Summary: Clark and Lois finally get some time away from work, kids and duties. But can Clark really put Superman aside and can Lois ignore a story falling on her lap.
CW: Plot with Porn, Non-graphic sex (This chapter only)
WC: 3K
-Chapter three of my ongoing story. First two chapters posted on my original blog. Does anyone know why my post aren't showing up under tags on my original blog? I'm at the point that I think I'm just going to use this one and if I do would it be appropriate for to move over all my recent stuff? Within the last year? Let me know.
It is late Friday night or early Saturday morning when Lois makes it back to the cabin. The place smells like sour cooking and when she checks the stove the chicken and rice have congealed. She grabs the tongs Clark had been using and scraps the remains into the trash can. Sadly they would have to deal with the smell.
Lois had taken the crying women back to her cabin knowing Clark was out and looking for the missing girl. By the time they made it down, her husband had already called the cops and a few local neighbors were gathered planning a grid search. It was unnecessary, Superman showed up with the child. It became pandemonium, Lois had to remember that these people don't see Superman everyday. The parents collected their daughter with hugs and kisses and the locals shouted, taking photos and wanting autographs, the cops were starstruck.
Then Clark mentioned the animal. The girl had been tracked by a leopard. A real jungle cat in the woods of Michigan. At first they thought it was a joke but true to his word Clark found the leopard again and was able to catch it. More people were called, the news showed up and Superman was tasked with taking the animal to the closest zoo.
That's why she couldn't take the trash out, the whole community was up in arms about wild animals and a fear that trash would draw them closer to town. With the dinner tossed she opened the fridge and started making a few sandwiches pairing them with the macaroni salad and some chips. She sits at the outdated kitchen table and starts searching her phone for information.
Exotic Animals laws
Walter Miller Company
Exotic Animals spotted.
She reads and writes down notes looking into more, finding more articles and videos. There is money in the illegal trade she knew, but she is more shocked in how many sanctuaries were fronts for people to just own dangerous pets. Eventually Clark returns coming from the back bedrooms still in his super suit. He takes the seat next to her and she offers him a sandwich.
"Sorry about dinner."
"It's okay, the sandwiches are good. How is the leopard?"
"Sedated and going through evaluation. How I've dealt with two exotic wild animal loose in so many days is beyond me."
Lois sets her notes in front of him, with a smug smile, "Crazier connection. You know how the locals mentioned someone buying up all the land? I did some digging, guess what company is doing it." Clark takes the notes and sees Lake Real Estate, a subsidiary part of a much larger company known as Welders LLC. Walter Miller's company. A real Estate conglomerate currently responsible for buying land and homes, leaving them empty to make their other properties go up in price and creating some of the housing shortage happening across the country.
"Walter Miller. Do we think this is his daughter again? She just owns exotic animal all over the country?" He asks.
"I don't know but I doubt it. Sabrina is a fame chaser, she might come out this way for a short vacation but to be out here regularly? I think something else is going on. Something besides real estate and animal smuggling."
Clark gives a sigh, running his hand through his hair and messing up the perfect Superman coif and his natural curls springing loose. "They're going to do a search of the woods." He starts. "Other locals have reported in the pass spotting and hearing different animals that the police hadn't taken seriously but are now. They asked me to help."
She gives a smile, "Of course, they aren't going to turn Superman away."
He looks at her sad, "So much for our weekend away."
Lois reaches out for him. "Clark I'm never going to be upset that you are saving people. And we still are having a weekend away but now we also have a story on our hands. Do you really think I'm going to be here tomorrow just staring at the scenery? Besides all that sex was getting old."
He laughs pressing his fingers into her open palm and tracing the line. "Was it now, getting bored of me?" Getting up she moves to sit on his lap, his arm wraps around her waist, her legs dangle over in a bridle style.
"Getting so bored with you." She jokes nuzzling her face into his neck. "Ten years of marriage and we're tired of each other."
His hand cups her jaw and turns her face to his, his eyes are deep, lips wet and when she's this close to him she can see the imperfections of his skin, the dips and lines, the dryness. It's a comfort a reminder that for all his powers and greatness he's getting older with her, the two are aging together and that in twenty, thirty, fifty years from now she won't be an old women and he still be young.
"Ten years and I still want you. I don't think I could ever be tired of Lois Lane." He kisses her soft, his lips resting onto hers like that's where they should be. Lois drags her hand up into his hair and pulls him to her. The kissing is slow, his hands even more so.
Moving over her legs to her back and up her shirt. They shouldn't have sex, she's to sore from the last couple days and while his suit is always a turn on it comes with problems, while she can't leave a mark on his skin she loves to feel it.
He shifts her and now she's facing him, straddling his legs and feeling his cock press against her. She groans as his hands holds her ass and she rocks herself against him. The soreness in her pussy melting to sweet want. She bites at his lower lip hears his breathing stagger. Their want melding together and like a couple of horny teenagers they keep their clothes on and grind against each other until Lois feels the twist insider her, they way Clark is able to pull her desire out of her with so little work should be embarrassing.
"Call me Superman…Please." He asks.
Lois is tense feeling the hardness of him all over her, the press of his hand already on bruised skin. She leans next to his ear humming into his skin and says, "I'm so close Superman…please make me come. Superman please—" Her body bucks and she grips tightly to his cape and tucks her knees into him. She can't feel the soft, quite movements from him but she recognizes the look on his face his tightly shut eyes and splayed out hands, he comes under her and she gives a sighing laugh. They didn't have sex but they manage to get off.
****
The next morning Clark is already gone when Lois wakes. She didn't wait around, changing and grabbing her lap top and heading out. Remembering the directions of the cafe that Clark mentioned yesterday she drives into town. Passing by the neighboring cabin seeing the young family packing up to head home. Either the trip as planned ends today or they were leaving early she didn't know but she waves as she passes.
There is an increase policed presents on the main street, a garbage truck moves slowly gathering all the trash and there's tons of people. Lois had assumed that the streets would be bare everyone to scared to go out with the risk of wild animals but, young and old, families and college students walk through the streets. She lucks out snagging a parking spot as someone pulls out but worries she won't get a table inside.
The small cafe is packed she can tell before even going in, not wanting to fight she goes to the small outside patio setting up her laptop and using a spare sweatshirt as a buffer to the iron chair, even without the bruising those chairs were uncomfortable. There is a URL on the side of the building she uses to place an online order with directions she was sitting in the patio. With her drink ordered she starts up her laptop and begins working.
She looks more into Walter Miller and his daughter trying to find a connection to this area and exotic animals. There is a video Sabrina did years ago working with a charity to protect safari lands and Lois calculates that Sabrina is into animal rights every year doing a live charity drive for a number of shelters and helps pet owners in the Metropolis area by offsetting the cost of getting their animals fixed.
Walter Miller is harder to track. He doesn't post his life on social media and has always did his dirty work behind closed doors. She tries to track some of the sales of the land in the surrounding area, having to call the county clerk who gave the info more willingly then Lois had anticipated. Lake Real Estate has been around for four years but has only just recently started acquiring land, though if her Birds Eye Maps are right the locations seemed off compared to how Welders as a company works.
Welders likes buying the cheap rundown homes or medium income apartments, the hoard them like kids do with Halloween candy. They aren't in the rental business and vacation homes aren't their focus either so lake side property is a choice. When she stalls she first calls a couple different people. Some of the other towns were Lake Real Estate have bought property in other parts of Michigan, Wisconsin, and Ohio. She also called the few numbers she could find for Lake Real Estate getting a voice mail and leaving her number for a call back.
When the barista brought her her second order of iced coffee did Lois realize the table behind her became occupied. Three men talking low keeping to themselves, she wouldn't have thought anything of it if it wasn't for the fact one of them brought up Superman. Lois pretends to continue to work and eavesdrops on the conversation.
"The search party still in the woods?" Says one.
"Yeah, Brian and Josh are still helping in the search, so far we're in the clear they haven't gone near the south side." Says another.
"What's the plan? Superman is in the area, we don't have many options. This can't be a coincidence." The third tags on.
Lois sips her coffee, this is something other then just some locals chatting about a real superhero helping the community. She doesn't turn to look at them fidgeting with her phone instead and hoping she gets more.
"They're going to call us tonight, tell us what to do. That leopard got out weeks ago it was bound to be caught, everyone's on edge but no one knows anything yet." Says the first.
"It almost killed a little girl." Says the third guy. "There's also that missing hiker from Helensburg, I wouldn't be surprised if he came face to face with that leopard."
"Don't go sleeping in the woods if you don't want to be a wild animals meal."
Lois is shocked by the open conversation. They may be whispering but they were in public and they knew a lot about these animals, the connection with Walter Miller and something possibly happening tonight. She took quick notes of what the men had said and waited longer then she had wanted for them to get up and walk by her so she could see their faces. Nothing about them stood out, three white men, two older white graying hair and round stomachs, the other around her age buzz cut. They dress like construction workers, steel toed boots, dirty paint stained jeans and reflective vest. As they pass one turns to the barista who's changing out the chalkboard sign to update the menu. They know each other Lois is sure with how the acknowledge one another and then they are gone.
Getting up she walks to the front of the build and sees them all pile into a van. Nothing particular about it and drive off. The worker continues to finish up the sign and Lois tries to come up with a way to find out who any of them are. Thinking she opens her bag and sees Clark's wallet in her purse. Taking only a moment she drops it on the ground and proclaims.
"Oh one of those guys left their wallet here." She picks it up and the worker looks over at her. "Oh no."
"I can take it. They come by often enough." Says the worker. That's not enough she need more information. "Are you sure dropping it off at the police station wouldn't be better? I'd hate for them to lose their cards and ID."
The barista rolls her eyes giving a frown. "I promise. I know the one guy in the group. Larry Grim he's my best friend's uncle. They'll be in tomorrow morning." Lois hands over the wallet an easy price for a name.
****
Lois pulls into the the parking lot of the most popular trail head, cop, hunters, trackers all around. Superman must still be out searching the woods. When she gets out she clips her press badge on and joins the crowd of other press and civilians. First listening then walking to the cop standing on the other side of the roped off area.
"Lois Lane of the Daily Planet. Any comments about the exotic animals in these woods?" The cop gives her a bored look, her name doesn't carry as much weight out here as it does in the city.
"The sheriff has already issued a statement. There is no other updates as of now."
"Have you moved the search closer to the lake? Are the police looking into the missing hiker, Jesse Mcbride?"
"Lady what do you think no other update means?"
"Dustin Ellis I know you aren't talking so rudely to someone just asking some questions." Says a woman from the crowd. "The Daily Planet being interested in our small town is a big deal." Dustin gives the women an annoyed frown and she crosses her arms.
"Sorry for being rude. No updates." He walks off to the other corner of the roped off area.
"I apologize for my son. He wanted to be apart of the search but got stuck on crowd control. Your from the Daily Planet? They sent you out here fast."
"I was actually in the area. I'm surprised to see so many people out after yesterday."
"Oh that's because of Superman. Everyone wants a chance to see him. I know my son and the sheriff don't like it but then again more people out means less likely any animal will mosey their way into town. I'm Carol by the way."
"Lois. Do you know anything about the land towards the south side?" Carol ponders.
"Of the lake? It's the old industrial part of the town back when shipments would come in but most of those building have been abandoned for years now. It's where I attended parties back in high school."
"Lake Real Estate bought up a lot of the land over there. Old place to buy if the goal is to create rental properties."
"Oh I don't know about that. I'm just glad that's all they got, in the last five years we've had so many outside landlords coming in and buying up property taking the money and not investing any in the local community. Not only that but it's making it impossible for our children to keep roots in the area, they’re being priced out."
Lois nods this is happening all over the country the only places that seem to be spared the pinch are the ones that made zoning laws back in the day that stopped the purchasing power of large companies and allowed diverse house. Smallville being one such place. After the 2008 housing crisis they went crazy protecting their community.
"Do you know Larry Grim?" She asks.
"Your questions are all over the place. You think Larry Grim has anything to do with this? I know of him, quiet man, I know his wife and him separated awhile back and he's dating another women now." She stops, "Oh, he does work for that company I think or at least he was contracted out. He drives trucks and takes equipment to and from." Lois nods and jots down her notes.
"Larry is an animal guy but he isn't no Joe exotic or whatever that man's name is."
"I'm just following different leads." There's a shock in the crowd and someone shouts and points up into the sky. Lois sees Clark coming down, cap bright and hair perfect aside from the stubborn curl. The crowd surges and Dustin the cop has to keep them at bay, a second cop comes to help. Lois elbows her way to the front.
More men come out from the treeline. They all meet under a tent while Superman talks quietly and they mark what Lois assumes in a map. Eventually the sheriff comes to the crowd and Lois and the other media reach their arms and phones out to record any updates. "Our search is still underway. We ask that everyone remains out of the woods. We still don't know where the leopard came from but he has been successfully removed and taking to the city zoo."
People hit with a barrage of questions. Lois's voice raises above them all, her bossiness' and unflinching nature out matching those around her. "Are you considering checking private property?"
The sheriff looks at her, noting her press badge and raising an eyebrow. "It's not out of the question but the public woods are top importance."
"Have you made any connections to the missing hiker and the animal?"
"The detective in charge of the case has been given an update and is looking into the angle."
"Has there been any other reports of exotic animals in these woods?"
"We currently have no reason to believe there are more exotic animals in these woods." He points to another reporter then another one, Lois is being shut out. She writes his lukewarm response down from the other questions and when it's clear she won't get much more than that she heads back to her car.
It's like doing a puzzle without having the picture in front of her. There's a vague idea of what this all is suppose to look like. Walter Miller, his daughter being an animal enthusiast, the purchasing of land and exotic animals. Miller is a lobbies for Tec companies, he use to work for Lex Luthor in the ever complicated world of laws and politics. But it doesn't seem connected to that at all. It it really just Sabrina and she's using her fathers shell companies to hid her strange need to own dangerous animals.
She watches as Clark goes to the crowd waving and shaking hands with people. Everyone is excited to meet Superman. He gets on his knee to talk to the few children who were there talking to a little girl who hides her face behind her doll.
"Dammit!" She hadn't checked in with Conner at all. Grabbing her phone she check her messages and see's a few update pictures. Lily sitting on the old porch swing, Jon in Conner's husbands arms petting a cow. Kara, Lily and Jon laying on the living room floor drawing. As she pulls away she calls him up.
****
Clark makes it back to the cabin a few minutes after her. She sits on the couch, her notes all spread out and looking into other angles. Is Luthor corp involved, Max Lord, she even did a Hail Mary and used her contacts to call the closest person she could get to to try and get Sabrina Miller on the phone. It was her wellness coach, someone who Clark had done a deep investigation on and uncovered years of abuse and wack science, it wasn't enough to change everyone opinions of her, really Clark just got ripped to shreds by a large portion of her fans but she didn't need to know that Lois is married to that 'guy with bad posture, spotty skin and a body filled with toxins.'
"You've been busy." He says looking at her notes.
"I wish they made since. What info do you have. Off the record."
He gives a smile. "We found the den, and the missing hiker, his body was near it, they'll do an investigation but he was a victim of the leopard." Lois gives a somber nod, she honestly can't imagine the pain a parent goes through when their child has died. The close is when Clark died but even that pales in comparison.
"No other animals?"
"Maybe? I did find the skeletal remains of something but I'm not sure what. We did go to a couple peoples houses, known for harboring wild animals but more like raccoons, possums and deer. Not what we're looking for. There is one interesting thing. We needed a mold of the leopard's teeth so I headed up to the zoo to pick up the casing and while there they told me that the leopard's DNA was strange."
"How so?"
"It's a DNA match to a leopard from the Chicago city zoo. Which means it could be his offspring except that leopard died four years ago and all his children are accounted for. They are doing more test they think there was contamination. What have you found out?"
Lois relays the information she was able to cobble together ending it with. "The answer is right there in all of this."
"Well it looks like were going to be doing an old school stakeout." Clark says. "We need to find this building and see what they are planning."
Lois nods, "Good thing we brought the car. Also were going to need to stop by the coffee shop and pick up your wallet."
He gives her a look as she heads back to the bedroom to change.
****
Lois cuts the lights as she pulls off the road and parks the car in a wet gravel mud pit that often got used as a parking lot. They were in between two industrial building and tucked next to a truck and machinery that from her perspective looks like it had been there awhile. With her earlier research she knew that Lake Real Estate owned both buildings but nothing about what they were being used for.
"Do you see anything?" She asks Clark, his glasses are turned up and she can see his pupils— strain, it the best word she can come up for it.
"There's lead. It's like they build a lead skeleton inside the building, but only half heartedly, it only goes up about fifteen feet high and there's what I assume is a roof too."
"So a bare bones lead building inside a building. There is only one reason why you do that. They don't want Superman interfering, but what is it."
"This has Lex written all over it. And we know him and Miller are friendly."
"Lex has been quite. After the whole brainiac taken over the pentagon and nearly whipping out all of our allies he lost all his government contracts."
"And Bruce went in with the double hit of buying out nearly all of his scientist." Clark adds.
"You hear anything?"
He nods, "People, not many. But there is something in there, big, I can hear it walking but I can't place they type of animal it is."
Taking her binoculars she looks to see another truck pulling up. A transport truck. She recognizes the man getting out as Larry from the coffee shop. He's alone but someone from insides meets him before heading back in.
"They're talking." Clark says. "They've been told what to do-" He jolts and before Lois can ask, Clark grabs her and pushes her down onto the middle conceal and his body moves over top of hers his arms spread around her. She feels it, the glass shattering and the bullets hitting his body but fling off. She doesn't scream or cry, just bites tight on her lip until blood is drawn and her fingers dig into Clark's thigh. The bullets stop and the driver side door opens.
"How noble he used his body to protect her." Says a man. He reaches for Lois, poking her with his gun. She gives Clark's leg a squeeze, she's fine and to stay down. Bringing her hands up, shaking from the adrenaline she slides out from under Clark who stays slumped over. "Somehow they all missed you."
Lois is shocked that the man who is holding her at gunpoint and who just shot a few rounds into her car is none other then the sheriff from earlier. "Please, let me take him to the hospital." She says knowing this is unlikely going to happen.
"He's gone dear, I'm sure you're fine with that, leaves the door for Superman to come and sweep you off your feet. Come on let's go." He grabs Lois from under the arm and pulls her out of the car dragging her to building. She doesn't see Clark leave at all but she does see the car shift knowing he's most likely already in the building.
The sheriff throws open the door and continues to drag Lois with him though she isn't fighting him. She first sees Larry looking distressed, and one of the other guys from the coffee shop. Then she sees the strange lead structure, it sits in the middle of the warehouse and does look like a second building though thin and temporary.
"Who were you shooting at?" The first guy asked.
"A nosy reporter. She was at the task center earlier today asking questions and her and her husband were staking the place out." He tosses Lois to the ground and she watches as he reloads his gun. She gets to her knees, noticing that this building opens directly to the lake channel and water is filling in from outside, the lead building built over part of it too. Then she hears the screech of a monkey and jumps from the sound. "Husband's been taken care of but we still have to get rid of her and the animals."
"You're going to kill her?" Ask Larry eyes widen with panic.
The sheriff rolls his eyes, "We can't let her go, this is Lois Lane from the Daily Planet, Superman showing up was bad, she's worst. This entire thing will be front page news. Besides I already killed her husband, though you don't seem that broken up about it." He says turning to Lois holding up the gun. Lois's just glares at him.
"How do you know you killed him? Very little blood for emptying your gun into him."
The sheriff clenches his jaw while the others look among themselves one angrily asks, "Did you check?"
"Ted, Josh go grab the guys body we have to get rid of it anyway. You got lucky Lane, but you won't be this time. What's the plan?" He ask as the other two run outside.
"We have to get rid of all the animals. They want us to kill them then dispose of them." Says the only guy who's name she didn't know.
"Kill Them! The animals?" Larry shouts. "We can't kill them."
"We don't have a choice we have to get rid of all the evidences and they ain't sending anyone to get them off our hands."
"Don't go soft on my now Larry." Starts the sheriff. "Now Miss Lane I'll do you the comfort of killing you before throwing your body into the gator pit." He straightens his arms and fires the gun but Lois doesn't flinch. She can't see it happening, barely hears it but she can imagine it in her mind. Superman bursting through the roof, debris falling around them, Larry and the other guy moving out of the way. The sheriff still stuck in his pose the gun spark still lit as the bullet is caught mid air in Clark's palm.
His cape is still filtering in front of her and the three all stand there dumbfounded. The sheriff fires more bullets and they ricochet off of him, Larry and the other guy taking cover. Lois shouldn't be shocked, these people have only ever heard of Superman and hearing about someone being bulletproof is different from seeing it first hand.
The door burst open and either Josh or Ted Lois doesn't know comes in with his own gun pulled. "There is no body in the car and Ted took off!"
"Dammit!" The sheriff shouts then Lois hears the sound of doors opening. Looking behind her she sees the lead building is lined with garage doors and all of them are opening. They don't all come out at once but she can hear more of them now, monkeys, a lone bear and hyenas.
"Superman! That channel leads directly to the lake. If they get out everyone could be at risk." Lois says. She's looking for a way to keep them in then sees the gate. Clark goes to round the animals up while Lois runs to the wheel that will seal shut the channel access. The sheriff and others take off using the release of the animals as a distraction.
A tropical bird flies out from one unit and she ducks, Clark has wrestled the bear back to his cage and bent shut the door. The hyenas have cornered a young monkey and she turns away not to see what happens only to hear the swoosh of Superman and the monkey is safe. A lion turns the corner as she comes to the wheel, he is unbothered and sits on his side and while there is some distances from her to him she's so focused on him that she doesn't hear the fast approaching feet. Turning around to see a gator coming on her she jumps back. Larry come in and swings a long board at the gator allowing it to chomp on the wood.
"The gate! The hyena will make a run for it." He says. He keeps the gator back while Lois pulls on the wheel lifting the metal gate up, the water making it heavy. She can't lock the wheel in place while holding the tension.
"Lock it while I hold it." She shouts. Larry comes up and locks it in place just as the gator moves forward mouth open then gets dragged back. Clark pulls the gator and easily lifts him back to his unit. The hyenas take the longest to gather while the lion just moseys his way back to his unit, Clark shutting it behind him.
"Is that all of them?" Lois asks.
"I think so." Clark says landing next to her and Larry. "You want to tell us what this is all about?"
Larry gives a sigh rubbing his neck then starts talking. "I don't know everything. A few months ago I was asked to help transport some equipment eventually I got promoted to transporting the animals from here to other states, to like important places, labs and stuff. I was told it was for protecting the animals, that they weren't being treated right in captivity and we were helping them. We had to keep it a secrets though and I believed them."
"What labs?" Lois asked.
"Ah…Project Labs and Cass Science."
"Those are both under Cadmas Labs umbrella." Clark says. "And the zoo mentioned how the leopard's DNA was odd, maybe it's not an offspring but-"
"A clone?" Lois finishes. "Superboy destroyed all of Cadmas's data and research years ago and then the laws passed banning the practice of cloning."
"Brain the Sheriff might know more." Larry says. "He and Mitch was the contact for all of this."
"Looks like I've got to go find the Sheriff. We need to call the state police too and FBI most likely."
"Already on it." Lois says. Clark turns back to Larry who looks sick at the mention of the police.
"Are you willing to talk the FBI? Your cooperation will look good." Clark asks. Larry’s lips go thin and he looks like he might cry.
"I didn't want anyone to get hurt. This was a job, this area has been struggling and I needed the work. When the leopard got out I thought it was taken care of but then…I didn't know about all of this, Cadmas and cloning."
Clark brought his hand down on the man's shoulder. "And you stayed to help. That says a lot too. And I'll tell them that you stayed but we will need people on record to get this truth out and to get justices for the hiker and these animals."
Larry rubs his face before nodding and Lois calls.
AN: I started writing this fic a few months after watching the Superman movie. Just hadn't posted it here. Like, comments and reblogs are welcomed. Thanks for reading.
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There are many things Scott has given you in a short period of time: migraines, high blood pressure, and a son you would do anything for. A son he doesn’t know exists. Cutting him off was hard enough — welcoming him home might be worse.
▸ PAIRING: Ex-FWB!Scott Miller x F!Reader
▸ WARNINGS: NSFW 18+, former situationship to baby daddy to lovers (all at the same time tbh), pull-out method, fingering, degradation, oral (f!receiving), pussy pronouns, bickering is their foreplay, breeding kink, mean in bed!scott, grumpy scott in general, hurt/comfort, miscommunication (my favorite, of course)
▸ WORD COUNT: 13.6K
▸ A/N: if i had a nickel for every time i wrote reader hiding getting knocked up by the baby's dad until he's back in town, i'd have two nickels, which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice. this became the longest fic i've ever written which is insane to say about this man who had 3 minutes of screen time??? but anyways i love him and his dumb ass! if you enjoyed this, please leave comments and reblog on top of liking it!! i'd love to hear your thoughts <3 second and final part coming in two weeks!!!! special thanks to @kryptidfiles for helping me with reader's job heh
↤ main masterlist | part two ↦
You meet Scott Miller at the tail-end of summer — that not-so-sweet spot between your junior and final year when you find yourself bankrupt and barely breathing. Between completing the mandatory hours at Mass General for your program and the countless hours sticking your nose in multiple textbooks, the last thing you want to deal with is an arrogant asshole.
Specifically, an arrogant asshole at your favorite café, with your favorite brown sugar oatmilk shaken double espresso after a long night at the library and a few more hours needed to finish your final paper for this summer course. All you want is peace and quiet with your barely functional eyes.
Unfortunately, you are instead met with the sight of this man’s massive back as he berates the barista out in the open.
Your favorite barista at that. With your patience hanging by a frayed thread and the little spark of energy you have left inside of you, you exert all of that to defend this poor girl — and the sanctity of this place.
“Are you always this much of a dick or only to people you think are beneath you?”
The man — tall, brunette, blue eyes, a classic all-American clad in an MIT t-shirt, looking like he bathes in daddy’s money — has the audacity to look taken aback. “Excuse me?”
“I’m asking if you take pleasure in bitching at people who get paid minimum wage to serve douchebags like you overpriced coffee every day.”
Blue Eyes gapes at you. It’s a shame, really. He would’ve been just your type if he weren’t such a dick. That’s the regrettable thing about men — they have mouths.
“I’m not—” he begins, having the decency to get somewhat flustered. His eyes fly around the room to find pairs of curious, judgmental eyes on him. His lips twist in irritation but he manages to grit out, “I just want my actual coffee order.”
“Then ask for it,” you snap, “you don’t need to pull a Shakespearean soliloquy to get a fucking frappuccino.”
“Black coffee,” he corrects.
“Of course it is,” you roll your eyes. “Now, can you ask politely or do I need to start my own monologue about the detrimental effects of men in society?”
He gives you a satisfying wince. “No, you don’t need to do that.” He turns to Evelyn, the barista. “Can I get my correct order?” He only glances at you because you’re searing him with a look, which ends up with him adding, “Please.”
Now, when the two of you tell your separate group of friends that this is the story of how you met, no one would believe you — not with the way the two of you are joined at the hip. You bicker, you argue, you get into hours-long debates at house parties about the ethics of Greek life.
But afterwards, you can also say without a doubt that Scott is a friend.
A friend who you then proceed to drunkenly fuck one night at his frathouse.
A friend who you swear you would never fuck again afterwards.
A friend who you, that same night, decide to fuck. Again. Thrice.
You hate to give credence to his reputation on the MIT campus, especially as an outsider who doesn’t go here, but you understand why there are constantly women throwing themselves at him.
You tell yourself that this is all in good fun; your last couple of youthful years before selling yourself to the American healthcare system for the greater good should be spent doing the worst humanly possible things to yourself.
If that means fucking Scott every chance you get, having him stretch you out over every possible surface, his hand over your mouth to muffle your cries, a packed house be damned, then so be it.
Truth be told, you don’t expect things to go anywhere with Scott. The two of you come from vastly different worlds with vastly different dreams. It’s not a tragedy. You two are simply star-crossed, never meant to be lovers.
Scott complains to you about how his parents are constantly trying to set him up with debutantes — the crème de la crème of society — for him to marry; all the while you’re still tucked to his side, naked limbs tangled between each other.
You don’t acknowledge the ache that pulses in the left side of your chest. It shouldn’t matter at the end of the day because friends don’t stay friends forever, let alone lovers.
And you and Scott are not lovers.
However, you do have to reckon with the consequences of your decisions and the implication of your feelings when you find yourself with your head in the toilet, breakfast swirling down the drain for the third time that week. You have to really reckon with Lady Luck punishing you when you realize that you’re weeks late on your cycle, too caught up with school and Scott to notice.
When the two pink lines appear, your fear has reduced your inevitable shock into ashes.
Your first thought is that you have to tell Scott. There isn’t a doubt who the father is since you haven’t been with anyone else since him. This feels like a decision the two of you have to make together; you’re both adults and you should be able to have a professional, rational conversation.
That’s what you tell yourself all the way to his place, body moving on autopilot tracing back the path to his lush apartment near his campus. You barely acknowledge Jimmy, Scott’s very kind doorman, when you take the elevator to his floor.
Not once in the entirety of your… acquaintanceship have you ever been nervous to see Scott. But now your hands are trembling and you suppose it’s from the fact that you have a fucking unplanned pregnancy.
You don’t have time to fully process what that means when Scott swings open the door, and the first thing you see is the suitcase popped open on the floor with clothes haphazardly thrown into it.
Swallowing the bundle of nerves in your throat, you raise an eyebrow in question. “Going somewhere?”
“Head to my uncle’s in Oklahoma for the long weekend.”
“Oklahoma?” You close the door behind you as he begin to fusses with his clothes again.
“Yeah, he’s a real estate developer buying up a shit ton of land down there. Thinking about connecting it with storm chasing. He’s expanding quickly so figured I’d see what it’s like. ”
Your stomach sinks, dread tightening your chest. “The job or Oklahoma?”
He shrugs, completely unaware of your spiraling mind. “Both.”
“You’d really give up your cushy doorman apartment for tornadoes and motels?”
His lips curl into a smirk and your stupid heart is quick to hammer in your ear. Curse him and those deep dimples. “Sweetheart, you know I was born and raised in the south.”
Oh, you know. There’s a reason why that tinge of an accent goes straight between your legs every time he’s upset. “I don’t think a metropolitan like Dallas is the same thing.”
While Scott busies himself with packing again, you splay out on his bed, eyes on the bare ceiling as you try to calm your thundering pulse. You really shouldn’t be this stressed. There are ways out of this — options that two of you can take regardless of what you decide.
Hey, Scott, I’m pregnant. Yes, your child. Am I sure? Yes, you shithead, I haven’t fucked anyone else in months.
Oh, by the way, I’m also probably in love with you, but that’s a secondary problem to the human growing inside me. Thoughts?
“Did you need something?” His voice rips you out of your head.
Your heart rate hasn’t eased, but you have to do it now. So you turn on your side, propping your head up as your belly twists with apprehension. You open your mouth but then you notice the look in his eyes. You know that look all too well; it’s the trigger to all of your bad decisions, including but not limited to being bent over the bathroom sink with all of your friends on the other side of the door and risking arrest for public indecency on a public beach on spring break last week.
His eyes trail over the exposed sliver of skin where your shirt has ridden up, his hands abruptly dropping a shirt to reach over and drag his calloused palm over your hip. He slides it to your back, onto that little dip on your spine. He doesn’t say it out loud, but he likes the way you automatically arch towards him when he does it — like right now.
He hums and squeezes your waist to prompt you.
“Nothing,” you blurt out, flipping over so you’re facing his window instead. The city looks beautiful this time of day, sunset casting a golden glow across the architecture, painting it in the shades of the sun.
You hear him shuffle behind you before the mattress sinks with his weight. He smooths a hand over the curve of your waist again, fingers spreading out across your stomach. “You’re thinkin’ about something.”
With a deep breath, you test the waters. “Just the future, the usual.”
“What about the future?” His fingers brush your hair to the side as his lips cling to your neck.
“Work, family, friends,” you pause, chest squeezing, “kids.”
“Kids?” He snorts softly, “Where is this coming from? Never heard you talking about them before.”
Stay calm. You roll over to playfully glare at him. “I’m not getting any younger, so I have to think about these things today.”
“Or in a few years once you get your license and settle into the hospital,” Scott cocks an eyebrow. Your lips thin and he relents. “Alright, so kids, what about them?”
This is it. “Have you thought about them? Whether you, um, want them?”
Scott tilts his head deeper into his pillow. “I don’t think so. Not anytime soon at least. Kids are a hassle and I’m too young for that. Still have to go out there, make money, chase dreams and what not. I can barely take care of myself, let alone another human being.”
His chuckle is drowned out by the sudden persistent ringing echoing in your ear. He must sense it, feels your body going taut next to him.
“What about you?” He murmurs.
If he had asked you a few months ago, you would’ve scoffed and called him crazy. You too have your own dreams to pursue, the world to change and all that. But now, when you know that there’s something else growing inside you, you find that you don’t have the answer to that.
You’re not part of the crowd that thinks aborting this baby would mean murder, but you also never thought that you would be carrying something so special so early. While Scott’s answer isn’t surprising, your reaction to it is — your rationale had been simple: if Scott says no, then you wouldn’t go forward with the pregnancy. If he said yes, then you would have to consider it more seriously.
Scott’s answer is loud and clear, yet you don’t feel so settled with your own.
“Hey, you alright? What’s going on with you?” Concern stitched to the furrow of his brows.
You laugh, your throat feeling a little tight. “Probably just pre-period thoughts.”
He relaxes at that, rolling his eyes. “Women—” you pinch him and he yelps, chuckling. “I’m kidding. I can pack later. Let’s go pick up a pint of that strawberry cheesecake ice cream you like.”
The corners of your lips tip up as he pushes himself off the bed and offers you a hand. “Since when are you so nice to me?”
“I’m nice when I want to get laid.”
You don’t bite back the urge to roll your eyes.
So you’re a coward, sue you. While Scott finishes packing for his flight, you fall asleep in his silk sheets. Slipping in between the edges of consciousness, you feel Scott tuck in behind you, a kiss pressed to the back of your head as you finally give in to slumber.
Afterwards, you tell yourself that you have two months to make a decision. Two months until graduation, that’s your deadline.
A big part of you wants to tell him so you can stop lying about how you won’t be drinking tonight because you’re still hungover from some other party that you never went to. You’re exhausted from biting your tongue when he invites you for sushi, your favorite meal.
“I’m paying,” he insists for the third time.
You yawn, feeling the twinges of nausea rearing its head at the thought of it.
“You never turn down sushi.”
However, you also realize that telling him would be selfish. Despite his reputation, the man has a strong sense of responsibility to finish what he starts. In this case, it would be you. You can’t fathom him feeling like he has to stay here, that he has to be with you, that he has to give up his dreams. For you. He would hate you — if not now, then in the future.
Even worse when you imagine him telling you that he would never, ever do this with you — specifically you. After all, he has many bachelorettes lining up at his doorstep who are likely more than happy to wait a few years to start a family with him.
You’re not sure you’re prepared for that.
With every day that passes, the truth is shoved further down your throat, fear overtaking it.
Before you know it, you’re standing at the airport with him. He wrangles you into a Scott-like hug: one-armed, stiff, a click of his tongue like it’s inconvenient for him to show affection.
“You’re gonna be good, right?”
You scowl, “I’m not a dog.”
His mouth curves up, teeth peeking in his smirk. “Not even gonna turn around thrice and bark for me for my last day?”
“Are you trying to get on your flight in a body bag?”
He’s silent then for a moment, looking at you. Everything blurs around the two of you, noise muffled like you’re in a bubble and all you can hear is his long exhale. “This isn’t forever, you know. I’ll come visit when I finally need you to pump my lungs of all the dirt I’ll be inhaling.”
“Gonna cost you.”
“Wouldn’t expect any less.”
The two of you leave it at that. You could say more. I’ll miss you. I love you. Come back. Stay. But you say none of it. Part of you thinks that Scott knows, part of you hopes he doesn’t. This is his big moment. His future. A picture-perfect frame and you’ve been cut out from the canvas.
“We’ll keep in touch,” Scott shrugs with a promise.
Your hand flies to your stomach on instinct. You can practically feel that silent heartbeat. If you keep this baby, you can’t possibly hide it from him.
If you can’t hide it from him, he may hate you.
And that’s not something you can ever bear.
So you smile and nod — and you let him go.
To say it’s been a long day would be an understatement. Starting your morning with a hundred unread emails followed by a series of difficult patients (one of which sneezed on you for good measure) and then a last-minute, dreaded ping at four from one of the study sponsors looking for data — all on a Friday no less.
What you need is some hot tea, a long massage, and preferably your phone buried six feet under. A place where you won’t be able to hear the constant calling of your name.
“Girl, are you ever going to leave?” Jenna pops her head in. “You need to go and get ready.”
You peer down at your sleeveless blouse and slacks. “Why cna’t I go to dinner in this?”
She gives you a look, a bone-chillingly disapproving one. “Get your ass out of here and I’ll come pick you up. We’re going out out.”
Given that this is a planned outing, you shouldn’t feel so miserable about it. You’ve even planned it all out — your mom takes Ben until Sunday, which neither of them mind because they adore each other — and you finally get one night to yourself to do whatever you wanted and an extra day to recover. It’s the first time in four years you’ve actually had time.
Don’t get you wrong. Your body created the miracle that is your son. Beautiful, bright Ben. Sweet, kind-hearted Ben who inherited none of his parents’ terrible tempers and foul personalities. You couldn’t have asked for a better pregnancy, better birth, or better child.
It’s the first time you’ve been away for him for a personal outing. Usually, it’s some sort of work emergency; what constitutes a work emergency as a research coordinator, you’ll never know but the higher-ups love the dramatics of making everything sound like life or death.
Jenna, your colleague and probably the closest person you consider a friend, swings by your place an hour earlier than promised.
You’re still not fully ready.
“I knew you were going to drag your feet through this,” she sighs and drops an armful of clothes onto your couch.
“I’m not dragging my feet, I just have nothing to wear.”
“And that’s exactly why I’m here.”
Jenna has always had a knack for convincing people to do things they never wanted to do in the first place. For example, this is how you find yourself squirming uncomfortably throughout the night, wiggling to adjust the skirt lower down your thighs. However, when you do so, it ends up hanging too low on your hips, showing more skin than you’d like.
“Will you quit fidgeting?” she huffs as she pulls you through the crowd, “You look hot.”
“I look like I’m attempting a mating call with a freshman with a fifty-dollar fake,” you grunt.
She giggles. “Well, if you want to play cougar, I do see some college kids who have been eye-fucking you since you stepped in.” She nods her head in the direction of a group of boys who are in fact staring at the two of you, expressions a little too salacious for your liking.
“They’re looking at you,” you note pointedly.
Jenna is the the perfectly balanced combination spicy, smart, and sweet. At least two doctors and more than a fistful of residents follow her around like puppies around the hospital. She has them on leashes.
“That’s because my tits look great in this dress,” she grins. “Come on, let’s get some shots.”
In hindsight, ripping three shots back to back when you haven’t drank like since college is a terrible idea. It hits you hard and fast, but it was much needed to avoid crinkling your nose at the pile of sweaty bodies on the floor. You dance with Jenna for the most part, you let a few people buy you drinks, and… you’re having a good time.
Sometimes, you miss this part of you — the one that isn’t a mom. You love being Ben’s mother but at the same time, you have to relearn what it means to be you.
While this may not be you forever, this is a piece of you that feels like coming home. At least, that’s what you think when you feel much looser with the liquor in your veins. Jenna twirls you on the floor and you laugh, barely paying any mind to the pinching of these knee-high boots or the fact that you’re showing more skin than you have these past few years.
She spins you around again — except this time, your balance is already walking a fine line, so you end up stumbling into a wall.
Shit, not a wall. Said wall is moving.
“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” you blurt out, hand to your chest to prevent your tits from spilling out of this top. The last thing you need on your first night out is to be arrested for flashing a stranger. You’re straightening to look for Jenna when you hear your name.
Not only your name but it’s your name. Your name said in a way that has fireworks exploding in the pit of your stomach. Your name in a way that knocks the breath right out of your lungs.
Because it’s your name coming out of the mouth, with the voice of, the one person you thought you would never see again.
Scott’s eyes are wide when you finally lock gazes.
“You—” he starts then stops. “Holy shit.”
“W-what are you doing here?” You gasp.
“I’m out with, um, the guys,” he says, but his eyes never blink. Neither do yours. You almost want to, hoping this is some sick nightmare and you’re going to wake up in bed with a filthy hangover that takes you out for the day.
On the other hand, it’s Scott — and he looks good. Too good. His hair is a little longer, curling at the base of his neck. His eyes shine fifty different shades of blue with the flashing lights. His strong brows are furrowed into that familiar frown, one that has heat gathering between your legs. He’s got a suit on that seems to stretch for miles over his shoulders, top buttons of his shirt undone to reveal his pretty collarbones and that gleam of a silver chain.
You can’t be here. You can’t do this.
“Right, okay. I’ll leave you to it then.” You’re turning on your heel and you’ve barely made it forty-five degrees before his large hand wraps around your elbow.
“Wait, hold on,” he calls out, tugging you back towards him, your back landing against his front as you stumble backwards. He ducks his head towards your ear to make sure he’s heard but all you can feel is the ghost of his warm breath tickling your skin. “Where are you going?”
You try to extract yourself from him but his grip is firm, now on your hips. “I’m here with a friend. I need to go find her.”
“I’ll go with you.”
You absolutely do not want that. It must show on your face because then he’s scoffing, frown morphing into a disgruntled scowl.
“Is that how you greet a friend you haven’t seen in years?”
Instead of deigning him with a response, giving him the satisfaction of your annoyance, you wordlessly turn and make your way through the crowd. Scott is close behind, you can feel his height looming over you. He’s got a protective arm out to push away anyone who even comes close to touching you, charting a path through this Red Sea.
Jenna is on someone’s lap when you find her. She drags her eyes away from an unfairly attractive man when she spots you. You narrow your eyes at the man before turning back to your friend. “Are you good?”
“Peachy,” she beams. Her attention on you is short-lived when it wanders to Scott who’s hovering around you like a chaperone. “I see you’ve found your entertainment for the night as well,” she winks, eyes practically glittering as she wiggles her brows at you. “I’ll catch you at work Monday?”
Well. That’s your cue to go home. With one final press to make sure she’s okay, Jenna waves you off.
“Your friend’s having much more fun, maybe you should consider doing that for yourself,” Scott whispers in your ear, head ducked to reach your ear. “I could volunteer myself for that position.”
Whirling around, you trap him with a burning glare, which he only grins at.
There’s no way in hell you’re getting into this clusterfuck tonight. Not when you’re still half-convinced that you’re dreaming this up. So you turn back around and start marching towards the exit.
Unfortunately, he continues to follow you. He doesn’t even do anything except stick close to your tail. For some reason, that only pisses you off even more. Maybe if you will him away with your mind, you’ll turn around to find him gone. Because he can’t be here. Why the fuck is he even here?
“Why the fuck are you here?” You snap now that you’re on the quiet sidewalk. The music inside is muffled, leaving you alone with your heart beating in your ears and Scott’s stupid smirk plastered across his face.
He leans back against the railing, arms crossed over his chest. You can see how the cotton of his shirt stretches across his wide chest. Jesus, did he get bigger? How is that even possible? The worst part is the amused look printed onto his face, dimples carved out deep. “I’m doing a talk — at MIT.”
Of course, he is. You shouldn’t be surprised. You’d never admit it to him but you have been keeping up with him in the news. He’s been building a startup with advanced technology focusing on disaster resilience combined with real estate development. While you don’t know the full mechanics, you know he’s successful enough to be nailing government and corporate contracts, landing himself on the Forbes 30 Under 30 list.
You could also lie and say that his face is everywhere, but you really had to look him up to find anything about him.
“So why aren’t you talking? At MIT. Why are you here?”
Scott shrugs, “I reached out to the guys to catch up. I would’ve reached out to you too if I had your number.”
You stiffen, chancing a look at his face to find pure irritation. He has every right to be, but you also had your reasons for doing what you did — he just doesn’t know it.
A gust of wind whips past your bare legs, the chill settling on your shoulders. Boston is unforgiving this time of year so you quickly shrug on your jacket. However, you can still the weight of his gaze rolling over the length of you, slow and warm. His steely blue eyes look almost onyx with the way he drinks you in, dragging across your exposed collarbones down to your bare legs.
“What are you doing here?” He asks coolly.
“Out. With a friend.”
His lips tighten around the corners — slightly, only enough for you to notice. “What, to pick up guys?”
“No,” you scowl, “just for a good time.”
“Are you?”
“What?”
“Having a good time?”
You were — until him. “Fabulous time,” you sarcastically sigh as you pull out your phone, readying yourself to call a car home.
But your movements halt when you feel warmth soak your entire body, your breath hitching in your throat. Scott’s buried his face in your neck, his front against your back, nose tracing the column of your neck, palms splayed over your stomach.. His teeth graze your skin, eliciting a trained shiver out of you.
“How about we have a better time elsewhere?”
“No,” you swallow, “we shouldn’t.”
“Come on, you don’t miss me?” Scott slides his hands higher, enough for his thumb to brush the underside of your breasts. “We used to have fun, didn’t we?”
“Scott, no,” you protest, but you sound frail even in your ears.
“Why not?” He murmurs, lips placing soft, wet kisses against the back of your ear. Your head tilts on instinct, granting him more access as he nibbles down your neck.
“You’re drunk.”
He chuckles, “‘M so fuckin’ sober. I got a shot in when you bumped into me.”
“Then you should go back in there, go have a good time.”
“Found something more fun to do tonight,” he smiles against your skin. “Well, someone.”
His hands drift a little higher, cupping your tits and squeezing. The groan he lets out molds with yours as you resist another whimper crawling up your throat. “We’re outside,” you hiss.
“Never stopped us before.”
The more warm kisses he presses onto your skin, the weaker your resolve becomes. Your body moves on its own accord, leaning back against his chest while your own rises with a stuttered breath.
“Come with me. Promise I’ll make you feel good. Just like old times.”
“Scott…”
He knows — by the way you say his name — that you’ve given in. He doesn’t give you a moment to hesitate, squeezing your hip and keeping you close as he calls a car. His hand stays on you, toying with your nipples until you’re grinding your ass back against the erection under his slacks.
He hasn’t even kissed you, not properly at least. His lips stay on the pulse point on your neck, nipping lightly as his hands settle possessively around your waist. Even in the car, he hoists you over to his side, a thick arm wrapped around your waist to hold you hostage against him. When his other hand travels up to bury in your hair, he yanks on it just enough to have you gasping.
“Always so sensitive,” he whispers with a grin, “so responsive for me.”
“Fuck you,” you mutter weakly.
His breath is warm as he chuckles into your hair.
The car pulls up in front of some posh-looking hotel. You don’t have a moment to guess how much this place costs a night — nor do you want to, the number would likely break your heart. His hand is wrapped around yours, tight, like he’s making sure you don’t try to make a run for it, as he pulls you stumbling through the lobby.
Scott invades every single one of your senses when he corners you in the elevator. He bites down on his moan when he dips his head, nose nuzzling into the curve of your chin as he takes a deep inhale. His exhale quivering.
“You still wear the same perfume,” he notes, sounding almost pleased.
“Creature of habit,” you mutter, hands finding purchase on his biceps in an attempt to stay upright. Your knees feel a little weak with the proximity, with how much heat his body is radiating.
He’s barely swiped through the door and you’ve barely had the chance to close it before Scott is pinning you against the door and slanting his lips over yours. The first kiss knocks you right off your feet and Scott is quick to catch you and hold you up against the door — one hand on the back of your neck and the other on your waist.
He breathes you in as his tongue strokes your bottom lip. He tastes like a mix of vodka, sugar, and a hint of bittersweet nostalgia. The way he moves his mouth is familiar, you’re drawing on muscle memory to remember how you used to kiss. How to move your mouths in sync with the rhythm of your heartbeat.
You swallow his hungry groans as his hands explore you all over, sliding up your curves to push off your jacket before venturing south again to cup your ass from underneath your skirt. “This fucking outfit,” he snarls low, “never seen you wear anything like this before. So fuckin’ tiny, I could see your ass walking behind you.”
“J-Jenna’s,” you clarify breathlessly. “My friend’s.”
“And this goddamn top — I could peek down your chest the entire time we were there. Wanted to rip this off you so I could play with these pretty tits,” he murmurs, kissing his way along your jaw and down your neck. “Then this—” he squeezes your ass, “if I saw one more person try to get a peek, I would’ve bent you over the bar and fucked you then and there to show them that none of them have a shot. Not them. It’s only going to be me.”
Your response dies in your throat when he begins to suck light bruises onto your skin, pain blooming in concentrated spots across your skin. He’s always been territorial, leaving one mark after another to deter anyone else from coming close.
While you usually enjoy the slow build, the persistent ache between your legs demands otherwise.
“Come on, just fuck me already.”
“So goddamn impatient,” he snips but picks you up, legs wrapping around his waist. Your body slips a little lower and you can feel the bulge in his pants poking against your own core. Your panties pressed directly against the thickness, which leaves very little to the imagination. “So fuckin’ hard,” Scott grunts, “started getting a chub the moment I saw you. Then I saw you walking from behind, this gorgeous ass just swaying like you’re teasin’ me. Then you gave me that mean look you’ve got and I’ve never been so fucking hard in my life.”
“You’re such a freak,” you huff in a laugh
“Takes one to know one.” Scott backs you into the hotel room, letting you fall back against the bed as he tucks himself between your legs dangling off the edge. His eyes roam over you, exploring every inch of your exposed skin. You’re fresh meat and Scott is starving.
He leans forward, a single index finger starting at the outer corner of your breast where it’s pushed up by your corset and journeys over the trim of your top. You hold your breath, back arching slightly into his touch. “I can’t believe you were out like this. Dressed like a fuckin’ slut. I don’t even wanna know how many guys out there imagined fucking your tits.”
It’s demeaning, you should tell him off. But this is Scott and he knows exactly what you like and — god, do you like this. A whimper climps past your lips instead, a needy little sound that has him smiling to himself.
“But I’m the only one who gets to do that tonight. Isn’t that right, sweetheart? You don’t spread your legs for anyone else.”
“Do you ever s-shut up?” You snap, voice frayed to betray the desire thumping in your chest. His hands slide underneath you, settling on your lower spine, as your body rises instinctively to his touch. He drags the zipper of your corset down, peeling it off you and casting it aside.
Scott straightens again, tilting his head as he takes you in from his vantage point.
His gaze burns uncomfortably. He doesn’t say a word and, for the first time with Scott, you feel… shy. Hands fly to your stomach as burning embarrassment sears like a branded mark on your skin. He takes a deep breath and his sweet time outlining the shape of you like he’s recreating a sketch of you in his mind.
“You’ve changed.”
Your heart sinks. The two simple words sting more than they should. Pregnancy changed your body. While you know that it’s created a miracle, it’s survived and remained strong, you also know that you aren’t the same. Softer, more lines stretching across your stomach. Your muscles haven’t survived your long hours at the hospital. You just never thought it would hurt this much for him to point it out.
But you know better than to take this kind of disrespect. If he no longer finds you attractive, you know that you could very easily find another man to satisfy you.
You try to wiggle away from him as your face shifts in aggravation. “Well, I have. So, if you don’t like it, I’m going to go because I don’t fucking need this from—”
“Hold on, never said I didn’t like it,” he murmurs, grabbing both your wrists and pinning them above you. He ducks forward again, nose brushing against your jawline. He breathes you in, you can hear him gulp. “Fuck, you look so good, sweetheart. Sexier. Something about you. Even better than I remember — and shit, do I remember you. Thought about you far too much.”
Oh. “Really?”
He pulls away slightly, eyes searching yours as his lips curl into that smirk. “Really. Every night, with my fist wrapped around my cock, imaginin’ it was this tight cunt of yours wrapped around me. I remember how it would squeesze so sweet like you’re trying to choke my dick.”
“You’re so crass,” you roll your eyes.
“You’re tellin’ me that that doesn’t turn you on?” He grins, hand stroking up your inner thighs until he finds your center, fingers nudging the damp gusset of your panties to the side as he dips in between your slick folds. “Knowing that I get off thinking about you. Thinking about this perfect cunt of yours and the way you’d pulse around me, milkin’ me dry every time you cum. It’s like this pussy was made for me.”
On cue, you tighten around him, breath hitching in your throat with his filthy words.
“Yeah, she likes that,” he chuckles, “shit, did you get tighter? I don’t remember you being this stiff. It’s gonna be tough getting me in, baby. Gonna have to stretch you out and it’s gonna fuckin’ hurt.”
You clench again at the thought, a moan bubbling up your throat. Well, seeing as you haven’t slept with anyone in years, it’s not a surprise. But you’d never tell Scott that — you don’t want to think about all the other people he’s fucked since the two of you split.
“We’ll make it fit, we always do,” he coos and you don’t block the roll of your eyes, pulling another amused sound from his lips. “Still got that attitude,” he shakes his head, hands squeezing around your wrists, “Don’t worry. I’ll fuck it out of you soon.”
Scott drags down your underwear, flinging it somewhere around the room. You’re about to scold him but the only thing that comes out of your mouth is a broken whine as he stuffs two fingers into you. The slide in is humiliatingly easy with how wet you are, but his thick fingers still stretch out your taut insides.
“Jesus,” he mutters, “won’t even let me in, huh? Have you been takin’ care of her, sweetheart?”
Heat pools low in your stomach and rises to your face. He pushes in and out of you slowly at first, blue eyes staying on you to watch you squirm, watch your body shift off the bed. He mutters something about still the fuckin’ same as he prods his fingers into you, testing out different angles to see which ones make you tick — like he’s relearning how to please you.
He realizes that it takes no time at all to do so because you still move the way he expects you too, especially when he brushes up against that spongy area inside you that wrestles a noise that mixes a gasp and a moan from your lips. Through the hazy blur of your vision, you spot a proud smile dancing on his lips as he continues to push and push until you’re panting desperately underneath him.
Every drag of his fingers along your cunt feels like the strike of a match that sets your entire body on fire. He sets off flames in different parts of your body, all the while he’s still holding you down with just one hand. His head ducks to take a nipple into his mouth and sets your entire being ablaze. The two actions combined are enough to have you sweating over the risk of cumming too fast, too hard.
You’ll be damned if you finish in under two minutes with him.
Another curl of his fingers has you resetting that bar to at least one minute.
“Scott, please,” you rasp.
“Please what, sweetheart?”
“You know what.”
“Use your big girl words,” he tuts softly, “you can do it. I wnat to hear you ask for it.”
Your brows descend in a vexed glare. “Why are you suck a prick?”
“Because it fucking turns you on,” Scott grins, “and because you like my dick.”
You can’t help it, you poke because that’s what you do with him. “I can find good dick elsewhere.”
His fingers stop moving inside you, his body completely still as he levels you with a stare that sends a shiver slithering up your spine. His jaw clenches, white fury masked by his terrifyingly composed expression. “You wanna run that by me again?”
Your mouth feels like sandpaper now, snippy response scraped away to death on your tongue.
He pushes his fingers in deeper, drawing out a cry from your chest. “Think you can get good dick anywhere, sweetheart? Is that why you’re so fucking tight? Have you been spreading your legs for anyone?”
“Fuck you.”
“I thought you had better taste. Clearly, none of them could stretch you out the way you like. You fuckin’ like it when it hurts, when it burns so good you can taste it on your tongue,” he mocks, hand releasing your wrists to grab your jaw. He applies just enough pressure to have your cheeks aching, but that pain only has you clenching around his fingers, stomach twisting with stupid need. “Look at you,” he chuckles, gripping you harder, “gettin’ so tight around me before I even stick my dick in you. Filthy slut just likes bein’ treated like one. Maybe I should stuff that mouth so you stop running it — don’t need you to talk, just need to hear those desperate little sounds you make when I fuck you good.”
Your chest sings with shame when all you can do is take his words. But you take what he gives because he only gives you what you can take; he knows exactly what to say to rile you up, to tip you over the edge, have you seething and dripping between your legs. Even after years, he still knows your body best.
Except now, he has a touch more of that southern drawl that you’ve always adored but could never get enough of.
“She just squeezed me again, sweetheart.” His eyes twinkle with delight. “Why don’t you put yourself out of your misery and just ask me?”
Your lips pinch and Scott pushes deeper, eyes fluttering when he feels you tighten around him again. He can feel your control slipping away, pride curling deep into your chest to hide.
“Fuck me.”
He raises an eyebrow. “That it?”
“Please.”
He's biting back a laugh, lips curving just a little more. “Attagirl, there’s your manners. Was that so hard? Guess I haven’t been around to teach you how to be polite with me.”
Your chest throbs with a mix of disgrace and need again. He pulls out his fingers, watches them glisten with your juices underneath the room’s warm lights. Then, with his eyes locked on yours, he slides them over his tongue and closes his lips around it. He sucks on it hungrily, moan muffled as he laves at them to savor.
“Tastes a little different too,” he hums, “maybe I just missed you too much. Missed this pretty pussy.”
Maybe if you weren’t so focused on getting him to fuck you, you might’ve noticed a strange something laced into his syllables — something you may mistake as hurt.
But that wouldn’t be possible because Scott Miller doesn’t get hurt. He takes and throws away like it’s nobody’s business, only thinking about what would be beneficial for him until it no longer has a use. He’s untouchable, always has been.
Before you can process even a hint of it, you feel Scott sliding his cock along your pussy lips, wet with juices that can’t seem to stop leaking all over his sheets. “Makin’ such a mess already,” he grunts, tip poised at your entrance.
You nudge your hips lower in an attempt to encourage him to move faster, but his palm presses down on your hips as he gives you a scalding look.
“Behave.”
Your legs press together around his hips. He feels it. But you do as you’re told.
“Good girl,” he sighs as he slowly pushes himself in. The initial burn has your eyes rolling to the back of your head, like fire between your legs as you let out a cry with how much he’s opening you up. His cock parts through you like a spear and your breath catches in your throat as he finally buries himself all the way in. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he hisses, “you’re so goddamn tight. Feels like that first time. Like you’ve never been fucked in your life.”
“B-been a while,” you stutter, the confession slipping out before you can stop it.
Scott’s hands on your hips drag you closer to the edge until your ass is against his hips, he pushes your legs up against your chest, feet thrown over his shoulders. “I can tell. You’re such a good girl for me, baby. Been saving yourself for me? Have you been thinking about me too?”
You’d die before you give him the satisfaction. Because you have, but you’ll never tell him how many times you’ve come undone with the memory of him alone. Filthy words he’d whisper in your ear toiling around your brain until you can practically hear him right next to you. Promises that have you gasping for air before you’re thrown over the edge of desire.
“Perfect pussy, she’s takin’ me so well,” he moans, deep and guttural, as he begins to ease himself in and out of you. He starts off with a slow pace before building a steady rhythm that painstakingly stretches you out around his cock. With every thrust, he stretches you out just a fraction more, each time slightly easier than the last until the burn dissolves into warmth blooming between your legs.
Scott’s still watching you; with every jerk of his hips, he intentionally angles himself to hit all the right spots that have you crying out for more, your fingers tangling in the sheets. It’s as if he’s drawing out a map of you, marking x wherever he finds a winning piece. He knows exactly how fast to fuck you to have you gasping and crying, tears leaking down your face until you can taste the salt on your tongue. He knows exactly how slow to go to have you begging him, desperate sounds falling from your lips until he has no choice but to show you mercy.
He knows that telling you you’ve got a cunt like a virgin would have you squeezing around him. He knows that praising you for being such a good pussy for him would have you arching off the bed with your eyes slammed shut.
He just knows and that thought scares you more than anything.
“Fuck, I missed this pussy. Nothing else could compare, you know. Tried to, trust me. Every time, I can only cum thinking about your leaking cunt, always drooling all over my fat cock, thinking about you sobbing underneath me until I kiss away those pretty tears. I couldn’t stop picturing feeding her my cock, stretching her out until you’re whining like a bitch in heat,” Scott growls as he picks up his thrusts, sliding in easier, faster now that your arousal has paved the path in for him.
You should be offended by his words, the feminist in you wanting to tell him off for such ridiculously degrading words, but all they do is add fuel to the fire. You haven’t felt this good in so long and you don’t think—
“Wait, fuck,” you blurt out, fingers latching onto his bicep. “Scott, condom.”
Scott freezes, like deer in headlights. “Condom? We’ve never fucked with a condom.”
“I know,” you bite out but again say, “condom.”
There’s a vein pulsing on his forehead, the last shred of his self-restraint hanging on by a thread. He looks more inconvenienced than anything. “Did you get off the pill?”
“N-no, but just wanna be careful.”
Scott laughs, nudging his cock deeper. “Why are you worrying? It’s ninety-nine percent effective.”
Well, apparently, you’re part of that one percent of failure.
He sees that you still look conflicted and he lets out a frustrated exhale. “I don’t have condoms. Haven’t carried it around with me in forever.”
“I need to fuck this pussy, sweetheart. I’m not letting that pretty head of yours change your mind. Not gonna go outside just to get condom. I’ll just pull out.”
“That shit does not always work!”
“Neither does a condom!”
Fuck, he makes a good point.
Scott slowly begins fucking you again, chipping away at the walls you’ve slammed up. “Promise I’ll pull out when I cum. Won’t do it inside you. No matter how much I want to cream inside this pussy, just like I used to.”
Your stomach flips with that admission.
“Remember how I used to fill you up? God, I can still see white leakin’ out of this cunt. I loved cumming inside you in the morning, you could never get all the cum out so you’d be dripping with me. Could smell you when I fucked you again after too.”
Shit, he knows your resolve is down to nothing when he pumps faster into you. He doesn’t need you to confirm what he already knows. He returns to fucking you with fervor. His hips are eager as they chase after yours, slamming against you as his cock fucks all rational thought from your mind. He leans forward, pressing you deeper into the mattress until all his weight is squeezing the breath from your lungs. It only intensifies the pleasure, his cock sliding in with a trail of fire as he kisses your calves.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he coaxes, “give it to me. I know you wanna cum. I can feel you tightening around me.”
More moans tumble from your lips as you babble your agreement, words slurring together in an incoherent mess.
“Give it to me. Let her go. I wanna see you fall apart on my cock, want you remember that no one else can make you feel like this. Nobody can — or ever will — fuck you this good. This pussy’s mine and I’m gonna make sure she only remembers me, only takes the shape of my cock.”
You’re struggling for air as your chest constricts, wanton need burning all throughout your body.
“Cum for me, baby. Come on,” Scott grunts, punctuating each word with a thrust.
With a few more pumps of his cock, your stomach tightens, desire coiling tight until it snaps and your pleasure crests. It feels like you’re soaring, body trembling with the force of your orgasm as you clam down around him, legs shaking and pussy sucking him in deeper.
Your cunt continues to pulse as your descent from the high occurs painfully slow. But Scott’s not done. He just uses you at that point, treating you like a little pocket pussy to get himself off as he fucks dirty into you. He spreads your legs so he can see your tits bouncing with how fast he’s going. You can tell he’s close when his drives get sloppier, cock just fucking into you because he can. Then he’s quickly yanking himself out with a gasp, tilting his cock so that ropes of cum spill across your stomach, your tits, decorating the skirt with abstract splatters of white.
His hard cock twitches against his stomach as he holds himself up on the mattress, labored breaths weighing down on his chest.
Even in your weary state, you can’t help but giggle. “It’s been a while, huh, old man? Can’t keep up anymore?”
He tosses a glare your way. “Let’s not forget the last time I overstimulated you until you cried and begged for me to let you cum again. How many times was it? Five?”
Your cheeks warm at the memory. “That was years ago.”
His gaze softens, melts into something that has your heart squeezing. “Yeah, it was.” ith a groan, he pushes himself up and disappears into the bathroom, leaving you in the mess of his orgasm. When he comes back out, he’s got a warm, damp towel in hand that he’s using to clean you of the sticky mess.
He raises your legs again to check on your pussy.
“Does it hurt?”
You’re only mildly surprised by his concern, mostly because you haven’t been on the receiving end of it for a while. “No, I’m fine.”
“You sure? I went pretty hard.”
All you can do now is roll your eyes, using your foot to nudge his stomach. “I’m a big girl, Miller. I know what I can take.”
His lips twitch as he shakes his head, muttering something you don’t catch under his breath. He plops down next to you, eyes sliding shut as he lets himself sink into the bed. He drapes an arm over his eyes, stomach dipping as he exhales deeply.
The lines of his chest are still defined. If anything, his muscles are more evident now. Veins running along his biceps to display the progress he’s made while he was away. You didn’t realize how much he’s changed, how much broader he got, how there are more grays on his head than before. Jawline that was soft through the year that you knew him sharpened into a knife that slices straight through your chest.
You turn away from him, eyes glued to the ceiling. The moment Scott stepped back into your life, he rolled out a fog that clouded your judgment. Now that the haze has cleared, you’re lying in the consequences of your actions, you can’t help but let the remorse carve its place into your bones. You’re a fool if you think this time will be any different.
It took you one night — one night — to fall for his charm. One night for your years-long resolve to fall apart.
You thought you would feel differently about him now, that you could let these silly emotions fade into dust in his absence. However, your heart still beats the same way for him — a little faster, skipping a beat or two, but always towards him. The two of you still move in sync, like two pieces of the same puzzle finally slotting together.
But you’ve changed — or, you should’ve changed. You shouldn’t be this easy, not anymore. Not when there’s more at risk than just your heart.
The shame crashes over you in waves, pulling you under, and suddenly, you’re breathless. The air feels thin when you think of Ben — your son who doesn’t even know who his father is, who has been curious enough to ask once but kind enough not to ask twice.
An arm splaying across your thighs sends you crashing back to reality. He rumbles with eyes closed, “Sleep.”
Gently, you remove his arm as you come to your feet. You move swiftly, body functioning the same it always does — opting for flight rather than fight. You collect your panties and quickly tug them on under your skirt. Before you can reach for your top, a hand wraps around your arm.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m gonna go.”
His confusion deepens. “Why?”
With a shrug, you pick up your corset from the floor and zip it back up. Scott steps in your path before you can make it to the entryway — still fully nude, cock half hard.
You force your eyes to stay on his face instead. “We fucked, we’re good, right?”
Annoyance flashes across his eyes. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“What else do you want from me, Scott?” You sigh.
You try to sidestep him but he moves faster. His shoulders stretch out to their full breadth as he straightens. “What if I want to fuck again later?”
“You’ve survived this long with your fist, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
For a moment, he doesn’t say a word. The silence lingers like a ghost between you. He looks conflicted, eyes shifting around the room like he can find the answer somewhere on the walls. “We haven’t seen each other in years and you’re flaking on me?”
It’s your turn to offer no response, mainly because you don’t have one.
“You disappear on me for years. I’m seeing you for the first time since we graduated and you can’t even be bothered to stay?”
You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I just really need to get home. I have to go to work tomorrow to wrap up a few things.”
“I can drive you.”
“I have no clothes.”
“We’ll leave early in the morning.”
“Scott.”
Your mind wanders to Ben, wondering what he’s doing right now, how you should be there with him — instead of here with the dad that he never knew.
“Alright. Let me drive you at least.”
He watches as your eyes get distracted again by his nude form before you, him completely shameless, maybe even smug that you still find yourself cross-eyed with him.
“No, I can find my own ride.”
When you manage to maneuver around him, Scott hooks a finger through one of your belt loops to yank you back, and you’re now facing his broad, bare chest, the light smattering of curls directly in your line of sight.
“Can I see you tomorrow then?”
He ducks his head so his lips brush over yours. You can feel that familiar dizziness tease the edges of your rational mind. He knows exactly what he’s doing, especially when you unconsciously lean towards him, like a moth to flame, Icarus who flew too close to the sun.
“Scott,” you whisper when he pulls back to mock you.
“You ever gonna tell me what happened? Why you left me high and dry. You disappeared from everywhere, couldn’t find you on anything,” Scott begins, “Then you went ahead and changed your number. I had no way to reach you.”
You don’t blame him for the bitterness that stains his voice. Even after you promised to stay in touch, the further along you were in your pregnancy, the more you realized that you couldn’t handle the guilt of lying to him. So you… simply stopped. Stopped responding to his texts. Stopped picking up his calls.
Once he ceased his efforts, you changed your number. You hoped he wouldn’t notice, that it would be a clean slate. Clearly, that isn’t the case.
“Can we talk about this another time? I’m exhausted and I’m sticky—”
“Use my shower. Sleep here. I’ll drive you home then to work in the morning.”
It’s a kind offer. Far too generous for a man whom you distanced yourself from. “You don’t have—”
“I want to,” he insists, “don’t be fucking difficult.”
“Tomorrow, alright. Please,” you plead one last time.
Scott’s blue eyes wash over you, searching for a sign of weakness. He must see the firm stubborn hold in your gaze, because you see him deflate in real time. “Fine. Give me your number.” You open your mouth, ready to extend some bullshit excuse, but he beats you to it. “So help me god if you try to argue with me again, woman, I’m tying you to my bed.”
You know he’s serious. You can only relent and say that you’ll text him.
“Now.”
“Scott.”
“I’m not fucking around,” he snaps, “I’m not spending the time I have here trying to chase your ass down again.”
Again? You’re too tired to question it further so you pull out your phone, finding his contact — one that you haven’t touched in some time — and shoot him a quick message.
“Happy?”
“Delighted,” he bites back, baring his teeth at you.
You only roll your eyes. “Now, if there’s nothing else, I’m going to go.”
“Call a car.”
“‘Course, I will!”
He snorts. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t have taken the T home.”
You’re about to argue again, but he knows you too well. The T would’ve saved you money, but certainly not time. Instead of replying, you say, “I’m going to go.”
Scott still seems none too pleased but lets you go.
As you cave to the pull of slumber that evening, your phone lights up with a message.
It was good seeing you tonight.
You’re a goddamn coward, that’s what you are. You don’t actually have to come into work the next day but you needed an out. Instead, you wake up that morning with an old friend — that jackhammering in your head commonly known as a hangover.
Vices hit a little differently when you’re older, especially when you haven’t touched a drop of it in a while.
That goes for the drinks and Scott.
It feels like a fever dream when you wake up alone the next morning, you wanted to pretend like none of it ever happened. Like you didn’t meet your former fuck buddy slash friend slash father of your child at a club and went to his hotel with him as if no time had passed.
Opening your phone to his text was the first slap of reality.
The second was when you look in the mirror to see the marks all over your neck like you’ve been mauled by a mountain lion.
Possessive fucker.
Jenna’s message certainly isn’t helping either. Hope you had a great night ;)
You did. You wish you didn’t but Scott somehow still knows you like the back of his hand and, if you had stayed, there would be no doubt that he would change your great night into a fantastic night.
Pinching the bridge of your nose, you quickly reply to her with an appropriately crude emoji.
Scott — well, you do what you do best. You don’t respond.
You don’t reply when he asks you what time you get off work today.
You don’t reply when he sends a single question mark as a follow-up.
You definitely don’t reply when he says—
You’re going to ghost me again, aren’t you?
Instead of acknowledging the magnitude of your actions, you spend the weekend keeping yourself busy. Every time your mind veers to Scott and the messages left unanswered, you pick a new spot in the house to clean.
By the time Ben returns on Sunday, the house is spotless.
Your mom looks at you suspiciously. “You cleaned.”
“Yes,” you say before you turn to pepper wet kisses all over your baby. He giggles and his face scrunches up. “How was weekend with grandma?”
“We ate ice cream!”
It’s your mother’s turn to look guilty when you raise an eyebrow at her. “Is that so? How much ice cream?”
Ben, realizing what he’s just exposed, turns to his grandmother then back to you. He pinches his fingers together. “This much.”
“Mhmm, next time grandma gives you ice cream, I’m gonna remind her how much dental visits cost,” you coo, pinching his nose.
He runs off to unpack his bags, which leaves you alone with your mother who is much too perceptive for her own good.
“So, good weekend?”
“Good,” you brush off, glancing at your gleaming kitchen counter.
“Did you bring a man home?”
“Mother!” You gasp, “We are not talking about that.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re an adult, I’m sure the birds and the bees talk is no longer necessary. Not to mention protection, you’ve learned your lesson there.”
“Thanks,” you drawl.
“I’m just saying you look… good. Satisfied.” Your cheeks flame. “You know you’re allowed to have a life outside of all this. You’re still young and there’s still time to find love.”
Love, huh? Scott’s face appears in your mind with that stupidly attractive smirk. You shake your head. “Yes, Mom. I’m aware.” She stares skeptically at you. “I know. It was just a night of fun. I have responsibilities, can’t be reckless anymore.”
“It was chance,” your mom murmurs, “you were never reckless.”
“The universe has picked her favorites and I’m not one of them,” you laugh, “but I think I milked my luck with Ben, can’t ask for a better kid. Hopefully he behaved?”
“He was an angel.” You nod, humming. “Are you not going to tell me about this man then?”
Groaning, you try to walk away from her but she follows you down the hall. “There’s nothing to tell and I didn’t bring him home.”
“Oh, you stayed at his?”
“No, I… went home.”
She lets out a little surprised noise. “That bad?”
No, that good. “I’m not discussing this with you further.”
Monday sends you crashing back to earth. While you spent your Sunday recuperating with Ben, a calm day of eating vegetables to balance the treats and touching grass on the playground, being back in this office — this dreary reality reminds you that life really isn’t that swell.
It doesn’t help that Jenna pounces the moment you walk in, an endless stream of questions pouring out of her lips about the hottie you were with and if you got your brains fucked out of your head. You don’t satisfy her with a response, slipping into your office and locking it shut.
An office job coordinating and babysitting adults for the sake of science was never part of the plan, but plans change and you’ve learned to accept it. Now, you’re stretching to work out the crick in your neck as you do a doom scroll of the countless unread emails in your inbox.
You’re trapped in there for most of the day, vision beginning to blur when you have to squint at the screen to decipher the letters. However, the banging close to the end of the day has you jolting awake at your desk, knee slamming up against your table.
A curse slips past your lips as you hop over to open it. Jenna — wide-eyed and dangerously excited — grins like a cat that’s caught a mouse.
“Hottie alert.”
You look at her, unimpressed. “Please don’t involve me in your plans to cross professional boundaries. I don’t want HR to mark me as an accomplice.”
“No, I mean hottie — as in hottie from the club who gave you those hickeys that even your concealer can’t hide.”
Your hands fly to your neck, where the bruises pulse in demand of your attention. Warmth crawls across your face. You’ve spent enough time allowing your mind to wander to memories from that night, you don’t need to do it again at work.
“What are you talking about?”
“He’s outside — looking for you!”
The splat of your heart dropping to the floor echoes in the ensuing silence. You must be hearing things because you could’ve sworn Jenna just told you that Scott is here at your workplace. The place where you work.
“No,” you blurt out.
“Yes,” she hisses, “get your ass out there. Clearly, you made quite the impression. Or did he make an impression with his dick inside your—”
“Finish that sentence and I revoke your rights to see Ben,” you warn and she gasps, biting down her giggles. “Can you just tell him I’m not here? Better yet, tell him there’s no one here by my name.”
She gives you a look. “He’s not an idiot. He saw me and clocked me as the friend who dressed her like that.”
Groaning, you press your forehead against the door.
“Was he that bad?”
Again, that good.
“He looks like a good time. Mind if I take a crack at him?”
The question has you jerking upright, your expression souring. Jenna’s a great friend, but Scott is— what is Scott? He’s nobody. He should be nobody.
“I’m kidding,” she laughs, “jeez, you’re obviously into him. Why are you being difficult?”
Because this will end the same way. Your heart broken. Scott gone again.
“Listen, I don’t think he’s leaving and the others are starting to gossip. They think you’ve got golden pussy that’s bringing a male suitor around this desperately.”
Fuck, the last thing you need is Scott causing problems at work. With a relenting sigh, you follow Jenna out front and find Scott standing there, looking impassively at some of the women — nurses and patients alike — who are shooting flirtatious looks at him. In fact, he’s not looking at them at all — his eyes float around the room until they land on you.
He doesn’t look pissed. No, his lips tug up into a smirk tinged with mirth. He says your name, your heart sinks. It sounds like a greeting and a threat. Your stomach turns.
Scott looks you up and down, a silent assessment that concludes in confusion at your clothes. Instead of addressing it, he hands you one of the cups in his hand.
“Tea,” he answers before you can ask, “with a spoonful of honey.”
Your favorite afternoon remedy.
Unfortunately, you feel your colleagues’ aggressively probing gazes burning to your side. It’s natural they’re curious; you’ve never had visitors aside from your mom and Ben — let alone a man. Let alone a man who looks like Scott.
You’ll never hear the end of this.
“Follow me.” You drag him by the elbow towards the waiting room, far away from the disappointed looks. When you’re finally out of sight, you turn around. “What are you doing here?”
Scott looks far from pleased, but his tone is calm. “Came to see you.” He shrugs, taking a sip of his coffee — probably black with a drop of cream.
“You can’t be doing this to me at work, Scott.”
“You weren’t responding to my texts.”
“I’m at work.”
“I can see that.”
“Don’t be cute.”
“You always think I’m cute.”
You take a deep breath. “Scott, what happened last Friday—” He perks up. “It can’t happen again.”
“Why not?” He scowls, jaw clicking off to the side.
“We’re adults now, we can’t be… doing whatever we were doing. It was fun when we were young but come on.”
“What? Too old to have fun?”
“I think I’m at a point where I should be looking for something serious, not a repeat of college.”
There’s a firmness to his eyes that makes you squirm. Something unexpectedly grave that’s foreign to Scott. “Serious,” he echoes, “you want serious?”
“Of course, I do.”
He licks his lips, taking a step towards you. Your heart skips a beat.
“If that’s the case—”
“Mom!”
Your entire body goes cold, the word both warms and slashes your chest. Your son barrels down the hallway and you barely flinch when you feel his tiny arms wrap around your legs, Ben cheesing up at you with a toothy grin.
You don’t spare Scott a glance when you crouch down to Ben’s height, allowing him to wrangle you in a tight hug. “Hi, bud, what’re you doing here? I was supposed to meet you at home.”
“Missed you.” He pulls away to beam at you and your heart positively melts.
This perfect kid. “Missed you too, buddy,” you smile, “I still need to finish up work. Think you can be patient for me and wait a few more minutes?”
He blinks at you. “Aunt Jenna?”
You shake your head. Jenna is always a crowd favorite. “Aunt Jenna—”
“Is right here!” The familiar voice cheers as she appears next to you. Ben throws himself around her legs next with a giggle. “Come on, we’ve got some new toys in the playroom I can show you. Cool LEGOs.”
Before you know it, she’s already whisking him away, leavingyou, Scott, and your mother — who is staring at him with a little too much curiosity.
On the other hand, you can’t even bring yourself to look at him. The thing that shakes your confidence the most is his silence. Upset Scott goes on long tirades, spitting out vile things until he’s clam enough to take action.
However, a very, truly angry Scott is quiet. The rage simmers on the surface, bubbling in imminent explosion on the inside.
Your mother grins at him with sparkling eyes. “I never knew my daughter had such a handsome friend.”
“Mom!” You immediately scold, embarrassment spreading through you like wildfire.
Scott clears his throat, smile cordial as he turns to your mom. “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am. I’m Scott. A friend.” The last word he seems to add reluctantly.
“Oh yes, she did mention… a friend,” your mom says with a teasing lilt that proves to push that stake of betrayal deeper into your gut. “We’re going to head back for dinner after this. Would you like to join us?”
“He has other things to do,” you say at the same time Scott responds with, “I’d love to.” This time, you do turn to look at him.
His eyes are cool, almost distant, as he regards you. It’s an impassive look that says more than most people expect. A shudder wracks through you as your mouth dries in fear.
“I’ll be there,” he emphasizes, looking pointedly at you.
Your body withers slightly under the intensity of his gaze and you choose to redirect your own displeasure at your mother who simply disregards you. “Wonderful, I’ll wait with Ben. Come find us when you’re done, honey.”
Leave it to your own blood to make the bed and force you to lie in it.
But you’re also your mother’s daughter so you take that as a chance to escape yourself. “I have to wrap up work so I’ll see you later,” you exhale quickly and high-tail out of there before he can even open his mouth.
Procrastinating emotions has always been your strong suit.
By the time you finish work and step back outside, you pray that Scott’s anger would’ve faded. He’s calm when he agrees to follow your family car in his own. You’re constantly peeking at your rearview mirror to see if he changes his mind but his car never disappears from your line of sight.
When you let all of them inside the apartment, Scott gives it a critical once-over. He politely toes off his shoes and steps into the living room. Sweat piles on the back of your neck as you urge Ben to wash up while you and your mom prepare dinner.
“Pasta alright?” You ask, testing the waters.
His answer is respectful and composed. A simple yes, thank you.
It only makes you more nervous.
Dinner passes by without a hitch, despite your bouncing knee the entier time. Your mom asks Scott how he knows you and what he does for work; she’s at least smart enough to tread carefully on the bigger questions of why you’ve never mentioned him and why he feels comfortable enough to show face at your job. The extent of his introduction to Ben is taht he is your son and Scott is your friend.
“Uncle Scott,” Ben confirms, familiarizing himself with Scott’s name on his tongue.
You see the ice in his eyes chip away, albeit slightly, but he nods.
After Ben gets exactly a single scoop of the chocolate chip ice cream in the fridge, you tell him that it’s finally time for bed. He whines about how having a guest means that he should be able to stay up longer. You give him one look and he promptly skulks to the bathroom.
You take this chance to escape Scott’s attention for a little while; god knows his staring gets unnerving after two hours of it. You take your time preparing Ben for bed, switching him to his comfy pajamas, reading him his favorite book with the voices the way he likes it. When he’s finally out cold, you get up, press a kiss to his temple, and turn to exit.
Scott’s standing in the doorway, watching you quietly. His expression is thoughtful, but he doesn’t say a word when you lead him back to the kitchen.
You walk your mom to the door, thanking her for the day.
Her eyes wander to Scott behind you who seems intent on lingering even when it’s late. She smiles at you. “He seems like a good one,” she whispers. “I like him.”
“You’ve known him all of two hours.”
“I can sense it. I like how you are with him.” You raise an eyebrow in question. “Emotional. You get riled up so easily. You’ve spent the last few years playing adult that it’s sweet to see you like this.”
Your cheeks are hot as you shoo her again. She throws out a final nice to meet you and see you again soon before she finally leaves the two of you alone.
Scott’s eyes chase after you as you fuss with your kettle, preparing caffeine for the conversation you’re about to have. Maybe you should break out that tequila buried deep inside your cabinet instead. He no doubt has questions. You don’t know if he’s connected the dots; you can only hope he hasn’t. Ben looks more like you after all.
There’s a small part of you that hopes Scott would know, call it fatherly intuition, but a bigger part of you wants to avoid addressing that question. He’s only here to visit, he doesn’t need to know that he has a son. If he doesn’t know, then the two of you can return to life as is once he leaves.
You don’t want to admit how much the thought stings.
“Ben,” Scott clears his throat as you set a cup of coffee in front of him. He gratefully accepts it, takes a sip. “Is his dad…”
“Not around.” It’s a safe answer.
“Who is he?”
“No one you know,” you lie smoothly, maybe too quickly.
His eyes narrow a fraction but he doesn’t push. “You never told me you have a son.”
“We weren’t talking, Miller. It would’ve been strange to say hey, hope you’re doing well, by the way, I have a kid!”
“Well, whose fault is that?” He snaps.
The air is strung tight, electricity crackling quietly in the echo of his words.
“I just—” He takes a deep breath, hands shoved into his hair. “I don’t want to fight,” he says, doing his damndest to try and mean it. You know that he wants to push, to question, to challenge you. Confront you for leaving him in the wind.
But he doesn’t want to lose you — the same way you don’t want to either.
“Ben’s a good kid,” you murmur, thumb stroking the rim of your mug.
“Well, you did raise him,” he notes, lips twitching up.
You clear your throat. “This is why I can’t do… whatever that was last night again. It was a fluke and a mistake. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a night out like that and apparently I just needed to get laid.”
Instead of the chuckle you’re expecting, some jab about you being abstinent, there is weight that settles heavy in the atmosphere. Scott looks at you carefully, lips tight. “A mistake? Really?”
“Not—” you stop yourself, biting your tongue, “not like that.” He cocks an eyebrow, looking at you with a mix of irritation and interest. “I just think I shouldn’t have been so irresponsible.”
“Why? You would’ve fucked any man that night?”
“Of course not!”
“So just me then.”
“Yes!”
The moment the confirmation leaves your mouth, you stop. Scott smiles, smug. “Good to know.”
“Oh, screw you.”
“You already did.”
The urge to hurl your mug at his head grows stronger by the second.
Scott bites down on his smile but you can still see the ghost of amusement on his lips. “But, listen, in all seriousness, if you need anything— I know raising a kid isn’t cheap and, with your hours and obviously childcare and all the necessities—”
You cringe. “Please don’t tell me you’re offering me money right now.”
“I just want to help.”
“Not your responsibility.”
His jaw clenches. “I know that, but it doesn’t mean I can’t help a friend.”
His jaw clenches. “I know that, but it doesn’t mean I can’t help a friend.”
You consider arguing with him again, defending your stance as a perfectly capable, independent, single mother. However, you know he means well. This is how Scott Miller helps, this is how he shows you he cares.
“Thank you,” you sigh, “I appreciate it, but I promise you I’m fine.”
Scott hesitates for a second. “You’re not a nurse.” It’s not a question.
“I wanted to do it, but the pregnancy and the tough hours just didn’t seem healthy – or fair to a newborn. I’m doing something safer, more regular hours. It’s not so bad.”
“Wasn’t your dream though.”
“Well, sometimes dreams don’t work out.”
He doesn’t look appeased. “Why not now? He’s a little more grown. How old is he?”
Your heart rushes in your ears. “I have a good routine going. It’s not like I hate what I’m doing now—”
“But you don’t love it.” Once again, not a question.
“It’s… a job, Scott, I’m lucky to be employed in this economy.”
He grunts but doesn’t push further. “I’m not going to give you shit for not telling me—”
“Shocker.” The sarcastic remark slips out on instinct, Scott tosses you a scalding look with no heat behind his eyes.
“But at least let me try and help you.” He knows you too well, can sense the argument threatening to fall from your lips, so he quickly adds, “I don’t want to hear it. However I can help, I will.”
When he has this voice, you know there’s no point in arguing, so you let it slide. “Sure. Thank you,” you surrender. “How long are you here for?”
“I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon.”
Oh. You’re fast to school your expression. “Got it. We should plan to catch up properly at some point then. Maybe tomorrow morning.”
The corners of his lips tug up and you’re already rolling your eyes, ears tingling with the stupid comment to come. “You don’t think we did that already? Or did you want a repeat?”
“Pig.”
“You love it.”
A laugh bubbles up your throat, light and airy that has Scott’s smile rising a smidgen higher.
For a moment, you think everything will be okay.
+ sam: im sorry for the woman i've become with him (i'm not) (i love this idiot so dearly). hope you enjoyed this part and look forward for more drama to come in the second!!!
scott is yearning for (taglist): @unabashedlyinlovewithyou @eiaf4uwn @thebabykashmere @nbhrhn @w1nchesterfiles @ae1szn @pinksplace @stanmarvelous @coffinlolz @chloluvsdilfs @athenxt
(ignore me at will, i just found you're account and im in love) but im thinking abt scott miller how your relationship is on par with the storms you chase, you fight you fuck, both getting under each other's skin. A newcomer would assume you hate each other with all the arguing but come night time the noises from one of your rooms is enough to prove otherwise. I think a semi outside perspective would be very interesting.
also i think you're anon emoji link might be broken but i'll take 🪲 if thats okay? (this is my first time doing smth like this)
❀ ͏᭥ [ MDNI / INBOX / ANONS ] ─ i was saving this ask for when i got back into my scott phase and guess who just rewatched twisters the other day...MEEE. but this was somthing new for me bc ive never written smtg in this style before sooo i hope this is what u were talkin about !! (and you're now the proud owner of 🪲 <3)
you and scott absolutely hate each other’s guts, there’s no doubt about it. the game of death glares was never ending, so sharp that the poor newcomer thought he’d be cut by the blunt edges. his first day was like a match to the death. filled to the brim with arguments, back and forth yells that clouded the air with uncomfortable tension—but it’s only awkward for him. everyone else was oddly used to it, not even taking time to bat an eye. he whispers to javi,“is this normal..?” leaning in to make sure the words didn’t get past them. “oh yea, but you’ll get used to it. trust me,” he replied with a light chuckle. It was like there was a huge inside joke he hasn’t been invited to enjoy.
this must be an hr crisis, right? having the co-owner of storm par and one of his employees at each other's neck every hour of the working day and beyond that? it was a tragedy he thought. hearing it, seeing it, the glances shot at him when he was caught staring after the stormy quarrel had calmed down for the time being.
once, he even caught scott picking a fight with you childishly so. scott slid beside you, sneakily poking your side until he evoked a negative reaction. obviously, you swatted his hand away, wagging your finger in his face as you told him off. you dropped comments like “god! you’re so fucking childish!” and “don’t you have anything better to do, miller? run your damn company and let me do my job!” the newcomer's jaw dropped. not that he was on scott’s side of anything, (he prefers you after all. you were way nicer when scott wasn’t in your personal space like he belonged there.) but scott was your boss. still, he stood unbothered.a sly smirk curling on his lips as he rose his hands up in defense before saying “sure. go ahead and do your job then, kid. don’t let me bother you.” scott’s voice was weirdly flirtatious for the situation. the newcomer's neck turned and twisted to see if any of his co-workers were seeing what he was seeing. they did, but they didn’t give a single shit! he felt like he was plopped in the twilight zone.
but the weirdest thing about you and scott’s situation was the time he found scott knocking on your motel room door. a special knock. he couldn’t believe his eyes. were the two of you secretly going to argue after the shift was over? he was already pushing exhaustion. of course, he had to be the lucky bastard to get a room neighboring yours. the door opened and scott disappeared inside your room. now, he was invested. it would be stupid to waste hours of sleep when you guys would be loudly ripping each other's heads off in the next room. he stood next to the paper thin walls, trying to pick up any noises. and he heard some. he heard lots. loud moans, a very springy bed and the window shattering screams of scott’s name coming from a familiar voice. oh and a sound he almost forgot—the bed hitting the wall over and over and over again. the newcomer could stand there in shock, but the more he listened, the more it all made sense.
pairing: dad!scott miller x f!co-parent reader
synopsis: you go to pick your daughter up from scott's after a bad date, but she begs you to stay and you just don't have it in you to argue with her
content: [18+ MDNI!!] family time!!, slightly bossy lacey, scott not being a total pushover, reader being reader <3, making out, a little dry humping, a little thigh riding, bad bad date, unprotected pinv (good for them lowkey), creampie, doggy, scott eats it through reader's panties, light spanking, a little tit squeezing, softish scott, light anal play, creampie
word count: 5.2k (woah?)
taglist: @she-sounds-hidieous, @dracuula98, @1eliana123-blog, @everydaydreamer, @wildflowersandvibranium, @clarkentluvr, @magicwithaknife, @winterschildren8, @laniec03, @peachiestevie, @snowyathena, @only-dot-nicky, @hoodharlow, @whosmev, @rynwritesstuff, @only4fun11, @kryptidfiles, @adoringanakin, @jam1esl0v4, @aciecre, @yinny-roma, @burrowedinmyheart, @mossmydarling
author's note: lowkey soft launching an*l on this blog but also highkey need to make these two much freakier frogs... anyways more dad!scott... me fulfilling requests?? fab double whammy. this has been extremely lightly edited so please have grace!! if u guys like it, please feel free to leave a comment, a reblog, maybe even send an ask!! thank u and i hope u enjoy!!
dad!scott masterlist ☆ main masterlist ☆ join my taglist
You should know it’s going to be one of those nights when Scott and Lacey show up at the door and Lacey doesn’t have her backpack.
“Honey, you have to have your backpack ready when I pick you up,” you sigh.
Your night is long enough already, you don’t need the added stress of negotiating with her.
There’s no response, just the gentle lean and stretching of her arms that signals you have to take her.
Her face is already shifting, features rearranging themselves into the picture of gentle pleading.
“Daddy said I should ask if maybe I can stay another night and you can also stay,” she huffs out in one breath. She occupies her hands with the necklace you’re wearing: a dainty heart locket with pictures of her on either side.
“Lacey sweetheart. You know you have to come home with mommy today. Scott go get her backpack please.”
Lacey turns her pleading gaze on Scott and you can’t help the irritated sigh that leaves your lips when he doesn’t move.
“Please mommy it’s just today.”
She’s looking straight at you now, the corners of her lips already tilting down.
You know it's going to be one of those nights when her bottom lip starts quivering, tears already gathering on her bottom lash line.
"Mommy, please. I always have to go. I wanna stay," she says, voice wavering as she looks between you and Scott. Soft hands tug at your earrings before resting gently on your cheek, the way you rest your palm on her cheeks when you need her to focus on you.
"I wanna stay again mommy, please," she repeats, already sniffling.
You know you need to put your foot down now, respect the rules you've put in place, but with the night you've had you just don't have it in you to add ‘making Lacey cry’ to your list, so you acquiesce with a sigh and a nod, brushing past Scott as he tries not to smile.
“You look good tonight,” he says. “Real good.”
You roll your eyes, not even sparing him a glance as you push your jacket into his hands.
“Rough night, huh,” you hear him say as you walk into the living room, where Lacey’s already waiting for you on the couch, patting the empty spots next to her with a smile on her face so bright you forgive her for being Scott’s most effective weapon against you.
“Daddy and I made pizzas all on our own today,” she says, excitedly pressing her fingers into your thighs like she’s kneading dough. “Daddy was throwing it real high up. Like whoosh!! like a real pizza maker!”
“Sounds exciting! Did you throw any pizza dough in the air?”
“No. I tried a little bit but I think I’m not good at it yet,” her voice drops and you can almost see her next to Scott, little brain working over time to cobble together the co-ordination to copy him as best she could.
“A little more practice and you’ll be good in no time,” Scott promises, couch shifting as he settles in on her other side.
That perks her right up, and she makes Scott promise to help her practice the next time he has her.
“‘course, sweet pea,” he says with a squeeze.
Satisfied with his promise, she turns her attention to picking a movie, flicking through the options on the TV. She settles on Toy Story, then hops down to get some snacks with Scott.
“Drink?”
“Wine,” you sigh, sprawling across couch. “Don’t be shy, either.”
“Scale of one to ten how bad was he?” Scott calls from the kitchen.
You hear cabinet doors opening and closing, the drag of Lacey’s stepladder as she insists she can get her own snacks.
“Ten. Miserable from start to finish,” you complain as you get comfortable.
“From start to finish?”
“Start to finish,” you confirm, sitting up again when Lacey comes back with a packet of gummy worms, holding them out for you to open. You’re going to talk to Scott about candy after bed time, but for now you’re content with deducting Mom Tax in the form of three worms and popping them into your mouth while Lacey tries to get comfortable.
When Scott gets back with your drinks, you’re happy to find that he hasn’t been shy at all with your wine.
“Now we can watch,” Lacey says.
“Nuh uh, little miss,” Scott starts as she reaches for the remote. “You need to put your jammies on before we watch.”
“But why if it’s not bed time yet.”
She makes no move to get up, instead turning her most pitiful ‘please’ look onto Scott.
“Because if you fall asleep, and I wake you up to change you’re gonna be grumpy.”
“But I won’t fall asleep, I promise.”
She sticks her pinky out and you see Scott’s hand twitch.
“Yes you will sweetheart, it’s late.”
“How come mommy doesn’t have to change, but she always falls asleep on movie night?”
“Because if mommy falls asleep, I don’t have to wake her up, or carry her to bed or change her into her jammies.”
Lacey sighs. Scott sighs louder. Lacey finally gets off the couch.
“Do you want my help?”
“No,” Lacey says, then as an afterthought: “No, thank you, I mean.”
Disappointment flickers across Scott’s face, but it’s gone when he actually turns to you.
There’s a short, awkward silence as Scott puts your feet in his lap, rubbing at your calves while you take a sip.
“I didn’t know you knew how to toss dough,” you say, leaning back onto the armrest so you can look at him. He still has a little flour in his hair, which — now that you’re looking at him properly — you can see is longer than before. It curls at the nape of his neck, and a few stray strands fall into his face. He’s also got facial hair, a fact so surprising you’re shocked you didn’t notice it before.
“And you changed your look. Who are you?”
He rubs at the facial hair in a move that’s a touch too charming to be shy as he smiles at you.
“Thought I’d switch it up a little, you really just noticed?”
“I haven’t seen you in a week, Scott.”
“My hair was definitely longer, you just don’t pay attention to me,” he fake pouts, squeezing at your calf.
You sigh, sitting up so you can take another swig of wine.
“I’m sorry I didn’t notice, Scott. I’m sure it hurt to be spurned,” you remark. “And the dough tossing?”
“Shit. No ‘you look good’, no ‘suits you’ at least? Harsh.”
You roll your eyes.
“You look good, Scott. Facial hair does a lot for you,” you admit. You find it extremely unfair that he looks good with or without. You find it even more unfair that he’d managed to deprive you of the view the entire time you’d known each other.
“I know,” he smiles. “And I didn’t know how to toss pizza dough until two nights ago. I’d signed us up for a Make Your Own Pizza night, but the class got cancelled so I just figured out how to do it myself. Practised when she went to bed. Money saved,” he shrugs, like learning to toss dough because a pizza making class got cancelled was the easiest thing in the world.
“You learned in one night,” you say surprised.
“Not hard to be decent at it. Unless of course you have the co-ordination of a toddler.”
“Or perhaps are one,” you snort.
“Forgot that kids need to grow,” he laughs. “She was a star on the rest of the prep though,” he smiles. There’s an almost dreamy look on his face, and even though you’ve seen it plenty of times, it never fails to surprise you how sentimental Scott gets over Lacey.
You’re robbed of your chance to tease him about it when Lacey comes running back, nightie on both inside out and back to front.
“Movie time,” she says, then sighs when Scott stops her.
“You almost got it right,” he says, sliding it off of her and fixing it before putting it back on. “But the picture needs to be in the front, silly goose,” he adds with tickle of her tummy. She giggles, sharp and high-pitched as Scott scoops her up and brings her onto the couch. You can’t help the smile on your face when you watch them.
“I’ve never seen these jammies before, Lace,” you say when you notice the picture on the front.
“They’re new, because yesterdays I had an accident but then daddy didn’t have any jammies for me so I had to sleep in his t-shirt but it was huuuuuggeeeee,” she giggles. “So then after that we went to the shops and daddy got me new jammies and some more clothes and even some toys,” she nods.
“Couple months back,” Scott clarifies, but you just laugh.
“You’ve been watching me give her a backpack when she comes to yours and you had clothes?”
“You seemed to like the ritual of it. Who am I to take that from you?”
You want to argue, but Lacey’s impatient and she’s had her movie night delayed long enough so the three of you get comfortable, Lacey in the middle and you and Scott on either side.
As expected, you’re no more than halfway into the movie when Lacey’s head drops onto your arm, her eyes start drooping, eyelids fluttering in an attempt to stay awake.
“Hey sweetpea, might be bedtime,” you whisper, shaking her gently.
“But I’m not sleepy,” she says through a yawn too big for her to pretend.
“We’ll finish the movie tomorrow,” Scott promises.
“Don’t watch it without me,” she says, fighting another yawn.
“Promise. Say goodnight to your mom, and thank you,” Scott instructs.
“Night mommy, thank you for not making us go home,” she says, burrowing her face into the side of your body.
“Goodnight, sweetpea, I love you,” you murmur kissing the top of her head. You suspect she might love you too but her yawn cuts through her words, and then Scott is picking her up and carrying her to bed.
You down what’s left of your wine, consider if you’ll get away with making Scott sleep on his couch. You’re listening to the hum of the TV, enjoying the buzz. It’s been a while since you’ve spent the night at Scott’s, and he’s definitely changed some things, but it feels more familiar than it has any right to. It’s homier than his old one, and he has various Lacey Crafts displayed around the living room. Happy crayon stick figures playing in the sun stuck up on the walls, oddly shaped rocks that have been patchily painted and had googly eyes stuck on them lining the DVD cabinet beneath the TV. So much proof that Lacey lives and plays here that you may as well be back at your house.
“Refill?” Scott’s voice pulls you out of your head.
“And make it generous,” you smile.
He mock salutes, then disappears into the kitchen. With Lacey gone, you feel the urge to smooth down your dress, and you’re suddenly aware of just how overdressed you are to be lying on Scott’s couch. And then you remember it’s not really your fault and you feel yourself getting mad again at your failure of a date night.
“So, what was wrong with this one,” Scott asks when he’s back, handing you your wine. He takes a swig of his own drink before putting on the side table and joining you on the couch. You still have your legs over his lap, but he reaches out so he can trace, soft electrifying spirals on your stomach, his fingers soft and buzzy through the satin.
“You really should’ve let me take her home,” you sigh trying to change the subject. This is too close to intimate for your liking, but the wine makes you lazy and there’s no harm in letting him make you feel better, even just for a little bit.
He cocks his brow at you.
“She’s spending the rest of the break with my parents, remember?”
He rolls his eyes, and then quicker than you can process, he’s pulling you into his chest and laying down so that you’re practically on top of him.
“Tell me about your date,” he says, fingers under your chin to force you to look at him.
“You’re just gonna make fun of me.”
“Obviously. But I’d also like to know, I’m curious.”
“And how would your girlfriend feel about you listening to me vent about my shitty date while lying on top of you?”
His face pulls together in confusion.
“My what?”
“Aren’t you seeing someone?” you ask.
“No,” he huffs.
“Yes you are. I met her last month, Scott,” you remind him.
You remember her — driven and sweet and completely taken by Scott, clinging to him as the three of you chit chatted idly at Javi’s birthday party.
“Not anymore,” he mutters, gently pulling your hand up so he can press a kiss to your fingertips. “Funnily enough, we broke up the day after the party.”
“Scott.”
“She broke up with me! I tried,” he defends, his other hand sliding down your back to rest on your butt.
You cradle his jaw, ignoring the flutter when you feel the rough hair beneath your palms.
“Is that the reason for the new look? Heartbreak makeover?"
“No. I told you I just wanted to switch it up.” He sighs. “See how I answer your questions? Answer mine.”
“Why do you care?”
“You’re my daughter’s mom. Be weird if I didn’t care about you at least a little.”
He’s too sincere, not enough sarcasm behind his words for you to justify another deflection.
“This was a third date, and I definitely ignored some of his earlier… quirks, but he was nice overall and I thought he’d be a fun guy casually,” you start.
“You ignored someone’s little quirks? Since when?”
“Since I got told I’m too picky,” you shrug. “Anyway. I get all dolled up, look good, feel good, smell good and when I get to the restaurant I’m waiting almost twenty minutes for him to get there. NO text, NO call, NO warning. Then he gets there, doesn’t even apologise or try to compensate by complimenting me. Just ‘hi’ and a side hug and then he was pulling out his seat.”
Scott’s face has morphed into something you can only place as disgust, and you shrug.
“I figure he’s having a bad day, so I let it go and try making conversation, but all he can talk about is himself, and he snaps his fingers at the waitress, and it’s like… who is this guy? Obviously, I ask him what’s going on, thinking that maybe he’s dealing with something and do you wanna know what his answer was?”
“Please, spill.”
“He was acting like a douche, because he felt like I hadn’t invited him home quick enough and instead of coming to the conclusion that maybe I wanted to get to know him first and this is only our third fucking date,” you whisper harshly, trying your best not to get loud, “maybe I was just being wary. No, he decides that I’m purposely holding out on him because he was ‘too nice’ and maybe if he did a complete 180, I’d feel more attracted to him. Now I’m confused, because do I seem like the type of woman who dates assholes? And I ask him that, and he says that I must be, because otherwise I wouldn’t be a single mom. The fucking nerve, he’s never even asked about you. And the cherry on top?”
“You’re not done?”
He looks genuinely incredulous.
“God, I wish. The worst thing is that he picked some upscale restaurant so now I'm out a hundred bucks and I didn't even have a good time. Food was great though," you shrug.
"You paid to go on a shitty date. How empowering," Scott rolls his eyes.
"Don't start, we were having such a good time. You were almost one of the girls. "
"Just saying. I'm an asshole and I wouldn't make you pay to go on a shitty date with me," he shrugs, the pads of his fingers warm as he takes the glass from you. “Also I don’t wanna be one of the girls. I’m your daughter’s father.”
You ignore the way his fingers have slipped beneath the hem of your dress, trying desperately to focus on his face instead.
“I bet this is real amusing for you,” you say, narrowing your eyes.
“Not in the slightest. I didn’t realise it was that bad.”
His fingers toy with the edges of your underwear, snapping it gently against your skin.
"Dating as a single parent is hard,” you shrug.
“I’m a single dad and I’ve been just fine.”
“Yes, ‘cause you’re a single dad,” you emphasise, pushing a finger into his chest. “Women love single dads, especially if their kids love them. And you have a daughter. Women fucking go crazy for dads with daughters.”
“Yeah well you have those,” he argues, nodding down at your boobs. “Worked on me.” He smirks down at you, and you ignore the traitorous tug of want in your stomach.
“These aren’t as effective on weird men when you’re a single mom. Having a daughter is always effective when you’re a single dad.”
“Compelling argument, except I don’t use Lacey as a flirting mechanism.”
“Oh so it’s just me you use her emotional guerrilla skills on, then?”
He scoffs.
“She wanted to stay another night. You know what she’s like when she wants something. Stubborn, just like you.”
You roll your eyes.
“You’re not slick, Scott.”
“You sounded mad over text. Knew you wouldn’t say yes if I asked.”
He’s pressing kisses to the side of your head, and the scratch of his moustache more pleasant than you’d like to let him know.
“Scott?”
He hums, pulling away so he can look at you.
“I don’t need you to pity fuck me.”
He scowls in offense.
“I’ve never pity fucked you before, so why would I start now? You look good,” he says with a kiss to your cheek. “You look really good, and I don’t know about the other losers you fuck, but I never let a pretty woman get all dolled up just to send her home high and dry and out a hundred dollars.”
You sit up, pulling him up with you so you’re straddling him.
“You make it sound so kind. Almost charitable,” you mumble as you push at the hair framing his face.
“I’m nicer than you give me credit for.”
He presses a soft kiss into the crook of your neck, then squeezes at your ass. “I also missed you.”
“Scott,” you sigh.
“Nothing wrong. We’re both single right now,” he mutters into your neck. He cradles your face, tracing his thumb over your bottom lip. His lips ghost over yours, and you shudder, then he’s kissing you. The pressure of his lips on yours is dizzying in a way you can’t blame on the alcohol, and he tugs at your bottom lip with a familiar hunger, his arm circling your waist as the other keeps your face cradled.
Your fingers tangle in his hair as you press in closer to him, pushing him into the back of the couch as you press your tongue to his, smiling when he lets out a strangled moan beneath you. It’s an ego boost, feeling the rise and fall of Scott’s chest beneath you as you bite gently at his bottom lip, his hands on your waist as he rocks you against him.
He only pulls away to make you straddle his thigh, pressing long kisses on your throat before kissing you properly again, and your head feels light as you feel him thick and solid beneath you. Reliable, almost. His hands are under the hem of your dress again, kneading the flesh of your ass, squeezing so hard you know he’s gonna leave bruises. He drags his tongue along the path marked out by the dainty chain of your locket, then presses a soft kiss to the metal heart before turning his attention to your boobs.
“Been keeping my girls happy for me?” he asks. He nips at the exposed cleavage, hands cupping them through the dress. “They’re wasted on the men you date,” he complains. A hand slips down the front of your dress, and you want to chastise him, but he’s flexing his thigh beneath you and when he takes the flesh into his mouth you lose all focus, fingers curling tighter into his hair.
The creaking of a door stops you both, sends a sharp bolt of fear down your spine. When Lacey footsteps don’t echo down the hallway you sigh in relief.
“Couch probably isn’t the best place for this,” he says, pulling your dress back into place.
You wonder whether a house with Lacey in it is ever the best place for this, but he’s already standing you up, guiding you towards the bedroom.
He’s barely locked his door when his lips are on yours again and he’s pushing you backwards until the backs of your knees hit the bed.
“We’re not supposed to do this while she’s in the house,” you whisper, fingers already fumbling with the waistband of his sleep pants.
“Relax,” he says with a firm grip on your hands. He places them on the bed next to you, and then he’s spreading your legs as he sinks down onto his knees. “You just have to be quiet for me, yeah? Look too good to end the night without something.” He presses a soft kiss to the inside of your knee, heat blooming on your thighs when he pushes the hem of your dress up, the satin bunching up around your hips. Teeth press into the soft flesh of your thighs and you can’t help the short, strangled sound that leaves your mouth.
“Shhh,” he whispers into the skin. “Gotta be quiet, remember?”
“Sorry, I’m not used to the hair,” you sigh as he sucks at the inside of your thigh again, hands keeping your legs spread apart.
“You like it? Or d’you want it gone?”
“Keep it, it’s good,” you sigh, when you feel his tongue pressed along the edge of your panties. He just grunts, then squeezes your thigh in acknowledgement.
“My dress, Scott,” you warn him.
“I’ll be careful,” he says, as he hurriedly pushes the material until its over your hips. You have too many shirts with missing buttons to take him at his word, but he doesn’t seem interested in arguing. “You’re fucking nuts,” he says, eyes locked on the sheer scrap of fabric masquerading as underwear that you’d chosen for the night. “Wasting this on other guys,” he mumbles, lips pressed to your mound through the material. He doesn’t give you a chance to question him, laying his tongue flat against the lace, warm and flat as he holds you still. Your stomach lurches, and you’re embarrassed, but you’re beyond caring. He’s slow, tongue prodding over the material as it gets progressively wetter. You want him to hurry up, try your best to press yourself right against him, but he doesn’t budge. He uses a finger to push the sopping wet material against your clit, his other hand tightening around your thigh when your hips twitch.
“Stop, Scott. Do it properly,” you whine when he keeps mouthing at you over the material.
“Is that how we ask?”
You despise the smugness beneath his question.
“I thought you wouldn’t leave me high and dry. Thought you were different,” you fire back.
“Not dry at all,” he says, knuckle pressing into your slit. You squirm uncomfortably as the underwear sticks itself to you. “But I keep promises.”
You lie back in relief, but it’s short lived, because the moment he has your panties tossed into some dark corner of his room he’s lapping at you like a man starved. It’s torturous, made no better by the coarse drag of his facial hair and the fact that he’s paying attention to everything but your clit. He’s pressing sloppy kisses into the insides of your thighs, sucking harshly then soothing the ache with his tongue. He’s pressing his tongue flat against you, tongue teasing at your slit, coming right up so he can ghost gently over the neglected bundle of nerves at the top before he pulls away again.
You know better than to beg. He knows, he knows and he’s punishing you, and you’d rather not give him the benefit of seeing you accept this punishment.
When you’re squirming beneath his mouth, skin growing slick and your stomach tightening beyond what you think you can handle he finally gets back up.
“Turn over,” he says with a soft tap of your thighs. His pants are already halfway down his thighs, but he stops you when you reach for your zipper. “Keep it on,” he instructs as he turns you over himself, his hand pressing into the space between your shoulder blades. “This colour’s so pretty on you, you know. Can’t believe he didn’t lose all sense seeing you in this.”
You’d consider him romantic if he didn’t have his erection pressed between your lips, rocking gently as he twitched against you.
“That what’s happening to you?”
You’re pushing back, reaching for him, but he just puts your hand back on the mattress.
“I’m getting there,” he says with a soft tap against one of your ass cheeks, then a slightly harder one that makes you groan into the mattress. “Always making me wait, but when it’s your turn,” he squeezes harshly, “I need to hurry up. Very unfair of you,” he clicks his tongue softly.
He’s still rocking gently, teasing, and just when you think you can’t take much more he pushes into you in one swift stroke, all the way to the base like he knows you’ll stretch to accommodate him. You can feel your dress slipping and shifting as he presses you into the arch he wants, his encouragement coming in gruff sentences as he pulls out so he can push back into you, deep and slow.
“Would never let pussy like this go to waste, are you fucking kidding me,” he mumbles, picking up the pace with no regard for the fact that you’re struggling to keep up. You turn to face him as best you can, but he’s not looking at you, eyes locked instead on where you stretch around him.
He hasn’t bothered taking his pants off the whole way, and the cotton rubs almost uncomfortably against the backs of your thighs with every thrust, but it becomes background noise as Scott fucks you, his pace brutal. You feel the cool air of the room against your back as Scott drags the zip down, but he still doesn’t take it off, just slides one of his hands in through the back so he can grope at your tits, and you bury your face back into his mattress as he squeezes at your nipple.His other hand remains anchored on your hip, occasionally coming off to push your dress back into position.
“So perfect for me,” he says when takes a brief pause, kissing down your spine before pushing the dress further up so he can bite gently at your hip. “So goddamn perfect,” he says with squeeze of your ass, using both hands to spread you open again. He holds you steady when he slides back into you — lets you feel the weight of him as he catches his breath. When he starts fucking you again, it’s rough and hard, the lewd sound of skin meeting skin mixing with your muffle moans. You’re trying to be quiet, really but when you hear the way he groans your name like he hasn’t had you like this fifty times before, you let out a pathetic whimper.
There’s a pause and then you feel his thumb, thick and wet as it prods at your asshole and you feel butterflies you haven’t felt in a while.
“You like it there?” he asks, pushing a little harder. “Feels so tight. She being neglected? Not letting your other guys in there?”
Your brain is stuck between letting him know that there are no other guys and confirming that he is in fact the only person who knows you that intimately so you just warble out a disjointed string of sounds and hope that he understands you.
“I’m real special, huh,” he gloats, gently working his way deeper. You nod against your better judgement. “Right,” he snorts. “Special enough to have you any way I want, but not special enough to take you for a proper dinner before I do it.”
He’s pressing his thumb in properly before you can respond and the pressure is more than you can handle, walls fluttering then spasming around him.
“Whatever,” he continues, rolling his hips like he can’t feel you squirming beneath him. You can feel him twitching inside you, but he keeps his strokes slow, makes you feel every inch he’s got to give you as you grasp for him, trying to breathe through the waves of pleasure washing over you. “You gonna let me back in here one day? Bet she’s all tight again, gonna have to work you up to it nice and slow.” He’s fantasising, losing his rhythm as he presses his thumb into you a little harder. “You gonna let me sweetheart? Gonna let me fill ‘er up next time?”
You nod, and he laughs.
“Glad you know what’s good for you,” he groans, and you tighten around him again. He’s swearing, barely audible complaints tumbling from his lips as he finally speeds up again. You probably wouldn’t be able to hear him anyways, too focused on keeping your voice down with your teeth pressed painfully into your lower lip. Scott’s fighting a losing battle, grunts growing louder before he finally lets out a choked groan, his hips stuttering as he empties into you, thumb gently popping out of your ass so he can pull you up to him and place a clumsy kiss on your lips. He doesn’t let you move until he’s slipped out of you, soft and slick and then he follows you as you fall back onto the bed, exhausted.
“You really gonna let me fuck you in the ass again?” Scott asks, when he’s caught his breath.
“No towel, no pyjamas, just thinking with your dick aren’t you?”
He just kisses you, slow and sweet.
“Just making sure. Circling back and all that,” he smiles.
“Just get me a towel you freak,” you command, sitting up.
You pull your dress over your head and toss it onto the floor.
“And a shirt. Then we can discuss whatever you want,” you yawn.
“You’re the greatest woman alive, you know that?”
You just laugh, eyes fluttering shut as you wait for him to do as he’s told.
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While i was watching Backrooms at the cinema, i started noticing this actress (Renate Reinsve). I'd never seen her work before, but I thought she was so beautiful, and she's also perfect in this film. Then my mind started working on a fanfic idea with Scott and a slightly older, more mature character (yes, while I was watching the movie).
I imagined her as a renowned meteorological scientist with a doctorate, who joins the StormPar team. She's focused, direct, a little cold, and doesn't have time for brats... but then we have Scott, with his well-known attitude...
He's stubborn and almost never willing to accept her ideas. He tries to argue, but she ignores him. They disagree most of the time. Scott used to be the leader, the guy nobody contradicted, and now he's being put in his place by a more mature and experienced woman. However, things get interesting when they both realize that amidst this dynamic, they're becoming madly attracted to each other.
Summary: Don’t let your divorce stop you from having mind-blowing sex with your ex-husband… just make sure your paths never cross at work.
Classification: Smut +18 | Ex-spouses with ongoing sexual/romantic entanglement, p-in-v penetration, oral elements implied through context, fingering/clitoral stimulation, squirting, creampie, sensory details, bondage, light breath play/choking, dominance/submission dynamics, teasing/edging elements and overstimulation, mild branding/marking kink and complicated power imbalance in a workplace context.
Word count: 5,6k
Divider by me :)
You’d tell anyone you knew never to fuck a cop, never to keep one sitting on speed dial and never to press call the second your plane touched down in his city or show up at his door past midnight like he was some bad habit you could pick back up whenever it suited you, but nobody ever said you absolutely had to practice what you preached…
After all, he had always been the exception to every rule you made for yourself, including the smart ones.
The kitchen was bathed in the warm, amber glow of the ambient lights, the scent of a simmering dinner still lingering in the air, though it had long been forgotten. Your bag lay abandoned by the front door and your clothes were a discarded trail of fabric leading across the linoleum floor to where you now sat pinned against the cold granite of the countertop.
You were completely naked, your skin warm and sensitive. One of your arms was stretched high above your head, wrist locked tight in a pair of heavy steel handcuffs that David had clicked shut around the handle of the upper cabinets. The metal was cold against your skin, a stark contrast to the searing heat of his body holding you in place.
David, still smelling of the city and the grit of his shift in the Harford County Narcotics Task Force, was positioned between your thighs. He had you folded perfectly, just the way he always liked, with one of your legs hiked high, calf resting heavily over his shoulder, while your other leg was hooked firmly around his waist. The position left you completely open, exposed and vulnerable to him.
As he pushed his cock forward and past your entrance, the sensation was overwhelming. You were incredibly tight, walls gripping him with a desperate intensity because despite the distance and complications between you, you hadn't let another man touch you. You were reserved only for him.
You both looked down together, breaths hitching in unison as you watched his thick, rigid cock slide slowly, inch by agonizing inch, into your soaking wet pussy.
The sight of the penetration and the way your flesh stretched and molded around his girth, made you gasp. You looked up at him, eyes hooded and heavy with lust and whispered in a sultry, teasing drawl, "Welcome home."
His gaze snapped to yours, blue eyes darkening with hunger. He reached up, fingers brushing your wrist as he tightened the handcuff just a fraction more, securing you firmly to the cabinetry.
"That's my line," he rasped, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through your chest.
He began to move his hips, the motion slow and tentative, as if he were rediscovering every curve of your interior. You kept your eyes locked on the point of contact, mesmerized by the friction and the wet, slapping sound of your bodies meeting. David, however, couldn't look away from you. His eyes drifted down to the wedding ring that dangled from a delicate chain around your neck, resting right between your breasts, metal shimmering under the warm lights. He was still wearing his own ring, a silent testament to a bond that neither of you had truly managed to break.
As he drove deeper, the pleasure spiked, sending a jolt through your spine that made your head thud softly against the top of the cabinets. You closed your eyes, your breath coming in shallow, ragged hitches as you tried to focus on breathing, though the sensation of him filling you made it nearly impossible.
David’s large hand came up to grip the leg resting on his shoulder at the thigh, his fingers digging into your soft skin. He leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to your ankle and the tenderness of the gesture made a pathetic, needy whine escape your throat.
"Being inside you is my home," he murmured against your skin, voice thick with emotion. "I hope you feel that."
You could only nod, head lolling back against the cabinets as he continued to fuck you, pushing all the way in until there was no space left between you. He didn't rush, he savored the tightness, the way you clung to him and the sheer eroticism of the scene.
The warm light reflected off the glistening moisture where your pussy met his girth, the lubrication making every slow slide feel like silk. You were trapped, folded and dominated, yet the intimacy was suffocatingly sweet. Every time he bottomed out, you felt the weight of him, the raw power of his body and the undeniable truth that no matter where you went, this desperate, sensual collision in a quiet kitchen was the only place you ever wanted to be.
The slow, tentative pace eventually changed, evolving into something more urgent and possessive. David’s free hand left your thigh and slid upward, fingers wrapping firmly around your throat. He didn't squeeze to hurt but the pressure was commanding, tilting your head back and exposing the line of your neck as he crashed his lips against yours. It was a hungry, open-mouthed kiss, your tongues tangling in a desperate dance that mirrored the friction between your legs. You moaned into his mouth, the sound muffled and needy but he didn't slow down to enable it.
He fucked you with a renewed intensity, hips driving forward with a rhythmic force that threatened to slide you right off the granite. Your free hand scrambled across the cold countertop, fingers splaying wide as you gripped the edge to anchor yourself against the power of his thrusts. Every time he bottomed out, the impact sent a shudder through your entire frame, body vibrating from the sheer depth of him.
He was driven by a frantic sort of hunger.
He didn't know when he’d see you again because you were a ghost in his life, a beautiful haunting that appeared and disappeared at will. If he was lucky, you might stay until the morning but the probability was high that you’d be gone before he even woke up. That desperation fueled him, making every slide of his cock into your soaking pussy feel like he was trying to brand you from the inside out.
As he pulled back slightly, his gaze dropped back down to the ring dangling between your breasts. The metal shimmered against your sweaty skin, colliding softly against your chest with every heave of your breath. Your nipples had peaked, hard and sensitive, reacting to the cool air of the kitchen and the heat of his body. Your breathing accelerated into ragged gasps and the whining in your throat grew louder, echoing the wet, slapping sound of your pelvic bones colliding. Slap. Squish. Slap. The lubrication was excessive now, a thick, slippery slick that coated his shaft and leaked onto the countertop.
"I know, baby. I know what you want," he groaned, his voice a gravelly rasp.
The hand that had been on your neck moved, thumb finding your clit with pinpoint accuracy. He began to circle the swollen nub, applying a firm, rhythmic pressure that made your world tilt. You melted instantly, a violent shudder racking your spine as the dual stimulation of his cock filling you and his thumb teasing your peak pushed you toward the edge.
Suddenly, he withdrew. He slid out of you slowly, the vacuum of your tight walls creating a wet, popping sound as he fully exited. You both watched, breathless, as he held himself just an inch away, tapping the head of his thick, glistening cock against your opening and clit. A string of clear, viscous slick stretched between the two of you, a glistening bridge of arousal that snapped as he pushed back in.
He forced you to look at him, eyes boring into yours with an intensity that felt like it could strip you bare all over again. He captured your lips in another deep, tongue-heavy kiss, this time pulling you flush against him, eliminating every millimeter of space.
"Try not to rip out the cabinet door, will you?" he murmured against your lips, a ghost of a smirk playing on his mouth.
You smiled, a smartass retort forming on your tongue but before you could utter a word, he slammed out and back into you. At the same moment, his fingers reached up to pinch and roll one of your hardened nipples. You let out a deep moan that vibrated in your throat, eyes rolling back as the pleasure became an all-consuming wave. This was the only cure for the day you'd had, the raw, unfiltered dominance of the only man who truly knew your body.
"Nobody else in Baltimore to fuck, huh?" he asked, his voice dropping to a low, teasing rumble as he trailed kisses down your jawline.
Above you, the handcuffs rattled violently against the cabinet, the steel clinking as you strained against the restraint, itching to wrap your arms around him and pull him even deeper. Your free hand reached out, clutching at his shoulder, nails digging into his skin.
"Only one who knows how," you moaned, voice breaking.
The pace accelerated into a blur of heat and friction. The sound of body slapping echoed through the quiet kitchen, a combination of the rhythmic, wet thud of his hips hitting your inner thighs, the squelch of your pussy gripping his cock and the heavy sound of your combined breathing. He was fucking you raw, movements becoming more primal, driving into you with a force that left you breathless and trembling, the wetness between your legs turning into a frothy lather as he continued to claim you.
The friction intensified, the rhythm now changing to frantic. David’s hips became a blur of motion, driving into you with a relentless force that made the kitchen cabinets groan under the strain. You were locked in a feverish kiss, tongues battling for dominance while your breathing began to falter. The air in your lungs seemed to vanish, replaced by a mounting, electric tension that coiled tight in the pit of your stomach, radiating downward toward the point where you were fused together.
As the orgasm began to crest, David shifted his grip. He reached up, palm curling around the wedding ring dangling against your skin and clutching one of your breasts in a firm, bruising hold. He pressed the metal and your flesh hard into his palm, massaging them closer to your heart. He wanted the imprint of that ring, the symbol of what you once were and what he still claimed you to be, to be branded into your skin by the sheer pressure of his desire.
Your lips parted in a silent plea for release that escaped you. Your foreheads met, skin slick with sweat and together you both looked down. You watched the sight of his thick, glistening cock disappearing completely into your soaking wet folds, the skin of your pussy stretched taut and glistening with a lather of arousal.
"Come on, I know you have it...breathe," he commanded, voice low.
The combination of his voice, the visual of his cock burying itself inside you and the agonizingly perfect friction triggered the collapse. You gasped for air, a sharp, jagged intake of breath that broke into a series of high, needy moans. Your body suddenly shuddered with it, your internal walls clamping down on him in a series of rhythmic, involuntary spasms. Your pussy twitched and pulsed around his cock, gripping him with a desperate tightness that nearly brought him to his knees.
He forcefully kept his hips moving, driving through the waves of your climax, refusing to let you simply drift away. Every time he withdrew almost entirely, the vacuum of your orgasm triggered a release and you began to squirt, jets of clear, hot fluid spraying across his pelvis and the floor with a wet, splashing sound. Squelch. Splash. Slap. The sound of the lubrication and the squirting became a symphony of filth, the air smelling of sex and salt.
"I'll never get tired of seeing you cum," he groaned, voice thick with a primal hunger. “Fucking love to see it.”
The sight of you unraveling, body shaking and leaking all over him, pushed him over the edge.
His cock gave a sudden throb deep inside your walls and with a deep-chested groan, he finally broke. He slammed himself into you one last time, pinning you against the cabinets as he began to cum.
You felt the hot, thick pulses of his seed erupting from him, filling you up in heavy, rhythmic bursts. The sensation was that of a flood of warmth that seemed to reach your very core. David’s entire body shivered, his muscles locking up as he poured himself into you, his breath coming in ragged, desperate hitches. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against the cabinet beside your head, chest heaving against your breasts once he finally released his grip.
You stayed there for a long moment, suspended in the afterglow, the only sound the heavy, synchronized thumping of your hearts and the dripping of fluids onto the floor. Your hiked-up leg remained there, though it now trembled from the intensity of the release. Your hand moved from his shoulder, sliding up to the nape of his neck, nails running through his hair as you felt the last of his cum fill you to the brim.
As the silence of the kitchen returned, you felt the cold steel of the handcuffs biting into your wrists. You knew there would be angry marks to hide the following morning, bruises that would serve as a map of this encounter but as you felt the heavy, warm weight of him still inside you, you didn't care.
You hoped he stayed branded inside you, a secret, liquid mark of his possession that you would carry with you wherever you disappeared to next.
David couldn’t stop thinking about it almost a month later, which pissed him off more than he cared to admit, because he was sitting in the middle of an active investigation surrounded by cops who expected him to be paying attention, expected him to be chasing leads and to be doing literally anything besides staring through the glow of his computer screen while his chair rocked lazily from side to side beneath him.
The task force had spent days chasing a surname that seemed to exist everywhere and nowhere at the same time, buried beneath dead ends, sealed records, reluctant witnesses and databases that returned absolutely nothing useful and every road they took somehow circled back to the same frustrating conclusion: somebody was protecting somebody else and nobody wanted to talk or cooperate.
They were stuck and all he could clearly think about was…sex.
“Any luck?” Gordon’s voice cut through the room as he abandoned his desk and walked toward the printer.
David blinked and sat forward, forcing himself back into the present. “No.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw and shook his head. “I’m thinking we should make some calls.”
Across the room Gordon slapped the side of the printer after it refused to cooperate for the third time. A second later the machine groaned to life. “Calls to who?”
David’s gaze drifted away from the desk phone and landed on his personal cellphone instead.
He shrugged. “We’re wasting time trying to guess.” His thumb moved the mouse through photographs, names, reports and connections on his screen, trying to find something they’d missed while staring at the same evidence for days. “There might be someone I could ask.”
Gordon grabbed the fresh page from the printer and started scanning it. “Your buddy in intelligence?” He watched as David shook his head. “Wouldn’t it go against protocol?”
David laughed without humor. “Fuck protocol. We’re stuck.” He leaned back again. “We want the same thing…It’d be a favor I won’t have to pay back.”
Gordon considered that for a moment, eyes moving across the growing list of dealers, suppliers, runners and associates cluttering the page in his hand.
Finally he sighed. “Make the call.”
David nodded and reached for his phone but the movement stopped halfway once Scott walked into the office looking like he’d just swallowed something unpleasant.
His shoulders hung lower than usual, while his expression was that of annoyance and resignation. “The feds are here.”
The room around them went quiet as he pointed toward the conference room before turning around again, already moving towards it because nobody asked questions or needed to.
David exchanged a look with Gordon before pushing himself off his chair and following the rest of the task force down the hallway.
The conference room was already full by the time they arrived. Half the unit was sitting around the tables or against them while the other half leaned against walls staring forward as several people in suits stood at the front beside the whiteboard that had become a graveyard of photographs, names, timelines and theories.
David walked in last, feet faltering once his eyes locked onto yours and for a second, the entire room disappeared.
You stood at the front beside other federal agents and Andrea Smith herself, head of the Organized Crime Drug Enforcement Task Force, posture straight, expression unreadable and hands folded neatly in front of you like you belonged there.
Like you owned the room…and this wasn’t the first time you’d been standing across from him while holding all the cards.
His jaw tightened which you noticed, because nobody in that room knew him the way you did. They didn’t know how quickly irritation settled into the corners of his mouth or the difference between David being angry and David trying very hard not to be.
This wasn’t anger yet but it definitely was disappointment that came from realizing somebody had been sitting on information they probably should’ve shared a long time ago.
Andrea cleared her throat once everyone settled.
“It seems our investigation has crossed jurisdictional lines. I’ll be giving the FBI the lead and I expect everyone here to cooperate so we can continue moving this case forward together.”
Murmurs spread through the room but Andrea ignored them and stepped aside as you stepped forward. For the briefest second your eyes met David’s again before your attention moved to the rest of the room.
“I want to reassure everyone that we’re not here to take over your case or claim credit for work you’ve already done. We’ve simply been assigned to prevent this investigation from moving into areas that exceed your jurisdiction.”
“And those are?” Scott asked from somewhere behind David.
You didn’t hesitate. “Confidential.” Several groans answered that but you continued. “We’re operating as a joint federal task force.”
You motioned toward the agents beside you. “Organized crime and drug enforcement, financial crimes and safe streets.” Your gaze swept across the room already preparing for the reactions. “I’m Special Agent in Charge…McDougall.”
The room went silent. David’s expression didn’t change but Gordon turned so fast his chair nearly tipped over while a few other heads moved between the two of you, the same sudden realization spreading through the room.
You continued. “I’m assigned to the Public Corruption Unit and you’ll be answering to me.”
Eyes continued to drift toward David with varying degrees of subtlety but when half a room of cops tried to be discreet at exactly the same time it stopped being subtle altogether, becoming its own loud, awkward thing that settled over the room. The shift in attention was immediate and impossible to miss. Men who had spent years reading witnesses, suspects, informants and each other were suddenly pretending they weren’t looking directly at him.
David felt every second of it. Still, his eyes never left you.
You let the silence sit for a moment, long enough to make everyone uncomfortable without letting it turn into a spectacle.
“I know this isn’t ideal,” you said, your voice level and controlled, your attention moving around the room now instead of lingering on him. “Nobody likes finding out their case has a ceiling they didn’t know was there. That’s not a reflection of your work, it’s a reflection of how far this thing goes.”
Your hands remained clasped together in front of you. “What you’ve built here matters. The names, the patterns, the connections and the dead ends–” You paused. “Especially the dead ends…We need all of it.”
You reached back and tapped the whiteboard behind you.
“From this point forward your chain of command remains intact for everything that stays inside your jurisdiction. The moment something crosses into ours, it comes through me first. Not around me, not after the fact…but first.” Your eyes swept across the room again. “I’m not asking anyone here to trust us…I’m asking you to work with us while you decide whether you do.”
You took a step back which was the universal signal that the speech was over. “Any questions?”
David nearly rolled his eyes before the sentence had fully left your mouth because he knew what was coming. In his peripheral vision Scott’s hand was already halfway in the air.
You pointed at him. “Go ahead.”
Scott sat forward slightly. “Any relation to…” His finger pointed toward David and the room somehow became even quieter.
“Yes.” You didn’t hesitate.
If cooperation was going to happen, you knew some things were better handled immediately rather than letting rumors do the work for you. You’d made peace with that possibility years ago when you decided not to change your name.
“He’s my ex-husband.”
A slow ripple of realization moved through the room. Several heads turned as pairs of eyes dropped to David’s left hand and to the wedding band he still wore, then to yours which was bare.
The silence thickened again so you cut through it before it could settle. You tilted your head. “Do you also want to know my blood type?”
Scott blinked with a scoff. “What the hell would I want–”
“You came up with one stupid question.” You shrugged. “I was checking to see if you had another.”
A few snorts escaped around the room. Scott looked offended while Gordon looked like he was trying not to laugh and failing miserably at it.
You didn’t give anyone the opportunity to continue. “We’ll be set up in that room over there.” You pointed toward an office near the back. “So you can keep using this space freely.”
Then you turned toward your own team. “Try not to step all over these gentlemen’s work…Get to it.”
The room finally started moving again, chairs scraped, papers shuffled and people stood while conversations started in low voices and the spell broke. At least for everyone except David, because while everyone else was thinking about jurisdiction disputes, federal oversight and whatever fresh headache had just landed on their desks, he was thinking about you.
Specifically how the hell he’d let this happen without seeing it coming.
His gaze found yours again and for a second it looked like you might actually walk up to him and speak but then a ringtone sliced through the noise.
You grabbed your phone and answered quickly. “Mcdougall.” A second later your posture straightened. “Yes, ma’am.”
You turned away and headed for the hallway, the conversation already pulling your attention elsewhere.
David watched you disappear through the doorway before finally pushing himself upright.
“You in bed with the feds?” Scott’s voice stopped him halfway across the room.
David turned slowly and could see that the look on his face wasn’t accusatory so much as deeply curious which somehow made it worse. “That’s my wife you’re talking about.”
The response came automatically, so sharp that it made several nearby heads turn.
Scott raised an eyebrow. “Ex-wife by the looks of it…I’m wondering how your current wife feels about that statement.”
“What?” For the first time all afternoon David genuinely looked confused.
Gordon finally walked over and without a word, pointed toward David's wedding band. His jaw tightened as he followed their gazes before looking between them again, but mostly at Scott.
“You do ask stupid questions.” David shook his head and walked away before either of them could continue.
A few minutes later you stepped back into the room, phone still in your hand after ending the call. The conversation around you continued uninterrupted as most people had already returned to work, except for your ex-husband who was already moving towards you.
“Talk for a second.”
There wasn’t even the slightest attempt to make it sound like a question. He didn’t stop or wait to check whether you’d agree. He simply kept walking and the assumption that you’d follow him was still firmly intact after all these years.
To your mild annoyance, you did.
He reached an empty interrogation room near the end of the hallway and held the door open for you. The second you stepped inside, he followed and shut it behind you both, letting the click of the latch echo in the small room.
You opened your mouth immediately, clearly prepared to smooth things over before the conversation could become an argument but David beat you to it.
“Is this what that night was?” He asked, the implied accusation as clear as nothing else could’ve been. ”Merely getting info out of me?...That was a low blow.”
The claim landed harder than either of you expected, because David was angry enough to reach for whatever explanation hurt the most and you could see him doing it in real time, trying to force pieces together into a version of events that made sense to him, one where he hadn’t been blindsided in front of his own task force, one where he hadn’t spent the last month remembering you in ways that made him feel like a complete idiot.
You stared at him for a second before a humorless laugh escaped you, the sheer absurdity of it catching you off guard. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t get shit out of you because we were too fucking busy having sex.”
His jaw flexed. “No,” he shook his head. “I’m sure you made it fit somehow in there.”
Your eyebrows shot upward. “Yeah, definitely. I think it was somewhere between the third and the fourth round…Was it before or after we fucked in the hallway on the way to the shower?” You asked sarcastically.
He threw his arms to the side. “Sure. I don’t fucking know…you always were a great multitasker.”
You rolled your eyes. “Fuck you.”
His laugh came out sharp and immediate.
“You did and that’s my fucking problem. You did a month ago and now you’re fucking me again, except this time I’m clothed and at work which makes it way less fun, by the way.” he shook his head, running a hand over his head in frustration. “I should’ve known.”
There was the real problem and it surprisingly wasn't the FBI and the jurisdiction nightmare sitting outside that door. It was you and the fact that you’d shown up after all that time and he’d simply opened the door without a second thought.
“Known what?”
His eyes locked onto yours.
“You hate Baltimore! You always have, even when we were married. You couldn’t wait to get back to Quantico,” He motioned towards you. “That night you showed up at the house and I just…I let you in. I didn’t question why you were there, and I should’ve. I’m a detective, for crying out loud…It’s my fucking job.”
The statement almost made you laugh because it was true, absurdly so. “You didn’t ‘let me in’ David, you just never asked for the keys back, which means it’s still my house.”
In all the years since the divorce, through every argument, every period of silence and every failed attempt at pretending you were finished with each other, it had never once occurred to him to ask for those keys back.
“Then why did you ring the doorbell?” He asked, frustration slipping through the cracks.
You shrugged. “I don’t fucking know. What if you had company? Excuse me for being considerate.” A dry laugh escaped you. “I’m so sorry, that’s always been my greatest flaw.”
The answer visibly offended him. His face twisted, like you’d said something genuinely unreasonable.
“I’m not seeing anyone, much less bringing them into our home,” he pointed.
The words hung between you heavily and neither of you dared correct his words, you simply nodded as something in you gave way and the fight bled out at once, your voice softening before you even fully realized it had.
“I was wrong for that, okay? It’s your space…and we agreed to keep it that way. I should’ve just gotten a hotel room–”
The second the apology appeared, David’s expression changed enough for you to recognize the discomfort immediately. He hated apologies from you, always had, especially when he didn’t deserve one. He let out a slow breath as he shook his head and stepped closer.
You continued. “I was here for work but I swear it wasn’t about your case. I didn’t even know it was yours when I agreed to it and when I found out, I–”
His hand came up, settling against your neck and jaw with a familiarity that neither of you thought twice about. His thumb rested near your cheek as his expression softened.
“Okay, that’s enough. I’m sorry–” he said, bringing your face to his in a deep searing kiss.
The apology barely registered past the contact of his mouth on yours, the words dissolving into the space between breath and impact and whatever resistance you still had left in you didn’t even pretend to last because your hand was already catching the front of his shirt, pulling him back in like instinct had taken over where restraint should’ve been.
The apology actually surprised you more than the kiss did. It always did with him, that sudden shift from bite to something almost careful and honest, as if he didn’t know how to stay angry at you for longer than it took to get close enough to forget why he started it.
“You’re an asshole,” you said in between kisses as his lips curled into a smile.
That smile made it slower and linger instead of resolve, muscle memory was doing half the work for him while the rest of him kept dragging the moment out, refusing to let it end cleanly.
“I know…I know, baby,” he mumbled as he went in for more, tilting your head up for better access. “But you could’ve called.”
His mouth pressed back onto yours soon after, he was trying to make a point without words.
You exhaled into it without meaning to, the sound swallowed between you as he moved closer, crowding the space without actually moving you anywhere else, just pinning the moment in place with nothing but presence and the familiar arrogance of someone who knew exactly what he was doing to you and didn’t care.
Years of habit were overriding every sensible thought either of you should have been having and for a few reckless seconds it became dangerously easy to forget where you were, that there were federal agents, detectives and task force members less than fifty feet away.
Only then did reality return and you pushed firmly against his chest to create distance as you stepped back and he didn’t try to stop you, just watched while you couldn’t help but lick your lips subtly.
“I fucking hate you.” It came out entirely without conviction.
His grin widened as he moved to sit on the edge of the desk nearby and crossed his arms. “You hate that you don’t.” He paused. “And I don’t like how easily ‘ex-husband’ slipped out…so watch your mouth while we’re at it.” he cautioned playfully.
Your brows lifted while a reluctant smile threatened to appear. “Excuse me? Are we not divorced? I mean, we’re not great at it but–”
“I didn’t say that.“ he shrugged. “I said I don’t like how it sounded.”
You laughed under your breath. “Well, too bad. I remember you in court when it happened…and I didn’t put a gun to your head to sign those papers.” You shrugged.
The smile disappeared from his face. “No, I know.” His voice was quieter now, not revealing even a fraction of what crossed his mind every time he remembered that courthouse, every signature, document and opportunity he could have stopped it but didn’t. “...Would’ve told you to make sure you didn’t miss.”
The honesty of it caught you off guard. You looked away first. “I have to go.”
His eyes tracked your movement as you stepped toward the door. “Hate to see it.”
Your hand almost reached the doorknob before you stopped, turning back as professionalism slid back into place. “And just in case you were too busy thinking about sex out there while I was talking, I’m your boss now…a helpful indicator being that we’re both dressed and vertical,” you pointed out, making sure your bedroom tendencies and dynamics didn’t bleed into your jobs.
David nodded once. “Yes ma’am.”
You narrowed your eyes as he looked entirely too pleased with himself and your hand finally settled on the doorknob.
“I love you” he waited, seeing as you still weren’t moving. “Say it back.”
“I’m on the clock and your superior...I’ll say it at lunch.” You pulled the door open, the hallway noise immediately spilled back into the room.
“As long as I get to slide home tonight.” He said under his breath as he got up and followed.
You shook your head as you stepped through the doorway, fighting a smile that absolutely did not belong on the face of a Special Agent in Charge.
David let the door close behind him and knew two things with complete certainty. The first was that working under his ex-wife was going to be a disaster and the second was that by the end of this assignment, he’d be getting down on one knee again…whether it was to sate his primal hunger, sucking the honey right from the source or to propose again, he didn’t know.
A/N: If you enjoyed this story, feel free to explore the archive for more! Liking and reblogging helps others discover my writing and comments always make my day, they’re a huge encouragement for me to keep creating. Thank you so much for reading!
a/n: Here’s my little “get well soon” gift for @kryptidfiles !! Imagine this wrapped in a huge bow with flowers sticking out from every side. EVERYONE GO FOLLOW HER BLOG and I hope you enjoy!!
Summary: You made the mistake of turning sex into casual conversation with your coworker and accidentally start the worst HR violation of your life.
Classification: Smut +18 | coworkers to lovers, several smut scenes, alcohol consumption, rude/arrogant Scott Miller, oral sex, fingering, dirty talk, rough sex, rough groping, protected and unprotected sex, doggy style, missionary, squirting, ass smacking, marking/bruising, praise, dom/sub dynamics, workplace boundary issues and emotionally repressed idiots in love.
Word count: 9,2k
There was a difference between good sex and great sex, the same way there was a difference between getting fucked and being made love to...
Good sex was what you expected from anybody decent enough to make it that far with you. It was the kind people talked about casually with their friends, the kind that came up over drinks after someone asked, “So, was he good?” Good sex happened on Tuesdays after work with the guy from Hinge who insisted on taking you out somewhere too expensive for a second date. You split a basket of fries, drank half a beer because you still had work in the morning, drove home with exhaustion sitting heavy behind your eyes, then let him fuck you well enough to sleep for four uninterrupted hours.
Good sex was practical and predictable. It convinced your body you were living a normal life.
Great sex was different. Great sex happened after work parties when your mascara was already smudged and your heels were in your hand by midnight. It happened on weekends with nowhere to be the next morning. You never talked about great sex because it sounded exaggerated the second you said it out loud, like you were overselling a man nobody else would understand. Great sex made you cum or at least brought you close enough that your stomach tightened every time you remembered it afterward. You thought about great sex while driving long stretches of empty highway, your hands steady on the wheel while your mind wandered somewhere warmer.
Great sex stayed in your body for days. You caught yourself replaying parts of it absentmindedly while standing in line for coffee or brushing your teeth before bed.
Then there was getting fucked…
There was no cleaner way to define it. It lived somewhere between fantasy and urban legend, passed around between women in half-serious conversations that always dissolved into laughter. Everybody claimed to know someone who’d experienced it but nobody could explain it properly. Getting fucked was the kind of sex that distracted you in the middle of the day badly enough to make you stop what you were doing and change your underwear. It sat dangerously close to the limits of what sex could actually be before the whole thing collapsed under its own weight.
If a guy treated you too much like an object, it fell apart immediately.
If you didn’t orgasm, it didn’t count.
If you weren’t still thinking about him six months later at red lights and in grocery store aisles and during lonely hotel nights, then it wasn’t that either.
Getting fucked sat at the very top of the scale, lit up like something obvious and somehow most men still missed it completely.
Being made love to was worse and more dangerous, honestly.
For somebody like you, it could become embarrassing fast. Storm season kept you on the road for months at a time, bouncing between states, sleeping in motels with stiff sheets and weak air conditioning. Off-season meant office buildings, weather models glowing across multiple monitors, long meetings about funding, new equipment and data collection. Your life moved constantly and men liked that at first. A woman who was smart, busy, gone half the year, financially stable and difficult to pin down.
Men loved the idea of you because it excused the fact they never had to give very much. Most of them thought they were in love but really, they just liked access to somebody they found impressive.
Before all of that, you used to think being made love to meant passion…intimacy. That it was slow sex with somebody who knew your body so well they could pull an orgasm out of you patiently and confidently, like it mattered to them as much as breathing did. You imagined hands lingering at your waist, sleepy conversation afterward, somebody brushing your hair away from your face before kissing you again.
Instead, you ended up underneath men who mistook enthusiasm for intimacy. You stared at ceilings while they grunted above you, listened to them breathe your name like they were performing something instead of feeling it. Sometimes you felt your stomach turn from the boredom alone, your body rocking mechanically with theirs while your mind drifted somewhere else entirely to storm reports, grocery lists and whether you needed to change your oil before the next drive west.
You never let them finish once you realized you hated it, that was the one thing you refused to fake. You pushed them off, sat up and reached for your clothes while they blinked at you in confusion. You told them it wasn’t going to work, sometimes you said it gently and other times you just didn’t bother. Either way, you watched realization settle over them while they sat there flushed and humiliated, their ego bruised worse than their feelings ever were but somehow your harsh words still made them cum…
Needless to say, after a while, you stopped having sex altogether.
You were in your rental house after a long day spent staring at storm data and listening to Javi ramble about whatever breakthrough he thought he’d made this time. It was late, the entire house felt heavy and warm, every light dimmer than usual and lately, you weren’t alone nearly as often as you used to be.
Scott sat at your dining table with your laptop open, shoulders slightly hunched, completely absorbed in columns of numbers and radar models. You’d known him for two years and he’d been your partner for one of them.
People were right about him. He was direct to the point of rudeness, arrogant enough to make most people defensive within five minutes and mean when he thought someone deserved it but unlike most men in your field, Scott had learned how to admit when he was wrong, far from gracefully or happily but still, he did it.
The two of you were impossibly stubborn in almost identical ways, so sharing space with him sometimes felt like being trapped in a room with a sharper version of yourself. Separately, you were both good at what you did but together, you were nearly impossible to beat.
You couldn’t pinpoint when “coworkers” had turned into Scott walking into your house without knocking, helping himself to your fridge and sitting at your table like he paid rent.
“Best orgasm you’ve had during sex?” His voice came from across the room, casual and flat, like he’d asked you about rainfall percentages. He didn’t even look away from the laptop while he said it.
You’d forgotten he was meeting you there before the two of you drove to the bar together, which was why you were still walking around in sleep shorts and a bra, trying to find something decent enough to wear without looking like you’d spent an hour trying.
You took a sip from the beer he’d already pulled out of your fridge and nearly snorted into the bottle. “You think men do that?” you asked as you disappeared into your bedroom.
“To you?” Scott finally looked up. His eyes tracked your movement automatically while he reached for the beer the two of you were apparently sharing now. “I hope so.”
He took a drink as his eyes followed your movement.
You walked back into view holding two dresses on mismatched hangers. “You’re a fucking idiot,” you said plainly. “And maybe a pervert.”
Scott pointed at you immediately. “You’re changing in front of me. I could probably keep count of your bras at this point and I don’t. That actually makes me less of a pervert.”
You disappeared back into your room. He could hear hangers scraping against the closet rod while you searched through clothes with growing irritation.
“Just because it doesn’t make you hard doesn’t make you not a pervert,” you called back, your voice muffled through the wall.
“How do you know I’m not?” he shot back instantly, sounding almost offended by the assumption.
Silence followed but about a minute later, you walked back out wearing a dress he’d never seen before. It was simple, fitted enough to make his eyes stop for a second before continuing downward automatically. You crossed the room toward him, letting your heels drop onto the hardwood before slipping them on one at a time.
“You’re not attracted to me, Scott,” you said flatly.
He looked up slowly then, his eyes dragging over the length of the dress with enough attention to make most people nervous. On you, it just made you impatient.
“You seem awfully confident about that.”
“I am.” You adjusted the strap on your shoulder before glancing toward his laptop screen. “So don’t say shit that makes me sound stupid.”
Scott looked back at the laptop fast enough to make the movement obvious. He pretended to scroll through data he’d stopped reading the second you started undressing in the next room.
“I’m ready,” you said. “Good to go?”
“Need five minutes,” he muttered.
You walked behind him toward the front door, tapping his shoulder as you passed. “The data will still be there tomorrow. C’mon, Scotty.”
The teasing grin in your voice made something in his jaw tighten. You disappeared outside before he could even think of an answer.
Scott closed the laptop harder than necessary and stood, quietly adjusting himself through his jeans with the irritation of a man betrayed by his own body. He shut off the lights one by one and grabbed your keys from the counter before locking the door behind him.
The porch light was off so you couldn’t see the tent in his jeans. Thank fuck for that.
“Scotty was an eight-year-old with chubby cheeks,” he muttered while locking the deadbolt. He glanced over at you waiting by the passenger side of his truck. “It’s Scott.”
“It’s whatever I decide it is,” you replied easily.
He rolled his eyes and walked down the porch steps, unlocking the truck with a sharp click.
“Come open my door.”
“Since when do you need me to do that?” he complained, already circling the hood anyway.
“Since you got comfortable commenting on my bras.”
Scott stopped in front of you to stare before reaching around your waist to pull the handle open. The movement brought him close enough to smell your perfume underneath detergent and beer.
You smiled to yourself while climbing into the passenger seat because for once, Scott didn’t have anything smart to say.
Talking about sex with your coworkers was probably the least professional habit you could develop but professionalism stopped mattering after twelve-hour drives, shared motel rooms, gas station dinners at midnight and enough close calls together to make normal boundaries feel unnecessary. There were barely any women in the field to begin with, which meant the few of you that existed clung together fast and Scott, despite being deeply irritating most of the time, was easier to talk to than most people.
Brutally honest people usually were.
At some point, conversations that started as jokes during long drives turned into real discussions about relationships, sex, exes and every disappointing person either of you had ever slept with. It happened slowly enough neither of you noticed the line moving until it was already somewhere far behind you.
HR would’ve had a heart attack.
That night, you learned Scott Miller did not do good sex. If good sex existed to him at all, it involved two people fully clothed and standing on opposite ends of a room.
The bar was more crowded than you expected, packed wall to wall with storm chasers, meteorologists, researchers and people who somehow always smelled faintly like dust and gasoline no matter how clean they looked. Whenever women in the field found each other, there was an unspoken tendency to group together immediately, so you spent most of the night at the bar talking with another researcher from Oklahoma while music pounded so loud you felt it vibrate through the floor beneath your heels.
Eventually Javi appeared beside you carrying drinks you absolutely weren’t going to refuse. He handed one over before leaning closer, lowering his voice.
“What’s wrong with Scott?”
You blinked at him. The question caught you off guard enough to make your brows pull together immediately because nobody ever asked about Scott. People either tolerated him, argued with him or avoided him entirely. Whatever problem Scott had, he usually fixed it himself before anyone could notice it existed.
Your eyes scanned the crowd automatically until you found him near the back corner of the bar with a soda in his hand. Of course he wasn’t drinking, he stood half-shadowed against the wall looking deeply unimpressed by the concept of social interaction…and staring directly at you.
Your eyes narrowed slightly until Scott finally got the message and looked away first.
You turned back to Javi. “Do you mean tonight or in general?” you asked dryly. “Because I’m pretty sure he was dropped as a child, but you’d have to ask his mother for confirmation.”
Javi frowned harder. “I mean tonight. He looks tense and it’s making me uneasy.”
“It’s Scott. He always looks tense.”
“More than usual.” Javi glanced over his shoulder carefully. “Tell him to relax for once…and to make some friends. That’s literally why we came here.”
You pointed at yourself immediately. “Why am I responsible for that?”
Javi shrugged like the answer was obvious. “Because you speak ‘Scott’ fluently. Translate what I just said into something he’ll actually understand.”
Your gaze dropped to the drink in your hand. “You’re bribing me.”
“And that drink cost me twenty-five dollars,” he replied. “So yes. Go.”
You snorted into the rim of your glass. “Pretty sure stress is what’s making you bald, by the way…not Scott’s burning gaze.”
Javi adjusted his baseball cap defensively. “Just go talk to him.”
You shook your head, already grinning despite yourself and pushed through the crowd toward the back of the bar, which Scott noticed immediately.
The music got louder the closer you got to him, voices bleeding together into useless noise, so instead of trying to shout over it, you reached forward and hooked one finger through the belt loop of his jeans.
“Outside,” you said simply, tugging once as you moved toward the exit.
Scott followed without argument, that alone should’ve concerned you more than it did.
The plan was for him to ask what you wanted once you got outside. Instead, somewhere between the crowded bar and the exit door, he got distracted watching you walk ahead of him. Your dress moved against your hips every few steps, exposing flashes of leg skin under the low bar lights and the muscles in your bare back moved subtly every time you pushed through another cluster of people.
Inevitably, Scott’s eyes dropped lower before he caught himself.
By the time the two of you stepped outside into the cooler night air, he still hadn’t said a word.
You finally let go of his belt loop once the two of you were far enough from the entrance that the music had dulled into muffled bass behind you. You turned to face him properly, folding your arms across your chest as you looked up at him.
“What’s your current issue?” you asked.
“Current?” Scott repeated, brows pulling together.
You nodded once like the question made perfect sense.
“When’s the last time you had sex?”
A startled laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “Excuse me?”
He shrugged carelessly, shoving one hand into the pocket of his jeans. “What? Are you the only one allowed to ask those questions?”
You laughed again, this time shaking your head as you pointed at him. “Yes. Obviously.”
Scott snorted.
“And those are long-drive questions,” you continued, motioning vaguely toward his truck behind you before pointing back toward the crowded bar. “Not ‘parking lot outside a packed bar’ questions.”
“You still need to answer.” He shrugged again. “Those are the rules.”
“Have I ever told you how stupid those rules are?”
“First time I’m hearing complaints since you’re the one who made them,” he replied with a grin.
“You’re insufferable,” you muttered under your breath before taking another sip of your drink.
Scott stayed quiet as he just watched you over the rim of his own soda, patient and expectant in a way that immediately irritated you because he clearly thought he was getting an answer eventually.
“Are you seriously gonna make me answer?”
“I can’t make you do anything,” he said calmly. “But I can wait. I still have to drive you home.”
You looked up toward the entrance of the bar. Through the windows you could still see people packed together under neon lights, laughing too loud, talking over each other about work, storm patterns and equipment failures. You’d already reached the point of the night where conversations started blending together into white noise.
“Can we leave now?” you asked.
Scott didn’t answer verbally. He just pulled his keys from his pocket, unlocked the truck with a click, then held his hand out toward your drink.
“Get in and lock the doors,” he said as he took the glass from you and turned back toward the bar to return it.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” you called after him while walking directly to the passenger side and doing exactly that.
Honestly, you didn’t mind answering the question. The problem was that once you actually thought about it, you realized you weren’t entirely sure how long it had been. It had been long enough that you had to start considering technicalities and long enough that the answer became embarrassing and unfortunately, thinking about sex while sitting alone in Scott’s truck immediately led your brain somewhere unhelpful…
Scott eventually climbed back into the truck and shut the door behind him. He didn’t start driving right away, he just sat there in the dark, one hand resting on the wheel while the dashboard lights cut sharp shadows across his face…waiting, because the thing about car questions was that silence usually came first.
“A year and a half,” you blurted out finally. “Give or take.”
Scott’s head turned toward you so fast it almost looked painful. “No,” he said immediately. “I don’t believe that.”
You laughed in disbelief and looked toward him. “Believe whatever you want, Scott. I answered the fucking question. That’s the game.”
“A year and a half?” he repeated, staring at you like you’d confessed to murder. “What the hell do you even do on weekends?”
“Currently?” you replied dryly. “Sit in your truck while you annoy me.”
“No,” he said, already turning the key in the ignition. “You’re irritated because you’re sexually frustrated.”
You barked out another incredulous laugh.
“And you’ve been sexually frustrated since I met you,” he continued as he shifted the truck into reverse. “Which explains why you piss me off every single fucking day.”
“Excuse you?” You turned toward him fully now, half laughing from sheer disbelief. “First the bra comments and now this? What’s next? Are you gonna set me up with one of your friends so he can fix me?”
“Put your seatbelt on.” The command came out flat and automatic.
You narrowed your eyes at him. “Don’t fucking tell me what to do, Scott. I’m not drunk enough to–”
The words died in your throat the second he reached across you.
His arm slid in front of your chest while the truck reversed smoothly with his other hand still turning the wheel. His forearm brushed against the underside of your breasts accidentally…or maybe not so accidentally and your breath caught hard at the sudden closeness. Scott grabbed the seatbelt beside your shoulder, pulled it across your body in one sharp movement, then clicked it into place at your hip without looking away from the rear window once.
You drove home in complete silence.
No radio or conversation, just the steady sound of tires against asphalt and the occasional flick of the blinker while Scott kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead. You’d heard every version of his voice over the last two years, sarcastic, irritated or sharp enough to make grown men defensive in meetings but hearing him tell you to put your seatbelt on while his arm pressed across your breasts had done something deeply unfortunate to your brain.
This was entirely your fault. You were the one who made sex an acceptable topic between the two of you, you were the one who turned it into a game, into background conversation during long drives and late nights. Somewhere along the way home, your definition of good sex had rewritten itself around that precise moment.
For most people, that probably counted as foreplay, but for you? It counted as a serious fucking problem.
By the time Scott parked outside your house, your thoughts had spiraled so badly that you barely registered the truck stopping. You stayed seated even after he cut the engine, staring forward blankly while the silence settled heavier around you.
Scott got out first without saying anything and walked around the front of the truck toward your side.
The passenger door opened. You looked up just in time to feel him lean in and reach across you again, fingers brushing lightly against the fabric stretched over your waist as he unclipped the seatbelt. The contact lasted maybe a second but that was already too long.
Only then did you finally move. You climbed out quickly, making an effort to keep close to the truck instead of brushing against him, then headed straight for your front door while digging through your purse for your keys even if it was practically empty and somehow that made it worse. You found lip balm…receipts…some loose cash, everything except what you actually needed.
Scott followed behind you quietly.
You still hadn’t found the keys when his arm appeared beside you, reaching around your body with frustrating familiarity. He’d had your keys the entire night, he usually did whenever the two of you went out together because you constantly lost track of them.
The metal clicked softly as he unlocked the door for you.
Your breath stalled as Scott stood so close behind you that you could feel the heat coming off him through the thin fabric of your dress. His chest nearly touched your back, one arm still braced near your shoulder while he turned the lock. It boxed you in completely, your body caught between the door and him and the worst part was that it felt good.
The sharp heat low in your stomach made that painfully obvious.
Good sex, apparently, was standing fully clothed on your own porch while your coworker unlocked your front door…all while standing right behind you.
The lock finally clicked open. You pushed the door open and stepped inside fast to put distance between you before turning back toward him.
Determination sat stiffly in your chest now…You were staying dressed. Whatever this weird tension was had to be alcohol-fueled, temporary, deeply stupid or preferably all three and gone by morning.
Unfortunately, Scott looked unfairly good standing on your porch under weak yellow light.
At some point he’d taken off his cap, you didn’t know when and hadn’t realized until now. Why did he look dreamy!? His hair was messy from running his hands through it all night and the expression on his face had settled back into that unreadable calm that somehow made things worse.
“Night, Scott,” you said quickly, then shut the door directly in his face…very determined to remain dressed.
“Are you gonna set me up with one of your friends so he can fix me?” That sentence replayed in your head later for one humiliating reason: Scott Miller had never been the kind of man to hand off work he could do himself.
You’d been wrong earlier, completely wrong.
Great sex didn’t happen on weekends or after parties or during long-awaited moments with somebody you trusted. Sometimes it happened five minutes after you slammed your front door in a man’s face and tried convincing yourself you still had common sense.
You stayed standing by the door after closing it, palms warm against the wood, waiting to hear his truck start. You expected the familiar sound of the driver’s side door opening, shutting and the low rumble of the engine before he pulled away but nothing happened.
At first you told yourself you were imagining the silence because you were still too aware of him…then a full minute passed…followed by another and then three more.
Five long, miserable minutes where your brain refused to focus on anything except the fact Scott was still outside your house.
You opened the door expecting embarrassment or maybe annoyance, maybe him realizing he forgot something. Instead, he was still standing there in the same position with that same unreadable expression, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans like you hadn’t just shut the door on him…five minutes ago.
You stared at each other for a second too long.
You never figured out what exactly snapped first. Pride, self-control or curiosity…maybe all of it at once again.
One second he was standing on your porch and the next you were grabbing a fistful of his shirt and pulling him forward hard enough to make him stumble into you as your mouth crashed against his.
The moment the door clicked shut behind you, the fragile determination to stay dressed shattered. You didn't just invite Scott in, you practically hauled him across the threshold, pulling him into a kiss that tasted of alcohol and months of suppressed frustration. It was messy and desperate, a collision of teeth and tongues that left you both breathless.
You stumbled backward, the friction of your bodies fueling a fire that had been simmering for far too long. As you navigated the space, your heels clicked erratically against the floor until you kicked them off with frantic movements, one flying toward the wall and the other sliding away as you backed into the dining area.
You hit the edge of the heavy wooden table and Scott didn't miss a beat. He gripped your waist with bruising force and hoisted you up, the sudden elevation making you gasp into his mouth. He didn't stop kissing you but his path shifted, lips sliding down your jawline to your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. His hands were everywhere, frantic and demanding, sliding up the fabric of your dress and bunching it up around your waist until your thighs were bare and shivering against the cool wood.
You felt his fingers hook into the elastic of your panties, tugging them down with a sharp, decisive motion until you could kick them off, exposing you to the air. As he lowered himself, his mouth found the swell of your breasts through your dress, biting lightly against the fabric on his way down between your legs.
"You don't need to do that," you managed to moan, your voice trembling as he moved your weight, sliding you toward the edge of the table until you were perched precariously, your legs naturally falling open.
"Shut up," Scott muttered against your skin, his voice a low, arrogant growl that sent a jolt of electricity straight to your clit as he finally settled himself firmly between your thighs, the heat of his body radiating against your wetness.
Then, he dipped his head. The first touch of his tongue was a shock of heat, it was wet and precise. He dove right in, tongue licking upward from your perineum to your clit in one long, sweeping stroke. You arched your back as a loud moan escaped you since it had been so long since you’d felt anything this raw, this focused. You were starving for it and Scott was feeding off of you with a primal intensity that blurred everything else out.
He used his hands to grip your hips, pulling you closer to the edge so he could bury his face in you as he kneeled. He began to lap at you with a rhythmic, punishing speed, his tongue flattening out to cover as much surface area as possible before narrowing into a sharp point to flick relentlessly against your clit.
The sensation was overwhelming. You began to squirm, hips jerking instinctively against his mouth as your fingernails clawed at the tabletop. You weren't just enjoying it, you were unraveling.
"Fuck…Scott...please," you whimpered, though you didn't know what you were asking for.
He responded by changing your position. He pushed you flat onto your back on the table, the hard wood pressing into your spine and hauled your legs up, draping them over his broad shoulders. The position left you completely exposed, your pussy flared open and glistening in the dark room.
He didn't stop the oral but added more by sliding two fingers deep inside you, stretching you open while his tongue continued to hammer away at your clit. The combination of the internal pressure and the external friction was too much. You were shaking, breath coming in short, jagged gasps as your feet drummed against his back.
He could tell you were close, encouraging him to increase the pressure, fingers curling inside you to hit your G-spot while his tongue sucked your clit into his mouth, creating a vacuum of pleasure that felt like it was pulling your entire soul out through your cunt.
“Holy s-shit!” Your head thrashed from side to side, a loud, unrestrained scream tearing from your throat as the orgasm hit you like a freight train. It was violent and all-consuming, your internal muscles clamping down hard on his fingers as waves of intense pleasure crashed over you, leaving you whimpering and twitching on the table.
As the peak slowly subsided, Scott didn't pull away immediately. He stayed there, his breath hot against your sensitive skin, slowly lapping the remaining juices from your pussy. He cleaned you thoroughly, his tongue lingering on every inch of your swollen cunt until you were completely spent, lying limp and shivering on the table, finally satisfied.
He straightened slowly from between your legs, chest rising hard with uneven breaths that matched your own. His mouth was swollen and wet when he licked across his lips absentmindedly, eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made heat crawl back under your skin even while your body still twitched from the orgasm.
From your place sprawled across the dining table, you stared up at him in stunned silence. Your thighs were still trembling now against his sides and you were almost certain your expression looked ridiculous, wide-eyed and dazed in a way you hadn’t allowed yourself to look around another person in years.
Scott held a hand out toward you and you took it automatically.
He helped you sit up first before guiding you carefully off the table, one hand steady on your waist while your legs struggled to cooperate beneath you. The second your feet touched the floor, your knees nearly gave out entirely.
Scott wiped his mouth with his palm. “Goodnight,” he said and the gentleness of it caught you off guard more than anything else that night had.
His hand slipped away from your waist and the two of you just stood there for a second, staring at each other while trying and failing to breathe normally again.
Then Scott turned and walked toward the front door.
You stayed frozen in place while he opened it and left your house without another word. A few seconds later you finally heard the sounds you’d been waiting for earlier, the truck door opening, shutting and the engine starting before he drove off into the night.
You tried walking toward your bedroom afterward and immediately realized your legs barely worked. You ended up half stumbling down the hallway, one hand dragging along the wall for balance because your entire lower body still felt weak and oversensitive.
Great sex…that had been unbelievably, painfully great sex.
You thought about it constantly afterward. In the shower, during calls and meetings, while sitting in traffic or lying awake at night staring at the ceiling with your thighs pressed together. You didn’t mention it to your friends or talked to Scott about it, even during the long stretches of silence that filled the truck during drives. The two of you understood what happened without discussing it directly, you’d crossed a line and both of you seemed aware that talking about it too much would probably drag you over it again.
The following mornings, you waited for him outside on your porch instead of letting him walk into your house like usual. Mostly because you’d spent the entire week masturbating to the memory of him between your legs on your dining table before getting ready for the day and you didn’t trust yourself to survive seeing him inside your kitchen before sunrise.
For one solid week, you slept perfectly. No insomnia or late-night work spirals, no pacing around rooms or answering emails at one in the morning just to keep your brain occupied. Whatever tension usually sat under your skin had disappeared completely and now it sat between you both instead.
Every drive felt heavier, the silence stretched longer and every sharp inhale from him made your stomach tighten unexpectedly until eventually you got sick of pretending neither of you noticed it.
“We don’t have to talk about it,” you interrupted suddenly.
Scott glanced toward you briefly, eyes leaving the road for barely a second before returning forward. “Do you want to?” he asked.
“I don’t,” you admitted. “I feel like you do though.”
“You’re right.”
You snorted quietly and looked back down at the laptop balanced across your knees.
“I thought you liked being right.” Scott added.
“Fucking love it,” you replied automatically before grimacing. “Usually.”
Silence settled again until you broke it. “Okay,” you sighed eventually. “Maybe one thing.” You turned to him properly this time. “I wasn’t that drunk that night. Actually, I wasn’t drunk at all. I had that one beer before we left my place and the rest were mocktails.”
Scott turned his head enough to study your face for a second. “I wouldn’t have touched you if you were drunk,” he said flatly. “I’m an asshole, not fucking stupid.”
You leaned back against the seat slowly. “Even that’s changed.”
His brows furrowed. “What does that mean?”
“The coffee for starters,” you said. “The lunches, too. You stopped buying disgusting gas station sandwiches and now we actually eat dinner out like normal people.” You gestured vaguely toward him. “You used to hand me coffee with five sugar packets on the side because you couldn’t remember how I took it. Now it’s magically perfect every fucking morning.”
Scott adjusted his grip on the steering wheel.
“I thought eating around other people would make this less weird,” he admitted. “And I got tired of sugar packets all over my truck.”
“Our truck,” you corrected automatically before pointing at him accusingly. “And nothing about this is normal, Scott! You ate me out on my dining table!”
“Stop yelling at me.” His tone stayed frustratingly calm.
“Why?” you shot back. “Is it making you hard?”
Scott shifted in his seat hard enough that you noticed instantly. Both his hands locked tighter around the steering wheel while he stared straight ahead at the road. The tension in his jaw became visible because unfortunately for him, you weren’t wrong.
The last week had changed things. You looked less exhausted and less tightly wound. You hadn’t snapped at him once during work and he hadn’t gotten a single unhinged one a.m. email from you all week because for the first time since he’d met you, you were actually sleeping.
“So when are we doing it again?” he asked finally, against every ounce of common sense he had left.
NEVER…that should’ve been the answer. It was the logical answer, the responsible one, the answer two coworkers with already questionable boundaries should’ve landed on immediately.
It just wasn’t the truth.
You had always maintained that getting fucked couldn’t happen in motel rooms. It didn't matter how good the sex was, the second cheap carpet, bad lighting and a rattling air conditioner got involved, the whole thing dropped several levels automatically.
Motel sex could be great, sometimes even memorable but it couldn’t be that, so the next time it happened definitely wasn’t in a motel room.
The weather that day had turned bad enough to keep everyone grounded but not dangerous enough to send your team chasing storms through three different counties. There was heavy rain, low visibility and too much lightning for comfort but not enough rotation to justify going out.
At some point, without either of you actually saying it outright, waiting the storm out in Scott’s apartment became the plan instead of sitting cramped inside the truck for hours pretending the tension between you didn’t exist.
You still couldn’t pinpoint who made the first move once the elevator doors closed behind you.
One second you were standing beside him soaked at the edges from the rain, listening to distant thunder through the concrete parking garage and the next, Scott’s hand was inside your pants like it belonged there.
You gasped hard into his mouth as his fingers slid against you immediately, already somewhat familiar with exactly what made your hips jerk forward. The kiss that came after barely counted as one, it was messy and distracted, interrupted constantly by your breathing and the quiet sounds you kept failing to swallow down.
The elevator ride lasted less than a minute but by the time the doors opened onto his floor, your orgasm was already hitting you in sharp waves around his fingers while your forehead pressed against his shoulder to keep yourself standing.
If you weren’t already fucked, you were about to be.
You’d been inside Scott’s apartment before. A handful of times after late nights working or when weather reports needed reviewing somewhere quieter than a crowded diner. You remembered the big windows first, stretching across the living room area with a full view of the skyline in the distance. Tonight they framed heavy gray clouds and rain pouring so hard that it blurred the city lights into smears of white and yellow.
Scott barely gave you time to look around because the second the apartment door shut behind you, his hands were on you again. He walked you toward the living room with rough impatience, pulling your pants down from behind while you stumbled against the edge of an armchair. Your underwear followed immediately after, dragged down together in one quick motion before pooling around your ankles.
The air in Scott’s apartment was heavy, charged with the static of the storm raging outside. The gray light of the overcast sky filtered through the windows but the atmosphere inside was scorching.
"Kneel," he commanded as he pointed toward the armchair, his voice a low, authoritative rumble.
You didn't hesitate. The tension that had been building between you for weeks, the unspoken glances and lingering touches, had finally snapped. You sank to your knees on the plush seat, your heart hammering against your ribs. You leaned forward, gripping the headrest with both hands, body already trembling in anticipation. You were completely exposed to him, your ass tilted back and waiting.
Scott disappeared for a moment, leaving you in a silence broken only by the distant roll of thunder. When he returned, the sound of a foil packet tearing echoed in the room. You heard the metallic click of his belt unbuckling and the slide of a zipper.
The anticipation was agonizing. You heard him roll the condom on, followed by the wet sound of him spitting on the head of his cock to make the entry smoother.
He stepped up behind you, heat radiating against your backside. He lined himself up and then, with one powerful, decisive surge, he thrust deep inside you.
You let out a sharp, strangled whine, your fingers digging into the fabric of the headrest. It had been so long since you’d felt a man inside you and Scott was massive. The initial stretch was borderline painful, a blunt force that filled every millimeter of your tight, starving pussy. You blinked rapidly, tears pricking your eyes as your body struggled to accommodate his size, your breath hitching in your throat.
Scott didn't give you time to adjust. He reached forward, his large hands clamping onto your hips with bruising force and yanked you backward, pulling you deeper onto his cock until there was no space left between you.
"I wanna see you," you moaned, your voice broken and desperate, trying to twist your torso around to look at him.
He didn't let you. Instead, he leaned in and sank his teeth into the skin of your shoulder, a sharp bite that made you moan despite your best efforts. His hand moved from your hip to your jaw, gripping it firmly to keep your head pinned forward.
"Just focus," he rasped calmly against your skin, the contrast of his steady voice and his firm grip sending a shiver of submission down your spine.
He let go of your jaw and began to thrust. He didn't start slowly, he hit you with a rhythmic, punishing intensity. The apartment was suddenly filled with the sound of your sudden, loud moans and frantic curses. You collapsed forward, your chest pressed against the headrest, your body jarring with every hit.
As he hammered into you, Scott reached around, his hands finding your breasts. He didn't bother undressing you further, he grabbed your boobs firmly over your clothes, squeezing and kneading them with a rough, possessive grip that matched the violence of his hips.
"I'm gonna fuck you on every surface of this apartment," he growled. "You'll be seeing a lot of me."
The sex quickly became raw and primal and so, so fucking good. The sound of skin slapping against skin, mixed with the wet, rhythmic thud of his pelvis hitting your ass filled the room, competing with the roar of the thunder outside. Every thrust shook your entire frame, quaking your body from your head to your toes. You were whimpering loudly now, the pain of the initial stretch having completely melted into an overwhelming, white-hot pleasure you never thought you could feel.
Your eyes watered, staring out into the distance of the room, the world blurring as the friction built. It was fast, harsh and so perfect that you found yourself wanting to bite the armchair, your teeth sinking into the fabric as your back arched violently. You were unraveling, the long period of abstinence making you hypersensitive to every inch of him.
"I'm right there, keep going! Scott, please! Don’t fuckin’ stop." you whined, voice echoing through the apartment.
He didn't, he instead increased the pace, his thrusts becoming shorter and more frantic, drilling into you with an obsession that felt like he wanted to merge his body with yours. The thunder peaked with a deafening crash that seemed to trigger something inside you.
Suddenly, your internal muscles spasmed. A wave of heat exploded from your core and you felt a sudden, uncontrollable gush of fluid. You were squirting, something that had never happened to you before, the hot spray soaking the armchair and your own thighs. You began to shake uncontrollably, your legs giving out as you sobbed out of pure pleasure into the headrest.
Scott let out a guttural groan, the feeling of you flooding around him driving him over the edge. He loved it, hell, he was obsessed with the way you were falling apart under him. He kept going, ignoring your tremors, continuously driving himself into you as you peaked into a mind-blowing, screaming orgasm that left you completely breathless.
With a final, deep thrust, he groaned loudly, coming hard into the condom.
The momentum stopped abruptly. He stayed buried inside you for a long moment, both of you frozen, chests heaving in unison.
Slowly, he withdrew, the wet sound of his exit punctuating the silence with an obscene pop.
You both watch the rain lash against the glass, the gray light illuminating the wreckage of your passion. You took a long, shuddering breath, body still twitching from the aftershocks as your pussy twitched around nothing, back arching further needily, earning a smack from him.
"Holy fuck," you both breathed simultaneously, the weight of the encounter settling over you in the heavy, humid air.
There was no going back after that day. Not to abstinence, not to disappointing hookups or to pretending sex was something casual and forgettable that fit neatly between work schedules and storm reports.
Once Scott got his hands on you, everything else lost appeal embarrassingly fast.
What started as isolated incidents quickly turned into a pattern neither of you seriously attempted to stop. It was a terrible idea professionally, obviously, but somehow the two of you functioned better afterward. Meetings became easier, long drives felt lighter and you argued less viciously because the tension always had somewhere to go now instead of festering under your skin for weeks.
You started going home together most nights under the excuse of saving gas money. Then showering together afterward became another practical decision because apparently water bills mattered too now. Somewhere between shared coffee in the mornings and him keeping spare clothes for you at his apartment, things moved quietly into something neither of you had planned for and the worst part was that it worked.
The sex stayed incredible. Sometimes rough enough to leave hickeys along your skin and fingerprints fading across your thighs and hips by morning, or other times slow enough that you ended up tangled together for hours afterward while thunderstorms rolled outside the windows. Every now and then he fucked you hard enough to leave you shaking afterward, staring blankly at the ceiling while he stood in the kitchen making you food like that was a normal sequence of events but eventually you realized it wasn’t just about that anymore.
You started having actual dates without calling them dates, it was dinner after work that lasted until restaurants closed around you. You went grocery shopping together because both of you were too exhausted to go separately and you began falling asleep on opposite ends of his couch while weather models played quietly on television screens neither of you were really watching.
Off-season made it worse.
Without constant travel, motel rooms and adrenaline keeping you both distracted, there was finally time to explore whatever this thing between you had become. You drifted naturally between your house and his apartment depending on whose place seemed closer to the office that day. Half your belongings somehow ended up at his place and vice versa. You texted each other constantly during meetings despite sitting twenty feet apart, phones hidden beneath desks while coworkers talked around you.
Scott started bringing your coffee to your desk already made exactly how you liked it before you even decided you needed one. You started buying his preferred cereal without asking if he wanted any. He slept better with you in his bed and you stopped grinding your teeth in your sleep when he stayed over.
So naturally, being made love to finally happened exactly the way you once thought it would and it wasn’t some exaggerated version of romance men convinced themselves they were capable of after two drinks and mediocre conversation.
It sort of snuck up on you. It was Scott pulling you into his lap while both of you were exhausted after work, kissing your shoulder absentmindedly while you read through data on his laptop. It was him waking you up slowly on Sunday mornings with his hand sliding under your shirt and nowhere either of you needed to be. It was sex that lasted forever because he knew your body well enough to take his time with it, knew exactly what made you gasp, what made your legs tense and what made you hide your face against his neck when the pleasure became too much.
He paid attention and it made all of the difference. Scott learned your body like he learned storm patterns, thoroughly and obsessively, until touching you became instinct to him and it showed…
The morning light filtered through the curtains of your bedroom in soft, golden slats, painting the sheets in hues of amber and cream. The house was silent, save for the rhythmic sound of your shared breathing and the distant chirp of birds welcoming the dawn. You were tangled together, skin on skin, the warmth of the duvet trapping the heat of your bodies in a private, humid cocoon.
There was no rush, no storm to outrun and no urgency born of desperation. There was only the heavy, sweet weight of Scott pressing you into the mattress. You were both fully naked, your limbs entwined in a lazy, possessive knot.
Scott began slowly, his lips tracing a path of fire across your collarbone. He wasn't just kissing you, he was tasting you, tongue swirling against your skin in slow circles that made you shiver. He moved lower, mouth finding the sensitive curve of your breast as you let out a soft, airy moan. He took your nipple into his mouth, sucking firmly while his thumb and forefinger pinched the other peak, twisting it just enough to send a jolt of electricity straight to your core.
You arched your back, your fingers sliding into the thick hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. The friction of his chest against your breasts was intoxicating, the rough hair of his torso grazing your sensitive skin.
He shifted, sliding his body up so he could look into your eyes. His gaze was dark, filled with an intensity that felt more overwhelming than any of the rougher encounters you'd had. He didn't move to flip you or push you into a different position, instead, he settled between your thighs in a classic missionary stance and pushed inside. There was no latex barrier this time, no clinical snap of a condom. It was raw, wet and absolute.
The sensation of his bare skin sliding against yours was a revelation. You gasped, your eyes fluttering shut as you felt the full, throbbing heat of him filling you completely. It felt different, more intimate and permanent. The lack of a barrier made every ridge of his cock feel amplified, every pulse of his blood echoing against your own internal walls.
He didn't start with the punishing pace of the past. Instead, he began to rock, his movements slow and agonizingly deep. He pressed his palm flat against your stomach, pushing down firmly to tilt your pelvis, ensuring that every thrust hit the deepest part of you.
"Gripping me like a fucking vise…so perfect." he groaned, his voice a gravelly morning rumble that vibrated through your chest.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, locking your ankles to pull him even deeper. You were lost in the rhythm, the slow, sliding friction creating a build-up of tension that felt like a tightening coil in your belly. You ran your hands through his hair, your nails lightly scratching his scalp as you moaned into the first rays of the morning sun.
The intimacy was suffocating in the best way possible. As he continued to rock, his movements grew slightly more urgent, the slow glide turning into a passionate, driving force. He leaned down, his lips brushing against yours, tasting the salt and sweetness of your skin while he continued to pinch and tease your nipples, hand roaming your curves with a familiarity that spoke of a deep, obsessive knowledge of your body.
It didn’t take long for your breath to become shallow, chest heaving as the pleasure began to peak. You could feel the walls of your pussy clenching around him, milking him with every deep stroke. Your body tensed, toes curling into the sheets as a wave of heat crashed over you. You cried out, a long, melodic sound of surrender, as your orgasm ripped through you in slow, pulsing waves that left you shaking beneath him.
Scott didn’t slow his pace as his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing heavily. He continued moving, the intimacy of the connection almost too much to bear.
"Want to be done?" he whispered, his voice strained, muscles trembling with the effort of holding back.
You looked up at him, eyes hazy with pleasure and affection. The thought of him pulling away felt wrong because you wanted everything. You wanted the weight, the heat and the mark of him.
You shook your head with an escaped whimper, pulling his face down to yours. "Don’t you dare pull out…’want you to come inside." You breathed.
The request broke the last of his restraint. Scott let out a guttural sound, a mix of a groan and a sob and began to drive into you with a renewed, primal intensity. It was a desperate, loving hunger. He hammered into you, movements strong and deep, each thrust a claim and a promise.
As he reached his limit, his grip on your hip tightened, fingers digging into your skin. He thrust one last time, burying himself as deep as physically possible and you felt the hot, thick bursts of his cum flooding into you. The sensation of him filling you from the inside out was the most intense feeling you had ever experienced, a physical manifestation of the bond that had grown between you.
In the height of his release, as his body shuddered violently against yours, he gasped out the words he had been holding back.
"I love you," he choked out, the confession raw and unplanned.
The world seemed to stop for a heartbeat. You felt a surge of emotion that rivaled the intensity of the orgasm, a warmth that started in your chest and radiated to your fingertips. You tightened your hold on him, pulling him down for a deep, searing kiss.
"I love you too," you whispered against his lips.
He collapsed onto you, heart drumming a frantic rhythm against your own, both of you spent and glowing in the morning light, finally and completely entwined.
A few years ago, you would’ve hated the idea that Scott Miller of all people would end up teaching you everything worth knowing about sex. It would’ve bruised your ego badly, especially considering how seriously you once took those stupid categories and scales in your head before Scott showed up and ruined all of them completely.
Good sex stopped mattering.
Great sex became expected.
Getting fucked became routine enough that you lost count somewhere along the line, usually around the third orgasm of the day and definitely before he started dragging you into his lap halfway through work calls just because he felt like bothering you…with his hands and dick.
But somehow, even after all the rough sex and ruined schedules, Scott still managed to make love to you exactly the way you once imagined it should feel.
So if somebody offered you the chance to go back and do it all over again, you would without hesitation.
You were an absolute HR nightmare now and what a fucking delight that was!
A/N: If you enjoyed this story, feel free to explore the archive for more! Liking and reblogging helps others discover my writing and comments always make my day, they’re a huge encouragement for me to keep creating. Thank you so much for reading!
Look at him just chewing the FAWK out of that gum 😭 (wait chew me next)
Warning(s): Hurt/Comfort, Idiots to Lovers to Idiots to Lovers, Rivals to Lovers, SMUT!!!, Scott might be a little OOC (I tried), drinking, scummy guys that can't take no for an answer (not Scott), again SMUT!! MDNI, 18+, I'm no good at tagging what smut but uh, semi-public sex, car sex, cunnilingus, fingering, rough yet gentle sex(?), look I don't write smut much, this is like a rough launch on trying something new.
Summary: Owens has a sister that nobody knows about, until she shows up on a hunt. Now, Scotf can't take his eyes off of her.
A/N: This may have started because I had the song Sin Comin' On when I saw Tyler come on the screen, but I prefer Scott to him, so ya know! There will most definitely be more of these fics in the future, though maybe not smut.
Riley steps off the bus outside the gas station, sticky humidity almost suctioning to her skin, a tell of a storm on the horizon as her boots crunch on the gravel as she slings her bag over her shoulder. There's a convoy of sleek white trucks and vans that she walks past, ignoring the men staring at her ass through her denim shorts, she even hears a wolf-whistle from on of the men as she continues past them, smiling as Tyler Owens looks up from where Boone has smacked his shoulder and pointed to her.
"Ri!" Tyler calls, jogging towards her as she drops her bag, dashing towards him, the two of them clashing midway in a hug.
"Missed you, Ty!"
"Hey, I missed you too sweetheart," He places a kiss to her forehead. "Oh, sorry, should I say Doctor, now?" Her brown hair wavers in the wind as she smacks him in the stomach, making him grunt and laugh.
"You call me that, and you'll have a foot so far up your ass, you'll be tasting the leather." She huffs, blush burning in her cheeks and disappearing down her tank top.
"Yeah, sweetheart, okay. Boone!" Boone comes jogging over, throwing his arm around Riley immediately, and she returns to action, putting him into a headlock, scrubbing his messy hair that makes him laugh loudly. "Help the Doc with her bags. She's riding in the truck."
"Tyler Owens, you utter asshat." She huffs, kicking him in the ass as he turns to walk away, making him yelp as he jumps, glaring at her as he moves towards the truck. "Don't call me that!"
"Whatever you say, baby sister." He clicks his tongue with a teasing smirk, swaggering away as she rolls her eyes, and Boone taps her arm, pretending to choke. She laughs, pushing him away from him as she releases him, and he jumps back dramatically, like he's been thrown, before he bows dramatically.
"This way, Madam PHD-ist." He chirps, scooping up her bag before she rolls her eyes.
"I've just got off a long flight, and an even longer bus ride, next to a guy who smells like he hasn't showered in a month. I think I'm gonna catch a paid shower, and a good ol gas station hot dog." She flicks a lock of hair from her eyes, and Boone chuckles, handing her her bag.
"Yet you still smell fresh as a daisy, sunshine."
"Aww, Boone, you big flirt." She shoots him a wink a she steps back towards the gas station. "You know just how to make a young lady blush somethin fierce." She gives him a two fingered salute before sauntering her way towards the gas station, her fingers tucked into her belt loops.
"Hey sweetheart!" One of the men in poloshirts calls out, making her nail him with a glare. "You like stormchasin, you should be ridin with the pros instead of hanging with the hicks."
"Aw, bless your heart sugar, but I am one of the hicks." She purrs, pressing a mocking hand to her chest. "Maybe y'all should learn your audience, before you judge." She smirks at the stunned expression that falls on the guy's face, walking up to the gas station door, which opens to reveal more polo wearing men, one with curly hair and brown eyes, and the other with dark hair and pretty blue eyes. The one with blue eyes looks her up and down as she enters the door with a thankful nod as he holds it open, smacking his gum as she walks up to the counter, placing her purchases. Something tells her that this season would be interesting.
Give me tall dark and handsome
Mix it up with something strong
I feel a sin (I feel a sin)
Comin on
She laughs, head thrown back as Boone spins her round, the song playing through the speakers, and she stumbles over her cowboy boots as a wave of dizziness crashes over her.
"Boone!" She laughs. "Stop spinning me!" The man chuckles happily, until he spins her out, and she stumbles right into Tyler's waiting arms, who steadys her, dipping and dancing with her, a smile on his face as Boone walks back to his seat.
"So, baby sis, what'd you think of bein in the big kid seat during the tornado today?" He asks, and she laughs, musical and bright, garnering attention as she flicks her hair from her face after the next dip.
"It was amazing. And terrifying." She giggles. "Did you see Ben? Totally puked all over the place once he got out."
"Aw, he'll come 'round. Once he gets the chaser bite." He playfully nips the air, before his eyes are drawn to the bar door opening, and as they spin, she notes the pile of polo wearing men that enter the bar, and the displeased look on her brother's face.
"What's the deal there?" She jerks her head towards the group.
"Storm-PAR are bad news." She rolls her eyes. "No, you listen to me, Riley. They roll into a town after it's been hit, gather information on the people who's homes have been destroyed, and talk em into sellin their land to Marshall Riggs, on the cheap. They don't even stick around to help, Ri. They only care about gettin their data."
"What?" She purses her lips, frowning as she looks over at where the group has taken up station at the bar. "Ty, that's awful." She shakes her head, and Tyler nods, humming in agreement.
"I want you to stay away from em." He nearly flinches at the annoyance and anger that burns in the gaze she turns on him. "Now, I didn't say you had to, so don't go runnin off, tryin to disobey me or anythin." He backs off, dropping her hands from his own. "Come on, you need a drink, and I need to make sure Lily and Dani ain't tryin to convince Boone go do somethin stupid again, like do a handstand on the bar." She shakes her head with bright laugh, unaware of the burning blue eyes the immediately follow the sound, watching the stranger duck under Owens's arm, spin on her heels to throw a taunting gaze at the man, before bounding over to the Torando Wranglers.
"You glare any longer, you'll burn a hole in her head." Javi murmurs over the rim of his glass, and Scott's eyes flick over to him. "What's crawled up your ass now?"
"The new chick with the hillbillies." He replies, and Javi follows his gaze to the brown haired, green eyed girl in a red sundress with a denim vest and cowboy boots. "What do we know bout her?"
"Not much. Name's Riley. Showed up a week ago, just after the season started. Seems close with Owens. Why?"
"She looks familiar."
"Familiar like you've seen her somewhere, or familiar like you've hooked up?" Javi asks, and Scott scoffs, throwing back the rest of his drink.
"I wouldn't stoop so low." He retorts, watching the girl wander over to the bar, smiling like the sun is shining itself, and beckons the bartender over, who places a shot of tequila before her that she immediately downs, wincing before she sucks on the lime she salted before she downed it. She laughs as the bartender replaces the shot with some kinda cocktail, nodding her thanks as she walks away with it, skirt swaying, drawing his eyes to her swinging hips as she dances over to the table, planting a kiss on Lily's cheek, before dragging her and Dani towards the dance floor. Something about her feels familiar to him, but he can't place it.
Storm-PAR has been everywhere this week, much to their annoyance, not that Tyler would show it. No, he's taken a liking to their new teammember, a pretty little blonde named Kate, who has poached a few of their tornadoes. Riley isn't judging. Except she is. Because every time that Tyler walks away from the girl, he has a smile the size of Texas, and she constantly schools him, and yet she hasn't even exchanged anything more than pleasant greetings with the group of wannabe chasers. That changes when she's sitting at the bar after a particularly nasty storm hit a town, practically wiping it off the map, while the team are off in a booth chatting and laughing, Riley can't bring herself to join, their mood far too jovial for her.
"James," The bartender looks up at her as she raises her glass of whiskey sour. "another. Please." She asks, and he nods, moving to mix it as she watches the bar through the mirror behind the bar. It's practically deserted, and when Storm-PAR enters, it goes unnoticed by her group as they line themselves up at the bar, one of the men from the group eyes her with a leering smirk as she takes her drink from the bartender.
"Hey there, gorgeous. I'm Bill. What's your name?" He purrs, making her wrinkle her nose, looking away as she puts a curtain of hair between them. "Aw, don't be like that." He brushes her hair behind her ear, making her shiver and glare at him.
"Fuck off." She huffs, making the man's smirk fall.
"I'm just tryin to get to know you better. Why don't you let me buy you a drink?"
"No thanks. I have one." She brushes his roaming hand off of her. "Now, please fuck off." He snatches her hand up, glaring at her.
"Listen here, it's not polite to use such foul language. Not very ladylike-"
"Back off, Bill." A gruff voice interrupts the man, easily prying his hand from it's grasp around her wrist. The man with gorgeous blue eyes and dark hair has put himself between the leering man and Riley. "The lady told you no."
"Sorry, Scott. Didn't know this one was taken." Bill huffs out.
"Doesn't matter if she is or not, you need to learn that no means no. If you don't fix yourself, you'll have no place on this team." The man- Scott?- says, and Bill's face falls into a sneer as he turns and storms off. Scott lingers for a second, before turning to her, and despite the stone face he has, something akin to concern echoes in his eyes, making them stormy as she smiles at him.
"Thanks." She murmurs, holding her hand out to him. "I'm Riley. Riley Owens." His expression shifts into something unreadable as he takes her hand, shaking it.
"Scott Miller."
"Can I buy you a drink? As a thanks for not having to lay that guy out on his ass." She offers with a soft smile, and Scott glances around before shrugging.
"Why not?" He plops down beside her. "You Owens's wife?" He asks, watching in amusement at the disgusted expression that crosses her face.
"Ew. Gross. No. He's my brother." She throws back the rest of her drink. "James, two scotches!" She calls out, before turning back to Scott. "You seem like a scotch drinker." He raises an eyebrow, but doesn't reply to that.
"I didn't know Owens had a sister."
"Half sister. One his father's side. I asked him not to advertise it on his wiki and youtube until I was done with school. Last thing I wanted was people thinking I was getting special treatment for being "Tyler Owens's sister? Oh my god!"" She says in a breathy fan-girl voice, then giggles, fiddling with her empty glass.
"Thought you looked familiar." She flinches at that, barely noticeable but enough that Scott frowns as he accepts the glasses of scotch from the bartender, sliding it to her, making sure she sees that his hands are nowhere near the top.
"Yeah," She picks up the glass, taking a swig. "no, that's not why I'd look familiar." She shrugs, brushing her hair over her shoulders. "My parents got caught up in an EF5 when I was about 16. Our house got wiped away, and I was the lone survivor." She admits. "My face was plastered all over the news and papers, once my aunt took me in. Said that it was "paying my dues" to her, using the sympathy for money." She doesn't look at him, already knowing the look on his face. "Ty came and got me as soon as he turned 18, by then my aunt had coasted on the fame and sympathy enough to get a big fat house, and nice car, while she stuck me in the attic." She takes another swig. "I used my parents insurance to finance my education, so I wouldn't be a burden on Ty. I wanted to distance myself from all things storm related." She shrugs.
"Damn." Scott takes a large gulp of his scotch as she lets out a wet laugh, downing the rest of hers.
"Sorry, the storm today just took it out of me. I think I'm gonna head out." She slaps a few bills on the counter, hopping off her chair as she heads over to the Wrangler's table. "Ty, I'm gonna head back to the motel."
"Already?" Tyler asks, lurching up to stand as he sets his beer down, looking less than thrilled to be pulled away from Kate's company. "Alright, I'll tak-"
"I think I wanna walk. It's a nice night, I'm tipsy, and it's not far." He falls silent as he eyes her.
"You wanna talk about it?"
"No. I want to be alone." He nods, and she grabs her bag, heading towards the door, unaware of the man that stands from the bar, following her out the door.
"You know, it's still dangerous to walk alone, even in the country." She turns, startled by Scott as he approaches her. "Let me drive you. Motel on 8th and Carver, right?"
"Yeah... you too?" He nods, jingling his keys.
"It's gonna storm." He points out, making her look up, catching the clouds overhead that are brewing.
"Cap's too strong. It won't break through." She eyes him. "But, sure. Beats walking." She follows him, slipping on the curb, by Scott is there, catching her around the waist, pulling her tight to his chest.
"Can't even walk right?" He huffs, and she blushes.
"'M sorry." She goes to pull away, but he's still holding her to his chest, studying her face as she rights her feet, looking up at him. "Scott?" He sighs, leaning down to claim her lips, making her squeak, eyes wide before they flutter closed as his tongue sweeps over her bottom lip. She parts her lips, allowing him entrance as he fists a hand in her hair, and her hands go to clutch at his collar, sucking on his tongue as a whimper escapes her. When they part, it's with a sharp breath, and she is completely flushed as she steps back, nearly tripping in the curb again when Scott grabs her by the waist again. "I-I'm fine!" She squeaks, moving away from him, putting distance between them as she shakes her head. "I-I'm gonna walk, instead." Scott goes to say something- refuse? Apologize? But she's already moving away, running, cowboy boots pounding on the gravel road as she puts as much distance between them as possible.
Riley is tense, every time Tyler asks her a question, she nearly jumps out of her skin. Boone notices, Dani notices, Lily notices, Ben notices, even Dexter notices, the only one who is willingly oblivious is Tyler, who can't keep his eyes off of Kate during their run-ins. She pointedly avoids Scott during their bar nights, dancing with Boone or Dani or even Javi at one point, and when they're at the same gas station, she pointedly disappears into the bathroom the minute they arrive after letting Lily know what she wants, before she miraculously reappears in Tyler's truck, a textbook open even though she no longer has to study, for "field medicine" she had said when Ben asked. It all comes to a head on a night much like the one they kissed, where Riley decides she wants to walk to the motel, a nice buzzed flush to her skin as she exits the bar, Tyler had taken off in the truck to find Kate, and the rest of the Wranglers are used to her whims.
"Your brother not around to give you a ride?" She startles, turning to find Scott leaning against the wall, cigarette in his hand, making her brow furrow.
"You smoke?" She asks, and Scott eyes the cigarette.
"Used to." He pointedly chomps down on his gum. "Need to busy my hands and my mind." He flicks the freshly lit cigarette to the ground, stubbing it out as he presses off the wall to cross to her, not stopping when she takes a step back. "We need to talk," He hits his keyfob, making the truck behind her chirp as he unlocks it. "get in." He watches her weigh her choices, but he's already turning her on her heels to push her towards the truck, opening the door for her. "Get in."
"Demanding much?"
"Look, I let you go last time, but just cause we're in the country, doesn't mean this is any safer than a city." He nods to the door. "Get in." Her green gaze burns into his blue eyes as she narrows her eyes at him, debating on their size difference, and if she could run before he catches her, before she sighs, hopping into the truck as she slams the door behind her. Scott rolls his eyes, rounding to his side of the truck, climbing in as she looks pointedly away, biting her lip in nerves. She nearly jumps out of her skin when the truck rumbles to life, and Scott chokes on a snicker, pulling out of the bar as he switches between watching her and the road. "You have to talk to me eventually."
"No, I don't."
"Your team have already cornered and threatened me." Her head snaps over at that, eyes wide in a "what?!" expression. "It was a kiss. We were both drunk. It doesn't have to be more than that." She sighs, sinking back against the seat as she chews on her lip more aggressively.
"I don't just kiss." She huffs. "And I don't think being around you, is very smart." She looks away from him. "Your job is bad enough, but the fact that I can't get you out of my freaking mind? It's-"
"I can't stop thinking about you either." She falls silent, looking at him as he turns into the motel, parking in the shadow of the building. "It's hard when you flounce around in those little dresses and skirts of yours." She tugs her skirt down at his words. "And you look like you're having the time of your life, swinging around in that harness, or on the dance floor. Laughing or singing, or blushing and trading quips-"
"You sound like you've been watching me. Not just in person, but... on Ty's streams?" She feels overly cocky at saying that, but his cheeks flush in the dim light, telling her that her observation is spot on.
"We have to watch for work." He replies, looking away as he wipes a hand over his face.
"Do you?" She frowns, looking away. "Look, I just don't think that we should be around each other." She reaches for the door when he grabs her hand, making her turn to him, but he's there, kissing her, hand curling on her cheek to hold her to him. He isn't forceful, he's surprisingly gentle, coaxing her into kissing him back, tongue tracing hers when she parts her lips, his teeth catching her lip as she leans up, pressing against him, hands going to his shirt to pull him closer as she lets out a soft whine as his lips move to her jaw, trailing down her throat. He is suckling the skin there as she gasps, taking deep heated breathes as she closes her eyes, trying to convince herself to push him away, only to let out a moan as he latches onto the sensitive skin of her neck, biting down to mark her. "Ah! Scott!" She gasps, hands going to his shoulders to sink her nail into his skin. "D-Don't-" She gasps when he sucks on the bite mark, purpling it as she clenches her eyes shut. "Don't stop." She pleads, breathless and weak as he chuckles in her ear, gathering her into his arms, pulling her into his lap as he moves to the opposite side of her neck, nipping down it to the same place, before he bites down and sucks on the skin, making her yelp, rocking into him.
"Sensitive." He huffs a laugh, and she shoves him away from her, into his seat, before leaning down to latch onto his neck. She can feel him swallow as she marks his neck in retaliation, his hands on her waist are bruising as she rocks against him. When she grinds down on him, she shutters as her clit catches on his jeans, making her muffle a moan against his throat, which in turn makes him groan, fingers sliding down to tuck beneath her skirt, gripping her ass. "Let me hear you." He purrs, and she kisses him, shutting him up as she glides her hands down his chest, working at his jeans to release him. She pushes his jeans down to his knees, rocking up on her own to pull her underwear down, discarded on the floor as she flips her skirt out behind her as she traces a finger around his erection in his boxers, grinning when he arches into her touch, jaw tensing as he groans.
"Who's sensitive now?" She teases, grinding her wet heat down against him, making him grip her hips tight again. "Let me hear you." She mocks, and he surprises her by smacking her ass, making her yelp.
"Brat." He growls, and she shoots him a smirk, pushing his boxers down to let his erection spring free, slapping his stomach as it glistens in the low light from his precum. She takes him in hand, making him tense as she pumps him, his mouth falling open in a breathy moan. "Fuck!" He chokes out when she glides him against her slit, lips latching onto his throat as she slicks his cock with her wet cunt. "D-Damn," He grips her tighter as she slowly guides him into her, her core clenching around his large shaft, a whimper escaping her as he slows her descent. "Don't push yourself." He murmurs, pulling her away from his neck to study her face as she continues to sink down on him. "Slowly. We've got all night." She pushes him back again, a determined look shining her eyes as she moves his hands from her hips, her cunt fluttering as she sinks down the rest of the way, taking him with a satisfied hum as he grits his teeth.
"Don't-" She gasps out. "Don't underestimate me." She finally chokes out, walls fluttering around him as she waits to adjust, a climax that threatened to come from just taking him, is ebbing away.
"Holy shit." Scott huffs out, wrestling her hands to his shoulders so he can grab her beneath her thighs, fingers leaving indentations on her skin that would bruise in the morning. "Holy shit, you took it all." He let's out in surprise, which only grows when she lifts herself up, dropping back down on him immediately, his hips quiver and jolt a bit, like he's holding himself back from thrusting up into her, like he's letting her go at her own pace.
"I'm not gonna break." She murmurs, pressing her lips to the underside of his tense jaw. "Look at me, Scott." He looks down at her as she rocks up and slams back down, making him moan, lips parted as he watches her face. "I'm not gonna break. You started this." She murmurs, kissing his throat again. "Finish it. Fuck me." She rocks against him again, but this time when she rocks up, he holds her in place, claiming her lips as he thrusts up into her, fast and hard, grip bruising as she cries out, eyes rolling back in her head. The chairs of the truck creak with their movements, windows fogging as the storm outside finally crackles and rumbles, skies spilling as she cards her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer to her as she gasps and moans, every thrust into her warm heat is messy and sloppy, his cock reaching angles that she's been aching for but unable to reach ever since their kiss.
"Beautiful, baby. So pretty." Scott purrs, hips jerking faster, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the air, all muted beneath her moans. Her head falls backwards as he guides her to meet his thrusts, sucking dark marks into her throat as she clutches him to her, eyes fluttering shut. "That's it, baby. Let go for me. Give it to me." He purrs, thrusts becoming sloppy as heat burning in her stomach worsens, and her nails score down his back through his shirt, making him growl, biting down on her throat again.
"Scott!" She cries, clutching him tighter in warning. "I-I-" She chokes out, moving to smash her lips to his as her body is wracked with shivers, her climax pouring over her like a fire flooding her veins, making her throw her head back with a scream of his name. His hips jerk, unsteady, load shooting into her quivering cunt, spilling rope after rope of come deep inside her. She collapses against him, breathing unsteady as she shakes, and he slowly wraps his arms around her, holding her close, like she's something precious, treasured, like this means more than it should. And that thought washes over her like a bucket of ice water. What she just did. With whom she just did it with. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. She's moving, fast, hurriedly fixing her hair as she climbs off of him, practically tripping over herself to get out of the truck, their combined pleasure slipping down her legs as she stumbles to her feet, and Scott moves, tucking himself back into his pants.
"Wait. Where are you-?!" She shakes her head, moving away from him, breathing ragged and worried as she ducks around the motel, running as fast as she can, shame burning her skin as she unlocks her door, letting herself in, and slamming it shut just as Scott appears, breathlessly running after her. She locks the door, sliding down the wood as she covers her ears, ignoring the knocking on her door as tears well and fall as she shuts him out, hearing "open the door, Riley." and "please, baby, let's talk about this." Each word leaving a scar on her heart, a war brewing in her skin as she falls asleep against the door, body a mess of memories of that night.
She's up at the asscrack of dawn, after having slept horribly on the floor by her door, freshly showered as she stands outside Scott's motel room, shifting awkwardly in place as she glances around, then knocks. It takes a minute, before the man swings the door open, anger fading from his face as he looks down, seeing her there in a pair of jeans and a turtleneck.
"Riley," He swallows thickly, his shirt from last night is disheveled, eyes bloodshot and bags heavy on them, she can feel herself blushing, ears burning at the sights of the bites and hickeys that litter his throat. She'd always been proud to mark and be marked, but now it just makes shame curdle in her chest. "I didn't think-"
"I need to go to the pharmacy." She cuts him off, making him blink in confusion. She looks away, cheeks burning worse as she rubs her arm, shifting awkwardly. "I... don't have a birth control prescription, and... we didn't... use a condom." She clears her throat as she looks up at him. "If I tell the others, they'll have questions."
"Why do you need-?" Scott shakes his head in confusion.
"I need a morning after pill." She snaps, looking away again. "Because someone thought it'd be a good idea to come in me, like he wanted to breed me." Scott swallows thickly, trying to ignore the fact that the thought is making him hard all of a sudden. "Seriously?" She huffs, and he blushes as he realizes that he just let out a moan. "Look, the least you can do is take me to the pharmacy." She grips her purse tightly. "I'm not asking for money, just a ride." He nods, grabbing his shoes and keys from the nearby table, before following her as she walks towards the truck, keeping an eye out for the team as she keeps her hair down to hide her face.
"Your total is $58.73" The teen cashier says, smacking her gum, looking bored. Riley scans her card, and takes the receipt and bag, moving towards the pharmacy as her name sounds over the PA system. Just for safety, she put in an order for her birth control, and as she scans her card, the pharmacy gives her a slightly judgemental eye as she hands her the bag and receipt, which she tucks into the other one, embarrassment growing as she exits the store, climbing into Scott's truck with a creak of the door slamming shut behind her. She cracks open her water, opening the morning after pill, and swallowing it immediately, sinking into her seat as Scott studies her, as though he's expecting to be able to see the pill go down and settle in her stomach to prevent his seed from taking root.
"That was so embarrassing." She huffs out, gulping down some more water, before she caps it as she buckles up, looking away from him. "Let's just go. We have to get ready for chasing."
"We should talk-"
"That didn't work so well, last time." She says, pressing herself closer to the door. "Take me back to the motel."
"Riley-"
"Scott. No." She unbuckles, reaching for the door but he locks it, making her turn to glare at him. "Unlocks the door. If you won't take me back, I'll walk."
"Put your seat belt back on." He huffs, starting the truck, and she complies, crossing her arms to keep that barrier between them, making sure her guard is still up. "We will talk." He backs out of the parking lot, heading back towards the motel.
"Nothing left to be said." She replies sharply, bringing her legs up to hide behind her knees.
"There's plenty." He responds, shifting in his seat, and for a second she thinks he might reach for her, but he keeps both hands on the wheel, eyes on the road, jaw set tight until they pull up to the motel, and she clambers out of the truck, slamming the door shut as she heads back to her room, Scott following on her heels, only for her to slam the door in his face, flipping the locks loudly into place. She's already throwing things into her bag, birth control sitting on top like a beacon, which she covers with her skirt from last night, before she frowns, looking around the room and bathroom, the realization that her panties from the previous night's escapades must have been left in the Storm-PAR truck, making her groan. Those were her favorite pair! Cute, lacy red ones with a little blush pink bow on the front. Now, they're probably gone forever, because there's no way she's asking Scott or anyone else for her panties.
Scott, just thinking his name makes guilt burn within her, trying to come up with excuses for the previous night. Alcohol, tension, mood, conversation, but one lingering thought is all it takes. She's attracted to Scott Miller. He's hot, he cares in his own asshole-ish way, he seems to like Riley, and he fucks so good that she forgets everything that she's thinking about. But, she runs a hand down her face with a groan, this isn't her! Kissing, trysts, going against her beliefs for just a little sex? Scott is an asshole. He works for an even bigger one. Why did she have to fall for him of all people?
Sighing, she drops onto her bed, pulling her phone out, Tyler's name lit up in her contacts as she chews on her lip, debating on dialing it, on getting the first ticket back to her cozy flat with her medical books and takeout and no Scott, and just forgetting about him and chasing in general. But, that's the coward's way out, and she can feel Ty telling her to nerve up, to swallow her fears and follow what her heart tells her to do. Because, no matter what, that's what Tyler would do. He wouldn't be mad at her for her choice, he wouldn't yell at her for "sleeping with the enemy", and the others would be supportive- though Boone might flip her shit- but ultimately, if she chose Scott, then she'd not lose anything, except... except that his job is awful. Pure evil. And he seems to like it. It's horrible. Profiting off other people's misery? How could she even entertain the idea of being with someone like that? In any way!
Sighing, she puts her phone on the bedside table, pushing off the mattress to cross to the door, surprise coloring her face when she opens it, finding Scott leaning against a post outside of her room, like he hasn't left at all- if it weren't for his damp hair and fresh, undisheveled shirt. She opens her mouth, trying to work her throat, to speak, swallowing around her tongue, and Scott moves, pushing her backwards into the room, closing the door behind him with his foot, as though he's afraid he'll lose his nerve if he doesn't take control now.
"Now, let me talk." Scott demands, making her narrow her eyes at him in annoyance. "No more running away." He crosses his arms over his chest in displeasure. "We kissed. We had sex. We're two consenting adults. You keep running away like a little girl that broke an expensive plate or something. We did nothing wrong."
"You're kidding me, right?" She huffs, plopping down on her bed. "We did do something wrong. You hate my brother and my friends, we hate Storm-PAR and everything you stand for. You latch onto people in need, and leech off of them like a parasite. For what? Data? Money? You hurt people."
"We're giving people an opportunity to start over-"
"These are people's homes!" She snaps. "Their whole lives, for some of them. And here you all come, acting holier than thou, and pretending to offer an olive branch when it's really a rose bush. It smells sweet, until they grab on, and find their hands bloodied from the thorns." She shakes her head. "I can't- I refuse to be with you, in any way." She crosses her arms over her chest. "I'm not one of those girls that begs you to choose "me or your job" so I'm removing myself from the equation. You stay in your line, and I'll stay in mine." Scott's frown deepens at that.
"Fine." He huffs, turning to storm out of the room, slamming the door behind him, leaving Riley sitting there, eyes slowly closing as a sudden flood of emotions fill her. This is the right thing. We're too different. This is the right thing. She collapses back on the bed, throwing an arm over her eyes, trying to fight back the surge of emotions washing over her. This is why I don't do casual.
Sirens echo around them as people pour out of the theater, while Ty and Javi help Kate out of the truck- relief fills Riley at the sight of the woman spinning her finger like a tornado, making the men laugh as Riley lowers herself onto the ground, stomach turning and head throbbing from where she was cut from a piece of falling debris. Resting her head on her knees, she grips them tight, willing the nausea and anxiety down, her throat working to keep the bile down as the world threatens to spin her around until she passes out.
"Riley!" Her head snaps up at her name, looking around- Scott is jogging towards the theater as she slowly stands, panic gripping her as her eyes flick to Tyler, who is helping Kate to stand, confusion on his face. "Riley!" Scott yells her name, it's unmistakable, his gaze sweeping the droves of people being collected by medics.
"Ri," Tyler looks at her, taking in her pallor and the clenching and unclenching of her hands, and he guides Kate to lean against Javi as Tyler crosses to stand in front of her. "Why's Storm-PAR lookin for you?"
"I-It's-" She swallows thickly. "Ty, I'm so sorry." She looks up at him. "I didn't- I shouldn't have-"
"Riley!" Scott is at her side, finding her in the chaos. "You're hurt!" He grabs her face by the chin, turning her to examine the cut, and she bats his hands away.
"I'm fine." She huffs, looking at Tyler, who is clenching his jaw, shoving Scott away from her.
"I can take care of my sister, Storm-PAR. You don't need to butt in."
"Obviously. That's why Kate is hurt and Riley is bleeding." Scott shoves Tyler back.
"Why do you even care?!" Riley and Tyler say in sync, causing the man to freeze, looking between the siblings, before he groans, fisting his hair as he huffs, anger and concern cross his face, conflicting in a war.
"You shouldn't even be here, yet you came running for Evans' sister?" Javi scoffs. "You're pretending to care now? What happened to "I don't care about the people"?"
"I swear, you got some fucked up obsession with my sister. Don't think I haven't seen her avoiding you, those looks you send her-"
"BECAUSE I FUCKED UP!" Scott screams, silencing the men. He turns to look at Riley, who Tyler has step in front of, his face smoothing out as he looks at her earnestly. "I fucked up. I'm not asking for anything right now, except that you let me treat that head wound." He reaches for her, and to everyone's surprise, Riley takes his hand.
"It's okay, Ty," She looks at her brother. "I'll... explain everything to you later. Promise." Scott looks relieved as he guides her towards the nearest ambulance, taking first aid supplies from the medic as he cleans her up, gluing her cut and sealing it to a stirrystrip, silence between them crackling with electric tension, heavy with unspoken words. The medic checks her for a concussion and other injuries, before they clear her with some bruising, and Scott wordlessly takes her hand, guiding her towards a Storm-PAR truck. Even the ride is tense, a fight unspoken, passes back and forth between them, and when he pulls into the motel, he looks at her, her eyes have never left his face during the entire drive.
"You need to shower, and rest." Scott says, killing the engine, and hops out, moving around the truck to open her door. "Come on. I've got a room." She wordlessly hops out, following him as he takes her hand, locking the truck as they walk, her smaller steps hurrying to follow him. The shower in the motel is luxurious compared to the day she's had, washing away mud and blood and grass and soot, all remnants of the tornado washing away under the spray, the heat soothing her aching muscles. Resting her head against the tile, she doesn't hear the door click open, nor the boots on the floor until someone clears their throat, startling her enough that she nearly slips with a squeak, moving to peek out from behind the shower curtain. Scott is standing in the center of the bathroom, back to her, eyes catching her own in the mirror. "Javi gave Owens my number, so he dropped your stuff off." He gestures to the black duffel sitting on the counter top. "I didn't want to dig through it. That's your personal stuff, but uh... these fell out the top." She feels her face flush bright red at the pack of birth control that he sets on to of the bag. "Sorry." She makes a noise when he goes to leave, making him pause, and she looks down.
"I... appreciate it." She murmurs, swallowing thickly. "I don't really have... loose sleep clothes... do you have a shirt I could borrow?" The choking noise Scott makes, makes her blush worsen, before he clears his throat.
"Yeah, I'll be right back." She leans back, letting the shower curtain fall closed, covering her face in her embarrassment as she leans against the wall. When the door opens and closes once more, she lets out a shakey breath, rinsing her hair, nursing her bruised ribs and aching head. Toweling off, she changes into Scott's oversized flannel that is basically a dress on her, and some loose shorts, grabbing her pills to pop one, before tucking the canister into her bag, zipping it back up as she opens the bathroom door, surprised when Scott is leaning against the wall opposite, and he immediately snatches up her bag, hefting over his shoulder. "You're not supposed to be stressing those injuries."
"I can carry my bag!" She snaps, and Scott takes her by the hand, guiding her over to the bed, before he drops the bag to the floor as she flops down on the bed, watching him as he leans against the built-in desk, crossing his arms over his chest, before he cards his fingers through his hair, then rubs his neck, fidgeting. "Why did you come?" She asks, breaking the mounting silence, and Scott sighs, crossing his arms again.
"How could I not?" She stares at him, silent, and he shakes his head. "You were in danger."
"What, so you're suddenly Superman? I heard what Javi said. That you "don't care about the people". I can't imagine why I would make a difference."
"Because I care about you!" He hisses, carding his fingers through his hair, blue eyes flashing in annoyance. "I've been trying, since I left that night, to pretend that I'm still a coldhearted asshole. I just... I can't!" He huffs. "Even when we were staying in our own lanes, we were constantly in the same places. I watched you, ever since you arrived. You care. You help. Everyone. It's insufferable. And you're happy to do it." He shakes his head. "And that cute little smile of yours, how you flounce about, giving everyone food, water, a smile, a hug. I was fucking jealous. At first of how much you cared about people, then of everyone who got that smile that wasn't me. I wanted you, and then I got to have you, and you... panicked. I didn't expect it to hurt, but it did." Scott looks at her. "So, I lashed out. At you, at Javi, at complete strangers. I lied. I said I don't care. But, I do. So much that it hurts. I can't pretend to not care anymore." She pushes off the bed, crossing the space between them, hovering without touching as he drops his arms to his sides, swallowing thickly as she looks up at him from beneath her lashes.
"And Riggs? What he has you doing for Storm-PAR?" Scott shakes his head.
"Javi said it perfectly. Riggs and us? We're finished." Scott reaches out, gathering her against him, touch careful and gentle. "I don't want you to be disappointed in me, anymore. In anything that makes you want to deny me, I don't want it." She bites her bottom lip, making him groan as he reaches up, tucking his thumb against her lip to pull it out, tracing the abused flesh as she looks up at him with those pretty green eyes of hers. "Can I kiss you, Riley?"
"Yes." He is on her, surging against her, lips claiming her own as he inhales her muffled gasp, tongue diving into her mouth, kissing and sucking her tongue and lips, messy and frantic, leaving her winded as she moves, tugging him backwards. He lets out a noise of discontent when she pulls away, his eyes opening to watch as she lowers herself onto the bed, scooting backwards as she beckons him with a finger.
"I'm not sure that's a good idea, sweetheart." He says, but he's already moving, clambering onto the bed, kicking off his socks and shoes as he layers himself over her, claiming her lips once again, his hands settling on her waist gently, afraid to touch and hurt her bruised ribs.
"I won't break, Scott." She murmurs against his lips, making him groan as he bites down on her bottom lip, moving to pepper her cheek and jaw, before he catches the buttons of his flannel, popping a few as he moves to her throat, sucking deep bruises to her skin. "Mm!" She jolts when he sucks at the sensitive pulse point on her neck, her fingers threading through his hair to cling to him, her legs bending on eitherside of his chest to cradle him against her, pulling him closer to her. "Scott, please." She whimpers, and he takes a shaking breath as he pulls away, satisfaction filling him at the sight of all the purple marks littering her neck, even her jaw, places that she wouldn't be able to cover easily this time.
"What do you need, baby?" Scott asks softly, his smile beautiful, his eyes dark to almost black, pupils blown wide with just a thin ring of dark color left.
"You." She breathes. "Please." She tugs at his shirt, and he rocks up on his knees, tugging it over his head, throwing the shirt to the floor and she takes a deep breath, licking her lips as he watches her eyes darken, her hands coming up to caress his sternum to his abdomen, leaning up to place a kiss over his fluttering heart. Scott's fingers dive into her hair, tugging her head back to claim her lips again, and she pulls him back down to the bed, where he catches his weight on one of his arms, the other moving from her hair to trail down her side, softly lingering on her bruised ribs before he slides up her shirt, caressing her skin, making her gasp, squirming under his heated touch.
"So sensitive, baby." He purrs, moving to pop more buttons on the flannel, lips chasing every bit of revealed flesh with his lips, hungrily moaning as he captures a nipple in his mouth, making her gasp, jerking into his mouth, a lewd moan pouring out of her mouth as her eyes fall shut, hips rocking against him. He snakes his free hand to her opposite breast, pinching the nipple, making her yelp, shaking as he soothes over it, rolling it between his fingers as he laves attention over the one in his mouth, sucking the pebbled flesh, before nipping it, then tracing it with his tongue, before repeating the actions.
"Sc-Scott-" She is quivering when he shifts breasts, a string of saliva attaching to her skin, and he literally groans when he sucks the opposite nipple into his mouth, his fingers replacing his mouth on the abandoned one. "Scott!" She gasps, fingers carding through his hair, holding him closer as her legs close around his thigh as he slots his leg between her own, her hips moving of their own volition, rocking and grinding against him as she mewls and moans. "Scott, please." She pleads, tugging at his hair, and he lifts his head to look at her, his eyes almost completely black as she swallows thickly, pulling him in for another kiss, desperate and hungry, clinging to his shoulders as she grinds against his thigh even harder, breathing harsh puffs through her nose as he drags his fingers down from her breast to pop the rest of the buttons to the flannel.
"Lemme see you." He asks, pulling away, and she nods, letting her hands fall beside her head as he kisses a trail down her chest, her stomach, tongue flicking out to taste her skin, making her shiver as he comes to a stop at her shorts, slowly working them down her hips, a low groan escaping him. "First you wore those lacy red panties, and now no panties?" He purrs, sucking a mark into her hip bone, making her jolt, a scattered breath escaping her as he discards her shorts.
"I-I-they're too tight around me bruises." She admits, and he looks up at her from beneath his lashes, crooking a smirk at her.
"Fine with me," He smoothes a hand over her mound. "easier access." He purrs, twisting his hand to stroke up her weeping slit, growling hungrily. "So wet, sweetheart." He lifts his fingers to examine them, glistening with her juices, in the light, before he pops them in his mouth, humming at the taste. "Didn't get to taste you last time." He nuzzles her inner thigh, pressing lingering kisses to the sensitive skin there. "Gonna make sure I take my time, this time." He promises, leaning in to kiss her slit, making her squirm, before he presses her down to the mattress with one of his hands on her hip.
"Scott-"
"Be good." He orders, breath fanning over her, making her grab at the sheets, twisting them in her hands as he sneaks a taste of her, making her arch into his tongue as he lets out a half-groan half-growl, parting her lips with his fingers to sweep his tongue from entrance to clit, circling the little bundle before sucking it between his lips.
"Fuck!" She reaches down, threading her fingers through his hair, holding him to her as he fucks his tongue into her hole, making her whine breathlessly, legs wrapping around his shoulders as though to hold him to her, like he could fathom leaving her cunt when it clenches and drips so sweetly.
"So pretty." He praises, spreading her lips again, coating his fingers in her slick, making her whimper as he slides his fingers into her, his tongue going back to focusing on her clit, soothing and rolling over the nub. "So sweet," He groans, tasting her as he curls his fingers in her depths, rocking them in and out of her fluttering cunt, drawing more slick from her as she coos and mewls, tossing her head back as he scissors his fingers, spreading her, before adding a third finger, crooking them just so, suctioning her clit at the same time, a smirk of satisfaction escapes him when her body goes taut, a hoarse cry leaving her lips. "That's it, baby, let go for me." He purrs, tongue tracing circles on her clit, fingers working faster in and out of her as he hums, vibrations wracking her body as she sobs, tears of pleasure falling down her cheeks as he pushes her further, fingers delving into her in such a way that they hit something spongey, and she screams, that band of heat inside her snapping as her legs clamp around his head, shaking, a "Scott!" mixed with her cries as she comes apart around his fingers and tongue.
Scott works her through her orgasm, fingers slowing, tongue sweeping, cleaning her essence, tasting her as she humps his face, hips rocking into his lips as he works her up towards another, tongue more focused, laving up one of her lips, then down the other, before sweeping back in an arch, curling around her clit as his fingers start to pick up speed once more. He inserts a fourth finger, the stretch burning blissfully, making her whimper and croon his name, head tipped back, chest heaving as though she can't get enough air. The next climax is slower, less intense, but still makes her wail his name like a curse and a blessing in one, soaking her upper thighs and his chin, making him let our a ragged growl, trying to drink as much of her in as he can, the sounds coming from between her legs are wet and filthy, making a shiver run down her spine. When he finally stops, slowly extracting his fingers from her warmth, she is still shivering from aftershocks as she meets his heated gaze from where he's resting his chin on her stomach, occasionally pressing a damp kiss to the skin there.
"Hi." He murmurs, making her let out a soft laugh.
"Hi." She replies, voice breathless as Scott sits up, wiping his chin and fingers on his shirt, smirking in satisfaction at the flush that floods her face, inching it's way down her neck as he drops his shirt, fingers falling to his belt buckle.
"Do you want to stop?" He asks softly, and she shakes her head, sitting up to discard her borrowed flannel as Scott smiles, undoing his belt and jeans, watching her eye his prominent member straining against his boxers. He slowly kicks his jeans off completely, before he slowly drops his boxers, his member springing up wifh a wet slap against his stomach, proud, thick, and long. How had she taken that completely the first time? "You look worried, sweetheart. You already had this in you before, remember?" He kneels on the bed, tugging her closer by her ankle, making her squeal in laughter, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck. "I even prepped you this time." He murmurs, sliding his shaft across her lips, rocking back and forth, coating himself in her slick. "You can do it, baby." He promises, tapping his cock against her clit, making her yelp, arching against him. "You want it, sweetheart?" She nods rapidly, and he chuckles. "Words, Angel." He presses the head of his dick against her entrance, slowly, tauntingly, rubbing it up and down. "You have words, ask nicely."
"Please!" She gasps out, tugging him closer, lips hovering near his. "Please please please, Scott. Need you in me. Let me feel you. Please!" She begs, hooking a leg around one of his, and he chuckles, pressing a kiss to her temple, gliding, notching into her, stretching her as he slides into her, just the tip, making her whine, wiggling against him, lifting her hips to try and take him deeper, but he wraps an arm around her waist, holding her to the bed. He rocks his hips back, before pushing into her again, further, groaning as he buries his face in her neck, lips sucking on his throat, bruising her flesh with his teeth and tongue. "More, Scott, please." She pleads, her frustration burning inside her at how little she truly has of him. He huffs out a weak laugh, sliding deeper into her, fucking his hips in and out of her, each press of his hips in gives her a bit more, until, with a shuttering gasp, he's fully seated inside of her.
"Holy sh-!" He groans as her walls clench around him, threatening to make him spill his load inside her already. "Fuck, that's- you're such a good girl," He brushes hair from her face, pressing a kiss to her lips, to her cheek, to her jaw, nipping the skin there, before he rocks back before sliding back into her, setting a slow pace. "Such a good girl," He purrs, making her whine, wrapping her leg around on of his. "That's it," He continues to glide in and out of her with ease, gripping her hips tighter as he groans, and she mewls, fingers in his hair, tightly holding him against her. "You took all of ne. Such a good girl. So full of me, huh? You want me to make you come? So tight around my cock, Princess."
"Please, Scott- ah!" She cries out when he hooks his hand under her thigh, angling her hips up with a sharp thrust, drawing back before plunging back into her, making her whine again, hips moving to meet his thrust for thrust, each one rough and measured. The sounds of the bed creaking are drowned out by her breathless pitchy moans, and skin slapping against skin as he moves faster, mouth claiming her own as she clutches at him, fingers in his hand, nails blunting down his back, everywhere, trying to relay how good she feels, and make him feel good in return. "Pleasepleasepleaseplease!" It's a slur of words, head falling to the side to bury her face in the pillow, embarrassment growing with every pitiful plead that falls from her lips.
"You sound so pretty, baby. Begging for my cock. Bet you want to come, huh?" He growls when her walls shutter around him, and he redoubles his efforts, hips slamming into her own as he fucks her harder, headboard thumping against the wall, making her cry out his name, wailing her pleasure. "Sound so pretty, Angel. So pretty, calling for me," He takes one hand in his, interlacing their fingers, turning her face with the other hand to kiss her again, sloppy and wet. "I want you to scream for me, Riley. Can you do that?" He asks, and she nods, yell crackling in the air as his fingers find that bundle of nerves that makes her body feel like it's been struck by a lightning bolt. "That's it. Let everyone know who's claiming you, sweetheart. Let everyone know who you belong to." He bites down on her throat, making her break, orgasm slamming into her as she screams his name, legs wrapping around him to hold him close as his hips stutter, losing his pacing but, it isn't until she moves, biting and marking his throat, praising him, purring his name, that his hips slam into her, becoming more and more jerky, before he groans, loudly, cock twitching as he spills inside her, triggering another climax for her.
"Scott!" She moans, cries, as he continues to fuck his seed into her, more and more coming out of him as he moves, hips jerking and humping into her of their own accord, while Scott moans her name, over and over again, until he finally pulls away, rolling off of her, afraid of squashing her as he collapses into the bed next to her, the both of them breathing hard. Riley almost jumps when Scott reaches for her, pulling her closer, on top of him, passionately kissing her as she hums. She pulls away, laying her head on his sweaty chest, listening to the rapid beating of his heart, smiking softly as he brushes his fingers through her hair, then up and down her back, causing shivers to crawl up her spine.
"You feelin alright?" He asks, fingers caressing her bruised ribs, light enough so that she can barely feel his touch, despite the stitch in her side.
"Yeah," She laughs, breathless and bright. "yeah, just..." She hums happily, nuzzling his chest. "Happy. And sooo relaxed."
"Good," He chuckles, like genuinely chuckles. "seems like you needed a good fuck."
"Don't cheapen it." She pouts, and Scott shakes his head, leaning in to press a kiss to her nose, before caressing her nose against his.
"I'm not." He promises. "You deserve to be relaxed. Comfortable. You went through a lot- we both did." He kisses her on the lips, once, twice, a third time, less heated, but no less meaningful. "Get some rest, Princess. We're not done here," He grabs a handful of her ass. "not by a longshot."
Things wouldn't magically get better, but this could be the start. Healing hurts, admitting to change. Scott and her both. And that would be enough.
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collect his payment (the projectionist x fem!reader)
wc: 706
tags: mature, no use of y/n, pearl (2022)
summary: the projectionist shows you that naughty film you like and collects his payment.
read on ao3
"You don't have to pay me to play it, little lady," he says, pushing your money back toward you.
"You're going to show it to me for free?"
"Well, I don't know about that now. There's other ways to pay me," the projectionist says with a crooked smile. Heat travels from your chest to the tops of your thighs at his suggestion.
He told you to stop by whenever- "three long knocks and one short and I'll know it's the prettiest gal in town". He showed you a scandalous foreign film a few nights ago that you can't get out of your head, and you're here to see it again. And to see him again frankly.
"Roll the picture," you say. You sit on the edge of the small bed in the corner of the projection room while he gets the film set up on the projector. He looks back at you with a raised brow as he clicks the roll into place.
"You look quite comfortable over there," he says.
"I am," you reply. "Is it playing?"
"Yes, come watch," he says, offering you his hand. You take it and let him lead you to one of two small windows above the theater. You can see the beginnings of the dirty, silent film play as a deep need settles into your belly. "What's your favorite part?" He whispers from behind you. You can feel his body heat radiating off of him.
"I- I don't know that I have one," you tremble as his hand trails up your bare arm. "The whole film, I suppose."
"Mm, well, my favorite part is right here," he groans as he touches you through the fabric of your dress, just like the man is touching the woman on screen. Your eyes close and you take in a sharp breath at his touch.
"Mm, feels good," you moan.
"Watch the film while I collect my payment, little lady."
"Oh- oh!" You yelp as he lifts the skirts of your dress and presses something hard and hot between your thighs. You're slightly embarrassed at how easy you're making things for him- at how wet you are. He grunts as he sheaths himself inside of you. You gasp at the full, stretching feeling- he's so big. You can feel every vein and twitch as he swells before starting to move.
"Watch the picture, pretty one," he whispers, moving the back of your head with his hand toward the screen again. "Watch him fuck her like I'm fucking you right now."
Is that what he's doing to you right now? Fuck sounds so filthy, but what you're doing is- God, it's supremely delicious. The heat and strength of his body surging into yours, his other hand reaching around your front to find that bundle of nerves you touched when you thought of him after the first night, it's all too too much. Your legs begin to shake with pleasure, with the life force of him projecting into you. "You're taking it so well," he praises. "Let go for me."
His breath across the back of your neck is your undoing- your legs give out, but he holds your body upright and makes you finish watching the film. He grunts behind you, taking you harder and harder until you feel a wet heat spilling out of you as he pulls out of your body. You realize you're in the same position as the woman on screen- bent over, letting everything he just gave you drip down your thighs. "Stay there," he says as he zips his trousers up.
He moves about the projection room, but you don't take your eyes from the screen as the film shows a grainy "Fin". A soft cloth is pressed to the apex of your thighs as the projectionist cleans up his mess. He plants a kiss there before lowering the skirts of your dress.
"Thank you," you sigh out, still holding on to the ledge of the window for strength. Your legs are still weak.
"For the film?" He asks with a smirk.
"Yes, for the film- and the...."
"You're welcome, little lady. And now you still have a nickel for some hard candy on your walk back home."
Could some kind-hearted writer do something like this?😭🙏🙏
A Scott x Reader story, where Scott is working during his summer break from MIT as a grumpy lifeguard, tired of having to call attention to reckless people. Until a reader in the park catches his eye with her provocative bikini and bratty attitude, almost as irritating as his, and she's determined to get his attention and annoy him until he saves her or teaches her a lesson...
summary: after the stillwater tornado, you're forced to not only process the trauma it gave you, but the way the team treats you after. the way scott treats you. on top of the now unavoidable feelings for him, you're struggling to handle it well
warnings: angst, age-gap, power imbalance, swearing, canon divergent (i think i'm using that right), canon typical violence/destruction/injuries/death from tornadoes, panic attacks, jokes about death/dying, reader goes to therapy!!, reader has PTSD and bad coping habits, brief mention of a past relationship, reader wears makeup, brief descriptions of what reader's wearing (sorry if i missed any!)
word count: 21k
a/n: i have no idea how this got so long but i just couldn't shut up because i love their dynamic lmao it took me a while to figure out what direction i wanted to take this in, but i'm pretty happy with the ending!
divider credits to @pixopix!!
If you’d been asked two weeks ago, you would’ve stood firm in your opinion that Scott Miller is a Grade A asshole.
Now you’d say he’s tolerable.
Which might be worse, actually. Because at least when he was an asshole it was easy to dismiss your very small, very insignificant, barely there crush on him.
It’s harder to do that when he’s actually trying to be decent, has said the words ‘I care about you,’ and admitted he was worried when you were in a life-threatening situation.
Which is why you’re still awake at 3 a.m., staring at the ceiling of the shitty motel room as Kate snores softly in the other bed–something she adamantly denies every time you poke fun at her for it.
It’s been two full weeks since the Stillwater tornado. Since Scott and Tyler had come to some weird unspoken agreement to soften the feud. Since Kate had found that the near-death experience was what she needed to be reminded just how much passion she has for storm chasing. Since she and Tyler started ‘secretly’ seeing each other.
Only fourteen days since you experienced something that shook you so badly Scott made Riggs include your new therapist in the company budget.
You argued against it–said you were fine and didn’t need more therapy. But the ultimatum given to you by Scott and Javi was to attend therapy or take a mandatory leave, and there was no way you were doing that. Plus, Kate was presented the same ultimatum and agreed to therapy with no qualms, and knowing you wouldn’t be alone in it helped.
You both took a few days off, but by halfway through day two you were itching to get back to work. Sitting in a stuffy motel room was doing nothing for the mental aspect of your recovery, and you were lucky enough to only get cuts and bruises that didn’t require much downtime.
But all going back to work did was cause a new problem.
Because Scott will not stop watching you.
It’s unnerving, truly. Like his eyes were designed purely for him to see you. It should make you giggly and shy–the guy you’ve thought about when you can’t sleep for the last year paying such close attention to you. But all it does is piss you off.
Because it’s not good attention. It’s not like he’s looking at you because he likes you or thinks you’re pretty.
He’s watching you because you almost died and now it’s like nobody trusts you to be alone.
So you’ve resorted to staying awake well past everyone else, reveling in the solitude that comes with the night.
- - - -
You wake up at 7 a.m. to the blaring alarm from your phone where it’s charging on the nightstand. You groan and cover your face with a pillow, then blindly slap at your phone, hoping to turn it off without looking. You can hear Kate chuckle from the other bed.
“Want some help with that?” You just grunt in response, but she takes your phone and shuts off the alarm for you. After a moment of silence, she asks softly, “You stay up late again?”
You sigh and take the pillow off your face, turning to face her. She’s already ready for the day. “Yeah.”
“What time?” Her voice and face are so soft, so gentle. It makes you want to scream.
You shrug, looking to the side now. “Three?”
She sighs and tilts her head. “You can’t keep functioning on such little sleep, Sunny.”
You clench your jaw and sit up, letting the blanket pool in your lap for a moment before pushing yourself out of bed. “I’m fine, Kate.”
“You say that every morning, but it’s obvious you’re not.”
You grab your clothes from your bag and take them into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you without responding. You look in the mirror, noticing the deep purple bags under your eyes that have been there forever, but seem darker lately.
You get changed into your blue polo and a pair of jeans, put on deodorant, brush your hair and teeth, and leave the bathroom looking slightly more human than when you went in.
She looks up when you come back out, eyes tracking your movements with furrowed brows as you slip on your socks and boots. “We’re not meeting until 8.” She glances down at her phone. “It’s only 7:15.”
“I’m going for a walk,” you reply flatly, focusing on tying the laces.
She hums. When you stand and grab your key, slipping it into your pocket, she simply says, “Okay.”
You bite your tongue, resisting the urge to sarcastically ask what, not gonna insist on coming with? Because it’s not her fault. And she’s been understanding about everything. But it’s not fair. She recovered so well–perfectly–from the same situation, meanwhile you keep feeling worse and worse.
You leave the room without another word. The crisp morning air causes goosebumps to erupt on your arms and you welcome the feeling–something so small, but reminds you that you’re alive.
You close your eyes and bask in the sunlight for a beat before starting to walk. The only sounds are the chirping birds in the trees that line the road the motel sits off of and the crunch of dirt under your boots.
It’s perfect.
You walk for the entire 45 minutes, getting back to the motel just as the rest of the team gathers in the parking lot for the usual pre-chase briefing. You make your way to stand between Andy and Peter, intentionally avoiding both Scott and Javi’s questioning glances when they see you come from the road.
The briefing is quick, likely just confirming plans for today’s chase, but you don’t hear much of what’s said. The talking all drones into a monotonous hum in the background of your brain.
The second Javi claps his hands together, signaling the end of it, you move to get into the passenger seat of Scarecrow, sinking down into it. The rest of the team stands around chatting for a minute, then Scott slides into the driver’s seat. He looks at the side of your face when you don’t turn toward him. “Where were you?”
“A walk.”
“Since when do you take walks in the morning?” There’s that fucking concerned tone.
You shrug, still staring out the windshield. “Since today?”
He studies you for a moment. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” It’s quick. Reflexive.
He scoffs. “Right.” He keeps looking. “When’s your next appointment with the therapist?”
You turn your head halfway now, glaring at him. “None of your business.”
“Except it is my business, because it’s a condition of your employment.”
You turn back to the windshield with an eye roll. “If I knew you were going to hold it over my head like this, I would’ve just agreed to the leave.”
He adjusts in his seat, his body turning towards you. His tone is sharper now, but there’s a sort of desperation underneath it. “Okay, seriously, what is your problem? I thought we finally figured out how to work together.”
Your jaw tenses, then you turn to look at him with a sigh, keeping your face carefully neutral. “I don’t have a problem, Scott. I’m tired. That’s it.” At his disbelieving glance, you force the tension out of your shoulders and soften your voice. “I’m fine. Really.”
He keeps his eyes on you for a few more moments before rubbing his jaw, finally turning away to start the engine. “Fine.”
- - - -
You manage to keep your frustration contained for four more days before you finally reach your boiling point.
It comes after a chase. A tornado that shifted paths, turning toward yours and Scott’s PAR position. You got out of the way fine, that wasn’t the problem.
The problem was that he was watching you.
And then he kept watching when you’d all realized a small town was hit and decided to offer your help.
Watched while you performed first aid on a young girl who wouldn’t stop crying.
Watched while you helped a family salvage photo albums from their damaged house.
Watched the entire drive back to the motel.
And he’s still watching when you pull into the parking lot.
You’ve gotten used to the feeling of eyes burning into you, but that doesn’t mean you appreciate it.
You’re trying to be more civil because he’s doing the same. So you don’t say anything as you hop out of the car, grabbing your bag from the backseat.
Or even when he opens the other back door and you can see him glance at you multiple times as he grabs his own bag.
But then he opens his mouth and that’s what does it.
“You okay?”
Something hot and suffocating in your chest explodes and radiates through your entire body, causing you to drop your bag back onto the floor of the backseat.
“Why do you keep fucking asking me that?” It comes out loud and raw.
You watch his eyebrows draw closer together just as you notice the sudden silence around you as the rest of the team stops what they’re doing, shocked by the outburst.
“Because you keep acting like you’re not.” He says it so annoyingly calmly. You want to punch him.
You scoff, narrowing your eyes at him. “That’s what you got from staring at me all the time?”
He pulls back just slightly, confusion flickering across his face. “What?”
“Do you seriously think I can’t see you–feel you watching me constantly?” An incredulous laugh bubbles out of you and the backs of your eyes start to burn. “Everyone! Everyone is constantly watching me! Like–like I’m gonna break or something!”
Javi joins Scott at the other side of the car, looking at you from across the backseat with a concerned expression. “Sunny, kid, nobody thinks you’re going to break.”
You throw your hands in the air, unable to stop the tears that gather along your waterline. “Well, if they did, they’d be right! Here you go! Is this what you were all waiting for? Hm? For me to explode, prove I’m–I’m traumatized?” You grab your bag, swallowing around the lump in your throat as you slam the car door shut.
When you turn around, everyone is–shocker!–watching. They all look around sheepishly, pretending they weren’t just doing the exact thing that set you off in the first place.
Javi jogs around the vehicle, stepping in front of you, hands raised like he wants to touch you but isn’t sure if that’ll make things worse. “Hey, come on. Let’s talk.”
You roll your eyes and throw your head back, sniffling. “I don’t want to talk to you. You already make me talk to a therapist, isn’t that enough?”
“Clearly not,” Scott says from where he’s joined at Javi’s side.
You snap your head back to look at them, locking onto Scott, anger flaring hot in your chest. “Excuse me?”
Javi’s eyes widen as he looks at Scott, trying to silently communicate, but Scott keeps his eyes on you. “You’re having a public meltdown right now. Does that seem like something someone who’s doing well in therapy would do?”
“Oh please,” you spit out. “Like you know anything about therapy.”
“Okay,” Kate interjects, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and physically pulling you toward your shared motel room. “Show’s over, everyone.” You try to shrug her off, but she only tightens her hold on you. As soon as the door shuts behind you, she lets go and faces you. “You wanna tell me what that was about?” It’s not accusing, but it’s not as gentle as her usual tone when you’re upset.
You throw your bag down onto the floor and sit on the edge of the bed, bending over to untie your boot laces with more force than necessary. “No.”
“No?” She crosses her arms, studying you.
You sit up with a huff, pushing your hair back from your face where it stuck due to the tears. “No.”
“Look,” she sighs, uncrossing her arms as she shifts her weight. “I get that you’re upset, but this,” she gestures at you, “isn’t going to make it go away. You can’t just shut down.”
“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do.” It’s not as sharp as you want it to be.
Kate takes a step closer. “What happened?” Her voice is soft again.
You look up for a moment, squeezing your eyes shut, which forces a tear down your cheek. You wipe it with the heel of your hand before looking back at her. “Why are you fine?” At the confusion on her face, you continue. “You just… got over it. And–and it’s not even about the stupid tornado anymore. It’s about the fact that everyone won’t stop watching.” Your voice cracks on the last word, but you keep going. “It’s like nobody trusts me when I say I’m okay!”
“Can you blame them?” She sits on the bed next to you. Not touching, but close enough that you could easily bump her shoulder with yours. “You’ve been off ever since. Do you think nobody’s noticed how little you’ve been sleeping?”
“Well, I wouldn’t have to stay awake so late just to have a little alone time if everybody would stop watching me,” you retort.
“You’ve been snappy.”
“I’ve always been snappy with Scott–“
“Not just with him. With me. With Javi. With Tyler and the Wranglers. I may have only known you for three weeks, but I know this isn’t you.”
You stare at your hands in your lap, starting to pick at your fingernails. It’s weird—being known so well that someone who hasn’t even known you for a month can see through the facade you’ve tried to keep up.
It makes you wonder just how much the rest of the team has picked up on, too.
Probably all of it, now that you’ve blown up in front of all of them.
The thought makes your face burn as you feel embarrassment wash over you. You drop your head with a sigh. “That was embarrassing.”
She nudges your shoulder with her own. “It wasn’t embarrassing. I just wish you’d said something sooner. I’m sure everyone does.”
You both just sit in silence, reflecting for a few moments before you get up to take a long, hot shower. The water soothes some of the tension in your muscles and clears some of the fog in your mind. You come out of the bathroom, still drying your hair with a towel, and stop short when you see Scott and Javi sitting on Kate’s bed with her. Your stomach drops.
“Hi,” you say slowly, moving to sit on your bed. Kate stands, giving you a sympathetic look before going into the bathroom and turning on the shower. Once the bathroom door shuts, the brief moment of silence is suffocating. “Am I being fired?”
“You’re not being fired.” Though the way Scott says it isn’t exactly reassuring.
You tuck one leg under you, eyes darting between both of them. “That didn’t make me feel better.”
“You’re not being fired,” Javi reiterates, gentler. Your shoulders drop slightly. “But you are taking at least three days off. Plus a therapy appointment.” Your eyes widen and you open your mouth, but he cuts you off. “It’s not a suggestion.”
“Look,” Scott says before you can say anything, his voice softer but tight, like he’s working to keep it that way. “Nobody is mad at you, all right? But it’s obvious that you need more time off. To deal with what happened.”
You scoff. “I’ve dealt with what happened just fine. Have you seen me flinch or hesitate in the field? No. I freaked out because you guys keep treating me like a baby.”
“We’re not treating you like a baby–“
“You are, though!” You cut Scott off. “You all are, but especially you. I have felt you watching me nonstop and it’s driving me insane. I have talked it out with the therapist, processed what happened, and gotten over it. But I can’t do anything now without, like, twelve pairs of eyes on me!”
“We just want to make sure you’re okay–“ Javi starts, but you cut in again.
“Then why don’t you guys do the same thing to Kate?” Your voice rises an octave, desperation laced underneath. “You don’t baby her! You don’t watch her! So what’s the difference? Because she went through the exact same thing.”
“Because you’ve only been doing this for a year.” Scott’s voice hardens, but, to his credit, doesn’t raise. “And from what I understand, most of us who have been doing this ten times as long haven’t even seen something to that degree. Kate has.” He pauses, then points at you. “You haven’t.”
You open and close your mouth a couple times, trying to come up with a rebuttal, but now everything just feels like it would come across as childish. Eventually, you settle on, “You guys aren’t doing me any favors by making me feel like…” You trail off, searching for the right words as you chew on your bottom lip. “Like I can’t handle this.”
“We know you can handle this,” Javi assures. “We just don’t want you to feel like you can’t tell us if you’re struggling.”
“I’m not struggling! That’s my entire point!” Your voice is at its normal volume, but the frustration is evident. “You guys have been acting like I should be, but I’m just not. I was–at first. But it’s really fucking hard to recover when nobody will give you the space to.”
Scott rubs his jaw while Javi sighs before saying, “Look. I get it. I do. And I’m sorry–truly. We never meant to make you feel like we didn’t trust you or like you weren’t capable of doing the job. But we’ve all seen how exhausted and snappy you’ve been. You can’t blame us for being concerned.”
You let out a long exhale through your nose, shoulders slumping forward. “I’m exhausted because the only time I’ve been able to have any sense of privacy is after everyone has gone to sleep.”
Javi’s face softens as a guilty look flashes across it. “We’ll get you your own room.” Scott opens his mouth to protest, but Javi pushes on. “And you can take the three days to decompress.”
“I don’t want three days off. And I don’t care about getting my own room–Kate is the most tolerable person here. I just want to exist without feeling like my every move is being monitored.”
“At least take tomorrow off, then. Please,” Javi pleads. “Catch up on sleep, take the time alone, and we’ll talk with the team.” He looks at Scott, nodding as he continues. “We’ll make sure everyone gives you some space, yeah?”
Scott just looks at him for a beat before nodding slowly, almost hesitantly.
You look at Scott directly. “You need to start trusting me.”
His head snaps back to face you, eyebrows drawn close together. “I trust you.”
“No. You don’t,” you counter, but it’s less defensive than before. It’s tired. You open your mouth to continue, but Kate comes out of the bathroom then.
She looks between the three of you–noticing your slumped shoulders, Scott’s stiff posture, and the concern etched on Javi’s face. “Is everything okay?”
Scott looks like he wants to say something, but Javi stands from the bed quickly. He walks over to Kate and places a hand on her elbow, gently guiding her toward the door. “Let’s go get dinner, hm?” Nobody else even gets the chance to say anything before the door is clicking shut behind them, leaving you and Scott in a heavy silence.
The silence stretches before he finally speaks. “I do trust you.” His voice is rough, but quieter now.
You search his face, trying to figure out what’s under his tone. “Then why does it feel like you’re waiting for me to fail? Every time I look at you, you’re already looking,” your throat feels tight. “And I can see it–you’re just waiting for me to screw up.”
He lets your words hang between you for a moment before he sighs. “That’s not what it is.”
“Then what is it, Scott?” The backs of your eyes start to burn again and you mentally curse yourself for being so emotional, clenching your fists. “Because, to me, it feels like we went from you not being able to stand me because you thought I was incompetent to you being scared of me fucking up. And I hate that–I hate it so bad.”
He swallows hard and takes his hat off, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not scared of you fucking up.”
You wait a beat for him to continue, scoffing when he doesn’t. “Am I going to get any explanations? Or just you telling me I’m wrong and that’s it.”
“I just…” he groans, looking up at the ceiling. “I just know that that tornado was really intense and it would make sense if you weren’t okay.” The words tumble out, almost like he doesn’t want you to actually hear them.
You repeat the words in your head, letting them sink in, before feeling the corners of your mouth turn up. “Can you say that again?”
He groans again and lowers his head to glare at you, but the twitching of his mouth gives him away. “Don’t.”
Your smile widens and you tilt your head in mock innocence. “No, no, I just want to make sure I heard you correctly. Because it almost sounded like you’re worried about me.”
“You’re putting words in my mouth,” he deadpans.
“No, I’m summarizing.”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m just saying, I’ve been keeping an eye on you because it’s only been a couple weeks and nobody would be shocked if you were still processing it.”
“And I’m just saying that I am still processing it, but I’m fine to be working and wouldn’t have blown up if you guys weren’t being so overprotective.” You raise your eyebrows, hoping your firm but gentle tone convinces him.
He sighs, closing his eyes for a moment and rubbing his forehead while he takes in your words. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. We’ll…” he trails off, pursing his lips while he thinks over his next words. “We’ll try to back off. Give you space to recover, or whatever.”
He leaves shortly after with an awkward bye, and with Kate and Javi still gone, it gives you some time to think. About how embarrassed you are, firstly. Then about how lucky you are to have such supportive teammates–people you’d consider family more than anything.
And then you think about Scott. About how–for the first time ever–having a serious conversation about your feelings didn’t feel like pulling teeth.
And, well, isn’t that just horrible for you to realize?
Because now you know he’s capable of listening. Actually hearing what you’re saying and internalizing it.
It gives you hope.
And hope is dangerous.
You don’t get too long to spiral about that, thankfully. Kate comes back and you tell her all about the conversation, to which she listens intently with a new gleam in her eyes.
You ignore that.
And for the first time in weeks, you go to sleep at a decent time.
- - - -
Waking up to find Kate already gone makes you disoriented. You fumble for your phone, squinting at the brightness of the screen, and are shocked to see it’s nearly 11 a.m.
You slept for 12 hours.
You scroll on your phone for less than an hour before deciding you’re bored.
Just because you weren’t allowed out in the field today doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to work.
So you dig your laptop out of your bag and pull up the SPC convective outlooks, trying to get an idea of how tomorrow’s chase will be. You’re thrilled to see a level 5 risk across a large portion of the state.
You pull up every forecast you can find, map out potential routes, and try to predict which areas are most likely to develop tornadoes.
You’re practically buzzing by the time you’re done, looking over your notes and routes, excited to share them with the rest of the team…
Then you see it’s only 1:15 and groan, flopping back against the pillow.
Next idea is taking a walk.
So you change into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, slide on your sneakers, and head out, popping your earbuds into your ears. The sun beams down on you, a cool breeze keeping it from being too hot. Based on where the team is chasing today, you figure you have at least two hours before the system they’re tracking reaches you and takes away the sunshine.
This motel is in a more populated area than the ones you usually stay at, so you decide to walk the short distance to some nearby shops and look around.
You don’t usually get much time to explore the cities you stop in. Most nights you arrive late and leave early the next morning. And if you stay in the same city multiple nights, you spend almost the entire day out chasing. It’s nice being able to explore something local, even if it’s just a small town.
The first store that catches your eye is a coffee shop. When you step inside, you’re hit with the smell of coffee and inhale deeply. The low lighting and soft music make the small seating area feel cozy rather than suffocating.
You give the barista your order and look around at the display of trinkets for purchase at the counter while you wait. Stickers, notepads, pins. You pick up a sticker that loudly declares “Hello Sunshine!” with a pastel rainbow and sun with a small smile on your face. You buy it, because duh, then grab your finished drink to continue your walk.
It’s nice. Really nice. No one is asking if you’re okay–no one is watching.
After an hour, you can hear distant rolling thunder over your music, signalling the system picked up speed. You pull up the radar on your phone as you pull out your earbuds, seeing that it also looks like it weakened–now only producing small thunderstorms instead of the severe ones it was initially projected to. Which means the team will likely be back soon since there’s nothing to chase.
You start the walk back, letting the thunder be the soundtrack this time.
- - - -
Sure enough, the team returns shortly after you get back to your motel room. You hear commotion outside and look out the window to see everyone unloading the vehicles, then rush out the door, practically skipping over to them with a smile on your face.
“Hey, guys! Okay, I know the chase today probably wasn’t great because the system weakened, but I did a bunch of planning for tomorrow and I think we have a really good shot at catching something big. Also, I’m sorry about my meltdown yesterday–it was really embarrassing and I know you were all only watching because you care.” The words tumble out in little more than one breath.
The rest of the team turns to look at you with a mixture of amusement and relief at your sudden energy–a drastic difference compared to your behavior over the past three weeks. The only person who seems… suspicious? Concerned? Is Scott.
“Jesus, kid, relax,” Javi chuckles. “First–give us a minute to unload stuff, then we can go over your plans for tomorrow. Second–don’t apologize. We understand.”
You nod and shove your hands into your pockets, rocking on your heels. “Sorry, got a little excited.” You huff out a laugh, catching Scott’s narrowed gaze briefly before looking away.
As they finish up, you run back to your room to grab your laptop and bring it out with you. You set it up on the tailgate of Javi’s truck, already pulling up your notes as the others start to gather around.
“All right,” Javi says, clapping his hands together once everyone’s ready. “Show us what you got.”
You pull up the note file on your laptop with your half-finished thoughts, explaining them more in depth, along with the outlooks and forecasts. It quickly becomes a discussion, everyone throwing out their opinions on your proposed routes.
When you share your thoughts on which route would be the most promising, you’re shocked when Scott–who’s been surprisingly quiet so far–agrees with you. “It’s right along the system’s projected strongest edge. Unless something big changes, this area here,” he steps forward and traces a circle with his finger on the screen, “is most likely to see the worst of it.”
You stare up at his concentrated face for a moment, feeling a sudden warmth in both your chest and face at his agreement and physical proximity to you. You blink a couple times and force your attention back to the rest of the team, vibrating in anticipation. “So, unless something changes, do we have a plan?”
They all glance at each other before nodding. “We have a plan!” Javi cheers, to which you pump your fist. “Glad to see you’re back to bouncing off the walls.” That causes the others to laugh.
“You know, there’s a bar just down the road. We have a night off, Sunny’s back, and tomorrow’s gonna be a big day…” Kate trails off, wiggling her eyebrows at the others, who immediately jump at the suggestion.
Everyone practically rushes off to their rooms to get ready, leaving you standing there, chuckling.
Well, everyone except Scott.
You turn to shut your laptop when his deep voice says, “You put a lot of work into that.” It’s closer than you expect.
You shrug and your face burns once again. You stay facing away from him, not wanting him to see the effect he has on you. “I was bored.”
He hums and takes a step back, pausing. You finally turn back to him, tucking your laptop under your arm. “Good job.” He gives you a sharp nod and turns away, walking toward his room, leaving you with a traitorous, flipping stomach.
- - - -
After you shower, Kate insists on dressing you up. She digs through your bag, frowning and grumbling with each item she pulls out that she doesn’t deem suitable for a night out. You sit on the edge of your bed, towel wrapped around your body, picking at your nails in your lap.
It’s been months since you’ve actually gone out with the team, and even then you never cared much about dressing up. And, based on the texts in your group chat with Dani and Lily, it sounds like a bunch of other teams are going to be there, too.
Kate makes a pleased noise, snapping you out of your thoughts. You turn to see her holding up a fitted shirt with a deeper neckline than you're used to, far from your typical style. “Where have you been hiding this?”
You huff out a laugh. “I forgot I even had that.”
“Okay, well,” she grunts as she pushes herself off the ground, holding up the shirt and a nicer pair of jeans. “We have your outfit.”
You roll your eyes, but take the clothes to the bathroom. Once you’re changed, you look at yourself in the mirror and feel your stomach turn with anxiety. Not because you’re not happy with how you look.
Because you are.
But everything feels tight, and even though you know nothing you’re wearing shows too much skin, it still feels revealing.
You slowly open the bathroom door, seeing Kate is dressed now, too. She’s wearing a pair of ripped jeans and a fitted black one-shoulder top. You wolf whistle, which makes her laugh as she looks you up and down.
“You look hot!”
Your face burns in embarrassment as you wave her off. “Says you.”
She rolls her eyes at your deflection and gestures at the desk chair. “Sit.”
You draw your eyebrows together. “Why?”
“So I can do your makeup, duh.” She shakes her head as if it’s obvious.
Your eyes widen and you shake your head. “Uh, no thank you.”
She shoots you an unimpressed look. “Why?”
“Because I don’t wear makeup, like, ever.” You try to laugh it off, but it comes out a little shaky. Why are you so nervous?
She notices–of course she does–and her face softens as she studies you for a moment. “Okay. We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”
You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “No–I…” You breathe out a laugh again. “Sorry, I’m, like, really fucking anxious about this for some reason. Um, you can do it, if you want. Just, not a lot of it, maybe?”
A grin forms on her face and she nods, grabbing her makeup bag and gesturing for you to sit. She kneels in front of you and digs out an eyelash curler, a tube of mascara, a lip liner pencil, and lipstick. She starts by curling your eyelashes, letting the silence hang for a minute.
“So,” she drags out as she reaches for the mascara. “Apparently a bunch of teams are going out tonight.”
You furrow your eyebrows. “Yeah…”
“And you look hot…”
You start to roll your eyes, but she makes a scolding sound. You force yourself to sit still, fighting the urge to pull away at the mascara wand hovering dangerously to your eye. “No.”
She whines. “Why not? You’re young! Single! And all you do is work. I asked Javi, he said you’ve never even attempted to date someone in the year you’ve been here.”
“I liked you better before you started dating Tyler,” you deadpan.
She gasps in mock offense, screwing the cap onto the mascara before reaching for the lip liner. “Ouch.” She starts lining your lips carefully and you try not to smirk. “I’m just saying. Have you ever even been in an actual relationship?”
You glare down at her, not speaking until she pulls away the pencil. “Yes, I have, thank you very much.”
“And?” She looks up at you expectantly.
You shrug. “Just didn’t work out. Then I moved here, and… I don’t know, I care more about the job than trying to date again.”
She hums thoughtfully, forcing your lips apart with the lipstick before starting to apply it. “Then don’t date.”
“Tha’s what I’n doing,” you mutter with your mouth still open, confused at the sudden backpedal.
She rolls her eyes and tilts her head. “No. Then don’t date.”
She lets you sit in confusion for a few moments before it finally clicks. You gasp and smack her shoulder, causing her to smear the lipstick onto your chin. “No!”
She laughs loudly, grabbing a makeup wipe to fix it. “What! It’s an option!”
You shake your head as soon as she pulls away the wipe. “No, it is not.”
She’s still laughing, wiping an exaggerated tear from her eye. “Okay, okay.”
- - - -
The bar is packed.
Kate was right. A bunch of teams did decide to go out tonight.
You have your arms crossed over your middle as you both walk through the front doors, looking for the rest of your team. Kate spots them first and points them out, crowded around a high table near the back. She grabs your arm to drag you with her, but the second you see Scott you dig your heels in.
“Nope. Just decided I actually don’t want to do this.”
Your sudden stop pulls her back with you, and she turns back around to look at you, alarmed. “What? Why?”
Your wide eyes are locked on his back and your entire body feels like it’s on fire. He’s wearing a black t-shirt that is criminally tight on his biceps, blue jeans, and a backwards hat.
Backwards. Hat.
“Oh, Kate, I’m gonna throw up.”
She tracks your line of sight and a knowing smirk creeps onto her face. “I knew it!”
You shake your head frantically, turning at her, eyes still wide. “I can’t.”
“You can.”
You try to turn back toward the door, but she doesn’t loosen her hold on your arm. “Kate, I’m going to die.”
“You’re not going to die.” Her voice is firm, but there’s a hint of amusement in it.
“My boobs are out!” You squeak.
“Barely.” She gently spins you around to face her and grabs onto both of your upper arms, bending slightly to be at face level. “You look hot.” You shake your head and her grip tightens. “Yes you do. And you aren’t too exposed.”
“I feel too exposed,” you whisper.
Her face and tone soften. “You’re not. I promise.” Her grip loosens slightly. “Okay, how about we have one drink, and if you still hate it we can leave.”
You hesitate, then slowly nod, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Okay.”
She smiles widely, patting your arms before letting them go. “There we go. All right, come on.” She lets you stand for another moment before starting to head toward the table, checking to make sure you’re with her. You roll your shoulders back and take a deep breath as you follow closely behind her, plastering a casual smile on your face.
You both get a few up and down glances from some of the others as you greet them, but nobody outwardly says anything, which eases some of your anxiety.
You pointedly avoid looking anywhere near Scott.
After the initial greetings, you’re quick to offer to run up to the bar for you and Kate. She gives you her order and you slip through the crowd, making your way to the crowded bar. You get stuck a few people deep in the crowd and know you’re going to be waiting for a while.
When you’re standing alone, you use the time to focus on the thumping of the music, trying to let it pull you out of your head. You only get a few seconds before an arm is unceremoniously thrown around your shoulders, knocking you off balance.
“Sunny!” Boone’s voice booms in your ear.
You squeal and laugh loudly, grabbing onto his shirt to steady yourself. “Boone!”
He laughs and grabs onto your arms to steady you. “I thought you were never gonna show up,” he shouts over the music and crowd.
“I was getting ready with Kate,” you say back, jabbing your thumb toward the table where Kate is.
You glance over to see the rest of the Wranglers have joined your team. Tyler stands pressed against Kate’s side, doing a very poor job at attempting to look casual. You chuckle at that, but stop short when your eyes move over to see Scott already looking at you and Boone. You look away quickly and cross your arms back over your middle.
You both chat while waiting, which takes far longer than you’d initially hoped, but gives you plenty of time to start to feel more comfortable in the environment. By the time you get your drinks, you’re genuinely laughing along with Boone and not consciously covering yourself up anymore.
When you make it back to the table, everyone is in a passionate discussion about the system that’s supposed to come through tomorrow. You set Kate’s drink down in front of her, taking a sip of your own as Peter is about to say where you guys are chasing tomorrow.
“Ah–!” You cut him off with your hand out, turning to look pointedly at Tyler with a smirk. “You know these guys like to steal our ideas.”
All five of the Wranglers protest in mock offence, which makes your team laugh. Tyler wraps an arm around you, putting you in a loose headlock. “Take it back.”“Never!” You can’t stop the giggles that come out, thinking in the back of your mind that you’re glad you decided to come out tonight.
There’s some more back and forth before Tyler finally releases you with a defeated sigh when you refuse to take it back–leaving you smiling triumphantly.
- - - -
Eventually, the large group splits up. Kate and Tyler sneak off, you decide to stick with the rest of the Wranglers–minus Dexter, who decides to call it a night–, and the rest of your team stays near the table.
Two drinks later, you’re feeling pleasantly tipsy on the makeshift dance floor with Boone, Dani, and Lily. The thumping music, flashing lights, and sea of bodies keep you grounded in the moment.
You’re in the middle of laughing at Boone’s ridiculous dance moves when another team you vaguely recognize makes their way over. You shift to make room in your small circle, and they quickly fill the space.
“Hi!” The tallest of the group greets you all loudly over the music. “I’m Jack, this is Landon and Adam.” He points at his teammates, who shoot you guys polite smiles and waves. “Y’all are with Tyler Owens, right? The ‘Tornado Wranglers?’”
Boone nods with a proud smile, gesturing between himself, Dani, and Lily as he introduces them. “That we are.” He points at you. “She’s cheating on her team right now.”
You roll your eyes playfully, leaning closer to Jack so he can hear. “I’m with Storm PAR.” You give him your name. “But most people call me Sunny.”
“No shit,” he says, studying you for a beat. It doesn’t feel predatory, but you still shiver. “That’s Miller’s crew, right?”
“And Javi’s, yes.”
He hums thoughtfully. “Heard they’re pretty selective about hiring. You must be pretty damn smart,” he says with a light chuckle, but you tense anyway. Was that a compliment?
“I’d like to think so.” You shrug, keeping your tone light, then turn your focus back on your friends.
Jack seems to take the hint, dropping the topic. The three of them spend the next few songs chatting, getting to know you all. Just when you think you’re safe, Jack turns his attention back to you, leaning in and stepping just a little too close.
“So, how long are you guys gonna be in town?”
“Not sure,” you shout over the music, taking a half step back. “Depends on the forecast.”
“Well we plan on staying a few days… how about you and I get dinner if you end up staying?”
Your stomach flips. “Oh!” You look at the rest of the Wranglers wide-eyed, trying to silently communicate what’s happening. “Um–” you laugh, mind racing through ways to let him down easily. “Yeah, sure.” The words tumble out before your brain catches up.
You blink.
Oh fuck.
“Great!” Jack exclaims, pulling back to look down at you. You shoot him a smile despite screaming internally. He doesn’t seem to notice. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and hands it to you with a new contact pulled up. “I’ll text you after the chase tomorrow and see if we can try to make something work, yeah?”
You chuckle nervously as you type in your number with shaky fingers and hand the phone back, the pit in your stomach growing larger. You can feel Dani, Lily, and Boone staring at you in shock. You’ve never given a stranger your number during a night out.
You politely excuse yourself from the group, wincing at the tightness in your voice once your back is to them, and make a beeline for the table where the rest of your team is.
Kate’s still missing, so you plant yourself firmly between Javi and Peter across the table from Scott, who’s tall enough to block you from the others still dancing. Your eyes rapidly flick over the drinks on the table–all beer, of course–and you take a large gulp from the nearest bottle with your eyes squeezed shut.
“Uh, help yourself, I guess,” Javi says. You barely register the words as you take another gulp.
You finally lower the bottle with a grimace at the taste, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. When you open your eyes, everyone is looking at you with a mixture of concern and amusement.
“Thought you didn’t drink beer,” Scott says dryly.
“I don’t,” you deadpan.
“So why the sudden change of heart?” Javi asks.
“Because I just accidentally gave a guy my number and told him I’d go out to dinner with him if we stayed in town past tomorrow, but I actually don’t want to do that. And I don’t know why I don’t want to because he was nice and kinda cute, I guess, so I should just go for it since Kate said I should, but–“
“Jesus, relax,” Javi cuts you off with a chuckle. He grabs your forearm, squeezing once before dropping it. “Just tell the guy you don’t want to.”
You look at him incredulously. “Are you insane? I can’t just tell him I don’t want to.”
“Why not?” Peter asks, eyebrows furrowed.
“Because I already said yes! And he, like, basically implied I don't belong on the team!”
Scott’s beer pauses halfway to his mouth. “He what?” His voice is tight–tighter than you’ve ever heard it outside of an argument with you.
Your eyes shoot to him, surprised by the reaction. “I–I’m being dramatic. He didn’t actually say that. He just said I must be ‘pretty damn smart’ since you’re so… selective with hiring.”
He slowly lowers the bottle, letting it hit the table with a clink that’s louder in your ears than the music. “Who was it?”
You shake your head frantically, both hands flying out in front of you. “Nobody. Seriously, it’s nothing. I’m just freaking out because it’s been so long since I’ve been on a date. Really, it’s not a–“
He raises his eyebrows, leaning slightly over the table. “Who?”
“I…” You trail off, drawing your arms back in and picking at your nails. You look around Scott and point with your chin. “Tall guy, green shirt, white hat.”
Scott turns halfway to find him before turning back to you with a carefully neutral expression. “You said yes to a date with Jack Brooks?” He sounds unimpressed.
“I didn’t mean to!” You squeak out, but when you register his tone, you tilt your head, suddenly a little offended. “Wait, what’s that supposed to mean?”
He raises his eyebrows and shakes his head, taking another sip of beer. “Nothing.”
You whip your head from Javi to Peter. “What does he mean by that?”
Peter holds his hands up in mock surrender and slowly steps back, joining the rest of the team behind you. You click your tongue in betrayal and turn your full focus to Javi, arms crossed over your chest.
Javi’s eyes widen, his eyes flitting between you and Scott. “I don’t know!”
“Scott.” It comes out whinier than you intend, and his jaw clenches. Hm. “What did you mean by that?”
He shrugs and takes another slow sip. “Just didn’t think he was your type.”
“He–” You splutter. “Okay, first off, I don’t have a ‘type.’ Second, I feel like I should be offended by that. What do you think my type is?”
He hums. “Not him.”
You pout and cross your arms over your chest, feeling a little childish, but a lot irritated. “Just for that, maybe I will go out with him.”
You can see Javi out of the corner of your eye, his head going back and forth like he’s watching a tennis match.
His eyes flick to where your arms sit, then back up to your face. He shrugs again. “Okay.”
You stare at him, waiting for literally anything else.
He just stares back.
“Dude.”
“What?”
“Why are you being weird?”
He shakes his head, lips pursed. “I’m not being weird.”
“Yes you are!” It comes out high pitched, but you don’t care. You’re getting really fucking annoyed.
“Okay,” he says your name, taking another sip of beer.
You turn to Javi, who just shrugs.
“Awesome. Helpful, as always,” you mutter, shaking your head. “Whatever. I’m leaving.”
“Wait–” Javi starts.
You hold up a hand, effectively cutting him off. You grab the same beer bottle as before, take another large gulp of the truly disgusting liquid, wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, and head for the door.
The cool night air is an immediate relief after hours inside the stuffy bar. The walk to the motel is short, but just enough time for you to replay every moment with Scott.
By the time you lock your motel room door behind you–thankful Kate and Tyler must have decided to go to his room–your body is still thrumming with frustration. You lean back against the door, hand in your hair.
But there’s something else under it, too.
Because, yeah, he was irritating.
But he also looked so fucking good.
You need a shower.
Or a lobotomy.
You push off the door and grab pajamas, then strip out of your clothes, throwing them vaguely in the direction of your bag.
You turn on the shower and let it warm up before stepping in. The heat and steam from the water help relieve some of the tension in your shoulders, but now you’re left with just your thoughts.
Thoughts of Scott and his stupid fucking backwards hat.
And the way his voice dips when he’s talking to you–actually talking, not arguing.
The motel room door slamming shut has you jolting out of your thoughts, grasping onto the shower wall for stability. You try to slow your breathing and stop the pounding in your ears so you can listen, hoping it’s just Kate stopping in to grab something before going back to Tyler’s room.
But when you don’t hear the door again within a couple minutes, you silently curse, resigned to the fact that Kate’s back for the night and you won’t get to wallow in your thoughts.
You wash your hair and scrub your body before getting out. Once you’re dressed in your pajamas, you step back out of the bathroom, spotting Kate getting comfy in her bed.
“Where’d you sneak off to?” You ask her slyly, pretending your entire body isn’t still tight with tension.
She flushes, a smile creeping onto her face. “Nowhere.”
You chuckle, shutting off the overhead light. “Bullshit.” You get settled into your own bed. “You and Tyler have fun?”
She tosses a pillow at you, which hits you square in the face. “Shut up,” she says over your giggles. “How was your night?”
Now it’s your turn to flush. You toss the pillow back onto the end of her bed and shut off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. “Uh, it was fine.”
“Fine?” You can hear her shuffle, like she’s turned to face you.
You hesitate. “Um, I got asked out.”
She sits up so aggressively you know the exact motion without even seeing her. “You what?!”
- - - -
The next morning is rough.
You and Kate stayed up far too late discussing your potential date with Jack–with her opinion being that you should at least give it a chance as long as you feel comfortable–and only got a few hours of sleep.
You still hadn’t made a decision by the time you fell asleep and are very grateful to discover he still hasn’t texted when you wake up. But knowing that he likely will after the chase makes your stomach knot.
When you and Kate finally drag yourselves out to the parking lot for the morning briefing, you both look worse for wear. Once the convective outlooks for the day are pulled up, though, you all immediately lock in. The level 5 risk area has grown larger and everyone knows there isn’t just a risk for tornadoes anymore–there’s a risk for devastating damage.
Since you came up with the initial plans for the routes, Javi and Scott let you take over that portion of the briefing and make the final call–which you’re both shocked and extremely touched by.
Scott hands you his tablet so you can look over everything closer. You take a minute to review the outlooks, current radar, and your route plans. “I think we should stick with the route we talked about yesterday.” You turn the tablet around to show the others the current radar and zoom in. “The models are projecting the same track, just stronger. We could maybe head out earlier, push a little further east to give ourselves a little more distance, but I think we go with the same general plan.”
You look between the others for approval, gaze lingering on Scott and Javi a beat longer. Scott holds his hand out for the tablet. You hand it over, and he scrolls through the pages. He tilts the screen to show Javi as well and they share a few hushed words before Scott gives a nod. “Then we need to move. Pack up–we’re leaving in five.”
Everyone jumps into action and you guys are on the road three minutes later. Scott insists on driving since you ‘look like shit,’ and you don’t even try to argue.
You slide into the passenger seat, eyes locked onto the radar on the tablet in your lap for the first few minutes of the drive. You finally look up once you realize there’s no music playing, not trusting your thoughts to not wander in the silence. Then you spot a familiar can in the cupholder.
“Since when do you drink those?”
“What?” He follows your gaze briefly before turning his attention back to the road. “That’s yours.”
You furrow your eyebrows. “No it’s not.”
“Yes it is.”
You hum sarcastically. “Considering the fact I didn’t buy it, I’d say it’s not.”
He huffs and rolls his eyes. “I bought it for you.” He says it like it’s obvious.
“What?”
“Jesus, are you deaf?”
You shake your head. “No, I’m not deaf, asshole.” You wince. “Sorry–trying to be nice. Um, thank you. But why? And when?”
He smirks when you catch yourself. “This morning. And because you seemed pissed when you left the bar, which meant you wouldn’t sleep. And today is not the day for you to be off your game. So… caffeine.” He gestures toward it.
You study the side of his face long enough to recognize that you definitely should’ve said something by now, but your mouth and brain seem to have lost their connection. He finally turns to look at you and his eyebrows draw together at the look on your face. “What?”
“Nothing,” you say quickly–too quickly. “Thank you. That was… weirdly nice.”
“I can be nice,” he argues defensively, eyes returning to the road.
“Sure,” you say, eyebrows raised, cracking open the can and taking a long sip. You deliberately focus on the taste of the fruity carbonation instead of the way the entire exchange made you feel.
You set the can back in the cupholder and press play on a random playlist on your phone, then pull up the radar again. You get a minute to study it before Scott says, “So, you going on that date?”
You freeze. “Why do you care?” It’s meant to be snippy, but it comes out smaller than you’d like.
He shrugs, but you can see the familiar tick of his jaw. “Just making conversation.”
You let out a long exhale, focusing intently on the tablet in your lap. “I don’t know yet,” you admit quietly.
“Why not?” His voice is tight.
‘Because I don’t even know the guy.”
Dumbest reason to pick, Sunny, good job.
“Yeah, that’s usually how first dates work,” he deadpans.
“Just– drop it. Please.” You try to keep your voice even, but you’re sure he can pick out some of the panic in it. “We have this to worry about.” You hold up the tablet.
He doesn’t look at you, but you can see his jaw unclench just slightly before he nods and you breathe out a sigh of relief.
- - - -
Nothing could’ve prepared you for what the system turns into.
One second you’re watching a small funnel descend from the clouds–cheering and planning your interception–and the next you’re staring down the biggest tornado you’ve ever seen.
The radar goes dark. Lily hops on your team’s channel–quickly followed by the rest of the Wranglers. Her drone was taken out by lightning. The visibility is practically nonexistent.
You’re fucking scared.
And then the monster in front of you shifts–heading straight for a nearby city.
So all four Storm PAR vehicles and three Wranglers’ vehicles change course.
Kate’s voice crackles through your headsets. “Okay, guys, there’s nothing we can do to stop it, but when you get there, make sure people get to a safe place.”
“All right, where am I headed?” Boone asks.
“There’s… there’s a… There's a kids' park on Main,” Dani says shakily. “Make sure to get people to basements, uh, big buildings, no windows. Stay away from windows. No cars, all right?”
You zoom in on a spot on the radar and hold it up for Scott with trembling hands. He looks at it briefly before nodding, pushing the pedal down a little harder and turning onto the city’s main street. You tap your earpiece. “Scott and I are going into downtown. We could use more hands–looks like there’s a lot of shops, a movie theater, places that’ll be full.”
“Kate and I will follow you,” Javi says.
“Me too,” Tyler confirms just as the sirens start.
You and Scott share a look–the one that tells the other to stay safe without actually saying it–before he parks haphazardly just outside a farmers market. Javi and Tyler’s trucks screech to a stop behind you, and the five of you climb out.
The wind whips everything around, and for just a second, you’re back. Back in the empty pool, clinging onto a skinny pipe with stinging hands, prepared to die.
Then you get pulled down, and you look up just as a tent flies over you. Scott is pressed to your side with an arm wrapped around your upper back, keeping you crouched. You look at him with wide eyes, faces close enough that your noses bump briefly, before he releases you.
“Get these people inside,” he shouts over the wind.
You nod once and spring back up, rapidly scanning the nearby buildings. “The theater,” you call, pointing toward the building. “It’s the biggest building with no windows!”
Tyler claps your shoulder before bolting off, directing people toward the building. You split up to do the same.
You run up to a group of younger teenagers who are visibly panicking, not sure where to go. “Get inside the theater,” you shout at them, arms outstretched as you herd them forward. “Go! Get inside, stay low!” They follow your instructions, sprinting toward the double doors that Dexter is holding open, ushering people inside.
You turn to get more people, then notice just how much stronger the wind is. You take a second to stare at the large wedge that’s already at the edge of town before your attention is pulled away by a loud screech of metal. When you turn back, you see a trolley car being blown down the street.
Directly toward Tyler.
You watch in horror as it collects debris and rolls onto its side just as it reaches him.
You run toward him, hearing Kate scream his name through the wind. She must’ve seen it, too.
His lower half is pinned beneath a pile of wood, which is held in place by the trolley car. Both you and Kate grab onto the underside of the wood, grunting as you try to lift it.
You know it’s useless. You know you’re not strong enough. But you are not letting this be how it ends for him–not alone.
Behind you, a car flips, but the sound barely registers. All you hear is the blood rushing in your ears as you strain every muscle in your body to lift the wood.
A loud crash above manages to break through. You shoot your head up and see a large piece of equipment hit a leg of the water tower in front of you. You watch as the support beam breaks off and crumples, landing close enough for you to feel the vibrations under your feet.
But you still don’t leave. Neither does Kate.
“You got to get inside!” Tyler says helplessly from the ground.
“I’m not leaving you!”
“Shut the fuck up!” You shout, cutting through Kate’s nicer words.
You adjust your grip, straining against the wood again.
“Guys,” Tyler warns, looking behind you.
You turn around to see the entire tower starting to collapse. Then feel a sudden shift in the wood under your hands.
Your head snaps back to see Javi with debris wedged under the wood for leverage. “Lift!” He shouts, and you and Kate do just that.
You pull Tyler free just as the water tower falls onto a nearby building, then splinters as it hits the ground, sending a rush of water at you.
The four of you are slammed back in the wave. You swallow a mouthful of water, coughing and spluttering as you flail to grasp onto anything to get yourself back upright. But your eyes burn, and you can’t hear over the wind, and the water just keeps flowing around you, tearing at your grip.
Arms hook under yours and haul you off the ground, pulling you forward before your feet are even solidly on the ground again. You grab blindly onto whoever’s still wrapped around you, letting them drag you inside the theater.
You know you’re inside when you can hear panicking instead of only wind. You rub furiously at your eyes and open them to see Javi standing in front of you, hands still on your biceps to keep you steady. You surge forward and wrap your arms around him, chest heaving as you try desperately to catch your breath. Your shaky hands fist into the back of his shirt as he holds tightly. You hold onto him like you’ll float away if you let go.
Because you might.
Boone’s shouting nearby, directing people out of the lobby, pulls you from your momentary relief.
You’re still in this fucking tornado. And it’s your job to help. Not panic.
So you let go of Javi, push yourself upright, and turn to the group that’s too big for the space you’re all in right now. You ignore the way your clothes cling to your skin uncomfortably, the way your hair is plastered to your neck and forehead.
Your head whips around, taking inventory of the doors you can see from the middle of the crowd. Six auditoriums. Plus staff spaces and bathrooms.
It’ll have to work.
You shove through the crowd and scramble your way onto the concessions counter. “Hey!” You shout, your voice barely cutting through the chaos. Almost every head snaps toward you. “Split into the auditoriums! Fill them! When they’re full, get into a bathroom or staff room! Do not stay in the lobby!” Everyone starts to move, the noise ramping up again. “Stay low!” You add before hopping off the counter, You scan the crowd with wide eyes, hoping to find anyone you know.
Strong hands grip your shoulders from behind, spinning you around. You look up to see Scott. His eyes rake over your body, frantic and wide. “What the hell happened?”
“Tyler got trapped,” you explain, shivering now that you’re standing still. “Water tower fell.” You gesture at yourself instead of saying any more.
“Are you okay.” It’s not a question.
“I’m fine, so is Tyler–”
“I didn’t ask about Tyler,” he interrupts sharply.
“I…” You trail off, mentally cataloguing everything you feel. Your arms are weak from the strain of trying to free Tyler, your lungs burn from the amount of water you inhaled, and you aren’t sure why your entire body is shaking. Still, you nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”
His eyes stay on yours for another moment, and you can see he doesn’t fully believe you. But he doesn’t push anymore. “Okay, then we need to move.”
His hand wraps around your upper arm, dragging you forward. The crowd has thinned significantly, giving you both a clear shot of Javi, Kate, and Tyler ushering people into an auditorium.
You join them, getting the last few stragglers inside before shutting the door behind you. You run all the way inside, Frankenstein still playing on the screen, when a large section in the middle of the ceiling collapses. People scream and duck to cover their heads.
“See if you can find a basement!” Tyler shouts at Kate and Javi before they all take off in different directions.
You spot Lily, Dani, Boone, and Dexter as they rush around the room, doing what they can to keep people safe. You immediately rush to the middle of the room to see if anyone got injured from the ceiling.
While you frantically look people over, a sudden gust of wind from the front of the room catches your attention. You lock eyes with Scott where he stands a couple aisles back and both run in that direction.
You stop short when you see Tyler, Javi, and Kate in front of an open door. The tornado is close–too fucking close–and your senses are overwhelmed once again by the wind. Tyler runs back into the theater.
“This theater isn’t built to withstand what’s coming!” Javi shouts.
He’s right.
But you will do your best to make sure people are as safe as possible here.
So you run back, jumping in to help Tyler and Dani as they lift a woman who’d fallen. “There you go,” Dani tells her gently, helping her regain her balance.
The ceiling continues to crumble at the front of the auditorium, so you start working on getting everyone toward the back rows of seats and onto the ground. You and all of the other chasers start physically moving people, shouting at them to get low, cover their heads.
You all go to join them just as chunks of the wall behind the screen start getting ripped out–within seconds, the whole wall is gone.
You drop onto your stomach and grab onto the leg of a chair, eyes squeezed shut as the roar of the wind is louder than anything you’ve heard before. You can feel people pressed against both of your sides, but you don’t know who’s where.
You can hear chairs being ripped from the ground–chairs only a few rows closer to the missing wall than you–and screaming as people get sucked into the wind. Then, the row in front of you goes, leaving you all exposed to the wind.
You think you’re screaming.
The person on your right suddenly isn’t pressed against you anymore, and you recognize Lily’s voice as she screams out. Your eyes snap open and you see her flailing in the air, the only thing preventing her from being sucked into the tornado is Tyler, who’s holding onto her tightly with both hands.
Your eyes follow his body, seeing he’s only secured by one boot hooked around the loose leg of a seat. You don’t even think before dragging yourself along the floor, wrapping one arm around the chair his foot is hooked on and the other on the chair behind.
You feel arms wrap around your legs, but keep your face pressed into the hard floor, eyes and jaw clenched tightly. You’re only letting go if you’re physically ripped from this position.
It feels like years later when you think the wind starts to die down. It’s a gradual decrease at first–you think you’re imagining it, coping with the situation.
Or maybe you’re dead.
And then it’s so silent your eardrums feel like they’re exploding.
You don’t open your eyes until you feel someone gently prying your arms from around the chairs. When you look up, you see Dani knelt in front of you. “Come on, Sunny, you’re okay.”
She grabs onto your hands and tries to pull you up, but your legs give out, so she helps you maneuver into a seated position on the floor before rushing off. You look around frantically, trying to find everyone else.
You spot Scott first, directly next to you. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that he was the one who grabbed your legs based on his position.
You’ll come back to that.
Kate and Javi are holding onto each other from their spots on the floor. Boone is propped up against a seat, laughing a little hysterically. You can’t help but smile–of course that fucker would laugh after almost dying. Dani and Dexter are moving around the theater, helping people.
Then you spot Lily and Tyler. Before you even process the actions, you’re pulling yourself off the ground using a seat back and marching over to Tyler, shaky legs be damned.
“You idiot!”
His head snaps up at you, eyes wide. “What?”
You bend down to shove him, almost falling onto him in the process. He grabs your arms and tries to gently pull you down next to him, but you rip them out of his arms. “‘You got to get inside?’ Really? And your boot?! You thought your boot would keep you from flying into a fucking tornado?”
“I was trying to save Lily!” He defends.
“You can’t save Lily if you’re dead, dipshit!” You round now, pointing your finger at Scott. “And you!”
“Me?” He points at himself, confusion written across his face.
“Yeah, you!” You step closer, looking down at him for the first time ever. “Why would you move to hold my legs when there was nothing covering you?”
He looks even more confused. “Sorry–you’re mad at me for protecting you?”
“Yes!” You put your hands on your hips, looking at him like it should be obvious.
He stands with a grunt, towering over you as usual now. You don’t step back or back down. “The only thing keeping you from being sucked into that thing was two chairs that were seconds away from being airborne.”
“And the only thing keeping you from being sucked into that thing was me!” You argue. “If I went flying, you would have, too! Seems pretty fucking stupid to me.”
“Okay, let’s just celebrate the fact that we’re all alive, hm?” Javi tries, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.
The contact makes you immediately deflate, loosely wrapping your arms around him. “Sorry,” you mumble against him, making eye contact with both Tyler and Scott.
Tyler stands and pulls you from Javi’s grasp into a hug. You wrap your arms around his middle tightly. “I’m sorry for scaring you,” he says quietly into your hair.
“I’m sorry for yelling at you. Now go kiss your girlfriend or whatever it is you gross couples do,” you say as you gently push him away. He barks out a laugh at that before making a beeline for Kate.
You turn to Scott, whose eyes are still on you. His eyes flick up and down your body a couple times before the corner of his mouth starts to turn up. “Now who doesn’t know how not to be an ass when they’re worried?”
You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling. “Shut up.”
- - - -
Somehow, the vehicles survived.
Most have body and chasing equipment damage, but they all still drive. Scarecrow got the least amount of visible damage, which you feel weirdly prideful about.
On the way back to the motel, Scott lets you play your music with little argument. You turn it up just enough to be background noise, but focus mostly on the torn up earth and structural damage you pass.
Your text tone has both your gazes snapping to the CarPlay screen, showing a text from an unknown number.
“That Jack?” Scott asks casually.
“Who?” You pick your phone up and click on the notification to read the full message.
Maybe: Jack (7:28 pm): Hey, it’s Jack! I hope the chase went well for y’all today. Just wanted to reach out and see if you’re planning on staying in town and still wanted to grab dinner? Let me know!
“Oh! Oh, my god, I totally forgot about that.” You groan and drag a hand down your face. “Dammit.”
“What did he say?” You read the text out to him and he glances at you briefly. “Why ‘dammit?’ I don’t think he said anything bad.”
“He didn’t,” you sigh. “I just… I don’t know.”
He hums thoughtfully, letting you sit in admittedly painful silence for a few moments. Then he clears his throat and shifts in the driver’s seat. “You gonna go?”
“Kate will kill me if I don’t,” you mumble, thumbs hovering over the screen as you think of a response.
“You don’t seem too excited about it.”
“Can we… not talk about this, maybe?” You look up at the side of his face. “Sorry, it just feels weird.”
He shrugs, but his grip tightens ever so slightly on the wheel. “Fine by me.”
The music continues to play quietly in the background as you type and delete countless messages, before finally sending one.
Kate’s right.
You don’t need to be ecstatic about it, but you should at least try.
And it’s time to get over Scott–before it spirals into something you can’t keep shoving down.
You (7:41 pm): hey! the chase was pretty rough can’t lie lol but we’ll be staying in town for a couple days. we could do dinner tomorrow if that works for you
You put your phone on Do Not Disturb, lock it, and resume your staring out the window.
- - - -
You’re not sure when it happened, but a voice firmly saying your name pulls you out of your sleep.
You jolt, rubbing your eyes. “Hm?”
“We’re back,” Scott says quietly as he shuts off the engine.
You blink a few times to adjust to the contrast of the bright interior lights and darkness outside. You grab your phone from your lap and tap the screen, seeing it’s been over an hour since you last checked the time.
“Jesus, sorry.” You groan and wince as you stretch and try to roll out the knot in your neck from the uncomfortable position you were in. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“You looked like you needed the sleep,” he says. It’s so gentle compared to his normal tone you’re not sure you’re not still dreaming. “Plus, I enjoyed the silence for once.” He shoots you a sarcastic smirk.
There he is.
You flip him off before climbing out of the vehicle, grabbing your bag from the backseat. Kate climbs out of the truck next to you with her own bag, and together you wordlessly make your way to your shared motel room.
Once the door is locked behind you, you drop your bag onto the floor and flop facefirst onto your bed. Kate chuckles tiredly before sitting down beside you. You sit in silence for a beat before you groan and reach for your phone in your back pocket, keeping your face pressed into the scratchy comforter.
When you pull it out, you lift your head just enough to see the screen. You open the stack of notifications from while your phone has been on Do Not Disturb and see that Jack did respond.
Maybe: Jack (7:50 pm): Aw, sorry it didn’t go well. You’ll have to tell me all about it tomorrow. How does 6:30 sound?
Kate rolls you onto your side and pulls your arm, angling your phone so she can read your text exchange. She tuts. “You text like you don’t care.”
“Yup,” you deadpan, sending a quick ‘works for me!’ back to Jack.
“You haven’t even saved his number?”
“Why would I save his number?” You retort, yawning.
“Because you’re going on a date with him.”
You shrug and push yourself up, pulling off your polo that’s now stiff since it’s dried. “It puts his name there automatically.”
She shakes her head, following your lead, peeling off her own clothes that are sticking uncomfortably. “Yeah, with a ‘maybe’ in front of it.”
“Still says his name,” you say with a sigh. Saving his number in your phone is so low on your list of priorities you genuinely didn’t even consider it before Kate mentioned it.
You both finish getting ready wordlessly before practically collapsing into your respective beds. You hear Kate’s soft snores within minutes, and you’re quick to follow.
- - - -
With no systems in the immediate area and the vehicles all needing body repairs, you have the day off.
When you finally wake, it’s slow. Peaceful. Nothing like your usual jolt to your alarm.
Until you hear your phone vibrate on the nightstand–causing Kate's head to snap up as well–and remember you have a date tonight. You grunt and roll onto your side to grab it, noting it’s just past 11, before scrolling through the notifications. You click on the text.
Maybe: Jack (9:23 am): Perfect! I can pick you up. There’s an Italian place nearby that I’ve heard great things about.
You do love Italian…
You (11:14 am): perfect!
You send the address of the motel, then look over the screen at Kate.
“Italian at 6:30,” you say matter-of-factly before pushing yourself out of bed. “I’m going down to help with shit beforehand. You coming?”
She groans and glares at you. “You’ll make me look bad if I don’t.”
You shoot her a wide, sarcastic smile before getting ready in the bathroom. She goes after you, and you both head out to the parking lot when you’re done, not shocked to see most of the rest of the team already out there.
“Thought you two would be asleep all day!” Javi calls teasingly when he sees you two approach.
You glare at him, but your body betrays you by yawning. “What do we need to do before they get taken to the body shop?”
Scott appears from around the other side of Scarecrow. He reaches into the passenger side before shoving a can into your hand, standing next to you with his arms crossed over his chest as he examines the vehicles.
You refuse to linger on the way your stomach flips at the gesture, cracking it open and muttering a thanks. You also very pointedly ignore the look you can feel Kate giving the side of your face.
Javi lists the damage that’s known so far on each vehicle–almost the entirety of Lion’s chasing equipment is missing or destroyed, Tin Man’s rear windshield is broken along with some of the chasing equipment, Wizard has a completely busted windshield, and Scarecrow has a cracked windshield.
You get to work on evaluating the equipment on the vehicles first. Determining what’s missing, what’s still functional, and what needs to be repaired. You’re on top of the guard rails over the bed on Lion when Andy speaks loud enough from the ground for everyone to hear.
“Since we have the next couple days off, we should go out again tonight.”
Everyone seems enthusiastic about the idea, but you remain carefully silent, focusing intently on a bolt you’re trying to undo.
“Sunny?” Andy asks, and you mentally curse.
You hum distantly.
“You gonna come out tonight?”
“Oh, I, uh–” Jesus, this bolt is screwed way too tight. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” Javi asks. His voice sounds disappointed, but you still refuse to look at any of them.
“I have plans,” you reply shortly, hoping they’ll just drop it.
But why would they do that?
“Plans?” Peter now.
“Yes,” you grunt, applying more force now. “Plans.”
“What kind of plans?” You’re pretty sure that’s Mike now.
“Oh, my god, I have a date!” You snap just as the bolt comes loose with a pop.
You could hear a fucking pin drop with the silence that follows–or a bolt, in this case, as it clatters into the bed of the truck, sounding more like a thunderclap.
You squeeze your eyes shut and take a single deep breath before hopping down from the rail, busying yourself with finding the bolt.
“Oh, you said yes to that?” It’s so much worse that he doesn’t even sound teasing, he sounds genuinely… curious? Surprised?
“Yes, Javi, I said yes to that!” You squeak.
“Wait, a date with who?” Andy asks as your fingers wrap around the bolt.
You snap up, ready to tell them to mind their own damn business, but smack your head on the rail you were just on top of. “Fuck!” You hiss under your breath, hand flying up to your head.
Scott steps up to the truck bed, hands extended. “Do you want help?”
“No, I do not want help! I want to stop talking about this!”
You finally risk a glance at him, expecting to see a smirk or teasing glint in his eyes.
You’re surprised to instead see a brief twitch of his eyebrows, no hint of teasing anywhere on his face. He watches your face for a second before nodding once, turning back to the others with a clap of his hands. “All right, back to work. We have to get these to the body shop by 4.”
You watch his back for a moment as he goes back to working on Scarecrow’s equipment and everyone else returns to their positions.
Huh.
- - - -
“This?”
“No.”
Kate huffs. “You didn’t even look.”
You sigh and crane your neck to look at the skirt she’s holding from her spot on the floor before dropping your head back onto the bed. “Like I said. No. Why do you even have that packed for chasing?”
She ignores your question and says your name firmly, which makes you raise your eyebrows and push yourself onto your elbows to look at her properly. “You have less than an hour to pick an outfit and get ready.”
You groan, but push yourself up anyway and start digging through your bag. “I was just gonna wear jeans and, like, a nice-ish shirt.”
“Nice-ish?” She asks incredulously. “I know you’ve been out of the game for a while, but people do typically try on dates.”
“All right, I think you’re being a little dramatic. I’m going to try, I just… don’t feel like I need to get all dressed up to go sit in a restaurant with a guy I don’t really plan on seeing more than once.”
“If you go into it with that mindset, yeah, you never will see him again.”
“Maybe that’s what I want,” you sigh, finally finding your nicest pair of jeans. “You can help me pick the shirt.”
“What about a dress?”
“Absolutely not.”
She groans dramatically as she dumps both your bag and hers out, digging through the shirt options. You get changed into the jeans and stand with your hands on your hips while you watch her critique every article of clothing.
Finally, she holds up one of her tops. It’s tight, but has more coverage than you were expecting, so you can’t complain too much.
“Can I at least do your makeup?” She asks once you're changed. You open your mouth to refuse, but she continues before you can. “Very minimal–no lip since you’ll be eating, just your eyes and maybe some blush. You don’t have to feel super confident about the date, but I want you to feel confident in yourself.”
You sit with that for a moment before narrowing your eyes at her. “You suck.” But you sit in the chair regardless.
- - - -
45 minutes later, you’re ready to go–and shockingly happy with how you look. If there’s one thing Kate’s good at besides storm chasing, it’s boosting your confidence with surprisingly little intervention.
When Jack texts that he’s in the parking lot, your stomach twists. But Kate practically shoves you out the door with a ‘have fun!' and an offer to steal Tyler's truck if you need to escape.
You plaster on a small smile as you climb into Jack’s truck. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he greets with a wide smile. He glances briefly at your outfit while you buckle. “You look nice.”
“Thank you, so do you,” you tell him honestly.
The drive is only a couple minutes, filled mostly by him with small talk. Inside, the restaurant is small.
It should feel cozy.
“So, what happened yesterday?” His voice pulls you out of your thoughts as you pretend to scan the menu after ordering drinks.
“Hm? Oh, the chase!” You launch into a ramble about everything that happened yesterday–how you ended up having to abandon the data collection to help, how close you all came to dying, how much damage the vehicles took. His eyes widen with every addition. “How was it for you guys?”
He chuckles. “Not nearly as exciting as that. Uh, we stayed pretty far back. But, we got some pretty cool pictures and videos.” He pulls out his phone and you lean over the table a little to be able to see.
By the time the waitress comes back to take your orders, you feel much more comfortable than when you first sat down.
“So, how long have you been with Storm PAR?” He asks once she’s gone.
“About a year. How long have you been with, um…” You trail off, realizing you don’t know the name of his team.
“Vortex,” he supplies. “Going on three years, now.”
Vortex? That’s the best they could come up with?
“Is it yours? Like–are you the founder?” You bring your cup to your mouth to take a sip.
He nods proudly. “Yeah. Landon, Adam, and I graduated from UCLA together and decided to just… go for it.”
You choke on your water. “UCLA?”
He chuckles at your reaction. “I’m sure you went somewhere just as good.”
You laugh. “Uh, no. I got my undergrad at a shitty state school in Minnesota.”
“Well, where are you getting your PhD?”
You hesitate. “I’m not.”
“Oh.”
You have no idea what to say after that.
And clearly neither does he, because the clinking of silverware and quiet murmurs at other tables is all you hear for several moments.
He clears his throat and shifts in his seat. “So. Minnesota?”
Your shoulders tighten again. “Yup. Grew up there.”
“I’m guessing you chose Oklahoma specifically for chasing, then?” He asks, taking a sip of his drink.
You nod, picking at your nails in your lap under the table. “Not much to chase up there,” you chuckle.
“How’d you get into Storm PAR?” He sets his glass back down carefully. You can hear the unspoken question. How’d you do it without a PhD?
You shrug. “Honestly, I was shocked I even got an interview. But Scott and Javi liked my passion. Said they needed more enthusiasm on the team.”
He laughs softly. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
You furrow your brows. “What do you mean?”
He shakes his head, lips pursed. “Nothing. So, are they making you go back to school at some point?”
You pause for just a second before shrugging. “Not sure. It hasn’t come up.”
He hums. “What’s your role on the team? Like, do you do data entry, or…?”
You narrow your eyes but chuckle, working to keep your tone light. “If I just did data entry, I wouldn’t have been practically inside a tornado yesterday. Um, no, I’m in one of the PAR placement vehicles.”
He raises his eyebrows. “No shit. Which one?”
“Scarecrow,” you say, taking a sip of your water. “With Scott. The point is to develop a 3D scan of the entire area, so we place radars in front of, behind to the left, and behind to the right of each tornado. Scott and I plant behind to the left.”
He nods slowly, seemingly taking in the information. This is starting to feel more like a business meeting than a date. Or maybe an interrogation.
“Sorry, I just–” He cuts himself off, looking up as if choosing his words carefully. “Doesn’t Storm PAR only hire people with PhDs. I mean–they’re, like, the snobbiest professional team out there.”
You blink at him, taking a moment to formulate a nicer response than the first one that comes to mind. “They hired me because I’m good. And we’re not snobby, we’re just serious about our work.”
He looks a little taken aback by the offended undertone in your words. “Oh– No, yeah, for sure–” He gets cut off by the waitress placing your orders down in front of you.
“Um–I need to use the restroom.” You push your chair back as soon as the waitress is gone and stand before he can respond.
Locking the stall door behind you, you clench and unclench your fists a few times, taking a few moments to gather yourself.
After a few deep breaths, you exit the stall and move to the sink–looking at yourself in the mirror to hype yourself up to go back out there.
You really do look good.
And you will not let a man–especially not one who apparently couldn’t come up with a better team name than Vortex–ruin your confidence. So with a final roll of your shoulders, you open the door and head back to the table with a tight smile.
He looks up with a sheepish smile when you sit, shoving his phone back into his pocket.
“Sorry,” you say briefly, settling into your chair, picking up your fork. “So, what do you do during the off-season?”
- - - -
You manage to get through the rest of dinner without any more comments like that from Jack, already having decided that there won't be a second date.
When you get close to your motel, you ask if he can drop you off at the bar down the street instead.
“Did you want to grab a drink?” He sounds hopeful.
God dammit.
“Oh–um,” you stutter. “My team is there.”
“Oh, cool! I’d love to get to know them better.”
Fuckfuckfuckfuck.
“I was hoping I could just spend some time with them… if that’s okay. Just–after everything yesterday, you know, and–”
“Hey,” he interrupts your rambling with a soft chuckle. “I get it. It’s totally okay. Promise.”
You sigh in relief, shoulders dropping. “Thank you.”
He turns into the lot, pulling into a parking spot. “I had a good time tonight.”
You give him a smile that you hope is convincing. “I did, too.”
He shifts in his seat to face you and your stomach drops.
You feel like you’re watching in slow motion while his hand comes up to cup your cheek as he leans over the center console.
You’re pretty sure you’re not breathing.
You’re frozen in place, not leaning forward to meet him, but unable to lean back to avoid him.
Your wide eyes stay locked on his–which are closed now–watching as he gets closer.
His lips brush yours in a short, almost tentative kiss, which you don’t return.
But it’s like this guy just doesn’t catch the fucking hint.
“I’ll text you later,” he says softly as he pulls back.
“Yeah–yeah, okay. Uh, thanks,” you stumble over your words as you fumble with your phone and the door handle.
You push the door shut behind you, walking off toward the bar entrance before you even hear it slam, eager to get the fuck inside.
The bar isn’t packed as full as it was the other night, but there’s still quite a crowd given the calm weather conditions across the country tomorrow.
You spot some of your teammates standing around the same tall table as last time, along with the Wranglers.
It’s still weird to see them all getting along.
You march through the crowd, straight for them. Before they can even notice you, you scan the drinks available on the table–once again, only beer–and point at a bottle with a trembling finger.
“Whose is that?”
“Scott’s, I think,” Javi says, whirling around as everyone registers your presence.
“Where is he?”
“Bathroom.”
“Cool.” You grab the nearly full bottle and drink as much of it as you can in one breath. You set it back down a little harsher than necessary, wiping your mouth with a grimace. “Why do I keep doing that?”
“Mine this time? Really?”
You spin around to face him and freeze like a deer caught in the headlights. “Sorry,” you squeak out.
He huffs at your wide-eyed expression and waves a hand. “I wasn’t really drinking it anyway.”
“I take it that means the date didn’t go well?” Kate asks gently,
You shake your head firmly, taking another large gulp of the beer before making a disgusted sound. “I’ll be back,” you say, setting the bottle on the table. “I need a drink that doesn’t taste like shit.”
Once you have your drink, you return to the table–squeezing into the tight space between Scott and Kate–where everyone is looking at you expectantly. “So?” Boone urges.
You keep your gaze locked on the glass as you set it down carefully, hesitating. “It just didn’t go well,” you say quietly.
“Did something happen?” Tyler asks, a sharp edge to his tone.
You shake your head, chewing on your lip. “No. He just…” You let out a humorless laugh. “It felt like an interrogation. He kept asking if I had a PhD–how I got hired without one. If I did data collection.” Your fingers tighten around the glass, swallowing hard. “And then he kissed me.”
The table erupts into loud, overlapping protests, but you keep your eyes pointedly fixed on the colorful liquid in front of you.
Away from Kate.
Away from Scott.
But you feel his eyes burning holes in the side of your face.
Kate grabs onto your arm tightly, shaking. “He kissed you?!”
You nod sheepishly.
“After grilling you about your degree?” Dani leans over the table to ask.
You give another small nod, staring into your drink.
“Jesus,” Javi sighs, shaking his head.
“I didn’t wanna say anything in case you actually liked him, but those Vortex guys have been nothing but elitist assholes since they started. Almost like you two used to be,” Tyler says, pointing between Javi and Scott with a smirk on his face. A giggle escapes before you can stop it, which he catches. “Hey, there she is!”
You shake your head, though there’s a small smile on your face now as you take a sip of your drink. “Well, needless to say–there will not be a second date. Or any dates ever again, as far as I’m concerned. This is exactly why I haven’t even tried since moving here.”
And because your stupidly attractive, asshole boss has had your attention.
Boone pouts from where he stands across the table. “Does that mean I don’t have a chance?”
Scott stiffens next to you.
You roll your eyes and chuckle, tossing a balled up napkin at Boone, which he dodges easily. “Careful, Boone. Keep flirting with me and people might start to take you seriously.”
He shoots you a wink, which you laugh off, before the conversation shifts.
You take the opportunity to just listen–to ground yourself in the moment. The overlapping chatter, clinking glasses, music you can feel more than hear–it all reminds you that you’re back in a safe, controlled environment with the people you trust.
The tension drains from your shoulders slowly but surely.
But it’s hard to fully relax when you feel Scott–who’s still stiff as a board–pressed against your side.
- - - -
The next few days are agonizing–personally and professionally.
You send Jack a carefully crafted, Kate-approved text with some bullshit about you’re not really in a place to start a new relationship due to the nature of the job.
He leaves you on read.
On top of that, not being able to chase has everyone on edge–seeing systems produce tornadoes in nearby states that you would’ve normally jumped on, but can’t.
It makes everyone stir crazy.
Then, the vehicles take more time than expected in the body shop, the equipment replacements get delayed, and–once you finally get the parts–the work ends up being way more difficult than expected.
“Just tighten it,” Scott snaps from where he’s standing in the truck bed in front of you, holding Lion’s new anemometer in place while you attempt to secure it.
It’s a job that should have taken two minutes tops. But you’ve had your feet precariously perched on either side of the guard rails for fifteen minutes now, and your legs are starting to cramp.
“I can’t,” you say through gritted teeth for the third time. “It’s the wrong fucking–” You groan, letting the hand that isn’t holding you in place fall to your side as you look down at him. “It’s the wrong size bolt.”
“It’s not the wrong size,” he grumbles.
“I’m sorry–are you the one trying to tighten it?” You snap back.
He rolls his eyes–something he’s been doing more than usual the past few days. “I got the right size.”
“Clearly you didn’t!” You throw your arm up, gesturing with the wrench. “I’m not totally incompetent, you know. I know how to tighten a fucking bolt.” You jump down from the rail, holding the wrench up to him. “I’m done.”
He looks taken aback, making no move to take it from you. “What? This is a two person job.”
“Then get someone else to help.” You gesture at the rest of the team working on the other vehicles nearby. “I’m going to work on Tin Man,” you mutter as you shove the wrench into his hand before hopping out of the bed.
His eyes track you the whole way until he finally snaps out of it and calls Javi over.
- - - -
You thought–hoped–the first real movement after the time off would break the tension that formed between the two of you.
You were wrong.
You manage to make it 20 minutes into the three hour drive to the new motel before breaking the suffocating silence with a loud huff.
“Okay. What?”
Scott glances at you out of the corner of his eye with furrowed brows before turning his attention back to the road. “What are you talking about?”
“Why does it feel like we’re fighting again? I thought we were, like–cool, or whatever.”
“We are cool,” he says with a shrug, but his voice is tighter than usual.
You stare at the side of his face, unimpressed. “You are a horrible liar. You’ve been weird lately.”
He meets your eyes briefly. “I’m not being weird.”
You drop your head back against the seat, groaning. “Yes, you are. It started with the Stillwater tornado. Then we finally got over that, just for it to happen again after Jack asked me out.” You loll your head against the seat to look at him again and find his jaw clenched. “And now you’re mad!”
He sighs deeply. “Not mad.”
You let out your own long exhale, sinking down in your seat. “Okay.”
You pull out your headphones from your bag and he glances over at the movement. “I’m not using the radio.”
“Don’t wanna annoy you even more,” you mumble.
He fully turns his head toward you for several seconds before snapping back toward the road. “Now you’re the one being weird.”
You whip your head toward him, glaring. “No, I’m not.”
“You’ve almost punched me just to control the radio. Now I’m offering to let you have it and you… would rather use your headphones? You’ve made me stay completely silent for an hour before just so you could sing along.”
You shrug, fiddling with them in your lap. “I haven’t been listening to much of the stuff we have in common.”
He scoffs. “So? That’s never stopped you before.”
You keep your focus on your lap, jaw tightening. “Well maybe I just don’t feel like it right now!”
He raises his eyebrows. “I’m not trying to fight with you. You realize that, right?”
You huff. “Could’ve fooled me.”
His grip on the steering wheel tightens. “I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong–because something obviously is. Is this about Stillwater again–”
You groan loudly and squeeze your eyes shut. “No, it’s not about fucking Stillwater.”
“Then what? Because you’ve been pissy since your date.”
This time, you don’t miss the way his face twists at the word ‘date.’
“What was that face?”
He spares you a quick, confused glance. “What face?”
“You made a face when you said ‘date.’ You’ve been off since the night in the bar–when he asked me out.” You say it slowly, like you’re figuring out missing pieces to a puzzle.
He stays carefully silent.
“Are you mad that I– I fraternized with the competition, or something?” You ask incredulously.
He keeps his eyes on the road ahead, jaw ticking. “Nope.”
“You are so fucking irritating,” you say with a humorless laugh. “Whatever, man.”
You pull your headphones over your ears and turn on the music full volume. You sink back down in the seat, arms crossed over your chest and eyes closed.
Maybe you’ll get lucky.
Maybe he’ll leave you alone for the rest of the drive.
Maybe when you get to the hotel you won’t have to speak to him.
Maybe you’ll both magically be fine by tomorrow’s chase.
Spoiler alert: You are not lucky.
No–you might actually be the most unlucky you have ever been.
Because suddenly there’s a bang! followed immediately by the car’s warning system screaming about a flat tire.
You take your headphones off, watching as he pulls over into the shoulder. “You’re fucking with me, right?”
He glares at you. “How could I fuck with you about a flat tire?”
“I don’t know!” You sit up straighter, looking at the rapidly deflating back tire in the side mirror. “Oh, my god, this is a nightmare,” you say under your breath, throwing your door open at the same time he does.
You kneel in front of the tire as he rounds the vehicle and joins you on the ground.
“Jesus,” he mutters, running his fingers along the large gash in the rubber.
You look up to see the rest of your team pulled over just ahead, now making their way over. Scott stands to meet them, while you stay put for another moment, staring at the tire like it personally wronged you.
Because it did.
You push off the ground with a grunt, joining the others with your hands on your hips. “We have a donut. We can use that to get to a shop, right?”
“The nearest shop is an hour away,” Javi breathes out as he looks at his phone, running a hand through his hair.
“An hour?!” You repeat, horrified. “Fucking Oklahoma…”
Scott drags a hand down his face, taking a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll stay here with the car. Javi can go get a tire and bring it back, the rest of you can keep going to the motel–Kate and Sunny can just hop in Tin Man.”
You spin to face him, eyebrows drawn together. “Why would you stay here?”
“I’m not just gonna leave thousands of dollars worth of equipment on the side of the road unattended,” he says in a tone that sounds a lot like ‘duh.’
“Let me sit with it, then,” you say with a shrug, not even really sure why.
He scoffs. “No.”
You narrow your eyes at him. “What, because you don’t trust me?”
He rolls his eyes, looking up at the clear blue sky for a moment. “Because I’m not going to let you sit on the side of the road for over two hours by yourself, idiot.”
“Well what if I want to?” You challenge. “Idiot.”
He stares at you for a few moments, teeth clenched so tightly you think his jaw might break. “Fine.” He gestures at Scarecrow behind you. “Be my guest.”
You shoot him a tight, closed smile before making your way back to the car, sliding back into the passenger seat and slamming the door shut.
He glances over his shoulder when you slam the door, his expression tightening before turning back to Javi. Kate looks between him and the car a few times before finally walking toward you.
She pulls open your door. “What the hell was that?”
You huff. “I called him out for being weird, he said I was being weird, we ignored each other–then bam. Flat tire.”
She blinks at you. “You’re ridiculous.”
You reel back. “How am I ridiculous? He’s the one with a stick up his ass for no reason!”
She looks up at the sky for a moment like it’ll grant her patience. “Why are you insisting on staying here?”
You shrug. “I want alone time.”
“Bitch,” she says flatly, rolling her eyes.
Your eyes widen. “Hey!”
She shoots you an unimpressed glare. “You want to sit in a vehicle you can’t drive on the side of the road in rural Oklahoma for over two hours… for alone time?”
You nod once, sharp and stubborn.
She scoffs. “You are so full of shit.”
“Kate!”
“Oh, come on! You know he won’t leave you here by yourself.” She glances around to make sure nobody is within earshot, then she leans further into the car, lowering her voice. “What’s this really about?”
You chew on the inside of your cheek. “He’s been weird since Jack asked me out.”
She shrugs. “He’s always weird.”
“No–” You sigh. “Like, really weird. It’s like he’s trying to start arguments but won’t engage in them.”
She tilts her head. “About the date?”
“Sometimes. That night–when he asked me out–Scott was saying he was shocked I said yes because Jack wasn’t my ‘type.’ I don’t even have a type! Then he kept asking if I was gonna say yes. And now he’s just been…” You trail off.
“Weird?” She supplies with raised eyebrows.
“Yes!” You bury your face in your hands. “It sounds dumb, but I thought we were finally getting somewhere.”
She stares at you for a moment before sighing. “Okay, I’m just gonna say it because neither of you are being smart enough to do it yourselves. He’s jealous.”
You snap your head up, a loud laugh escaping before you can stop it. “Yeah, okay.”
She opens her mouth to respond, but you catch movement out of the corner of your eye. Through the windshield, you see Javi walking back toward Lion and Scott making his way back to Scarecrow.
You blindly smack her arm, trying to tell her to shut up.
The driver’s side door opens and your head whips toward him. “Aren’t you going with Javi?”
His narrowed eyes flick between you–panicked–and Kate–calm with a smug smile–a couple times before answering. “No.”
“What? Why?”
He ignores your question, tilting his chin up, talking to Kate. “They’re ready to get going to the motel.”
She shoots you a look before walking off with a ‘thanks.’
He slides into the driver’s seat and shuts the door behind him.
You continue to stare at him.
After a few seconds of tense silence, you break. “Are you going to answer my question, or…?”
He shrugs. “Javi didn’t like the idea of either of us sitting here alone.”
“Okay, well I was about to have an existential crisis, so can we go back to the original plan?”
He looks at you with his eyebrows drawn together. “What?”
You drop your head back against the seat and groan, burying your face in your hands. “You need to get your hearing checked.”
“I can hear you just fine,” he grumbles.
“Then stop asking ‘what?’” You remove your hands to glare at him and sigh when you see the rest of the team pulling away up ahead. “Congrats, now you’re stuck with me for at least two hours. Plus the two-ish hours to get to the motel.”
He rolls his eyes. “Believe it or not, I can do math.”
“Some of your forecasts would beg to differ.”
He narrows his eyes at you. “We gonna do this the whole time?”
You shrug and give a noncommittal hum, shifting to get comfy in the seat as you scroll through your phone.
You leave your headphones off–curious to see if he’ll say anything if you don’t first.
You regret it almost immediately.
The silence feels all-consuming.
Soon enough you start to bounce your leg while he drums his fingers on the steering wheel, staring broodily out the windshield.
You have to physically bite your tongue multiple times to stop yourself from saying anything–refusing to be the one to break the silence like every time before.
But then you get left with your thoughts–so overwhelming you’re only scrolling on your phone for the motion, not able to take in anything you’re reading.
No matter how many times you try to think about something else, your mind keeps circling back to what Kate said.
He’s not actually jealous.
Right?
No. He’s just mad about Jack because he’s technically professional competition.
But Javi doesn’t have a problem with it…
But Scott and Javi are very different people. Scott is way easier to piss off.
But if it were a concern to the company, Javi would be upset too…
Okay, maybe he’s just mad because it was unprofessional.
Even though he’s had no problem trying to set Javi up with someone…
“I need air,” you say suddenly, shoving the door open and slamming it shut behind you.
You take a deep breath of fresh air, far too aware he can still see you.
You might throw up.
Your eyes flit around rapidly, looking for somewhere to escape to, but it’s just fucking cornfields.
This state is so stupid.
The car door slamming shut behind you snaps you out of your frantic searching.
You don’t turn to face him–you don’t think you can.
“So,” he says casually as he slowly stops next to you, arms folded over his chest. He’s clearly oblivious to your internal struggle. “You planning on just watching the corn for the next two hours, or…?”
“Kate said you’re jealous,” you blurt out.
Silence.
Your eyes immediately widen and you slap a hand over your mouth.
What the fuck?!
Why would you say that?!
Before you can second guess the action, your head whips toward him.
He’s frozen.
You don’t even think he’s breathing.
You really might throw up.
“I don’t– I don’t know why I said that,” you stutter, mortified. “That was stupid. That was so dumb. Let’s all point and laugh at Sunny!” You try to defuse the tension with nervous humor, but he stays completely still.
Holy shit, he’s broken.
You stare at him for what feels like hours, waiting for anything.
Nothing.
“Scott, I am begging you to start screaming at me right now.”
He still doesn’t move.
Should you call 9-1-1?
“Okay, so, obviously I fucked up, but–”
“Stop talking,” he finally says, interrupting your rambling.
Your mouth snaps shut with an audible clack.
He doesn’t say anything for a long, painful moment. You open your mouth to fill the silence again, but he holds a hand up, stopping you in your tracks.
“What exactly did she say?” He finally asks as he turns his head to look at you.
“I– nothing. Seriously, it was so stupid. I don’t even know why I said anything–”
He says your name so sharply you can almost feel it. “What,” he pauses for emphasis, “did she say?”
You swallow roughly, fiddling with your hands. “I just told her about how things have felt off since Jack asked me out and she… said you were jealous,” you mutter, staring intensely at a rock near the toe of your shoe.
He hums at that, and you wait for him to say something.
When he doesn’t, your mouth once again moves before your brain can catch up.
“Are you?”
You wince.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
He huffs, dropping his arms, shoving his hands into his back pockets. “What answer are you hoping for?”
You turn to him with your eyebrows drawn together. “You can’t just– just flip this around on me.”
He shrugs one shoulder, looking back out at the corn. “I’m just curious.”
“Why are you being so calm right now?” You ask him incredulously–angrily.
He looks at you, raising his eyebrows. “That’s not an answer to my question.”
“You’re being a hypocrite! I asked first! Are you jealous?”
You’re aware you sound childish, but can’t find it in yourself to care.
He’s being infuriating.
He releases a long sigh, turning back to the corn. “I think Kate talks too much,” he mutters.
You glare at the side of his face, crossing your arms over your chest. “Not what I asked.”
“I still stand by it.”
“Just say no,” you practically plead. “If the answer is no, then just fucking say it!”
He looks up as he takes a deep inhale through his nose. For a few moments he just stares at the partly cloudy sky and you wonder if he’s seriously avoiding the conversation by attempting to analyze the weather. “Why are you so hung up on it?”
You scoff, dropping your arms and shaking your head. “Yeah, I’m done.”
You turn to go back to the car, but his hand wrapping around your wrist stops you in your tracks.
“Let go,” you demand, refusing to turn and look at him.
His grip doesn’t loosen.
You turn halfway to tell him off, but the words die in your throat when you see his face.
He looks… scared?
“Yes,” he says, voice rough.
Your face twists in confusion. “Yes… what?”
He sighs and clenches his jaw. “You know what.”
A laugh bubbles up and slips out before you can stop it. “Yeah, okay.”
You shake your head, trying to rip your arm away as you turn from him again, but his grip tightens. “I’m serious.”
You pause.
Oh.
Oh.
That asshole!
You whip around to fully face him, his hand still wrapped around your wrist. “You let me go on that date!”
He furrows his eyebrows. “Wha–”
“No!” You interrupt, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You let me go on that horrible date!”
He drops your wrist, holding his hands up in surrender. “I didn’t think you’d appreciate me telling you not to go.”
“Oh,” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “So, what, you decided to be petty about it and hope I’d catch on?”
He looks taken aback by your sudden confident accusations. “That’s not wh–”
“Yes it is!” You cut in again.
“What was I supposed to do?” He finally snaps. “I mean–” He stops himself with a humorless laugh, scrubbing a hand over his jaw before starting again. “Do you seriously think you would’ve taken me actually telling you not to go well? I said I was shocked you said yes and you went out with him just to prove a point!”
That feels like information overload. Like he did consider telling you not to.
But he didn’t.
“I went out with him because I was trying–” You cut yourself off, realizing what you just almost accidentally revealed. You take a deep breath, mentally resetting. “I hadn’t been on a date in over a year.”
“I’m aware,” he says flatly. “Finish your sentence.”
You narrow your eyes at him despite the way your heart feels like it might beat out of your chest. “I don’t even know what I was going to say.”
He nods his head at where you’re picking your nails–which you hadn’t even realized you were doing. “You only do that when you’re anxious. You’re lying.”
“I’m always anxious,” you say immediately, defensively.
He rolls his eyes. “I’m aware of that, too. But your thumb is bleeding.”
“Maybe because you’re backing me into a fucking corner,” you spit, but it’s far less sharp than you intended it to be.
He takes a half step forward, which you immediately react to by taking a step back.
He sighs, taking his hat off briefly to run a hand through his curls before putting it back in place. “Okay–we’re getting nowhere. I was jealous, I didn’t say anything because it would be inappropriate, and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
You blink at him, replaying every interaction you’ve ever had in your head. “You. Are so. Stupid!”
He throws his hands up in defeat. “Okay, I give up.” This time, he turns to go back to the car, but you stop him.
“Wait–” When he turns to face you again, you hum, shifting uncomfortably. It takes a few more seconds to build up courage before you finally continue. “I've had a– a crush on you since day one. But you’ve been a total dick, so obviously I never thought you felt the same way!”
Now it’s his turn to blink dumbly at you.
His mouth opens. Closes.
“Well that’s just fucking stupid,” he finally says.
“Tell me about it!” You exclaim, throwing your hands up.
He works to keep the small smile pulling at his lips suppressed, but ultimately fails.
“I went to MIT,” he breathes out. “I have a PhD, my own company–”
“No need to brag.”
“–and I couldn’t even tell you felt that way,” he finishes, ignoring your quip.
“In your defense, you made it really easy for me to forget how hot you are with how frequently you made me want to punch you in the face,” you say with a shrug.
The small smile turns into a shit-eating grin. “You think I’m hot?”
“Right now is one of those moments, Scott,” you warn.
He takes a step closer, and this time, you don’t back up. “So… what now?”
You look at him incredulously. “Fuck if I know! You’re the one with the PhD.”
“Believe it or not, MIT didn’t offer classes on what to do after accidentally confessing your feelings for your employee,” he deadpans.
“Or your–” Your eyes widen. “Oh, shit.”
He looks bewildered by the sudden shift in tone. “What?”
“I’m your employee!”
“Yes,” he says slowly. “Have been for the past year. Are you just realizing, or…?”
You roll your eyes, but the internal panic continues to grow. “Obviously not, smartass. But– there’s, like, rules, right? I like my job!”
His eyes soften and he takes another step forward–close enough that you could easily reach forward and close the distance. “Hey. You’re not going to lose your job.”
“I might!” You bring your hand up to your mouth, chewing on your nails. “Oh, this is bad. Obviously we have to just forget this happened,” you say around your finger.
“Okay,” he says calmly, gently prying your hand away from your mouth. “Listen to me. You’re not going to lose your job. It’s just me and Javi. I’ll sit down with him, we’ll figure things out–do this the right way.”
You look up to meet his eyes, narrowing your own at him. “I don’t care how hot you are–I refuse to let it affect my job. So you better be serious.”
He tilts his chin down to maintain eye contact better. “Well, I don’t care how hot you are–I also refuse to let it affect the job. So I am very serious.”
The tension in your shoulders loosens and you nod once. “Good.”
He nods back, giving the wrist he’s still holding a slight squeeze. “Good.”
You continue to silently stare at each other for a few moments before your mouth twitches. “So… you think I’m hot?”
He shakes his head, laughing softly. “You’re so annoying.”
He gently tugs your wrist, making you stumble. His free hand flies to your hip to steady you and your breath hitches.
You have to tilt your head back to keep your eyes on his face. “This feels like a very compromising position,” you breathe out after your mouth remembers how to form words.
He swivels his head around dramatically and hums. “Funny, I don’t see anyone around to care.”
You glare at him, trying not to show how fast your heart is racing. “Ha ha,” you say flatly.
“You’re being very cocky for someone whose heart rate is, like, 150.” He smirks as he squeezes again, running his thumb pointedly along the inside of your wrist.
“Leftover adrenaline from the flat tire,” you lie with a shrug.
“Right,” he says, nodding with narrowed eyes, obviously not falling for your bullshit.
He lets go of your wrist, leaving your arm just hanging awkwardly between you. He slowly brings his hand up to cup your cheek and you stiffen.
“I’d love to kiss you right now,” he starts, voice rougher now, “but we can wait until I talk to Javi, if you want.”
You can’t choose a coherent response–thoughts jumbling together indiscernibly. “I–” You shake your head at the immediate stutter.
He starts to withdraw his hand, but your arm hanging awkwardly between you moves first.
Your fingers wrap around his wrist, stopping him.
“Getting some mixed signals here,” he says. Not rude–just clear.
“I–” You try before the words get stuck again. You take a deep breath through your nose, pursing your lips. “I want you to kiss me,” you decide with a single sharp nod.
“Are you sure?”
You nod again. “Yes. Very sure. Also very nervous. It’s been a long time–which you already know–so I might be bad, so I’m sor–”
His lips on your own cut you off–tentative, but intentional.
Your eyes remain wide open for a beat, brain rebooting as you process that he’s actually kissing you.
Then instinct takes over.
Your eyes flutter shut and you fist the front of his shirt in both hands as you kiss him back.
It’s clumsy at first–noses bumping and lips slotting together awkwardly.
But it doesn’t take long to find a comfortable rhythm, and by the time you pull away, you’re both breathing heavily.
You slowly open your eyes to find him already looking at you–his blue irises almost completely taken over by blown pupils.
“Yeah, that was awful,” he says dryly, face completely neutral.
You blink.
Your stomach drops and you open and close your mouth once before you notice the slight upturn of the corners of his mouth.
You click your tongue and shove his chest. “Asshole!”
But you’re laughing when you both make your way back to the car.
The next two hours fly by, and soon enough, Javi is pulling up with the new tire.
You both meet him outside and he stops in his tracks.
“Something is different.”
It takes work to keep your face neutral.
“Nothing is different,” Scott says, feigning normalcy easily.
Javi narrows his eyes and looks between the two of you multiple times.
You both stay completely silent, standing five feet apart–Scott with his arms crossed over his chest, you with your hands in your pockets as you rock on the heels of your feet.
You refuse to look at either of them.
Just when you think he’s going to give up, Javi gasps and points an accusing finger. “It happened!”
Your eyes widen. “What happened?” You ask, voice higher than usual.
“It!” He exclaims, gesturing wildly between you both. “Oh, my god, I win!”
Scott’s face twists in confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I said you guys would break and confess before the end of the season during a high-stress event!” He looks ecstatic as he steps between you.
“Are you– Are you talking about a fucking bet?” You ask incredulously.
He nods eagerly, wrapping an arm around each of your shoulders, pulling you in tightly. “You just won me so much money.”
“You were betting on us?” You ask again, shoving his arm off at the same time Scott does.
“Oh, not just me,” he says with a chuckle. “The whole team. And the Wranglers.”
You finally look at Scott, who’s glaring murderously at Javi.
“I’m going to kill you,” he tells him, which Javi laughs off.
“I’ll split the winnings with both of you if you don’t,” he offers, wiggling his eyebrows.
Scott’s gaze flicks to meet yours. You look at each other for a few moments, having a silent conversation.
no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while i gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cow girl, doggy, backwards, forwards, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in the car, on a motorcycle, the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over, in the basement, against the window, have the most toe curling, back arching, leg shaking, dick throbbing, fist clenching, ear ringing, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckles cracking, jaw dropping, hair pulling. teeth jitterbug, mind boggling, soul snatching, overstimulating, vile, sloppy, moan inducing, heart wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious, gushy, creamy, beastly, lip bitting, gravity defying, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, body shivering, orgasmic, bone breaking, world ending, black hole creating, universe destroying, devious, scrumptious, amazing, delightful, delectable, unbelievable, body numbing, bark worthy, can't walk, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcano erupting, sweat rolling, voice cracking, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, lip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail scratching, back cuts, spectacular, brain cell desolving, hair ripping, show stopping, magnificent, unique, extraordinary, splendid, phenomenal, mouth foaming, heavenly, awakening, devils tangos, he could put a nuclear bomb inside me and I'd still ride.
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𓂃 ·˚ ༘ remember to like & reblog all posts! tumblr strives on reblogs ˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶ david corenswet masterlist
ଘ a storm-chasing field trip by @orobaxis
₊ ꒷ ʚ Missing your husband, you surprise Scott by tracking StormPar down to Oklahoma. He now has to literally wrangle you: (1) out of harm’s way when you insist in joining the stormchasers, and (2) away from Tyler Owens, who still tries to shoot his shot with a visibly pregnant woman.
ଘ déjà vu pt 2 by @geminiwritten
₊ ꒷ ʚ it’s been this way since college—you drink, get drunk, you fight, and then you fuck. and now you’re chasing storms in rival crews, slipping in and out of motel rooms between tornado sirens, swearing every morning after that this time was the last time. but denial gets heavier, tyler gets suspicious, and jealousy hits harder than any storm. and suddenly you’re realising… maybe it was never just sex.
ଘ to be known by @luvvyouforever
₊ ꒷ ʚ scott can't grapple with the fact that you've ended your tornado chasing fling with him.
ଘ 'tis the damn season by @clairewritesandrambles
₊ ꒷ ʚ After the dissolution of your long-term relationship, you find yourself starting over in your hometown. When you see your childhood best friend, Scott, for the first time in years, how will things change between the two of you?
ଘ is it casual now? by @roanofarcc
₊ ꒷ ʚ what happened between you and scott was supposed to be strictly casual, but when you feelings got too involved, you decided to call it quits. But storms and close calls have a way to bringing out true feelings.
ଘ sickengly sweet by @hopefullhearts
₊ ꒷ ʚ You are Tyler Owens' childhood best friend and member of his storm chasing crew. A storm outbreak means you and the gang cross paths with Storm Par on more than one occasion, and your sweet southern charm drives Scott crazy (in more than one way).
ଘ second chances by @cowboybeepboop
₊ ꒷ ʚ After years of being with Scott things just weren’t working out. But when you left? You were more lost without him. Then by chance you wind up working with stormpar.
ଘ sweet surrender by @/cowbodybeepboop
₊ ꒷ ʚ You're apart of storm par and just so happen to get on the nerves of Scott, which truly isn’t that difficult of a task. But as much as you get on his nerves, he gets on yours. One day he takes things a little too far which leads to an interesting encounter.
ଘ the law of physics by @inknopewetrust
₊ ꒷ ʚ In the volatile nature of tornado hunting, you crossed paths with Scott on more than one occasion and every time, a piece of yourself is left behind with the man larger than the storms you chased.
ଘ whirlwind. by @corensweat
₊ ꒷ ʚ the bar has always been a safe haven after a long week of storm-chasing, but when tyler owens decides you’re his lucky charm for the night, you find that scott’s control has its limits.
ଘ tornadochas3r is typing... by @acdeaky
₊ ꒷ ʚ you and scott matched on a dating app one evening and you could have never predicted how quickly you fell for him
ଘ scott miller is not nice by @/acdeaky
₊ ꒷ ʚ everyone says that scott miller isn’t nice, but you don’t believe everything you’ve heard from your new coworkers
ଘ cargo pants pocket by @/acdeaky
₊ ꒷ ʚ your relationship with scott is one of your best kept secrets, but when he gets injured during a storm, all that effort goes out the window
ଘ new year, new... by @/acdeaky
₊ ꒷ ʚ attending the stormpar new year’s party was meant to be a nice, easy evening, but things that include scott miller are anything but easy
ଘ gotta give it to her by @maiamore
₊ ꒷ ʚ Working late with Scott quickly turns to something more.
ଘ sour apples by @/maiamoore
ଘ liquor lips, bubblegum bitch by @marwrite
₊ ꒷ ʚ scott miller has had his fill of fleeting nights; now, he buries himself in work, head down, not to be disturbed. that's when you come in; blowing sugar-sweet globes, relentless questions spilling from tinted lips. he knows he shouldn't, can't- but you draw him into your bubble, too bright to resist, fragile enough to pop.
ଘ kisses by @inbred-eater
₊ ꒷ ʚ big meanie scott miller sharing his gum with his sweetheart of a girlfriend :0 (+ the 1 time you share your gum with him).
ଘ stay by @criminalamnesia
₊ ꒷ ʚ the three time you see storm par’s one and only scott, including the one in which he saves your life.
ଘ somethin' stupid by @r0wandark0
₊ ꒷ ʚ After denying it for weeks, Scott finally found himself admitting his true feelings towards you. Though after many failed attempts, he does it in the worst way possible, or at least what he thinks is the worst.
ଘ the act by @softboyluvr
₊ ꒷ ʚ The whole team knows Scott has a soft spot for you.
ଘ protectiveness by @ffawnettess
₊ ꒷ ʚ when a guy comes into your job and flirts with you all the time, your boyfriend gets protective and figures the only way to get him to stop, is to come to work with you.
ଘ tornado warnings pt 2 by @barnesonfilm
₊ ꒷ ʚ getting trapped in a storm with scott miller was your biggest nightmare. the two of you hated each other from the very beginning. in the chaos of the storm, resistance fades, and something undeniable takes over
