on it."

Your eyes went wide. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, but you love it. You nodded, letting him lead the way to his bathroom.

When you stepped inside, you admired his beautiful bathroom. It was very clean, which is always a good sign. He had a waterfall shower head and a spotlight over the shower. He turned only the spotlight on along with the water. He unbuttoned your top and unzipped your skirt, taking your clothes off. His touch was gentle, he was acting almost as if you were made of pure porcelain. His eyes admired your body as if you had been touched by an angel.

"You're very beautiful, you know that?" He said, his fingers tracing along your back. All you could do was blush and make a little “Hm" sound.

You slid your thong down, and he began to take his own clothes off.

The room was dark, but he's still radiating light. The only source of light in the room being the spot light in the shower. He grabbed your hand, guiding you into the shower with him. He closed the glass door behind him.

After a few moments in the shower, Jake picked up a shampoo bottle. "May I do the honors?"

"You may." You spun around and let the water run down your hair.

He squirted a decent amount into the palm of his hand and lathered it throughout your hair. He was careful not to tug on your hair. You love how he could be so rough but so gentle. Everything with him was just so new...but it had felt like you knew him for multiple lifetimes. As his hands kept massaging your scalp, you felt something push right against your ass.

His hard dick.

He let out a slight moan under his breath.

You turned around once he had washed all the soap out of your hair and looked into his eyes innocently. The steam from the hot water was fogging up the glass door.

"Get on your knees." He commanded.

"Yes, sir." You said it. sir. That made him go crazy and the way his breath hitched just proved it. As you climbed to your knees you maintained the eye contact with him. Your mouth was ready for his girth. You definitely were insecure, you weren't even sure how much of him your mouth could take.

You grabbed his cock, your lips fitting around it. You hollowed your cheeks, moving in and out. You licked his tip of the precum that was already leaking out.

His grip on your hair grew tighter. You looked up at him, and his head was thrown back. Water poured straight onto his face, than ran down his neck, and then his chest. The water droplets covering his body drove you crazy.

"Jesus, you're such a good girl y/n." He moans loudly. Thank god he lives alone. Although the whole neighborhood might've heard.

You tried to moan as well, if it wasn't for his huge cock down your throat. Your attempt at a moan vibrated his cock, making him moan even louder.

"I love the way your beautiful lips look wrapped around my cock. You're taking me so well, sweetheart." He whispered as his nose scrunched and his eyebrows furrowed in pleasure.

His eyes roll back as you keep moving in and out.

"Fuck, y/n. I'm gonna c-" and with that, he released his load all inside your mouth. You had no choice but to pull away and swallow it.

You let out a sigh as you stood back onto your feet. You wiped your mouth and Jake continued to stare at you in admiration.

"Are you good? Wouldn't want to bruise those beautiful knees of yours." He asked, bending down to see if your knees were red. They were just a little pink, he didn't last long enough for you to actually bruise them.

"I'm good. Did you like that?"

He grinned. "Best I've ever had."

After your shower with him, he gave you a pair of his boxers and a T-shirt to throw on. He climbed into his bed, patting the spot next to him that he had dedicated to you for the night.

"So..." he cleared his throat. "I was doing some thinking. Tour starts for me soon. What do you say you come with us?"

“I don’t know if I can leave my job for that long. As tempting as it sounds.” You wish you could just leave anything for him at the drop of a hat.

“I understand. Is there any way you can work mobile?” He grabbed your hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of it.

“I’m a hairdresser. I can’t really bring my clients with me.”

You saw a lightbulb go off in his head. “What if you had some new clients?” He had an hopeful look on his face. "You know, I'd get to spend some quality time with you." He joked and then returned to his serious demeanor. "Let me just say, I really like you, y/n, and I'd want you to come along on this journey with me. I know we just met but, I think it might be nice if we just throw ourselves in these situations. Plus, what's more romantic than traveling the country, or maybe even the world, together?"

After his cheesy romantic spiel, you tried to hold in a huge smile but failed miserably. “So you’re saying I can be your hairdresser for the tour?”

“Mhm.”

"Jake, yes, I would absolutely love to go on tour with you."

"Great!" His smile shines throughout the darkness of his bedroom. He reaches over and smothers you in kisses and hugs.

"Now I'm excited! I've never had an experience anything like this." You smile cuddling into him.

"It'll be amazing. I promise, y/n. We're going to make so many memories." He cuddled into you as well, his large hand running through your hair.

"I'll have to talk to my boss, but I don't think she would have a problem with it. As long as she knows I'm continuing to do hair, plus it might mean more publicity for the salon."

"Of course, it would just be minimal stuff. Just touching it up, giving it cuts, styling that kind of stuff." He gave you a kiss, one that he smiled into. "Although, Danny and Josh have some pretty tough curls. Josh is a bit of a diva when it comes to his hair."

"I can definitely manage that." You declare with a confident smirk.

You adjust your position so that your head is laying on his bare chest.

"y/n, would you like to go on a date with me? Like a real, proper date?" His hand wraps around your body.

"Of course! What did you have in mind?"

"Leave that up to me darling, all you have to do is get yourself all dolled up and pretty, which won't be too hard for you, since it happens naturally." He says with a smirk looking down at your lips.

He dives in, kissing you passionately. You don't understand how this could all happen so fast but it felt so right.

"I have an interview tomorrow morning but I'll pick you up tomorrow night at 7."

"I can't wait." You smiled into him. "Our first date."

His strong arms wrapped around your body even tighter. You could stay like this for all of eternity if you could.

"Goodnight y/n." He slid a hand under your shirt, caressing your body. His hand lands on your right tit, holding it lovingly. It wasn't by any means in a sexual way. It was in a comforting, loving way.

"Goodnight Jake." You whisper, your words echoing the room making him fall asleep with a wide smile on his face.

[credince--writes]

mor·tal·i·ty Chapter 5

AO3

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!OC x John "Soap" MacTavish

Brave? She smiles, and their eyes meet. Maybe she was, and maybe she’d continue to be.

It’s like some dangerous, dirty little secret that keeps her on edge. The same kick in the ass feeling after the first drink of the night- the burn down her throat. The twitch in her neck. The gasp of breath after a particularly good sip of liquor. 

It makes her want to giggle, bringing a rabid dog home. The sensible part of her subconscious condemns her, tears the posters on the walls of the mediating room that is her consciousness throwing a fit. The devils advocate calmly sitting on the other side of the room- legs crossed at the ankle with a smug look on her face, glass of gin in hand. 

It’s dangerous, stupid, reckless.

But it’s nice. And she deserves nice things. 

Sure, she’s needed at work- but this is different. It’s not spreadsheets, or project approvals, or consulting and advising on a roadblock in a project's funding. But there’s no end to it- no start and stop from where the work begins and where Camile begins or ends. But, that’s how you climb the ladder. That’s how you make a name for yourself to be something in this world.

Sacrifice.

 “I’m not homeless. I’m just a bum.”

She stares at him dumbfounded for a moment. “...What?”

“I have… Had a home. I can go home any time, but I can’t go back there.” He offers, the glass in his right hand fills the confusion in her head with the sound of ice clinking against glass.

“So… You have a home. A shower? You have a shower, and a tub, and a sink, and a washer where you could go… not reek?” She offers, eyes squinting.

“I sneak back sometimes. If I'm really desperate.”

Desperate.

Needy.

And she can help fulfill that need- fulfill a purpose outside of the spreadsheets and paperwork. Most importantly, even if she wouldn’t admit it out loud was the ability to have something to come home too. Sure, she could get a dog, maybe even a cat- but it was just a creature that was more liability than asset. Something completely reliant on her regardless of her presence at home.

It wouldn’t match with her ambitions.

There was just something so open about the man on the bench at the park. Always looming, always watching- self sufficient in the way that reminded her of a cat. But rather her worrying about him getting hit with a car and her having to mourn the stiff corpse by the side of the road, it was a fine line of questioning on if it would be her corpse on the side of the road.

But he was so open, something about him screaming broken. Fix me. 

Something that made the walls fall, not that they’d ever been that strong to begin with.

Johnny. She’d say the name, muttering under her breath while thinking of what she had to come home too.

Johnny. She’s sure that he’d be good. Johnny must be a good man, and sometimes good men have to run away from things- get away from situations. 

But Johnny? Something curdles within her intentions as she strolls down the isle of the store. Smelling various men’s body washes, setting them down until she found just the right scent to cling to his skin.

Razors- ones with multiple blades, a guard so that he’s less likely to cut the skin of his jaw. 

Body Wash- something with exfoliant in it, to help peel off the dead skin, layers of grime, and to help the scent cling to his flesh.

Would he use separate shampoos and conditioners? Had he in the past? 

If he was going to be with her, she wouldn’t skim. 

Something to lather into that overgrown mohawk- retain moisture to the soft waves in his deep brown hair.

“Good dogs get bubble baths.”

She was sure he was a good boy.

=+=

She makes the executive decision that night as the smell of steam and the new body wash that she purchased permeates throughout the house that it was, indeed, a good decision.

Overall, good investment. Net Positive. She wouldn’t ask for anything in return- maybe she was already asking for too much (she’d argue to herself, no, not enough, when she rolls over and feels a cold side of sheets next to her in bed). He was down on his luck- and she had shown her kindness in making her feel human again. This was the least she would do- generosity was in her blood. 

She decides as he walks out into the living room with a towel wrapped around his waist, fresh water droplets trickling off of the back of his neck and down the valley of his back muscles that the post she was currently stirring was very interesting. So interesting, in fact, that she doesn’t bother to turn her head as he rifles through the various plastic grocery bags on the floor that now contain all of Johnny’s possessions. Pants, boxers, a pack of plain black t-shirts. 

Existing together provides benefits, after all. The apartment isn’t cold and dark every night she returns home, Johnny continues to hide from whatever he’s running from, and they both drink together and act as if there is really, truly, nothing to worry about as long as they are within the confines of the apartment’s door.

They revolve and dance around each other, maintaining feet between them- Icarus understanding the dangers of the sun, and the sun shrinking back if a drunken stumble forward comes too close. 

Camile grabs a cup from the cabinet, a subtle glance to the side to see the way the sleeves of the shirt bulge over the thick of his biceps. Without the coats distorting his silhouette, she can see how truly large the man on her couch is. Not distorted by layers of fabric, but layers of fat and muscle strapped across bones and scars.

“I didn’t know what size to get you, so I guessed.” She comments nonchalantly, moving tot he side- the grind of the refrigerator's ice machine tears into the mellow drone filling the air of the apartment. “If you need your phone activated so you can text-”

“I don’t have a phone.” His tone is defensive, guarded.

“Do you want a phone?” Camile, leaning over the countertop with a glass in hand, questioning. No liquid, just ice. Pending current deliberation on what tonight’s poison would be.

“Not really, operating fine without it.” He replies, he’s sitting on the couch watching a series streamed to the TV. He doesn't break eye contact with the show, and a tenseness draws up in his shoulders.

“Any particular reason why?” She questions.

“It makes it easier to not be found.”

She leaves it at that. She decides water will be a nice change for tonight.

+=+

She swore to herself that it was going to be a one, max two day thing. A gracious offering of a couch and a shower, some clean clothes and soap. Against her will, however, his presence burrows into the marrow of her being. All it takes is the first day coming back home from work. Opening the door rather to a dark and cold silence- light, sound, warmth, and the smell of something on the stove. 

“Thought I’d cook us dinner.” He stood in the kitchen, black T-shirt stretched against the width of his back.

He even did the dishes afterward.

For the first week, she locks her door at night. Telling him “Piss now or off the balcony” before locking him out of her space for the night.

Safe.

Stupid?

Both, interchangeably. 

The first week is an ebb and flow for dread and anxieties- the fear of letting a man into her space. One, honestly, she barely even knows. Then, freefalling into a sentiment of ‘oh well’ and ‘at least the house isn’t empty when I come home anymore’. A juxtaposition of domesticity that shouldn’t be coming this easy to strangers. Are they strangers anymore? She knows Johnny sleeps with a lamp on, does a weird double take whenever he walks into the room- constantly scanning any possible corner even if he just left the room. That he talks in his sleep, soft mumbles and breaths of air as he rolls back and forth on the couch.

They both share quiet nights, sitting together, a respectable distance apart on the couch. The occasional knee brush, bickering over what show to put on. The occasional, more often than not drink. Drinks. Bottle. 

It’s a silent agreement. 

There’s no need to work backwards, only working forward.

No questions- “Why did you move here?” “Who are you running from?” “Have you always filled your glass with liquor first, and juice later?” “Where did you get the scars?”

Comfortable silence.

Comfort in someone that radiates warmth- even feet away.

They’re both hiding from something, failures, pasts.

So, they’ll enjoy the blissful ignorance of comfortable silence, hearty meals, two warm seats on the couch, and one cold side of the bed.

=+=

It’s the little inconsistencies that start to show through on the paperwork. Little highlights that shine through the cracks time and time again. 

Paperwork she stays late to file doesn’t match up with the metrics shown throughout the day. Pelant, smiles and rainbows and teamwork shining out of his ass becomes something akin to a caricature. The hairs on the back of her neck stand up watching him sometimes, a warning of a predator in the vicinity- the uncanny valley affect. 

Camile approaches a crossroads, the numbers, the balances, the returns. Client meetings and presentations- the numbers don’t line up. And along with her name, is Malory’s shittily forged by his  secretary, signed at the bottom of the sheets in approval. 

She sits in her office, putting ink to paper. Closing her eyes, she’s back in the room where it all went to shit.

 “You're going to want to fill this out.” He said bluntly. The stool kicked out from underneath her feet.

Her shaky hands reached towards the paperwork, lifting it up to stare at the blank sheet. “To where?” She asked. A burning sensation filled the back of her throat as the muscles constricted, the heaving feeling of dread settling in her gut as her eyes zipped around the page.

“Not here.” Her body drops, throat catching against the noose. 

Body dangling, lulling back and forth she leans forward in her chair to assess the numbers again. She isn’t crazy. She knows, she sees it. But she won’t face the repercussions of her actions- not if it ends in the same amount of boxes, tape, folded clothing and moving trucks.

 It was a tense, cold meeting room. She was surrounded by faces, and all of them were staring at her expectantly- eyes narrowed and jaws tightened. “Camile. You have been in this position for what, eight months? What makes you think that these ‘findings’ have any backbone against a senior employee?” She stared up at the man. Lips curling down into a frown. “Sir, I didn’t mean any-” fear, the iron grip around her throat stopping the words leaving her mouth. Choking the defense from ever leaving her lungs.

“That's right, they don’t have any findings.” The man stood up, turning his back and beginning to walk out of the room. Even walking away, back turned in retreat, his presence dominated the room. Suffocating and stamping out any question of resistance. “I refuse to work with a firm that can’t even have management with an ounce of confidence.” His voice rose, and suddenly Camile leaned back into her seat, fleeing, eyes widening. She felt like a deer in the headlights, she felt like she left her own body. Floating above the spectacle before her, seeing herself shrink back at a meer raised voice.

It makes bile rise in the back of her throat, even remembering the raised voices. The feeling of disappointment radiating off of her superiors.

She had only been working for eight months when she’d called foul play previously- little fish in the big tank. Too big for her britches. 

She wasn’t in the same position- her job was to advise now. Malory had said it himself. 

It’s what leads her back into his office. She notices the distinct lack of a potted plant that he’d ash his cigarettes in on bad days. The smoke detector in the office hadn’t been functioning since 2009. 

“You don’t come in here for tea parties. Tell me what’s on your mind.” Malory’s voice has caught an edge to it lately. Maybe the exhaustion of the job is finally catching up with him- the shark stops swimming, and oxygen no longer flows into blood.

The room’s become something of a spectacle in her mind- it is a place of terror, fear of failure, and reprimand. But it’s become a haven- a pressurized room where the bacteria can’t seep in from under the door. 

“You…” She finds herself sinking back- that timid, afraid little girl seeping out through her pores a mirror sheen of cowardice and aversion gleaming in sweat on her forehead. “You know why I was transferred here.”

“I’m well aware.” His hands grip the worn leather arms of the chair, rocking backward in a way that makes the mechanism attached creak, metal on metal, and pop. 

 “You didn’t hold it against me.”

Malory sighs, hand reaching down to one of the drawers and pulling it open. Cigarette and lighter in hand, he offers her one. 

“Um, no thanks.” It comes out quietly, isolated.

He simply shugs and lights the tip, the acrid tang of nicotine and tobacco- a menthol cigarette drifts up towards the non-functioning smoke detector. He takes a long drag on the cigarette, exhaling, finally opening his eyes and shrugging. Go ahead.

“And let’s say, hypothetically. I’m seeing the same signs that I saw again.”

He quirks a brow, and blows smoke out the left side of his mouth, a specific wrinkle furrowing downward on his brow. Thinking, analyzing. “Hypothetically.” 

It feels like she’s fisheye-d into herself, heart pounding in her ears. She should just leave it. Get up, say it was just a stress induced stroke and nothing is actually happening, and call it an early day. But there’s more happening in the background, and there is a twisted sense of loyalty to the man across the thick wooden desk.

“And, once again, hypothetically, they are being approved with your signatures, and not the person, once again, hypothetically,”

Thump, Thump, Thump.

“Running the projects, the one that’s transitioning into your role.”

The cigarette is ashed against one of the large glass paperweights on his desk. Leaning forward, the chair makes a creaking sound- a residual pop not of the chair, but of his hips. His left eye twitches as the feeling of the joint popping.

“And you're bringing it to me.” He says simply, it's a matter of fact, a statement- acknowledgement. 

Camile nods.

His arms fold against the table, he sighs, eyes closing. Contemplating.

 “Never train your downfall. No offense dear, but you don’t exactly scream the type to be gunning for someone’s position. It makes you perfect for this transition. Someone quiet and willing to do the work assigned without the gusto to steal the rug from under them- if that makes much sense. It’s a compliment under all of those layers.”

She was meant to help with important things, do important things. From the background.

 “But sir, you and I both know that I am more well-versed in this position to be delegated the role of assistant -” Camile offered, a last ditch attempt to persuade the older man.

Malory sat in his chair, arms tucked in front of him as he stared out the window. All she could see of him was the top of the back of his head, and the back of his office chair. “ Advisor .” He replied.

“Advisor?” She echoed.

“Technically, your role is advisor.”

“I’m advising you, Sir.” There’s no warble in her voice, despite the tightness and the deafening pump of blood in her ears. She says it with confidence, maybe even a slight sneer towards the end. A smidge of sass- throwing it back in his face that maybe if they’d of just put her in Malory’s position that this wouldn’t be happening to begin with.

She shrinks back at her own thoughts. Overstepping-

Malory laughs. It’s deep, belly deep as he leans back in his chair with a crreeeeekkkk pop! Of metal, a slide of his hand against the leather. 

“Touche.” He wipes a stray tear that threatens to spill over his water line. “Maybe you are learning something….” He pauses, dragging his hand down his face- no stubble, still freshly shaven every day. He may be old but he isn’t slipping, he’d argue. “You’re in dangerous waters, once again. But, consider yourself lucky that you came to me.” He’s contemplating, rubbing his jaw in his weathered hands. Sun spots from tropical vacations- divots from staples and paperclips permanently pressed into the tips of his fingers. 

Camile doesn’t realize she’s still holding her breath.

“Keep swimming, let’s see if you can tread waters with the sharks. See if you can find me some sunken treasure.” 

It’s a greenlight. Keep digging.

+=+

She brings home a bottle of wine in celebration, only to learn that Johnny doesn’t drink wine. Especially not the sweet stuff like the bottle she picked up- not that she declares the bottle is a celebration. A sweet treat, something to revel in because she only gets it when she earns it. The warmth the alcohol brings to her cheeks as she pours herself another glass- this isn’t meant to be classy, no, that’s why she’s not using a wine glass and there’s ice in her cup. 

Sitting on the couch, a respectable distance from one another. Until their knees brush. 

“I’m celebrating.” She supplies, not that he was ever asking. He cocks his head, and she swears she can see amusement dance in those deep blue eyes-

“Aye? What for?” His knee doesn’t move back, no longer supplying that respectable distance. 

“I did something I was scared of today.” She finishes the last of the liquid in her glass, reaching over for the bottle. 

“That was brave of ya’.” 

Brave- such a subjective term. She’d mock herself in the mirror later, brave? Doing your job? Maybe if she wasn’t such a coward the second things started to fight against her-

His hand wraps around her knee, and it’s warm. Radiating through her pants and down onto her skin- gooseflesh erupting across her body. There was no condescending tone to his voice, no hidden meanings, things to look further into. Simply a statement- that he thought it was brave.

Static envelops her mind.

Brave?

She smiles, and their eyes meet. 

Maybe she was, and maybe she’d continue to be.

[invisibleraven]

I tried SO HARD not to send a shower prompt with Reggie but... washing their hair for them for the Reggie pairing of your choice. SORRY NOT SORRY

"This sucks," Julie grumbled as she hobbled into the house. "I hate this. Stupid cast, stupid crutches."

"I know," Reggie replied, closing the door behind them. "But at least it wasn't any worse, we're lucky that way."

"I'm still sorry about your truck," Julie said, flopping down onto the couch, hissing as she lifted her leg onto the ottoman.

"Eh, I was hoping to get a new one eventually anyways," Reggie said, "Now I can, maybe get a nice family car or SUV."

"Not a sports car?" Julie joked.

Reggie laughed. "Like you'd let me."

"True." Julie stretched her arms up, trying to get comfy, but then wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, I stink, I need a shower."

"Well we gotta wrap your cast for that," Reggie said. "Are you gonna be okay to shower alone?"

Julie swore. "No, there's no safety rails and I really don't trust my balance right now. Maybe a bath?"

"I can be your safety rail," Reggie offered.

"Really?"

"You know I love showers," Reggie replied. "Especially with you."

"I don't think it'll be as fun as our usual joint showers-no funny business mister," Julie replied.

"Cross my heart, I'll even put on trunks if you want," Reggie replied, making a motion over his chest. "Now let me get a garbage bag."

Julie soon found herself leaning against the bathroom counter, leg wrapped, and ready to get some of the hospital stink off her. Reggie had rushed off to fins his trunks, as promised, making her promise that she wouldn't attempt to get into the shower without him, even as the bathroom was slowly starting to steam up.

"Come on before we go through all the hot water!"

A strange slapping sound came towards her and Julie had to burst out laughing when she saw Reggie, in his loudest swim trunks, a set of swim flippers, and a snorkel.

"You doofus."

He grinned before kicking the extra gear off, and helped her under the spray. "Anything to hear you laugh again."

Julie grinned, clutching onto his shoulders to keep steady. "So how are we doing this?"

"You hold on, I'll wash," Reggie stated, tipping her head back to soak her curls. He'd washed her hair enough times by now that Julie knew he'd be gentle-he liked helping her maintain her hair, volunteering every time she needed the full treatment.

Julie let her eyes fall closed as Reggie carefully added shampoo, massaging her scalp to get the product in and out, then adding conditioner. It felt divine, and relaxing, as it always did.

"No falling asleep," Reggie chuckled.

"So tempting though," Julie replied as he moved her out of the spray.

"Maybe next time we can do the bath, prop your leg up and you can nap," Reggie replied. "But for now, let's get you clean."

Usually when they showered together, Reggie took his time washing her, often kissing the skin as the suds ran away, leading to them having lots of fun under the spray-but not today. He knew standing was taxing on her, and her stamina was not as it was after being in a hospital bed.

This was less sensual and more methodical, making sure he ran the loofah over her as gently as he could, but still ensuring she got that deeply scrubbed sensation she needed after nothing but sponge baths for the past week or so.

Julie beamed at him as he got each spot, even though he was concentrating on cleaning her, it still felt like worship, like this was what it was to be loved. She never stopped thanking God, or whatever force in the universe was responsible for giving her this man.

"There, squeaky." Reggie grinned up at her, uncaring that the water was plastering his hair to his head, and Julie so wished she could kiss him. "Now, let's finish your hair, dry off, and what do you say to a nap?"

"Fully in favour of one," Julie replied, letting her body be oh so slowly turned back under the spray, her head manipulated this way and that as Reggie worked out the conditioner.

Soon enough the shower was over, and Julie was sure she fell even deeper in love as Reggie towelled her off with the utmost care, scrunching her curls just like she taught him before braiding her hair and wrapping it in the silk scarf she liked to use to sleep.

He was a bit less tender on himself, towelling off quickly, and tossing the trunks over the edge of the tub to dry before he got the garbage bag off her leg. Then helped her move to the bedroom , putting them both in comfy lounge clothes, fetching her crutches only after Julie was tucked into the fresh sheets.

He even had her painkillers and a glass of water ready for her-seriously, what a man!

"You nap, I'm gonna make us something yummy for supper," Reggie said, kissing her forehead.

"You're not staying?" Julie asked around a yawn.

"You know my octopus like tendencies," Reggie replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't wanna jostle your leg."

"I miss cuddles," Julie admitted. "Please stay, just until I fall asleep?"

And well, Reggie was powerless to say no, slipping in beside her, pulling her uninjured side in close, and kissing her temple. "Love you darlin'."

"Yo también te amo."

And with that, feeling clean, loved, and the fuzziness from the fading pain, Julie slept, knowing that Reggie would be there, snoring away when she woke up.