You’ve mercilessly teased Clark and Scott for how identical they are. Now they’ve turned it around on you and you need to learn to tell who's who.
▸ PAIRING & WC: Scott Miller x F!Reader x Clark Kent — 2.8K
▸ WARNINGS: NSFW 18+, filthy filthy filthy pwp, edging?, mean!scott but that's nothing new, double creampie, oral (m!receiving), taking turns fucking you basically
▸ A/N: brainrot started two weeks ago (half written in the home depot parking lot) and finally completed. this is for @theworstwolvie for always encouraging my messed up ideas, @thceseus for being on the same wavelength of cock guessing, and @kryptidfiles for always triggering me with your david corenswet reblogs <3
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You never intended for it to go this far. You’ve always teased the two of them for being practically twins — best friends separated at birth. Clark is all broad shoulders, thick arms with veins running along his biceps like winding rivers, and sweet, shy smiles. Scott is marginally leaner, but you’ve seen the taut muscles of his forearms when he’s at the gym, and he’s got the sharp tongue and mean mouth to make up for it.
Somehow, the two of them have made their friendship work — and you were lucky enough to be brought into the loop.
It started with a comment about how they looked so much alike. Scott adamantly denies this and Clark only gets flustered when you insist that they’re both equally handsome. For some reason, it ends up with your face pressed against the bed and your hips raised to meet them.
Scott pushes you down into the sheets, your face mushed into his mattress, where you’re suddenly breathing in his scent. It’s a heady, masculine cologne that engulfs your senses, intoxicating in a way that only Scott could be. Your heart nearly beats out of your ribcage because you can’t see them. The only way you know that it’s Scott’s hands on your hips, positioning you in front of him, is because Clark is whispering in mild irritation, “This isn’t right, Scott. This is so disrespectful to her.”
“You gonna stop me, Kent? You’re telling me you haven’t been imagining what this pretty pussy looks like all this time?” Scott chuckles, tracing a finger up your bare thighs beneath your skirt. He flips the flimsy fabric up over your ass. “And a thong too — Christ, you’re such a slut, sweetheart.”
“Scott,” Clark chides again and you can imagine the disappointed frown marring his face.
Scott chooses to ignore him, instead focusing on how your pussy’s started leaking already. You can feel your slick folds, even more so when Scott digs his thumb in, pushing the thin string into your moist cunt. “She’s so wet already,” he groans, “you’ve been waiting for this, you little minx. Always fucking pushing our buttons when all you wanted was our cocks, is that it?”
Your denial is muffled even as you turn your face to catch a glimpse of them, a peek at Clark’s guilty face tainted with the greedy way he drinks in your pussy, a look at Scott licking his lips as he pushes his thumb just slightly deeper.
“Why don’t we play a little game?” Scott hums, hooking his finger on your panties as he drags it down your thighs. He doesn’t even bother removing it completely, lets it hang off your right ankle as if to say, you asked for this by wearing this.
“W-what game?” You manage to rasp.
“We’re going to have you figure out who’s who.” Scott murmurs, brushing your hair away from your shoulder as he presses his palm between your shoulder blades again. “We’re both going to fuck you, take turns sinking our cocks into this pretty pussy of yours, and you have to guess whose cock it is.”
Your heart lurches into your throat.
“And if you can get it right five times in a row, you’ll get to cum. How does that sound?”
Like heaven, you traitorous pussy says. Your brain and heart are in a losing battle when you can feel the warm pulse between your legs.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Scott chuckles. “You ready?”
You quickly learn that their similarities extend to the length between their legs. The first time one of them pushes their cock inside, all you can focus on is the burn. They’re big, bigger than anyone else you’ve ever had. This person doesn’t do shallow thrusts, they bury themselves completely inside you until you can feel their hips against your ass.
“I don’t—” you choke when they pull out and thrust back in, hard. “How am I supposed to know? I’ve never been with either of you,” you whine pathetically, words crumbling into moans as your pussy stretches around the girth.
“You know us, should know our cocks too.” Scott’s voice is a little breathless.
“Fuck, this is Scott. You’re fucking me,” you whimper.
“Good girl, but I made it too easy for you. That one doesn’t count.”
“But I guessed correctly!”
The cock slips out of you with a lewd pop, your own juices leaking down the back of your thighs as you shakily prop yourself up on all fours. You try to turn but the squeezing hand on your hip stops you.
Then you feel them — two fingers tentatively dragging up the slick down your legs, a subtle little moan, as they spread the sticky mess back up to your pussy. The fingers trace your pussy lips, the carefulness in the movements signal awe, as if you’re being observed like a specimen.
The fingers ease into you, thick, wiggling until you feel their knuckles against your folds.
“Now whose fingers are these, sweetheart?”
Long, long fingers. They brush up against that spongy part deep inside you that has you twitching. A shudder wracks through your body as they spread said fingers, stretching you out to see inside of your pussy.
“Scott…?” You guess meekly. This has to be a trick question.
Smack! You jolt forward, more so from the shock of the slap on your ass. The area where the hand landed throbs dully with the sting. “Wrong.”
God, fuck. Tears prick your eyes. Whether it’s from the intensity of the situation or the fact that the people pleaser in you has failed, you can’t tell.
“Clark,” you moan as he slowly pushes his fingers in and out of you.
“Good girl,” Clark coos sweetly, “doing so good for me, honey. You’re dripping all over my fingers. Making such a mess, it’s going down to my wrist.”
Your heart beats against your ribs, guilt gnawing at your bones. “‘M sorry, didn’t mean to.”
Clark shushes you with another deep push of his fingers into your quivering cunt. “It’s okay, no need to be sorry. You’re so pretty for us, leaking all over like this. Just means you like us too much.”
“I do, I do,” you agree numbly.
“We’re going to, um, put—”
“We’re going to fuck you again now,” Scott interrupts, you imagine the roll of his eyes at Clark who would just press his lips together. “Try and focus.”
The cock that slides into you next… feels exactly the same. Same length, same girth, same fucking burn. Your frustration builds in your chest into a vexed whine that slips past your lips.
Another slap on your ass that catches you off guard. “Focus,” Scott barks, but you can hear the smirk in his voice.
You do, you’re trying. The cock fucks deep inside you moved in a slow, steady rhythm to the beat of your heart. All you can think about is the delicious stretch that fuels the spark that’s been lit between your legs.
It feels damn good. Whoever this is knows how to find those little spots inside of you, your trigger points that hurtle you forward into a delirium of pleasure. Every thrust feels intentional. Every thrust is specially made for you.
“C-Clark,” you breathlessly whimper.
The cock stutters inside you, an interruption to the tempo. Your heart drops to your gut with fear.
“There you go,” Scott grunts, “see, you’re getting the good hang of it. Now we’re really ready to play.”
Ready to play— “Haven’t you been counting?” You snap, a little more irritated than you intended.
“You have to get it right five times in a row. If you mess up, we’re restarting the count.”
We. Scott’s twisted little game and he’s dragging poor, sweet Clark into this.
They take turns soaking their cocks with your cunt. Every time one of them enters you, the burn starts all over again. You’re stretching around their cocks, pussy molding to the shape of them, loosening slowly until you’re moaning with each dip into your little hole. You have bruises in the size of their fingertips on your hips, rough grips on you every time they fuck deep inside of you.
But Scott doesn’t relent on his game, no matter how close you get. They drive into you like men starved, moans bouncing off the walls like a symphony. The pleasure builds and nearly crests, each time you even come close to guessing five, you always somehow manage to get the last one wrong.
“A-are you doing this on purpose?” You pant, hair a tangled sweaty mess on your face.
“Dunno what you’re talking about,” Scott says coolly.
A gasp wrenches out of your throat. “Have you just been telling me I’ve been getting it wrong to keep going?”
“You calling us liars, sweetheart?” Scott slaps your ass again, his handprint tingling in the spots he’s been hitting you. “You cum when we want you to cum.”
“M-maybe we should let her, Scott,” Clark groans and you know it’s his cock pushing deep inside you again. He’s gentler between the two of them, but you can feel his self-control faltering when he fucks you a little deeper, a little harder each time. “This isn’t right. She doesn’t want this.”
“Your mouth’s been saying no, Clark, but god, sweetheart, you should see him right now. He’s enjoying this premium pussy if yours. Trying so hard not to moan. Doesn’t she feel so nice and tight? Perfect little toy.”
A moan climbs out of Clark’s chest, deep and guttural. “Perfect. Perfect toy,” he echoes dumbly. Your cunt clenches around him and he whimpers. “You’re squeezing me so tight, honey. Feels so good. You’re so good to me.”
“And you—” Scott starts with a pinch of your ass, “you want this as much as we do. Pussy’s gaping now, ready for our cocks. We stretched you out so good, didn’t we? Tighten up that cunt for us. I want to feel it squeeze around my cock when I fuck you next.”
You’re nothing if not obedient, ready to please him — them — because Clark’s fingers sink deeper into your waist as he feels you clamp down around him.
“You’re so tight,” Clark rasps, “she feels so good.”
“‘Course she feels good,” Scott huffs as he circles you and lifts you to prop up on all fours. He taps the head of his cock, leaking with both his and your arousal, against your lips. “She was made for us.”
Your jaw instinctively drops open and Scott slides him along your tongue.
“Just like that,” he hisses, “you taste us, sweetheart?” You can only groan in response.
Scott uses your throat for a while, fucking your mouth by grabbing your head. Your tongue drags along the underside of his cock, eliciting a shudder out of him before he yanks you off again.
“Too close,” he gasps, “I want to cum inside your cunt instead.”
You don’t know how long you stay there, game nearly long forgotten if it weren’t for Scott taunting you over again, laughing when you get it “wrong.” At this point you don’t know the difference, answers tumbling from your lips in a garbled mess.
Every time you get close, whoever it is drags their cock out of you. They bring you to the edge, so close to the peak, only to drag you under again. You’re crying and babbling, begging them to put you out of this misery.
It’s like being trapped in a maze with no exit, each dead end another point of pleasure that you can’t seem to reach.
Scott shows no mercy, only coos, “Come on, sweetheart, whose cock is in you right now? Why don’t you use that pretty little head of yours to guess?”
You sputter incoherently, thighs shaking with the weight of your desire. You’re so close, the burning between your legs intensifying to a point where you can practically taste your orgasm. But it may just be delirium — it’s like your climax now feels unfamiliar on your tongue.
“Let me finish her, Scott, she's crying. I can finish her,” Clark tries to plea on your behalf.
The cock that’s driving hard and fast abusing your pussy abruptly disappears as Clark stumbles backward, Scott pushing him out of the way. “No, pretty baby can't use her head to figure out who's fucking her, she needs to learn her lesson. We’re gonna keep testing her until she gets it right.”
“Scott, please.”
“Use your head, you can do it.”
Through your cockdrunk haze, you only begin to decipher the difference.
It’s not the shape, nor the size, because they’re too close. Too similar. But the way they move, how hard they’re holding you.
Scott is quick and dirty, chasing quick satisfaction for himself in a way that bullies your cunt into submission. Each thrust of his hips is about pace and a test of self-control for him.
But Clark listens to how you whine and moan, drives himself deep in a slow burn that drags out the pleasure in your core. His hands on your body are firm, but not enough to harm.
Scott guides the game and gets you close, but it’s Clark who delivers the final blow.
“Clark. It’s Clark!”
“Fuck, she got it right, Kent. She can finally cum now, do you want her to cum?”
Clark’s face is flushed a deep red, veins on his neck pulsing with his resistance. His jaw is clenched tight, teeth kissing as he hisses when you squeeze around him to Scott’s words.
“Yes, please, gosh — feels so good. Wanna cum. Wanna see her cum.”
“Flip her over.”
He doesn’t miss a beat, pulling out of you for barely a second only to turn you on your back and plunge his cock back inside you. He folds your knees into your body as he fucks into you with another needy moan.
“Feels even better like this,” Clark rasps, “I can see everything. You look so pretty, honey.”
“Clark’s so sweet on you, isn’t he?” Scott chuckles, his fist finding his cock. “Pretty girl deserves some pretty treats. Why don’t you give it to her, Clark? Cream inside her. Look at her, she wants it.”
Clark’s eyes find yours but you can barely keep them open. Not with how good Clark’s giving it to you, his fat cock stretching out every inch of your pussy as he leans down and presses you in deeper into the mattress. You can see the vein on his forehead pulse, control fighting against his need to devour.
“Can I, honey? Can I cum inside you?” He asks you. So soft, so sweet. So desperate to give you what you need that it makes you whine as you arch off the bed.
All you can manage is a nod before Clark is shooting his cum inside you, landing warm and sticky, clinging onto your walls. Your pussy squeezes around him, pulsing like a second heartbeat as you tumble down your own pleasure.
His breaths are hot against your neck as his hips jerk with the last spills into your pussy. You can feel it beginning to leak out from where the two of you are joined, dribbling down your ass and onto the sheets.
“Alright, Kent, gonna need you to move,” Scott mutters, using his own body to shoulder Clark out of the way.
Clark’s legs can barely hold himself up, the weight of his climax still hanging off his shoulders. His chest heaves with labored breaths as he watches Scott position himself in front of you, sandwiching himself between your parted legs.
His thumb pries your pussy open from the lips to see Clark’s cum seeping out. With a hiss, he uses the head of his own cock to nudge that cum back into your cunt and fucks it back into you. “Shit, you feel so good, sweetheart. Clark’s cum is so warm inside you, the perfect lube to fuck you.”
“S-so sore, Scott,” you whimper, the ache between your legs throbbing.
“I know, baby, but I need to cum too. I won’t take long.”
And he delivers — it only takes him a few more thrusts, every time he enters, he punctuates it with a praise. Fucking beautiful. Look at you. Gorgeous tits. Then he’s finishing inside you and you feel as if you’re about to burst with how much the two have filled you up. Your entire body feels like jell-o, not a single bone or muscle to move you.
Clark swipes the sweaty strands of hair from your face and presses a kiss to your forehead. Scott drags his cock out of you with a heavy groan.
The two of them watch in sick, rapt fascination as both their cums leak onto the bed. By this time, Scott’s mattress is a mess of stains — your arousal drenching the sheets and the cum that’s slowly pooling at the edge.
Even so, Scott only grins, “Think you can tell which cum is whose?”
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summary: 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. (based on this song)
notes: this took so long and it turned into a character study, but oh my goodness, i love it so much. i honestly love this man, this character, with all my heart and writing this was so much fun. you have no idea! i'm sorry it's so long but please give it a chance, it's probably my favourite thing i've written??? and as always, please let me know what you think! (i also made a whole playlist)
warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, italics, mentions of drunk sex, lots of tension and banter, lots of denial, jealousy, a little angst, some likely incorrect storm science (and a lot of lines stolen directly from both twister movies), lots of arguing, it gets a lil dramatic (but in a good way), and SMUT (making out, dirty-ish talk, unprotected p in v, and kind of rough? also don't come for me if some parts get repetitive, smut is hard) 18+ ONLY MDNI!!!
word count: 16668 (28087)
‧₊˚✧ PART TWO ‧₊˚✧
You’ve seen this before.
Your black dress lying on the floor. A few feet away, a white shirt. Pants. Boxers. Definitely not yours.
Your lashes flutter, eyes slowly adjusting to the stream of sunlight spilling through the crack in the curtains, painting the room in warm golden hues of morning—
Shit.
You roll over—and of course, he’s there. Arm slung across your waist, legs tangled with yours, his body taking up more of the bed than you’d normally ever allow a sleeping partner to occupy. His lashes rest dark against his cheeks, a smattering of freckles dusted across the bridge of his nose, full lips parted just slightly as he breathes steady and slow. He’s so pretty—almost unfairly so—but that doesn’t make you want to kick him out any less.
“Scott,” you hiss, tapping his cheek. “Wake the fuck up and get the fuck out.”
He stirs, brow furrowing as he mumbles something low and incoherent.
“Scott, I am so serious right now, it’s like—” You reach for your phone on the nightstand, tapping the screen to light it up. The time flashes back at you, and your stomach drops. You bolt upright. “It’s seven o’clock! You need to get the fuck out of here before my crew start waking up.”
He groans and rolls onto his back, lashes fluttering as his eyes blink against the morning light. “Yeah, ‘m awake.”
The gravel in his voice first thing in the morning always makes your heart stutter. It's ridiculous—really—that a man so irritating, so endlessly infuriating, can be this sexy without even trying. Which is exactly why you don’t blame yourself for giving in. To him. His stupidly sharp wit. His stupid blue eyes. That stupidly talented tongue that never fails to—
“Thinking about round two?” he asks, lips curved into a sleepy smirk.
You roll your eyes and turn away, planting your feet firmly on the grey motel carpet. “Pretty sure we’re well past round two after last night—but for the record? No. I’m actually thinking about the exact opposite.”
The mattress dips as he sits up. “Yeah? And what’s the exact opposite of another round of back-breaking sex?”
“The fact that it’s never going to happen again,” you say, standing and turning to face him. “Ever.”
His brows lift, lips still curled into that smirk. “Ever?”
Your eyes narrow. “Never.”
“Heard that before,” he chuckles, swinging his legs off the bed and stretching his arms out wide.
“Yeah, well—” you pick up his shirt and toss it at him, “—this time I mean it.”
“Said you meant it last time too.” He glances over his shoulder, eyes sparkling—and God, you can’t decide if you want to punch him or kiss him.
“Just get dressed and get out,” you mutter, bending down to scoop up his boxers.
It isn’t long before he’s fully dressed, StormPAR printed across the left side of his chest and a smudge of your mascara staining the collar. He slips his shoes on—doesn’t bother lacing them—sets his cap on his head, and heads for the door, where you’re waiting with your arms crossed.
“Tomorrow night, then?” he asks, hand on the doorknob, lips twitching.
You give him a flat look. “Funny.”
“Oh, I’m not being funny.”
Before you can fire back, he steps in close, fingers catching on the hem of your shirt. He tugs—just enough to pull you off balance—and then his mouth is on yours. Slow, deep, unhurried. The kind of kiss that makes your knees threaten to buckle. The kind of kiss that says he knows exactly what he’s doing.
When he finally pulls back, he chuckles—soft and low and infuriating. Then he’s gone, leaving you alone in the old motel room that smells like sex and mothballs, pulse racing, glaring at the door like it’s the problem.
But it’s not. And neither are you. It’s him—always him. Every time. He’s impossible. Insufferable. With that flat scowl that seems permanently carved into his face, those ridiculously broad shoulders that never seem to relax, and the way his eyes can pin you across any bar, any tavern, any crowded room like you’re the only thing worth looking at.
It’s like déjà vu.
The same damn pattern on repeat.
You drink, you get drunk, you fight—and then you fuck.
Every. Single. Time.
It started back in college. You first spotted him across the lecture hall—head and shoulders above the rest, dark hair catching the sunlight streaming in through the tall windows, blue eyes sharp as they scanned the room. He looked like he was on his way to audition for Superman, not sit through a lecture about the physics of oceanic and atmospheric circulation. There was something about him, something impossible to ignore—something that made your pulse skip and your stomach flip.
Needless to say, you thought he was gorgeous. You fell for it. Obviously. Who wouldn’t?
But that was before he opened his mouth.
He kept to himself mostly, always quiet and serious, never wasting words unless the professor called on him. But with you? It was different. From the moment you first spoke, he was on the attack—nitpicking your storm-tracking analysis, insisting your projections were sloppy. And when you snapped back, he gave you this smirk—small, sharp, knowing. Like he knew exactly how to get under your skin. And maybe he did. Because Scott wasn’t like that with anyone else. To the rest of the world, he was just grumpy, closed-off Scott. With you, though, he was cocky, quick, infuriatingly sure of himself. Like he saw something in you that no one else did, and enjoyed poking at it just to watch you light up.
Maybe that’s why you fell into the rhythm so easily. It had nothing to do with you, not really—it was him, always him, pushing, prodding, picking fights just so he could be the one to watch you burn. That’s why every party turned into another argument, another kiss, another night. Why every time a drop of liquor touched your tongue, you ended up flat on your back with Scott on top of you. Because he always managed to draw that side of you out—the one that wanted to prove him wrong, even when it meant proving him right in all the worst ways.
After college, you thought you’d broken the curse—that you’d finally escaped whatever time loop kept you falling into bed with him. But then StormPAR showed up one tornado season, and just like that, you were right back where you started. Under him. On top of him. In the shower, on the couch, the kitchen counter, sometimes even in the bar bathroom. All his fault. Obviously. But now you have to be careful, discreet, because the last thing you need is your team finding out that you’re sleeping with the enemy.
Not that it’s happening again. Ever. Last night was the last time—you're sure of that. You mean it this time. You have to. You’re not going to let him get to you ever again. You can’t.
“Don’t you look chipper this morning,” Tyler says, grinning like hangovers are a myth he’s never believed in.
You shoot him a look. “How are you not hungover?”
He shrugs. “Years of practice. Healthy liver. Oh—and I wasn’t the one chasing tequila with… more tequila.”
You roll your eyes, even though it makes your skull throb, and turn toward the self-serve coffee machine. The rest of the group are crowded around a table in the middle of the dining hall—all except Boone, who is busy loading his plate with everything the continental breakfast has to offer. He always gets excited when you stay at a motel with complimentary breakfast.
“I’m surprised you were up so early,” Tyler says, leaning a hip against the counter.
You frown. “Early? It’s almost ten.”
He shakes his head. “No—earlier. I heard you moving around at, like, seven.”
Your stomach drops, but you keep your eyes fixed on the coffee machine. Usually you’re more careful than that—if your motel room is too close to someone else’s, you’ll go back to wherever Scott is staying. Or find somewhere in between. But you’d completely forgotten Tyler’s room was directly below yours—which means he probably heard a whole lot more than just footsteps at seven o’clock this morning.
“Oh, yeah,” you mutter. “I—uh, I ran out of toilet paper and had to go down to the front desk.”
He nods, slow and sceptical. “Right. Toilet paper.”
You bounce your heel impatiently while you wait for the coffee to fill your mug. Tyler doesn’t say anything else. He just stands there, waiting, sipping his own coffee like he’s got nothing better to do than silently interrogate you.
When your mug finally fills, you scoop it up and turn toward the table where the others are—desperate for a conversation that doesn’t make you want to throw up... more than you already do.
“Hey.” You drop into the empty seat between Lily and Javi. “How are you guys this morning?”
Kate, Dani, and Dexter are already deep in conversation about today’s chase, but it’s still way too early for you to start thinking about wind shear and hodographs.
“I’m great,” Lily says, smiling. “How are you?”
You exhale slowly and lean back in your chair. “I’ve been better.”
Javi chuckles. “Not gonna lie, I’m impressed you’re even out of bed.”
“Me too,” you mutter into your mug, sipping carefully so you don’t upset your stomach.
There’s a pause—a brief lull where Kate’s voice suddenly carries louder than it should, chatting excitedly about a monster cell forming over the plains.
Then Javi turns to you, amusement still bright on his face. “You and Scott were really going at it last night, huh?”
You choke. On nothing. Not coffee or spit or air. You just choke—breath catching, chest seizing, throat tight.
“Woah.” Lily lays a hand on your shoulder. “Are you okay?”
You cough into your hand, haphazardly setting your mug on the table as you try to breathe. “‘m good,” you manage, waving a hand dismissively. “I—I’m okay. Just—wrong pipe.”
You swallow hard and clear your throat—even though there’s nothing to clear—before turning to Javi, brows drawn tight. “Uh, what do you mean, Scott and—and me?”
He tilts his head. “Last night, at the bar. I mean, I’ve seen you two fight before, but that was—wow.”
You exhale softly, shoulders sagging as relief washes over you. “Right. At the bar. Yeah, it was... intense.”
He’s not wrong. Last night’s argument was pretty bad—but last night’s sex? That was something else entirely. You wouldn’t be surprised if the whole motel had heard you come that third time.
“Why are Scott and his crew even back this season?” Kate pipes up from across the table. “I thought they’d be hiding with their tails between their legs after what happened last year.”
“They're not working with Riggs anymore,” you say, picking up your mug and taking a short sip. “They've got new investors, new funding streams. They're refocusing their whole mission—like, actually doing legit work now. Scott’s got them running tighter sorties, logging wind shear and convective parameters with insane precision. Most of them are still MIT-level assholes, yeah. But they’ve got the equipment, the drones, the timing… they’re terrifyingly efficient. And somehow Scott’s still running interference like it’s a game.”
Silence. The whole team exchanges curious glances.
Javi leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “And exactly how do you know all that?”
You hesitate, holding your mug to your lips for a beat too long before swallowing slow. “I—uh, I spoke to one of them the other night. Don’t remember his name, but he was telling me... stuff.”
Kate frowns. “Stuff?”
Dani leans in. “You had a conversation with someone from StormPAR without yelling, shouting, or throwing drinks?”
You roll your eyes. “Come on, I’m not that bad.”
She winces. “You kind of are, though.”
Your eyes widen. “Well, I’m not violent, at least.”
Javi chuckles. “Pretty sure I heard you tell Scott he wouldn’t be able to walk straight once you were done with him.”
Heat floods your cheeks, and you have to hide behind a generous sip of coffee.
“Not violent, my ass,” Boone says, grinning over his three full plates of food. “I bet you’d throw hands with that StormPAR poser if he wasn’t two feet taller than the average person.”
You don’t know what to say to that, so you just laugh—short, clipped, awkward—and keep your mug at your chin.
Thankfully, the conversation moves on quickly. Kate starts wondering aloud whether StormPAR will be after the same cell as your team today, and soon everyone is talking about the weekend chase. It’s supposed to be a strong couple of days, which is good. You could use the distraction—and so could Tyler. Because right now he’s looking at you across the table with narrowed eyes and a small frown that makes you think he knows more than you’d like him to.
After breakfast, everyone gathers their things and piles into the two vehicles. Dani, Dexter, Lily, and Javi take the RV—Lily and Javi settling in the back with their laptops to monitor live data. Which means you’re in Tyler's truck with Kate and Boone in the back. You don’t always ride up front, but today, Tyler insisted.
It isn’t long before rain starts hitting the windscreen in rolling sheets. The whistle of the wind grows louder outside, and you can see Tyler’s knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. This is when the adrenaline starts to kick in—when the clouds drop low and the sky turns a bruise-dark shade of purple and grey.
Kate snatches up the radio, holding it to her chin. “Talk to me, Javi. Where are we headed?”
The radio crackles before Javi’s voice cuts in. “East-northeast. Storm’s picking up rotation—you’ve got maybe ten minutes before it tightens. Stay on thirty-six, then cut north at the county road.”
“Copy that,” Kate says.
“Hold on,” Tyler barks suddenly.
The truck jolts through a flooded dip in the road, and you quickly brace yourself against the dash.
“Shit.” You squint through the rain-streaked glass. “Is that StormPAR?”
Tyler leans forward, eyes narrowed. “Looks like it. How the hell did they get ahead of us?”
“No idea.”
In the back seat, Boone whoops at a streak of lightning splitting the horizon, while Kate’s got her nose buried in the laptop balanced on her knees. “Shear’s climbing. We’re threading a needle here,” she warns, eyes flicking between graphs and radar.
Tyler grins, wide and wild. “Hell of a morning commute.”
Another burst of static crackles through the radio, voices bleeding over one another as the RV crew calls updates and warnings. When you finally hit the county road, Tyler yanks the truck northward, cutting through a field of tall grass toward the building storm.
You glance over your shoulder at Kate. “How big is it supposed to get?”
“Initially I had it pegged at an EF-1,” she says. “But the velocity’s climbing—it could be an EF-2 if we’re lucky.”
You turn back to face the front, hand flying up to grip the ‘oh shit’ handle above the door. “Looks like an EF-2 to me. Let’s get in there before StormPAR.”
“Atta girl!” Tyler exclaims, slamming his foot down on the gas.
The truck lurches, Boone cheers, and Kate grumbles something about how Tyler better not kill you all before you even make it to the tornado. You glance in the side-view mirror and spot the white StormPAR truck just a few yards behind now, their LEDs flaring so bright they nearly blind you in the reflection.
“Wait,” Kate says, eyes wide as she snatches up the radio again. “Javi, are you seeing this?”
“Yeah,” he comes back quickly. “It’s shifting direction—but I can’t pin the path yet.”
“Stop the truck,” Kate orders. “We need to wait and see where it’s headed.”
Tyler nods once. “Copy. Stopping now.”
He slams on the brake, and the truck shudders to a violent halt. Everyone lurches forward—Boone gasps, Kate yelps, and you throw your hands against the dash to stop the seatbelt from strangling you.
“Jesus Christ, Tyler,” you mutter. “She didn’t mean stop right—”
“What the hell do they want?” he cuts in, scowling past you out the window.
You whip around to see the StormPAR truck pulled up right beside yours—barely two feet of space between your door and their driver’s side. The tinted window rolls down slowly, and your heart stutters. Traitor.
Scott gestures for you to lower your window, and you roll your eyes before cranking it down.
“What?” you shout over the roar of wind and rain.
The corner of his mouth lifts, just a little. “You better turn back—this one’s out of your league.”
You frown, shifting in your seat to lean out the window. “Yeah? I didn’t realise you were moonlighting as a weatherman and my babysitter!” you exclaim, your voice pitching up on the last word, jagged with frustration.
His mouth curves higher—a little closer to that smirk you know too well—and his eyes gleam even under the bleak grey sky. “Somebody’s gotta keep you alive,” he calls back.
And then he's gone.
You barely even have time to blink before the StormPAR truck is disappearing into the distance ahead. You drop back into your seat, wind the window up as fast as you can, then let your—now wet—head fall back against the headrest and let out a long, strained groan.
You roll your eyes. “It wasn’t loaded—he’s just a prick. Now let’s fucking go before we miss this thing!”
Luckily for you, Tyler doesn’t have time to argue—because you’re right. If you don’t keep moving, you’re going to miss the storm. He hits the gas and you’re all pressed back in your seats as the truck starts cutting through the field again. Javi radios in with new instructions, and Tyler follows. Kate leans forward with her laptop, flashing you the screen and asking for your opinion on the rotational velocity she’s reading.
It’s like clockwork—everyone falling into their roles, the chase running through you like instinct. But today it doesn’t matter how well you all work together. It doesn’t matter how sharp Javi’s calls are, how fast Tyler drives, how excited Boone is—it's all useless.
By the time you hit the spot the radar promised, you see it—a thin funnel dangling from the clouds, twisting like it can't quite make up its mind. For one sharp second, your pulse spikes. But then the clouds pull back, and the funnel collapses in on itself, gone before you can even blink. Too high, too short, too weak to count.
Boone groans. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Kate snaps her laptop shut with a sigh. “All that for a glorified dust devil.”
Tyler thumps the steering wheel once, muttering under his breath, and you sink back against your seat, jaw tight. Across the field, just over the crest of the hill, you catch sight of the StormPAR truck, barely visible through the thinning weather. You tell yourself it’s just coincidence that your eyes find it so quickly—but deep down, you know better. It’s like you’ve got a sixth sense for Scott, like your body knows when he’s near even if you wish it didn’t.
The drive back to the motel is quiet, heavy with the disappointment of unpredictable weather—because no matter how much you think you know from hook echoes and velocity scans, the storm always has the final say. It’s that mysterious moment before the funnel drops that one no one can forecast except Mother Nature herself.
Once Tyler parks the truck, you all climb out. Kate’s already talking about tomorrow’s predictions when the others meet you in the parking lot, all grumbling about today’s lack of success—until Javi points out the CAPE numbers spiking and dewpoints climbing into the upper sixties. Then the mood shifts, just a little, because tomorrow could be the real thing.
The rest of the afternoon is filled with talk of tomorrow’s potential and an early dinner at the diner around the corner, then you all head back to the motel. Javi and Lily start tinkering with their latest drone modifications while Tyler, Dani, Dexter, and Boone all settle into their lawn chairs with a beer—but you and Kate both decide to call it a night.
You take a long shower, letting the water run over you until your skin turns red—but it still doesn’t wash him away. The image of him, the memories of last night. They loop endlessly in your head. Even when you try to watch a movie on the tiny TV in the corner of the room, you end up staring through it more than you actually watch.
Eventually, you flick off the lights, sink into bed, and try to sleep. Try. But it doesn’t come easy. You toss and turn, restless, your mind circling back again and again no matter how hard you try to shove it away. Every time you shut your eyes, last night flickers behind your eyelids—the heat of it, the sharp edges, the way he looked at you. And worse? The smell of him is still here, stubbornly clinging to your sheets like he’s burned into the fabric, into you. You hate it. You hate that it makes your chest tight, that it makes you want more instead of less.
And when you finally do fall asleep, your dreams betray you. Because he’s there—always there. His mouth at your throat, breath hot against your skin, his hands holding you in place like he can’t stand the thought of letting you go. The way he touches you—confident, hungry, reverent—burns into you, every brush of his skin making your breath stutter. He groans when you arch against him, a sound that drags heat straight to your core, and it’s unfair, so unfair—how good it feels to have him pressed against you, filling you, claiming you like you belong to him.
You wake in a sweat at three a.m., pulse racing, skin still buzzing. And you’re furious. Furious that he’s invaded your head, your subconscious, the one place he has no right to be. Furious that your body is betraying you, aching for him even now, when you swore last night was the last time. Because you don’t want him. You can’t want him. And that is exactly why it has to stop—why you can’t keep letting him crawl under your skin, into your bed, into your goddamn dreams.
Sleep mostly evades you after that. You drift in and out, caught between restless half-dreams and the stubborn ache of wakefulness, until finally—eventually—you manage to fall under again. But then your phone’s alarm starts blaring and your eyes snap open after what feels like only twenty minutes of actual sleep.
You let out a sigh, rub your eyes, and throw the covers back, dragging yourself into the shower. After a quick rinse and brushing your teeth, you pull on a pair of shorts and an oversized MIT shirt, then head out the door. The moment you step outside, the air hits you—thick and heavy, humidity clinging to your skin—and a spark of excitement flickers in your chest. Because warm, moist air means one thing: today, you're going to chase a real storm.
“Are you feelin’ this?” Boone calls from below, standing beside Tyler and the truck.
You grin. “Oh, yeah, baby! It’s tornado weather.”
You hurry along the balcony and down the stairs, skipping the last few steps with a jump. Tyler is already packing gear into the truck, and Boone is beaming as he slides new rockets into the chutes at the rear of the cab. Javi, Lily, and Kate are crowded around a laptop, murmuring excitedly and pointing at something on the screen, while Dexter quietly finishes his cup of coffee, eyes fixed on the sky.
“We’re gonna get a good one today, I can feel it,” Tyler says as you approach, tightening a bolt on the truck’s cage. “Then I thought we’d head down to Texas tomorrow. Amarillo’s looking promising for the next week.”
You nod slowly, watching the wrench instead of his face. “Sounds good. Is that where everyone else is headed?”
His hand stills, head tilting, brow furrowing. “Since when are you worried about where other chasers are going?”
You shrug, ignoring the heat in your cheeks. “Just asking.”
His eyes narrow and he straightens slowly, mouth opening to press further—but before he can, Boone pops up, saving you from the interrogation.
“So,” he says, eyes bright as they bounce between you and Tyler, “who’s riding in the truck today?”
“Me, obviously,” you reply quickly, eager to change the subject. “And I call shotgun.”
Boone frowns. “But you had shotgun yesterday.”
You lift a shoulder. “Yesterday was a bust. I’m owed a decent storm.”
He turns to Tyler with a pout. “T, tell her she’s being unfair.”
Tyler chuckles. “She called shotgun, Boone. Not much I can do about that.”
Boone huffs but doesn’t argue—he just turns away, sulking as he walks over to the others.
“We should get going,” Tyler says, dropping the wrench back into his poor excuse for a toolbox. “I need to get gas before we head out, and I know Boone’s hungry.”
“There’s a little diner-slash-truck stop about five minutes up the road,” you offer. “Pretty sure I saw a sign that said they serve breakfast burritos.”
Tyler slides his aviators up his nose and grins. “Breakfast burritos it is. Let’s wrangle the wranglers.”
You roll your eyes, biting back a smile as you turn away from him. You can’t give him the satisfaction of laughing at something so dumb—Tyler Owens’ ego is already big enough.
It isn’t long before everyone’s piling out of the vehicles at the diner. Boone and Dani head straight for the door, arguing about hot sauce on breakfast burritos, while Kate and Lily trail just a few steps behind. Tyler parks his truck at one of the gas pumps, and Dexter helps Javi manoeuvre the RV beside another.
“Hey, Ty,” you say as you slip out of the passenger’s side. “Have you seen my sunglasses?”
He shrugs, eyes fixed on the pump. “They’re not in the centre console?”
“No,” you sigh. “I’ve looked all through the truck.”
“Didn’t Lily borrow them the other day?”
“Oh.” You turn toward the RV. “Yeah, she did. Thanks.”
He mumbles something you don’t quite catch as you start toward the RV. Dexter is standing near the rear of the vehicle, holding the pump while Javi rambles about lifted index and dewpoints. You flash them both a quick smile before yanking the door open and climbing up the few steps into the RV that looks more like a meteorologist’s lab than a home on wheels.
It takes all of ten seconds to spot your sunglasses sitting on the dash. You grab them and push them on top of your head, checking your reflection quickly in the rear-view mirror before turning back toward the door.
But then you hear Javi’s voice—and freeze.
“Hey, man, how are you?” he says, too brightly for it to be directed at one of your crew.
“I’m good, how are you?”
You know that voice—almost too well—and you’re not in the mood to get caught in a conversation with the person it belongs to.
“Yeah, I’m good,” Javi replies. “Did you catch that bust yesterday?”
You creep toward the door—ignoring the mix of dread and nausea curling in your gut—and lean closer, peering through a tear in the faded curtain covering the little window.
“Yeah, we caught that,” Scott says. “Watched it collapse.”
Javi sighs. “Yeah, total letdown. But hey—looks like redemption weather today.”
Scott chuckles—softly, but you can still hear it. Hell, you can practically see it. You know exactly what he looks like when he does that little half laugh—the way his mouth quirks, the way his eyes drop like he’s trying not to let it show, but the small shake in his shoulders always gives him away. You’ve seen it too many times, memorised it without meaning to.
“How is it, anyway?” he asks. “Chasing with Owens.”
You lean a little closer to the door.
“Honestly?” Javi says. “It’s great. They’re a great crew. Everyone’s sharp, they’ve got their own things, and we all work so well together. I mean, even the tech—it’s dated, sure, but it works. It’s like a well-oiled machine, man. You should see these guys out on the field.”
Through the tear in the curtain, you can just make out the movement of Javi’s hand clapping Dexter’s shoulder.
“Wow,” Scott says. “Sounds great.”
To anyone else, his tone might sound sarcastic—but you know better. You know what Scott sounds like when he’s really being derisive, and so does Javi—he worked with him long enough—but this isn’t that. Scott’s genuinely happy for his former business partner.
“But what about you, man?” Javi says, voice bright. “I’ve been hearing all kinds of things about StormPAR. You dropped Riggs, right? And now you’re running interference like it’s a damn sport? Sounds like you’ve got that place dialled in.”
Your eyes go wide and your pulse spikes, panic rushing through your veins.
“I—uh, yeah,” Scott says, and you can almost see the confused frown on his face. “We dropped Riggs. Thought we should try doing things the right way. But—um... who—who told you all that?”
Your stomach drops when you hear Javi say your name—and before you can stop yourself, you shove the door open and stumble out of the RV. You almost lose your footing on the last step, but manage to catch yourself on the door handle.
“Speak of the devil,” Dexter chuckles, hooking the pump back into place on the side of the bowser.
You straighten, looking anywhere but at Scott as you slowly shut the RV door.
“There’s my girl,” Javi grins. “I was just telling Scott about what you were saying at breakfast yesterday. How impressed you are with—”
“I never said I was impressed,” you cut in, stepping toward them both.
Javi chuckles, slinging an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side—and you can almost swear you catch the flicker of something sharp in Scott’s eyes. But he masks it quickly, hiding it behind that infuriatingly familiar smirk.
“So,” he says, folding his arms, “how d’you know so much about StormPAR?”
You narrow your eyes. “I had a brief conversation with one of your teammates the other night.”
His brows lift. “Yeah? Who was it?”
“Didn’t catch his name.”
“Describe him,” he presses. “I’m sure I’ll know who you’re talking about.”
Frustration coils hot in your chest, lighting your skin on fire from the inside out.
You fold your arms to match him. “He was tall and obnoxious and completely full of himself.”
He smirks, voice dropping low. “Pretty sure you were full of him too.”
Your pulse jumps, heat flooding your cheeks as your eyes dart to Javi, who—thank God—is too distracted by an alert on his phone to catch what Scott said. When you look back, Scott’s head is bowed, his shoulders shaking just slightly as he tries to hide his amusement behind the brim of his stupid StormPAR hat.
“You’re impossible,” you hiss.
He glances up, blue eyes shining, and opens his mouth to retort—but Javi cuts in.
“Damn, have you seen this?” he says, holding up his phone. “CAPE numbers are climbing fast. Looks like we’re getting a storm earlier than we thought.”
You drag your eyes away from Scott to survey Javi’s phone screen—and he’s right. CAPE values are rising, and the radar’s showing stronger rotation. With conditions like this, you’ll see a cell before midday.
“Should we tell the others to hurry up?”
Javi shrugs. “Wouldn’t hurt to hit the road sooner.”
You nod. “I’ll go round them up.”
You shoot Scott a scathing look before marching right past him toward the diner. You’re so frustrated—and, okay, a little flustered—that you don’t even notice you’re being followed until a hand beats yours to the door handle.
Scott pulls the door open before you can protest, gesturing with his other hand for you to go first. You know it’d be stupid to refuse, especially with how many chasers are milling about—people you know—so you settle for another scowl as you step inside the diner.
It isn’t big or fancy, but it’s clean—and it smells like coffee and maple syrup. There are only four booths in the dining space and a few stools at the counter, which has left most of the clientele on their feet. But your crew, of course, managed to secure one of the booths in the far corner.
“Nice shirt, by the way,” Scott says, voice low but still loud enough to cut through the chatter.
You glance over your shoulder. “Thanks. Are you so self-involved that you forgot I went to MIT too?”
He hums, almost a laugh. “No, I remember.” His eyes flick down, then back up—steady, deliberate. “I remember very clearly.”
You turn to face him, folding your arms as your pulse picks up. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“You know what.”
He tilts his head, feigning innocence. “I’m not looking at you like anything. Just noticed that shirt looks a little big.”
You glance down—and your stomach drops. It’s his.
You school your expression quickly. “Yeah? Well... I bought it oversized.”
“Mm.” His mouth curves. “Sure you did.”
You roll your eyes, opening your mouth to fire back—but he beats you to it.
“It’s just that—” he steps closer, voice dropping lower “—I had a shirt just like that, but it went missing a couple weeks ago.”
Your pulse spikes. A couple of weeks ago, in Dodge City, you’d been stuck in a motel room right next to Tyler’s—so you’d gone to Scott’s instead. The next morning, you hadn’t felt like putting your own clothes back on, so you’d left wearing a pair of his boxers and... an old MIT shirt.
“Look,” you mutter, lifting a hand to press to his chest before quickly remembering where you are and letting it fall. “It’s my shirt now. Because that—” your eyes search his, and you hate the way your heart thuds harder, “—is never happening again. Ever.”
His mouth twitches like he’s about to say something clever, but then his eyes flick over your shoulder—and the playfulness fades. His expression shutters back into that blank, guarded calm he always hides behind.
“What’s never happening again?” Tyler asks, startling you.
You whip around, face burning. “Nothing—I mean, well—yeah, nothing. Because it’s never happening again.” You turn back to Scott, eyes wide. “Right?”
His brow creases just slightly. “Right,” he mutters. “I’ll never ask you for a wind reading ever again.”
You stare at him for a beat, eyes wide, lips parted like you’re about to say something—but all that comes out is a quiet scoff as you shake your head.
“Wind reading?” Tyler echoes.
“Yep!” you reply, too fast and too bright. “Never giving StormPAR any of our data ever again. Now let’s get the others—Javi said conditions are picking up and we don’t want to miss it.”
Tyler frowns. “But—”
“No buts,” you cut in quickly. “Come on, let’s wrangle the wranglers!”
He doesn’t have time to protest again before you grab his arm and steer him through the diner toward the rest of the crew. You quickly fill them in on the changing weather conditions, and you don’t even need to ask before everyone’s scrambling to leave.
You keep your eyes fixed on the clip in the back of Kate’s hair as you make your way out, determined not to look back. You don’t need to know if he’s watching or following. You don’t even care if he is. Because today isn’t about Scott—it’s about the supercell forming east over the plains.
In fact, nothing is about Scott. Not today, not yesterday, and especially not you.
You’re about storms, and chasing, and your crew—not drunk motel sex that you have to keep a secret. No matter how good it is. Because it’s just sex. Great sex, sure, but replaceable. You can find great sex somewhere else. You just need to stop falling for his stupid little traps—like that cocky smirk he saves just for you, or the spark in his eyes when he baits you and you rise to it every damn time. Or the way those same eyes darken when his mouth is on you, when he looks up through his lashes with that lazy sort of focus, his lips slick with—
“Hello?” Tyler waves his hand in front of your face. “Are you even listening?”
The truck jolts and you quickly grab the door to steady yourself. “Yeah,” you lie. “I’m just—just trying to watch for wind direction... and stuff.”
Tyler shakes his head, eyes fixed on the rain-splattered windscreen. “That was a bad lie and you know it. What’s with you today?”
“Nothing,” you mutter. “I’m fine.”
He shoots you a sidelong look. “You’ve been weird since yesterday.”
“No I haven’t,” you lie—again—keeping your gaze focused on the dark grey sky ahead.
“Yes, you have,” he starts, “you’ve been—”
“Speaking of yesterday,” Boone cuts in, leaning forward over the centre console, “I forgot to mention it because I was so bummed about the storm, but I went into the front office when we got back and the receptionist said we had a noise complaint.”
Your pulse stutters.
Tyler tilts his head to look at Boone in the rear-view mirror. “Noise complaint?”
“Yeah,” Boone says. “From room 2C.”
Tyler glances at you. “You’re in 2B, aren’t you?”
Your cheeks flush, your mouth opens—but nothing comes out. Shit.
“Did they say what kind of noise?” Tyler asks.
“Banging, moaning, groaning,” Boone says, brow furrowing. “Apparently they thought the place was haunted until the noises stopped in the early morning.”
“That’s so weird,” you say, a little too fast. “I didn’t hear anything.”
Tyler’s brows lift, his eyes still on the road. “So, it wasn’t you?”
You scoff, but it’s so forced you might as well be holding up a flashing neon sign that says guilty. “No, it wasn’t me. Why—why would it be me? How would I even make all those noises?”
Boone snorts. “Unless you were watching p—”
The truck hits a ditch in the dirt road, and all of you lurch forward.
“Shit,” Tyler hisses, gripping the steering wheel tight with both hands.
The rain outside is brutal now, rolling in sheets against the windscreen and making it almost impossible to see more than a few feet ahead.
“We’ve got hail,” Javi’s voice crackles through the radio, bright with excitement. “Make the next left and hit the gas—the cap’s about to break!”
Tyler presses his foot down, urging the truck faster and squeezing the wheel until his knuckles turn white. Adrenaline and relief flood through you, a thin sweat breaking over the back of your neck. You know you’re not out of the woods yet—Tyler won't let this go that easily—but at least you’ve bought yourself some time to come up with a defence.
By the time the storm breaks, it’s everything the radar promised—a clean cap, perfect rotation, a funnel that almost kisses the ground before pulling back into the clouds. Tyler’s whooping, Boone’s halfway out the window trying to film it, everyone’s cheering over the radio, and for a while, it’s easy to forget everything else. For a while it’s just you, your crew, the chase, and that rush in your veins that feels like purpose.
Hours blur into one another—dark clouds chasing light, wind roaring so loud it drowns out thought. By the time you roll back into the motel parking lot, you’re soaked through and buzzing, boots squelching with every step. The sky’s gone that bruised purple-grey, lightning still flickering at the edges, and the air hums with the heavy, metallic scent of rain and dust. It’s been a good day—a great one, even. Almost enough to make you forget about the twisted feeling in your gut you still don’t have a name for.
“Hey,” Kate calls, jogging across the parking lot to catch you. “You coming out tonight?”
You turn to face her, brows drawing tight. “What’s tonight?”
“A bunch of chasers are going to one of the bars in town,” she says, “to celebrate today’s storm.”
Your pulse quickens. “Oh—uh, yeah, sure.”
She beams. “Great.”
You give her a tight smile and turn back the way you were going, hoping she doesn’t notice the colour rising in your cheeks. “Just let me shower and I’ll meet you back down here at—”
“Six,” she calls after you. “Everyone will be ready at six.”
You glance over your shoulder. “Right. Six.”
The grin on her face is a little too wide to be casual, and there’s a spark in her eyes that makes you think she’s up to something more than just wrangling the team for a night out. Kate doesn’t usually come out when you all go drinking—she’s a special occasions kind of girl—which, you suppose, is something you could label tonight as. It is technically a celebration.
But there’s something more. Something else hiding behind her smile. Something you’ll worry about after you get out of these wet clothes and soggy boots.
You take an extra-long, extra-hot shower, letting the water soak your skin until it’s pink and pruned. Then you step out, dry off, get dressed, and decide to take a little longer than usual getting ready. You do your hair, fix your clothes in the mirror, and carefully apply a red lipstick that matches your top.
You don’t usually put much effort into drinks with the crew—but tonight’s effort has nothing to do with your crew and everything to do with which other crews might be at the bar. Even though you know you’re not going home with anyone other than your friends. Especially not anyone from StormPAR.
“No Scott,” you tell your reflection sternly. “Not too many drinks, no absinthe, and no sex.” You pause, staring yourself down like that’s somehow going to give drunk you some self-control. “No Scott. Got it?”
You nod once, firm, then turn around, grab your purse, and head out the door. Everyone else is already waiting in the parking lot, gathered and chatting excitedly beside Tyler’s truck, the energy still buzzing from the day’s successful chase.
“Finally!” Boone calls. “I’m dying of thirst out here.”
You roll your eyes as you start down the stairs, listening to the rest of them argue about who’s going in which vehicle. When you reach the truck, Kate ushers you into the front seat before she climbs into the back between Lily and Boone—and while you know there’s some ulterior motive, you’re not about to argue.
“So,” Tyler says, turning the ignition, “where’s this bar, Kate?”
“East side of town, just past the strip malls,” she says. “You can’t miss it—it’s got the most insane amount of fairy lights all over the front terrace.”
Tyler snorts. “Sounds classy.”
“Oh, it is.” Kate leans forward over the centre console. “It’s technically a cantina.”
“A cantina in the middle of Norman, Oklahoma?” Boone pipes up.
You glance at Kate. “Is it offensive?”
She tilts her head. “If you’re asking whether they wear sombreros and fake moustaches? No. It’s mostly just Mexican cuisine and some inspired decor. The original owners actually were Hispanic, but they sold it and retired.”
“And how do you know so much about this place?” Tyler asks.
Kate shrugs. “I went a few times with my friends, years ago. Jeb loved it—he said we had to go back any time we were chasing near Norman.”
You don’t often hear about Kate’s late friends—especially not Jeb—but lately, she’s been better. She’s been opening up more, telling stories, less afraid of her past. It’s partly thanks to Javi, because being close again means they’ve been able to work through some shared trauma, but you also know Tyler has a little something to do with it. You’re not exactly sure what’s going on between them, but you know it’s definitely something.
“Anyway,” Kate says, shaking her head quickly before turning to you. “I want to talk to you about something.”
Oh, God.
You lift your brows. “Here?”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, here. It’s not a secret, it’s just...” She trails off, pursing her lips as she tries to think of a way to lessen the blow of whatever she’s about to say. “Okay, don’t be mad.”
You frown. “Why would I be mad?”
“Well, you know how we’re all on YouTube?”
Your frown deepens. “Yeah. I’m pretty familiar with Boone’s camera in my face.”
Boone chuckles to himself.
“Okay, so,” Kate goes on, “I have this old friend from Muskogee State. We occasionally chat about weather stuff—exchange articles, send storm photos, nothing crazy—but when I told him we were in Norman, he asked to catch up.”
You lift a hand to interrupt. “Uh, I’m failing to see how this has anything to do with me?”
She leans further forward. “I’m getting there, okay?”
“Okay,” you mutter, dropping your hand. “Go on.”
She nods. “Right, so—he’s actually a chaser too, kind of—and he watches Tyler’s channel, so I asked him to come to the bar tonight. I thought it’d be cool for him to meet everyone, but—” She hesitates, taking a deep breath. “Then he told me he’s got this, like, massive crush on you—from seeing you in Tyler’s videos—and he asked if I’d set you guys up on a... date.”
Heat floods your chest, panic prickling beneath your skin as your heart starts beating too fast and too hard.
“You set me up on a surprise blind date?”
“Technically,” she says, “it’s not a surprise because I’m telling you right now.”
Your eyes widen. “We’re on our way to the fucking bar, Kate.”
She winces. “I know, I know! I’m sorry, I just—he’s such a nice guy, and I knew if I asked you, you’d say no, but I honestly think you might really like him.”
“You knew I'd say no, so you tricked me?”
“Tricked is a little dramatic,” she mutters.
You drop your head back against the headrest. “I’m allowed to be dramatic when I’m being forced into a date I didn’t agree to.”
She sighs. “It’s not really a date. I just agreed to introduce you, and—” She hesitates. “Well, I might’ve said you were excited to meet him.”
Your head snaps toward her. “Excited? Seriously? The only thing I’m excited about is a shot of tequila and some fucking tacos.”
Tyler chuckles. “This is going even worse than I thought it would.”
You lean past Kate to look at him, brow furrowed. “You knew about this?”
“Of course.” He lifts a shoulder. “I also knew you’d hate it—because you’re clearly hung up on someone else.”
Your stomach drops, breath catching in your throat—and for a second, your lungs forget how to work. Tyler glances at you, his lips twitching, and Kate tilts her head, brows knitting.
You clear your throat. “What—what do you mean?”
“You know what I mean,” Tyler says, his tone almost too casual. “I don’t know who, but I know—”
“We’re here!” Kate cuts in, pointing out the windscreen.
Just like she’d described, the bar’s front terrace is draped with strings and strings of fairy lights—bright enough to light up half the street. Tyler turns the truck into the gravel driveway, tyres crunching as he rolls into the last free parking spot in the lot.
“Damn, it’s busy,” Boone says as he pushes open his door.
You all climb out and start walking around to the front of the bar. You’re careful not to walk too close to Tyler—or even look at him—in case he decides to start interrogating you about whoever it is he thinks you’re hung up on.
Which you’re not.
You’re not hung up on anyone. Tyler’s just misinformed, or overly suspicious. He’s convinced himself of something completely ridiculous just so he has some kind of explanation for your weird behaviour. But he’s wrong. Very wrong. You’re not hung up on anyone. Especially not Scott.
“Ready?” Kate asks, bumping her shoulder against yours.
You narrow your eyes at her. “Ready for the date I didn’t agree to?”
“Come on,” she sighs. “It’s not a date, it’s an introduction. And he’s great, I think you’re going to love him.”
You roll your eyes as she links her arm through yours, guiding you toward the bar’s front door behind the rest of the crew. You have no idea where Dexter, Dani, and Javi came from—or where they parked the RV—but they’re all chatting excitedly as they cross the brightly lit terrace.
Inside is almost jarringly dim, lit only by the warm glow of multicoloured lights casting soft patterns across the terracotta walls. There are dark wooden tables and chairs scattered between small booths, potted plants clustered in corners, and brightly coloured prints that make the whole place feel alive. Behind the bar, bottles of tequila and mezcal catch the light, stacked haphazardly on tiered shelving beside other bottles of liquor you don’t recognise. The air smells faintly of lime, grilled peppers, fried corn chips—and sweat, because the place is absolutely packed with storm chasers.
“Holy shit,” you mutter, leaning into Kate. “How are we even supposed to—”
“Guys!” Lily calls over the music and chatter. “This way—Tyler's got a booth!”
You and Kate exchange a dubious look—brows drawn, eyes narrowed—but then she sighs and starts tugging you toward where Lily had gestured. “That damn Tyler Owens effect.”
You both squeeze through the crowd until you spot your crew crowded around a corner booth, chatting with another chaser you don’t recognise—probably the person who gave up their table the second they saw Tyler Owens walk in.
“I need a drink,” you mutter.
“In a sec.” Kate pulls out her phone and squints at the screen. “Caleb texted saying he just parked.”
You roll your eyes but keep your mouth shut—you’re not in the mood to keep arguing about this stupid surprise date. All you want is good food, a strong drink, and to stay as far away from Tyler as possible. You don’t need an inquisition into your dating life on top of a date you didn’t even ask for.
“He’s here!” Kate announces, looping her arm through yours. “I told him we’d meet at the bar.”
You let her drag you back through the crowd, trying—unsuccessfully—to keep your eyes down. To not search the room for someone familiar. Someone head and shoulders above the rest, probably standing at the edge of the crowd, blue eyes finding you too easily in the overpacked room.
God. You hate that you want to see him here. You hate that right now, he’d be your escape from all this. And you hate more than anything that you’re disappointed when you don’t find him.
“Caleb!” Kate exclaims, dropping your arm.
She moves ahead of you to hug the man before stepping back with a wide grin.
“Caleb, this is—”
“I know,” he chuckles, offering his hand. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
You force a smile, hoping it looks more genuine than it feels. “Hi. You too. Kate’s told me... so much.”
He’s cute, sure. Tall—but not that tall. Nice smile—no dimples, though. Green eyes—you've always preferred blue.
“Do you want a drink?” he asks.
You nod. “Absolutely.”
Kate steps up to the bar first, and you squeeze in beside her. You order a drink and a shot of tequila—for courage, of course, which Caleb laughs at awkwardly—then move aside to make space for someone else. Caleb finds a free tall table, and Kate mutters something about checking on Tyler before slipping away quickly, leaving you with the date you never asked for.
“So,” he says, leaning in slightly, “how's the season been so far?”
You shrug. “Pretty good. Yesterday was a bust, but today made up for it—” you gesture toward the crowd, “—hence the celebration. What about you? What are you doing in Norman?”
He chuckles softly, gaze dropping to the table. “If you feel it, chase it, right?”
You frown. “You’re with a crew?”
“Oh. No, not like that.” He shakes his head. “No, I—um, I’m just trying to get out of my comfort zone, you know? Take chances I wouldn’t normally take. Live a little. Embrace the universe.”
Your brows lift. “Oh?”
Great. Kate’s set you up with a human TED Talk.
“Yeah.” He smiles softly, scratching the back of his neck. “Sometimes I need a little push to do something that scares me.”
You snort into your drink, almost spilling it. “Yeah, right. And that’s... me?”
He lifts a shoulder. “Maybe. I’m not sure yet. You seem… complicated. Dangerous in a very specific way.”
“Dangerous?” you echo, unable to stop the laugh that bubbles up. “Me?”
“Maybe,” he says again, leaning back just slightly, “but I kind of like it.”
You have to look away, drawing a deep breath to push down the laughter building in your chest—and then, out of the corner of your eye, you see him. Stepping through the doorway, scanning the room. Not smiling. Not even close. His eyes catch yours, just for a second, and then he looks away. His expression doesn’t change, he doesn't even blink—he just turns and starts cutting through the crowd.
And you hate it. You hate that your heart starts racing, that heat floods your skin, that you want him to react. You hate that he has such an effect on you—and that you don’t seem to have any effect on him at all.
Caleb nudges your arm. “Are you okay?”
You whip back around, blinking fast. “Yeah—yep, sorry. Thought I saw someone I knew, but—”
“Those StormPAR guys?”
You tilt your head. “You know StormPAR?”
He nods. “Of course. I actually tried to reach out to them last year for a research paper I was working on, but they’re not particularly friendly. Or at least, that Scott guy isn’t.”
You snort into your drink. “Yeah, he’s a dick.”
“You know him?”
“Not really,” you reply—too fast. “I mean, I’ve met him, but I—um, I don't really know him, you know? Just heard things.” You tip your drink to your lips and drain the glass before smacking it on the table. “Anyway, let’s talk about you. What do you do for work?”
It isn’t hard to keep Caleb talking. With the right questions, you barely have to do anything more than nod and hum every few minutes so he thinks you’re paying attention. But really, the only time you are paying attention is when he asks if you need another drink. That’s when you say yes, tell him you’ll go to the bar, and order a shot of tequila alongside your next drink.
By your third—or sixth—drink, you’re feeling a little giddy, and that’s when you try to convince yourself you could go for Caleb. Even just for one night. He’s not unattractive—not that you’re that shallow—and there’s nothing overly off-putting about him, he’s just... nice. Boring. A little shorter than you’d like, with green eyes and no dimples. But you could get past that. He doesn’t have to be your exact type for you to sleep with him. You can always just close your eyes and picture what you want—that’s what you always used to do.
Before Scott.
But Caleb’s looks aren’t the problem. The problem is that even when you try to have fun—when you crack a joke or try to start a bit of banter—he doesn’t get it. He just stares at you, blankly, as if trying to decide whether you’re being mean or if your sense of humour is really that bad.
You honestly have no idea why Kate thought you’d hit it off with this guy, but you definitely plan on asking her what the hell she was thinking the second you see her again.
“Hey,” Caleb says suddenly, nudging your elbow. “Are you sure you don’t know that StormPAR guy?”
You turn to follow his gaze across the bar—and the moment you see him, your breath catches.
He’s standing by the far wall, half-lit by a string of multicoloured lights, blue eyes locked on you across the crowd. His face is unreadable, carved into something calm and careful, but then you see it—the tiny twitch in his jaw, the way his gaze narrows just slightly.
The noise of the bar dulls, everything blurring around the edges until it’s just him.
You know you’re drunk now—or at least halfway there—because now, you want him. And you’re not about to admit it out loud, but you are about to do something stupid just to get his attention.
“Be right back,” you tell Caleb, already sliding your empty glass off the table. “I need another drink.”
You don’t wait for a response—you just slip off your stool and start weaving quickly through the crowd, heart beating too hard behind your ribs. You don’t head for the nearest end of the bar like any normal person would—no, you keep going. Through the noise and across that imaginary line you know you shouldn’t cross. All the way to the far end of the bar.
The end closest to him.
You tell yourself it’s because it’s quieter over here. Less crowded. Easier to get a drink.
It’s not because of Scott. Definitely not. Why would it be?
You squeeze between two guys in denim jackets and plant your hands on the sticky bar top, exhaling hard. The bartender catches your eye, smiles, and lifts a finger—wait.
That’s fine. You can wait. You’re calm. You’re composed. You’re totally not standing here hoping—
A shift in the air beside you makes your skin prickle.
You don’t even have to look.
You just know.
He doesn’t say anything as he steps up next to you—doesn’t even look at you at first—just rests his forearms on the bar and scans the liquor shelves like he didn’t just suck every molecule of oxygen out of your lungs with his presence alone. He’s close—close enough that his shoulder almost brushes yours. Close enough that you can feel the heat coming off his body. Close enough that every cell—every want, every need—in your body turns traitorous.
You keep your eyes forward, and force a breath. You can do that—you can breathe. You've been doing it your whole life. In. Out.
You don’t look at him. You refuse to.
But you want to.
God, you want to.
You’re drunk and you want to.
You want him.
You want him with a hunger that feels stitched into your bones—messy, reckless, selfish—but you still force your expression blank, trying to cage whatever’s clawing inside your chest. You can’t want him. You’re not supposed to want him. Not anymore. Not ever. Because last time was the last time.
Right?
“You move on fast.”
Your pulse jumps at his voice—low, even, almost bored, but edged with something sharp. Something that slides under your skin and makes your spine straighten.
“Didn’t realise I needed your permission.”
He huffs out a quiet breath. “Never said you did.”
“No.” You keep your eyes fixed on a bottle of absinth across the bar. “But you felt the need to comment.”
He still doesn’t look at you. “Just surprised, that’s all.”
You finally glance at him—and instantly regret it. He’s relaxed. Casual. Like this is just another Saturday night and not another stupidly dangerous game you’re both playing. His expression gives you nothing. No irritation. No jealousy. No trace of the last time he had you pinned against his bedroom door breathing your name like a warning and a prayer.
So maybe you imagined it. Maybe you’re just reading into things that aren’t there.
“Why do you care?” you ask.
“I don’t.”
You scoff. “Sounds like you do.”
He doesn’t bite. He doesn’t rise to it. He just shrugs, gaze still on the bar shelves as if he has never once in his life been affected by you. “You can do whatever—whoever—you want. Just didn’t think he was your type.”
“Really?” You lean an elbow on the bar, heat flickering in your chest. “And what exactly do you think my type is?”
That finally gets him to look at you. Slow. Controlled. Like he’s already decided he’s going to ruin you and is just taking his time. His eyes drop to your mouth—just for a heartbeat—but it’s enough to make heat curl low in your stomach.
“You don’t want me to answer that,” he says.
“Try me.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. His gaze drags over you—neck, mouth, eyes—before he leans in just enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek.
“That guy over there? He has no idea what to do with a woman like you,” he says, voice low enough that no one but you could possibly hear him. “I saw the way you looked at him. And I see the way you’re looking at me now.”
Your pulse stutters.
His mouth curves—not a smile. Something sharper. Something possessive. Something certain.
“So no,” he murmurs. “I’m not jealous. Because we both know who you really want to go home with tonight.”
Your skin feels too hot, too tight, like your pulse is lodged in your throat. You can barely breathe. Barely think. And you hate—more than anything—that he’s right.
But he can’t know that. You can’t let him know that.
“You’re out of your mind,” you say, forcing your eyes away from his to find the bartender. “I don’t—” Your voice catches. “I might not want him, but I don’t want you either.”
His gaze flickers—sharp, assessing. He doesn’t believe you. He doesn’t even pretend to.
“No?” he says casually, as if you’re discussing something as menial as the weather.
You meet his gaze again, keeping your expression carefully blank. “No.”
He hums, unconvinced. “Could’ve fooled me.”
You grit your teeth. “Not everything revolves around you.”
“Never said it did.”
“Then drop it.”
But he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. His eyes stay on yours, steady and unblinking, like he’s the only person who’s ever truly seen you.
“Just one question,” he murmurs.
You hate that you answer. “What?”
He tilts his head, voice softening—dangerously so—and lifts a hand, his knuckles skimming just beneath your jaw, light as breath. “Why is your pulse racing?”
Your breath stutters. Heat floods your chest, crawling up your neck until you forget how to breathe entirely. He’s closer now—crowding you in a way that only makes your heart beat harder, faster. Every nerve ending is suddenly awake, aware of him, of the brush of his skin, of how impossible it is to pretend you don’t want this. Don’t want him.
You almost forget where you are. You almost lean in.
But then—
“Sorry, folks. What can I get you?”
You startle, turning toward the bartender too fast and stumbling back a step—right into the man standing on your other side. He grumbles something, clearly annoyed, but before you can mutter an apology, Scott’s hand closes around your elbow, pulling you back to him. Steadying you. Anchoring you. In more ways than you care to admit.
“Two tequila shots,” he tells the bartender. “And two beers.”
He doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t even spare you a glance. He just keeps his hand on your arm, thumb brushing once—absent, thoughtless—while you stand there like an idiot, staring up at him.
Close. Way too close.
Close enough to see the tiny crease between his brows as he watches the beer pour. Close enough to see the faint scar along his cheek—old, healed over—from when he fell off his bike as a kid. He told you the story one night, somewhere between argument and orgasm. You’re close enough to count the darker flecks in his blue eyes, watch his lashes lower as he speaks, trace the shape of his mouth—God, that mouth.
Your gaze drifts without permission—from the curve of his bottom lip to the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw and down the line of his throat where it disappears beneath his shirt collar. You hate that your breath trips. You hate that your body betrays you. You hate that he’s not even looking at you—and somehow that makes it worse.
“Thanks,” he says to the bartender, finally releasing your arm.
And only then does he glance down at you—casual, unbothered—like he didn’t just reach into your chest and close a hand around your lungs. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes, something that feels too close to a promise.
He steps back, mouth curving into that almost-smirk. The one he wears when he can’t help himself. Subtle. Smug. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you and he’s enjoying every second of it.
“Be good,” he murmurs, his arm grazing yours as he turns to leave.
It shouldn’t sound like a warning—but it does.
He doesn’t wait for a response. He doesn’t even look back. He just walks away, cutting through the crowd with ease, drink in hand—and you’re left with both tequila shots and an overflowing pint of beer.
For a second you just stand there, staring at the empty spot where he’d been, trying to convince yourself you’re not actually affected. You drag a hand through your hair and pretend your pulse isn’t still racing, that your body isn’t still tuned to the space he occupied seconds ago. God. You hate this. You hate that one man—that man—can reduce you to static and adrenaline with nothing but a look and a stupid two-word warning.
But you don’t want him. You don’t. Not really. You’re just drunk—and Scott is just being Scott. Cocky. Infuriating. Getting under your skin in the way only he knows how.
You reach for the first tequila shot and knock it back, then the second before you can think too hard about it, heat burning down your throat. Then you grab the beer and square your shoulders, willing your heartbeat to slow as you turn to head back to the table.
You make it about halfway before someone steps in front of you. Someone you’re really not in the mood to deal with right now.
“What was that?”
You look up at Tyler, your nose inches from his chest. “What was what?”
“That.” He nods toward the bar. “Whatever the hell just happened between you and StormPAR.”
Heat creeps up the back of your neck. “Nothing. He was just—you know how he is. Being a dick. Trying to annoy me.”
“You didn’t look annoyed.”
You tip your chin up. “That’s because I’m mature.”
Tyler snorts—loudly. “Mature?”
You narrow your eyes. “Yes. Mature.”
“You and Boone giggle every time the temperature hits sixty-nine degrees.” He leans in, lowering his voice. “And I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you were just looking at StormPAR.”
“His name is Scott,” you say before you can stop yourself.
You roll your eyes, hoping the bar is too dim for Tyler to notice the colour in your cheeks. “I’m not defending him, I just—he has a name. You know his name.”
“And I’d be willing to bet you know a whole lot more than just his name.”
Your stomach drops. “I—what? What’re you—”
“Hey,” Caleb interrupts, his hand landing on your shoulder. “I was looking for you. Thought you’d gotten lost.”
You don’t even look at him. You keep your eyes locked on Tyler. His mouth is quirked into a small smirk—challenging, smug—and his stare is unwavering. He’s looking at you like he already knows, like he doesn’t need a confession to see right through your lies.
“Oh, sorry,” Caleb says. “Am I interrupting—”
“No,” you say quickly, whipping toward him. “Tyler was just offering to buy another round.”
Caleb frowns. “Didn’t you just get one?”
You shrug. “I’m not going to say no to a free drink.”
Tyler gives you a look—one you don’t recognise, which is strange considering how long you’ve known him. But you don’t react. You don’t let him see that he might actually be onto something. You just reach out, grab his arm, and start dragging him toward the bar—assuming Caleb is somewhere in tow.
- Scott -
He’s not watching you. Not really.
He’s just… aware of you.
Aware of the scarlet lip stain on the rim of your beer glass. Aware of the warmth in your skin under the dim glow of the bar lights. Aware of the way the crimson fabric of your top shifts when you move.
You’re still at the bar, with Tyler on your left and Caleb on your right—but Caleb might as well not exist. You’re half-turned toward Tyler, your hand on his arm and your head tipped back so you can meet his gaze. Too close. Too comfortable. You’ve got that same spark in your eyes you get when you’re trying too hard not to care. He knows what that looks like. He’s seen it before.
He takes a slow sip of beer, eyes lingering just long enough to catch your reflection in the mirror behind the bar. You tilt your head, smiling at something Tyler says, clearly biting back a laugh as you lean in a little closer. It’s easy. Natural. A familiarity born of long days, longer nights, near-death experiences, and years of friendship.
He tells himself it’s good. It’s normal. You should be smiling. Laughing. You should be able to talk, touch, lean in to whoever the hell you want.
He doesn’t care.
He really doesn’t.
It’s just—he knows you better than most. He knows what that smile looks like when it’s real, and what it looks like when it’s armour. And the one you’re wearing now? It’s the latter.
He glances away before he can read any more into it, fingers drumming once against his glass.
He’s not waiting for you to come find him again. He just knows that you will.
That you’ll trip back into him by the end of the night.
You always do.
“Who’s that?”
Scott turns to the man standing beside him—Mateo, the newest member of StormPAR.
“Who?”
Mateo nods toward the bar. “The girl in red.”
Scott’s gaze drifts slowly back to you. “She chases with Tyler Owens’ crew.”
“Tyler Owens the YouTube guy?” Mateo asks.
Scott nods. “Yep.”
“I thought you hated him.”
“I do,” Scott mutters, his eyes narrowing at Tyler’s hand resting on your lower back.
“Then what about her?” Mateo presses. “You two seemed kind of... friendly.”
Scott drags his eyes away from you, back to Mateo. “We went to college together. We’re friends.”
Something in Mateo’s expression shifts—excitement, maybe. “Just friends?”
Scott nods again, lifting his beer to his lips and hoping that’s the end of the conversation.
A beat passes. Mateo shifts on his feet. And then—
“So you won’t mind if I talk to her?”
Scott’s jaw flexes. He takes another slow sip of beer, eyes flicking once—just once—back to where you’re standing. Then he looks at Mateo.
“Sure,” he says, voice even. “Go ahead.”
He pauses, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly.
“Try.”
Then he tips his head back, drains the rest of his beer, and drops the empty glass on a nearby table. When he looks back at the bar, you’re gone—but it doesn’t take long for him to spot you weaving through the crowd toward the back hallway.
And then—of course—Mateo moves. Undeterred.
He stops you just before the hall, only a few feet from where Scott is standing. Scott doesn’t need to turn or edge closer—he just tilts his head slightly, listening in. He can hear enough over the hum of the bar—the clink of bottles, the muted bassline, the way Mateo’s voice pitches low and smooth.
“Hey,” Mateo says. “You’re with Tyler Owens’ crew, right?”
You glance up, caught off guard, your tone coming out sharper than you probably mean it to. “Yeah. Why?”
“Just wanted to say hi,” Mateo replies, his grin audible. “Didn’t realise chasers could look like you.”
You pause, staring at him for a moment, your expression flat. “Wow. Original.”
Scott’s mouth twitches.
Mateo chuckles awkwardly, trying again. “I thought maybe I could buy you a drink. Do you—”
“No, thanks,” you cut in. “I’m good.”
Then your gaze flicks over Mateo’s shoulder, meeting Scott’s. Your eyes widen, brows pulling tight, and Scott can’t help but smirk. He knows that look. You’re about five minutes from starting a fight that’ll end with his head between your legs.
“See you around,” you say to Mateo, voice tight, as you step around him.
You head straight down the hall toward the bathrooms, disappearing into the dark—and it takes a lot more self-control than usual for Scott not to follow. Not to take you right here in this bar, in the narrow bathroom stall, his hand over your mouth to muffle your moans. It’s not like the two of you haven’t done it before—just never with both your crews so close by. Never with Tyler’s eyes following you like you’re his.
Scott’s never questioned your friendship with Tyler before. Not once.
He knows the history—how you met in your last year of college, how you started chasing storms together, how you’ve been part of his crew ever since. He sees the way the two of you move around each other in the field—quick, in sync, like a rhythm you’ve practiced for years. He’s always chalked it up to familiarity. Trust built on adrenaline and close calls.
But lately... it feels different.
Everything feels different.
It doesn’t bother him. Not really. Not the way Tyler leans in when he talks to you, or the way you look at him with that easy, practiced grin. The two of you have always been close. That’s all it is.
But one question keeps looping back, uninvited.
Has Tyler ever touched you like he has?
Has he ever had you pinned beneath him, cheeks flushed, lips parted, panting his name?
God. He hates this feeling—whatever it is. This green-eyed, gut-wrenching twist in his stomach that he refuses to name.
He takes a slow breath, jaw tightening as he watches you reemerge from the hallway. You’ve still got that look on your face—head high, mouth set, eyes daring anyone to try again—he knows it better than most. He’s seen it a hundred times. Hell, he’s probably caused it more than anyone else.
Something shifts in his chest as he watches you move through the crowd, and he hates that it feels almost like pride. Like he has any right to be proud of you. Like he has any right to think—even for a second—that you’re his.
It doesn’t matter, though. None of it does. Not Tyler, not Mateo, not any of the other guys whose eyes you’ve caught tonight. You can do whatever you want. Be with whoever you want.
It doesn’t matter.
But... truth is, it’s getting harder to believe that.
Harder to ignore the pull in his chest every time you’re near, the way his thoughts still circle back to you long after he’s told himself to let it go.
It’s not just about sex anymore. He knows that.
He’s not sure it’s ever been just about sex.
But he’s not ready to admit that. Not yet.
Especially not when you’re storming toward him—eyes blazing, shoulders tense, cheeks almost as red as your lips. You stop right in front of him, close enough that he can smell the tequila and salt on your breath.
“What the fuck was that?”
Scott blinks, slow and deliberate. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”
Your brows draw tighter. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“That thing where you play dumb. You sent your little StormPAR rookie over to hit on me.”
He keeps his voice even, almost bored. “I didn’t send him anywhere.”
“Oh, please.” You laugh, sharp and humourless. “He walks up to me not ten minutes after you told me to ‘be good’? Come on. You wanted to see what I’d do.”
Scott exhales through his nose, gaze flicking briefly toward the bar before finding yours again. “You handled it fine.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
“The point is you don’t get to play games with me like that,” you snap. “You don’t get to—”
“To what?” he cuts in, stepping forward. “To see how fast it takes you to lose your shit?”
Your eyes narrow. “I’m not losing my shit.”
“I don’t know,” he says, voice low. “Sure seems like you are.”
You laugh, incredulous. “You’re unbelievable.”
He smirks. “You keep saying that like it’s a bad thing.”
“God, you’re such an ass.”
“Yeah?” His eyes drop to your hands, balled into fists at your sides. “And you’re shaking. Why’s that?”
Your jaw tightens. “Maybe because I’m trying not to punch you.”
His gaze flicks back up, and he leans in—close enough to feel the warmth of your breath on his lips. “Yeah, that’s what you’re trying not to do.”
For a second, neither of you speak. The air between you feels thick and electric, the noise of the bar fading until all Scott can hear is the rush of blood in his ears. You’re close enough that he can feel the heat radiating off your skin, can hear the faint hitch of your breath when he leans in just enough to test you.
You don’t back down. Neither does he. Your gaze flicks between his mouth and his eyes, like you can’t decide what you want—and it’s driving him insane.
He shouldn’t want you this much. Shouldn’t need it this badly.
But he does.
“Hey,” Javi says, appearing beside the two of you. “You two good?”
Scott doesn’t look away—he just shifts slightly, easing back half a step and forcing a breath that feels a little too shaky. “Yeah,” he says, voice smooth. “Just catching up.”
Your cheeks flush even deeper, and a small, smug smile tugs at his mouth before he can stop it. You glare at him, jaw tight, eyes sharp, like you’re daring him to say one more thing—and he almost does, just to see how far you’ll take it.
But then you move. Just a small step forward, close enough that he feels it. Feels something. A faint brush against his hip, the slight tug of fabric. It’s subtle enough that Javi doesn’t notice, but Scott does. His brow furrows for barely a second before you’re already stepping back.
“I’m tired,” you mutter, eyes still locked on his. “I’m heading out.”
You don’t look at Javi. You don’t even wait for a response. You just turn and push through the crowd, disappearing into the noise and haze of the bar. Scott watches you go, something tight pulling in his chest, and it’s only when the room starts to blur around the edges that his hand brushes his pocket—and he realises what’s missing.
Then he sees it.
Your hand, slipping through the last gap in the crowd, his motel key glinting between your fingers.
For a moment, everything else fades—the noise, the lights, the people pressing in on all sides. It’s just that image, sharp and bright in his mind. The curl of your fingers. The slow burn of anticipation settling low in his chest.
Scott exhales, slow and steady. He shouldn’t still be smiling, but he is.
“Damn,” Javi mutters beside him. “Kinda wish I knew what happened between you two.”
Scott huffs out something close to a laugh, shaking his head. “Nothing happened.”
Javi raises a brow. “Yeah, sure. And I’m dating a Victoria’s Secret supermodel.”
Scott looks at him, forcing his mouth into a flat line. “Drop it, Javi.”
“Alright, alright.” Javi lifts his hands in mock surrender, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Just saying, man—whatever that was, whatever it is you two are always arguing about? It’s not nothing.”
Scott drops his gaze to the floor, unsure how to respond. What’s he supposed to say to that? You’re right, Javi, we’ve been sleeping together for years, and every time we’re within fifty feet of each other the sexual tension is suffocating. Oh, and I’m pretty sure there’s something else I can’t admit to myself, so I’m just gonna keep pretending I’m fine with this mess of a situation.
Pfft. Yeah, right.
He drags a hand along his jaw and glances back up, eyes flicking once more toward the crowd where you’d disappeared. “I’m gonna hit the bathroom,” he says, keeping his voice even—casual.
Javi lifts his chin, still grinning. “Go for it.”
Scott meets his grin with a brief nod before turning away, slipping into the crowd before the conversation can go anywhere else. He keeps his pace easy, unhurried—like he’s actually heading for the bathroom, not the back door. The bass thuds through the floor beneath his boots, lights flashing over faces he doesn’t bother to look at.
The noise dulls as he moves farther from the bar, replaced by the low hum of the overhead lights and the echo of footsteps on tile. He’s halfway down the hall when the men’s bathroom door swings open—and Tyler steps out.
For a moment, they just look at each other. Tyler’s brow lifts, curious, maybe suspicious, but Scott doesn’t give him anything—just a single nod, the kind that ends a conversation before it starts—and keeps walking.
He can feel Tyler’s gaze linger on his back as he reaches the end of the hall, but he doesn’t turn around. The exit door pushes open with a low creak, spilling the sounds of the bar out into the night. Cool air rushes in, brushing against his skin and chasing away the heat that’s been sitting under it since you left.
He steps outside, the door closing behind him, and finally—finally—he feels like he can breathe.
The walk to his truck is a blur of gravel crunching beneath his boots and breath fogging the air. His pulse thrums in his ears, alive in every inch of his skin. It’s not that cold. Not really. Scott’s just warm—too warm—and a little flustered.
Maybe it’s the adrenaline. Or maybe it’s that thing he still refuses to admit.
He shakes his head as he reaches the truck, yanking the door open and climbing inside. The cab still smells damp from today’s chase, a mix of rain, sweat, and asphalt clinging to the seats. He turns the key, clips his belt, and lets the engine idle for a few seconds before pulling out of the small parking lot.
He doesn’t speed—he doesn’t need to. He just rolls down the road slowly, eyes scanning the sidewalk.
It takes all of ten seconds for him to find you—and when he does, his stomach flips hard enough to make him feel a little sick.
That’s new.
He slows to a stop beside you, one hand loose on the wheel as the other hits the button for the window to roll down. “You planning to walk the whole way?”
You look at him, eyes narrowed. “Maybe I am.”
He smirks. “Suit yourself. It’s a long walk.”
You roll your eyes, muttering something under your breath as you yank open the passenger door. Your scent hits him the second you climb in—tequila, night air, and that sweet vanilla bodywash that always makes his pulse skip. The cab suddenly feels smaller when you slam the door shut, and for a heartbeat, neither of you says a word.
Then you move.
You lean across the console, grab a fistful of his shirt, and your mouth finds his like you’ve been holding your breath for hours. The impact steals it from him completely. It’s fast, rough, desperate—the kind of kiss that leaves no space for thought. His hand slides up to your jaw, fingers tangling in your hair as you climb over the console, straddling him without breaking contact.
It’s cramped, clumsy—but neither of you care. You taste like salt and adrenaline, every breath a ragged sound against his lips. His hands find your waist, dragging you closer, and you make a sound that goes straight through him. When you finally pull back—just far enough for air—your voice is wrecked and breathless.
“Took you long enough.”
Scott laughs low, voice hot against your lips. “Did it?”
You don’t answer—you just kiss him again, harder this time, and he lets you take what you want, lets himself get lost in the heat and weight of it. The cab feels too small, the air too thick, the world narrowing to the press of your body and the slick slide of your mouth on his.
You gasp against him when his fingers dig into your hips, a sound that makes his control slip another inch. You grind down, desperate, and his hands tighten instinctively, holding you there. Your hands move restlessly—gripping his shoulders, sliding up his neck, tangling in his hair until his StormPAR cap falls somewhere between the seats.
It’s only when you roll your hips again, harder this time, that he pulls back—reluctantly—breathing hard against your lips. “Do you really want to do this here?”
You tilt your head and start tracing kisses along his jaw, your voice muffled against his skin. “Probably not.”
He chuckles, the sound vibrating between you as you lift your head and rest your forehead against his, both trying to catch your breath. The air between you hums—thick and unsteady—the second-hand taste of tequila still sharp on his tongue, the sound of your mingled breathing louder than the low idle of the engine.
His hands linger at your waist, thumbs tracing slow, absent-minded circles against the warm stretch of skin just below that damn crimson top. He could sit here for hours, he thinks, just breathing you in. But reason creeps back in, hazy and reluctant.
He clears his throat. “We should probably move this somewhere else before someone walks by.”
You don’t move. If anything, your weight settles a little more fully against him, the ghost of a smile brushing his lips when you murmur, “You worried about getting caught?”
He huffs, low and amused. “Not really.” His fingers tighten at your hips, keeping you there for one more beat before he exhales. “I’m lucky I made it out at all, actually. Your boyfriend almost stopped me.”
That gets you to lift your head, eyes narrowing. “My what?”
Scott shifts in his seat, trying to play it off like he hadn’t said it just to see how you’d react. “Tyler,” he says, keeping his tone carefully even. “He saw me leaving out the back. Looked like he was going to say something, but I didn’t stop.”
You blink, then let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Tyler’s not my boyfriend.”
“He acts like it,” Scott mutters, jaw tightening.
You tilt your head, searching his face, that same small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth like you can see straight through him. “You jealous, Scott?”
He rolls his eyes, fingers flexing at your waist. “No.”
You hum softly, unconvinced, and finally start to shift off his lap. The movement is slow, deliberate—your hips dragging over his, the slide of denim against denim leaving heat in its wake. Scott’s fingers twitch like he wants to pull you back, but he doesn’t. He just watches you settle into the passenger seat, hair tousled, lips swollen, the faintest smirk playing on your mouth.
The silence that follows feels different now. Not awkward—just taut, stretched thin over everything neither of you is saying.
Scott clears his throat, shifting in his seat to discreetly adjust the tightness in his jeans before gripping the wheel. He shifts the truck into gear and glances at the mirrors—catching your reflection. Your head is tipped against the window, your expression a little dazed—thanks to the tequila, no doubt—but your smile is smug, like you know exactly what you’ve done to him.
The drive to the motel is mostly silent, save for the low hum of the engine and the soft crackle of the radio. Scott’s pulse never really settles—because every time you move, every shift of your leg or tilt of your head, his eyes flick toward you and all the blood in his body rushes south again.
You’re still leaning against the window, lashes low, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. And there isn’t anything he wouldn’t give to know what you’re thinking right now. To know if your pulse is still racing. To know if you’ve got your thighs pressed together for the same reason that his knuckles have gone white on the steering wheel.
God. This is dangerous.
Maybe you were right when you said it has to stop. Maybe you had a point.
Maybe he should put a stop to this before something—or someone—breaks.
But then your reflection tilts toward him again, lips still red and swollen from his kiss, and he knows he’s lying to himself.
The rest of the drive blurs by in flashes of passing headlights and rough-edged silence. You don’t speak. Neither does he. The air feels thick enough to touch, charged with the ghost of every breath you shared in that front seat. When the motel sign finally glows into view—faded neon cutting through the dark—Scott’s grip tightens on the wheel like it’s the only thing tethering him to sense.
He pulls into the gravel lot and kills the engine, the sudden quiet ringing in his ears. You unbuckle fast, fingers fumbling with the seatbelt before you shove the door open.
You’re out of the truck before he can reach for the handle. He climbs out a beat later, rounding the truck in a few long strides until he’s behind you. The space between you hums with static, and when you glance up at him—that’s all it takes. He leans down and catches your mouth in a quick, hungry kiss that’s more breath than contact, a promise of what’s coming.
You pull back just enough to whisper, “Room number?”
“Seven,” he says, voice low.
You nod once, already turning away, the sway of your hips an invitation that makes it hard for him to remember how to walk straight. He follows close behind, eyes fixed on you, jaw tight. By the time you reach the door, you’ve already got the key in hand, fumbling it into the lock while his breath ghosts over the back of your neck.
The second you both step inside, Scott kicks the door shut with a dull thud. The room smells faintly of dust and motel soap, the only light coming from the flickering lamp beside the bed. You barely make it two steps before his hand catches your wrist and pulls you back.
Then his mouth is on yours again.
It’s messy and hungry and too much all at once. You stumble until the backs of your knees hit the bed, his body pressing into yours as you fall back onto the mattress. His hands brace on either side of your head, and he kisses you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he stops.
Because he is. He can admit it now. He’s afraid that if he stops playing the game, you’ll disappear.
Your hands slide up his chest, over his shoulders, into his hair—dragging him out of his thoughts. He mutters something low against your lips, something that sounds like your name, then trails kisses over your cheek, along your jaw. His stubble scrapes against your throat as he drags his mouth lower, teeth grazing your pulse point.
“Scott—” you whisper, but it comes out more like a sigh.
He hums against your skin, the sound low, almost a growl. His hand drifts to your waist, thumb brushing bare skin, and he can feel your body tremble—feel how much you want this. And it’s intoxicating, knowing he’s the reason for the way you’re whimpering right now.
Then, between one kiss and the next, his voice drops low. “Just so we’re clear…” His breath hitches, lips brushing your jaw. “You and Tyler never—” he swallows hard, “—you know?”
You laugh, the sound breathless, your fingers curling in his shirt. “God, no.” It slips out fast, automatic, like the question doesn’t even register as serious. And then—still chasing his mouth, still drunk on tequila and him—you add without thinking, “I haven’t been with anyone since you.”
Scott stills—completely.
You don’t notice. You just find his mouth again, like nothing’s happened, while he’s frozen—heart pounding, brain short-circuiting—trying to decide if he really heard what he thinks he did.
And by the time he can finally breathe again, you’ve already pulled him back under.
- You -
It’s déjà vu.
The kind that settles heavy in your chest before you’ve even opened your eyes. The sheets are twisted around your legs, the air smells like stale sweat and tequila, and your mouth tastes like regret and toothpaste that isn't yours.
You don’t have to look to know where you are. Or who’s beside you.
It’s pathetic, really—how easy it is for you to fall back into him. How easy it is to tell yourself this is the last time while his arm is still heavy across your waist, his breath slow and even against the back of your neck.
It’s not your fault. Not really.
It’s his fault—and the tequila. Because if he’d just left you alone at the bar, you wouldn’t be here. If he’d just let you finish your bad date, you’d be waking up alone in your own motel room.
Not beside him.
Again.
With a heavy sigh, you quietly untangle your legs and slip out from beneath Scott’s arm. He stirs, but doesn’t fully wake—just shifts a little further onto your side and buries his face in your pillow.
For a moment, you just stare. You trace the angle of his jaw, the curve of his neck, the slope of his shoulders. Down the pale expanse of his back until his body disappears beneath the sheets. You don’t realise you’re holding your breath until your chest starts to ache—and only then do you turn away, shaking your head.
This can’t happen again. Ever.
It’s too dangerous.
You find your clothes a few feet from the bed and reluctantly pull them back on. Then you duck into the bathroom, splash your face with water, and try to make your hair look less like you just had your brains fucked out.
When you step back into the room, Scott’s awake. He’s sitting on the edge of the mattress, staring at his boxers—and it takes every ounce of your self-control to meet his eyes instead of letting your gaze drift lower.
“Hey,” you mutter, dropping into the small lounge chair to put on your shoes.
“Hey,” he mumbles, finally leaning forward to pick up his boxers.
This morning feels strange. Different. Like something broke last night, and now whatever it is you two have been doing feels wrong—not just wrong because you’ve been sneaking around, but because something in it has shifted.
You just don’t know what.
“This can’t happen again,” you say, voice firm. “I’m serious this time.”
He glances up at you, eyes wide, expression unreadable. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him not acting like a smug prick the morning after. But today? He doesn’t look smug at all. There’s something else in his gaze you can’t quite name. Something sincere. Something real. Too real.
You clear your throat. “It—it’s too dangerous. Tyler’s already onto us. It’s just not worth it.”
His brows lift, just slightly. “Not worth it?”
“You know what I mean,” you sigh.
He braces his elbows on his knees. “Yeah,” he mutters. “You’re right.”
You almost trip on your way to find your second shoe. “You’re... agreeing with me?”
He shrugs, but something about it’s too tense to be casual. “It’s dangerous. We should stop.”
Something twists deep in your chest—sharp, sudden, gone before you can name it. The back of your throat burns and thickens, as if you’re about to cry. But no—that would be ridiculous. You’re just hungover. Sleep-deprived. Probably hungry.
You swallow hard. “Good. Then we’re on the same page.”
He doesn’t answer—he just watches you, quiet and unmoving, his hands clasped between his knees, knuckles white. His jaw works once, like he’s biting back something he won’t let himself say—and for a heartbeat, you almost ask what it is.
But the look in his eyes makes your chest feel too tight, so you move instead.
You tear your gaze away, slip on your shoe, and start searching for your phone tangled somewhere in the sheets at the bottom of the bed. Once you find it, you straighten, adjust your shirt that doesn’t really need adjusting, and head toward the door.
“I guess I’ll... see you?”
He nods once. “See you around.”
You hesitate, hand resting on the doorknob, your breath caught somewhere between your ribs. For a second, you think he’s going to say something—his head lifts, his brows draw tighter—but the silence stretches, heavy and unbroken.
Why does it feel like this?
Before you can give in to the stupid, aching urge to stay, you force yourself to open the door and step out. And it hurts. For some reason, it hurts.
Your chest gets tighter the farther you walk from his motel room. Your head feels fuzzy, your hands won’t stop shaking, and there’s a voice buried deep in the back of your mind screaming at you to turn around.
You’ve never felt like this before. Not with Scott. Not with anyone. And you have no idea why.
All you do know is that this—whatever this was—really does feel like the end.
Summary : You have a crappy job , Scott just wants the best for his best girl
Contents: Swearing, dry humping , P IN V unprotected, pull out method , mentions of pregnancy . Kitchen counter , Scott has a strange way of being supportive, spanking , pussy kisses, cum play, slight degrading , sofa !! Food play…
WORD COUNT 1.6k
I got really carried away with this one…
SEXUAL CONTENT BELOW THE CUT
MDNI
The one thing about Scott was you were his priority. He would tell everyone else it's his job. He loves being a meteorologist but in reality? It's you. You. Work. You.
He hated your job. He hates how miserable it makes you. How crappy you were treated. Heck he loved that you made money. But you were worth so much more.
He knew that. You knew that. You were way too sweet and stubborn to do anything about it.
You were in the kitchen chopping some strawberries, the sweet smell lingering in the air, when you could hear the door open and close followed by the clanking of the keys in the bowl and boots being kicked off.
Two arms wrap around your waist and you can smell the rain and his spearmint gum. You spin around and he wastes no time leaning in for a kiss , A soft giggle leaving your lips as you cup his face and stand on your tiptoes , the taste of his spearmint gum lingering as he slowly glides his tongue against yours pushing you against the counter before pulling away.
"There's my fuckin girl!" He grins snapping and chewing on his gum. He looks at how you're wearing a sweet plaid short dress and grins.
"Did you have a good day at work honey?" You always lit up around him. And he did the same for you which was ironic because he was a prick to everyone. You grab a strawberry taking a bite. His eyes don't leave your mouth.
"Always a good day baby , what about you, people been nice to my girl or do I gotta start a fucking riot?" He chuckles lightly mostly joking. But he's serious. He walks over to get himself a glass of water.
"Uhmm... a few rude people, Boss was being a dick. He wants to cut my hours." You shrug and he turns to you his jaw clenching. The gum chewing slowed and he reached over spitting his gum into the bin taking a gulp of his water and placing the glass down on the counter.
He comes over popping a strawberry into his mouth and scooping you up by your waist and placing you on the counter standing between your legs. The smell of the rain and his cologne lingered strongly.
"Baby you know I'm real fuckin proud of you n all..but why do you stay at that shitty job! Just leave ..." He sighs his hands bracing either side of you on the counter.
"I can't" You frown softly and he tilts his head again.
“Why the fuck not baby?” His hand was rubbing your thigh gently.
“How am gonna pay rent !I need a job to pay rent and” He puts a finger over your lips tutting softly.
“Now what the fuck do I keep saying.. you don’t have to pay rent. That’s what I’m here for. My money is fucking yours.”
“But Scott!” You whine and he makes an “ah ah!” Noise. “Now repeat what I said.” He lifts his hand brushing his thumb across your lower lip. He pushes his hips further between your legs. He was getting disgustingly hard over the idea of providing for you. You weren’t any better. The way he was talking to caused a warm sensation between your legs.
“Your money is mine..” You repeat looking at him watching his grin grow further.
“Say it again..” He grabs at your thighs rocking you against his hard clothed dick making you gasp softly.
“Your money is mine Scott..” The second it leaves your mouth a second time he slams his lips against yours , the intoxicating taste of spearmint gum and strawberries lingers as he drags his tongue Against yours essentially dry humping you against the kitchen counter. You whine into his mouth and he chuckles pulling away.
“My girls getting wet because her man can fucking provide.” You desperately shove your shorts down and another proud chuckle leaves his mouth.
“Fuckin desperate for it!” He unbuckles his belt shoving his cargo pants down along with his boxers , his dick semi hard and he carefully pushes your legs apart , your skirt hiking up, pushing into your dripping wet pussy making you bite your lip slowly.
“You’re a mess baby..” He slowly ruts his hips and you feel his dick grow even harder inside you making you clench your eyes shut.
“Feel that? That’s because I’m thinking about my girl staying at home while I bring money home for her to fucking ruin.” You gasp wrapping your arms around his neck pulling him closer.
“Feels so good” You coo softly and he chuckles leaning in to kiss you as he grabs your ass pulling you closer so he can fuck his hips deeper into you , every time he slams his hips into you , your head hits the cabinet making you shriek into his mouth, he reaches one hand up cupping the back of your head to stop your head from bashing it.
“Sorry honey..” He grins against your lips his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass leaving marks as he fucks you harder. His dick rutting deeply into your wet gummy walls. But your head kept bashing against the cabinet. He lifts you up without pulling out carrying you to the front room.
He pulls out and bends you over the sofa making your ass arch up beautifully. He slams back into your dripping aching pussy making you gasp louder from the angle alone.
He grabs your hips and starts a deep pace making you feel him deep in your stomach.
“Do you hate your job baby?” He coos not easing up with the thrusts, in fact he made sure he was fucking you deep into the sofa.
“Y..yeah” You whimpered reduced to a mess in no time bent over a fucking sofa your skirt hiked all up way up.
“So quit. Let me look after you” He coos slapping your ass. You moan louder.
“I mean it baby.. if my girl wants to stay at home all day. She can fucking stay at home all day!” Another smack as he pulls your hands behind your back as leverage slamming deeper than before. Your eyes rolled back and you were making the most pornographic noises ever. He was absolutely relentless.
“If my girl wants to keep her job. Fine. If my girl wants to stay home and make cookies or watch shitty documentaries. She can” A harsher smack on your ass and you were leaking all the way down your legs and whining , tears rolling.
“Wanna come home to my pretty wife after a long day of work..” He was groaning loudly and reached his hand over to yank your hair back slightly.
“Baby I’m not your wife yet.” You just about managed to spit the words out. A deep chuckle fills the room and his voice is taunting yet sweet.
“I’m working on it baby, you gonna be a big girl and quit your fucking job?” He coos and lets go of your hair pulls your head back slightly.
“You wanna be Mrs miller, my pretty fucking house wife huh?” His thrusts become punishing and you whimper and whine around him. It’s utterly destroying him.
“Mhmm” Is all you can spit out and he’s chuckling all smug. “You wanna be a mum? Is that what you want. I’ll make you a mum.. I’ll make you one right fucking now. Get your belly all fucking swollen.” He groans louder and you weren’t lasting any longer.
Of course he wasn’t going to get you pregnant. Not right now anyway. He reaches over to rub at your clit in fast deep circles.
“Whatever my slutty baby wants. I’ll fucking provide. Want you to burn a fucking hole in my Wallet. Make my pockets fucking hurt.” You sob outa head going fuzzy as you can feel your impending orgasm.
“Scott I’m-“ You whimper.
“Let go for me baby .. I’ll pull out” He coos and you sob out shaking from the angle as you cum hard on his dick. The sensation almost made him lose control but as he promised he pulls out balls tightening and spluttering hot ropes of cum onto your ass groaning loudly.
“Holy shit baby!” He groans louder and you gasp catching your breath. He stands back for a second before walking into the kitchen to grab a strawberry and comes back dragging it along your back dragging the cum.
He traces his initials into the cum making it stand out on your ass before leaning down and pressing a kiss to your overstimulated pussy. You let out a sob and he coos pulling his own pants on.
“Whatever my baby wants.” He coos cleaning you and helping you put the shorts on fixing your dress and sits you up placing the cum covered strawberry into your mouth.
He pulls you into his side kissing the top of your head.
“I’m proud of you whatever you wanna do honey.. I just wanna make sure my girl is well looked after” He strokes your back sweetly.
“I know I know.. I’ll quit… it’s a bad job” you nod at him and he grins more.
“Atta girl.. there’s better opportunities out there.”
“I could work from home…” You smile at him suggesting the idea and he feels like he’s won this one.
“You know what.. that works for us both honey..still .. you better burn a hole in my wallet. He smiles pecking your lips softly.
“If I must…. Okay fine.” You huff softly curling into his side and he smiles even more.
“Do you wanna get takeaway?” He coos again.
“Are you paying?” You playfully taunt him back.
“ATTA GIRL! She’s learning”
HI. SLUTTY SCOTT IS BACK. THIS WAS NASTY
I got carried away 🤗🤗but I would happily quit my job for this man
Summary: 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. [Scott x Fem!Reader; Twisters] [wc: 15.7k]
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, pinv, oral (f receiving), angsty-romance, Scott is… a complicated asshole who reader can totally fix… right? Right!?
Quick Links: Masterlist
You weren’t sure where it ended or began, but you could feel it coming in your bones. Not the whirring of a drone or the rumbles of thunder—the fast, blistering speed of tires rolling toward the funnel that made your heart beat twice as fast.
It was tornado season after all… it never surprised you.
The skies of Oklahoma molded into a gloomy beige on a late Friday afternoon. Heat lingered in the air, heavy and unyielding. Outside of the small gas station that sat at a fork in the road, the musk of summer became dense.
Everyone could smell it: the anticipation of a storm. Dangerous weather broke earlier each year and this season had been no different as the dog days reached their peak. The radios were filled with the familiar constant chatter, the computer screens you shared with Dexter in the parking lot were running the same Doppler the week’s broadcasts had predicted.
Not everyday was as exciting as the next, however.
“Shit,” Dexter mumbled, running a hand over his eyes in frustration at the minimal movement. His glasses perched on his fingers before bringing his hand back down to the computer.
It was just rain. In an era of record tornados, tonight would be quiet sans the few sparks of lightning and the thunder that followed.
“Nothing.” he flicked the laptop screen closed before him, knocking you on the shoulder as your own screen took all your attention.
Your eyes were entranced by the scanner’s movements. The back and forth of the projections coming and going in shades of green and yellow but no red. Not a trace of purple or the darkest blues to send the group of you running toward danger.
Dexter bumped you again with a focused effort.
“What?” You mumbled, clicking the refresh button on the radar’s program. Nothing changed.
“I think we’re done for the day.”
“It’s like six-thirty, Dex.” You shrugged at the dismissal. There had to be something, anything out there. Turning to face him with a squint, the half-set sun was clouding your line of vision. “Somethin’ might pop up.”
“Omega says no way,” he put a finger on his closed computer. “It dissipates before it can get out of bed.”
“Yeah,” you sighed as he did before. “Shit.”
Breathing in deeply, you could still smell it. Those storms were on the horizon and just waiting for the perfect moment to grow but you all have waited around these parts of Oklahoma begging for something that was not going to appear.
Today was just one of those days.
You shut your computer with the thud. Rolling your shoulders, Dexter clapped a hand on your back and chuckled at the prospect of another day without a tornado.
It had been too calm over the last week. Nothing but roaming the open fields and making content about tornados, not with them.
“Tomorrow’s chances are good,” he reassured.
“I know,” you nodded. The buzzing of Lily’s drone overhead swished by slowly as it came to land.
“Why don’t you go tell ‘em and I’ll clean up before we move out, hm? Get dinner and relax.”
Dexter didn’t allow the chance for you to argue back and began collecting the technology and equipment. You groaned, standing up from the milk crate Boone scoured from the side of the road for “portable seating.” They were a bitch to your back and after sitting and watching the screen for what felt like hours, your body was screaming for help.
You stretched your arms high above your shoulders to rest them interlocked on your head and closed your eyes.
Maybe it was a sign. No storms, good sleep, and a hot meal from a wayside diner in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere. It was comfort. It was home and it was a relief for an instant that the skies were tame. No one would die from nature tonight in the vicinity of your chasing—an adjustment from the last month.
So you envisioned in your closed eyes the peace the evening would bring. How the sheets of the motel’s bed would feel against your legs; the sound of air conditioning fanning and sending you into a deep slumber.
The imagination of an evening formed into scenes under your eyelids.
Like the thunder everyone wished to hear, you could practically feel the rumblings of his fingertips on your skin. A lingering hope of days gone by without seeing him and his team of assholes started to stir in your mind every time it had a second to not think of the weather.
You hated the way it made you feel.
Like a goddamn school girl who couldn’t control a crush but it was more than that. It wasn’t a fatal fantasy you’d imagined every time your paths crossed, but one cemented in your memory to hold you off until the next time he caught you in the same place.
And you saw him in your idea of a decent night.
In the distance, Dani and Lily called your name from outside of the RV. You cracked an eye open to see the two of them waving, pointing toward the diner attached to the station.
Your arms fell, turning to Dexter who passed it off.
“Go,” he shook his head, “I’ll join you when I’m done.”
You’d be lying if the sound of food didn’t sound wonderful that very second. The day had been nothing but driving and sitting. Every bit of food was junk besides the apple Boone threw your way at noon. He had been the first one to run into the diner an hour before with Tyler hot on his tail.
They were gluttons for greasy homemade meals.
“Come on!” Dani yelled as she held open the door and you broke off from Dexter to join the two for dinner.
The diner was like any other hole-in-the-wall establishment in middle America. Sparse hangings on the wall, chairs and booths made from cheap leather that had burns and slashes through them, and menus that haven’t been updated for twenty years.
They were the best places. They were what made the small towns in between the big ones staples. No one could pinpoint this town on a map but the second the tea is sipped and the spuds are downed, it’s something you couldn’t forget.
“We’re gonna shack up in Perry tonight,” Dani spoke with her mouth half full. “‘Bout a half hour from here.”
“Tyler alright with that?” Lily asked, glancing out the diner window. “I thought he wanted to stay ahead of them?”
Them. You sipped on your iced tea casually.
“We will be heading in that direction anyway.”
“Ain’t there a lake down in Perry?” Lily inquired. Dani nodded and picked up her own glass.
“Mhm,” she hummed. “And I do plan on jumpin’ in it before we leave tomorrow.”
Lily smiled as she turned her attention to you. She wasn’t oblivious to your absence from the conversation. You were quiet and reserved. Maybe it was that time of the month or you had a bad day—but it was strange and she furrowed her brows, kicking at your foot with hers under the table.
“Don’t got anything to say?” She asked, causing Dani to look over her glass at you.
“No,” you dismissed. “Just tired, that’s all.”
“I’ve got Advil if you need it,” Lily went to dig in her bag but you stopped her.
“No, no,” you shook your head. “Really. Just feels like a long day is all. Finding nothin' is frustrating and this heat..."
“I get you,” Dani scoffed and put her cup down. “This heat is awful. I think Boone’s music is starting to get to me.”
You laughed knowingly. “It’s better than listening to him scream into the camera for twenty minutes."
The two snickered at the thought. Anything was better than the sound of his screeching. You pushed around the remnants of your meal around your plate when the waitress came back to fill up the glasses and left the check. A chorus of 'thank you's' were followed by the bell ringing above the diner's rickety door.
"Oh Lord," Lily muttered and went back to looking out the window. She crossed her arms like a pouting child. Out the window, Boone was yelling inaudible jests at the white shirts making their way into the establishment.
"What?" You asked her, turning over in your seat to see the crew of Storm Par filing in one by one.
In their uniforms of slacks and white shirts, they gave their most polite smiles to the staff that ate out of the palms of their hands. Dani let out a groan of frustration. Rich men, educated men, handsome men. Men.
"Just the fraternity, Doc," Dani replied as though your eyes couldn't see that. You shot her a judgmental scowl before glancing at the group again.
"I thought I told you not to call me that."
It was the PhD in physics that earned you the affectionate, but infuriating, title.
"Eh," Dani popped a piece of ice between her teeth. "You ain't like them though. They're all assholes and you're only an asshole when we can't get the signal to work and you wanna watch Love Island."
You laughed, chucking your napkin across the table which she dodged gracefully.
"Don't act like you're not obsessed with it too.” Dani narrowed her eyes in faux offense.
The check at the end of the table blew in the wind generated by a few of Storm Par's team members walking past. None of them spared a glance in the direction of the three of you. Out of spite or hatred, you wouldn't know, but it was always the same way with most of them. It wasn't unwarranted, however. Your squad from Arkansas were known to give them as much grief as they gave you all.
You reached out to slap the check back down on the table as it began to move. A glance up toward the retreating Storm Par members told you that their so-called leaders hadn't joined the bunch at the table.
He was never far behind.
You could feel it in the air just as you did the storms. Everything shifted. The pace of your heart, the rigidness of your back, and you had done all you could in your power to keep it as quiet as possible.
You painted yourself a fake in front of the friends you adored because of Scott. He didn't ask you to, yet there was nothing more solid than agreeing to never speak of what you'd do for a second alone with him.
And you weren't sure what they'd say if they knew you were sleeping with the enemy.
With the check in your hands, you grabbed your bag from the seat and dismissed Lily and Dani's movements to split the check.
"I've got this one," you assured them. "My treat."
Lily protested and continued to shuffle through her bag. "At least lemme get the tip. How much?" Her wallet was filled with receipts and loose change.
"No," you shook your head. "Go on to the truck and I'll pay and we can head out."
Dani crunched the ice loudly. "You sure?"
"Positive," you nodded, giving them both a smile that could have read tense. You didn't mean it to be but it did. "Go on," you tipped your head. “Dex didn’t eat so I’ll order and run out when it’s ready.”
Dani eyed you as Lily put away her wallet. "I don't want to leave you alone with them in here," she knocked her head in the direction of Scott and Javi who settled along the lunch counter beside the register.
Dani watched them carefully whenever it was only the three of you. She trusted the men on your team like brothers but the others, Storm Par or any of the other groups that followed in the same direction, she held at a distance. Not only had they been somewhat competitors in the field, they were jerks and Dani could not help but be repulsed by it.
Scott looked in the direction of the small booth you all sat in, making contact with Dani's harsh stare. His face was blank—as Dani had come to realize was its factory setting. He was stoic, a wooden board of a man who was a head taller than his companion even as they sat. Dani always thought he looked miserable.
In her eyes, he was generically handsome with dimples on the sides of his cheeks. She saw other storm chasers give him eyes but he never entertained it. He was boring, a dud.
Not one person could make that man crack a smile or have an ounce of joy weep from him—but she supposed it was perfect for the work they conducted.
"I can handle myself, Dani–besides, there are other people in here."
She shook her head, souring her face. "You know I don't like 'em."
"Neither do I," you laughed. Liar. "I got this. It’s okay."
Dani trusted your word and exited the diner with Lily while you made your way to the register.
Scott had taken his baseball cap off his head, sliding it into the back pocket of his pants and pushing his sunglasses into his hair. Javi made niceties with the same waitress that had assisted you upon your approach. You saddled up to lean on the counter in the empty space between Scott and the register that broke apart the counter from the other patrons. It wasn't crowded as a restaurant in the middle of a city would be. It was filed with locals that made it feel welcoming.
"I'll be with you in one second, ma'am," the woman who served, in a name-tag labeled 'Kathy', called over to you as she jotted down Javi's order.
You took the bag from your shoulder to place it on the counter in front of you. The base of it brushed Scott's shoulder, nudging him purposefully.
"Sorry," you said quietly as Javi finished up beside him. Scott looked over at you–his stormy blues baring into you and sending you into a spiral of blind faith.
“Not out wrangling tornados tonight?” He questioned in a condescending tone. His brow quirked in a challenge: play along. You could never be civil in public.
“Maybe if you were good at reading radar you’d know that already.”
He scoffed. “Wh—“
“And for you sir?” Kathy, the waitress, cut him off with a tap of her pen. Javi stifled a laugh as Scott faced her with a half-baked expression of annoyance. You turned to thumbing through your bag for your wallet.
“Ah,” Scott stuttered as he looked over the menu. “A coffee—“
“Cream or Sugar?” Kathy drawled. She must have been in her sixties but she was giving Scott the best impression of a flirt at the moment.
“Black, please.”
“Of course, honey.”
Javi turned his head away from Scott to chuckle like a little boy. You smiled to yourself as the contents of your bag were suddenly so very interesting.
“And a… turkey sandwich with fries.”
Kathy gave Scott a cheeky, wide smile with painted red lips. The thinning drugstore paint was wearing thin beyond the lining and her hay bale, yellow as corn hair was doing nothing for her.
“That’ll be right up for you boys, okay?” She gave them a wink and tore the order from her pad. “Don’t forget to order somethin’ sweet before you go—on the house.”
Kathy walked away with a sway of her hips which only worsened Javi’s laughter. The laughs spilled from his mouth without remorse as his friend tried to not turn an ugly shade of red.
“Holy,” Javi dragged out the syllables in exasperation. “You got yourself a cougar, Scott!”
You slipped your wallet to the side of your bag and looked upright waiting for her return.
“I didn’t know Mr. Storm Par had it in him,” you said, which drove Javi even deeper in laughter. Scott sighed heavily, shaking his head in disbelief. “She’ll give a napkin with a lipstick kiss… just watch.”
“Ooh man,” Javi crooned. “I ain’t missin’ that!” He got up from his stool.
“See you out there,” Javi said your name kindly—a rarity in these parts. He surely didn’t know about you and Scott but he treated you decently all the same.
He rushed off to the small hallway labeled ‘bathroom’. Small mercies for a second alone.
“Did you have to say that?” Scott commented the moment Javi was out of an earshot. He turned back to look at you so you turned to look at him with your hip digging into the counter. His legs spread wide as if to accommodate you.
“It was too good not to,” you admitted with a grin. “The old ladies love you.”
“Yeah,” he mumbled, gazing at your face as his eyes darted to take you in. They trailed from your eyes to lips to chin to chest to… everywhere.
“It’s been a minute.”
“Two weeks,” you agreed.
“You been counting?”
“No,” you said quickly. “I just—“
“I was joking,” he clarified with a sly, cunning smirk.
“Ha,” you panned. “You should think about going into another career after this. I hear they’re looking for comedians.”
“Maybe I will,” he suggested. “I can mention the skeleton that tried to get with me in a diner. Though,” he thought on it, “her lipstick might find me in nightmares so probably not.”
You laughed and he smiled—also a rarity in these parts.
“Where are you off to?” He asked.
“Perry for the night. Headin’ in that direction afterwards.”
Scott hummed, tapping one of his hands on the counter as the other rested on his knee. Your eyes moved down his body in the same way he did yours.
“You?” You asked him.
“I think we’ll be makin’ our way there too.”
“Hm,” you thrummed. Kathy caught your vision as she gathered Javi’s glass and Scott’s mug in her hands. “Then I should be expecting you?”
Scott nodded his head. “Motel?”
“Right off the highway. Easy on and off.”
Scott made a noise of agreement. Kathy placed their beverages in front of them with a sweet smile. Scott glanced at the mug but returned his attention to you which she frowned at—you found it amusing. There couldn’t have been many attractive men waltzing through the diner on a weekly basis. Scott was a treat.
“Anything I can get you, hun?”
Scott shook his head. Kathy held out her hand for you to hand over the check. She wasn’t as wordy with you.
You glanced over his shoulder to the table of his crew in the back who were minding their own business. Javi had to return and put the window, your team of misfits were packing up the vehicles.
You took a chance and lifted a hand to his shirt’s collar. Taking the fabric between your fingertips, you putzed as he looked at you with a gleam in his eyes that made your stomach do summersaults.
It’s the kind of look that made your heart sink when he was so rude on the road.
“Text me when you get there, okay?” You asked him. You adjusted his collar before dropping your hand at the sight of Javi leaving the restroom.
Scott caught your eyes change and turned back around in his seat.
Kathy laid the receipt for you to sign on the counter with a bang.
“Sign, please.”
You were quick to sign and exit the space before Javi could even sit down, forgetting Dexter's order. Kathy took the receipt and while stapling it to the order, she tipped her head in the direction of you.
“She’s pretty,” was all Kathy said and left as Javi returned.
“Did she give you her number?” Javi prompted Scott who passed a confused face to his friend.
“What?”
“The waitress,” Javi chuckled. “You get ‘er number or what?”
Scott closed his eyes and swallowed the nerves that built rapidly. He thought Javi was talking about you. He may have been an ace at MIT and a dependable guy on the battlefield, but Scott nearly jumped out of the diner at the thought of Javi or anyone else finding out about his escapades with you.
It was a good secret. A great one, if he let himself think about it too long. But he’d be damned to throw everything away for the sake of a lay in the middle of Oklahoma.
And if he told himself that enough, he’d fathomed he would start believing it.
The motel was what you had dreamed about.
Soft sheets, working air conditioning, and a lovely continental breakfast in the mornings with boxes of cereal and packaged muffins. It wasn’t a five-star resort but they did the job. It was perfectly imperfect for what you were used to on the daily.
It was so much better than the floor of the RV and so unusual for the types of places Dani and Lily often chose.
When you arrived at the motel, Scott was receiving a napkin with a kiss and a number on it that went straight in the trash. Javi kept rolling with laughter and for the time being, it was something he would not live down.
But both of your minds were preoccupied with what would hold true as the sun finally set on that day.
Just like the storms, you weren’t sure where this ended or it began. You had established a routine without realizing it was happening and this game of chances was slowly evolving into a feeling difficult to hold on to.
Maybe it was everything in between the nights that made it more difficult than it needed to be.
You ached for them nonetheless.
The jolt of anticipation hit you about an hour after arriving. Showered and clean, you sat around while the news played lifelessly in the background waiting for your phone to ding but it never did. It sat there mocking you every minute that passed.
Seconds turned into minutes that turned into hours that turned into two.
You half thought about going to bed before a knock sounded at your door. Neglecting to view the visitor through the peephole, you were taken aback by the entrance.
Scott made quick work of pushing you backwards and shutting the door closed with a thud. A backpack landed in the space between the door and chair. His hands were on you immediately, immodestly cupping your face and the back of your head with a force as he kissed you—hard.
You wrapped your arms around his forearms in support of your uneasy feet. A thrill ran down your spine at the feel of his hands on you.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled between frantic kisses that took your breath away. “They,” kiss, “wouldn’t,” kiss, “stop fucking talking.”
You ran your hands down his forearms gently. “It’s okay,” you reassured him. Ignoring your doubts would manifest itself another day.
Scott nodded, his nose knocking yours before leaning back in and kissing you slowly. His mouth captured your lips softly, gently as if there was no worry of time at all. His hands trailed themselves along the sides of your neck, to your shoulders, letting yours fall from his arms in the process.
You tilted your head upwards at an angle to open up to him. His mouth moved unhurried as the sound of your heart rushed to your ears.
He broke the kiss at the feel of your hands inching toward the buckle of his jeans.
“Woah,” he chuckled lowly but didn’t pull away and didn’t tell you no. “I don’t think my old lady would appreciate you havin’ your hands all over me.”
He let you lift the tails of his dress shirt out of his pants. At a quick pace you undid the buttons.
“She was tellin’ me all about this great peach pie,” Scott kept on and on as he peppered kisses on your face. “And then,” he whispered and shrugged off his shirt. “Then she left me this nice farewell note with a kiss on it.”
Your hands stilled on his abdomen. Head pulling away rapidly with glittering amusement in your eyes, you scoffed.
“No shit… really?”
“Oh yes, really,” Scott confirmed. He stepped away from you and stripped himself of the undershirt he had on. He moved over to the bed to work on his shoes.
“Can’t go to that diner again I gather.”
Scott smiled which made his dimples stand out. He looked tired but present, and that was all you could ask for at that moment.
“Not unless I want to be scorned for never callin’ her back.”
“Eh,” you picked up the remote on the bedside table and turned up the sound. “Give it ten years.”
Scott looked over his shoulder at you as a boot dropped on the floor.
“That’s brutal.”
“Well,” you said, dropping onto the duvet. “What can I say?”
You crawled over to him and got on your knees behind him. Scott leaned his head backwards against your chest as you wrapped your arms around him. You could smell the earth in his hair. The darkness of it couldn’t shield the way a day's work remained.
Underneath your fingertips his shoulders eased up. He relaxed in your touch.
“I was counting,” you admitted. The days between.
“Yeah,” he breathed out. “Me too.”
You kept one hand wrapped around his shoulders but moved the other to turn his face to the side. You planted a light kiss on his cheek, resting your forehead on the spot after. You savored the small, delicate moments that were few and far on the road.
Scott patted your arm when the quiet became too much.
“Lay down,” he instructed.
You untangled yourself from him and fell backwards on the bed. Splayed on the mattress with your knees bent, he slipped his socks off and turned around with one leg perched on the bed and the other on the floor. Scott’s hand traced the lines on your bent knees formed by the lighting of the room. He watched you adjust your body for comfort in his observance.
He’d be a fool to say you weren’t igniting a fire in him.
There were nights where he’d find you angry at him, the fuck that followed heated and he’d mark you with bruising kisses to remind you of it. There were some hurried and frantic—usually following a close encounter by either of you but the ones where it was slow… they were rare.
And looked down at you with adoration he couldn’t express. His eyes were telling yet he never said words that reaffirmed he cared for you more than he looked forward to your next meeting or that he thought about you—in the shower or in passing, Scott never clarified.
Scott pushed open your legs to accommodate him. He took in the oversized tourist tee that helped cover the pair of sleep shorts of his next conquest. Without hesitation, he grabbed at the waistband of the shorts and pulled them down your legs quickly.
He ticked at you at the sight of you bare before him.
“Were you expecting someone?” He chastised jokingly. “That’s a little presumptuous.”
“Maybe,” you cooed. He grasped you by the back of your knees and pulled you down the bed before getting on his own.
“There’s always a some guy followin’ us around in these parts. Sometimes I’ll let him in.”
“Oh?” His breath was hot on your thigh. A kiss laid as he maneuvered himself to your center and you tossed your head back to stare at the ceiling.
“Mhm,” you hummed. You bit your lip to fight a smile when his familiar lips kissed at the crux of your leg and groin.
“Handsome with this cute smile no one ever sees.”
You felt your breath stagger as he moved to the most wanton part of you and licked a line through you. His eyes watched you intently; the slow rise and fall of your chest, the way your hands begged for something to grasp on. His nose bumped your clit as he got comfortable with a rhythm. Scott savored the way his tongue gathered your wetness, pushing against your plush walls.
You were trying so hard to be quiet. The walls of hotels were thin—you weren’t an idiot. It was a miracle that the man you fucked wasn’t a talker most of the time.
Scott’s tongue was warm against you. Lapping in a way that made you lose the breath inside. He was slow, soft in his movements that made you want to squirm.
You could feel your heart beating rapidly against your ribcage. Head pressing harshly against the comforter of the bed, your body hooked itself into an arch at his ministrations. A lewd, antagonizing sound of your pleasure being had by a man whose eyes bore deep into the way your body moved at his will sent you spinning.
Scott shifted himself on the bed. His feet propelled him upwards but he never let go, his hands nor mouth. He pushed you upwards on the bed and wrapped an arm around your leg to rest on your lower abdomen.
The change caught the words in your mouth.
Scott, occupied, still watched you unravel like putty. His eyes watched you focus on anything but his face and in an attempt to get your attention, his hand on your stomach moved to fiddle with your shirt that had not made it to the floor.
Your hand was quick to fold over his, squeezing tightly. His fingers flexed back.
“Oh,” you keened. In an effort to stay quiet, your other hands fingers pressed against your lips. The fire within you grew hotter.
Moving his hand from yours, he shifted to spread open your lips and gather the wetness on his tongue. Scott titled his head upwards and sucked on your clit that had you spinning. Your free hand went straight to his head and settled in his brown locks.
“F-fuck,” you stuttered as your toes curled and your hips rutted against his face unabashedly.
Scott’s other hand was long missing from your body as the one focused on you was hard at work with your satisfaction. He palmed at himself in his pants the best he could. The angle wasn’t working and soon, he’d need a reprieve.
The muscles in your body tensed. They began to shake not from a release, but an anticipation of one growing. The more you moved, the more Scott wanted to let go and slip inside of you.
He slowed his tongue to small, sensual flicks reminiscent of him bringing you back from a high you hadn’t yet reached. Pulling back on you, his lips caught with a trail of your slick and his spit. Scott ran his tongue over his lips—taking with him the taste of you.
“Move up,” he instructed, voice hoarse.
You sat up on your elbows and moved upwards on the bed as he stood up. He walked back to the chair beside the door where his belongings had ended up when he first burst through the door.
If you were attempting to be sly, your eyes navigated his body on display. Scott fully undid his belt and chucked his phone on the chair beside it. He shuffled out of his pants and briefs—pausing when the screen on his phone lit up with a text.
You couldn’t read it from the distance between you but he left it unread, turning back to you as your focus narrowed to his dick freely standing.
“My eyes are up here,” he rolled his eyes.
“I’m admiring,” you drawled. You ran a hand up your body and bent it behind your head on the pillows. “Can’t a girl admire? I mean…”
“She can,” he nodded in implying you can.
Scott took himself in his hands, pumping as he approached the bed again. He didn’t need to ask the ways in which to make both of you happy. He could read the room and the days and knew that what you both needed was something simple.
But sometimes, something simple was enough.
He joined you on the bed, tapping on your leg that blocked his goal.
“Come on,” his words were cut and dry and quiet.
You moved your leg back down as you sat up to meet him. Him, on his knees before you with his length in his hand and you, splayed before him wet and wanting. You reached to replace his hand with yours but he shook his head, knocking his chin at your shirt with a disapproving shake.
The worn Ole Miss letters standing stark amidst the nakedness of the room. Doc.
Huffing, you were quick to lose the shirt.
“Better?” You asked him. Reaching back toward to replace his hand, he removed his and let you take him.
“Perfect,” he groaned at the feel of your hand.
He was heavy and warm in your palm; watching with an intensity that only beckoned you to go further—sliding your hand along him delicately and squeezing just enough at the base for him to emit a grunt of satisfaction. Scott’s hands caressed the sides of your thighs as his mind went blank.
“Scott,” you purred. Sitting up on your knees and never letting him go. Your other hand wrapped around his shoulders as you pressed your chest against his. His hands were hot on your hips and ass.
You lazily drew your lips along his jaw to ear.
“I want you to fuck me,” you whispered. His heart was beating so fast. “I want you to fuck me into this mattress and make me think about it for days.”
Scott’s eyes were closed. His breathing unsteady and head pushing into yours. He gripped your body tightly.
“Baby—“ the pet name slipped out before he had a chance to take it back. Too personal? He wasn’t sure. But he couldn’t think straight. With your hand on his dick, all he could think about was how fast he could get inside of you.
“I thought we said—“
“We’ll be quiet,” you reassured him. “I didn’t say hard.”
Oh. You wanted to be fucked softly. At least for the moment you did.
The kind of sex that left a heavy haze in the air. The one that drew everything out of a person and left it there, lingering, as if the pieces of them were nothing more than particles in space.
It was the sex you couldn’t turn back from.
You were too far gone.
You had been for quite some time yet never slipped up. You enjoyed what small, unreliable fling you had no matter how it grew inside of you. Scott wasn’t a man you’d dream about as a teen thinking of your future. He was a certified asshole with an ego as big as the fucking ocean but it slithered past your defenses and ended up knocking at the gate.
But you loved the sinful way it made you feel.
“Do you wanna fuck me?” You cooed. You careened in his touch, pitching upwards as he cupped your ass roughly and relished the feel of your breasts on his chest. Everything about you was so soft. So delicate and warming and familiar.
“You know I do,” he panted. You stroked him still. His eyes could have drooped but he watched you intently.
“Then what are you waiting for?”
You positioned your head in front of his, kissing him gently on the lips before lowering back down onto the bed with your knees parted. You let him go and his cock bobbed.
And he did as you asked.
When Scott fucked you, the heavens blushed from above. He took his dick in his hand, positioning himself to be in front of your pussy that was still shining with the wetness he left. He rubbed the tip up and down, gathering the wetness he could. Each motion threatening to push him in faster than either of you wanted.
This could be hours or forever and you’d never want it to end.
He stopped at your entrance to look in your wanton eyes. They begged him, they wanted him without a word. He guided his cock into you slowly. Your cunt, hot and inviting, welcomed him smoothly. Pressing your head deep into the pillows, you let out weak gasps at his intrusion.
Your head was swirling. You were full of him.
Each touch and each thrust was sending you toward a tether that was breaking string by string. A violin to be played delicately and only the musician who cared enough to learn its tuning could make it sing.
Scott was calculated but not over aware. He listened to your calls—the shallow, meek whimpers at the virility of his drives. He let you get lost; finding the stars in your eyes as he peered down at you until it became too much and Scott needed to feel you again.
Scott leaned down, taking your neck in both of your hands and kissed you deeply. Your hands glued themselves to the sides of his torso. His lips were a pillow in short breaths; tongue sloppy when his hips ground into you faster than before.
His cock was splitting you. Thrust after thrust he gained the momentum of chasing a high. He never let you go; holding onto you whether delicate on your neck or grasping at your body, Scott palmed as you grew in want.
“Come on, come on,” he gritted through his teeth as you clenched around him. You weren’t registering the sounds of the headboard hitting the wall behind you. It was only you, Scott, and the sounds of your pleasure.
He picked up the rapid movements as best he could. It was so easy to lose himself in you. He, the most rigid man in both word and action, came alive at the opportunity to simply let go. Those words were strange—to let go—but he had found it in your meetings.
Scott Miller was many things, yet fucking you unbeknownst to the world was his greatest secret in his cruelty.
He watched you wither or waver, hands shifting to hold his face close to yours. You kept muttering nonsensical deliverances with your hips jutting up to join his. It was growing fierce—your end. The orgasm eating away at your resolve. Scott’s eyes were battering down on your own, nodding his head with eager anticipation of the rush of your finish. Scott knew you to be quick. It was so easy for him to get you off because the methodology of you and him made it that way.
He could read you the alphabet and if you bore into your eyes enough, you’d be wet. He could feed you a fucking pretzel and your mind would illustrate the way you’d let him pound you into tomorrow.
He nodded, chin bumping yours as your mouths declined to collide in a spectacle. Your breaths beat at the rapid nature of your heart; panting for respite in the low light of the hotel’s table lamp and glow of the television.
“That’s it,” Scott coaxed. His silence in the efforts of his body ceasing. “Come on.” His teeth bit at his words.
“F-fuck,” you stuttered out. The wave was approaching. It tingled in your toes and laid heavy in your core. “Shit,” you gasped quietly. “Oh!”
Your mouth fell open and he took the opportunity to kiss you, tugging on your bottom lip as he pulled away and the curl of your toes became too real. You kept squeezing him, emboldening him to come with you.
Scott felt your muscles contract before it was nothing but a shake of your legs. You arched your back into him, allowing him to draw you close as he pounded into your finish to race to his own.
There was nothing in your eyes except the stars you couldn’t see. It was fuzzy, exhilarating as the pulses rushed through you in a couple, disjointed and erratic bursts. You couldn’t help but shake; it was overstimulating as Scott continued to push against your walls.
He loved to feel you shake. He loved to be the one to cause such a rapture within you. To have to uncontrollably trembling in pleasure? What a treat.
You swallowed his grunts, clinging onto his shoulders and cupping his face as he drew his arms under your back and repositioned you. He was close, so close. The beads of sweat on his forehead called him to end—a sure sign of his stamina along the sheen that covered you.
His hips snapped in and out with a fury. The softness of his earlier actions were thrown out the window. He did as he believed, fuck you into a state where you’d remember it for days.
And then his tether broke too.
Scott held your hips against him tightly. He kissed your lips as he finished inside of you before deepening it.
Suddenly you weren’t going to remember the sex.
You were going to recall the way he kissed you after he made sure you both came. How he wouldn’t let you feel anything but his lips, his tongue, his teeth, until he was soft inside of you.
Scott left your lips with a faint, nearly absent smile.
“How’s that for remembering?”
He wasn’t one for validation. He didn’t seek your approval but it slipped out of him with the words he shouldn’t say.
You ran your tongue over your lips to wet them or maybe to collect the remnants of him. “Mm,” you thought. “I might forget what it feels like to be kissed?”
Scott scoffed as you ran your fingers through his hair. He dipped his head again to kiss your shoulder, peppering kisses to your lips as he made a trail. He nuzzled his nose into the side of your face and could tell when your face broke out into a smile. Taking the chance, he tucked his forehead into the crux of your neck and shoulder. You squirmed with laughter but his hands held you steady.
“I’ll be heading to The City for a few days,” he grumbled into your neck. “We got a new truck.”
“The gang ain’t enough anymore? You’re gonna outnumber us.”
Scott shook his head and began to unravel. He lifted up from you, slipping out as the cold met wet in the air. You could not help but draw your brows together at the discomfort—Scott’s thumb rubbed soothing circles on your thigh.
He started off the bed and into the bathroom attached to help clean you up. Tossing your worn shirt back on the bed before shuffling into his briefs and pants again. You sat up in confusion.
“Aren’t you stayin’?” You asked. “I thought we’d have a few hours.”
Maybe it had been dangerous to voice hope.
To voice and acknowledge the misery of missing him when it hurt to do so.
He shook his head again and went to his phone. “I gotta get that truck before she flies in.”
She. “Who?” You questioned with concern. You weren’t exclusive, you weren’t supposed to be jealous.
“Some girl Javi invited out for a few days,” he dismissed. Scott’s eyes were glued to the phone in his hand. “She works for NWS.”
“To help you?”
“Why else?” He sounded disgruntled at the fact. But he ignored your tone too. “Said she was a friend from college.”
“What’s the NWS got to do with your work?”
“She’s just helpin’ us find the tornados, not anything else. We don’t need help in what we do.”
You weren’t oblivious to Storm Par—you’d be a fucking fool not to be. It was something you detested, despised, about him and if you thought about it too long, you felt even the slightest bit guilty of letting your thoughts wander to him when you were set on doing good.
He took from people in pain for what? His own personal gain? The money he raked in on the side of allowing a maniac of a man to fund his projects?
You knew there was a piece of him that strung you along not for sex or the fondness of it, but out of necessity to follow.
His team of storm chasers wouldn’t have the opportunities they did if they didn’t follow Tyler and the crew.
You were just collateral for the course. A “get love quick scheme” in the center of a raging cyclone of fucked up felonies and a YouTube channel of misfits.
Scott let his fingers move briskly over the keyboard of his phone.
“When is she coming?” You feigned to ponder instead.
“Monday.”
“So that means you have to leave now?”
Oh Lord Almighty. You sounded pathetic. Knees pulled up to your chest, holding the pieces of you together as you became forgotten. You felt the events of moments ago begin to unsettle your body. The need of care that hasn’t come making your skin crawl.
You may have done things that made your momma blush but you cowering under the idea that a man is gonna leave you cold after a good roll in the sheets would set her aflame.
“Have to,” he tossed his phone back on the chair and took a new shirt out from his backpack. “For business on Sunday with Riggs before we head out. We agreed to…” he went back to his phone to check the time. “A two o’clock departure time.”
It wasn’t even fucking twelve thirty but hey, he couldn’t be seen, right?
“Bullshit,” you let fall out.
“What?” Scott picked it up. His head snapped to you.
“I said it’s bullshit,” you said a bit louder for him to hear. “I don’t get it, I don’t.”
“What don’t you ‘get’?” He had a lacing of judgment in his voice. It could have been the MIT superiority in him that festered with the ever mounting praise of his colleagues.
“I just don’t know when it will be enough for all of you,” you scoffed. “You pour money down drain for machines and tech and then you stockpile tragedies we can’t even keep up with. And now you’ve got the NWS on your side? The ones who are supposed to care about keeping us safe?”
“It’s freelance,” he pointed out while tucking in his shirt. He did up the belt in a flash. “And these people don’t need what’s left for them after it’s all gone. You know how hard it is for them to rebuild.”
“But those are their homes, Scott. What if it was your home or my home or your parents?”
“I’d figure we’d all end up in different places anyway,” he tucked his phone in his back pocket.
You shook your head at him, looking away to focus on the TV. Muttering an “unbelievable” under your breath, you began to wonder the reasons why he even bothered to show up.
They drove an entire team to Perry to sleep in a run of the mill hotel or perhaps that was second to Scott getting his fill. He just needed one good fuck to send him off and running to his next paycheck.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Scott concluded dispassionately. That stone cold, humorless man replaced whoever burst through the door.
“We both have jobs to do. Just stay in your lane and I’ll be in mine.”
Oh Christ he made you fume.
“You can be a real jackass, you know that?” You narrowed your eyes at him.
“You aren’t tellin’ me anything I ain’t heard before, honey.”
“Oh fuck off!” You shouted a bit too loudly. He slung his cap back on his head. “You’re such a piece of shit.”
“Then why tell me you were gonna be here?” He hummed an ask, approaching the bed with intent. You looked up at him as he settled in the spot next to you with his feet on the floor and arm outstretched to hold onto the headboard.
Scott caged you in. He towered over you to be intimidating.
“Why ask me to sleep with you or stay or kiss you or whatever else just to hate me after it’s all done?”
“I didn’t ask to hate you.”
“You don’t hate me,” he clarified. “You just hate the way you feel about me.”
“You’re selfish,” you settled on.
“You’re entitled,” Scott countered. The Ole Miss logo on your shirt burned.
“You don’t care about anyone except yourself.”
And that pained you.
“You care about everyone else far too much,” he pulled his head toward you. His eyes flicked between your lips and eyes and you wanted to punch him and kiss it away.
All you wanted was to have a good night. To be worshiped in a quiet space and he gave you that, even if brief. But he also tore it away. He always took it away.
“Sometimes I don’t know why we even try.”
He was taken aback by it. You both were two people on very different ends of a string that snapped you together. It wasn’t perfect but it worked for the most part.
“Then why do we?” He shouldn’t have said it yet he did.
“You can’t even bear to stay,” you whispered. For a second, you thought you saw clarity in those cloudy eyes. “You can’t even fucking hold me after what we did… or-” the words fell deaf on your lips.
“I have to leave. I can’t stay.”
“You don’t get it do you?”
Scott breathed in deeply, declining the sentiment with a toss of his head.
“I gotta go,” he said quietly instead. He took your chin in his hand, knocking it gently to the side.
“I don’t know how you do it,” was all you could muster.
And then he left without another word.
In Boone’s mind, it did not matter if the sky was at its darkest, a joint never waited to be smoked when necessary.
He had woken about an hour before as Storm Par’s slamming of car doors rustled him from slumber. The RV wasn’t the most perfect place to reside while traversing wild weather but he loved it all the same. He rolled off the bunk without notice of Dexter who would have surely scolded him for partaking at such a late hour.
So, he snuck into the truck and lit up in the quiet solitude of night without interruption.
It wasn’t until an hour later when the drowsy feel of his tingles began to wear into sleep that he began to see things he’d question.
Boone rubbed the tired from his eyes the same time a door opened up to his right. He ducked into the front seat as though what he was doing was far from normal and spied the invasion of the public space.
Down to the right, Scott exited the room with a scowl on his face Boone could see in the dark. A backpack slung over his shoulder, he looked frustrated compared to the blasé he was used to. Scott walked past Boone without noticing and hopped into one of Storm Par’s trucks.
Boone remained ducked as he thought back to the room. Scott settled in the passenger seat before reclining it back to sleep. He disappeared from Boone’s view and the latter looked to the motel rooms again.
Even in his foggy memory, he recalled Lily sticking a crumpled piece of paper in the cup holder for Tyler to use. It had the address of the motel and the room numbers reserved. He scouted the cup holders until his fingers grasped the paper’s corner.
“34221 Sli-“ he rumbled off as he read the note. His eyes traveled down to the rooms.
Lily room nine.
Tyler room thirteen.
Dani room twenty-one.
And then his eyes widened in curiosity at your name finely written and a twenty-two carved next to it. Those same numbers were lightly illuminated by the light above the door.
“No shit,” Boone chuckled in disbelief.
The next few days were nothing but a blur.
The sky was like that too. Cloudy and gray. It seemed to reflect whatever was left inside of you to stir and gather into something larger as your memories of Scott overplayed in your mind with poor restraint.
God, how you wished it would just rain and swallow you whole.
It was absurd—feigning such disappointment over a man who was not your significant other but did everything in solitude to appear that way. He loved on you and left you cold with nothing to warm the thoughts of what it would be like when you saw him again.
And when you did, it was disappointing.
The brown haired woman they had brought on to help with was far too good to be mixed in with a crowd of degenerate Ivy pricks but she stayed with them longer than she should have. In their paths, it felt like they crossed yours even more than before.
You were stuck trying to avoid Scott’s entire being when his truck passed or when they stopped at the same station or motel or place as you and yours.
It started to eat at you, the avoidance.
On an early Tuesday morning, you felt the winds begin to change again. Tyler blew a tire the night before and broke his jack trying to fix it. The lot of you ended up in the parking lot of a rundown gas station as the sun began to rise when the white trucks came barreling down the road and straight into the parking lot.
Dani booed them from the stairs of the RV.
“Can’t your just leave us the hell alone?” Lily complained. It had been four days straight of interactions with them and it had caused nothing but trouble. You tried your best to stay normal but Boone kept sitting by you as if he wanted to hold your hand.
It peeved you to think he knew something was wrong.
“They just love us too much,” Dani joked as she waved at the group exiting their trucks. Kate, their newest addition, smiled in the distance.
“Ain’t that the truth,” Boone acknowledged from beside you.
“Hey Storm Par!” Dani shouted. “Go find your own fucking tornados!”
Beside their trucks, Javi scoffed and shook his head.
“What?” Kate inquired, her eyes curious as they had been the last week. “They’re just jokin’ I’m sure.”
“Nah,” Javi replied. “They don’t like us the same as we don’t like them. I thought you’d pick up on that now.”
“Well sure,” Kate laughed at the ridiculousness of it. “But there’s more to this than that.”
There’s more to chasing than a fight.
“Yeah well, tell that to them.”
“They’re just shitheads,” Scott piped up on his approach. “Think they’re better than the rest of us because they’ve got a camera in their face.”
“They’ve been fine to me,” Kate defended. She watched as the so-called tornado wranglers bounced up from their seats and headed in her direction. The man with the bandana tried to coax you to join but you refused physically. Hands outstretched and pushing the man away. It was a weak attempt, she noticed.
“It’s just all of you that rub them the wrong way.”
“Well it’s a two-way street.”
You go your way, and I’ll go mine.
Kate observed the carefree way in which everyone interacted with one another. The two other girls tugged on your arms to bring you to your feet against your will. She felt Scott shift on his feet beside her but didn’t dwell on it.
“They still got that reporter with ‘em,” she noted. “Must be an interesting bunch to write a story about.”
“When you put together people from seven different walks of life, you’re bound to get something good,” Javi agreed with her.
Scott shifted again and Kate looked up at him. He wore his sunglasses, therefore it was hard to see his eyes. But his face was set and jaw tight. His hands were dug into his pockets but the distaste rolled off of him in waves. She looked back into the direction of all of you.
Boone was running circles around the three girls as their arms were wrapped around each other. Friends. It reminded Kate too much of the ones she lost.
“Alright everyone,” Scott called out. “Five minutes and then we’re back on the road.”
The inside of the station was no different than any other. Five rows of food with a wall of freezers in the back, a broken counter with a tower of cigs and vapes waiting to be sold. Kate was reading the back of a SunChips bag when you all came in. The bell above the door sounding with a jingle, Dani and Lily’s laughter filled the space compared to the nonexistent chatter of Storm Par’s presence.
You held the door open for Tyler who gave a wink and a thanks that didn’t phase you as it would her. He was handsome, charming, if a little obnoxious. He smiled at Kate and a part of her felt like running, the other falling.
You didn’t have the same spunk the others did. After they left your vicinity the smile on your face dropped and the shoulders you wore were heavy. You passed Kate, giving her a small hello, before walking down the aisle. She peaked her head to the side of the stand.
“Find anything good?” Kate called out kindly. Her light Oklahoma twang cutting through.
You glanced at her. “If you count fruit flavored Doritos good, then maybe we have different tastes.”
She chuckled and took it as a sign to approach you.
You didn’t know much about Kate other than what Boone had dug up and what Scott had mentioned before she arrived. She was smart as a whip, a talented chaser, and one who made mistakes too.
“I don’t think those would be good in any situation.”
“We can agree there,” you mumbled. You picked up a small bag of Veggie Straws.
“So where are y’all chasing today?” Kate inquired.
“Why?” You countered. “So you can follow us around?”
“No,” she shook her head, feeling as though she offended you. “No… we can find our own. I was just wonderin’ if y’all wanted to go to this bar tonight.”
You furrowed your brows. Under the static lighting of the gas station mart, you were falling into confusion.
“Y’all as in… us?”
“Yeah,” she laughed. Kate was intrigued by what you did. The way you all risked so much for entertainment or maybe, for some of you, there was still an inch of science to be discovered.
The day after you all converged and she had a panic attack at the sight of the tornado, Kate spent the morning watching the videos posted from your channel. She was amazed by the thrill of what feelings Tyler and Boone could ooze out of the screen.
But she took a liking to the science you broke down for the average viewer. The way you taught amidst the chaos of wrangling tornadoes or shooting fireworks up the funnel.
“I thought we could all use a break,” she shrugged. “Javi and I have known each other for a long time and we used to stop there for line dancing on Thursdays.”
Well it just so happened to be a Thursday.
“And these fellas are more wound up than a goddamn toy,” she said under her breath. “I think a pitcher of beer and some good ol’ fashion Oklahoma hospitality would do us well.”
“Oh,” you replied softly. “Um, well… Ty makes a lot of those decisions so maybe you could ask him?”
Her eyes went bright. “Sure! I mean, I just thought I’d ask. They all talk about you a lot… I think they’re all a little jealous.”
The thought of what Scott or any of the other Storm Par guys said about you and your friends bristled you. Scott’s face met you in dreams to remind you that he was never too far away and whatever strife you had with him and his work was always going to get in the way.
“Do they?” You commented. You could hear Javi in the aisle over talking to Scott about equipment.
“Mhm.”
“How charming,” you moved down the aisle to the other products but Kate didn’t follow. She looked in your direction but behind you.
Javi and Scott were now at the end of the aisle beside you, the former shuffling behind you with a small ‘excuse me’ while the other stood there for a brief moment. You looked over your shoulder at him and his glasses were now gone, meeting your gaze for seconds too long.
“I was just inviting them to come with us,” Kate informed Javi who turned, eyeing you as your attention was distracted.
“Well I hope they can dance,” Javi said with a glee he always had.
Kate said your name which brought your attention back. You could feel Scott lingering, his stance imposing on the small aisle of snacks. You could always feel him around—a curse from caring about everyone too much. He wasn’t a small man or one who could hide in the shadows; he towered over the short shelves. He was as gigantic as a comic book hero even if he was far from one.
The invitation caught Tyler’s attention when the conversation became too loud to go unnoticed. He appeared out of thin air at the other end of the aisle by the door.
Like an old western standoff, you were caught in the center.
You wanted the bags of chips to swallow you whole. It was bad enough that you were stuck between the world you loved and the man who made it more complicated. It was bad enough that Tyler would certainly say yes to Kate’s proposal because he had been sneaking glances at her for a week.
He had shit-eating grin on his face as he walked closer to the group of you. His curious eyes monitoring the way Scott’s body was a little too close to yours.
A part of him believed they were cornering you for something about storms. He wouldn’t put it past them for their sordid work in the hellish treatment of victims but hey, who was he to assume? You clutched the bag in your hands hard enough it could pop.
“We all good over here?” Tyler questioned Scott specifically. It was the only other guy he could size up to and play out a macho-man persona. “I don’t think I need to tell y’all that my team is my team, off limits to your work.”
Scott laughed, truly laughed at Tyler. Javi and Kate’s heads whipped around to Scott who rested an arm bent on the shelves beside him. It was far too close to you and it gave you flashbacks to his nasty exit. Tyler focused on Scott in a labored calculation. He might have been the one they all liked the least.
“Did I say somethin’ funny?”
“Yeah,” Scott replied. His voice flat as always. “You did.”
Tyler looked around at Kate, Javi, and yourself who frowned.
“Care to explain what?”
Scott held back an amused smile as his eyes creased at the edges. You looked up at him with a warning. To your surprise, Scott looked back.
“No,” he responded curtly while looking at you. Off limits.
Kate sensed it. She did. There was something there—the air heavy like a storm.
“We’re gonna go to a dance bar in Enid tonight. I was just askin’ if all y’all would like to join us,” Kate pitched in to Tyler who slowly removed his gaze from Scott to her. His eyes let up softly.
“Dance bar? I don’t take any of these fellas for the dancing kind.”
“Don’t you know we’re all from here?” Javi asked him and Tyler didn’t. You did but Tyler didn’t know much about any of them except their high degrees of achievement and late-stage superior fraternity behavior.
“So you’re tellin’ me that Mr. Stick-up-his-ass here can two step like it’s his birthday?”
“Oh you ain’t never seen Scott dance,” Javi laughed loudly and gathered the rest of the wranglers to the aisle. “We can dance you into next week!”
“Alright.” Tyler nodded his head. One night wouldn’t hurt. “I’m good with it as long as it’s fine with Doc.”
Shit. They all gazed at you with bated breath. You could feel their beady eyes piercing; Scott's blistering eyes on the side of your head prompting you to try.
The last time you attempted to have a good evening it left you reeling. That was six days ago and you still replayed Scott’s words through your mind. Over and over and over and over again.
You’re entitled.
Stay in your lane.
You cared about everyone else too much.
Yet your lanes always converged. And you had the right to be entitled as the name suggested. Doc. You were overly qualified to be there and whatever flew your way, you deserved it.
And fuck, if you didn’t care about everyone else, you’d be a shell of a human. So hollow that your world would collapse. By the laws of physics, you’d stay in motion. You’d keep going even if he pulled you backwards a million times.
You looked at Tyler, tossing your bag of chips in his direction.
“I’d love to go dancin’.”
Boone screeched a happy whistle and yelled to save him a dance. Scott seethed at those words as if he had a claim otherwise. It was an agreement to keep it quiet for the sake of your jobs, your sanity. But he was covetous in his belongings and for whatever belief he had, you were his in all but name.
His actions made it difficult to fully manifest into reality. When you keep a locked door locked, you don’t deserve to enjoy it for free. It ate away at him differently than the anxiety of hurt ate at you.
He wanted to freely give himself to you–to be the man you'd see on dark nights in the solace of a bedroom or wherever you could find respite.
It was tough to be the person you thought you were. It was much easier to be a coward.
The dance bar was packed full of locals and tourists alike. You couldn’t place the pull Enid had on people who weren’t from there but it was alive the moment you walked through the door.
Boone whistled at the sight of everything.
“I gotta hand it to ‘em. They sure can pick a place.”
“Have you never been dancin’ before?” You questioned, linking your arm in the space offered by him. He gave a cheeky smile and tipped his cowboy hat with a free finger.
“Oh, don’t underestimate me, Doc. Just cause you ain’t seen these moves don’t mean I ain’t got them.”
“Maybe I’ve been blessed. If it’s the same way you hold a camera, I can’t imagine your feet.”
“Uh huh,” he egged you on. “Keep it comin’. I have a whole night to prove you wrong.”
You scrunched your nose at him. At the moment, a series of rapid clicks sounded behind you. You and Boone peaked behind you at Ben, the reporter, snapping a photo.
“Sorry,” he apologized bashfully. “I haven’t been able to capture much of you.” He spoke to you, not Boone. “I want to feature more than just the storms.”
“Well you’re gonna get a whole lot more than storms tonight, Ben!” Boone cheered as Dani joined him on his other side.
You got the sudden sense of deja vu to your college days. Those undergraduate nights where your friends would drag you to the bar and everything was far too loud and over exciting. It was beer and booze and feet that fumbled. There was nothing over exhilarating about going out on a weekday but now, past those prime days, you felt a simmer of that feeling come alive inside of you.
Against your better judgment, the idea that Scott and you were crossing paths in a public setting beyond your professions was exciting. It sent thrills down you when it shouldn’t.
He had done nothing to remedy what he said—nor you for that matter. You kept your distance by sitting in the truck while stopping or sleeping in the RV with Dexter and Boone instead of a motel. Every time in the last week that your lines had met, you kept them parallel.
Tonight would be the hardest to not intersect.
“Can I buy you all a round?” Ben offered kindly. His mannerisms were foreign in the West. “For an exciting week, I suppose.”
“Who are we to say no, Ben?” Tyler slung an arm around his shoulder. Dexter and Lily flanked him at his sides.
Your group settled at a table in the back of the bar by the darts and pool table. Dexter challenged Dani to a rematch of a game they had settled a couple of weeks ago, and the rest of you nursed or chugged the beer that Ben had bought. You were the former. Sticking your attention on the foam at the top as it slowly made its way down the glass to become nonexistent.
“So,” Boone cleared his throat beside you as Dani, Tyler, and Ben looked over the photos the journalist had taken thus far.
“Is there a reason your attitude has been shit lately?”
You peered into the glass. Fingers tapping the sides of it.
“I was editing the last video and if anyone wanted a tornado to actually kill them, viewers might be convinced it’d be you.”
“Oh come on,” you scoffed. “I am sure my bad day didn’t ruin the video.”
“I didn’t say ruin, only tainted it. But what’s goin’ on?” He pointed and probed at your temple invasively. “The wheels are turning. I can hear them.”
“It’s nothin’, Boone. Just… girl stuff.”
“My favorite!” He bellowed like a King. Dani transitioned from her conversation to yours.
“What’s your favorite?”
“Girl stuff,” he mimicked. “Just askin’ about little miss sad is all.”
Dani nodded, taking a sip of her beer.
“Is it about your tinder date?”
“My what?” You showed deep confusion. “What date?”
“Last week,” she said casually. “I could hear your headboard against my wall. Jesus,” Dani laughed. “I didn’t know you had it in you Doc.”
Ben and Tyler’s conversation ended and they eavesdropped from the end of the table. At the other end of the bar, Storm Par, in casual clothing, entered.
You blanched at her words. You didn’t even realize.
“Oh-ho!” She pounded a fist on the table. “It was a tinder guy! Ha!”
Boone went suspiciously quiet beside you as she kept on.
“I didn’t want to say anything then but it makes sense. You’ve been on edge ever since. Maybe you should call him—“
“No,” you shook your head at her. Your hands left the glass and settled in your lap.
“He wasn’t good? Oh—“
“No!” You defended too fast and awkwardly. Boone glanced at Tyler who became far too interested in his co-pilot’s silence.
Dani lowered her voice with concern. “Was it too, you know, rough? Did he hurt you?”
“Oh my God!” You exclaimed at the invasion of privacy. “Can you not?”
“Sorry!” She held up her hands. “I didn’t hear anything else if that’s what you’re worried about. I don’t want to know your kinks.”
“Oh fuck me,” you wailed. “Dani, can you please stop?”
“Ok, ok!” She backed off and sat in her seat. “I’m just trying to help!”
“I know,” you breathed in. Tyler took a large sip of his beer before putting it back on down the table.
“We know him?” He questioned, eying Boone move uncomfortably in his seat. You looked at him and gaped for a millisecond before shaking your head.
“No. No, I don’t think so.”
Boone glanced at Tyler again and he knew you lied. He didn’t think it was Boone—that would be a nonstarter because you weren’t his type. It wasn’t Dexter because he was married and Ben was not interested in women.
He knew you didn’t swing for Dani or Lily so it was someone else. Dani already deduced it was a man so any other woman was out of the question.
“Well maybe you just need to find someone else to take your mind off of it?” Dani suggested.
“Yeah. Maybe.” You bit at the inside of your cheek.
“A lot of fuss over a one night stand,” Tyler put an arm over the back on Ben’s seat. “Must’ve been somethin’ if you’re down and out about it.”
You downed the beer before you in a flash.
“Must’ve,” Dani agreed with a hum.
“Anyone want another?” You asked, shifting out of your seat. The heels of your boots clacked onto the floor with a bounce.
Everyone shook their heads no and let you leave the table.
The music was pumping through the speakers loudly and the bar was full. You spotted Kate with a couple of the Storm Par guys doing a shot—all of them looking like regular Joe’s in their tees and flannels. Not far from the edge of the bar Scott and Javi waited for pitchers to be filled.
It was rare you saw him out of his “uniform.” Clad in a dark blue tee and his own flannel, the only thing that separated him from the rest was the way he looked. When he tried, Scott was movie-star handsome. The kind of person that’d be having girls write their numbers on his hand at the end of the night.
His presence was unfair to the other men around—except for Tyler on the occasion. It was a shame he was an asshole.
Instead of going toward Scott and Javi as you might have a week ago, you took an empty spot beside Kate who cheerfully greeted you. She waved down the bartender, asking for another shot and to refill your glass.
Tyler watched you walk away. He couldn’t see the decision making in your eyes or hear the thoughts in your mind, yet he had his own to make assumptions.
“Boone,” he called to his friend who sat quietly. Tyler watched you stand next to Kate and Ben’s gaze followed.
“Yeah?”
“Why you bein’ so quiet?”
“I’m n-not,” he tripped over his words. “I’m not.”
“You sure we don’t know him?”
Tyler clocked each of the Storm Par men. None of them looked immediately taken by you standing there, itching to get their hands on you, but then he let himself wander to the end of the bar.
And he locked in.
“I don’t know him,” Boone choked a laugh. “How would I know? She’d tell Dani before me.”
“I didn’t say she told you.”
“Well I’m just implying.”
Tyler turned to Ben who was trying to copy Tyler’s movements.
“Ben,” Tyler tipped his head toward you. “Tell me what you see.”
Ben cleared his throat like he was being interrogated. “Well they just got a second round of shots and the bartender said it’s on the house. She must recognize us.”
“Ok,” Tyler pointed. “And down there? What can we conclude, Mr. London.”
“Oh, well… it seems not everyone is out for a good time.” It was Scott’s frown that told him that.
“You sure?” Tyler watched as Dani blanked. Her eyes suddenly went wide and worrisome at the thought.
“No!” She objected. “No fucking way. Not on my watch, Tyler. Nope!”
“What?” Ben asked frantically. “What’s wrong?”
“Tyler thinks it’s one of them,” Dani pointed to Javi and Scott.
“It is one of them,” as though there were options. “It’s the fucking stick in the mud.”
Dani scowled and physically rejected the idea. Ben watched what Tyler did as Scott, the taller of the two men and the one facing your direction at the bar, couldn’t keep his eyes off you as you laughed at whatever Kate said.
You started to leave and he averted his gaze until your back was to him. You didn’t even look at him when you passed him and Javi.
“Shit,” Dani muttered as you got closer. Boone closed his eyes with a sigh before nodding at the rest of the table.
“It is him,” he admitted and Dani slapped a hand on her face. “I saw him.”
“You saw them?”
“No, him. Leaving her motel room last week.”
“Oh Lord,” Dani nearly wailed. “She’s been sad over him?”
“He is quite attractive,” Ben defended. Dani slapped his arm harshly.
“Dammit don’t say that!”
Tyler sat in contemplation. He had been your friend for years now and knew when things got rough, it could be difficult to overcome them. Everyone had gone through countless breakups and one night stands and situationships that didn’t work out and after a bit, you’d be ok.
Yet he knew it was different somehow.
Even though he despised Storm Par and had nothing but horrible interactions with Scott, there must have been something there for you to cling on to.
And anger had a distant cousin: jealousy.
When you came back to the table, everyone was quiet and observing.
“What?” You questioned each of them.
“Nothin’” Dani said quickly.
“Oh really?”
“Do you wanna dance?” Tyler asked you abruptly. You could see on his face that there was another thought lingering below the surface.
“Right now?”
“Yeah,” he hopped off his stool and motioned toward the group of people dancing to the rhythm of the music. Most were couples, a few scatterings of friend groups around.
Tyler held out his hand to you.
“Don’t tell me a PhD can’t dance, Doc.”
You rolled your eyes, taking his hand in yours. It wasn’t Scott’s, but it would do for now.
“Of course I can, hillbilly. I just do it a bit more sophisticated than you.”
Dani and Boone howled in laughter as you let Tyler take you to the dance floor, spinning you around twice before settling to the score. You danced sweetly with one another as the others looked on from their seats.
Tyler Owens always looked proud to be in the company of his friends. Each plucked from their own little obscure corner of the world: a YouTube daredevil, an amateur late-age scientist, an ex-pr firm reject, a tech fair winner, and you—the science bros internet girlfriend who was a professor of physics.
He adored each of you in a special way that made everyday worth living.
It hurt him that you couldn’t be honest about an action so natural. If Scott had been a one time thing or a many time thing, he would learn to accept it if it meant you would be happy.
He’d want the same in return should a situation arise.
“You know,” he cleared his throat as the song sped up in tempo but came back down. “We don’t really keep secrets from each other here.”
You sighed, looking away from Tyler. Everyone was at peace on the floor before the real dancing began and you tried not to peak at the table as Storm Par settled at the table beside your friends.
“I’m not keeping secrets. I’m not revealing information.”
“Ah!” Tyler chuckled. “Ok, fine… but if I said that even if you didn’t tell us and kept whatever you have with whoever it is going, that we would all be ok with it, that wouldn’t matter?”
“It doesn’t matter,” you said frankly. “I think—“
“That he’s staring at us right now.”
Tyler met your eyes with purity. There was no cruelty or hatred in them for you to think he was being a jerk about it.
You opened your mouth to speak but he denied you the chance.
“There’s a lot of things I could say about it, Doc. A lot. You could’ve picked a nicer dude, not a leech to our operations, someone who cares about people…” he trailed off when he saw your demeanor fall far from his jokes.
“Boone saw him,” he clarified. “He put the pieces together but didn’t want to say anything. Not his place, I guess.”
“No,” you said in soft resignation.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“How long?”
“Not long after we met them,” you confessed. About a year ago. Tyler whistled, his hand inched a bit lower on your back but it was still respectful, you didn’t mind.
“And something he did, said, isn’t sitting right?”
“Yeah… it’s not.”
“Do you want my advice?”
You stayed silent as he continued on. He let the music play out as you swayed. Javi and Kate joined on the floor and their giggles were noticeable from the short distance between you.
“Guys like him… they’re complicated. And I get it if you don’t want to hear it but I’ve been around guys like him my whole life. They can be selfish and unnerving and stupid. It’s like they’re trying to prove to the world that they’re fit to be in it.”
You couldn’t disagree.
“When they find a place that accepts them, they’ll rise to the top of it and not know what it’s like to be at the bottom anymore. They forget about people like us.”
“I think I changed my mind—“ you started to pull away but he tugged you back.
“I’m not telling you to let him go. He just hasn’t been put in a place of uncertainty in a long, long time.”
“He said I was entitled.”
“He’s a prick and I will beat his ass if you want me to.”
You smiled. “No. It’s ok.”
“I will do it, don’t underestimate me,” he smirked. “And by the way he watches you, that uncertainty is you.”
“What do you mean by it?”
“I think you might scare him a little, Doc.”
You did.
Scott’s heart rate rose significantly from the time he entered the bar, saw you, and had to watch you dance with Tyler. Those same words that replayed in your mind the last week surfaced as soon as he sat in the truck and the door was shut.
He was an ass. It was a part of him that he couldn’t escape from no matter how hard he tried. His memories delicately held onto the hours you shared where he felt he could be someone else.
Tyler kept glancing in the direction in which Scott sat as though to rub salt in the wound.
“Can we try not to frown today?” Kate saddled up in the seat beside him. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile.”
“Normal people don’t walk around grinning.”
“No,” she kicked her feet. “But they do allow themselves to have fun.”
“I am.”
She blew raspberries as Javi poured the beer into their glasses. “You are a tough nut.”
“Never not one,” Javi agreed. “Just loosen up, man. The world is bigger than what we do.”
Scott breathed in a frustrated sigh. “I’m fine,” he pressed.
“Not since I’ve met you,” Kate suggested. She looked out into the sea of people. “Maybe we can just all take it easy tonight. Drink some beer, dance, and then find you someone to take home.”
Scott’s voice was muffled by the beer he drank but he shook off her suggestion. He didn’t even really know this girl who appeared to be a phenom of weather patterns. All she had done this week was disrupt their workings and fall on his irritation scale.
“I like the sound of that!” Javi encouraged. “When’s the last time you been laid, huh? 2015?”
Scott didn’t entertain it. He looked out onto the dance floor and saw you swaying with Tyler—a mix of concern and thankfulness levied on your face.
“Ok, ok… blink once if before or twice if after,” Javi continued at Kate’s amusement. “I’m serious, man. We’re gonna hook you up, alright? Kate’s got a six sense for pickin’ the right ones.”
Javi took his turn but the song changed to a favorite of Kate’s and his eyes lit up at the same time hers did. Call it a sign from the heavens, but Scott had been saved from the humiliation of his friend.
Kate dragged Javi to the floor not far from you and Tyler and it gave him protection to keep looking.
Tyler spun you close to Javi and Kate.
“We all have to face our fears,” Tyler told you. “If we don’t, they’re gonna prevent us from what we need in our lives.”
“Did anyone ever tell you that a book deal might be in your future? Words of Wisdom by everyone’s favorite tornado wrangler.” You emphasized with the sparkle of your fingers.
“That ain’t a half bad idea.”
“I’m full of great ideas.”
“Then start thinkin’ of one to remedy this. I love ya, I do. But if you let his shell break you, it will be a hell of a lot harder to handle the road.”
“Thank you, Tyler,” you said earnestly. “I wasn’t sure what any of you would say about it.”
“Well,” he racked his brain for the thought. “You remember that girl Dani was seein’ from Kansas? She might not have been the most perfect but she was perfect for Dani when she needed her. And maybe that’s Scott for you.”
The sound ended abruptly and the speakers let out a deafening tone. A bartender came onto the surround sound to kick off the line dancing that only Tyler could hype up more. Kate and Javi found themselves beside you both and everyone that could fit on the wooden floor ascended.
Tyler clapped his hands together as he stationed himself near the first line. You weren’t too confident in yourself even if you had been doing this since you could walk, so you settled in the spot behind him. Kate was jovial to stand next to Tyler. Her eyes twinkled and you thought back on his words.
Perfect for what was needed.
“OoO, my man!” Javi clapped Scott’s back in surprise as he joined on the floor.
Dani, Boone, and Lily ran to stand next to you, so Javi and Scott took the positions behind you. Dexter cheered everyone on from the table with Ben. The latter took his camera out with his finger on the shutter.
“Don’t step on our shoes now, you hear me?” Lily screeched over her shoulder to Javi and Scott. Feeling emboldened by the two glasses of beer he downed in a record time, Scott ran a hand through his hair.
“Don’t worry about it!” He shouted back.
“Ok Mr. MIT, come to show us how it’s done!” Lily drawled. She tugged on your arm—having missed the conversation prior. Dani’s smile dropped off her face fast.
“I say we place a bet!” She yelled over the music that was getting so loud. Your ears rung as the lights began to spin in different colors. Javi heard the bet and drew closer to Lily.
She pulled your arm with her, sticking you beside Scott. He put his hands on his hips and his elbow knocked your other arm.
“Twenty that he’ll fall on his face,” she suggested.
Javi looked at Scott and contemplated the idea. Scott was distracted by you standing there. He just stared, like a fish out of water in a town not far from one he visited as a kid.
You made him feel like a fish out of water.
“Deal!” You heard Javi agree and before Lily could shake his hand in a deal, you piped up.
“I bet with Javi!” She peeped at you surprised. “Forty says he can!”
Scott never had someone put trust in him like that. It was a damn good thing his mother taught him more than just math and science.
“Ok!” She yelled back, shaking both Javi and your hand.
Before you turned to take your spot as the music started, you took Scott in.
“Don’t disappoint me!” You shouted.
After the last few days, he couldn’t will himself to.
He shook his head, letting a smile grow to his eyes. Dani had never seen it before.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, baby!”
And Scott danced his fucking ass off.
You weren’t sure where it ended or began, but you could feel it coming in your bones.
Not the sounds of laughter in a confined space or the blaring of music—the rapid, unpredictable nature of dedication a person could not admit. It was a funnel cloud below the truck; a spiraling tire on the side of the road blasting its radius toward you.
The cool air at night hit your body like a bucket of water. The squealing of the door to the bar rattled at the force you used to push but it didn’t slam closed as you expected.
Two minutes ago, you were breathing heavily on the dance floor. The stomping rhythm of boots on wood turning your mind blank with every kick and turn. You had found the peace within the steps and let it drive you to a foundation.
Scott had gladly proved them all wrong—enjoying the surprised excitement that emitted from both his and your own team at the way he was able to, standing above six feet, move the way he did. He caught your smile more than once, a resurgence of hope filled him.
At the break of the song, you hung onto Lily’s arm, pointing to the door.
“I need some air,” you nearly heaved.
So you went for the door and he debated on whether to follow but in the business you took up, there was always the possibility of never having another moment.
And if he didn’t strike his fear now, he’d never do it.
“Hey,” he called out to you as the music started up again but you were too far gone. Already halfway to the door by the time he had made a decision. He tried calling out to you again, except his track was cut off by a sweaty Boone.
“Ex-“
“Don’t fucking hurt her,” Boone panted. His eyes pleaded for his friend, for you. “Don’t do it. Please.”
“I’m not—“
“You say you’re not but I’m sure you’ve said it before. But think about it, dude…” Boone got up in Scott’s personal space. “If a tornado hit this building right now and you were the only one left, would you be ok with how this ends?”
Scott saw the earnest plea in Boone’s call. He placed a hard, firm hand on Boone’s shoulder.
“I appreciate it, man.”
It was the first time Scott was decent to him.
Scott left him standing there near the entrance as he caught the door before it slammed closed. Outside, you stood in a cool down position in the orange-yellow glow of the parking lot.
His heart was beating out of his chest. It hadn’t felt that way in a week.
He wasn’t sure if you knew he had followed you. You didn’t turn around and didn’t acknowledge him as the silence overtook. Crickets strung their chords and cars whirled by on the road.
Scott leaned against the brick building under the neon lights with a knee bent.
“Do I scare you?”
You broke the silence after minutes had passed. You kept your back to him but he looked up, folding his arms across his broad chest.
If you turned around, you feared you wouldn’t be able to keep it together.
“Don’t lie to me,” you tried not to sound like a beggar. “Do I scare you?”
“Yeah,” he stated frankly. “Yeah you do.”
“Why?”
You could hear him breathe out. You imagined him looking around for an answer.
“There’s a million reasons why.”
“You can’t name one?” You took the chance to glance at him. His face was half illuminated by a moody blue glow of the neon sign.
“I can name plenty,” he reassured. “I just don’t know what’s too personal to say.”
“There’s no such thing.”
“Fine,” his fingers tapped on his bicep. “You scare me because this game we play doesn’t always feel like a game to me.”
The sex. The getting together in the middle of the night to whisper sweet nothings and cherish a deep connection to feel like it’s nothing the next day.
“You scare me because you’re smart and know what you’re doing when we’re just getting our heads straight.”
Your head tilted to the side at his honesty.
“You scare me because I feel something that maybe I shouldn’t. Because by some stupid chance I can’t have you, someone else will and I can’t imagine seeing them with you.”
Your chest tightened.
“I’m selfish to think that way,” he nodded. “You’re right about that.”
“I was talking about your work,” you confessed. “I think what you do is selfish.”
He didn’t say anything to that because he knew it was also true. Everything he sold to people was a fat lie to make money for a man who already had enough.
“You care about people too much,” he repeated. “And I don’t have enough people to put the care that I have into them.”
“You’re an asshole,” you told him and he nodded again.
“I’d have to agree.”
“You made me feel like shit.”
“I can’t take it back.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “For what I said and didn’t do. I was an asshole and you didn’t deserve it.”
His moody blues were turning the sky sad. A raindrop hit the ground between you.
“I don’t think I deserve your forgiveness,” he continued. “I’ve never been nice to your friends, or you, when we’re on the road. I dislike the way Tyler danced with you—made me want to knock his fucking teeth out but I figured you’d hate me more if I did.”
“He did that on purpose, you know.”
He shook his head, looking off into the grassland beyond the bar. You felt like you were being laid onto an altar for a choice. One that seemed easy but was hard, and one that was hard but the devil claimed it was easy.
“Figures,” he mumbled. “But I deserved it.”
“We’d have to agree there too.”
He looked up at you again. Arms still crossed, he undid them and extended a hand to you as an offering. Scott was not shocked by the hesitation in your steps.
“I think you have a lot of work to do, Scott.”
“I do.”
“And I don’t want to think this is all grandstanding to get into my bed.”
“It’s not.”
“I’m not one to give second chances,” you told him and he dropped his hand in his lap. “But I don’t think what we were doing constitutes as a first chance either.”
You walked toward him at your own volition. The gravel harsh under your heels, you settled with your toes at his. And you fiddled with the edges of the opening to his flannel no different than the collar in the diner.
“This is the only chance I’ll give you.”
Another raindrop fell.
“I don’t intend on wasting it.” Scott’s eyes flicked between your lips and eyes.
In the laws of physics, there is one to triumph above the rest.
The gravitational law states that if a particle exists, it will attract others to them unwillingly—it is simply the natural state of existence.
The pull is magnetic; impossible to pass by the will of your mind, body, or soul. It tugged at the heartstrings roughly. A bridge that connected people from everywhere to be in one singular place at the right time.
Scott’s gravitational pull was too powerful to withstand. It pulled every bit of you into him without remorse—it was blue, red, and the colors of the world within to bloom into spectacles you’d only see when your eyes were closed.
Scott’s hands found purchase on your waist, drawing you into his pull. One of your hands remained on his chest. His erratic heart beat no differently than your own and the other hand grasped his forearm.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered in the night. “I’m sorry.”
You rested your forehead on his. “I know.”
The strength of his pull was strong. Yet it was not strong enough for you to pull your head back.
“Don’t prove I’m right,” you wanted him. He nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.
“Can I be selfish one more time?” He inquired with a gleam in his eyes. Scott ran his tongue over his lips expectantly.
“Oh,” you feigned innocence. “Well, I don’t know if that would—“
He cut you off as he brought his lips to yours, kissing you sweetly. His lips were warm and smelt of a faint cheap beer. Another raindrop fell and this time it hit your face. You ignored it.
You gripped onto his shirt with a fist as he deepened the kiss. Taking one of his hands from you, he cupped the side of your neck to position you as he pleased.
It started to rain in Enid.
In the rain, the laws of physics didn’t defy themselves. The rain soaked into your clothes and into his dark locks to drip onto his face more so than yours. The blue of the neon sign growing hot instead of cold.
You broke away from him, tracing the lines of his face.
“Don’t prove I’m right,” you repeated.
And he didn’t.
A/N: thanks for reading! As always comments, reblog, and likes are always appreciated. I love hearing from all of you and your reactions motivate us greatly! Also ignore the spelling mistakes… I didn’t have time to edit.
three's a crowd~! (logan and scott have a.. bet to settle..) logan howlett x reader x scott summers
navigation ♡ "f(uck)'me" masterlist ♡ marvel masterlist ♡ taglist form here
★word count: 1.3 k
★description: one night, over drinks, logan and scott have a dangerous bet. and there's only one way to settle it...
★content: this is smut. don't like, don't read! MDNI! mfm threesome, humiliation kink?, scott summers cuck, logan fucks, eating out
★dt: @thceseus and @theworstwolvie <333
roe speaks: ...ik i dont really write marvel anymore but come on man... anyway this is not proofread, and is very much a quick drabble type smut <3
it starts off simple enough. a bet. a bet between two weird frenemies, who dont quite get along, but can get behind this,
"bet ya cant last"
"bet ya i can"
"what, as a cuck? ya think ya can last that long?"
"fuck it. tomorrow night. the three of us."
you had zoned out of the conversation, only zoning back in at this crucial moment,
"hey guys - what's happening?"
and ten minutes later, the three of you were buzzing with a strange excitement. the type that had you impatient, unable to sit still at all. it was luck, that had given the three of you the day off - letting you use the day to prep (an everything shower, doing your hair and make up just right to be ruined - the usual), and the other two to stew in their impatience.
scott walks into your room first, a determined look on his face. he says nothing, going straight to the chair you had specifically angled opposite your bed.
the two of you dont wait long, fortunately, as logan bursts into the room, a scowl on his face. he's already pissed and irritated as it is - a good sign, of course. the rougher the better, no? he points at you, raising his eyebrows and gesturing to the bed.
he only gets halfway before noticing scott,
"so ya got here already, huh? how long d'ya think he'll last, peaches?"
"one round."
"if that.."
scott frowns, shaking his head and huffing as he crosses his arms,
"you can't be serious, logan. one round? really? you both have no faith in me, huh?"
the shared grin between you and logan says more than enough, as scott leans back in his chair. logan turns you to face him, lips pressing against your neck as he inhales your scent. the growl that rises from the back of his throat is enough to have your hips already bucking in his grasp. he tuts in response, shaking his head,
"patience, peaches. nothing comes that easy - not even scott.."
you whine and pout, and roll your eyes. logan pulls you closer - tearing off the brand new lingerie you had put on especially for tonight as you moan and complain<
"that was new!"
"i'll buy more."
"with what, lo"
"scott's money..?"
scott sighs, hand already reaching over his aching bulge as logan spins you to face him. he thinks about refusing - complaining and arguing - but the sight of you, torn apart with your hair already a mess as logan practically manhandles you already has him flustered.
yeah, scott's screwed.
logan reaches down, fingers touching around desperately to find that sweet spot he so easily teases over as you arch into his touch. and as his fingers gloss over your aching bud, you tense ever so slightly - a light gasp escaping you as logan doubles down. two fingers press down onto your clit, rubbing hard as scott watches.
you try at first not to make direct eye contact with him, but you really have no choice. especially when he's sat with his dick in his hand - hard and throbbing as he strokes himself. you can practically hear logan smirking behind you as he spreads your legs open, tearing off his own boxers to reveal his thick, veiny cock.
and a quick one two pump later, logan has you hovering above him. he pulls your hips down slow (planning to tease scott, of course. the longer you go on, the harder for him. the better for logan, duh). each inch that passes into your folds is agonisingly filling, and he does not stop until he fills you - to the brim.
"f-fuck, lo, m'so full.."
"oh, i know you are peaches. and look at scott. look at him. dick in his hand, watchin' us like that. ya like that, scotty? yeah, i bet ya fuckin' do..."
scott, who does in fact have his dick in his hand, is far too busy trying not to cum at the sight of the two of you to respond to logan's teasing. he's too busy trying to ignore the heat in his body rising with every slow thrust logan takes.
logan has your legs spread wide open - practically pulling you apart with his hands under your knees, tugging your body up and down as you try to keep up. every thrust has your eyes rolling back, seeing stars as logan seems to be the only one of the three of you with any kind of sense at the time.
scott's no better than you, of course. his eyes are trained - fixed - on where you and logan join. watching how he enters and exits you, thrusting and pumping faster and faster. one of logan's hands leaves your leg to rub your clit again as you try to curl up (not that he lets you - the other hand now holds both legs as open as possible).
the sight has scott unable to hold back - unable to control himself as he jerks his hand back and forth, faster and faster. he cant hold back the moans that spill out, hips thrusting up into his own fist as he really, really tries his best.
"fuck me, scott - shoulda done this sooner!"
"sh-shutthefucku-! up, log-! logan- fuck!"
he only chuckles in response.
you're past sense at this point, babbling and begging for him to go faster, faster, please, please, please, logan! because you just need it so, so bad! you're begging him to cum, and to let you cum - words spiral out of your mouth far before you can even think of them.
his hand leaves your clit, returning to hold you open as he addresses scott again,
"scott. look - fuckin' watch me. watch me go in and out, right now. hey - hey! ya lookin'? good, good, fuckin' watch me fill her up like this. fuck, peach, ya feel so good like this. ya like this? havin' scotty watch us fuck?"
"f-fuck! yes, yes, yes!"
"good girl."
ohhhh, he's evil, logan. he knows that'll drive you over the edge, have the tears rolling out as you cum hard and fast - shaking in his arms as he does not stop. he rides you through your orgasm, pushing you further and further as your nails dig into his arms - the only thing keeping you somewhat sane.
scott, who has been holding himself back just enough to keep himself from spraying bucketloads of cum all over, finally fails. the sight of you cumming like that has him unable to hold back as he cums. thick ropes jerk out of him, landing on the two of you as he continues to stroke his cock. his pace slows down to a more languid, lazy one as he relaxes back into his chair, breath slowly evening out.
logan's last to cum, it seems. he follows soon after scott, shooting up into you as he holds onto you - tight. it's hot, spilling all over you, and out onto your thighs. you whine and moan as he lowers his head to your neck, breathing in the sweet scent of sweat and sex that has attached itself to the two of you.
the three of you stay still for a while, gathering yourselves. and when you think it's over, logan pulls out - laying you down on the bed before calling scott over.
"eat her out, scotty. come on, man, ya gotta do somethin'."
and he does just that. scott summers drops to his knees at the edge of the bed, tongue lapping up each and every thick drop of cum that fills your pussy. his tongue reaches around - dipping between your folds, dragging cum up to your clit as he practically slurps at you.
this time, logan's the one to watch, a smile on his face (from the bet, or the sex?).
and when the three of you are done, you all finally lie in bed together. logan's arms wrap around you - kisses pressed to your shoulders and neck as he reassures you with sweet affirmations. scott's arms snake around your waist, head resting in the crook of your neck as he presses his own sweet kisses across your chest.
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Can we get head cannons on Scott’s girlfriend handling him at night because he gives me the type to thrash and cling in his sleep
A/N- Sorry for forgetting about this… I like to keep far away from people when sharing the bed so this is what it is
Scott is a very tall man. All his muscle also makes him quite heavy.
The bed you two have ended up sharing, despite being a double, was only ever intended to be used by one person.
You like to cuddle in bed, so you often fall asleep huddled together. However this becomes a problem due to his sleep habits.
Maybe it’s trauma from events in his past, but something makes him toss and turn in bed.
“Scott!” You whisper-yelled, shaking his bicep.
“Mhm, yeah?” He groans into the darkness, reaching to pull you closer by the waist.
“You’re turning the bed into a bouncy castle.”
Boone asks why you don’t just make him sleep on the floor, which makes you and Kate laugh.
He treats you like a teddy bear, occasionally he’ll even throw a leg over you.
You do have to admit that his big strong arms make you feel safe, and sometimes you use one as a pillow. He’s never complained about any pins and needles he’s gotten from it.
The best times are when he wakes up with the imprint of a pillow on his face from sleeping in an odd position. You sneakily take a picture of his half -asleep face before he takes your phone, puts it on his bedside table and pulls you so that you’re lying on top of him. His own weighted blanket.
The concept of you writing Scott smut has me shaking..
Scott, thought I'd write you mean. I wrote you pathetic instead 18+ MDNI, smut slop in like 30 mins?
Don't take this seriously
Imagine having one night with Scott Miller.
That cocky, sharp-tongued StormPAR asshole with those stupid sunglasses, stupid dimples, and even stupider smirk. The same guy who’s always gotten his dick wet whenever he snaps his fingers. Yeah, him.
In the breathless instant Scott buries himself inside you, the cut-throat empire of profit and sponsorships dissolves like storm clouds scattering, unmatched by the overwhelming heat of your body.
You grind against him like a whore in heat, fuck him like you owned every inch of that arrogant body. Your nails rake down his back and shoulders as you ride his cock, leaving long, red welts that bloom across his skin. Wet squelches echo every time your soaked pussy swallows him to the balls. Your walls clench and flutter like a flexed velvet fist, milking his dick with rhythmic, greedy spasms that make his eyes roll back. Cream so hard your juices run down his shaft, soaking his balls and thighs until they were shiny with your mess.
Scott cums like a broken faucet after that — bucking thick, endless ropes straight into you, pumping you so full it leaks out around his pulsing cock with every thrust. When he finally pulls out, his spend trails down your thighs in messy white globs, and you just laugh, push two fingers into your wrecked hole to stuff it back in, then pull him down for a filthy kiss. Shit, you even keep his hat.
After that, Scott knows he's fucked.
He tries to deny it, too, that idiot. Uses other women — lonely storm chasers, eager bar patrons who drop to their knees behind his StormPAR truck. Doesn’t matter. Their cunts feel wrong. Too dry, too loose, too quiet. They don’t gush and squirt and cream all over his cock the way you did. They don’t scream his name like they're dying for his cock.
He pulls out soft and angry every single time, cursing under his breath while his dick hangs limp and useless. Even jerking off is a pathetic joke now.
Scott stands in shitty motel showers with cold water beating on his back, reluctantly tapping into the memory of you. Only then does his cock finally throb back to life. How could it not when he recalls: the way your ass clapped against his thighs. The way your tits bounced while you rode him raw. The way your cunt strangled him, how it pulsed and held every drop of seed like rain on droughted earth.
When he pictures your face, mouth slack, eyes glazed, drooling and babbling “Scott, fuck— your cock’s so deep, I’m gonna cum again—” he strokes himself stupid, balls slapping against his wrist, chasing that high until broken moans tear from his throat, until his legs almost give out, until thick ropes splatter the tiles.
That arrogant, once-unbreakable bastard hates how badly he needs to bury his cock back inside your perfect pussy again. He’s addicted. He’s broken. He’s already rock-hard just thinking about it, leaking at the thought of being with you one more time.
Every orgasm and hat he has now belongs to you.
.
@tw1sters @maiamore @theworstwolvie soft launching my bitch? can you really be OOC with 5-10 mins screentime?
I saw the trailer for Marvel Rivals Season 8 and was hyped that Scott was coming to the game. But then they showed the posted of him with a beard, dishevelled in ripped jean shorts. And it unlocked something in me. And by unlocked something inside me, I mean it let me out horny jail. Enjoy this mix of angst and smut.
CW- MDNI, 18+ only, mentions of wounds and unknown torture, a lot of crying, unprotected p in v (wrap before you tap irl), sucking Scott off.
Word count- 2,610
Your leg vibrated faster as you sat on the bench outside the X-mansion. After your last mission, Scott had been kidnapped. The team had looked for him desperately in the following weeks and months but there was no sign of him. Logan had told you to try and move on but you couldn’t. Jean kept getting hints of his whereabouts, brain activity that kept your hope alive. And they found him. One random Thursday night, they found him. Barely breathing, lying in an abandoned warehouse with a fading heartbeat.
But he was alive. Just as you knew he would be.
The familiar roar of the Blackbird got louder as you saw it flying closer. The trees swayed before straining to remain upright as it landed on the vast field in front of the X-mansion. You stood up and rushed towards it despite how hard the force of the air pushed you back. The roaring lulled into silence as the door lowered to the grass below. Slowly, Jean walked out with her arm around Scott’s back to help support him. His arm was draped loosely over her shoulder. Dark facial hair framed his cracked and bloodied lips and gave his hollowed cheeks a more drooped look. The ruby glasses that protected his optic blasts were smashed. You could see his sunken eyes were closed behind them. A large blanket and a foil blanket were wrapped around him though they didn’t hide the torn and grimy X-Men uniform underneath
“S-Scott?” You managed to whisper.
“(Y/N)... Is that you?” Scott asked in a strained voice. His free arm outstretched before him as he blindly tried to find you. You stepped closer, holding his hand in your own before gently placing it against your cheek.
“It’s me… I’m here.” You replied. Scott’s hand slipped out of your grip. He trailed along your shoulder and around your shoulder blades before pulling you close to him. The usual cologne he wore was replaced by the smell of blood and sweat. Jean let go of her hold on Scott as you wrapped your arms around his waist. Despite how he had wasted away, his grip on you was like a trap ensnaring you.
“Scott, I believe it would be best if you come back to the med bay so I can ensure your vital organs are functioning correctly and can monitor hydration levels.” Beast said as he stepped out of the Blackbird behind you both. Scott pulled away and turned to the direction of Beast’s voice.
“Hank, I think I just need a night in my own bed.” Scott replied.
“I insist you follow my directions just for tonight. I would prefer not to risk further internal damage.”
“I agree, love. Just tonight so we know you’re ok.” You agreed.
Scott turned back to you. He knew you both were right but… Scott shook his head.
“I don’t think I can deal with being in another hospital bed tonight.” He said in a voice far smaller, far more scared than you’d ever heard from him.
You met Hank’s eyes and his furrowed brow.
“My friend, I promise I would never-”
“Hank… Please.” Scott cut him off. You looked between the two before steeling yourself. You knew deep down Hank was right. Scott could be bleeding internally and none of you would be the wiser. Another part of you, however, wanted to be selfish. You wanted Scott to be back in bed with you.
“I could take care of him tonight.” You suggested “Dress any obvious wounds, ensure he eats and stays warm and hydrated. And he can get checked out in the morning? If anything happens, I’ll run down the hall to your door immediately.”
Hank grimaced. You could see the internal debate in his expression. He didn’t know the extent of Scott torture any more than you did.
“This is against my better judgement but… Alright. But the second something goes wrong, you come grab me straight away.” Hank relented. You smiled brightly, thanking Hank repeatedly as you wrapped Scott’s arm across your shoulders and began trudging back towards the X-Mansion. Or, in Scott’s case, limping. Jean and Beast stayed only a few steps behind you two.
Scott sighed in relief as he felt the hard wooden floor beneath his feet. The smell of wood polish was a comfort already to the beaten down man. You reached your shared bedroom quicker than expected. You wondered if it was your worry of getting Scott seen or his own desperation to be in bed. To be home.
“Lets get you showered and get those wounds seen to, ok?” You said as you manoeuvred yourselves into the en suite. You helped Scott sit down onto the toilet. You turned back to the bedroom to grab his casual ruby glasses.
“I can shower by myself.” He replied. You handed him the glasses with a frown at the statement.
“Scott, I know you can, but I want to help you.”
“I appreciate it, my love, I do. But I’d like some time by myself, just to gather my thoughts, ok?” Scott finally looked up at you. You couldn’t fully see behind the ruby quartz lenses but you could see the outline of his now opened eyes. Your face scrunched in concern and frustration. But you turned to start the shower. Cold water hit your palm first before it began warming up.
“Fine. But I’ll go make you some food and get the med kit while you shower. And you better call for me if something happens, ok?” You said, finally giving in. Scott smiled, grabbed your hand and kissed your knuckles with a gentleness you had so missed while he wasn’t with you.
“You’re an angel you know that?” He replied as he slowly rose from the toilet. You kissed his cheek as he rose to his full height. The tickle of his newly acquired beard was new and made you giggle slightly. You closed the door behind you as you went off to grab something for him to eat.
You came back a few minutes later with a tray of soup, a grilled cheese sandwich and a warm cup of tea. You held the tray with both hands though one hand also carried a first aid kit. Scott was sitting on the edge of the bed, drying his hair with a towel. Though his lower half was covered by a second towel, his torso was bare. Fresh wounds littered his body. From small, insignificant cuts that seemed to be healing to larger slashes across his back that were still slightly exposed. You winced at the sight. He looked towards you with a soft smile.
“I got your favourite. Didn’t want to bring too much in case you made yourself sick.” You explained as he took the tray from you.
“Thank you.” Scott replied before looking down at the food.You sat down beside him. The steam from the soup began steaming his glasses before he took a spoonful to his lips. At first, he just sat there, relishing the taste of it. The next moment, he was devouring the soup. Each spoonful brought to his lips was gulped down quicker each time. He took big bites out of the grilled cheese as if it was trying to run away from him. You watched in both horror and confusion until he reached the bottom of the soup. Scott exhaled as his body went slack.
“I’m never taking soup for granted again.”
You laughed at the absurdity of his statement.
“Now will you let me clean your wounds and bandage you up?” You asked, holding up the meds kit. Scott pulled a face but nodded. You shifted behind him, intending to start on his back. Gently, you cleaned the wounds with antiseptic wipes. Scott hissed and flinched every so often but you gently shushed him. Apologies fell from your lips each time, even with feather light touches. You moved onto his front. A gasp escaped you as you saw the extent of green and purple bruising around his chest. But you averted your gaze, keeping intense focus on his cuts. You placed plasters on the smaller ones and gauze across the large gaping wounds before wrapping pristine white bandages across his chest. Scott stayed as still as he could as you encircled him with the wrapping. He sagged again as you tied the bandage off.
“That should keep you tied over until the morning. Get it? Because I tied the bandage?” You tried to crack a joke to break the ever weighted tension in the air. Scott huffed out a laugh and cracked a smile. But you knew there was something else on his mind. His hands, just as calloused as ever, travelled up your arms. Goosebumps followed their wake until they reached your cheeks. You nuzzled his palms before pressing a kiss to each. You looked up at him, meeting his intense gaze.
“You were the one that kept me going, you know?” Scott said “Even as they slashed me, kicked me down, smashed my head into concrete. I kept thinking of you. I couldn’t leave this world until I saw you again.”
His words tugged and pulled at your heart strings.
“I knew you’d return home eventually.” You replied. Scott’s hands wandered down to your shoulders, gently pushing you down. The springs of the mattress creaked as you laid on your back. Scott, only for a moment, hovered over you before pressing his body against yours. His face buried in between your breasts with hands gently rubbing up and down your sides.
“I’m home.” He whispered. On instinct, your arms wrapped around his shoulders and neck. Your fingers threaded through his unkempt brunette locks.
“You’re home, my love. You’re safe.” You whispered before leaning down and planting a kiss against his roots. Vibrations rippled through your body. Slow at first but they built up. Scott’s head trembled against your shirt. It was only then that you clocked the shaking breaths and slight sobs. Your arms wrapped around his head, holding him impossibly close.
“Let it out.” You gently encouraged as you kept stroking his head.
Scott Summers, the brave leader of the X-men, rarely cried. But when he did, it was as if he was crying out every single negative emotion he had been holding in until that point. You could feel the tears soaking through the cotton of your t-shirt and onto your skin. His arms wrapped around your bac and held you closer. He was afraid you would disappear and end up an illusion in his fractured mind. But you were as real as he was. The mattress beneath you was real. He could feel the weight of you in his arms. Your fingertips against his scalp were real and the rhythmic movement calmed him. Slowly, his breathing evened out. He was safe.
Finally, he was safe.
Scott looked up, holding his glasses in place. You smiled down at him, warm and inviting. He moved up your body before pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. You kissed him back but he pulled away quickly. You cupped his cheeks, stroking along the cheek bones you so admired. Scott leant forward and pressed another chaste kiss. And another. And another. Only on the 5th kiss did either of you remain their for longer. It was like kissing Scott for the first time all over again. Knocked teeth, trying to match each others movements but failing. But he picked the rhythm back up. His warm tongue entered your mouth, retracing every tooth and crevice inside. Scott's confidence built as a whimper escaped you. His moan was swallowed by the kiss. He pulled away, resting his forehead against yours as his pants ghosted your skin.
"We shouldn't go further, love. I... Don't want to hurt you." You whispered. Scott shook his head as he raised himself up on his hands.
"You won't hurt me. If anything, you'll heal me." Scott replied in a hushed tone as his cracked lips brushed against your soft neck. He planted heated kiss after heated kiss as he went lower down your torso. A kiss ghosted your soft belly before you hurriedly removed your top. Your bra followed swiftly. Nipples perked in the cool air as Scott kissed the waistband of your jeans.
“Please, my darling?” He practically begged.
You bit your lip hesitantly. Half of you wanted to stop, wanted to hold Scott close and ensure he was alright. But… It had been so long since he last kissed you. Since you last made love.
A simple nod was all it took for Scott to undo the button of your jeans. You wiggled your hips as he lowered them down to your ankles. Your underwear followed suit.
"W-Wait." You hesitated as his head went to dip between your legs. Scott lifted his head with a quirked up eyebrow.
"Let me take care of you, handsome." You whispered. With gentle hands, you shifted Scott onto his back. Starting from his cheek, you worked your way kissing down his body. Every scar and bruise received the lightest kiss you could place on him. The closer to the towel's edge you got, the more prominent his erection felt against your skin. Only one tug was needed to free his erection from its white cotton prison. Across his thighs were further scars and blooming bruises. But his cock was unharmed.
You kissed from ball to tip, each kiss more tender and full of love than the last. At the tip, you engulfed in your wet, welcoming mouth which made Scott's head fall back in pleasure. Slowly you sunk his cock inside your mouth until your nose brushed his pubic hair.
“Fuck…” Scott muttered under his breath.
You bobbed your head up and down. Saliva coated his cock and dribbled down to the sheets below. Scott’s hand nestled on the back of your head. Without thinking, he pushed you down harder on his cock. You sputtered, choking as his tip touched the back of your throat so he let up. A wet pop sounded echoed in the room as you panted. His erection slapped against his abs.
“D-Darling. Get on top.” Scott begged.
You obliged without hesitation. His thick thighs straddled either side as you grabbed his cock at the base. Slowly, you lowered yourself down onto him. He stretched out your unprepared pussy but the stretch was delicious. A sign he was back where he should be. His hands settled on your hips as he guided your movements. The grind of your hips was slow at first to help you adjust. Scott groaned with every movement.
“Am I hurting you?” You asked between pants. Your hands clutched his chest as you bounced on him with determination to getting you both across the finish line.”
“N-No. you could never hurt me. But -Ah!- I’m already so close.” He replied as his grip tightened. Faster and faster you moved. Wet slapping sounds and panting echoed from your shared space. The tightness in your stomach snapped as you came with a cry. Scott fucked up into you before finally groaning. Long and strained. You could feel his cum painting your insides more than he ever had before.
Scott panted hard before his chest crashed against yours. His face buried into the nape of your neck. Every pant exhaled warm and wet against your skin as you held him closer. Slowly, Scott pulled out of you. Cum leaked out of your pussy as your thighs trembled from the pleasure.
“Don’t let me go, Scott.” You mumbled as your arms encircled him.
