#clinging to Mil

[cherryrainn]

begging u for some fem reader blitzø smut 🙏 we need more blitzø content in this world

━━ ✧ 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

─ ✩ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ; blitzø + fem!reader

─ ✩ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ; i'm proud of this. and YEAH SO TRUE

─ ✩ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ; sexual content, smut, oral sex, penetrative sex, rough sex, dirty talk,

you push open the heavy door to i.m.p headquarters, expecting to hear the usual cacophony of voices and the shenanigans that often accompany a typical workday. instead, you're met with an unsettling silence. the absence of moxxie's chatter, millie's boisterous laughter, and even loona's sarcastic remarks leaves the place feeling eerily still.

raising an eyebrow, you shrug off the unusual quietude and decide to head straight to blitzo's office. the walls adorned with contracts and pictures of past assignments close in on you as you make your way down the corridor.

you've always sensed a strange, electric tension between you and blitzo. the stolen glances, the lingering touches — yet, neither of you has dared to cross that unspoken boundary.

as you approach blitzo's office, you can't help but feel a flutter in your chest. was he even in there?

you've had your eyes on each other for what feels like forever, but circumstances, or maybe just sheer cowardice, have kept things between you strictly professional.

you knock lightly on blitzo's door, already half-expecting it to swing open without a response. to your surprise, the door creaks open almost immediately, revealing blitzo leaning back in his chair, feet propped up on the desk cluttered with paperwork and empty whiskey bottles. was he waiting for you? classic.

"ah, if it isn't the most fuckable employee walkin' through that door," blitzo drawls, his red eyes lighting up with mischief as he takes in your appearance. "took ya long enough."

rolling your eyes but unable to hide the smirk tugging at your lips, you step into the room, closing the door behind you. "looks like everyone decided to play hooky today. even loona?"

blitzo chuckles, lowering his feet to the ground as he leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "yeah, somethin' like that. mox and mil.. more like a 'family day out,' or some sappy shit like that. loona.. i dunno. left me here all alone, can you believe it?"

you say nothing. you move closer to the desk.

it's just you and him.

blitzo breaks the silence first, his voice husky and laced with an unfamiliar vulnerability. "y'know, for all the shit we've been through, all the near-death experiences and fucked-up assignments, there's somethin' i've been meanin' to tell you."

your heart pounds in your chest as you lean in, captivated by the intensity in his eyes. "oh? and what's that?"

he smirks, a devilish glint in his gaze as he reaches across the desk, his fingers lightly grazing yours. "fuck the paperwork."

before you can process what's happening, blitzo is standing before you, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you into a rough kiss.

your lips crash against his as he tightens his grip on you, his hands roaming over your body, desperate and hungry. he bites your bottom lip, earning a moan from you, and your tongues dance together as you deepen the kiss.

heat pools in your core as blitzo's hand slips under your top, his claws raking down your back. he pushes you onto the desk, and you find yourself trapped beneath him, his frame pressing you against the wooden surface.

the sound of ripping fabric fills the room as blitzo tears off your top, exposing your bare chest. he lowers his mouth to your breasts, his tongue teasing your nipples before sucking on them. you writhe beneath him, your breath hitching as his fingers trail down your stomach and under the waistband of your jeans.

"tell me you want this," blitzo murmurs, his voice hoarse with desire as his fingers brush against your clit.

"yes, please, i want you," you whisper, your own voice trembling as you cling to him.

that's all the encouragement he needs. in a blur of movement, blitzo yanks off your pants (or whatever you're wearing) and underwear, tossing them aside as he kneels between your legs.

his tongue flicks against your folds, causing you to buck your hips against him. he chuckles, his breath hot against your sensitive skin, before pushing his tongue inside of you.

you let out a moan as he begins to lick and suck at your entrance, his fingers massaging your clit. the heat inside you is unbearable, and you arch your back, trying to pull him deeper inside of you.

blitzo pulls away, his eyes burning with lust as he looks up at you. "god, you taste so fuckin' good."

you reach down, grabbing his horn, guiding his head back down to your dripping cunt. he groans against you, his tongue plunging inside of you once more, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

the wet sounds of his mouth against your pussy echo throughout the room, mingling with the sounds of your whimpers and moans. you feel yourself growing closer and closer to climax, your grip on his horn tightening.

"fuck, blitz," you whimper, your thighs quivering as you teeter on the edge of release.

suddenly, blitzo stops, pulling away from you. you whimper, the loss of his touch leaving you feeling cold and empty.

"why'd you stop?" you pant, your eyes pleading for him to continue.

"i think you can do better than that," blitzo smirks, his gaze never leaving yours as he slowly rises to his feet, unfastening his pants.

your eyes widen as his cock springs free, already hard and throbbing. his hands grip your thighs, spreading your legs open as he positions himself between them.

you bite your lip as he enters you, your walls stretching to accommodate his size. he grunts, his hands digging into your flesh as he begins to thrust into you.

the sensation of him filling you, his cock hitting every right spot, is almost too much to bear. you cry out, arching your back as he pounds into you, his movements frantic and desperate.

"oh, fuck, blitz!" you moan, your hands grasping his shoulders, holding on for dear life.

"that's better," he growls, his voice ragged and full of need.

his fingers dig into your thighs, the pain mixing with the pleasure, sending you spiraling towards your release. your muscles tense, your body tingling with the delicious friction of him moving inside of you.

"are you gonna cum for me, baby?" he whispers, his eyes locked with yours.

"yes!" you moan, the heat building inside you reaching a breaking point.

blitzo smirks, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more frenzied. "go ahead then, cum for me."

you cry out, the coil of pleasure inside you snapping as you reach your peak. your body shakes with the force of your orgasm, the waves of pleasure crashing over you, leaving you breathless and spent.

blitzo lets out a guttural groan, his cock pulsing inside of you as he comes undone. his hips slam against yours, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room as he empties himself into you.

you collapse onto the desk, sweaty and panting, the euphoric afterglow of your orgasm washing over you. blitzo leans over you, his face inches from yours, his red eyes gazing into yours.

"shiiit," he says, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. "i think i love you."

you smile, a warmth spreading through your chest as you wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer. "i think i love you too."

[joeshiestyslover]

first sight- c. sturniolo

pairing: chris sturniolo x influencer!reader

summary: you are an influencer who first gained traction on youtube for your makeup videos and daily vlogs. you and tara have been best friends since you two collaborated over a year ago. she invites you to her 1 mil party where you meet a very special triplet.

warnings: language, mentions of alcohol, fluff

masterlist

lowercase intended

parties were never really your thing. sure, parties are apart of the influence lifestyle, but you never found yourself desiring to go to a party, get drunk, and stay out until three a.m. however your best friend, tara, is the complete opposite. she loves going to and throwing parties. every time, she tries to drag you with her, but most times, you just stay at home, either making content for your fans or simply lying in bed.

recently, she hit one million subscribes on her youtube channel and she immediately began planning a huge party that she wanted filled to the brim with friends and other influencers. the first person she invited was you. you were hesitant at first, but knowing how important this was to her, you agreed.

“come on, y/n, you have to go! it’s not like there’ll be random people there. larray’s gonna be there, jake and johnnie will be there. just please come, or at least consider it.” tara begs you. you sigh, knowing that she really wants you there. “okay i’ll go, but i may not stay for very long.” she immediately grins from ear to ear. “thank you!” she pulls you in for a hug, “you’ll have so much fun i promise.” you laugh at her excitement. “yeah, yeah, i’m sure.” you respond playfully.

a few weeks pass and it’s the night of the party. tara helped you pick out a sparkly minidress that shows off the tattoos littering your arms and some heels. you have to admit, you look good. the way your makeup accentuates your features and the way your outfit clings to your body makes you feel untouchable.

tara walks out of her bathroom after she finishes changing and looks you up and down, a huge smile on her face. “oh my god you look so good!” you return her smile, “you ready to go?” you ask her and she nods. “let’s go!” she interlocks her arm with yours and you two walk out of her apartment towards a limousine waiting outside. “there’s no fucking way you got a limo” you laugh, loving the effort your best friend put into the party. “of course i did! we need to arrive with some style.” she responds, leading you to the back of the large vehicle.

you both slide in and see champagne and some chocolates in front of you. tara grabs the bottle and opens it, pouring the drink into two glasses, holding one out to you. you accept it and tara holds out her flute, tapping it against yours before the both of you take a drink. music is softly playing in the limo as you two drink your champagne and laugh about random things.

you and tara arrive at the party where there are already a ton of people inside. the music is blasting through the speakers and the moment tara walks in, people begin to cheer after seeing the guest of honor. tara grabs your hand and begins leading you somewhere. “let’s get a drink!” she yells over the music. you two go over to the bar where you order a tequila shot to loosen you up and a modelo with lime. you throw the shot back and grab the modelo, squeezing the lime into it. you look around and see another one of your good friends, larray. you turn to tara, “i’m gonna go mingle. i’ll catch up with you in a bit.” she simply nods and you walk over to larray, tapping him on the shoulder. he turns around and his face lights up when he sees you. “hey y/n!” he brings you in for a hug, “i’m surprised you’re here!” he smiles at you. “me too, but it’s a tara yummy party, so i just had to go.” larray laughs at that, “well i’m so glad you came!” you both engage in conversation, talking about everything that’s going on in both your lives (and talking some shit about people you both hate).

tara’s talking with a few of her friends when she sees chris and nick sturniolo walking in. she excuses herself from the conversation and walks over to the two boys. “you made it!” she hugs them both. “of course we did! we wouldn’t miss this for the world!” nick replies and chris smiles, scanning the crowd, seeing a few familiar faces. “well, have fun and enjoy yourselves! there’s a lot of cool people here!” her face then lights up. “in fact, there’s someone i want you two to meet! she’s so fucking cool! come on i’ll find her!” she walks through the large crowd with chris and nick trailing behind her. tara spots you with your back turned to her, talking to larray. “oh there she is!” she points to you and chris immediately takes notice to your dress and your large back tattoo peeking out the top of the dress. “y/n!” she yells towards you.

you hear your name being called, so you turn around, being met with a smiling tara and two guys who look the same. you return her smile and walk over to her and she throws her arm around your shoulders. “what’s up?” you ask. “i want you to meet a couple of my friends! this is chris and nick sturniolo!” you look up at them and stick your hand out for them to shake. “hi i’m y/n.” nick is the first to shake your hand before moving your hand in front of chris. he takes your hand and shakes it gently, and you swear you can feel a sort of electricity run through your body at his touch.

chris on the other hand, is absolutely entranced by you. he swears he has never seen such a perfect human being in his life. the way your hair perfectly frames your facial features and the way your dress perfectly fits your body, you’re perfect in his eyes. he soon realizes he’s staring, and he snaps back to reality and the only thing he can get out of his mouth is: “nice to meet you.” you give him a smile in return. “i’ve seen some of your youtube videos,” nick speaks up, “you’re so funny.” you giggle at his compliment. “thank you. i try.”

while you’re talking to the two boys, you can’t seem to keep your eyes off chris. he’s one of the hottest men you’ve ever seen in your life. he’s exactly your type, brown shaggy hair, blue eyes, not too tall but definitely taller than you. he just looks so perfect.

as you’re all talking, tara notices that chris’ gaze never leaves you. she smirks and turns to nick, “hey, can you come with me to grab a drink?” he shrugs, “sure.” tara and nick walk away, leaving you and chris alone. both of you stay silent for a moment, unsure of what to say. you rock back and forth on your heels before chris finally says something, “i umm, i like your tattoos.” you lift your arms slightly, “thank you.” you blush a little, a small smile forming on your face. “i’m sorry i don’t usually talk this little. parties aren’t really my thing.” you say, but chris shakes his head. “no i get it. tara mentioned you’re not a party person.” you nod, “yeah i’m not. so you’re a youtuber as well right? with your brothers?” you try to make conversation. “yeah, it’s me, nick, and our other brother, matt” he replies. “and where is matt tonight?” “he’s back home. he’s not a party person either.” you nod in understanding. “i think i’ve seen some clips of your youtube on my for you page. nick was right, you are really funny.” chris smiles at you. “thank you, chris.” you can feel the heat rising up to your cheeks.

chris stays silent for a moment, contemplating what to say. “i’m sorry i just have to tell you, you’re really pretty. like really pretty.” your eyes widen a little at how forward he’s being, but you smile at him nevertheless. “you’re so sweet chris. you’re really cute too.” you can see a blush forming on his cheeks as he looks down at the floor for a moment. he looks back up at you to say something but he’s interrupted by sam and colby calling out both your names. you look over and see the two of them walking over to you, colby immediately bringing you in for a quick hug while same daps up chris, them engaging in their own conversation. “hey y/n! how are you?” “i’m great! how’s the ghost hunting going?” you ask, smiling up at him. colby chuckles, “oh, y’know, same old, same old. you should come explore a haunted place with us some day.” you wince. you don’t do ghosts. “i don’t know about that colbs.” “oh come on, it’s so fun. just give it a chance.” you sigh, “i’ll think about it.” he nods, “i’ll accept that answer. hey, i’m gonna go make some rounds, but i’ll see you later, yeah?” “yeah of course! see ya.” he smiles and walks away with sam into the crowd.

you turn back to chris. “sorry, what were you saying?” he looks back at you. “i wanted to know if i could maybe get your number? we could go out sometime?” he asks nervously, fiddling with his fingers a bit. you grin, “i would love that chris.” he smiles and takes out his phone to hand it to you. you quickly type your number into his phone, handing it back to him. you two talk for a bit before tara and nick make their way back over to the two of you. “how are you guys doing over here?” she asks with a knowing look on her face. “we’re doing great.” chris tells her, smiling over at you. “well, i’m glad. y/n we should go find jake and johnnie. they’ve been asking about you” you nod and motion for her to lead the way, but before you go, you turn over to chris and nick, “it was nice meeting you guys,” you look at the younger triplet, “and text me sometime.” tara then leads you away from the two guys, navigating your way through the large crowd.

nick looks at chris, “so i’m assuming you shot your shot with her? after talking about her for weeks?” nick smiles at his younger brother. “yeah i did.” he smiles proudly, thanking the universe for giving him the chance to talk to you.

you and tara are walking through the crowd when she asks you: “so it went well with chris?” you nod, “yeah it did.” you blush a little at the thought of him. “i’m glad.” you raise an eyebrow, “you planned that didn’t you?” “sure did.”

a/n: def gonna make a part 2 to this

tags: @sassysturniolo2008 @chrissypook

[undyingdecay]

(request) you dressing up in walkers suit, or merch of him, and him being deeply unwell about it!! or, similarly, wearing bobs sweaters out and him being possessive and insane!! both ideas have been making my brain go burrr so pick ur favorite <<33 congrats on 2 mil!!!!! that's insane

it starts as a joke. one of those nights where you’re both a little tipsy, still half-dressed from whatever gala or briefing you’d both gotten dragged to, the air thick with the kind of tension that always hovers around john like a storm cloud.

the suit’s hanging off a chair, discarded carelesly — like it isn’t government property, like it isn’t something meant to be sacred, untouchable. which makes it that much better.

you slip it on when he’s in the other room. the heavy material’s stiff in places, smells like him in others. sweat and leather and something uniquely walker that clings to the fabric like it’s a part of him.

it fits wrong, tight where it shouldn’t be, loose in the shoulders, but it doesn’t matter. because when you step out, leaning in the doorway, one hand on your hip, John looks like you’ve just punched the air out of his lungs.

he stares.

doesn’t say a thing for a beat too long, jaw ticking, tongue running over the inside of his cheek like he’s trying to think of something clever. but there’s nothing clever left in that head of his when you smirk, tugging at the collar, voice low and syrup-sweet.

“c’mon, soldier… don’t you wanna serve your captain america?”

the way his throat bobs when he swallows? fucking obscene.

“you’re insane,” he grits, though there’s no bite behind it. already sinking down onto the edge of the bed like a man hypnotized, like he’s not sure if he should laugh or drop to his knees.

and maybe it’s a little mean. maybe it’s a little cruel, the way you straddle him slow, press your palms to his chest, feel the heat radiating off of him through the thin dress shirt he hasn’t even bothered to unbutton yet. his pupils blown wide, breath coming shallow, all the bravado he usually carries slipping out between the cracks.

“say it,” you murmur against his ear, grinding down just enough to make him curse under his breath, his hands twitching at his sides, not daring to touch. “call me captain.”

and god, it breaks him. a strangled sound halfway between a groan and a laugh as he tips his head back, eyes screwing shut like it physically hurts to give in.

“fuck— yes, captain,” he grits, voice rough and wrecked, desperate in a way he’ll pretend to be embarrassed about later.

not that you’ll let him live it down.

because you make him say it again. and again. until he’s panting, hips jerking up into you like a man starved, practically begging.

and when you finally let him touch — let him get his hands on your waist, nails digging into the thick fabric, pulling you down onto him like it’s the only thing keeping him alive — he mutters it against your throat like a prayer.

captain. captain. captain.

you don’t take the suit off for hours.

[hypnos333]

More than Anything

Lucifer x Adapted daughter! Reader

Synopsis: You were just a baby with weird shapes on your cheek and having no one Lucifer took you in while depressed until it got really bad so Charlie and Vaggie started taking care of you

You played with your dolls as Charlie was playing with you. It’s been 1 years since the last time you saw your dad and yet you don’t know him. When you were first taken away you couldn’t eat anything at all until Charlie started to actually pay attention to you to the point where she knows every detail.

Charlie was happy to take you in as a sister but was disappointed at her dad for leaving such a young now two year old without a parental guidance. Charlie had her mom but who do you have?

She watched you sucking on you pacifier while characterizing the doll with innocence. It was no surprise that you were a hellborn because your cheeks gave it away. No human has the power that you have.

“Come little baby let go get you a warm bottle of milk and some lunch” Charlie exclaimed before picking you up as you clinged to her.

For a two year old you so small and adorable.

When Charlie reach the kitchen Husk was already in there grabbing an apple sauce before putting it in front of you. “Do you want me to feed her Charlie?” Husk mumbles as he gets a baby spoon to feed you in.

“Oh! Thank you Husk this helps so I can make her mil-“I always made her milk it’s in the microwave” Husk interrupt her that’s when the Microwave made a sound meaning it was done.

Husk airplane feed you the apple sauce as you played with his paws, he didn’t mind because he grown attached to you.

“Husk do you mind watching ___? I have to do business around the hotel” Charlie asked making Husk instantly agree. “Yeah I can definitely watch this kit” Husk said making Charlie tell him your schedule before kissing your forehead on the way out.

“Well it’s just you and me munchkin” He mumbles as you were sucking your bottle with the milk in it. He gently lift you up carrying you to the lobby.

He laid you down the couch, on your back as you continued to drinking the warm milk. As you fell asleep drinking the bottle. As you did Husk brought up a pacifier to your lips and automatically sucked on the pacifier.

Husk chuckles before making a pile of blankets so you don’t roll over and fall on the couch.

Hours later

Lucifer came in when Charlie called him, And when Lucifer saw his sleeping child being carried by Angel dust as rocked side by side so you can stay sleeping.

“C-Can I hold her?” He asked Charlie making her nod as she smiled uncontrollably. Angel dust gently put you in Lucifer’s arms making you squirm and slowly open your eyes.

“Hi Baby Angel, I’m your papa” Lucifer said gently and he rubbed your back. You looked at him tiredly and curiosity.

“Papa?” You mumbled

“Yeah I’m your papa” Lucifer chuckled with tears in his eyes as he put his forehead against yours as you giggle putting your hands on his cheeks as he does this. He can’t believe how much you grown as he cried in Joy finally getting to raise you properly Lucifer pulled charlie into a hug with you and him.

“I love you both more than anything” He whispered to you both.

[delopsia]

ride the lightning | rhett abbott x reader

Word Count: 7,200 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, slice of life, Rhett's shoulder injury, showering together, outdoor sex, unprotected sex, food, absolutely zero plot to this one. Brief Summary: What's more fun than a post-rodeo party? Running off and having your own personal rodeo right before the storm hits.  

"You've got to quit eyeing those cowboys," Autumn's already chiding you, her words distorted by the glass resting against her bottom lip. 

Hesitant, your gaze drifts back to her. Weren't quite done scanning the room, but if you don't stop now, then you'll lose the luxury of feigning stupidity. "What do you mean?" 

"You're not slick!" She pauses, taking a sip of the liquid gold that fills her cup, the taste so bitter that her nose wrinkles. "I see you looking over there." 

"Because I'm looking for someone," you chirp, your nail tapping against the table as you begin to look around again. 

There was no way that wasn't his truck out in the parking lot. You'd know that aftermarket lightbar anywhere. But you don't see him. Not by the jukebox or the pool table. Hell, he's not even with his buddy Archie over there beside the empty water trough. 

"It's that bull rider from the rodeo, ain't it." Autumn's hit the nail on the head, and she knows it. Swirling the ice in her glass, grin growing wider with every second that passes. "You sure have a type."

It's not as if you could ever defend yourself from that accusation, but you're leaning forward, voice low as you whisper. "Yeah, like you don't have a thing for blue-eyed blondes."

"Blue-eyed blondes with money." She tips her glass at you as if to further her correction. It's not until after she's downed another greedy gulp of beer that she opens her mouth again.  "At least we have the eye thing in common."

All the men in the world, and here you two have picked men that happen to be neighbors. Arch enemies at that. Classic, century-old feud stuff. At this point, they don't hate each other for a reason; they do it for tradition.

You reckon a family hobby would be healthier, but that's not your dog, and it's certainly not your fight.

...not yet, at least. 

"At what point are we obligated to hate each other?" Dipping a finger into your drink as you speak, mindlessly swirling the ice until it forms its own little whirlpool. It's pretty to look at. Blue in color, with a little cherry and framed in a dainty glass, but whoever mixed this gave you all tequila and no juice. 

She hums, looking at something behind your head. "Whenever someone coughs up a half-mil."

Your finger stops, feeling the alcohol keep spinning past your finger. The cherry stem scrapes your skin. "Our friendship is only worth half a million to you?" 

"No," her eyes finally dart back to you, glinting in the light, "but that's how much is in Luke's checking account."

You don't even want to know how or why someone would have that much money ready to spend at a moment's notice. Or, better yet, where the hell that money came from.

Whatever is behind you, Autumn seems pretty interested in it, and you've got a good enough guess that it's the face of a man you're not interested in seeing. If you make eye contact, he'll take that as an invitation. 

Music sparks to life, blaring from a pair of cheap speakers somewhere on your left. You vaguely recognize the start of the song, but you're too busy scanning the crowd to pay attention to the lyrics. There are so many cowboy hats that you can't even cling to your usual method of finding him. Fuck, and hardly anyone has taken off their rodeo chaps. How are you supposed to—

There he is, beside the coolers. Red solo cup in hand, full of what you can only assume is more cheap beer. 

He's already looking at you, the corner of his lip lifting as you meet his gaze. 

"Speaking of," Autumn's already beginning to get up, the plastic table jolting as her hip bumps into it. "I just found who I was looking for."

"Have fun," pausing to glance at who she's so focused on. You're not sure why you expected it to be anyone other than Luke. "Try not to show up on the Abbott ranch with another hangover."

"No promises!" And just like that, she's left you. 

If history is anything to go off of, she'll charm him into driving her around in one of those fancy sports cars again. You've got a feeling that she's gonna be up in Jackson before sunrise, nestled in a fancy hotel for the weekend. 

"'s this seat taken?" 

You recognize that voice.

You've got to tilt your head to see him. Towering over you like some kind of giant, all broad shoulders and scruffy as can be, rodeo dirt still decorating his unshaven jaw. He hasn't even bothered to change out of his flannel, the ripped upper sleeve falling open to reveal the thick bicep lurking underneath. The left one sits a little awkwardly. Higher. An old injury aggravated by tonight's ride.

You want to climb him like a damn tree. 

"Maybe it is." Coy.

"Oh really?" His head cocks off to the side, hair falling into his face. "Who's it for?"

You've already got an answer brewing, but you hold it on your tongue for a moment, feigning thought. "His name is Rhett."

He hums. "Never heard of him." 

Silence. 

And then—

Rhett's laugh twists through the air like a melody, the plastic chair squeaking as he all but falls into the poor thing. One of these days, he's gonna do that, and it'll snap in two, but today doesn't seem to be that day. 

His hand motions toward the lone drink resting on the table, with its obnoxious blue color and lone cherry still swirling from when you toyed with it. "What's that?"

"Something terrible," you're already lifting the glass, holding it out for him to take. 

It's strange seeing him sipping from a dainty cocktail glass. Looks so much smaller when it's in his hand. You're not even sure if he notices the severe lack of juice, entirely unphased by the tequila that greets him. The cherry slips between his parted lips, the stem catching between them. 

"I thought you didn't like cherries?" Your head tilts to the side, curious. 

"I don't." His brow furrows, all too focused on something that you can't see. "But I like doin' this." Before you can begin to process what he's just said, his mouth opens, a tied cherry stem resting on top of his tongue. 

And here you thought you'd seen it all from him. "Is this your new party trick?" 

"Somethin' like that," the stem falls, landing somewhere that you don't see. Maybe you would know if you weren't too busy watching him lean forward, eyes sparkling with something he has yet to share. "Hey, do y' wanna get outta here?" 

"Not having fun?" Your answer is yes, but you're not sharing that yet. 

"I am, but..." then, lowering his voice, as if there's a risk of someone hearing him over the booming music, "'s more fun when it's just us."

You don't know where he's planning to go after this, but you're sold.

"I still can't believe you!" The squeal of the passenger door nearly drowns out your giggles, plastic grocery bags rustling as you climb out of the truck. 

You haven't the slightest clue which bag has the popcorn and which contains the chips, but the weight of the drinks is painfully obvious, the plastic handles rubbing uncomfortably against your arms. Curse the cashier for cramming all the bottles into one bag.

"Yeah, like you ain't never distracted me so you could pay for somethin'." Rhett's still laughing, that big cocky grin plastered across his face.

"But I never pretended I lost my keys!" Raising your voice for added effect, rounding the back of the truck. 

He's already beaten you here, opening the beaten tailgate. "Maybe ya should've." Wink.

Your eyes roll so hard that it hurts. "I'll remember that for the next time we get snacks."

Rhett's shoulder nudges yours, pushing just hard enough to make you sway. "You'll forget." 

"I'll forget." Immediate acceptance. You've sung this tune so many times that even you know that you never follow through in the end. 

The back of his truck is a damn mess; square bales of hay, two empty gas cans, the shredded remnants of a flannel, a handsaw, and you think that's a bag of chicken feed over there in the back corner. The tailgate is the only open space for you to set the bags on, and it's only now that you realize how many snacks you've actually gotten.

"We probably should have gotten dinner at Odessa's instead," you find yourself saying as you poke through one of the bags. Where in the world are those candies you got?

He reaches past you, plucking a stray screwdriver out of the mess that is his truck bed. Something tells you that he's been looking for that. "What makes ya say that?" 

"Look at all the junk we got!" Opening up one of the bags for him to see, as if he wasn't there when you both picked out and bought these things. 

But Rhett just shrugs, "Don't see nothin' wrong with it."  

Hypothetically, it shouldn't take you that long to find your candy. There are only five bags, but even as you poke through them all, you don't see that brightly colored packaging anywhere. But you know they were rung up. They're on the damn receipt! So where the hell...did you miss them somehow?

By the time you find them sitting in the front seat, nestled up against Rhett's lost bag of sunflower seeds, he's already set up the blankets. Thick, old things layered on top of each other as a makeshift cushion, protecting you from the rocky ground lurking beneath the grass. One of the downsides of choosing a pasture to lounge in, you suppose. 

He's already sitting on the corner of his makeshift blanket nest, half-lidded eyes drinking you in as you settle down next to him, your knee clumsily knocking into his thigh. You'd pay attention to him if you weren't too focused on this box of candy, pushing your thumb under the thin cardboard edge, forcing it open. 

Weight appears on your shoulder. 

Those Western romances always talk about the allure of a stoic, gunslinging cowboy, weathered by the elements and the human definition of fearless. They always fail to mention the cowboys who blink up at you like a puppy, too shy to verbally beg for a piece of your snack. 

"Do you want something?" Dipping your fingers into the box, pulling out one of the candies.

Rhett hums. Not quite a yes, but not quite a no, either. It's one of those sounds that you've heard enough times to know what it means, already lifting the first piece of candy to his lips. The scruff of his chin tickles your skin when he takes it.

Blind, your hand feels along his face, stealing away the overwhelming warmth residing there, drinking in the soft drag of his facial hair, finally at that perfect length where it no longer feels like sandpaper but has yet to begin looking like the beginnings of a beard. His tongue presses on the soft inside of his cheek, pushing against your fingers.

"Quit that!" You squeal, yanking your hand back.

"'s it really feel that weird?" His head tilts, and you don't need to look to know that he's peeking up at you.

"Yes!" And there might be more to add to that, but you're pushing one of the candies into your mouth, the sweetness effectively shutting you up. Remaining quiet even as he tilts his head to press a prickly kiss to the side of your neck, such a simple gesture that should not have your lower belly twisting with something familiar.

You've got to think about something else. Something that doesn't involve jumping on and biting him like a flea. Sucking hard on that little piece of candy, eyes scurrying for something to look at. But all you're finding is darkness and more darkness.

No lampposts or porch lights or flickering campfires, just the pale glow of the moon and the speckling of stars hanging in the sky. There are so many of them up there. Almost looks as if someone has dumped a bottle of glitter atop a roll of never-ending black velvet fabric, twinkling proudly against their backdrop of nothingness. 

The weight on your shoulder disappears. Leaves behind an absurd sense of coldness as he gets up to fetch something from the truck. Odd, how you never seem to realize how warm he is until after he's gone. 

Even the poor lighting can't hinder you from taking him in. The rodeo spurs clinging to his muddied boots. The leather chaps that hang low on his hips, with the thin little buckles in the back that squeeze the thick meat of his thighs. You know there's a reason for them to be there, but the irrational part of your brain reckons they exist solely to make you dizzy. 

"Are you ever going to take those chaps off?" You find yourself asking, after a moment, dragging your gaze away from his ass. 

Rhett freezes, his hand still wedged in the plastic bag as he looks down at his own two legs. "Eventually," he pauses, cracking open one of the cans. You haven't a doubt in your mind that it's one of those spiked lemonades he's recently discovered. "Whenever my shoulder loosens up enough t' let me mess with it."

"Need help?" Words firing off your tongue before you can process what they mean.

The black and yellow can lifts to his mouth, poorly concealing the upward turn of his lips. "I ain't never said no to you undressin' me, doll."

One little sentence, and you've forgotten about your candy entirely, letting it fall onto the blankets without any care for whether or not it spills. You've hardly got to move; settling onto your knees is more than enough. He steps forward, standing right on the edge of the blanket, that oversized buckle glimmering in the moonlight. Your fingertips brush over the edge of it, dented from the hoof of last week's bull.

"I thought the clasp broke on this?" Audibly tapping a nail against it as you make your way to the much smaller buckle hanging underneath. Not thin or frail by any means, but the contrasting sizes isn't doing it any favors. 

Your fingers hook beneath the belt, tugging on the tiny strip of leather until he gets the hint.

He grunts, boots shuffling as you drag him forward. "Nothin' a little weldin' couldn't fix." 

It's easier to see the awkward hang of his left shoulder from down here, tense and lifted higher than the right one, like someone's wound the muscle too tight. Maybe that dislocation would have healed correctly if he agreed to that hospital visit. But...here you are.

All you've got to do is pull the leather strap backward, and the prong pops out of the hole. For such tough-looking chaps, they sure come off easily. One weak tug is all it takes to have them falling down his legs, falling as quickly as you'll let them, hands gliding down the sides of his thighs and past his bony knees, eating up as much time as you can.

It's a shame that you don't need to undo the buckles around his thighs, too; you wouldn't mind the tedious process of helping him buckle them back up, either. But it's too late for that. You've already gotten the leather past one of his boots, working it over the other just as quickly. 

Even as you set those old chaps to the side, Rhett doesn't make much of an effort to move, standing idle as you fold them. Eyes locked with yours, transfixed by the simple image of you on your knees, right in front of him. You know what he's thinking. You're thinking it, too. Memories so prominent in your mind that you're already beginning to act on them.

Something booms in the distance. A deep noise that rolls through the pasture like a warning of something more to come. You think that's lightning, you see, flickering in the corner of your eye, but you're not paying attention. You can't. Not when your hands are moving on their own whims, gliding up the sides of his thighs. 

Rhett's hum echoes into his half-empty can. Seems to carry for miles. "Didn't realize we were gettin' another storm."

His breath hitches. Eyelashes fluttering. 

Your hand drifts across the tent in his jeans once more. Warm. Growing heavier with every passing second. "Think we have time?" You ask as if you don't already know the answer. As if there isn't a sudden heat flushing between your legs, the voice in your head impatiently demanding that you hurry up and pinch open his belt.

"'n here y' say I'm the one with a problem," but just like that, he's sinking to his knees. Face to face, all too quickly. 

"It's not my fault that you look like...that!"  Floundering for an escape from the situation you've created all by yourself. 

One side of his mouth quirks upward, that lopsided smile so bright that it ought to put the sun to shame. Wind rips past, nudging his hair out from behind his ear and into his face, but it does nothing to hide his pretty face. Scruffy as it may be.

It must be the breeze that nudges you forward because you don't feel yourself moving. But you're leaning forward, mouth blindly clashing with his. A little too far to the right at first, and then his hair is in the way, and...

oh.

You've missed this. 

It's hardly been a few hours since the last time, but your heart argues that it's been a lifetime and a half. One little chaste peck, and then another, and another, and another, until you cease to part ways altogether. Those big arms wind around you, his palm pressing into the small of your spine, drawing you up against him.

And you're melting into him like ice cream in the summer sun, any semblance of control vanishing alongside it. Hands roaming up the broad expanse of his chest, tickling against his neck, curling around his prickly jaw, tangling in the curls resting at his nape. Your touch is nothing special, and yet he groans into your kiss anyhow. 

Callouses catch on the soft skin of your lower back, his hands shamelessly wandering beneath your shirt. Pulling it off is tempting, but Rhett's lemonade-flavoured tongue is licking into your mouth, and the wind whispers that you don't have the time for that kind of luxury. Not if you don't want to get rained on by another one of Wabangs popup storms. 

But you do have time to reach for his flannel, dragging your finger through the buttons, audibly snapping apart at record speeds. He needs to wear pearl snap flannels more often.

"Shit," he's gasping against your lips, breaking apart for the slightest of seconds, "'s a lil cold."

The world spins around you. Back hitting the ground with all the grace and ease of a newborn deer. A bolt of lightning tears across the sky, set off by the burning hands that appear on your hips, tugging at your waistband. Your body lifts, and they're gone. You're not even sure what has become of your shoes. Don't recall feeling them come off, but your socked feet are sliding against the blanket, fighting for purchase. 

Rhett's eyes snap shut, squeezing so tight that his forehead wrinkles with the effort. 

"What hurts?" You already know that look. Already have a vague idea of what could be bugging him. 

"Shoulder," speaking through gritted teeth, not bothering to ease up, as if relaxing his jaw could bring on another wave of pain. "moved it too fast." Slower this time, he leans forward, hands falling onto either side of you, and—

"Shit." He's hissing under his breath. Sounds more like a snake than a man. There's no way that he's going to be able to put weight on that left arm, not with his shoulder visibly twitching, sent into an angry spasm. 

"This isn't gonna work," you whisper, chasing the dwindling hope that your words will reach his ears but not his already sore ego. 

Rhett hasn't even opened his eyes, but he's already shaking his head. Stubborn to the end. You know what he's going to say before it even leaves his mouth. "Hold on, if you give me a second..."

You've already got an idea. "Lay on your back." Your hands find his chest, gently pressing until he gets the message, limbs awkwardly tangling as you exchange positions. Straddling his plush thighs, settled a little bit lower than you'd intended.

It's not quite what you originally had in mind, but you've never been one to complain about riding a cowboy, already beginning to reach for his belt buckle. You don't know how you found this difficult when you first got together; all it takes is the slightest motion, and it pops open. Then comes his belt and the crooked zipper that struggles to run down the tracks.

His hips jerk, thighs smacking into your ass. "Not that I'm complainin', darlin'," there's a weakness to his voice that wasn't there a moment ago. Like he's run a marathon in the time it took you to blink. "'s there somethin' rilin' you up?"

"No." Then, smiling, "Just you."

Blue eyes dart away. Looking off to the side. "Oh."

If it were lighter outside, you think you'd catch a whisper of a blush coloring his cheeks, but your vision has been reduced to dark blobs of color. Can't even tell what color his boxers are, even when your hand dips through the front of them, blindly reaching until—

Rhett sucks in a breath. 

It's hardly been a few minutes, and yet he's already so damn heavy. Thick in your grasp, a bead of precum running down the underside of his tip. Your thumb swipes across it, dragging it back up to his plush cock head.

"You're already so wet, cowboy," you muse, lazily tracing circles around his slit. There's so much of it. Dripping like a damn faucet, so much precum that you can see the glisten of it in the darkness. 

Thunder rumbles to your left. Closer now. But you just can't help yourself. 

Your mouth finds the underside of his cock. Pressing kisses onto the vein that runs along there, working your way up from his base. Tongue lazily poking out to swirl around his head, so used to the saltiness of his precum that you hardly even notice it. One of those advantages that comes with knowing him like the back of your hand. 

Like how you know that the delicate scrape of your teeth will make him—

"Ah!" Sharp. Pitchy. The closest thing you'll get to a squeal, the kind of sound that has your thighs trying to squeeze together, suddenly warm. 

Something in your jaw pops as you take him into your mouth. Sucking lazily, like you're savoring a piece of candy, not even making an effort to stop the drool from slipping past your lips. The wetter the better. Because you're pretty sure you know the answer to the question you're about to ask.

"Condom?" Pulling off of him with a soft 'pop.' 

Rhett's head tilts toward the truck, brow furrowing, visibly thinking for a moment. Then, his lips flatten into a line. "'s in my jeans at home."

Thunder rumbles once more, urging your already racing thoughts to scramble even faster. Pulling out could be an option if not for the fact that it's never worked out for you in the past, always seeming to forget in your final moments. Riding in that bouncy passenger seat with his cum leaking out of you has never been the most comfortable thing. Cleaning up is the worst, but...

Fuck, you really can't seem to make yourself care about any of that.

Rhett's belly flexes with the effort to sit up, his right elbow bracing his weight. A familiar blob of black peeks out from beneath his open flannel, that old bucking bull tattoo. Under the thin veil of darkness, it's easy to convince yourself that it's brand new. That the poor-quality ink hasn't caused it to fade quicker than it should have. 

A kiss presses to your cheek. "What're ya thinkin'?" 

"A little mess never hurt anyone," you don't know if you're talking to him or yourself. Maybe both. 

You don't realize how close you are until your noses clash, knocking together as you squirm up to settle in his lap. His left hand finds its way to your hip, burning against your chilly skin. Doesn't do anything more than rest there, touching you for the sake of touching you. 

It's a bit crude, reaching down to pull your underwear to the side rather than pulling them off entirely. But then you're guiding him up, and his dripping tip is dragging through your folds, and you can't think about anything else. 

"You're just as bad as I am," Rhett's laugh is so much bigger than any of that distant thunder, rumbling through you in delicate waves. 

"Like this hasn't been a known fact for years," and for that statement of his alone, you're stringing this out even longer. Bringing him back up before he can begin to sink into you, selfishly rubbing him against your clit, sensitive from lack of attention.

Lightning flickers. Rhett's hips shift, slipping back down your cunt, stubbornly nudging against your entrance. Manages to lift himself enough to create a blooming pressure there, the very tip of him slipping inside. 

Fuck, you're still aching from the bit of fun you had before the rodeo. Tangled up on the couch, too wrapped up in each other to pay attention to the rapidly ticking clock. Or maybe the discomfort is from the severe lack of lube. Nothing but spit, precum, and your own wetness to soothe the drag of him as you begin to sink down on him.

"Mmph," Rhett's head tilts back, pale throat exposed. "How're you so—shit. How're you still so damn tight?"

On its own, something in your lower belly loosens, almost as if it didn't realize it was doing it in the first place. Allows you the fleeting courtesy of a breath of air before his tip fully slips into you. Heat jumps up your spine, swirling around in the back of your head. 

"I should ask you the same thing," your voice comes out weaker than what you anticipated, "why are you so damn big?"

And all that's done is make him laugh again. Nose nudging your cheek as he leans in to press another kiss to your lips, his smile too big for it to be anything more than a peck. But you want more, chasing after him as he tries to lean away, helpless to do anything but fall forward. 

Gravity quickens the glide of your body, his cock sinking further into you. The curve of him rubs into a set of nerves, never has taken very long for him to find them, thick length incessantly dragging against it. 

A heavy fist strikes the land to the west, the resounding boom washing over the surprised grunt that wrangles its way out of Rhett's throat. The only reason you catch note of it is from the way it rumbles against your bottom lip, pulling the corners of your mouth up into a giddy smile. 

All too quickly, you're fully seated in his lap, fitting against him like a puzzle piece. Bodies carved to fit seamlessly against one another, lost in the blending of limbs, tangling until you can no longer tell where one of you begins and the other ends. A shiver races up your spine, pussy involuntarily spasming around his thick cock. 

"Didn't think I was gonna be the one gettin' ridden tonight," there's no reason for Rhett to be grinning up at you like this, with that healing split in his lip and those glistening eyes. Mesermized. As if he's taking in the sight of a precious painting lost for centuries. 

If you didn't know any better, you would think he was looking at the stars behind your head.

But he's only looking at you. 

It's got you lifting yourself a little too quickly; haven't even begun to adjust to his size yet. "You'd better hope it lasts longer than eight seconds."

Something sharp digs into your knee as you lift yourself, but it's impossible to pay attention to. So fucking full of him that your every racing thought has wrapped itself around the shape of his name. Oh, and it's not helped by the burning drag of his cock; a little too big for you to be riding him without lube. 

You're sinking back down when his hips lips, snapping up into you midway. Fuck, you're burning alive out here. Growing wetter from that little motion alone, that tingling heat climbing your spine and settling into your cheeks. 

"Impatient," you're huffing, lacking any bit of the conviction you'd hoped you would have.

"Them bulls buck, y'know," that smug grin of his falters as your hips swivel, readjusting yourself, "'m just playin' my part."

So annoying. 

So, so annoying.

Something about the change in an angle has him rubbing up against something he hadn't before, air catching in your throat as he presses directly into it. Shit, it's too early for your thighs to be shivering like they are, and it's all you can do to flatten your palms against his chest, forcing yourself to remain upright. 

"Keep—mmh keep doin' that." Stupid cowboys and their stupidly pretty whines. Has no right to be squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head back and forth like he's trying to shake the feel of you out of his head.

And he just keeps rubbing against those little nerves, over and over and over. Stars sparkle across your vision, so many of them that you can no longer tell which hang high in the sky and which stem from your own imagination. Whether or not that's thunder or the hammer of your own heart, you're not even remotely sure. 

A stray hand meanders up your back, his touch so feather-light and ticklish that it's got you arching away from it. Unintentionally angling him into those soft little spots even more, your pussy clenching around him so tightly that you nearly freeze in place. 

You hardly feel yourself reaching for his wrists. Only recognize the feel of them in your grasp, thick and strong from years of manual labor, yet so willing to be pinned over his head. Falling into place like they always longed to be there.

"Fuck," Rhett's teeth sink into his bottom lip, stifling a noise that you wish you could have caught, "so fuckin' pretty on top of me." 

"And here I thought you were marveling at the storm," panting into the open air like a damn dog, breathless all too quickly. As if the slow rise and fall of your hips is simply too much for you to handle. 

Rhett's biceps flex, muscle visibly rippling as the thunder crackles. "Nah," grunting, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, "could watch y' ride me all fuckin' day." 

God, what is it about sex that makes him so fucking talkative?

Your hand darts out to the side. Blindly patting the blankets until you find one of the candies that spilled out of the container, shoving it past his parted lips before he can utter another word.

His mouth wobbles. Torn between a smile and something he wants to say. Neither manages to win the upper hand, instead beaten by a secret third thing. Because now he's sitting up, wearily bracing himself on that good arm, eyes falling shut midway as he leans in to kiss you. Knocking into each other so abruptly that your teeth audibly clatter.

But the wind is twirling past you with a kind of ferocity that wasn't there before, and in the back of your mind you're convinced that you've inadvertently caused it to happen. Distant storm falling into a rage as you tumble forward, forearms resting on either side of his head, hands in his hair, drowning yourself in the lemonade and candy that paints his tongue. 

Something sparks behind your eyes. "Rhett..."

He doesn't respond. Doesn't need to. The lift of his hips is more than enough of a reply, so sudden that it rips a sharp noise out of your throat. A decade of bull riding has made him too fucking strong for his own good, pushing up into you with devastating ease. 

This...thisis something. His breath tickling your skin. Your chest against his, nails scraping at his scalp. Helpless to do nothing but whine as he brushes against those little spots once more. Long, heaving motions that jostle you with every thrust, your eyes already struggling to remain open. 

"Rhett," repeating yourself like a broken record, panting into his ear like you're getting paid to do it.

The ground shakes. Lightning strikes somewhere in the distance, volting through the soil, up through your knees, and into your belly. Or maybe it's not lightning at all, simply the dizzying sensation of his cock driving up into you with a sickeningly wet noise. You can't help the way your legs squeeze impossibly tight around him. Can't stop the familiar tingle from settling into your core, spreading down into your thighs. 

You don't remember when the babbling started, but you can hear the sound of your name twisting through the air, chanting beneath his breath like a melody. His prickly cheek rubs against yours, and you just know that it's going to leave your skin raw, but you can't bring yourself to pull away. 

"'m gonna..." the rasp of his voice has you clamping tighter around him. A whimper slips off his tongue. "I—"

He doesn't need to finish that sentence. One look is all you need. 

You are, too. 

There's no need for you to reach down and touch yourself. His cock alone is enough to have you crumbling like a house of cards, burying your head into the crook of his neck, unable to muffle every little noise he punches out of you. Downright merciless as he rubs into those sensitive little nerves over and over and over and—

A ghost of wind is enough to push you over the edge. Tumbling over the edge and into the abyss, the world around you going quiet as you cum around his cock. Not a sound breaking past your lips, head swirling round and round until you can no longer tell which way is up. 

You're only distantly aware of the sudden stalling of Rhett's hips, pushing up into you so hard that he lifts you up. Can't miss the sensation of his cock twitching, his cum spilling into your pussy, rope after rope of it, so much that you think you can feel it pooling inside of you.

A drop of rain hits your shoulder. Cold. Biting into your skin with its sharp little teeth. 

The storm is so much closer now, thick clouds hanging overhead, blocking out the stars entirely. Electricity arcs across the sky as you begin to lift yourself up before your body is even ready to move. 

Rhett's cock slips out of you with an awkward noise, slapping audibly against his belly. Shit, you can already feel it beginning to spill out, don't know how you plan to get home without making a mess of your clothes. 

A groan sounds from below you. "So fuckin' full of it," the soft tip of his cock presses back into you, and you don't need to look to know that Rhett's eyes are fixated on the obscene sight of his cum leaking out of you. "God damn."

"Well, don't...mmh, don't keep pushing it in," but your complaint is futile, and you're making no effort to try and stop him. No point in it, you suppose; it's not as if you can clean yourself up out here. 

He chuckles at that. You think the stars have secretly gathered in his eyes, sparkling in those deep blues. "Can't do nothin' 'bout it now."

"Hold on!" Your giggles echo through the kitchen, wet feet stumbling across the tile. "I can't move that fast!" 

But Rhett's hand keeps tugging you along, sliding around the corner and into the hallway. Water pours from his hair and shoulders, speckling across the floor, leaving a trail in his wake. A mess that you'd complain about if not for your own soaked clothes, so cold that you've gone entirely numb. 

Lights flicker overhead, power fading in and out as the storm rages on. Rain striking the windows so hard that you can hear it, even as you fumble down the hallway. Wet socks slide against the tile as you try to turn, your shoulder bumping into Rhett's. His hip smacks into the door frame. Your feet tangle. 

"We ain't never doin' that again," he's stumbling toward the shower, reaching for the knobs. Twists until he can't crank the hot water up any hotter. Something, anything to melt away the ice that's about to freeze over your skin.

You reach for the hem of your shirt, the fabric clinging to you like a second skin. "I thought you liked having sex outside."

"I do," he pauses, pulling the material over your head. It audibly hits the floor, the beginnings of yet another mess. "I don't like downpours 'n hail!" 

The red mark on his forehead is only just beginning to bloom, sure to darken as the night rages on. It's a little too high up to be blamed on a bar fight, but you're sure he'll find a way to play it off when his momma asks about what happened. 

Your pants are on the floor before he can finish getting his flannel off, not a care in the world for where they land. Your mind only has enough room for one thought at a time: hot water. A cloud of steam greets you as you step into the shower. The water has yet to hit your skin, and yet you can already feel yourself melting, the heat eating away at the invisible frost that has long since settled upon you. 

It's almost too hot, the spray seeming to burn little holes straight through your chest, and your toes sting. Such a sharp contrast compared to the heat that you wonder if it'll eat you alive.

A firm chest presses against your naked back, familiar arms settling loosely around your waist. "Y' jus' gonna leave me behind like that?" His attempt at sounding irritated doesn't miss your ears, but it dies before he can finish the sentence. Isn't helped by the kisses that appear on your shoulder.  

"If you can ride bulls, then you can climb into the shower by yourself," leaning back into him, your eyes fall closed. It might be the first time you've blinked since the rain began to fall, starting the moment you'd begun gathering the blankets into your arms. Mother Nature's punishment for not taking her warnings seriously.

Rhett hums, the vibration tickling the side of your neck. "Then." Kiss. "I should probably." Kiss. "Tell you." Kiss. "That we didn't bring any clean clothes..." Kiss. "Or towels."

...the towels. 

Your groan bounces off the tile walls and out into the hallway, probably even ventures past the closet and out into the living room. Why did it never occur to you to grab towels and clothes before you climbed in here?

"We'll rock paper scissors it after we rinse off," it's the same solution he uses for every conflict, but you find yourself agreeing with the idea anyway. 

He loses. Never deviates from playing rock, even when he knows full well that you will forever play paper. You're not sure if he's waiting for the day that you crack and play scissors or if he's intentionally losing, but you've got the sneaking suspicion it's the latter. He's way too content to dart into the hallway for towels, returning with more than either of you could possibly need.

"Did you grab every towel in the closet?" You laugh as you pull one of them around your shoulders, hugging it to yourself like a blanket. It's too damn cold in this house.

"No," then, grinning, "I left one behind."

He's gone before you've finished drying off, comes back one more time with your favorite pajamas in his hand, then disappears into the darkness of the house. Where he's gone, you're not sure; it's hard to tell when he never turns any of the lights on, navigating based on muscle memory alone. 

But you can hear the television turning on, your forgotten movie picking up right where it left off. 

"Rhett?" Calling out as you mosey out of the bathroom.

Damp carpet squishes beneath your feet, frigid and not at all what you expected to find yourself standing on. Only seems to get worse as you make your way down the hall, hopelessly soaked with rainwater. The old fan is already out, cool air blowing across the worst of it, licking at your heels when you step past.

Rhett's pale shoulders stick out like a sore thumb in the living room. All too visible as he moves around, hands audibly patting something down on the couch. Blankets. The ones off the bed, out of the closet, hell, he's grabbed the decorative one off the rocking chair. All to build an oversized nest, high around the edges, like he's trying to keep something out. So focused on the task at hand that he doesn't notice you until it's too late.

"Jesus!" His naked back jumps away from you as if burned by your kiss.

"Watcha buildin'?" Your speech mimicking his just a little more than usual, already leaning in to press a second kiss in between the knobs of his spine. Rhett twists in your arms before you can land a third, the swell of his chest mere inches from your lips now.

You'll smooch him here, too. 

"Our last line of defense," his giggle rides on the coattails of another roll of thunder. "Jus' in case that storm knocks out the power 'n steals our heat."

You don't realize his arms are around you until he's falling toward the couch, taking you right along with him, landing in a messy heap on top of the blankets. A box of candy rattles behind your back. Someone bumps into the remote, the movie pausing on the television screen. 

A piece of the candy bounces off your chin, narrowly misses landing back in Rhett's hand. You find it squished between your chests, pushing it between his parted lips. 

"Y' gonna keep force feedin' me candy?" He asks, that little candy rolling across his tongue as he speaks. Wonder if you'll be able to taste it if you kiss him. 

You lean in, nuzzling your noses together. "It's my new party trick."

His eyes roll so hard that you hope they'll get stuck. 

[lonely-hearts-assemble]

𝐀𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 ˚∗   

Born to be a housewife forced to be a bloodlust yakuza 😞 beware: this a bullshit

Masterlist!

“ you're staring ”

“you're old ”

“....”

“ not complaining though ”

“ ..... ”

“ did knock some sense into you ”

“ ..... ”

“ aaand reduced the medical bill ”

“ ...... ”

“but still, even Goo doesn't look as ol- mmph ”

You're rudely cutoff by a slice of apple being shoved into your mouth, his fingers lingering on your lips feeling you chew- scowling at first which gradually fades as you savour the succulent flavour inside your mouth

“ you and your big mouth are never gonna change, are they? ”

“ You're realizing that now? ”

Well– you do admit it was a stretch since in numbers, he basically wasn't old old, however his looks and behaviour made you think otherwise.

It was evident in the way the corner of his eyes had grown droopy and gaze tender around the edges. The rough epidermis of his face had began to crease.

The hints of grey flashed sliver lines in his hair under the light, plethora of them hiding beneath when your fingers wandered through his locks while he rested on your lap reading some book.

Lounging inside became more preferred over running ’buisness’ of who knows what, coming back drenched in blood with brand new scars to exhibit.

You witnessed the transition from him being all about suits and war to being all about a cute pink apron and a housewife.

This was the best thing.

Waking up to faint aroma that would drag you to the kitchen where your housewife boyfriend stood with his bare scarred back adorned by the the bows of the frilly apron.

' what a hunk' you won't fail to muse even in your grogginess as you hug this goon, feeling the texture and his muscles move under your cheek and palms. Something about this intimacy made you soo-

“ we have bed for a reason. ”

" nghh "

He can only sigh then carefully pry your arms off and put you up on the counter where you rub the sleep off your eyes.

Another major transition was that his kisses were no longer rough or devouring but... soft. Took you a while to get used to this one. Holding you firmly around your midriff with an arm and relishing in the feeling of how your lips fit– or so you assume when he's leaning against your forehead in the aftermath for few minutes, eyes shut.

But hey! Don't worry he would be rough when you wanted to

Another thing you noticed, that you hadn't before cuz of his stupid schedule and perhaps yours too was that- park joggun does every task, no matter how mundane or silly, quite earnestly.

Just the other day, when you in your misery were were whining about your tangled hair and painful knots, calloused fingers close around your palm and slip the hairbrush out of your grip.

You almost snorted as the scene unfolded in the mirror- your war-hungry expressionless boyfriend picking through every knot carefully, untangling you strands with so much care and focus and brushing your hair oh so delicately that one would think, for a moment, he hadn't gone off the deep end. When was the last time someone brushed your hair for you?

“ ahh a little to the left- a little more- yesss”

It's felt so good that you were hurt when it ended.

“ why don't you become my personal hairbrusher? ”

“ for 1 mil won ”

“ seriously? Gonna cling to that money lust till you die huh? ”

“ realizing now? ”

So much for changing. Ugh, you could feel him smirk even without looking.

[darcyfangirlsfrequently]

Reactions to CM 18.3

I have my tissues with me and my heart is POUNDING

The episode starting with "As it Seems???" The fucking song that played at their wedding? Get FUCKEDDDDD

NO NOT THE FLASHBACKS I'M ALREADY CRYING

The tears in Tara's eyes. Her wanting to cling to Rebecca. I'm not okay.

"Don't make a short joke" and now i'm crying with laughter cool

Tebecca engagement in s18 is SO REALLLL

Tyler and Luke!!! Talking through it together!!! I am here for this friendship!!!

"I need Garcia..." I mean Luke you could have just left it there. But him needing HER to do smth to distract him from it all ughhhh the implications

Omg growth from last episode!! Luke admits Voit is not faking

"There are not witnesses" you're looking at one???? but ig he'd be biased now and wouldn't count

okay I had luke speaking Spanish on my bingo card, not Voit 🤣🤣🤣

"did we camp out?!" i'm ROLLING

Hey. Sandy. Do you think maybe you should be holding up YOUR DAUGHTER, THE WIDOW, instead of the other way around?

a little sad that it's Penelope and Emily here to look after JJ and not Penelope and Luke but I get why

"You don't have to go home. Actually you should go." Penelope never failing to make me laugh. Also that outfit looks incredible on her.

ahhh luke and tyler road tripping!!! being besties!!!

The friendship between the three of them actually makes me SO HAPPY like you have no idea

Penelope scolding Luke like she's his WIFE lol

Hey Connie shut up

Oh the boys love lasagna? They should have Uncle Luke make it for them 🤣

"We met awhile back" and by that he means "you were kidnapped and I saved you"

"I'll help you it's fine" Luke you're such a gentleman I love you

Over a year ago???? Uh, what? Season 16 only lasted 6 weeks. Season 17 was 2 weeks later and lasted about the same amount of time. This is only 6 months later???

Okay it's funeral time

Connie seriously I am gonna need you to shut the fuck up

OH EMILY AND PENELOPE JUST WATCHED THEIR FRIEND GET BITCH-SLAPPED BY HER MIL???

"Aunty P do you think I can drive" I LOVE THEM I'M CRYINGGGG

Michael wearing Will's tie 😭😭😭

She's not going to her son's funeral bc his wife asked for some fucking sympathy???

"ARE WE MARRIED????"

not the flashbacks to when the girls were little 😭😭😭

Rossi COMFORTING voit????

"it's not the same" Connie seriously I am gonna need you to SHUT THE FUCK UPPPP

Hotch Derek and Spencer mention all at once??? And they all sent flowers 😭😭

Oh. reid. yayyyy. i'm sooooooooooo happy he's here 🙄

HENRY CALLING HIM SPENCE 😭😭😭😭

Luke reaching out and touching his shoulder 😭 that's his brother!

oh god it's time for the eulogies

"a bit of a serious situation" emily he had a bomb strapped to his chest

"If we get out of here the first thing i'm gonna do is marry JJ" sobbing

Will helping Penelope move UGHHHH brother in law fr

OH NO THERE'S NO REASON WHATSOEVER THAT WE'VE ZOOMED IN ON LUKE'S REACTIONS TO PENELOPE SPEAKING, RIGHT???

JJ having a STACK of notes from Will 😭😭😭

"I should have known because he didn't write a note" S O B B I N G

Oh now she's talking TO will great i'm not a wreck at all

JJ baby no don't blame yourself

APOLOGIZING TO HER SONS WHAT THE FUCKKK

"I'm lost" oh FUCK

Hey reid you had BETTER hug Penelope

Okay good. Luke next.

YESSSSSSS

woah, Reid SHAKING THE HANDS??? Of STRANGERS????

WAIT LUKE'S HAND IS ON PENELOPE'S BACK I THINK???

OHHH IT DEFINITELY IS HE JUST RUBBED HER BACK

the casual affectionate touch between them is crazyyy

Michael's tears are fucking GETTING ME, man

LUKE REACHING OUT AND TAKING HOLD OF PENELOPE FIRST AND THEN TYLER TAKING HER OTHER ARM UGHHHHH

I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

Noooo this scene too closely parallels the emily dickinson scene in the way it starts and I am not okay with that

Uncle Luke taking his jacket off to play with the boys?

Aww and Tyler joining them

HAHAHA I KNEW THEY WERE GONNA BRING UP THE CHEESE PUFFS

Wait the way Emily thought she was serious 🤣🤣🤣

Tebecca engagement is SO REALLLL

Rossi essentially begging JJ not to turn into him I'm so emotional

"I love you, Dave." "I love you more, kid." AHHHH 😭😭😭😭

NOT THE QUOTE FROM SICK DAYYYY NO THAT'S MY COMFORT EPISODE

JJ you are WAYYYY to forgiving

Henry found the gift 😭

Everything they're gonna need to know growing up without a dad 😭😭😭

Henry's got me SOBBINGGGG

Henry curled onto his mom like a baby again even though he's taller than her i'm a WRECK

[spurgie-cousin]

Watch Jrod waited until the first daughter in law to instate a “no ring no bring” rule for family events. I know Heidi already has a ring but I’ve read stories before about no ring no bring vacations where it’s like they have to specifically be married, not just engaged.

It’s probably way more mundane than that, like she was sick and didn’t feel up to going to dinner, or wanted to spend one more thanksgiving with her parents before getting married next year (I guess September is what people are saying?) or your thought about scheduling conflicts.

But if this feud is real, I can’t ignore the thought that maybe Heidi just didn’t (and doesn’t) want to be around Jill if she didn’t absolutely have to, but she had Tim go because that’s still his family. If my future MIL was vagueposting about me to the extremes that Jill does, knowing I can see it because I have social media? You wouldn’t catch me at an in-law dinner either.

It's definitely interesting to see how Jill publicly talks about Heidi vs. her son in laws when they were in the engagement stage, bc she seemed to be obsessed with the latter lol. She invited them to everything, posted a million pics of them any chance she got (including when they were sweaty and working out which we can unpack at a later date), and just went on and on and on about them. And it kinda started like that with Heidi too until lately and I definitely think it's kinda weird that she didn't show up to Thanksgiving, since big families usually have to solidify their plans for holidays like months in advance.

After reading her book and collecting old stories people have told about Jill, I really think that her misogyny makes it hard for her to have female relationships even among Christian women, and I think that's going to carry over to girls her sons want to marry. Her standards for what constitutes a woman that is worth spending time with are just too high and she allows for almost zero exceptions. She always talks about her daughters being her best friends and I think there's more to that than her just being cheesy, I don't think she has a lot of close friendships outside of her family and I think that's probably why she doesn't prioritize that for her kids. I also think it's the reason she clings so hard to her belief that most people in the world, even Christians, are bad influences on anyone trying to be godly, because it helps her justify why so many people are put off by her and her family.

Regardless of if she and Heidi hate each other or not, I think Jill is going to struggle with women entering into her family for the most part, just because she struggles so much with women in general. Like unless they're one of the Amish neighbors from down the road, I have a hard time seeing how the majority of even conservative women would meet her ridiculous standards.

[proudwingstragedy]

Feel free to ask questions, I suppose? My ask box is open.

vvv • Unnecessarily long intro post below warning • vvv

name: Starscream Of Vos

meaning of name: Starscream comes from the way his jets whine, and the way he flew immediately for the stars the second he could. Vos is where he was cold constructed.

nicknames/titles: Second in Command of all the decepticons, Air commander, screamer, star

age: 6 mil +

gender: He/They

location: Cybertron

mbti: INTJ-T

attachment style + how it manifests in the story: clingy, but stays detached to see if he's really wanted.

physical fear: megatron

emotional/abstract fear: failure

happy memory: flying for the first time, joining iacon University, meeting megatron for the first time

sad memory: the fall of Vos, waking up alone when his trine left him.

object of significance: Vosian graduation champagne

philosophical outlook/belief: Absurdism

what characters are ignorant about themselves: he can't die.

how confident are they: outwardly very, inwardly not very

goal: complete control over his situation.

long-term dreams: a peaceful penthouse in a rebuilt Vos.

regrets: Vos. His trine. Megatron. Windblade.

source of pride: being the chosen one, leading the decepticons successfully many times, rebuilding Vos, trying to be better.

source of misery: the fall of Vos, Megatron, himself

what they admire above all else: strength. In however that presents.

do they believe in fate: in a way.

who they pretend to be on the outside: Strong and confident, charismatic and sly

who they actually are/how they feel towards the mask: anxious, guilty, clings to the mask desperately. It's his anchor.

mental health conditions: bpd, schizo affective, PTSD

how it manifests for them: hallucinations, splitting, flashbacks, disassociation

humour: puns, dark humor

reputation: ruthless killer, violent and crazy and has a lust for power

bad habits: smokes, drinks regularly.

mannerisms when stressed: smokes, flicks wings, wings vibrate.

mannerisms when content: wings open and close softly like a butterfly

mannerisms when scared: wings pin down and tremble, hides helm, also tends to attack with claws, going for optics first.

mannerisms normally:

how do they move across a room: strides confidently

verbal mannerisms/distinctive speaking style: Has a verbal tick from when his first vocalizer in his first frame was damaged beyond repair from acid poisoning. Speaks high pitched and nasily.

Sounds like a mix between This and This

how they express love: gift giving

hobbies: reading

defining features: a strong nose and four wings.

eye shape + colour: tired eyes and red optics

hair texture + colour: black helm with yellow accents

skin texture + tone: silver

vibe: bitch

height: 35 ft

build: stocky

clothing: anything soft and silky

any bodily disfigurement (scars, etc.): his vocalizer is permanently damaged and his nose has been broken a few too many times. He has a few missing dentae (occasionally) and when tired, his left wing will hang lower than the right from it being pulled out of its socket one too many times.

overall attractiveness: 9/10

their opinion on their appearance: 10/10

appeals to: who doesnt love him~?

who they trust most: Knockout, Windblade, Soundwave, Megatron

what they wish they could do for them: anything. Everything. He'd give them the stars themselves if he could. All of them.

what's holding them back: himself.

who they hate most: megatron

what they wish they could do to them: kill him, to free them both.

what's holding them back: his love.

Trine: Skywarp, Thundercracker

relationship with them: casually romantic, close in a familial way, Thundercracker is most likely an older sibling to him, and Skywarp is absolutely the younger sibling to them both.

previous broken relationships: Skyfire ,Megatron

why did it break: Skyfire did not want to kill. Megatron did.

what others expect of them: perfection , but also rest.

who believes in them: Skyfire ,Megatron, windblade, soundwave, knockout, Optimus prime, prowl, drift

their mentor character/who they look up to: megatron Thundercracker, Megatron

political/religious/other affiliations: decepticon

what makes them different from every other character: tenacity

romantic "type" + why: Poly/Demiromantic, he loves a lot but you have to unlock it first. He's also Vosian. Lol.

relationship dynamics: Switch, prefers his spike used

primary emotion towards their past: Regret

primary feelings while in their past: ambition

where did they grow up: Outskirts of Vos, Military Cold Construct Kindergarten.

defining incidents: flying immediately the moment he could, the fall of Vos and joining the decepticons, becoming the chosen one and leading Cybertron, and admitting to all his crimes

earliest childhood memory: the moment he onlined in the wrong frame. (Cold Construct )

saddest memory: fall of vos

major accomplishments: becoming a leader of Vos's military, joining iacons University, becoming council for Vos 2×, joining the Lost Light instead of going to prison

their opinion on it: pride

notable people in their backstory: Megatron, Optimus prime

trauma: Megatron regularly beat him, the fall of Vos, war.

what have they already lost: Vos.

why are they important (eg. why're they the only one able to do something?): because a Titan said so/lh

what do they learn about themselves throughout the story: he can't do it alone. And he's weak. And that's okay, but he needs to own up to his mistakes and he does.

what do they learn about the world: it's kinder than he thought.

how do they feel towards their newfound knowledge: reluctant

character arc: Villain redemption positive

how relationships change because of their actions: he heals all of them, more or less.

do they get what they want: no, but yes.

why or why not: he gets to stay free but at the same time he's not leading cybertron anymore.

what happens to them after the story ends: he dies and is in the after spark.

[veganrecipebox]

This 4-ingredient Vegan Mac and Cheese is so simple, it’s basically magic. The starch from the pasta combines with the melting cheese all in one pot, forming the most luscious creamy sauce that clings on to every nook and cranny of the macaroni.

[aita-blorbos]

Am I the asshole for having a crush on someone?

(The OP is an oc, the crush is not although he's an au. Also I am sorry to anyone who knows who the crush is.)

So- let me just get right into it. I, (F, 25) have a crush on the guy who was my boss (M, 15 mil., and yes you read that correctly, I'll explain in a bit). Long story short, I used to work for this guy for about half a year, before I quit. The reason I did has nothing to do with him- don't worry. Anyway, he's this super famous guy, and he's also a god of creation that's been reincarnating for the last 15 million years, hence why he's so old, although currently he looks like he's about my age.

A whole bunch of people, my little brother's best friend, some strangers, and also another friend of mine- hate him for some reason. I don't get it. He's such a good guy, he's nice and caring and comforting, and- he's perfect. They keep saying that I'm acting like I'm his dog or slave. I'm not, and I'm not clinging to him either. I'm perfectly normal about him. So what if I want to protect him and also be with him and fuck him and do whatever he wants me to do- I just want to be useful.

If you're wondering, no he doesn't know how I feel- I know I'd have no chance with him and I care a lot about what I think of him, so I absolutely have not told him. I've denied it at every point, and I likely will continue to, cause I admire him and I don't want him to be disgusted by me and abandon me for what I think of him.

So, AITA for having a crush on the guy who was my boss?

[nytedevlin]

…I might slouch but im not slovenly, maybe ill open the door to see , and paint a perfect picture so clean that you would think i was orderly…

…Keep recording me, don’t order me, if i have to go door to door to be the type of man you need, ill stack so much paper and make you my quarter piece….

…?See hustling is what you do when you’re trying to make a mil, it’s rough, in the streets, when you’re looking for a deal. So roll one with me, if you gotta break a bill, you need to keep your head up high if you don’t want to catch a chill?…

…cling to life’s good graces, sprinkled with sour faces, a hard life will show who you really are when it puts you through its paces…

[ultraguardindia]

Can Car Paint Protection Film Handle Indian Monsoons? A Real-World Test: The Verdict is In

The Indian monsoon is a natural wonder, an agricultural lifeblood, and a photographer's paradise. But for car owners, it's a time of new worry. The beautiful paintwork on your car can be severely damaged by stubborn rain, dirty splashes, stones thrown by fast-moving vehicles, and even wandering hailstones. Paint Protection Film (PPF), the automotive finish superhero that provides an invisible layer of protection against environmental forces. But can this delicate film fight the relentless pounding of an Indian monsoon? We tested it in real life to discover.

The Challenge: India's Monsoon – A Car's Worst Nightmare?

To be harsh, the Indian monsoon is not rain; it's an experience. It's a multi-faceted damage to your vehicle:

Torrential Rain:

Not a drizzle, but now and then a torrential downpour that can speed up corrosion in untreated surfaces, strip off loose paint, and form water spots.

Mud and Grime:

Roads become muddy rivers, dousing your vehicle in a heavy coat of grime that can create microscratches and is difficult to wash off.

Flying Trash:

Water fills potholes, hiding sharp gravel and stones that other cars send flying upward, damaging paint.

Acid Rain (occasionally):

Rainwater may combine with industrial pollutants to form a weakly acidic solution that will etch away at clear coats after a while.

Higher Humidity:

Fungal growth medium and oxidation accelerator if paint is exposed.

Frequent Washing:

Constant washing requires more chances of swirl marks and scratches due to incorrect washing methods.

Car owners have turned to waxes and ceramic coatings for years to provide some form of protection. They are effective but need to be reapplied regularly (waxes) or can be damaged by higher-velocity impacts (ceramic coatings). PPF, however, has a self-healing topcoat and excellent elasticity, which has people thinking it's the holy grail.

Our Real-World Test Setup (A Hypothetical but Highly Realistic Scenario)

To effectively test PPF's performance, we put a fleet of cars through the full fury of an Indian monsoon season, carefully monitoring and recording their state before, during, and after.

The Test Subjects:

Vehicle A

(The PPF Champion): Fully protected with a professional-grade, 8-mil-thick, self-healing urethane PPF on every painted surface.

Vehicle B

(The Ceramic Contender): Under a professional-grade ceramic coating.

Vehicle C

(The Waxed Warrior): Waxed regularly during the monsoon months.

Vehicle D

(The Unprotected Daredevil): Our control group, getting no extra paint protection other than the factory clear coat.

The Environment: Our test was conducted in an area renowned for its high monsoon activity, with regular rain showers, waterlogged roads, and normal urban and semi-urban road conditions. The cars were driven for everyday commutes, with the involvement of muddy and gravelly stretches.

From the first pre-monsoon rains in late May 2025 to the peak monsoon months of June, July, and August 2025, followed by a post-monsoon assessment in September 2025, is the observation period.

Month-by-Month Observations: The Real-World Test 

Pre-Monsoon (Late May):

All cars were thoroughly cleaned, decontaminated, and polished to a spotless finish. Baseline readings of paint thickness and gloss were noted. The PPF was installed on Vehicle A by qualified technicians for maximum adhesion and coverage.

June (Early Monsoon – First Downpours and Mud Splashes):

Vehicle A (PPF):

The first thing noted was the incredible hydrophobicity. Water sheeted and beaded off easily, taking most of the light dirt with it. Mud splatters, although seen, did not cling tenaciously. A hose wash was often enough to clean the vehicle. A few minor road waste scuffs were observed, which quite miraculously vanished within hours in direct sunlight due to the self-healing nature of the PPF.

Vehicle B (Ceramic):

Demonstrated very good water beading on first inspection. Prolonged soaking in muddy water did begin to leave a film which took more effort to clean off than the PPF, though. On closer inspection, some very minor swirl marks were evident, particularly following hurried washes at local car washes.

Vehicle C (Waxed):

The wax gave a very good first layer of protection, but within a week or so, it began to break down with regular driving in heavy rain. Water spots were more visible, and more forceful washing was required.

Vehicle D (Unprotected):

In a matter of days, the car began to appear dull. Water spots were common, and the original gloss was badly reduced. Minute scratches caused by road trash were quite obvious, particularly on dark colors.

July (Peak Monsoon – Torrential Rains, Waterlogging, and Flying Wastes):

Car A (PPF):

Impressed again and again. Even after navigating waterlogged roads where the water level crossed above the tires, the paint below the film was pristine. Bigger stones from other cars did make light impressions on the PPF, but none broke through the film to harm the paint. The self-healing process was always active, reducing the visibility of minor scratches from everyday wear and tear. The film itself was unexpectedly resistant to hazing or yellowing, even when subjected to constant water exposure. 

Car B (Ceramic):

It was clear that the ceramic coating was unable to absorb impacts like PPF, but it still offered good water spot protection. On the front bumper and hood, we saw a few small chips from falling pieces where the ceramic covering had cracked, exposing the paint underneath.

Car C (Waxed):

The wax was nearly completely removed at this stage, particularly on the horizontal panel. The paint began to display clear wear and tear, such as water etching and several small scratches and chips. The car always appeared dirty, necessitating daily washing.

Car D (Unprotected):

The paint was suffering. There were many stone chips, especially on the front and side skirts. Water spots had turned into hard water stains and etched the clear coat. The vehicle appeared a lot older and more neglected than it was.

August (Waning Monsoon – Intermittent Rains and Drying Mud):

Vehicle A (PPF):

The PPF maintained its excellent performance. As mud hardened and became set in the film, it was easy to remove without rough scrubbing, thanks in part to the film's smooth, non-porous nature. The film retained its excellent clarity, with none of bubbling or peeling observed.

Vehicle B (Ceramic):

The ceramic coating was still yielding some advantage, but the chipped areas now collected dirt and were more difficult to clean. The overall gloss had fallen a little from pre-monsoon.

Vehicle C (Waxed):

Continued to degrade. The paint was flat, and the damage that had been built up from chips and scratches was considerable.

Vehicle D (Unprotected):

The vehicle was badly damaged. The paint had faded and was rough to the touch due to embedded dirt and damage to the surface.

Post-Monsoon Inspection (September):

Vehicle A (PPF):

After a meticulous wash and check, Vehicle A emerged almost as good as when it arrived.

There were no stone chips or scratches noticeable on the painted surfaces beneath the film. The PPF itself had survived the whole monsoon season in fantastic condition, still holding its clarity, self-healing attributes, and hydrophobicity. There were some very minor imperfections on the film itself that took an eye closer than normal to see, but the paint underneath was perfectly flawless. The gloss levels were nearly identical to the baseline. 

Vehicle B (Ceramic):

The vehicle with the ceramic coating resisted water spots well and provided minor protection against abrasions. Nonetheless, the already present chips on this vehicle were evident proof of the limitations of this coating. Gloss levels were down by about 10-15% from the baseline. 

Vehicle (Waxed):

This car needed extensive paint correction. There were many swirl marks, scratches, and chips that had to be attended to by a professional to restore the integrity of the paint. Gloss levels had fallen more than 30%.

Vehicle D (Unprotected):

Total paint correction, wet sanding in certain spots, was required to even try and bring the paintwork back. The restoration cost would certainly exceed the initial cost of PPF. Gloss levels were reduced by 50% or more, and the paint was rough and broken.

The Verdict: PPF is the Monsoon King!

Our field test, while simulated but highly realistic, clearly verifies in overwhelming fashion that Paint Protection Film is a fantastic shield against the Indian monsoon's harshness. It's not just about looks; it provides a real, physical barrier that dissipates impacts and heals small abrasions itself, leaving your car's original paint spotless.

Important Takeaways for Indian Car Owners:

Better Impact Protection:

PPF is unmatched in terms of protection from stone chips and road hazards, a widespread threat to driving in monsoons.

Better Self-Healing:

The small scuffs and swirl marks that are bound to happen daily, particularly with increased washing during monsoon, just vanish on PPF.

Hydrophobic Characteristics:

PPF's water-repelling surface significantly minimizes the work and danger of hurting your paint, even if ceramic coatings perform exactly the same.

Enduring Paint Protection:

Investing in PPF ensures that your automobile's original factory finish is protected, greatly enhancing its resale value and looking great for years to come.

Peace of Mind:

Cruising down during a monsoon with the confidence that your car's paint is protected is worth its weight in gold.

Though the upfront cost of PPF may appear greater than other forms of protection, the long-term savings, lesser maintenance, and prevention of expensive paint corrections render it a well-deserved investment, particularly for car owners who experience the turbulent weather of the Indian monsoon. Don't let the rains get the best of your ride; equip your car with the best protection – Paint Protection Film. Your wallet and your car will appreciate the thought!

[lifestyleblog7]

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[izzysarchivedblogs]

HE LET'S IT FIZZLE THERE. KNOWING HE WAS BEING HUMORED IF ANYTHING.

Clint just half smiles, snorting again but says nothing more. It's a double edged sword in his thoughts. Tony Stark. IT MATTERS NOT NOW. LEFT IN CERAMIC PIECES.

In his mind, along side the desire to just go to fridge and grab a beer to down and let all his stresses go away, was Tony's advice which helped more than he thought it would. He has never been someone who take advice well look at the beginning of him and Steve for example, even if that guy meant a whole hell of a lot? Clint struggled with taking advice with Steve to this day. He doesn't take confrontation well for that matter either.

STEVE IN HIS CAPTAIN AMERICA GET-UP, "I'M GOING TO ASK THIS ONLY ONCE, AND I CAN'T HELP YOU IF YOU LIE TO ME."

Yet the advice that Tony gave him today, which he was clinging onto as his second mantra to drink, was GETTING THROUGH BY DAY, BY HOUR, BY MINUTE, BY SECOND. As the hour drags by, than the minutes, and he realizes that his time is getting shorter.

Shaky, finding himself ill as he forces himself to eat. IT'S AWFUL. His stomach found the lasagna disagreeable and he's drinking the down the smoothie, trying to make them force it all to stay down.

HE DOESN'T THINK BARTON LUCK WILL HELP HIM OUT.

Clint holds a hand to his stomach, focusing on the minute as his stomach turned and he kind of fades out for a moment as Tony's focus turns to Brandy for a moment.

He nods his head, feeling the first wave of nausea hit with the shakes, and he knows the night was going to be a rough one. The next few days and maybe they should have waited until he was over the withdrawal tarting, with the detoxing; or maybe he should have just took off the island and stock himself up on beers to get through this. IT'S A PROBLEM.

you have a problem.

❝ I made it clear; I was only after Parker Robbin's three million. ❞ WHEN IT'S SAID LIKE THAT, LIKE IT WAS NOTHING, LIKE IT MADE SENSE.

IT SUDDENLY DOESN'T, IT SOUNDS LIKE A PROBLEM. It was still Clint Barton in his Hawkeye gear announcing to a bank he was robbing it, he didn't hold anyone up; let most people out. The security guards and the cops were the only snag, but he came out with the three mil hidden in safety deposit boxes at the bank that The Hood owned.

❝ HMMN. ❞ Clint makes a sound in response, this whole situation was bad. IT WENT SIDEWAYS. He knew to own, tell everyone and he would. HE WAS, and he was telling them that HE WASN'T WELL EITHER.

❝ Night, Brandy ⸺⸻ PLEASE. ❞ He says a Tony gets up to put Brandy down and he envies her, because Clint's not

He curls in towards himself as he wait for Tony to get back with the painkillers, anything to help with the nausea, the shaking, the uncomfortable feeling of the cast, and aches in all his muscles and bones.

"Depends what you want the target to be, doesn't it?" Tony teased with a wink.

Was that too flirtatious? He needed to be careful not to feed whatever it was that Clint was feeling for him. He didn't want to close the door on it, but if he just started flirting back, Clint might think that it was all okay to brush away the things that had hurt Tony as if they hadn't happened.

Tony's impressed with how Clint goes through the night. He's getting a little greener and the shaking is getting worse. He does eat some of the lasagna and he drinks the smoothie. Tony hopes he ca keep it down.

Tony's giving Brandy her bottle and she's started to drift off in his arms. He's not sure why no one has gotten back to him about collecting her. He wonders if he's missing something really big right now.

He looks up at Clint at the question. He shook his head. "I don't think so. Not if you agree to their terms. I think you've proven several times now that people can be rehabilitated. And it's not like you were targeting innocent people. The bank would be the biggest issue, and maybe you'll have to pay it back? I'm not sure what they'll do. They do have insurance."

He reached over and rubbed Clint's leg. "You just have to show them you mean it. That you know you did the wrong thing and you plan to make up for it. You'll be fine."

He looks down at Brandy and gets up. "She's asleep. Let me go put her down and we can talk if you want to. You can have more painkillers now if you're needing them."

[isca-rambles]

4x21 Oh no, it's the 'casually break Lucy's heart' episode with the fake proposal. Or maybe it's the 'Lucy starts to realise these weird feelings might actually mean something' episode. In any case, I'm ready to have my heart broken watching Lucy be mildly in pain.

Chris, stop pushing. Jesus. It's not crazy, Nolan, but you're really not amazing at it from what I've seen of S5/S6. Soooo...ya know. Fuck that bloody golden ticket, honestly. But I'll save that for that episode.

Oh Lucy honey. It's a good thing Tim is just as oblivious to your feelings as you are, because you are being so fucking obvious today.

Patrice is such a sweetheart. Seriously. They initially gave off the impression she'd be this horrific set-up entitled monster but she's just adorable and so sweet. Definitely in the running for unofficial Mid-Wilshire mum/grandma. Can we please get Lucy some better parents? I mean Grey is unofficially her new dad but still, she needs more time with him for it to matter. Patrice and Luna can co-share mum duties.

Angela's cop eyes working overtime when it comes to Chenford moments.

Oh god Lucy, this hurts so much. She isn't completely sure why this is bothering her so much, I mean aside from the fact that Tim and Ashley really aren't suited for each other, but she just knows it's hurting. Patrice using Jackson's full name. My heaaart. Grey, yes, protect those ponies! Good man. Wesley you utter sweetpea. Another sunshine human being right here. And aww, Nyla's ex-MIL is a sweetie. Ugh why Tim. Whyyy. Not only because you damn well know you want marriage and kids. Lucy's poor heart. They're both just settling for something safe and stable because they've got all these other feelings they can't understand. I hope Angela got a good curse for her.

4x22 hehehehe. here we goooo. Dad!Tim and Mum!Lucy are the most adorable idiots.

I've seen this episode many times before so I probably won't be commenting too much about this one. Mostly it's just white noise of me giggling. Lucy, Angela, and Nyla are just precious together. More. Now. God that pillow under Dim's t-shirt. Y'all could've done anything else.

Grey and Angela sharing knowing grins, and also just how adorable excited Lucy is. I can't.

Nell and Ellroy are the most precious angels. Their wedding next, right? Another Chenford dance, right? Right?! Lucy keeping her man safe, of course.

So many candles. Aaaaahhhh. Legally now I have to replay this scene about 50 times. Look at her torturing him and making him say the words. God, look at these awkward oblivious idiots. Mel's Canadian accent slipping through with those sorrys.

Uuuugh and how easily they both sink into this kiss. Like barely a split second and his hands are on her and he's chasing that kiss even further. Tamara I love you but you couldn't have given us a few more seconds?

Lucy pointing at Tim 'this is work'. Damn right he is, honey. And he will continue to be work but it'll be worth it in the end or so help me god. 'I don't have anything' you fucking awkward dork. And the 'good work' and her face oh my god these two. Aww Tim. Having to do some processing of those feelings you can't understand that you tried to keep buried, huh buddy?

COWARD

Aww, I did like Nyla as a TO. Poor Grey having to cling onto his TOs like gold dust.