"Baby! Do not— hit the car with that wrench, you prick—!" Nat hisses, scandalised as she snatches your hands away, face twisted in a half-exasperated-scowl and the other a fond smirk. She sighs long-sufferingly, leaning against the hood of the car as her hands slide around your wrists, shaking her head with an eye-roll.

"Look, babe— I'll show you."

God, she's so hot like this; all sweaty—oil smeared on her cheeks. You want to kiss it off so, so badly. Even if it'd taste vile.