Tsukiko

His prayers to God immediately started including you the moment he realised you're his person.

He loves having his hands on you. Not always in an explicit sense. He loves tracing all the small details, be it the way the corners of your eyes wrinkle when you smile, your knuckles when you flex it, your pulse beating faster under your skin when he's near.

Before you start dating, while still friends, he picks up on your mood changes instantly and does whatever he can to make you comfortable. This carries on in your relationship.

He loves listening to you sleep. It's not creepy, never with him. he loves the little sighs, grumbles, and coos and wonders what you're dreaming about.

You forget even though he's blind he still can see you. This happens when he quietly sneaks behind you and wraps his arms around you. He laughs softly in your ear when you get startled.

He loves calling you his sweetheart more than anything

He's a light sleeper and anytime you move in the middle of the night, he instantly tightens his arm around you, burying his head between your shoulder and neck.

He acts like his wounds hurt more than it does whenever he comes back from daredeviling just to have you coddle him.

A lot of people like him. Like, like him a lot. You’ve heard there’s even a Twitter account set up just to post live updates about his whereabouts.

People take photos pretty much constantly - though most just manage to capture a blue blur. They film with their phones during fights, creeping closer to dangerous situations just for a better view. A thousand images that make up a mosaic of Metropolis’ biggest hero.

You certainly aren’t one of those silly people.

You know that danger = run. In the other direction.

You’re fairly certain everyone had that taught to them as a child, but maybe that’s being presumptuous. Not everyone has had the same upbringing as you.

Or, maybe, Superman is the exception to that rule.

Though, you swear you’d read his statement in one of Clark’s articles, asking that people avoid active danger zones. Cited civilian injury rates, the estimated cost to the city, and everything.

Do people not read Clark’s articles? You like to think they’re pretty good. You’re definitely not biased just because Clark is your boyfriend.

(You are, a bit.)

Perhaps, it was just another thing that you couldn’t get. That the sight of Superman was enough to warrant putting yourself in danger for.

Either way, whatever the true reason was, you’ve chalked it up to brightness. Or rather, a lack thereof in Metropolis’ population.

It also means you’re probably one of the only people in the city who hasn’t actually laid eyes on the hero.

Sure, you know what he looks like… you think.

Blue suit, red cape, occasionally with a dog.

(That makes him quite a bit more trustworthy in your opinion —but you need to see him with a cat to know for sure.)

And you’re quite alright with that - with not seeing him. Because, to be honest, if you do see him, it probably means you’re in a bit of trouble.

Like—“Don’t run, don’t scream, and we won’t have any trouble.”

Like now.

You freeze on the staircase leading out of your work, hand still on the railing, a little perturbed. You’re sure you don’t know the woman who was coming up the stairs, opposite you.

Her words take a second longer to process. It’s in part due to tiredness and in part due to the noise-cancelling headphones you’re wearing.

So much so that you actually push back the headphones and say, “Huh?” before you realise what she’s said.

Ah, you’re being mugged.

A glint of the knife in her hand confirms it. Well, wielding a knife at you is a more apt description.

You blink at her, dead-tired, and wonder what the hell you’re supposed to do in this situation.

“Good,” The woman flashes you a smile, faux and worse than some of your own masked smiles. She gestures with her free hand towards your bag. “Your wallet.”

You blink again, finally some instinct kicking in to raise your heartbeat and get fear running through your veins. You grip your bag tighter and blink violently again.

Oh. You don’t want to get stabbed. You imagine it would hurt very, very, very much.

What did Clark say to do again?

Your poor boyfriend, despite his size, seems to be the pick of the litter for mugging. That’s why he comes home with cuts and bruises from time to time.

If someone threatens you, just go along with what they’re asking, okay? He’d told you, blue eyes serious. If you do, they won’t hurt you.

You listen to him because he’s survived enough muggings, so he must know what he’s talking about.

Knowing exactly where it is in your bag, your hand dives in— and stops when the woman threatens the knife again.

“Slowly!” She barks, her wild eyes darting between your hand and your bag frantically.

You eye the knife warily, pulse still skyrocketing. Then you wrinkle your nose, because it’s never nice to be shouted at, especially by someone robbing you.

Besides, she didn’t specify any speeds to begin with.

It’s hardly fair. You’ve never been mugged before.

“Okay,” You say timidly, so she knows you’re listening. “I’m moving slowly.”

Doing as she says, you move at a much, much slower pace. You’re not exactly sure what she thinks you might pull out of the bag that could constitute a weapon.

Your notebook wouldn’t stand much of a chance against a knife. Not that you would sacrifice it. Your water bottle, maybe?

“Not that slow,” The woman growls when it’s been a few seconds and you still haven’t retrieved your wallet. “Are you stupid?”

That one stings a bit, with a tinge of frustration. Have you encountered the most indecisive mugger in all of Metropolis?

You swallow back your fear with a shaky inhale. Then wonder if she’s mugged Clark before.

With a shake of your head to answer her question, you pull your wallet out at a regular pace — then hold it out to her. “There isn’t very much money in it,” you tell her truthfully.

Ignoring you, she gestures flinchingly to the ground with her knife.

You follow the motion, then follow her instructions and open your fingers, letting the wallet drop. It bounces once and lands just a couple of inches from your feet.

“Oh, you are stupid.” She hisses, beginning to advance forward, knife still wielded chest high.

You watch her, wide-eyed, breathing coming heavier as your own feet shuffle back, panic spiking. You’re probably going to get stabbed now.

Every first-aid thought you can recall rushes to the front of your mind, furiously trying to remember the acronym for RED to deal with surface wounds.

If she stabs you, you’ll keep it in, you think bravely.

The woman bends down and snatches your wallet up, her knife trained on you the whole time—

“I don’t think that belongs to you.”

There’s a third person in the stairwell with you.

The mugger stumbles back, whipping around with a ferocity that makes your heart a bit weak. She certainly has no qualms about slicing people up with her knife.

You can’t tell where the other person is, same as your attacker. You watch, eyes still wide, as she looks left, right, but there appears to be no one else with you.

Her gaze slices back around to face you, and the knife follows, raised again, trembling this time. “I don’t know how you’re doing that, but—”

“I said,” the voice repeats, sounding nearer. “I don’t think that belongs to you.”

You’re caught between floors. The library you work in sits within a high-rise building, closer to ground-level. There are several stories above you, a roundabout staircase weaving its way up to each floor, but most everyone uses the elevator.

You’d been the last one out of the library. Unless it’s someone from many stories above…?

You both locate the new voice at the same time.

It’s somewhat satisfying to hear the choked noise your mugger makes as Superman drifts down the spiral in the middle of the stairwell.

Funny how the first thought in your mind is how this opportunity is probably being wasted on you.

Sure, you’re being mugged—but apparently getting a save from Superman is a pretty coveted thing, according to the internet. Looking at him now, you guess you can see the appeal.

He’s pretty. You mean, he’s not as pretty as Clark, but, yeah, on paper, you get it.

He’s tall, he’s strong, he’s come to your rescue.

He lands without flourish, his eyes scanning across the situation with a furrowed brow. Then his eyes land on you and he does a sort of double take.

Whatever it is, he focuses instead on the woman before you, one hand held out placatingly.

He doesn’t appear to blanch in the face of the knife. You wonder if super-bravery is one of his powers.

“Ma’am,” he says calmly. “I understand that it’s hard conditions that tend to drive people to commit these crimes. I also choose to believe that you don’t want to do this.”

There’s a tense moment, then, surprisingly, the woman nods tersely. The knife is still shaking in her hand, slowly lowering.

“Alright,” Superman says, offering a comforting smile now. “What is it you need?”

The knife is completely lowered now; the woman transformed from her angry state just a moment ago. Suddenly, she’s skittish. Embarrassed.

“Money,” she murmurs. Then, louder, with a gesture of your wallet, “I need money.”

Superman nods, no ounce of judgement on his face.

“Alright,” he says again. “You don’t need to take it from others, though. There are resources for when you’re in crisis. People who can help. Tonight, I hope I can be one of them.”

He reaches back, one hand searching beneath his cape. When he pulls his hand forward, there are several crisp bills in his grip.

The woman eyes it widely.

She looks up at him as though she can’t believe he’s serious. You suppose that’s understandable - how many superheroes carry cash?

He offers it out.

You realise at the same moment that the woman does that in order to take the money, she needs a free hand.

She glances down at the knife, then your wallet — then tosses the latter at your feet.

It lands with a loud slam in the empty stairwell, making you twitch violently. Superman’s eyes dart to you, a quick furrow to his brows. It’s wiped away in the next second.

The woman steps out, reaching for the cash - but when she pulls, it doesn’t budge.

You watch closely as her gaze rolls up apprehensively to look up at Superman. There’s a tinge of nervousness to her expression now.

“I give you this—” He’s still calm as ever. He should seriously consider being a hostage negotiator, you think. You’d be much worse in this situation. He bargains, “You give me the knife.”

He tilts his head, nodding to the knife still in her grip, wavering at her side. A strand of hair falls over his forehead, curled and the colour of coal.

Again, a little bit of you gets it. He’s handsome.

Not that you’d choose to be mugged again. Or run into danger to see him.

The woman nods again, still tense.

It’s a quick transaction — she holds the knife up, non-threatening this time, and Superman releases the grip on the cash as she hands it over. He grabs the knife by the blade with seemingly no problem.

Then the interaction is done.

With the likeness of a rodent who’s narrowly escaped a trap, your mugger quickly scurries away, down the stairs and out the door you were supposed to be out of 15 minutes ago.

You watch her go, still tensed up, your heart rate still far too near tachycardia for your liking. You can’t tell if you’ve under- or over-reacted in this situation.

The door slams loudly behind her, and you flinch in surprise. You hate loud noises enough as it is.

The slam echoes up the stairwell, empty now, except for you.

And Superman, of course.

“I believe this,” Superman breaks the silence with ease, shortening the distance between you to retrieve your wallet from the ground. “Belongs to you.”

The knife has been hidden away already, as you can’t see it anywhere. When you look up at his face, he’s smiling at you, a softened and comforting expression.

His hand holds your wallet, a well-worn purple butterfly one that your mother has been begging you to throw out for years. It looks small in his grip.

You take it. Nod and make your best attempt at eye-contact, which is barely a glance up, then down.

You say, “Thank you,” but it comes out much quieter than you’d like.

Are you supposed to say goodbye before you leave?

It would feel impolite not to. There’s a good chance he just saved your life. Or at the very least, keep you from getting stabbed.

Should you give him some money?

He did sort of just pay to keep you stab-free.

But finder’s fee is a thing, right?

But, well, your wallet wasn’t actually lost. In fact, you knew exactly where it was the whole time.

Too many questions. You don’t have any answers. Unknowingly, Superman adds another to the mix.

“Are you okay?” He says, taking another step forward, bringing you closer. “Are you hurt at all?”

Fingers flexing on your wallet, you swallow heavily and force yourself to meet his gaze.

There’s a furrow in his brow that looks like concern. Combined with his closeness, the interaction feels oddly… intimate.

“Yes,” you say in response to his first question.

Alarm flashes over Superman’s face. “You are hurt?” He questions, blue eyes already scanning over your body for the apparent injuries.

“No,” you remedy, with a shake of your head. “You asked if I was okay. I am. She didn’t stab me.”

“Oh,” Superman deflates in relief, enough to drop his shoulders a few inches. You’re not sure if this is his usual memo, but you’re a bit taken aback by how much he seems to care.

A different question niggles at you. You ask it before you can think the better of it.

“You carry cash?”

Something close to surprise ripples across his face before it settles into a smile. You spot the dimples on his cheeks, and it makes you think of Clark.

“Sometimes I get hungry,” Superman says, as if admitting a guilty secret. “Can’t exactly use a card to pay, can I?”

You blink at him for a moment before — ah, yes, secret identity.

A card would have been connected to a name. Would a bank let him open an account as Superman? You haven’t thought about that before.

You nod, a little unenthusiastically, because, with the danger gone, what little energy you have is being sapped from you.

“I’m—” You wave at the door with your wallet—remembering mid-way that you still need to put it away (you don’t want to get mugged again).

You bury it away in your bag before you forget, head ducked, before looking back up at Superman.

“Um.”

Wow, no one mentioned the awkward part at the end of being saved.

The one where Superman lingers closely, an expression you can’t puzzle out on his face, and the journey back home you still have to make.

“Thank you. I have to go now.”

Then, before he can catch you with another question, you turn and head down the stairs, feet pitter-pattering rapidly.

Maybe that’s rude - or maybe he’s used to people asking for a selfie, which you really don’t want to have to explain that you’re okay without if he offers. The cringe at the mere thought of that awkwardness is enough to make your skin crawl.

You’re out onto the street in record time.

The streetlights are a little brighter. You’ve missed your usual train. Frustration irks in the back of your throat.

Shaking it off as best you can, you stride fast towards the subway station. In your back pocket, your phone buzzes with a text.

You’ve set it to only do that for important people, so it pulls you up to a stop. You fish out the device, squinting at the screen.

Clark (Lois’ Co-worker): Hey :) I miss you, can I come see you tonight?

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Clark always knocks with a special pattern, so you know it’s him, before you even open the door.

Tonight, when you hear it, it sounds a lot like relief.

You don’t move from your spot on the couch — where you’ve been since you got home — because Clark has a key to let himself in.

A moment later you hear it, his key jiggling into the lock. It clicks with its unlock. The door opens and your boyfriend follows in.

“y/n?” His voice wraps around the corner to find you in the living room. “Knock-knock.”

He comes round the corner of your front entrance into the living room in a manner of steps. Your apartment has a small front entrance. And a small everything else too.

He spots you, seems to melt a little, and a smile spreads across his face.

“There you are.” He sighs, the sound laced with relief. As if maybe you wouldn’t be here, even though you said you would.

He’s wearing his work clothes still, but one of the buttons of his dress-shirt —the one you sewed back on— has been put in the wrong hole. You wonder if it’s been like that all day. He nudges his glasses up his nose.

“Hi,” you say. You haven’t moved, but you’re already beginning to smile. “Why do you say knock-knock when you’ve already knocked?”

Clark grins wider at your question, rounding the couch and moving to sit next to you.

He pauses when he notices the boots still on your feet, and instead, he kneels beside you.

He’s going to take your shoes off for you, you realise with an ache of love.

“To be polite, I guess,” He answers you, flashing you another smile. He beckons your foot forward, and when you shift it slightly, he begins the task of undoing the laces for you. “Let's you know that it’s me who’s coming in.”

“That’s what the knock is for, isn’t it?”

Finished, he pulls on the boot, and you give your ankle a little wiggle to help him. It slides off.

He starts on the next, giving a little shrug. “Yeah, but still, it’s nice to do. Maybe you didn’t hear the knock.”

He tugs the other one off, and when it comes free, you slump a little further into the couch, happy to have one less thing touching you. Clark notices, as always.

“Rough day, huh?” He says sympathetically, pairing your boots together. “Give me a quick sec.”

He rises to his feet, your shoes in hand, and quickly deposits them at the door. This time, when he’s back, he finds a spot on the couch next to you. Close, but not touching.

“Alright for a kiss?” He asks.

It’s one of the things you and Clark do to make sure he’s not overwhelming you. Particularly after tiring days—much like today.

But a lot of your usual boundaries break down for Clark. Because he waits. Because he asks.

You nod, because yeah, a kiss sounds like something you need right now. “Yes, please.”

Clark smiles again, dimples appearing, and he leans in slowly, his hand finding the curve of your jaw. He waits for the adorable hitch in your breath.

Kisses from Clark are a bit like coffee to your system.

His lips are warm. The feeling it gives you perks you up. You sink into him, letting him sap some of your tiredness.

You don’t even realise how much you’ve let yourself rest on him until he’s pulled back and you’re still leaning into his hand. He doesn’t make a move to pull it back though, so you figure it’s alright to rest here a little longer.

“Rough day?” He asks again, a little quieter this time. His thumb swathes across your cheek dotingly.

You nod with a sigh, and it moves his hand in time with you.

While he’s still close, Clark dots a kiss on your hairline, soft as sunlight. He keeps his tone low as he murmurs, “Want to tell me about it?”

You cast your eyes downward, thinking back to the stairwell. It had been scary, but ultimately you’d been okay.

Really, you’re most miffed about the change in routine.

It’s evidently not safe to take the stairs anymore, but you don’t want to have to start taking the elevator now.

The one at your work was old. It creaked and juddered terribly before it got to any floor. It wasn’t anything like the nice one in Clark’s apartment building.

Pulling back from Clark’s gentle hold, you let yourself slump back against the couch instead. Clark follows suit, matching your position, his head leaned up against the back of your couch. His hair looks particularly tousled tonight, you note.

“I have to start taking the elevator at work.” You say.

Clark blinks, bewilderment passing across his face so fast you almost don’t catch it.

“Oh,” He says, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice. A moment later it’s replaced with his usual compassion. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry. Did something happen?”

You give a little shrug. “Not really. Like, nothing technically.”

That makes Clark squint just for a moment, thinking hard on your words. He chooses his next carefully.

“Did something… almost happen?”

Which, well, yeah, a lot of things almost happen every day.

It feels like a vague question, but you know Clark isn’t prone to asking those. Even so, you shrug again, unsure how to answer that correctly.

Instead, you tell him, “I met Superman today.”

That makes him sit up a bit straighter.

“What?” He says. “Why? I mean, what happened?”

You shrug again. You’re shrugging a lot tonight, maybe because you’re not quite sure how to put it.

You were almost mugged? You were in the middle of getting mugged when Superman stepped in and said, ‘Hey, mug me instead’?

“A lady at work had a knife,” you say candidly. Then you hear the words and quickly correct yourself, “Not a lady from work. She was just at my work. In the building.”

Clark frowns, thick brows knitting together in the middle. “A knife? Was anyone hurt? What did she want?”

He’s usually better at not asking so many questions in one go, but you forgive him this time. If anyone showed up at his work with a knife, you’d be pretty worried too.

He sounds pretty panicked as well, his voice a little more strained than usual, discomfort obvious on his face.

A bit of your stress must show on your face, because Clark’s suddenly filled with apologies: “Sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to ask so many questions or overwhelm you, honey. I just — I’m surprised you didn’t call or text me about this.”

For the nth time, you shrug again.

“Technically nothing actually happened. She just tried to mug me.”

“She tried to mug you?” Clark repeats, brows raised. His voice is pitched up a bit, which isn’t like him. He breaks eye contact, staring at your coffee table with a strange intensity. “Gosh…”

Tracking your eyes to the coffee table, you check to see if there is something specific that’s caught his eyes. Finding nothing, you nod to answer his question.

“Which, I tried to tell her I don’t have much money, but she didn’t care.” You frown, recalling the interaction. “She was quite mean, too.”

That makes Clark frown too. He nudges his glasses up again.

“So, I have to start taking the elevator now. So, bad day.” You explain, with a put-out pout, already sighing at the thought. “It’s like a superpower that you knew to ask to come over tonight.”

That makes Clark laugh for some reason, a loud barked-out noise that he clamps down immediately after he makes.

“That,” He says, adjusting his glasses once more. “Ha, well, I actually wanna ask that every night. Just got lucky, I guess.”

His eyes widen. “Not that you getting mugged was in any way lucky! Just, y’know, lucky that I… happened to text.”

He’s nodding along so much, you feel you should nod too.

It feels nice to know he wants to spend every night with you - and nicer that he knows you need some nights by yourself. Tonight isn’t one of those.

“What did you think of, uh, Superman?” Clark asks after a moment. He’s stopped fidgeting with his glasses, but his fingers toy with his tie, giving away his nerves.

It’s sweet. Clark has always been a sweetheart. You also know he and Superman are sort of friends. As you’ve learned over the years, that probably means he wants you to like him too.

“He was… nice.” You say, making sure you’re not too honest.

He had been nice. He’d also been… well, a bit too nice for a stranger. Stood a little too close. Was that wrong of you to judge when he’d saved your life?

You decide that if he’s Clark’s friend, you won’t speak ill of him.

“Nice,” Clark echoes, nodding enthusiastically. “That’s good, right? I noticed you, uh, don’t have much to say about him. Not like a lot of Metropolis.”

You’re not sure if that’s a compliment or not.

“He’s… Superman,” you say with another little shrug. “I don’t think he cares too much about what I think of him. He’s busy saving the world.”

Something in your words must be funny because Clark’s grinning again, his fingers no longer fidgeting with his tie. Instead, he reaches for the knot of it, beginning to loosen it.

“I’ve got a feeling he cares,” Clark says, blue eyes bright. “He cares what everyone thinks. But Superman-Schmuperman, enough about him. Have you eaten yet?”

The way he says schmuperman is enough to make you giggle. Clark gets that besotted look in his eyes that you just adore. You shake your head to tell him no, you haven’t eaten yet.

He makes breakfast for dinner for the both of you.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

You do take the elevator when you head back to work the next day.

It creaks and it judders in that terrible way, but it delivers on its intended purpose and gets you to your floor. Does the same on your way home.

It’s a new normal that you’re gritting your teeth to come to terms with.

Except, surprisingly, apparently not.

Because come Friday morning, there’s a sign taped over the doors with a big arrow directing people to the stairs.

And when you enter the stairwell, you’re far from the only one taking the stairs.

“What happened to the elevator?” You ask one of your coworkers, the first words out of your mouth when you get behind the desk.

It’s Sandra, a nicer older lady who wears perfume a bit too strong for your sensitive nose. But she never yells when you wear your headphones on quiet shifts, so you decide you like her.

“Oh, didn’t you hear?” She says, eyes glittering. Sandra also loves gossip - which is a good and bad thing. Today, it’s good.

You shake your head. Sandra’s eyes shine brighter.

“Some big-shot reporter at the Daily Planet published a scathing review on how poorly kept up to code the elevators in Metropolis are. Name-dropped our building. Big advocate for us less-than-able folks.” She taps her leg, the one with the bad knee, and grins.

“Body-corp had to step in. The whole thing is being replaced.”

You feel your eyebrows raise, surprise parting your lips. You have a feeling you already know who wrote that article.

“That’s good news. Do you still have the article up?”

She nods, then waves you closer, behind her cubby at the main front desk. Her monitor has a dozen different tabs open, but like you, Sandra seems to know exactly where everything is.

She clicks her mouse, and the screen reloads.

A Daily Planet-style article fills the pixels, with the familiar globe spinning on its axis in the corner. Your eyes search, and even though you’re half-expecting it, your heart still lurches.

There, the byline.

Written by Clark Kent.

Which—oh. It never stops being unexpected, the ways in which he loves you.

Your knuckles rise to your sternum without thought, pressing in to try to calm yourself.

“That’s really good news.” You say, smile a bit wobbly. The strong dose of affection passes after a moment, and you speak a little clearer, “I hated the old elevator.”

“I know you did,” Sandra hums knowingly. “Don’t you have a boyfriend at the Planet?”

You smile because it’s nice to know other people are paying attention to you as well as those who are supposed to. Even simply co-workers.

“Yeah,” you say, pressing your knuckles harder again, just in case another wave threatens you. “Uh, yeah, I do. That’s him.”

“Oh!” Sandra lights up at that news - and you briefly wonder if it’s a mistake to have told her. But she smiles sweetly, goes to put her hand on your arm and then seems to think the better of it.

“That’s wonderful. He seems like a good egg.”

You’re not quite sure what she means by that, but it sounds like a good thing. Smiling, you give a little nod.

“Yes. He’s… very nice to me,” you say, almost bashfully. “I love him a lot.”

“How sweet,” says Sandra, though she’s already turned her attention back to the screen. You see her mouse move, drifting up to Clark’s name, blue and linked. She left-clicks with a satisfying click!

That feels like your cue to leave. Quietly, you readjust the bag on your shoulder, treading past Sandra and her oogling stare, now zooming in on your boyfriend’s work identification photo. Guess that's what you get for telling her.

You just catch the last of her words as you turn into the backroom.

“Well, he’s nice to look at, but he’s no Superman…”

You smile to yourself, think of your darling Clark, and quietly disagree.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Post-attempted mugging, you like to think you have a pretty uneventful week.

Beyond the elevator replacement, which started kicking in on Friday, nothing much happens that you would warrant calling an ‘event’.

Well, nothing that affects you in particular.

A kaiju finds its way into uptown. Superman and Justice Gang fight it off.

You, as always, don’t join the swathes of foolish people who run towards the dangerous sounds of battle.

It all goes down on a Sunday, the day you always go over to Clark’s to make dinner with him. Thankfully, his apartment isn’t affected, and the battle is all wrapped up by the time you'd planned to head over there.

The elevator makes your stomach swoop, as always, and you nearly knock the fresh chives in your bag loose by accident. You silently hope you picked a good enough cauliflower for tonight’s dish.

At his lime-green door, you rap your special knock — then, after a moment, let yourself in with a key.

This is usually where you’re greeted.

Tonight… You stand in the entranceway of Clark’s apartment, and he doesn’t come to meet you. So you strain your ears. There’s water running.

Wandering further in, you deposit the bag of groceries atop the countertop and pause, head tilted. The kitchen looks clean. Nothing’s been started, not even a chopping board out on the bench.

It’s odd behaviour for Clark.

You follow the sound of running water to the bathroom, walking slowly.

You’ve been here countless times, but without Clark greeting you, it feels wrong to stroll around as if you own the place. You don't call out — though you probably should, as it might help you locate him.

“Honey.”

You jump, even though he’s spoken softly. You turn to where the noise came from. Head poked around the bathroom door, Clark looks… a little worse for wear.

There’s a cut on the bridge of his nose and his left eye has definitely taken a punch, evidenced by the yellowed skin around it. He’s breathing a little heavily.

“Hi,” he says. “I know. Looks worse than it is, promise.”

It does look bad, you agree. But he smiles so brightly that you can’t imagine he’s not telling the truth.

“What happened?” You ask worriedly, especially as Clark cringes at the question. “Did you get mugged again?”

Something relaxes in Clark’s face, and you think it might be understanding. He nods ruefully. The bright smile is back on his face in an instant.

“Did you find a good cauliflower?”

You blink, surprised by the change in topic. Though, he had complimented you in the past on your particular penchant for picking perfect produce.

Maybe he likes this dish you make — cauliflower steaks — a little more than he'd let on. He's impossible to get an opinion out of sometimes; you maintain that anything you make does not qualify as a favourite food.

“I did.” You nod. “It’s in the kitchen.”

Somehow, you can’t leave without offering help. “Do you need any help? I can find the arnica, or—”

A shake of Clark’s head cuts you off, his handsome smile still at full beam. “No, no, I’m almost done. Had, uh, had some arnica already. Just give me a minute in here, and I’ll meet you in the kitchen, okay?”

Six minutes would’ve been a more accurate time estimate.

You try not to hold it against him, especially considering he's obviously had a bad day already.

You manage to mince five cloves of garlic, then wait, because you like cooking with Clark, then begin chopping the chives before he appears in the kitchen.

“All better,” he says, sidling up behind you, hands reaching out to gently rest on your waist.

You put down the knife and turn in his arms, eyeing up the new improvements.

The bridge of his nose is now sporting a light pink bandaid. The bruising on his eye already looks better — which makes you think it was just the lighting of the bathroom making it look as bad as it did.

“Was it a woman?” You ask.

“Wha— what?” Clark trips over the word.

“Your mugger. Were they a woman?”

You want to know if it was the same one who tried to take your wallet. Though, she had a knife, and Clark looks like he got punched. Unlikely to be the same perpetrator.

“Uuuh,” He draws out the sound, thinking it over, even as his hands on your waist pull you in closer. His body presses against yours, warm and firm. “I don’t think so. If I had to guess, I’d say… gender non-conforming?”

His earnest choice of words makes you smile. You reach up, hands carefully finding a resting place cradling his jaw. "Progressive," you say as a joke.

Clark laughs, and you feel his hands around your waist give an affectionate squeeze.

He leans in and kisses you quick, a hello — and you pat yourself on the back for only giving a little bit of a strangled inhale in response.

"Did Superman save you too?"

The second after you ask the question, you feel a bit silly. Superman has been uptown all day, flying around and doing whatever it is he does to fight against kaiju's. He probably couldn't have—

"Uh, yeah." Clark says after a moment, nodding. One of his eyebrows twitches strangely. "Yeah, he did."

He looks a tad apprehensive, mouth pursed, eyes not quite meeting yours.

You deduce that the mugging, as you're now familiar with, is probably not something he wants to talk about. Feeling a tad guilty, you change the subject.

"I'm worried people aren't reading your articles."

You say this as you release his face, and Clark's hands instinctively loosen their hold to let you turn back to the countertop.

Someone has to keep cooking, and you've already been sidetracked once tonight. There's not a schedule or a time limit, but there kind of is to you.

Besides, you know it has to be you keeping dinner on track.

You're pretty sure if it weren't for your insistence, Clark wouldn't mind spending all his evenings wrapping you up in his arms, doling out kisses galore.

The thought makes your face burn. You focus on your grip on the knife; instead of the vibration of Clark's surprised laugh you can feel against your back, resuming your chopping.

"You're…? Sweet girl, why are you worried about that?"

Hearing him call you something as nice as sweet girl makes you feel as though you've swallowed a firework.

It burns all the way down, hot and bright, and finds a home behind your ribs. It takes a long moment to compose yourself, hand-halted, and a bite to the inside of your cheek to do so. After a moment, you start chopping again, a little slower this time.

His surprise has made you second-guess the logic you've followed.

Maybe he'll think you're being daft. (He wouldn't). Maybe he'll entertain your theories just because he loves you. (He would). You um and ah over whether to tell him.

Clark hasn't put his arms back around you, which you're thankful for because it's distracting and it makes it harder to chop.

He's instead stepped to the side, leaning against the bench to stay close.

You finish with the chives, put down the knife and reach out, the counter digging into your stomach slightly as you pull the bag of groceries closer. You decide to tell him.

"Well, the kaiju today," you begin.

You pull out the cauliflower, handling it with two hands. It's hefty, nearly the size of your head — but it wasn't pay by weight, so it's a steal you're proud of. The market usually yields well.

"Good cauliflower," Clark compliments. You brighten up at the words. His gaze softens, his smile a little fonder.

"The kaiju, please continue."

"Right," you nod. "I was on 14th Street when it, like, arrived. So, pretty close. Maybe like four or five blocks? But I've noticed this — and this is why I'm worried that people might not be reading your articles — because you wrote that Superman piece, where you interviewed him and asked about civilian safety?"

The end of your sentence goes up a bit, becoming an unintended question. You glance over at your boyfriend, reassured when he nods to say you're correct.

You make the first slice into the cauliflower, splitting it right down the middle.

"And I remember it because you asked me to proofread that one, though I remember a lot of your articles too, but this one had that really helpful statistic about the likelihood of civilian injury rates increasing or decreasing based on civilian responses."

Carving out the 'steaks' takes a little more focus, so you stick out your tongue and halt talking for a moment. Clark makes himself useful, disappearing from your side to dive into his cabinets.

"Keep talking, I'm listening," he assures you.

"Well," you continue, "you remember the five categories?" You feel yourself over-explaining his own article to him and wince. "Sorry, you wrote the article, you know. Sorry."

Cumin, coriander, salt, and pepper find their way to the bench beside you, little glass jars glinting beneath the lights. "No need to apologise."

"Okay," you say. If Clark says it, it must be true — he's the most truthful person you know. Maybe besides yourself.

"The category, the reckless one? I can't remember the number it turned out to be exactly, but it was high. Do you remember?"

Clark has pulled one of the oven trays out and placed it beside you on the countertop, preparing to place your meticulously sliced 'steaks' on it.

A sunny-coloured oil has been drizzled along the bottom, greasing it up. You hear the whir of the oven somewhere to the side, behind you, beginning to preheat.

"Yeah, yeah," Clark says, back to his spot beside you, prodding his glasses up with a knuckle. You hope they don't hurt the cut on his nose.

"The likelihood of civilian injury increases to 70% if they exhibit reckless behaviour during an active emergency." He rattles off the statistic easily.

"Exactly," you say.

Where did this conversation start again? Your brain jumps around, trying to find it — cauliflower, mugging, Superman.

"Right," you pick up the thought. "But when I was out there today, a lot of people started going towards the kaiju. But I remember in that interview, Superman said he wanted people to do the opposite."

You realise you're still holding the knife, but there's nothing left to chop.

You place it down on the board, twisting and leaning your hip up against the counter.

Clark's tall — tall enough you have to lift your chin to look at him properly. You let your gaze roam over his face attentively.

He's so handsome. He's always handsome, and you love seeing him in his suit and tie, but dressed casually, like he is today, is a treat.

He's in loose jeans, wearing a quarter-zip jumper. You can see his white t-shirt beneath it.

His hair is tousled and loose, barely dried from the shower he must've taken earlier.

He's still smiling at you, now half amusement, half something else. His dimples beg to be kissed. You're barely restraining yourself.

You wonder if the look in his eyes is what novels would describe as starry-eyed. Either way, it undoes you in a quiet, gentle way.

"That's why you're worried?" He questions.

One of his hands snakes forward to find the curve of your neck again, cupping your face gently. It's as though he does it without thought, like his hands have a mind of their own and they're all about touching some part of you.

You feel your heart rate go up at the touch. Then you see Clark's smile widen a little — though the two can't be connected.

"Yes. Why would people go towards danger?"

Clark's thumb begins its familiar swatch across your cheek, one of his favourite motions. He tilts his head a little, giving your question some thought.

"I think some people want to see Superman."

"They'd get in danger for that?"

"Apparently," he shrugs, looking suddenly bashful. "It's good to hear that you wouldn't, honey. And to hear you're concerned about who's reading my articles, but trust me, if people weren't, Perry would've had my… backside some time ago."

That's true. While the logic you followed to assume people might not be reading Clark's work is somewhat sound, the truth of his boss is a far stronger point of reason.

You've met Perry just once. He's very to the point. You weren't fond of the smell of the cigar he carried around with him.

He'd taken a look at you, the one time you'd dropped off lunch to Clark after he'd forgotten it and raised his brows, turned to your boyfriend, and said, "Well done, Kent."

It had taken a minute before you realised he had been referring to you when he said that — which led to you fleeing the scene with haste.

Clark had made up for it with dozens of kisses later that evening.

As Clark begins seasoning the 'steaks', pushing his sleeves back to reveal toned forearms, you ponder over his words.

Ponder the idea that Superman was worth running towards danger for.

You think back to your interaction with the hero and puzzle over it, but it's not something you can seem to make sense of.

You can't think of anyone you'd do that for.

Turning back to face the countertop to help Clark, falling into that Sunday-evening rhythm, you sneak a look at him out of the corner of your eye.

He catches you and pokes out his tongue, nudging you softly with his elbow.

You laugh, such a common sound in his kitchen, and think: yeah, maybe for him.

For Clark, it would be worth running towards the danger.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Your uneventful luck runs out.

It runs out rather quickly too. It hasn't even been a month since the mugging - or mugging attempt, you should say - when something happens on the subway.

Living in Metropolis, there's a sort of intuition one gains for otherworldly interference.

Like knowing when your subway car screeches to a halt as though someone's pulled the emergency brake, it is not for maintenance reasons.

It happens jarringly.

Which, well, there isn't exactly a non-jarring way to pull the emergency brake, but it's the word that springs to mind when it happens.

The lights overhead flicker once, twice.

Then, with a most awful screech that dives under your skin, it is as though the whole subway car slides to the left.

It doesn't.

Actually, you and every other person within the subway car are the ones who move.

The half-car full of people gets shoved suddenly to the right, the force of the abrupt braking enough to knock everyone off balance. Distressed noises go up all around.

You're sitting down, on one of the edge seats, but it doesn't stop you from getting banged around.

The unanticipated halt mobilises you, pushing you harshly into one of the handrails.

You collide forcefully, not prepared enough to stop your head from snapping against the pole.

It's your forehead, right above your left eyebrow, that takes the brunt of it.

Pain radiates. It splinters across your forehead with an agonising throb, causing you to yelp in response. You clutch the pole tightly, just in case the subway car plans to throw you around again.

The lady who's sat next to you has slid over in the commotion too, ending up pressed up against your side.

She wiggles back as soon as she gains her balance, which you're thankful for, but she's focusing on you too closely for comfort.

On your forehead, more specifically.

"Shit, kid," she says worriedly, mouth downturned. "You're bleeding."

After she says it, you can feel that she's right. There's a warmness to the pain on your head that's dipping dangerously close to light-headed.

Your fingers reach up, grazing the wound—and the pain burns hot again, fiercer this time. You wince, regretting touching it.

You bring your hand down. Scarlet paints the tips of your fingers.

The lights flicker again.

Then go out for good.

It's as though you've inhaled a mouthful of smoky panic. You're not the only one, the distressed sounds of the car climbing in volume.

"What's happening!?"

"Someone's pulled the emergency brake!"

Several torches click on, phones held up to cast the subway car into moving, white lights. Shadows jump across the walls, tall and pointed.

"What? Why!?"

"Yeah, why would someone do that?"

"How the hell are we supposed to know that, dipshit!?"

You shrink down in your seat, overwhelm crowding in on you rapidly. The subway car seems suddenly far too cramped.

Is this car smaller than usual? The loud noise is enough to make you tick — having to consider what may have caused the delay in transport begins to pick at your stitching.

You try to take a deep breath, finding it too shallow.

No, it's fine. It's fine. You're travelling home, and you'll be late, but just by a little.

It's fine. You can still be on schedule. Clark won't mind if you're late.

Clark!

You remember your plans with him tonight with a sinking feeling. You fish out your phone, already drafting the text to tell him you're going to be late, but the sight on your screen stops you.

No bars. You're in a dead zone.

Cool. That's fine. No, really, it is, you tell yourself. If it had been Darren, maybe, yeah, a little worrying would be warranted.

But Clark would understand. He's late himself from time to time.

Your fingers clench tightly around your phone as you force yourself to take another deep breath.

There's an unnerving crackle over the PA of the subway, and as your eyes adjust to the dark, you see every face in the subway car tilt upwards, listening.

"Good evening, passengers on the green line." A voice filters through, the words buzzy and distorted. "We apologise for the abrupt stop. A bank on Meridian Avenue is currently undergoing a robbery, in which explosives were used to access the vault."

It's less shouting and more murmurs that ripple through the crowd, passed from one person to another. Anxiety festers, a well opening within your chest.

You exchange a glance with the woman beside you, your eyebrows creased in concern.

You regret it when your head gives another blazing-hot throb of pain in retaliation.

The subway, which had been slowly drifting, finally reaches a standstill with one final shudder.

"As you may or may not know, the green line passes directly beneath Meridian Avenue for several blocks, including beneath the bank in question. Due to the use of explosives, it is highly unsafe for any trains to continue on their route."

Unease seems to evaporate in the subway in an instant, replaced with a grumbling annoyance — as if everyone can predict what's coming next. You cling tighter to the pole for stability.

"The fire department has been contacted for your extraction, and they are on their way. Sit tight folks; we're hoping to have you out by the end of the hour."

A loud, synchronised groan erupts from the passengers. You glance down at your phone, checking the time, and grimace. It's 5.09pm.

"We'll keep you updated if anything changes, and we apologise again for the inconvenience to your day."

Then with a fumbling click, the PA disconnects and goes silent.

The subway car, comparatively, does not. Several voices burst out at the same time.

"Oh my god, so we're stuck here?"

"I can't be here, I have an appointment!"

"Lady, we all have places to be, okay?"

"The fire brigade? Can't they call in Superman?"

"He's probably fighting the robbery, idiot."

You don't much like the continued outburst, nor the idea of being here for the better part of an hour.

The lady beside you, in scrubs, you now realise as your eyes fully adjust to the dark, seems to be in agreement. She's muttering under her breath, annoyance evident in her tone.

She catches your gaze — making you feel guilty for watching her — but, surprisingly, she seems to perk up. You realise after a moment it's because you've provided her with a task.

"Let me get something for your head," she offers, diving into her purse before you can answer. "I always keep a little first-aid kit with me."

The kit she pulls out you wouldn't describe as little.

It's the size of a lunchbox, tin and has a graphic of Superman on the outside, blue, red, and gold.

She pulls it out onto her lap, unclipping the latch and flipping back the lid. Inside boasts several bandages, wipes, and bottles with labels you can't read in the low light.

She pulls out a wipe and holds it up, facing you. You blink, then realise she wants to wipe the blood from your face.

"That alright?" She asks, gesturing with the wipe.

The task is distracting you too, you realise. Feeling a bit awkward, yet thankful she's helping, you nod tentatively.

It stings like all-fire — enough to draw a hiss up your throat. The woman makes a sympathetic tut, but she's good at her job because she doesn't let it deter her.

Sterile alcohol mixes with your blood, slowly clearing it away and bringing a blistering agony to the surface at the same time. You grimace, eyes screwing shut, which only serves to agitate it more.

She makes quick work of it. You try not to look at the concerning shade of pink the white wipe turns, sullen with your blood, and watch her dig around in her kit again.

"Shine that over here, will you?" She says to the person on the other side of her - a young-looking man with a nervous disposition - and he obliges hastily, looking rather relieved to have a task as well.

A rustle of plastic as she digs around. A bandage or two between her dexterous fingers.

"Is it a bad cut?" You ask mousily.

"It's not too bad," she tells you, glancing over with a kind smile. "Just bled a lot because it's on your head. It's a little thing."

Another blister of pain rises to the surface when she presses the first bandage to your forehead, nimble fingers warm and calloused. The bandages are small and white, which you recognise as butterfly stitches.

That makes you panic a little more, but you trust in her words. She is wearing scrubs after all.

(It occurs to you that, technically, anyone can choose to wear scrubs. A glance at her clipped Metropolis Central Medical ID makes you feel better again.)

"There." She gives it one final press, making sure everything's in place. "Just to keep it closed so it doesn't keep bleeding. You got someone to check on it later, hm? I know it can be difficult putting bandages on yourself. Probably a good idea to change them sometime tomorrow."

"Yeah," The knowledge of Clark's worrisome state when he sees the state of you is enough to make you smile, still a bit shaky. "My boyfriend can help me. Thank you."

"Don't worry about it, kid."

She sets about packing her first-aid kit back up, moving slowly and precisely. You suppose she has no real reason to hurry— not with the expected 50-minute wait time.

You lapse into silence, the pain in your forehead dulling down to a quiet throb as you fold your hands up tightly in your lap.

Silence, you notice, has become contagious within the subway car.

Voices that had shouted now became muted, murmured, low and whispery. Like you're all hidden beneath a thick blanket together. One thick, concrete blanket that separates you from the bustling world above.

One minute slips into two, then five, then twenty.

You can only wait.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

There's never a day where Clark doesn't love being Superman.

He's serious. It's never a chore, never feels like a job. Some days the responsibility of doing what he can to help Metropolis, to step up and fight the battles others can't — well, it's hard not to get a little chummy over the immense honour.

Then some days it gets… a little tedious.

Not tedious in a spiteful way! More in a tiresome way.

Like, for his sake and for everyone else's, it would be nice to go more than 48 hours without criminal activity being inflicted on the city.

But there's no rest for the wicked, or so they say.

Which means, if you squint and read the fine print beneath that, no rest for Superman.

Today's villain of the week was a pack of thieves with the very original idea of robbing a bank.

There's no crime that Clark likes, but these cases he dislikes more than most.

He's been around this block enough to know the stories that will unspool in the interrogation room — raised rent, medical bills, one bad accident that dries up years' worth of savings in a single afternoon.

It's tough — one of the tougher injustices that he knows he can't fight with the cape on.

It all adds up, though. Tonight's foiled robbery marks another case in Clark's latest project at the Daily Planet, investigating the wealth disparity and the links to money-motivated crime.

As Superman, Clark's had enough run-ins with this kind of crime that he could probably estimate an accurate percentage in his sleep by now.

Unfortunately, an eyeballed number from a superhero with a secret identity doesn't fly with Perry.

So it's still a work-in-progress kind of project — and it stays shelved until people are out of danger.

For the most part, they are.

It's not imminent, but perhaps the only danger the passengers of the green line subway are potentially subject to at the moment is boredom.

Clark had tuned his ears in to a police scanner as soon as trouble started kicking up, ensuring there weren't any civilians being sent closer to the danger zone without knowing.

He'd advised the officers on the scene to send firefighters in for the people on the subway, but now, staring down at the dark, winding tunnel of the subway tracks, he knows he's beaten them here.

He sighs heartily.

It's not their fault — public funding, job cuts, the works.

Yet, at the same time, he wonders how he might explain to you why he's so late coming over tonight.

Maybe he should send you a text now — but that feels a little selfish with so many people still stuck, waiting for help.

Besides, he's since learned that flying with a phone is a recipe for disaster. His phone is tucked away in his work clothes, hidden on a rooftop somewhere — but he could reach it in a split second.

He peers down the tunnel again, X-ray vision peeling back the darkness. A scattering of human bodies present, just over 200 feet away, caged in by metal.

It's a short flight to find the first carriage.

"Man, this shit sucks," he hears a man inside say, slumped on the ground and leaning up against the seats. "Where's Superman when you need the guy, huh?"

"Did someone say Superman?"

It's as good an entrance as any — and it actually gets a few inhabitants within the subway car to perk up — but Clark can admit it's not his best.

Face forming a sheepish expression, he sucks his teeth.

"Golly, not my best. My apologies, folks." He says it all as he scans over the crowd, flicking in and out of X-ray vision, hunting for serious injury. Coming up with none, he smiles, genuinely relieved. "Now, who'd like to get out of here?"

This inspires a more merry response from the despondent crowd of people — enough that the grimy window between carriages fills up with new faces, eager to know what's causing the ruckus.

It's quick-fire from then on.

Word gets passed down, chatter and shouts of 'It's Superman!' that get the remaining passengers crowding forward into the first carriage.

Clark tries to keep it quick for everyone's sake. A brief introduction ("Hi, I don't believe we've met before; I'm Superman"), then an explanation that he can fly them ("It will be windy, and I will have to hold you - but perfectly safe"), or they can wait for the fire brigade if they would rather not fly ("You can't be on the tracks, ma'am; they're electrified").

So far, everyone's opted in for flying.

It's not slow per se, but it does take time—humans are much more fragile than Kryptonians. He can't exactly fly at his usual top speed.

But bit by bit, the crowd dwindles down until there's no one in the line to be rescued that he recognises from the initial first carriage.

He surveys the length of it, tallying up how long it might take to move them all.

The minutes stack up. The length of time between now and getting home to you is feeling immeasurably too long.

He tries not to worry about how late he is. It's futile.

He pictures his abandoned phone in the pockets of his slacks, buzzing and ringing, going unanswered. Then he pictures you on the other end, your retro landline pressed to your ear, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth in the adorable way you do.

You're good at lots of things. Unfortunately, worrying about Clark is one of them.

He sighs silently to himself. His worry doesn't speed up this darn unfortunate situation that these folks are trapped in. It does lend him some more food for the thought of telling you his big blue secret.

For now though— "Hi there, I'm Superman, in case we haven't—"

"—we have."

The familiar voice finally snaps Clark out of his distracted trance, and he turns with a haste that surely gives him away. His furrowed brows and concerned face are no help either.

Because it's you. Here. On the trapped subway, waiting in line like all these other passengers.

With a bandage on your forehead that you definitely didn't have this morning.

Several thoughts clamber over each other, each vying for Clark's attention. You're here—which means you're not waiting for him, thankfully—but you're hurt—and how do you keep getting into these situations?

He, intelligently, opts for simply staring at you and saying nothing.

"We have met." You clarify, suddenly looking a bit more awkward. "You stopped that mugger for me."

Right! Right. Because you have met Superman before, when he'd had to intervene at your work, just earlier this month.

He opens his mouth, but the strangeness of it all halts his words.

It's just… It's been months since he's seen you look at him this way.

Obviously, given he's a stranger to you as Superman — but it's a reality check like nothing else.

The way your shoulders curl in. The tightness of your mouth. You make yourself smaller, and the eye-contact you do give looks far more painful than usual.

He hadn't realised, not until right now, just how much closer you'd grown—how you usually gravitate towards him.

You glow and grin, you nudge him, touch him, you laugh like it's the easiest thing. It's apparent now, the stark difference when compared to that very first day on the train.

Except, there seems to be an extra frostiness to your character right now. Probably something to do with being stuck in a subway car for an hour or so.

Only when you shuffle on your feet, an awkward motion, does Clark realise he still hasn't said anything.

"Yes," Clark breathes, and immediately he clocks his tone as too relieved — too fond for a stranger. He clears his throat, nodding with purpose. "Yes, yes, I can recall. At the library."

You nod to confirm, expression still tight and your gaze still averted.

The question wrestles out of Clark's mouth before he can stop himself: "Is your head alright?"

There are two little bandaids on it, but there's still a bit of dried blood in your eyebrow. Concern swims up to the surface, pooling in Clark's heart, urged on by his feelings for you.

You're not accident-prone enough for this to be a common sight. The sight of your blood inspires a protectiveness he struggles to curb.

You touch your forehead gingerly, brows pinching together in pain. "Yes. That's what the bandaid is for."

Your bluntness nearly makes him laugh, like it does when you're home together.

He squashes it for a smile, for the sake of not making Superman any stranger to you. If he laughs, you'll probably think he's laughing at you.

"Alright, I'm going to have to pick you up now, if that's alright?"

You nod stiffly. Clark does a motion he's done a thousand times before— one hand around your waist, another behind your knees.

He reminds himself to treat you as a stranger, keeping his hands polite, even as they beg him to pull you in closer.

It's one of the oddest flights of Clark's life. You're stiff as a board in his grip, actively leaning away from his chest in a way that can't be comfortable.

When he reaches the platform, where people are still milling about, waiting for others from the train, he can't help checking in again.

It's with a gentleness he sets you down, the words already out of his mouth, "Are you sure you're alright?"

He expects another brush-off - that's what most civilians do, frazzled from whatever situation he's happened to save them from - but he certainly does not expect— "I have a boyfriend."

Clark blinks down at you, your standoffish posture.

He notices the step back you'd already taken and your clenched hands at your side — the same thing you do when you're working yourself up to tell a waiter your food is wrong.

And—oh.

Your standoffishness is cast into a new light suddenly, which is that you can perceive his fondness — which in itself is a feat, considering how long it took for you to get together in the beginning.

But you can tell — somehow, somewhere under the suit, beneath the hero name, some part of you intrinsically recognises him.

Knows what he sounds like trying to keep the affection from his voice, knows the ways in which Clark Kent loves.

It had been a journey to convince you of it the first time around, and now, you can't unlearn it.

You can see it, even if you don't know why.

Clark smiles, throat a little thicker with the knowledge that he's very, very well loved. "He's a very lucky man," he says, completely genuine.

You nod assertively. "He is. And me, I'm lucky too."

You seem relieved by the change in his tone, that he isn't upset with you for being unavailable. "Thank you for rescuing me. And him — you've done it a couple of times, I think. He's quite muggable, apparently."

You nod, a little jerkily, and Clark can't help but grin this time. He knows he should get back to the subway - especially with other civilians waiting on him.

He can't resist one last word, "You're welcome. Please be nice to your boyfriend if he's home late, okay? It's been a hectic day for everyone today."

You give him a strange look, eyes narrowed like you don't comprehend why he's given you advice.

Maybe you're even piecing it together, connecting the blue dots that lead to his secret. He decides that, after today, he doesn't mind the idea at all.

"Okay," you say hesitantly.

"Okay," Clark echoes, with a professional Superman nod. "I love you."

It's pure instinct that pulls from the words off his tongue - a habit that he's never broken since he first found that list, all those months ago.

Now, he'd been so caught up in his gooey thoughts of your loyalty that he didn't even consider— he hadn't thought—

Uh oh. Your face says it all. Utter surprise and that same awkwardness creeping back in, your hands clenching back up.

Damage control, quick!

"And I love you!" He says, quickly turning and pointing to another person on the subway platform. They look surprised, perking up, pointing one finger to their chest as if to say Who, me?

"And you!" Clark can't stop now; he's probably overdoing it, but your hands are still clenched up.

He gestures a bit too wildly to the rest of the crowd, who have, humiliatingly, all started paying rapt attention. "I love… all citizens of Metropolis!"

He spots the glint of a phone camera in someone's hand.

Oh, cheese and crackers, he thinks to himself in dismay — already imagining how Justice Gang will have a field day with this video.

Gosh, even his damage control needs damage control. With a stilted and awkward nod, Clark remembers he does actually have a job to finish here—taking a few steps back and taking flight back through the subway tunnel.

Wind rushing past his noticeably warmer ears, Clark doesn't doubt it'll be an interesting conversation with you tonight.

Regardless, with one final glance over his shoulder, he can't help but think of it as the final sign he needs.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

It takes you until you're at least halfway home, stopping right in the middle of the sidewalk, to remember that you should text Clark.

The love confession from Superman, the subway stopping—either could be responsible for providing a rampant distraction. You're really late now, without any forewarning.

You hope he's at least let himself in and made himself comfy in your space while he waits.

Though, you should text him about what happened on the subway.

It had worried him so much last time, not knowing about the mugging - not that he seemed annoyed with you, thankfully. You pull out your phone and narrowly avoid getting shoulder-checked by a stranger, stepping to the side just in time.

You're still sort of frazzled, so the stranger's rudeness manages to bounce right off you for once.

You're staring at your phone, eyes a bit glazed, when a text slides onto the screen. You blink, focus, and it takes another second to comprehend the words.

Clark (Lois' Co-worker): I got held up at work, sorry! Still coming over :) See you soon! I hope everything's okay with you.

It's a relief. You're not sure when he sent the text, it says delivered just now, but at least he was late too.

Acutely, you realise you'd actually have been quite miffed if there was no update from Clark, given how off schedule you are.

Which, well, that in itself was surprising—Darren had never cared about your lack of updates. Or rather, he seemed quite happy to never bother to give you any.

Obviously, it had taken some time to adapt to Clark's nature - where caring is as easy as breathing.

And now it's not him that surprises you; it's your own expectations.

The want to know there was someone waiting on the other side of the line, prepared to leave the light on for you.

It's… a nice feeling, knowing that you expect it now. Knowing that it's what you deserve.

You send off a text, short and to the point, and find yourself rushing a little faster back to your apartment.

Lights on, shoes off, coat off, lamps on, big-lights off. You go through the motions of getting yourself comfortable in your home, and it soothes your hackles the way only routine can.

You just get around to taking a peek into the fridge, though your appetite is missing, when there's a familiar knocking pattern on your door.

You know he has a key — you meet him at the door anyway.

"Hi honey," He's talking before he's even in the door, all rushing and flustered in a way he often isn't. "I'm real sorry I'm late—"

"Clark," you interrupt. In an uncharacteristic move, you're reaching out first, your hands resting on his arms, pulling him in so you can be nearer. "It's okay. I just got home too. We're both late today."

The door snicks shut behind him, and Clark matches your touchiness with ardour.

His hands slide along your arms to sit on your lower back. They're so warm. You tilt your chin up and think of how lucky you really are that he keeps coming around to see you.

"I'm still sorry, I—" He's talking as he slips his shoes off, til he notices the bandage on your forehead, eyebrows creasing. "What happened to your head?"

"I hit it," you explain. "On the subway. It stopped a bit fast."

Clark looks relieved at that. His shoulders fall, but his hands on your back tighten, tugging you in a little closer. You scuff your foot and step on his accidentally. He doesn't appear to mind.

"Didn't you get my text?" You ask.

He shakes his head. "My phone died, and I had to stay late at work but, all day, I had a bad feeling that you were in trouble."

He's not smiling like he usually is when he looks at you. His concern is still there, pulling down the edges of his mouth, changing his handsome face.

"I'm okay," you assure him, hands shifting up, sliding up to loop around his neck.

One of his hands shifts up, delicately drifting over the bandages, but not quite touching.

"You are?"

He's frowning at the wound as though he can heal it through sheer sympathy.

"I am," you say.

"You're sure?"

You can't help but smile, because usually you're the one double-checking everything. Your smile seems to settle something in Clark because it's what gets him to relax, a relieved but tired-sounding sigh escaping him.

His eyes soften on you, lashes kissing together at the ends, a sheepish smile pulling on his pink lips.

"I'm sorry to fuss. I get it from my Pa." He leans in and kisses just beside the split skin of your forehead, a quick peck.

You shrug in his hold, suddenly feeling a bit shy. "I like the fussing, I think. When it's you."

"Yeah?" Clark says, eyes brighter. "Good. Great. I love fussing over you. Did you eat?"

You shake your head. "No, but a lady on the subway gave me a muesli bar, so I'm not too hungry."

"I can make you something later, if you like." He says, easy as pie. "What about the subway? Want to tell me about what happened?"

You don't, you've decided. Now that he's here, in your arms, a part of you that doesn't arise all that often has awoken.

You shake your head, still smiling, and push up on your toes. "I just want you to kiss me."

This time, it's Clark who takes a little inhale before your lips reach his. His surprise gets muffled against your lips, but there's no part of you that can doubt his enthusiasm when he kisses back, arms tightening around your back, pulling you ever closer.

"Kiss you?" He murmurs against your lips, his smile melting into a grin. "Absolutely, ma'am."

It's like a floodgate opens. Clark's hands shift down, gifting a squeeze to your hips before— there's sudden motion, and you squeak against his lips as you're abruptly hoisted up into his arms without warning.

He carries you like you weigh nothing, strong hands gripping your thighs, bracketing you against him. The show of strength - the display of desire - sends something white-hot down your spine. You're on the same wavelength tonight, you can tell.

And he does it all without breaking the kiss.

Clark is devastatingly good at kissing you.

He kisses, kisses, kisses your mouth, like it's all that he wants, like he's envious of everything else your lips have touched.

It feels a bit unfair, you decide, that he just seems to know how to flip every switch to turn you on. Something warmer is definitely pumping through your blood, feeding itself on Clark's insatiable kisses.

But his adeptness, paired with how fervently he kisses you, strikes a sudden, uncomfortable thought in you.

The thought that he may have been holding back—for your sake.

You know couples tend to have sex a little earlier on. Some people even have sex with people they barely know. You're not one of those people.

Clark is also pretty good at not assuming. What you do or don't want— you like that he just asks.

But, still, there's some beaten-in worry from past experience. Where people get to know you and all your finicky ways, they start assuming what you want, without ever just asking.

It starts as care. It always ends as overshadowing.

Pulling back from the kiss, you ask outright, "Does it bother you that we haven't had sex yet?"

Because it's true. In the eyes of the law, if you had to pick a standard, you and Clark have fooled around but done nothing more.

In medieval times, you'd likely have brought shame on your family for not consummating the marriage.

(Not that you and Clark are married at all, in any way - though the thought brings a hot flush to your face. He'd be a very good husband.)

Clark comes to a stop, still holding you up effortlessly. His cheeks splotch a jammy colour, his expression coloured with surprise. "Wha— we've- I mean, we've had sex." He seems unsure, as if your question has perplexed him. "Haven't we?"

"I mean penetrative sex." You clarify.

Clark blinks, still holding you halfway through the doorway. His glasses are slipping down his nose and you slip your hand up to press them back up. You leave it there, cupped on his cheek.

"No," he says easily, his eyes searching yours. His brows pinch together. "No, it doesn't bother me. Does it bother you?"

You shrug.

He asks, "Do you want to?"

You find it a peculiar question.

"Do I want it to bother me?"

"No," Clark laughs - not at you, never at you - back to that ever-endeared smile you think might be reserved only for you. "Do you want to, uh, well…"

It's somewhat amusing to see Clark fumble for the right words, the pinkness of his cheeks reaching up to his ears.

"Is that something you'd want?" He says finally, cheeks still the colour of strawberries, but something more set in his expression. "I don't mean to be forward, especially if this isn't something you're interested in, but I… I would like to."

You feel like you don't think about sex as much as the average person. Well, there's thinking about it, and then there's having it.

It had been one of the points of strife in your last relationship. You've been trying hard not to measure yourself against other standards — trying especially hard not to compare it to the one and only other person you've slept with, Darren.

Clark is different. He's proven that a thousand times. You'd quite like to know what that kind of sex is like with him.

Given everything else you've tried, each and every lusty feeling Clark's managed to draw out from you with just his fingers, you can't imagine it will be anything other than maddeningly good.

"I think so, yes." You say decisively.

After a moment, with Clark still unmoving, you realise you've forgotten your manners. "Please." You tack on.

He's still as pink as ever in the face, but your politeness seems to knock him out of his train of thought.

There's a moment where his gaze roams your face with ardent affection — then he's leaning in again, mouth finding yours, a kiss that sets your stomach stirring.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "I can - we can, of course, honey. No need to say please."

His feet finally begin to wander, this time towards your bedroom.

You let yourself fall into his kisses, let him carry you to bed, let him kneel upon it and lay you back like you're a princess in a fairy-tale. You feel like one, being carried around in his burly arms.

He begins to kiss your neck. It tickles, so you giggle.

You might not quite fit as a princess in your mind, but Clark is definitely a righteous knight.

"What?" Clark asks, pulling back from your neck, eyes shining brightly.

"You're like a knight." you tell him, reaching up to bury your fingers into his hair. "I bet you'd look really good with a sword."

Clark laughs, the sound like spun-gold, and catches one of your hands trailing through his hair. He plants a kiss on the palm of your hand. "Sweetheart, you sound delirious." Another kiss, this time to your knuckles. "I love it. I love you. I'll be your knight."

You really like that idea. He's already so good at being devoted to you that you're not really sure what would change.

"I love you too. Please keep kissing me." You say, a little breathier than before.

Clark obliges, more than willingly.

Together, you fall into the familiar dance, heated and close, lips chafing as the kisses come easily.

All the while, you can feel it—the drizzle of something hotter pooling low in your gut. The buzz under your skin. The rabidness that rears up in response to being kissed so readily, so hungrily.

It's a kiss-fest.

And your neck must be a feast— is what you would be thinking if there was any comprehensible thought in your mind, with Clark's mouth on your pulse point.

He’s so good at what he does — so good at knowing just what you like.

He kisses messily, licks gently, and nibbles teasingly, and you give up a myriad of gaspy-sounding noises in response.

His hands move in small motions.

One hand stays planted on your waist, his fingers caressing in small, baby circles. Stable. Reliant.

His other hand is more exploratory. His thumb dips beneath the fabric of your shirt, drawing a slow, skirting line across the skin of your stomach. It feels like molten lava. The blood beneath his touch sings gloriously.

You shudder and clutch his back — enough to make him pause.

"Okay?" His voice is lower, his breath a bit more ragged. It never takes much for him to get like this, you've found. "Need a breather?"

You shake your head, because the last thing you want him to do is stop. There's a heat gathering between your thighs you desperately would like some relief for.

"No," you say, but it's a bit shaky.

He takes your word for it - which is still so nice. He trusts you to know yourself, even when you're unsure yourself.

But this part isn't new to either of you. Clark leaves your neck riddled with lovebites until he coaxes your shirt off you, after asking ever-so politely in a rasp that only adds to your growing lust.

He doesn't near the clip of your bra — you've told him you feel a bit sexier when it stays on — but still drags his fingers across the seam of the cups, his eyes darker, with a hum, "You're so pretty, honey."

The sheets are soft against the bare skin of your back. The sounds in the room are sweet, heavy.

Your low-light lamp paints the ceiling golden. Clark's hands are focused on the edges of your pants, fingers curling in only slightly.

It's a rhythm you know well. This lead-up, this push and pull, where you and Clark reduce each other to kiss-flustered messes in your bed.

The fact that this desire is a well-known feeling now makes you feel so damn sweet on Clark, so in love, you want to bury your face in your pillow. It's the same firework feeling as when he called you sweet girl.

You feel your hands on his back begin to tremble, so you tip your head to the side and press your face firmly into the comforter.

You don't want Clark to take it the wrong way, even if you've done this before.

You don't want this to be the time it's too much for him - not when you'd asked him. You try to swallow down the big emotion as subtly as you can.

Clark notices — because he always notices.

His mouth is pressed to the hollow of your throat, and you feel it pause, then feel him shift up, face to face with you. "Honey?"

"M'okay," you tell him honestly. You squeeze your eyes shut tight to try to control that buzzing rabidness that's running rampant beneath your skin.

You can't tell if it's making you uncomfortable, just that it's a lot - but you still know that you really don't want Clark to stop.

Especially when you move, shifting one leg up to press against his hip and feel the hard shape of him against you. A heady warmth throbs between your thighs. God, he's so hot and nice, and he's all yours.

"Just-" It comes out jittery, the word barely beating your sharp inhale.

Your eyes are still closed to keep the sensations at a minimum. Clark, lovingly, stays as still as he can for you.

"Just, it's like, being wound up. It's good. You make me feel good, just it's," A jagged exhale now. "A lot. I haven't felt it - like, it hasn't always been this way for me. I'm worried."

You finally open your eyes, and Clark's above you, his dark hair messier than usual. He's still pink in the face, dimples showing, blue eyes fixed on you.

"You're worried?" He asks sincerely.

"Yes."

A beat, his smile a little less now. "About what?"

You try to consolidate it all down into one sentence. A car whirs by outside, a kiss of wind brushing past your window.

Your hands slip forward, one holding his neck, to feel for his pulse. The drum of it grounds you.

"That it's not going to be good," you eventually say. Then, the more truthful answer. "That I'm not going to be good at it. With you."

Clark studies you for a moment, his maddening dimples disappearing as he thinks it over seriously.

There are no rushed assurances. You're thankful for that — people don't tend to mean those as much.

"Do you trust me?" He asks. "To be honest with you?"

He swallows thickly as he says it but holds his attention on you strong. You're so used to feeling unnerved by eye-contact, but Clark's gaze is like the buttery warmth of the sun. You glow beneath it.

"I do." You say. "You don't lie to me."

You watch Clark's throat as it bobs with another swallow. "Right. Well, then you know I mean it when I say there isn't anything you can do wrong."

Another car engine drones by on the street. His words take another second to sink in.

There isn't anything you can do wrong.

It's such a sentiment, such a wholly encompassing love he offers you, that you struggle to comprehend it. Surely, he can't mean…?

You're so used to it being a problem somewhere. Your different ways, your particular needs — it's always a thing.

You didn't realise you've still been waiting for it to crop up between you and Clark.

There has to be something he can't handle. Something you do wrong — because you always do something wrong.

You have to double-check. "Nothing?"

Clark shakes his head with vehemence, curls flying. He grins, dimples back on display, and gives another squeeze of your middle. "Honey, everything you do is right."

He says it like an oath. Now that's a goddamn sentiment.

One that feels less like a firework and more like a shooting star to your system. Bright, burning hot, right into your sternum. You choke on your next inhale, hoping you aren't making some ugly emotional face.

You can't really put into words what it means to hear it. You try your best.

"That's," you bite your lip, hard. "That's really nice." Despite how you try, you still sound a bit teary.

"Oh, sweet girl," Clark crowds in close, peppering kisses across your face.

He doesn't kiss you on the lips, like he can sense you need the oxygen. One dots your forehead, then your temple. His care only feeds your craving for him.

It takes a second to compose yourself enough to ask him, the words still a bit shaky when you ask, "Can we keep having sex even though I almost cried, please?"

Clark pulls back, expression earnest. "Absolutely."

He kisses you now, like he's sealing the promise.

You hum into his mouth, letting him taste the gasp in your throat when his fingers find your waistline again, deftly working open the button of your jeans.

You don't want him to stop kissing you, but it's impossible to wrangle your jeans off without it.

He works them off your ankles and then looks back up at you, warm hands resting on your calves. "Do you want to keep your socks on?"

"Yes, please."

"Okay, honey." He grins again, like every word out your mouth is endearing.

He begins working on the buttons of his work shirt, getting them off much faster than you have in the past. You get too excited to focus on such little motions.

He sheds the button-up and it makes a pale pool on your bedroom floor. He's wearing a white undershirt beneath it - that's quickly removed too.

His arms shift up, reaching behind his neck to pull it over his head. His biceps bulge. The sight of Clark's chest, tan as the rest of him, broad, and made up of pillowy muscles you know are good for sleeping on, inspires a feverish heat in you.

God, you're the luckiest girl in all of Metropolis.

You watch him, feeling like the whole world is soaked in honey, everything sweet and golden and good.

There's more kissing. Clark is so very attuned to you; it's like he can sense the tides of your desire as it washes in and out.

Too much time spent on removing clothing, however necessary, and you get finicky and worried. Kisses soothe it all away.

You're holding his shoulders, toned and strong. The cords of his muscles shift under your palms. You have the delirious urge to bite him — or give him a hickey right between the pecs, where the trail of hair begins.

He's so handsome. You love his arms, his chest, his stomach. You give thought to calling off the sex so you can spend the evening kissing every inch of him instead.

Clark discards that thought for you with a touch of his fingers.

He eases you into sex gently, deft fingers drawing a warm line up the inside of your thigh. When he reaches the apex, his fingers give a soft rub through your underwear, just the right pressure.

You burn hotly, lust brushing at the fringes of your nerves, and try not to squirm too much.

"Clark," you murmur his name — it's half a sigh of relief, half a plea for more.

"I got you, honey," he says easily, increasing the pressure, his thumb angled more precisely. His breath fans across your stomach. "M'just going slow, making sure it's gonna be good, yeah?"

The cotton between your legs grows stickier, and you can't resist shifting around. You're still not used to this - to it being this good.

He makes you feel unwound. You're not used to being so unstitched around anyone else. But it's Clark, so you trust him.

"Okay," you say breathily. "I love you."

Clark smiles— not that you can see it with your eyes closed — but you feel it against the skin of your stomach. He kisses your navel. "I love you too."

He works you open with his fingers, slow and gentle, with that coo in his voice that keeps you tethered to reality.

You can feel the sweat on your lower back, the tightness in your chest, but it's all overshadowed by the drool of pleasure that's aching through your core.

The air is heavy, swirling with the scent of lovers, imbued with the little noises that escape you.

Clark knows they'll haunt his dreams; the hiccupy gasps, the breathy groans. The sound of his name in your mouth, soaked with pleasure, makes him a little light-headed with how fast his blood rushes south.

At some point, Clark loses his pants, though if you tilt your head, you can spot them at the edge of the bed. He's wearing plaid boxers. There's a trail of hair on his stomach, leading down into them.

The quavering feeling returns, the tremble to your body that isn't so much to do with pleasure.

Clark checks in, blue eyes focused on your face, both hands stilled where they hold your hips. His fingers are still slick, and they feel cool against your blazing skin.

"You're doing good," he tells you, low and gentle. "Take your time, sweetheart."

You take a deep, staggering breath and nod to let him know you hear him. Your hair scrunches against the sheets.

It helps too. You can feel every tingle upon the surface of your skin, but you're trying to think that isn't a bad thing.

He's told you that you're doing good — he told you that everything you do is right.

The overwhelm you feel, the breathers you take — it doesn't have to be good or bad; it just is.

He loves you all the same.

It's a different sensation when he eases himself in to you, fire zinging up your spine. An ache like no other settles between your hips.

But there's something new in Clark too, a furrow in his brow, his bottom lip trapped behind his teeth. His chest heaves, and desire-drenched sounds drag from his lips, a beautiful low moan.

This is different. It's not him taking care of you. It's you together, taking care of each other.

Your back arches off the bed, chest pushed out, as he buries himself in you at a slow, sensual pace.

The shooting star feeling remains in your chest, driving your hands to wander fervently — you cup his face, stroke his neck, coax him down and finally give in to the urge to bite his shoulder.

Clark groans, a deep sultry sound that begs you to widen your legs. You whisper to eachother, admissions of love, pleases, and thank-you's too.

When it's over, the room smells like sex. It's humid in a way it wasn't before.

There's a satisfaction that's bone-deep, a happiness that wriggles through your veins and comes out in the form of a very content sigh.

Clark is much the same, his face half pressed into your pillow, back still rising and falling with his breaths. He's smiling, but he looks a bit tired.

You comb your fingers through his hair because you can't stand to not be touching him right now.

People talk of soulmates, and you think that, given the probability of that being true, combined with the statistics on finding them with all the billions of people on Earth, it's probably a bit of hogwash.

Well, you did think that. Whether or not they exist, found or made, there's some part of Clark you think might be made just right for you.

Fate, as he first proposed to you. It feels like the only explanation for this — for Clark. For the easiness in which everything comes with him.

Your nightstand clock tells you it's late, evidenced by the darkness outside too.

It's been a long day. You stroke through Clark's curls, his eyes resting closed, and the orgasm loosens your tongue. You feel compelled to tell him what happened earlier today. You don't like to keep secrets.

"Clark," you say, smiling when he makes a little mhm? in response, peeking open an eye. "Superman said 'I love you' to me today."

That gets his attention. Both eyes open, blinking at you across the bed. He pushes up, resting his head in his hand, then clears his throat.

"Oh," he says. "Well, actually, about that." He looks as though he's steeling himself, and a tinge of worry feathers through you.

But then Clark says, "The thing is… Superman didn't say I love you; I did."

You blink at him. The words don't comprehend. You know what you heard today.

"What?" You ask, genuinely confused.

He seems to realise a mistake he's made. "Crumbs. Sorry, I'm not trying to be elusive. I'm trying to tell you that I'm, uh, …I'm Superman."

You still can't understand.

You can hear the words, can understand what they mean individually, but you don't get what he's trying to tell you.

"I don't understand," you say, pressing yourself up to sitting. This feels serious.

"I'm Superman," Clark repeats gently, not rushing or annoyed. It's you instead who is getting frustrated, because saying it the same exact way isn't helping you.

"Clark," you say, voice a bit thin. "I don't understand what you're saying. Please don't just repeat yourself."

He matches your position, sitting up to face you, sheets pooling at his waist. He reaches out, a caring touch on your knee. "Superman, the superhero that flies around, saves the city, blue suit, red cape?"

You nod, following so far.

"It's me. I'm him." He says with an exhaled breath. "I'm not from Earth. I have abilities that humans don't. I spend my spare time trying to help people as best I can — which is why Superman said 'I love you' to you."

The touch on your knee rises, fingertips brushing your cheek delicately. "Because he's me. And I love you."

He chuckles a little bashfully, his eyes dancing away for a moment, his hand dropping. "And sometimes, saying it is too much of a habit to realise you still don't know this about me."

You blink, and this time, the explanation strings together in a way that makes sense.

The revelation sinks its teeth in. Clark, your beautiful, doting boyfriend, is also Superman.

Superman is Clark. Superman is your boyfriend. You're… dating Superman.

Another owlish blink. You can't help but think of all his articles.

"You interviewed him. You interviewed... yourself?"

Clark's expression turns sheepish. "Yes, I have. I- I do."

He knows to let it sit. Let you turn the new information over in your mind, shaping it into new questions and discoveries. He's Superman.

You think back to all the encounters over the last month — the almost mugging, the unexpected closeness, the way he seemed to know that you'd had a bad day. Because he did know.

"It's why you're late." You say, not a question.

For some reason, that makes Clark blush, as though he's embarrassed by his rudeness. "Most of the time, yes."

"How come you don't look like him?"

Clark reaches back to your bedside table, where he's deposited his glasses in the rush of getting undressed.

"These. They have some hypno technology, so my face looks quite different to people when I'm wearing them. Since I don't always wear them when I'm with you, you know what I actually look like but,"

He peers at you through his lashes, a kind smile on his face. "I just don't think you were looking for it."

You're not the suspicious kind, he means. You take things as they are.

Side by side, with the explanation before you, it makes sense. Superman has always looked a little like Clark. Or Clark has always looked a bit like Superman.

"You don't lie to me," you say in explanation.

Somehow, this doesn't feel like a lie either — or like you've been deceived.

You're well acquainted with putting on a new persona when you're at work, a more polished, smiley version of yourself that makes your jaw sore from holding it stiffly all day. It's a mask. This… This feels like the same thing.

Some things can't be done as Clark.

Some things have to be Superman.

And now he wants you to know — to have — both.

You twist your fingers into the sheets of your bed tightly, hoping it'll help you think.

"And I'm sorry that I had to, honey," Clark apologises sincerely, placing the glasses on the blankets between you.

He does appear to be troubled by the thought of keeping this from you. "I didn't like keeping secrets from you. You're so good at keeping out of danger, it was easy to keep this part of my life hidden from you."

You mull over his words, trying hard to analyse the emotions stirring up within your chest.

There's no rulebook or blog-post you can convene with to know how to feel about it. You're not sure you feel much of anything, other than a dim surprise. It just… makes sense.

Truthfully, if you had found out when you met Clark, it might have been too much.

Clark was already such a surprise — that he came around to see you, that he kept coming around. Someone that kind, that handsome, wanting to make the effort for you.

He'd been just Clark then.

If he'd been Superman too, beloved hero of Metropolis, coming around to deliver you freshly-baked goods and kisses, maybe you'd have been scared off. Maybe not. Somehow, you're only glad you don't have to know how to feel about that.

You just have to know what you feel now.

A different question jumps off your tongue.

"What does flying feel like?"

Clark's expression gives away his astonishment, a wide-eyed blink that melts into a genuine smile.

"It's, uh, it's very fun. It's like," His mouth twists as he considers it, before he shakes his head. "It's like nothing else. My parents had to give me strict rules about flying around the house growing up, I love it that much."

His parents. For some reason, you hadn't expected them to know.

Then you feel a bit silly — Superman has always been open about how he came to be here, on Earth. Someone had to have raised him.

You think of the photo Clark keeps on his work desk — or the one in his wallet, next to the photo of you — of Ma and Pa Kent.

The thought of baby Clark whizzing about the farmhouse he described growing up in is a delightful thought.

Untwisting your fingers from the sheets, you glance down and ask, "Why now?"

This is the first question to make him sigh.

You lift your gaze, watching as he rubs a hand across his face wearily, "Because I messed up. I didn't mean to give you such a strange encounter with Superman, but I also don't want to lie to you any more than I already have."

He shifts in the bed, shuffling closer till his knees press against yours.

He reaches for your hands, no longer toying with the sheets but still amongst the covers. He holds them tenderly, cradled in his.

"And I didn't tell you earlier for lots of reasons. It's not safe, for one." His thumbs trace over the backs of your hands, his face open, eyes a shade of blue you feel you haven't seen before. Maybe it's because you're seeing him, seeing all of him, for the first time.

"But the main reason is that I like… I love who I get to be with you.

"I'm just Clark," he says, the words softer than sweetness. "I'm just your boyfriend. I have to make a lot of hard decisions, every day, as Superman. With you, it's… it's just what makes you happy. And that's an easy decision, every time."

At some point, you've clutched his hands back. There's that same stupid sharpness back in your chest, stinging your eyes with the promise of tears.

He just wants to make you happy. Like it's a relief to come home to you, at the end of a hard day saving the world.

Like, you just might be his respite.

You try press the sharp feeling back, but you can tell he knows. He always seems to just know.

He doesn't interfere, just strokes his thumbs along the back of your hands again — and is ready for it when you burst forward into him.

His arms are around you, holding you tight, and your face tucks away into his neck.

"Okay," you say, sniffling through the word - because how else can you respond to something that magnanimous? You're the relief of a man who has the weight of the world on his shoulders. "Okay."

"Okay?" Clark echoes, the word threaded with a slight amusement. "You'll allow it?" He jests.

But you nod in response all the same. He sits back, leaning into your mountain of pillows, and takes you with him, all bundled up in his arms.

You're leaning into his chest, skin to skin, and the contentedness within you hasn't shifted. Hasn't balked at the face of his secret.

"I love you." You whisper - and feel Clark's arms tighten in response. "Thank you for telling me."

"I love you." He mirrors, pressing a long, firm kiss into your hair. He murmurs into it, unwilling to give up any distance between you. "Do you have any questions?"

"Plenty." You say automatically, dead serious — and you jostle on his chest as Clark laughs at that, because, really, he should expect this from you. "So many. I can't believe I'm dating an alien."

"I'm not sure if I should apologise…?" He says, amused.

"No," You press a kiss to his chest, above where his heart is, mumbling against his skin. "That came out bad. I don't mean it in a bad way. Sorry."

"Don't be." He kisses your head again, and sleepiness hangs above you, drawing nearer.

He's so warm. He's like a space heater. You laugh tiredly to yourself because - yeah, he literally is.

He tells you, "I'll answer any question you have."

You're melting into him, cocooned in his arms, tucked away from the world.

Still, you can hear it — another drone of a car engine, the chatter of people on the street, the honk of a faraway driver. Close, but unable to touch this bubble you and Clark exist in.

"Anything?" You ask.

It comes out as a sleepy whisper.

You feel, more than hear, the hum Clark gives in return. He draws a long, soothing stroke over your back, his hand warm.

You think of the question you want answered most.

"Will you stay the night, please?"

You don't really need to ask—he stays most nights now—but it's a habit.

There's a concerning moment where you hear the wobbly inhale Clark takes—but then you can feel his smile pressed into your hairline. You picture his dimples.

You feel him shift, one arm leave you, and the click of your lamp.

The amber saps away, and darkness blankets the both of you, wrapping you up.

"Of course, honey," he murmurs, like there's only one answer he could give. In his arms, you realise you're the safest person on the whole planet.

Huh, you think tiredly, as sleep drapes over you, gentle and warm. Guess you aren't so different from all those other citizens of Metropolis, after all.

They follow Superman into danger.

You suppose, in some ways, so would you.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

if you made it this damn far, kudos!! thank u for reading mammoth of a fic <3 i hope you enjoyed it and if you so felt inspired, i hope you wouldn't mind letting me know what you think! :)

special thanks to my beloved citrine @citrinesparkles for being an open ear, grease for writers block, many ideas contributor and cheerleader extraordinaire

with no witnesses, clark lifts all of your luggage to bring inside without breaking a sweat. you sigh as you contemplate the chaos that'll most likely ensue at the avengers compound for the fourth of july weekend.

—

a month ago, natasha romanoff had arrived in your tiny box of an apartment in metropolis without even a text of warning. it would've been something you appreciated since clark had you on your kitchen counter, gently pressing you with a hungry kiss against the overhead cabinets as dinner burned on the stove. his broad frame was settled nicely between your thighs, his lips gliding down your jaw and neck before the apartment door swings open as if the intruder had a key—

"whoops. didn't know you had company."

you gasped and peeked over clark's shoulder who instinctively tried to shield you from natasha in all her sardonic glory. "nat—?!" you had wriggled away despite clark's insistence, ducking beneath his strong arm to meet your friend in your living room. "what are you doing here? is everything okay—"

"everything's fine," nat had cut in, her sharp gaze taking in clark behind you who looks more like guard dog than protective fiance at the moment. "i just wanted to drop in. i should've called though, that was on me…"

warmth bleeds into your back when clark had stepped forward, a silent wall of support behind you. he's not unaware of your past, of your healing powers that pulled you into nick fury's orbit. while you were never made into an avenger, you were the support they all needed whether it was to be healed or just to be around someone normal. it was about a couple years ago that you finally left new york, starting fresh in metropolis as a nurse. steve had been kind enough to help the move in process a lot more smooth than it would've been alone.

"um— sorry. nat, this is clark kent, my fiance. clark, this is nat, one of my closest friends from new york although i'm rescinding that title after her break in tonight," you sigh as you wave a hand between both.

clark's still a gentleman through and through, even in the face of superspies that like to cross boundaries, and shakes nat's hand before his hand returns to your waist. "what's the occasion?"

"tony's throwing a fourth of july-slash-steve's-birthday weekend barbecue, thought our favorite nurse would like to come," nat smiles. "you can bring superman over here."

clark chokes on his spit. "i— what? i'm not— no, he's—"

you pat his chest. "honey, nat knows everything, it's literally her job. don't worry, your secret's safe with her. and i don't know, clark and i were gonna just stay in."

"sounds like fun," he cuts in and that little smile, dimple and all, knows you're about to lose this one. "i haven't gotten the chance to meet your friends, sweetheart."

every argument you have dies in the face of your fiance's eager expression and you sigh quietly to meet natasha's triumphant little grin. "yeah, okay. we'll be there. is it at the compound?"

"yeah, there's your usual room—"

"no, clark and i wouldn't wanna intrude. we'll find an airbnb or something." there's an edge to your tone that leaves no room for negotiation and natasha has enough sense to back off, nodding as she starts to head out.

when the door shuts, you groan into clark's chest who rumbles in sweet amusement as he rubs your back. "superman meeting the avengers… what can go wrong."

—

a lot of things went wrong upon entering the cabin. for one, there aren't any furniture. two, there isn't any running water. frustration begins to build but before it can erupt out of you, clark's cupping your cheek to kiss your forehead and your phone starts to ring.

"stark."

"hey, kid. don't be stubborn and bring supes on over to the compound, your room's all ready for you."

"i hate you, tony."

"no, you don't. although this confirmed my theory."

you pause. "what theory?"

"you got a thing for goody two shoes. tell me— does kent say 'language' during your rated-r rants?"

you hang up the call, cutting off tony's obnoxious laughter on the other end.

—

now that the both of you are on avengers' property, your privacy is all but secured against the general public so clark had seen no issue in just flying you and your luggage over. it's a bit unsettling to see him fly in his civilian clothes but you cling to him all the same, carried bridal style while the luggage hang from his hands. you aren't sure how he isn't losing his grip but you land in the open bay where natasha and steve is waiting to greet the both of you.

the luggage are set down first, clark still hovering and once his hands are free, his feet land with you still securely in his arms. "clark?" you prompt and your adorable, beefcake of a fiance startles as he reluctantly sets you down while nat and steve approach.

"miss romanoff," clark tips his head in polite greeting but then his voice drops slightly, taking on the 'superman' voice when he turns to steve. "captain, happy birthday."

"thank you, superman," steve greets as he offers his hand. clark takes it with a solid 'clap' and a firm shake. your eyes flitter between each of them in slight anticipation because in this moment, it isn't superman and captain america facing off.

it's clark kent and steve rogers with you caught right in the middle.

something lights up in natasha's eyes and you suddenly fear for the weekend ahead.

—

fortunately, the main living space of the compound is cleared of any superheroes in favor of setting up for the outside where the main party's happening. it leaves you and clark the space to settle in and when you step in your old room, nostalgia feels like a punch to the gut.

it's still the open space layout as before, patterned after a luxury studio apartment with your own mini kitchenette. cold and impersonal for the first few minutes of stepping in but then clark walks past you to set your luggage in, his large frame somehow bringing light to the place you could barely call home. when he turns to you, gives you that smile that you've fallen so hard for, it feels like you're back in metropolis. "what?"

you shake your head with a smile, step into clark's space and giggle at the blush that he never can tamp down when you're near, and kiss his dimple. "nothing. i just love you."

"love you too, honey."

—

after changing into something more comfortable (and doesn't smell like plane) over your bathing suits, you and clark walk hand in hand towards the noise that crests and wanes from the other side of the compound. where there had been an open field meant for training (specifically for any flight simulations or volatile powers that should not be indoors), it's been fashioned into an americana-esque backyard with an actual inlaid pool.

"what the— when did you guys install a pool?" you gape at the giant, bean-shaped pool complete with a patio and a giant cabana built above it. beside it is a familiar face manning the grill.

tony flicks his sunglasses down to peer at you above them. "a week ago. had to go all out for dear ol' cap's birthday. nice of you to join us, sweet cheeks. you gonna introduce us to your hunk of a man?"

your eyes roll but the pride in your smile is undeniable as you bring clark forward. "everyone, this is clark kent. my fiance."

an impressed whistle escapes from rhodey who tips a beer up in salute towards you. "nice rock, kid." he gives a nod to clark next. "you did good."

"gosh, thanks." clark says, rubs his neck in that sheepish way that you've found endearing every time you see it. however, it has the rest of the avengers staring in utter befuddlement. tony mouths 'gosh' in emphasis to bruce who waves his judgement away.

"cap, you got someone out for your title for boyscout," tony crows happily as he flips a patty with ease. steve, who has been lounging beneath the shade with his own lemonade, looks up from his conversation with clint and laura. when his eyes find yours then clark's, something unnameable passes through his eyes before he's striding to his feet. all six foot two of him.

clark straightens his posture. all six foot four of him.

immediately, your eyes roll. "i'm going to go say hi to the girls. you two? behave."

"honey—" clark splutters but his priority will always be you so he concedes, quietly takes the offered glass of lemonade from steve before he attempts to play nice. if he can keep civil with steve lombard at work, he can be the nicest guy in town for the super soldier that may as well be an ex with how his eyes follow you.

—

to his credit, clark gets along well with all of your friends from new york. tony's crass but he's got a heart of gold with his closest circle of friends. bruce and clint had teased him the least about his midwestern countenance while laura had been interested in his career as a journalist and as a superhero. natasha had been very impressed with his ability to juggle his secret identity on top of everything.

"so how'd she find out about your other identity?" rhodey asks later on as the two of them sit at the chaises by the pool. clark is polite but his eyes cut to you occasionally where you're splashing in the shallow end with laura and clint's kids, your laughter providing a soothing background to the chaos of tony and bruce arguing over what music to play.

"ah, well. i was fighting an imp with the justice gang, should've been an easy fight but it was evening and i'm not really at my strongest at that time. i fell on her roof and she was there reading. she… healed me." a besotted smile grows on his lips. "the day after that, she ran into me as clark but i didn't realize my biology had been something she could sense. she pulled me into an alley and just asked if i healed right."

rhodey laughs quietly. "she's a little spitfire, ain't she?"

"i wouldn't have it any other way," clark muses. the both of them turn their attention to you, nearly missing the way tony hits the top of the grill with his tongs to call out—

"soup's on!" he hollers as he gestures to the cheeseburgers laid out to the table beside him. clark gets to his feet, ready to serve you, except—

"got all your favorite fixin's," steve cuts in, that boyish half grin that's made nearly all of america swoon, as he offers you a plate. with clark's heightened vision, something ugly turns with indignance that steve did get all your favorites.

but clark will not be beat so he rushes over to the coolers, pulls out your favorite drink, and all but flies over to offer it to you. "can't forget your usual, honey," he smiles sweetly, popping the tab for you and everything. you're still halfway out the pool, one foot out and on the edge with the other still in the water, with both men offering you a plate and a drink.

"thanks, guys… mind if i dry off first?"

you carefully sidestep away from both of them, refusing to enable or participate this odd dick-measuring contest they've started. once you've dried off, you settle into an available chaise and nearly startles when steve and clark kneel on either side of you. you could barely get a word in as captain america himself carefully sets the plate down on the small table beside you and your darling fiance adds in a straw as well.

"okay, both of you shoo—" you wave them off. "seriously. i know both of you, you two can eat tony out of all of his homes so go. you must be starving."

when both men trudge off, natasha takes their place but she's got enough sense to at least wait for you to take a few bites of your food before she starts.

"you know, it's kinda cute."

"don't you start, nat."

"no, no. it is! you got america's heroes fighting for your attention like overgrown puppies. it's cute."

your eyes narrow. "… you know something."

she zips up her lips before she dives into the pool, effortless without making a splash.

you huff goodnaturedly. "show-off."

—

"come on, you two. nathan, lila, out of the pool." clint claps his hands to grab his two youngests' attention. the sun's setting behind him and even you can't deny there's a slight chill beginning to settle in.

you nod and raise your arms slightly with the intent to herd the little ones out. "you two heard your dad, let's head out. if the grown-ups say yes, we can get some s'mores started, maybe set up some lights like a campfire… what do you say?"

that gets them out and when clint gives you a thankful grin, you wave him off before padding out to clark where he's already got your towel out. "thanks, baby," you smile as he wraps it around you, bundling you into his arms to press a soft kiss to your lips.

behind your back, steve stands with a fresh towel and clark fights the urge to stick his tongue out at him. no, that'd be very immature of him.

—

despite the chill that's threatened to drive the party indoors, tony gets a bonfire started in a fire pit he had dug out from the giant warehouse storage along with some string lights from a box labeled 'christmas?'.

the kids are drawn up in a tizzy at the thought of having christmas in july, their little hands diving into the box with the sole intent of decorating the giant cabana. you're in the middle of it all, helping them all detangle the wires while tony's sent back inside to look for an extension cord of all things.

"hold on, sweetheart," you laugh as nathan tries to climb your back while you draw yourself back to your feet, watching as his little arms try to reach up and hook the lights up. in the corner of your eye, steve approaches your periphery, hands nearly raised as if he's got the intention to lift you by your hips but—

clark's hands find you first, his chest brushing against your back. "i got you, honey," he murmurs in your ear before giving nathan a little grin. you feel his strong grip brace your waist, firm but not uncomfortable, and lift you high.

then… lifts you higher.

you turn your head to see clark levitating to help you hook the lights up at eye-level. nathan gasps in excitement and nearly drops the lights in his own hand. "oops— careful, buddy," you chuckle as you hand back the wire.

"me next, me next!" lila squeals from below and you laugh as clark does as asked, nathan reluctantly set down for you to carry his older sister next while clark lifts you back up with ease.

by the time the entire cabana's decorated, the kids are returned safely to their parents.

"that was nice of you," steve hums to clark once the two of you are back on solid ground, offering two s'mores on a plate.

clark takes it, almost wary, but he sees something you don't and his spine relaxes imperceptibly. "thank you," he murmurs while he places a warm hand at the base of your spine. steve nods his head and when he turns to you, he ruffles your head.

"be good, kid," he tells you instead before he walks off.

—

although tony had intended steve's intention to be an absolute rager, it still turned out to be a family-friendly event. something that steve had been banking on.

"kid just landed," tony had remarked earlier, the both of them setting up the cabana after FRIDAY had updated him on your flight status. "you gonna say something?"

steve just chuckles to himself, readjusting the stability of the cabana's legs. "tony, i don't know how many times i have to say this. nothing ever happened between me and her."

tony's eyes roll. "i know. you two cost me $300 because of it, by the way."

"serves you right for betting on your friends' love lives, stark."

"yeah, yeah, whatever. but back to the question at hand— have you met her fiance?"

"superman? i don't know him personally, but he seems like a good man, someone good for her," steve shrugs, unsure of what tony's getting at.

"hm. sure, the media definitely paints him that way," tony says. "but as her closest friends and honestly— the closest thing she has to a family— we need to make sure he's good for her."

steve pauses for a moment, gives his friend a sidelong glance. "what do you have in mind?"

"easy." both men startle at the sudden appearance of one natasha romanoff. "make him jealous. see how he reacts when steve moves in on her, it'd be enough to see his true colors."

tony snaps his fingers. "operation: battle of the boyscouts is a go."

"… i resent that name."

—

on the morning of july fifth, the avengers compound is the ultimate postcard of serenity. sun's sitting high, a gentle breeze wafting through to carry in the scent of nature. a butterfly settles upon a blooming flower bud—

"ANTHONY EDWARD STARK."

your shrill voice cuts through the peace. the butterfly flies off.

"you tried making my fiance jealous for some inane dick-measuring contest for your own fucking entertainment—?!"

"language."

"language, sweetheart."

steve and clark share a surprised glance and right as they're about to exchange a little chuckle, maybe even bro it out with a fist bump in their matching flannel pajamas, you direct your glare to the both of them.

without a word, steve backs out with a sheepish grin while clark approaches to give you an apologetic kiss to your forehead.

"it's a habit, i'm sorry," he mutters against your hair and despite tony's stupid games, you melt in your fiance's arms. "i love you."

"i love you too, sweetie." tony takes the chance to inch away as you decompress in clark's arms but you huff against his chest. "clark, i'm gonna kill him."

"... it wouldn't be very 'superman' of me to let you get away with murder, honey."

a/n: this is my first fic ever and i'm both very excited and terrified to post it! reader's backstory is a little more like an oc to set up the angst/age gap aspect, but i tried to keep that minimal

divider credits to @pixopix!!

Scott Miller is a Grade A asshole. 

This isn’t news to anybody, least of all you. When you first started at StormPAR a year ago–fresh out of undergrad and all bright eyed and eager–you only needed one glance from him to realize he was not somebody to piss off. Yet, somehow, you always unintentionally seemed to. 

You have a different opinion on a storm’s predicted path? Did you even get your degree? You need to stop to pee after hours of nonstop driving? I don’t pay you to waste our time. You briefly mention how the stiff motel mattress has your back aching? Feel free to go back to Montana and stop subjecting us to your whining. 

You’re not even from Montana.

But despite his gruffness and take-no-bullshit attitude, you just… can’t help but be drawn to him. 

It’s unfortunate, really. You have a shitty dating history and an even shittier crush history. All people who you were sure you could ‘fix.’

Spoiler alert: You haven’t been able to yet.

- - - -

Today is exciting. There’s an insane tornado outbreak across the midwest and southern states that’s been getting your team incredible data, plus Javi’s old friend from college is flying in from New York. Even just for a week, you finally won’t be the only girl on the team. There is simply too much testosterone around you at any given moment. 

When you see Javi’s truck pull into the parking lot of the gas station you’re at with the rest of the team, along with many others, you’re practically vibrating with excitement. Everything he’s told you all about his friend, Kate, so far makes you think you’ll get along really well. Javi even said so himself. Told you you remind him of her when they were in undergrad. 

When they step out of the truck and Javi gathers the team to start introductions, all of the guys have straight, almost bored expressions on their faces. Not you, though. You have to actively suppress a wide smile, not wanting to look insane but too excited to just stand there nonchalantly. 

The only change in their expressions happens when Javi tells Kate, “And you will never work with a more talented team than this one.” Then they all turn into smug bastards, naturally. “Look, we got PhDs from NASA, FEMA, NOAA, NWS.” He points out who has each degree as he lists them, and you can’t help but shrink just a little. You’re the only team member who doesn’t have a PhD, which you’re sure is obvious given the fact you’re only 23.

“Oh, you’ve got the whole alphabet,” Kate says flatly, which you smirk at. 

“Only the best! Except for Scott, my partner here,” Javi continues, moving to stand next to where Scott is at the edge of the group with his stupid sunglasses and stupid gum. “He went to MIT instead of Muskogee State. But, uh, he makes up for it with his beautiful, amazing personality.” Javi slaps a hand on Scott’s shoulder and Scott flashes Kate a toothy smile that he immediately drops.

You can’t help but snort at both the sarcasm from Javi and the smile from Scott, which causes all heads to turn to you. “Sorry, sorry, just…” You wave dismissively. “Nevermind.”

“And this,” Javi says with a smirk, moving to stand next to you and wrap an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a side hug, “is the baby of our team, Sunny.” You wave at her, a little sheepish now that all the attention is on you. “She got her bachelor’s in Minnesota and moved here last year. We were so impressed by her enthusiasm and the fact that she basically taught herself an entire graduate program worth of knowledge that we made an exception to our rule of only hiring people with a PhD. Isn’t that right, Scott?”

Scott’s focus is back on the tablet in his hands and he just makes a sort of grunt in response. It’s no secret that Scott didn’t want to hire you. He continues to remind everybody of that fact every time you make any sort of mistake. But Javi fought for you, able to see how truly passionate you are about meteorology and how desperately you wanted this. So he pushed and pushed and finally Scott caved, but said you were Javi’s responsibility, not his. 

Which came back to bite him in the ass when Javi assigned you to Scarecrow with Scott. 

“Well, Kate’s only giving us a week, but while we have her, ooh! It’s gonna be the wildest tornado week you’ve ever seen, fellas,” Javi says with a chuckle, causing a few of the other guys to laugh as well.

“Yeah, and everybody with a $10 weather app knows it. We got to stay ahead of this circus,” Scott says, visibly annoyed. 

The sound of loud music and honking has you all looking to where a familiar large red truck is pulling into the parking lot, followed by a blue truck and an RV. You roll your eyes, but not for the same reason as the others on your team. When you see Boone hanging out the window with his phone in his hand as they continue to drive toward your group, you duck your head, covering the majority of your face with your hand on your forehead.

“Hey, StormPAR. We’re live on YouTube, say something.”

“Blow me, Boone,” Andy calls out from next to you, immediately prompting you to smack his arm with your free hand.

“Don’t engage, don’t engage.” Scott is quick to attempt to defuse but always seems to have no problem picking fights the second there’s no camera. Funny.

“Hey, smile, man. Science is fun, right?” Boone calls out as the truck drives away.

“Who are they?” Kate asks.

“Chasers out of Arkansas,” Javi explains.

“Hillbillies with a YouTube channel.” The comment earns Scott a glare from you.

You all watch on as Tyler Owens climbs out of his signature red truck with his sunglasses, cowboy hat, and blinding smile, looking at the crowd that’s gathered around his vehicle. This isn’t an uncommon experience. Tyler and his team have developed a very impressive, and very dedicated, fan base. 

“And if you feel it…”

“Chase it!” The crowd shouts.

“I said, if you feel it…”

“Chase it!”

“Chase it!” Peter shouts with his hands cupped around his mouth, finishing Tyler’s call and response. Every head in the vicinity whips towards him, to which he sheepishly drops his hands. Tyler looks over at your team, very obviously noticing the new face. It’s a shock for you, seeing a new face climb out of his truck as well. A man who doesn’t really seem to want to be there.

“That’s Tyler Owens,” Javi explains to Kate. “He calls himself a Tornado Wrangler.” “What does that even mean?”

Dani steps out of the RV then, t-shirts in hand, loudly asking the ‘tornado nerds’ surrounding them if they’d like to buy one. “This means our world is going to shit.”

You very pointedly do not react or make a comment at Javi’s words. You don’t notice the questioning glance that Scott throws your way when you don’t make a comment about being nice like usual. You do, however, notice the way Tyler tips his hat at Kate and make a mental note to become friends with her sooner rather than later so you can discuss that.

“All right, let’s get ahead of this bunch. Yeah, let me see this.” Javi takes the tablet that Scott’s holding and hands it to Kate. “All right, Kate. Which storm should we chase?”

You’re standing in a small cluster with the two of them and Scott, the rest of the team not paying attention. After a moment of silence from Kate, Scott says, “There’s a nice-looking cell over to the east.” 

His tone is… not nearly as biting as you’d expect. It doesn’t sound like he’s trying to prove that she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. It just sounds like professional input.

Dickhead.

Kate starts to walk away with the tablet without a response, and the rest of the team starts to follow. You don’t move, though, because you’re not stupid. She’s obviously not trying to lead anybody anywhere, she’s just trying to get some space to think. And, with what Javi’s told you all about why she stopped chasing in the first place? She’s probably terrified to be here. Crowding her won’t help, idiots. 

Your thoughts are supported when she slows and pauses when she sees everyone following her and Javi. There seems to be a hushed conversation between them where she looks visibly uncomfortable before he steps in. “All right, all right, guys, let’s go. Everybody get their last bathroom break in.”

“All right, be quick fellas. We’re on the clock. Five minutes, then we’re loading up.” Scott is quick to take the lead again. It’d be kind of cute how eager he is if he weren’t completely insufferable. 

On the way into the gas station, Lily, Dani, Boone, and Dexter are behind you all. Lily is already starting the teasing and you can’t help but let out a small giggle. The rest of your team may have a rivalry with them, but you get along with them really well. They’re some of the only people you’ve met that you’d consider actual friends since moving. You slow your pace to walk with them instead. “Okay, uniforms. Wrinkle-free shirts. Crisp hats. Good”

“Ah, looks like they’re going to church, man. I like it, right?” Boone chuckles and you bite your lip to stop a loud laugh from escaping. 

“Looking good. Looking good,” Dani adds. When you guys get to the door and Andy doesn’t hold it open for you all, she continues sarcastically. “Hey, man, you’re not gonna hold the door? Come on, man, too heavy?”

“StormPAR. StormPAR,” Dexter says in a mocking tone as you guys enter the gas station. You’re not able to stop the laughter this time, which earns you a very annoyed glare from multiple members on your team, but you don’t even care. It’s not your fault the Wranglers have welcomed you better than most of your own team has. 

“You think I look like I’m going to church?” You ask Boone with a dramatic pout. You’re wearing the same blue polo as everyone else, minus Scott and Javi, but absolutely refuse to wear the khakis that the men wear. Instead, you usually pair it with jeans or cargo pants. Today, it’s black cargo pants. 

“Oh, no, Sunny, you look beautiful,” he assures with a charming smile. The man’s a flirt, even unintentionally. 

“Thank you, thank you,” you giggle. You leave Boone and Dexter in the candy aisle, making your way to the bathroom with Dani and Lily. 

One perk about being in a male dominated field is that there’s almost never a line for the women’s bathroom. Like right now, there’s so many people inside the small gas station it makes you feel slightly claustrophobic. The line for the men’s bathroom wraps around the corner and goes partially down an aisle. But you, Lily, and Dani? You get to pee with no wait. Take that, suckers. 

Once you’re finished up in the bathroom, the three of you go out to buy snacks and drinks for the chase. It’s not going to be a very far drive, but you’ve learned the hard way that it’s better to be overprepared. So you buy a few snacks and your favorite flavor energy drink, the one you drink every single day, and head back out to join your team with a “drive safe!” to the Wranglers. 

You see Scott and Javi in the parking lot, arms crossed, intently watching Kate where she stands a short distance away in the grass, conversing with Tyler and the man you don’t recognize. You slow to a stop next to Javi. “Who’s that guy?”

“No idea.”

You just hum, watching the interaction. Kate turns to head back toward you guys when Tyler says something else to her. She turns back around, responding with something you’re guessing is sarcastic by the arm she throws out with it, the smirk she’s still wearing when she makes her way back to you guys, and Tyler’s face that clearly says he didn’t expect whatever it was. 

“Talk to us,” Javi says as she hands him back the tablet. 

“We want the cells to the west.” You nod immediately at her confident assessment. That’s what you’ve been arguing all day.

“Uh, the one to the east has much better numbers,” Scott argues, still in that tone. The one that sounds almost nice. But Scott Miller is not nice, so you have no fucking idea where he learned to make it sound like he is.

“Mm, conditions don’t feel right. Cap is too strong. It’ll never break.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying.” You gesture at her, looking at Scott, unimpressed. He returns your look with his own, rolling his lips inward for a moment. 

“Sorry, I didn’t realize we were asking you,” Scott says your name mockingly, tilting his head. You glare at him. 

Kate draws her eyebrows together, looking between you both, mouth open as if she’s about to ask a question. When you notice, you explain, “My name isn’t actually Sunny, that’s just what most people call me here. Javi started it, said I was too smiley and nice to not have a matching name.”

“Which is funny, considering you’re not that nice,” Scott says, head still annoyingly tilted.

“I am, just not to you,” you say in an exaggeratedly bright tone, shooting him a toothy smile before dropping it.

“Okay, okay, kids. Play nice,” Javi chastises both of you. He turns to Scott, handing him the tablet. “You heard them. Let’s move.”

Scott takes the tablet with a sharp nod and a smile at Kate as she walks past him with Javi, joining the rest of the team as they get into their vehicles. You stay put, watching his reaction silently. There is no fucking way the same guy who has told you multiple time to let the adults work when discussing a chase just smiled at the new girl when she disagreed with his opinion. 

But when she’s far enough away, he mumbles, “Guess we’re listening to dandelions now.” And though you have no clue what the hell that means, you can’t help but feel a little better. 

- - - -

Neither of you speak for the first 15 minutes of the drive, which is pretty typical. He avoids speaking to you because he has a stick up his ass 24/7, and you avoid speaking to him for the exact same reason. The only sound is the divorced dad rock he loves to play coming through the car’s stereo quietly. You were excited initially to find out you share a similar music taste, but now it’s just irritating because some of your favorite songs are associated with him.

The first words are spoken by him. You lean down to grab the gum you bought at the gas station out of the plastic bag at your feet. You measure out a strip, cut it off, shove it in your mouth, and are halfway leaned over to put it back in the bag when you can see him literally do a double take out of the corner of your eye. “What is that?”

“What is what?”

“That.” He points at the gum in your hand.

“Gum?”

“That is not gum.”

“What the fuck does that even mean?”

“Are you seriously chewing Hubba Bubba in my car?”

That makes you straighten up and turn to him. “Um, our car.”

He scoffs and glances at you briefly before turning his focus back to the road. “My car.”

“Whose phone automatically connects to the CarPlay first?”

“You disconnected mine so that would happen! That’s cheating!” Oh, he’s so easy to ragebait.

You shrug. “Still. But seriously, it’s just gum, I don’t get what your problem is.”

“It’s an abomination, is what it is.”

“Just because you’re mean and angry doesn’t mean your gum has to be. I mean, cinnamon? Seriously?”

“Cinnamon does not taste ‘mean and angry.’”

You hum and cross your arms, turning your head to look out the window at the dark clouds and lightning in the distance. Thank god–you’re close to the storm. Unless something goes wrong, the tension in the car tends to be more tolerable after a chase. “I beg to differ.”

There’s a pause. Brief, but it’s there. “You are truly insufferable.” You turn to face him. “Aw, then I guess that makes two of us!” You pitch your voice higher and shrug your shoulders when you say it before turning back to the window with a scowl. 

You don’t have to sit in broody silence for long, thankfully. Not long after, Javi’s truck at the front of the caravan takes a right down a dirt road and you get prepared for placing the PAR. The bag at your feet gets tossed into the back, clearing your space in the passenger seat for quick and easy exit and reentry. Then, you make sure your boots are laced tightly, your safety glasses are within reach, and the tablet in your lap has the radar pulled up. 

There’s a fork in the road and Javi’s voice comes through your earpieces, directing you guys to take the left along with Tin Man. You look out your window to see the dark clouds rotating and your stomach starts to twist in the familiar combination of anxiety and excitement. 

There’s another fork and you watch as Tin Man behind you turns sharply to take the right. You and Scott continue ahead, getting into position to be on the back left of the funnel that’s slowly forming. 

You bring a hand up and start to chew on your fingernails, which are already practically nonexistent. Scott watches you out of the corner of his eye, but says nothing. You watch for a few more seconds before it touches down, and you let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding.

“There it is,” Scott breathes, a hint of awe in his voice. This is your favorite part. When you both forget about the arguing and can appreciate the simultaneous beauty and terror in front of you.

As Scott continues to drive forward, you focus on the radar and hold the button on your earpiece. “Lion, this is Scarecrow. Tornado is moving steady at one-seven miles per hour.” You take your finger off the button and turn to Scott, smug as can be, just as the rain and hail start pounding against the windshield. “Huh. Look at that. Kate and I were right.” “All right, who asked you?” His gaze is focused on the road in front of him, wincing as the large hail bounces off the hood. 

You lean forward in your seat to get closer to the windshield, stretching out your seatbelt. “Holy shit! That hail is huge!”

Scott immediately throws an arm across your chest and pushes you back into your seat. “Hey, dumbass! If that windshield were to break from that huge hail, you’d be dead.” He shakes his head, muttering under his breath, but you can’t even try to decipher what he’s saying. It’s like the second he touched you, your brain just shut off. 

Oh fuck.

That is not good.

You’re quickly brought back to yourself after a particularly bright flash of lightning followed immediately by a clap of thunder that shakes the car even as you drive. He didn’t seem to notice your moment, thank god, so you quickly shake your head as if to force the thoughts out. 

When Tin Man announces over the earpieces that they’re approaching their position, you know you’re getting close, too. So you quickly put on your safety glasses and brace your hand on the door, ready to move quickly. As Scott gets the vehicle into position, you announce it into the earpiece and are out before it’s even fully in park, opening the trunk. The wind whips your hair into your face and you mentally curse yourself for not tying it up. Scott’s there a second later, grabbing one side of the PAR, helping you lift it. Once it’s out, he shouts over the howling wind and pouring rain to go, and you both move in perfect sync to set it in position and lock it in place. 

Once it’s locked, Scott moves to the back of the machine to power it on and you move to shut the trunk, the same as always. Once it’s active, he relays that to the rest of the team. As soon as Wizard confirms they’re receiving data, you both jump back into the vehicle and Scott peels out to get you guys to a safe spot slightly further away. 

You’re both still catching your breath when Javi announces that Lion is trying to find a closer spot and you feel a pit in your stomach for reasons you’re not even sure of. You wait for what you’re sure is too long. Long enough that the adrenaline is starting to wear off and you can feel the stinging across your body from the hail. You’ve escalated to bouncing your leg so quickly the car shakes and biting the skin on your fingers so badly that one of them starts to bleed.

“Will you stop that?” It’s not nearly as sharp as you’re expecting. Something about that makes your leg still immediately.

“Sorry.”

A silence that’s probably only 30 seconds long but feels like an hour stretches between you, but is broken by Scott’s phone ringing through the car radio. You sigh in relief when you see it’s Javi and Scott answers it immediately. The relief is short lived, though, when Javi explains that he wasn’t able to get into position and Scott gets pissed. He tries to blame Kate, asks if she’s the reason, but Javi insists that it was nobody’s fault. The call is short, but Scott is practically fuming by the time it ends.

So much for more tolerable tension on the way back.

- - - -

Most of the team decides to just call it a night when you get to the motel seeing as it’s already around 9. You almost do too, physically and mentally exhausted, but among the groups hanging out in the parking lot, you spot the Wranglers and decide that you probably shouldn’t spend the night wallowing alone in your room. 

You get changed into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and make your way back downstairs. When Dani notices the exhaustion on your face, she immediately opens her arms, which you gratefully let yourself collapse into. You wrap your arms around her waist loosely and let her hold up most of your weight.

Tyler looks down at you both from where he’s in the bed of the truck with Boone trying to fix a broken piece on top of the bars. “You all right, Sunny?”

You just groan dramatically into Dani’s shoulder before straightening up to lean against the side of the truck, which earns a small chuckle from them all. It’s then that you notice the man you didn’t recognize earlier is sitting with them. “Oh, sorry! Um, I’m with StormPAR. Uh, everyone calls me Sunny. I don’t think we’ve met before.”

The man seems shocked for a moment that you’re speaking to him, but recovers quickly. He stands, holding a hand out to you. “No, I don’t believe we have. I’m Ben. I’m a reporter doing a piece on American storm chasing. I flew in from London yesterday.”

You step forward to shake his hand with a polite smile on your face. “Nice to meet you, Ben. You chose an excellent team to ride with.” You bump Dani’s shoulder with your own, shooting her a small smile, which she returns.

Ben chuckles, gaze flitting between you and the others. “I’m sorry, I thought your two teams didn’t get along.” You groan and roll your eyes. “They don’t. Apparently I’m the only one on my team with any sense of camaraderie.”

“Ah, I see,” He visibly hesitates, clearly deciding whether or not to push. “Well, it’s lovely to meet you, Sunny.”

“You as well, Ben.”

You decline a beer that Boone offers, opting for a water bottle instead. The conversation flows easily with them, which you appreciate. There’s not much of that with your own team. 

A few minutes later, Dani and Boone switch spots so Dani’s helping Tyler on top of the truck. When Boone jumps back down to the ground, he joins you in leaning against the truck and wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in a little closer. You end up resting your head on his shoulder while you keep talking.

But you can feel eyes burning into you. You look around the parking lot and spot Javi and Scott standing near where the StormPAR vehicles are, likely checking for any damage from the hail today. But they’re not looking at the vehicles, they’re looking at you. 

You knew the second you started getting friendly with the Wranglers it would lead to distrust from your teammates. You’re not stupid, you know they think you’re some kind of double agent. But, really, you’re just a girl in a completely different state and desperate for human connection that isn’t strictly professional or filled with arguing. You don’t even know what kind of secrets they could possibly think you’re sharing.

When they catch you looking back at them, they quickly turn away, very obviously trying to pretend they weren’t just staring at you. They finish up what they need to and make sure not to look anywhere near you when making their way back to their rooms, which makes you even more annoyed. 

You only stay outside for another half hour before deciding to just try to get some sleep, not able to fully reengage with the conversation afterwards. You’re tired, annoyed, and dangerously close to feeling genuinely hurt. The disconnect between you and the rest of your team isn’t new. If anything, it’s gotten better compared to a year ago.

So why is it so much more painful right now?

- - - -

You didn’t sleep much. And based on Kate’s appearance as she leaves her room, she didn’t either. 

While Scott and Javi meet with Riggs in the diner near the motel, you decide to walk to the gas station nearby, realizing very quickly that you’re not getting through the day without copious amounts of caffeine. As everyone else hangs out in the parking lot, you spot Kate standing alone, scrolling on her phone and chewing at her lip.

You approach her from the side, not wanting to startle her. “Hey. Um, I’m gonna walk to the gas station quick. Do you wanna come with?”

She looks up from her phone, taking a second to process your question before nodding. “Oh, yeah, that sounds great. Thanks.”

You start off the walk in silence, not sure what to say. You’ve barely interacted with her, but you want her to know that you’re someone she can trust for the short time she’s with you guys. After a minute, you speak up, “I know that the others can be kind of… standoffish,” you shake your head, not sure why you’re sugarcoating it. “Rude. They’re rude. So I just wanted to let you know that I get it, and I don’t want you to feel as uncomfortable as I did when I first started, so I’m happy to, like, be here if you need. I guess.”

She nods slowly from beside you, still chewing on her lip. “Thanks, Sunny. Really, I appreciate it.”

You breathe a sigh of relief that you didn’t completely misread the situation. “Yeah, of course. Oh, and the others may make it sound like the Wranglers are, like, the worst people you’ll ever meet… don’t believe them. They’re just mad that they actually accept people… Seems like Tyler already likes you,” you add with a smirk.

She flushes and looks down at her feet, pursing her lips to the side of her mouth. “Oh, please, I’m sure he likes everybody.”

You chuckle and hold the door to the gas station open for her, following her inside. “You’d think! But he’s a romantic. That man wants nothing more than to have one person to give the world to. He never shuts up about it. I am far too aware.”

She doesn’t say anything else about that, but the look on her face makes it clear she’s considering your words. And you’ll take that. 

You buy two energy drinks today. Kate peruses, but doesn’t end up getting anything. When you make it back to the diner, things feel significantly lighter. 

But of course Scott Miller can’t have that. 

Scott and Javi’s meeting is still going on when you get back, so you and Kate decide to just pop inside and see when they’re planning on leaving so you can have things ready. 

Scott is saying something about offers when you guys approach, but his eyes snap up and he doesn’t continue. His eyes flick down to the two cans in your hand before they drag back up, going between you and Kate. Kate turns to Javi. “When do you want to head out?”

“Kate, this is… this is Marshall Riggs. We’ve been working together. He’s one of the StormPAR investors I told you about,” Javi introduces. 

“How scary was that tornado yesterday?” Riggs asks Kate.

Her face does something complicated that you catch before she quickly schools it into a casual smile. “Not at all.”

Scott hums at that, eyes locked on her, and, though you try, you can’t suppress the small scoff that escapes you. Her head snaps toward him, but he just shakes his head and gives her a thumbs up and his expression becomes almost amused. 

You can’t even stick around to finish the interaction. You stare at him incredulously for another second, but when he finally looks at you, you clench your teeth and roll your eyes before walking out of the diner wordlessly.

When Kate exits a few moments later, she looks a little uncomfortable. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Are you?”

You close your eyes and shake your head, taking a deep breath. “He just gets on my nerves.” “I’ve noticed.” She lets there be a moment of silence before gently asking, “Any particular reason for that?” You shrug. “He just…” You trail off. “Does.”

She nods, knowing you’re not going to tell her anything more. She pats your shoulder before walking off toward the edge of the gravel parking lot, watching the sky. Any other day you’d probably join her, but today, you need a few minutes of isolation and silence before having to deal with Scott. So you get in the driver seat of Scarecrow, close your eyes, and rest your head back against the seat. You get a few blissful moments of calm before you hear shouting outside and Scott is practically jumping into the passenger seat. “Start the truck.” You jump, not expecting him to enter with so much noise. “What?” “Start the truck! Drive! Do you have ears?”

You grumble under your breath but do as he says. You assume you missed something big with the intensity of his actions and the way Tyler drives past you all with a honk of his horn that’s clearly meant to be taunting. You pull out behind Tyler’s truck and their RV, between Lion and Tin Man.

“Will you open my drink, then, since I didn’t have any time?”

He glances down at the cup holder and scoffs but does it anyway. “These things are going to kill you if you keep drinking them at this rate.”

“Mm, I’m sure you’d love that.” It’s meant to be a joke, but it comes out too flat.

He freezes, his fingers still on the tab of the can. “That’s not funny.” It’s quiet. Too quiet compared to his usual booming voice. 

You blink. Of all the reactions he could’ve had, that wasn’t one you knew what to do with. You try to come up with a response, a reaction, anything. But it feels like you’ve been playing a video game and an NPC just became sentient. There’s no script for this. No protocol.

So you don’t. You just reach for the can. When he realizes that you’re reaching for it, he furrows his brows and seems like he doesn’t know what to do either. But he seems to regain his footing quickly and pulls his hand back, grabbing the tablet resting in his lap and pulling up the radar. 

After a minute of tense silence, you decide you need music. So you open Spotify on the CarPlay and choose music that doesn’t make you think of him. Something that isn’t what he’d listen to.

For once in his life, Scott doesn’t comment on it. 

You make it to a straight dirt road that cuts through some fields and watch as Javi overtakes Dexter and Dani’s RV in front of you to be behind Tyler. Oh. So that’s how today’s gonna go.

At the sight of the rotating clouds in front of you, Scott starts to shuffle things around on his side to be prepared to place the PAR and you pause the music. He looks at the center console and notices your safety glasses aren’t placed where they usually are. “Where’s your safety glasses?”

“My bag. In the back.” Your response is flat.

“Why are they still in your bag?” He sounds just as, if not even more, annoyed than you, but is already twisting around in his seat to grab your bag from the back. 

“Because you didn’t give me any fucking warning before jumping in here and yelling at me to drive.”

“Well, I am so sorry the tornado decided to mess with your nap, but this is our job, remember?” He grabs the bag and sits back in his seat, going through all the pockets before finding your glasses and placing them in the center console before tossing it back behind his seat. 

“I am well aware that it’s my job, Scott. We’re here, aren’t we? There’s a tornado on the ground directly in front of us, isn’t there?” At your last point you get pissed even further, realizing you missed the touchdown, the best part, because you were arguing. 

He scoffs and shakes his head, looking directly at you. “Someone’s in a mood–” 

You cut him off, completely forgetting about the argument the second you register what you’re seeing in front of you. “Twins!” You point at the windshield. “Twins!”

He falters for a second before turning to follow your finger, taking in the sight of the two tornadoes. Some of the tension drains from his shoulders. “Well, shit,” he breathes out.

When you see them start to rotate around each other, you can’t help but smile widely, slapping the steering wheel. “Fujiwhara effect! Holy shit, I’ve only ever read about that!”

“Huh. You do not see that everyday,” he mutters, seemingly also entranced by the motion.

They don’t rotate around each other for long. Soon, they move to pull away from each other and you all know that one will die out. You need to pick the one that won’t.

Suddenly you’re all pushing forward even faster. The needle on the speedometer on your dash sits at 70 mph and inches higher as you put more pressure on the pedal, excitement settling in your belly. You try to get around the RV in front of you, but Dexter swerves every time you do, effectively blocking you from passing. It’s as funny as it is frustrating.

“Go for it. Get around him,” Scott says, hand gesturing forward in irritation. You stick to the edge of the dirt road on the left and when the RV moves a little more to the right, he tries to direct you again. “Get on his left. Get on his left.”

“I’m trying,” you mumble, sighing when they block you again.

“Well, try harder.” 

It’s simultaneously the most aggravating and attractive thing you’ve ever heard and you will not be dwelling on it, thank you very much.

“All right, guys, let’s stop playing games. Let’s cut these guys off,” Javi’s voice crackles through your earpieces. 

Given that Tin Man and Wizard are both still behind you, you have no choice but to try and get around the RV. “This is stupid,” you mutter before pressing down harder on the gas pedal and managing to swerve around them on their right. You watch Javi in front of you pass Tyler’s truck and the four StormPAR vehicles manage to form a line once again, passing the Wranglers.

“I thought they liked you.”

Something in your chest gets tight, as does your grip on the steering wheel. Stupid, considering how casually he says it. “They do like me. They probably think it’s you driving.” You bring your hand up to speak into your earpiece, not giving him a chance to comment any further. “Which one are we taking, Javi? Left or right?”

There’s a moment of silence on the other end before Javi’s voice comes through again. “Right, guys, go right.”

You nod despite the fact he can’t see you and push forward. Just as you hit the intersection, though, Javi’s truck in front of you takes a hard left turn. Scott’s reaction time is quicker than yours, hand already out and instructing, “Going left. Go left, go left.” He hits the button on his own earpiece. “Javi, you sure? The right one’s got better numbers.” He hits the button again and you watch the Wranglers in the rear view mirror as they take the right. “Who the hell is making decisions up there, him or her?”

You’re exhausted, confused, and annoyed, so you bite a little harsher than necessary, “If you’re trying to get me to agree with you that Kate doesn’t belong here, it’s not going to happen.”

He glares at the side of your face. “I’m not trying to get you to agree with me on anything. Gave up on that a long time ago. But if she’s wrong about this like I think she is, that’s two blown chases. We can’t afford that just so Javi can reconnect with his little girlfriend.”

“Okay, first off,” you glance at him briefly in disbelief before focusing back on the road. “They’re not a couple. Even if they were, she’s an educated professional just like you and him and you don’t get to reduce her to just being somebody’s girlfriend. Second, we’ve had plenty of failed chases before. Some were your fault! So you can’t really say shit. Now can you please stop arguing with me for two seconds so I can focus on the fucking tornado?” You’re breathing a little heavier by the end of your rant, not realizing you’d started to raise your voice until it’s suddenly deathly silent inside the vehicle, save for the gravel under the tires and howling wind outside. 

Scott opens his mouth but quickly snaps it shut again. When you turn to grab your glasses and put them on, you can see the familiar tick in his jaw, the way he’s clenching it tightly. He hesitates too long and doesn’t get a chance to respond before you’re throwing the SUV into reverse, slamming on the breaks, and you’re both jumping out to place the PAR. 

The wind whips your hair into your face once again and you angrily try to brush it back behind your ears, making a mental note to just go buy some damn hair ties already. There’s no rain, which helps significantly, so you both get the radar placed quickly. Scott alerts the others as you guys get back into the truck and the Tin Man crew confirm they're also up a second later. 

You drive to a safe spot out of the path, not far away and let out a breath of relief when Peter confirms that Wizard is receiving data from all three PARs. Good. Take that, Scott.

Your relief is short-lived when Peter says they lost Javi’s radar and Javi doesn’t respond. 

Thirty agonizing seconds. 

Silence in your earpiece.

Silence from Scott.

The only sound is the familiar rapid bouncing of your leg and the bite of your teeth on the already-raw skin of your fingers.

You can’t sit here. 

You throw the car door open and slam it shut behind you, pacing in the grass. Your eyes lock onto the tornado in the distance.

It shifted. Right toward where Kate and Javi had been.

Your stomach sinks.

You don’t hear the passenger door open and close behind you over the howling wind and noise in your head. You jump when Scott is suddenly in front of you, yelling over the wind. “Get back in the car.”

You shake your head frantically, words muffled around the finger between your teeth, focus still on the tornado behind him. “I can’t.”

“Standing out here isn’t helping anyone.”

Your voice rises an octave. Your eyes are wide and frantic as you finally snap your gaze to his face and pull your hand away. “So I’m just supposed to sit there and be totally calm about the fact that they could be hurt?” You bring your hand back to your mouth as soon as you're done speaking.

He steps forward then, his gaze still locked on yours, and grabs your wrist. His touch is far gentler than you’d imagined as he slowly pulls your hand away. “I’m not saying you need to be totally calm,” he says, voice still raised over the wind. His tone is softer than normal, but firm. “But I am saying you don’t have control over this, so stop acting like you should.”

Your shoulders drop slightly and you almost soften. But when he mentions control, you rip your wrist from his grasp and take a step back. “Oh, please! Like you’re not obsessed with control!” You spit the words out.

He lets out a cold, humorless laugh and takes a step forward, closing the distance you tried to make. “This is my job,” he says your name with an intensity you’ve never heard. “I have to be in control. Because if I’m not, nobody is, and then people get hurt.”

Your eyes narrow, burning into his with defiance. You have to tilt your head back to hold his gaze, mentally cursing his height that you usually have to stop yourself from drooling over. “No, you do it because you have a superiority complex. Anybody on this team could do what you do.”

“Not you!” The words are out of his mouth immediately–like he didn’t even have to think about them. “You panic. You run. You chew your fingers until they bleed! Does that sound like somebody you’d want in charge of a team in a highly dangerous profession?”

The words hit exactly where he means for them to. You freeze, letting them sit heavily in your chest for just a moment before pushing through the hurt, using it to fuel your anger. “At least I give a fuck! At least I don’t have impossible standards so I can continue to act like everyone around me is disposable!” You jab your pointer finger into the center of his chest. “You don’t want control to make sure people don’t get hurt. You want control so you can make everyone around you feel incompetent–so you get to be the only one who matters.”

Something sharp flashes in his eyes and he opens his mouth to respond, but he’s cut off by Javi’s voice crackling through the earpieces. “We’re good. It grazed us, but we’re good.”

For a second you don’t process the words, then the anger leaves your body so quickly it makes you dizzy. “Oh, thank god,” you breathe out, dropping your hand and dragging it down your face, stumbling back to stabilize yourself against the vehicle.

Scott doesn’t say anything to you. Instead you watch in real time as he takes a deep breath, closes his eyes for just a moment, and walks around the front of the car back to the passenger side. He presses the button on his earpiece. “All right, we got two radars that held up. Yours was getting great data, we just need to find it and download it all.”

You stand frozen for a beat, two, before slowly sliding back into the driver’s seat. The silence in the car is nearly unbearable as you shift into drive, going back to where the radar is to pick it up. You can only handle the weight of it for less than a minute. “You don’t get to speak to me like that.” It comes out quieter than you planned for it to.

He doesn’t say anything. Not when you say that. Not when you make it to the radar and both have to put it back in the trunk. Not even when Javi says to hold off on finding his radar and go into Crystal Springs instead to help the small town that got hit by the same tornado. And not a single sarcastic mutter under his breath on the drive there. 

- - - -

The damage is devastating.

Entire walls and roofs are missing from houses. Cars are overturned. The local police have imposed a curfew for safety.

This is why you do what you do. 

Because these people have just experienced what they’ll likely remember as one of the worst days of their lives, and the research you’re gathering could help give them more advanced warnings. 

There are so many people. Civilians, first responders, chasers. It makes you a little teary to see a community come together like this. 

Javi and Scott made sure that every person on StormPAR was trained in first aid, and that comes in handy in situations like this. You’re finishing bandaging up a young boy’s wound from flying debris when you hear a voice coming from a nearby house calling out for ‘Wally.’

You pat the boy’s shoulder and push yourself off the ground, making your way towards the voice. You find a woman standing in front of her home that’s barely standing, hands cupped around her mouth. “Wally! Come out, honey!”

You approach her and gently place your hand on her upper arm. “Ma’am, is someone still in the house?”

She startles and turns toward you, tears streaking down her cheeks. “My cat, Wally. I heard him meow, I know he’s in there, I just don’t know where. I lost him when I was climbing out.”

Your heart breaks and you look around at the first responders. They’re all busy trying to rescue actual people, you know they don’t have time for a cat… 

But you do.

“Okay, where in the house did you see him last?” You bend down to make sure your boots are laced tightly.

“Um, I think it was the kitchen? I’m not sure, honestly, everything looks so turned around inside.” You straighten up and nod. “I understand. I’m gonna try to find him, okay?”

She lets out a choked sob and nods frantically, folding her hands in front of her mouth. “Thank you so much.”

You give her a smile that you hope is reassuring and doesn’t relay the anxiety and dread you feel sitting heavy in your chest. You instruct her to go find a paramedic for herself to check out the laceration on her forehead that’s slowly but steadily bleeding while you search for Wally, then take a deep breath before climbing over the wood and furniture blocking your way into the house.

You’re about to step over the threshold that you think leads into what used to be the living room when a familiar, aggravating voice yells out behind you, “What do you think you’re doing?”

You stop and let out a long exhale, not turning around to face him. “Finding a cat.”

“Are you fucking stupid?” You whip around at that, arms crossed over your chest, glaring at him. “Excuse me?”

“You’re going into a structure that’s one gust of wind from collapsing, alone, for a cat?” The look on his face is both incredulous and pissed.

You nod once. “Yes.”

He just stares at you for a moment. “You are the most stubborn person I have ever met in my entire life.” You shrug and turn back around, ready to continue your search, before he yells out again. “Hey! Stop! Seriously, you’re going to get hurt.”

“I’m fine, Scott! Go back to trying to rip people off with Riggs,” you call over your shoulder, ducking under a beam and finally entering the house. You hear him scoff loudly, but he doesn’t say anything else.

The dust hits you like a smack in the face. It’s thick, instantly burning your eyes and throat. You cough once and cover your nose and mouth with your hand, cursing yourself for not thinking about this ahead of time. 

The floor underneath your feet, if you could even call it a floor anymore, is unsteady. Littered in debris and unstable from the structural damage, you walk very carefully, keeping a close eye with every step. Every shift and creak makes you pause.

“Wally!” You shout, muffled by your hand. When you don’t hear anything in response, you take a deep breath and remove your hand, calling out again. You hear a small meow from ahead of you and gasp, coughing as you inhale dust. You quickly replace your hand and keep moving forward carefully.

When you get to where the living room meets the kitchen, you see a large gray cat across the floor, wide green eyes staring up at you.

“Hi buddy,” you coo, crouching down and holding out the hand that’s not covering your mouth. “Come here, little guy, I’ve got ya.” He hesitates for a moment, but quickly decides he can trust you. He carefully steps around the debris in his path and the second he’s within reach, you scoop him up with both arms. “Okay, mister, let’s get out of here.”

You do your best to hold your breath to avoid breathing in dust, but every time your foot slips or you feel yourself start to wobble, you gasp, inhaling more each time. But your grip on Wally never loosens.

You make it back to the exit after what’s realistically only been minutes, but felt like hours. When you reemerge, you take a large breath, welcoming the fresh air back into your lungs before a short coughing fit alerts the people nearby of your presence once again. The woman is having her wound cleaned by a paramedic right in front of the house, but the second she sees you with Wally in your arms she pushes forward and runs, wrapping you in a tight hug as a choked sob escapes, muttering thanks over and over. 

You’re not sure how to handle the gesture, but you let her hug and thank you as much as she needs before carefully handing the cat over to her. She holds him tightly, sobbing into his fur while your eyes scan the area around you for something she can keep him secure in. A tap on your shoulder behind you makes you turn, where you’re instantly greeted by a large cardboard box. You look up to see Scott holding it out to you. You didn’t even know he was still there. You pause, eyes flicking between him and the box, before grabbing it wordlessly and turning back to the woman. 

“Here, you can put him in this.” You look around for a blanket or something similar, but everything is either torn to shreds or soaked in rain and mud. “Um… one second.” You run back to Scarecrow and dig through your bag in the backseat, grabbing an old t-shirt that you only ever wear to sleep. You jog back to them, laying the shirt along the bottom of the box and helping her place him inside. “There you go,” you say, shooting her a smile.

She thanks you once again, pulling you into another tight hug, before taking the box back to the paramedic to finish getting her wound cleaned up. Scott opens his mouth, but you cut him off. “Don’t.” You don’t give him the chance to say anything else before walking off. 

 You spot Kate next to Javi’s truck, posture tighter than normal. You approach her gently. “Everything okay?”

“Hm?” Her head snaps up to you. “Oh, yeah, just… Tyler.” 

You nod slowly. “Love the guy, but yeah, that tracks.”

“Are you okay? You seem… upset.”

You huff out a laugh. “Scott.”

She nods, one corner of her mouth turning up. “Also not surprising.” She gestures to the truck. “Javi gave me the keys, told me to get some rest. You want to come with? Get away from the guys?”

You exhale in relief, feeling tension leave your shoulders. “I would love that, thank you.”

- - - -

You lay on your side in your bed, scrolling through your phone, while Kate sits with her laptop open in front of her on the other. The news plays quietly in the background of the small motel room, discussing the tornado outbreak and the State of Emergency that’s been issued by the governor. Your phone buzzes with a text.

Javi (6:13 pm): Where are you?

You (6:14 pm): with kate

Javi (6:16 pm): Which is where?

You (6:18 pm): a motel by the rodeo

Javi (6:20 pm): You guys aren’t staying with us tonight?

You (6:23 pm): she’s mad at tyler, i’m mad at scott

Javi (6:26 pm): Why is she mad at Tyler?

Javi (6:26 pm): Scott mentioned you were pissed at him. You wanna talk about it?

You (6:29 pm): no idea. and nope

Javi (6:31 pm): Understood. See you two in the morning?

You (6:31 pm): 👍

“Hey, what do you know about Riggs?”

Your head snaps up at Kate’s question, seeing her hunched over her laptop. “What?”

“Marshall Riggs. The StormPAR investor. Do you know anything?”

“Uh, I know he’s Scott’s uncle. And he, like, buys properties from people affected by storm damage. Not much else.”

She turns to you. “Is he ripping people off?”

The question catches you off guard. Because while you’re not sure, you just accused Scott of doing that exact thing an hour ago. “Honestly? I’m not sure. But I wouldn’t put it past him. Why?”

She shakes her head, chewing on her lip as she looks back down at her laptop. “Tyler said something about it… I really want him to be wrong.”

You’re about to respond, but there’s a knock at the door. You and Kate share a look before she gets up to answer it. You sit up, angling to see who it is once it’s open, shocked to see Tyler. 

“Some of Javi’s crew said you were staying out by the rodeo.” He pauses, peering inside, holding up a box of pizza. “Hi, Sunny. Thought you guys might be hungry.”

You wave at his greeting to you and watch as Kate seems to debate something internally. She stands there for a moment, holds her hand out, takes the pizza box, and shuts the door right in Tyler’s smiling face.

Your hand flies to your mouth to cover up the snort that escapes. Kate turns back around with a poorly suppressed smirk on her face. She sits down on your bed, sets the pizza box between you, and pauses, staring down at it. 

“You gonna open the door again?” You ask after a few moments with a grin. 

She groans dramatically but stands and saunters back over to the door. When she opens it, Tyler is still standing there, a smile growing on his face as soon as he sees her again. She waits until he situates himself, leaning his shoulder against the door frame, before asking,  “You find the dog?”

“Of course I found the dog,” he answers with a cocky lilt. He peeks around the door, pointing at you. “And I heard you climbed into a collapsing house to save a cat?”

Kate whips around to stare at you, her eyes wide. You smile at them sheepishly, “Perhaps.”

Kate shakes her head and turns back to Tyler. You lay back down, scrolling on your phone, letting them have their own conversation. A minute later, he’s walking inside the room behind Kate, who’s grabbing her phone and wallet.

“Let’s go,” he says, gesturing for you to get up.

You look up at him. “What? Go where?”

 “Just get up, you’ll see.”

You sit up with a grunt, eyebrows furrowed as you slide on your sneakers and grab your own phone and wallet. 

- - - -

“The rodeo?” You ask, tilting your head toward Tyler as the three of you walk across the street. 

“The rodeo,” he confirms with a nod and smile.

Once you’re seated in the stands, surrounded by people, Tyler in between you and Kate, you ask, “Why the rodeo?”

“Well, I know you’ve never been,” he says to you, then turns to Kate. “You ever see anything like this, city girl?”

Her eyes flick between him and the action in front of you all, taking a moment to clap along with everything else, before she responds. “You keep calling me that. You know I grew up on a farm?” At his shocked look, she shrugs. “Yeah. Sapulpa. Couple hours from here. This ain’t my first rodeo.”

“Look at that,” he muses. “I learned something about you.”

“You guys are making me feel like a third wheel,” you laugh, enjoying the way they both turn red. You focus on the rodeo, now, letting them have their moment. It’s obvious that Tyler is whipped for her already, and while Kate is definitely better at hiding her feelings, you’re sure she likes him too.

After a few minutes of tuning out their conversation and watching the events of the rodeo, a large gust of wind sends leaves and dust into the air, blowing through the stands. The crowd murmurs, mostly annoyed by the inconvenience of strong winds, but you feel goosebumps raise on your arms and a pit start to form in your stomach.

Lightning flashes a moment later, followed almost immediately by a rumble of thunder. Kate picks up a leaf from in front of her and turns to Tyler. “Were you tracking cells out this way?” Tyler’s eyes glance down to hers before he turns to look at you as well. The three of you glance around at the sky, immediately noticing the shift in the air. “Air feels heavy,” Kate points out. “This isn’t good.”

You start to dig your phone out of your back pocket, ready to pull up the radar and make sure you’re all just being dramatic, but before it’s even fully in your hands, the sound of EAS alerts fills your ears as another flash of lighting strikes.

Your head snaps up to Kate and Tyler for a brief moment before you look down at your phone, staring at the tornado warning. A second later, the sirens start. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, I just received word a tornado has touched down near the area! We need to evacuate this arena right now! Once again, ladies and gentlemen, we need to evacuate this arena right now!”

The crowd explodes at the announcer’s words. Everyone is on their feet, shouting, shoving each other, trying to get out as quickly as possible. The bulls bolt to their pens, bellowing as they do. 

The three of you are up and moving immediately. Someone gets trampled in front of you and you all stop to help her up, Tyler guiding her forward again, before continuing to run back across the street to the motel. There’s still screaming, honking, the howling of the wind, sirens, but all you can hear is the rush of blood in your ears. Every tornado you’ve been in has been part of a chase, something controlled and planned for. This is new.

Unpredictable. 

Dangerous.

As you make it back to the motel, a mother is helping her young daughter get into the back seat of her car, and you all shout to stop her. You usher them inside with you, bursting into the lobby. You and Kate get inside first and push past the man talking to the motel employee while his girlfriend stands to the side.

“Do you have a storm shelter?” Kate asks.

“Man, the AC’s blowing hot air,” the other guy complains, talking over the employee as he tries to tell Kate there’s no storm shelter. “Can we get a refund going here?”

“All right, maybe like a basement. Do you have a basement?” Tyler asks after shoving his way to the counter as well.

The clerk again tells Tyler no, and the other guy turns to Tyler. “There’s a line here, buddy.”

Tyler ignores him and turns back to the employee, telling him that we need to get people underground. You turn to the other man. “There’s a tornado, buddy.” You can hear the mom comforting her daughter behind you.

“Okay, there’s no tornado,” a woman leaning against the window says as she lazily fans herself with a pamphlet, rolling her eyes. You and Kate both freeze, turning toward her. “Nine times out of ten, it’s a false alarm.”

“Babe, we’re meteorologists. I promise there’s a tornado,” you say frantically, unable to let her ignorance affect whether or not you get these people somewhere safe.

“You hear that?” She asks as the lights flicker and the sirens outside suddenly get quieter. “No tornado.” She looks at you smugly.

“Now the power’s out,” the other guy complains. 

“We got to find a shelter, fast,” Kate says, running behind the desk to search for a safe place. Tyler turns to the mother and daughter, making sure they’re okay. 

“Hey, I don’t want to have to give you a bad review-”

“Can you shut up?!” You snap, cutting the man off and gesturing wildly. “Nobody cares about your fucking review, man!” You turn to the little girl and her mother, holding out a gentle hand, wincing. “Sorry.”

Kate comes rushing out of the back. “Everybody, come with me!”

Tyler doesn’t waste a second. “All right, follow her, follow her.” His hand is on the mother’s shoulder, gently guiding her before she takes off running after Kate, holding her daughter’s hand. The motel employee follows a second later, the four of them running into the back. 

You stay with Tyler, trying to get the other two to follow you. You both resort to physical force. You move for the woman, Tyler moves for the man. You barely drag the woman out of the way before a siren crashes through the window, creating an explosion of glass. 

You miss the siren by mere inches, feel stinging across your body from where the glass hits you, but don’t have any time to focus on it. Tyler is at your side in a flash, hauling you off the ground by your arm, dragging you along with him.

You didn’t even realize you’d fallen.

“There’s a tornado! There’s a tornado!” The girl is shouting, sprinting for the back door. 

I told you so.

The couple ends up behind you as you all run out the back door, following Kate to the empty pool. It’s not covered, but it’s the lowest ground around and surrounded on all four sides. It’s smart. 

It’s probably your only chance at surviving.

The wind whips your hair so hard it feels like it’s being ripped out. When you get to the pool gate, Kate holds it open, ushering you all in. Tyler goes first with the mother, daughter, helping them down the ladder into the deep end of the pool. You push the motel employee through the gate before you and turn to do the same with the couple, but you realize they’re not behind you anymore.

Kate notices at the same time and you both freeze, watching as they scramble into their truck and attempt to drive away. You both start screaming for them to stop even though you know they can’t hear you. They don’t even make it out of the parking lot before their truck is thrown onto its side. 

You both watch in horror as the truck spins on the ground once, twice, before being picked up into the air and thrown so hard you lose sight of it almost immediately. Your stomach drops so hard you think you might throw up.

That’s when you actually see it for the first time. In between flashes of lightning, you see the massive tornado as it hits the motel and it’s like everything else just… stops. No sound, no people, just you and this beautiful, terrifying thing that is probably going to kill you. 

Everything comes rushing back in when Tyler wraps his hands around your waist, practically tossing you toward the pool ladder and shouting something you can’t quite make out. You snap back into focus. Kate isn’t next to you anymore, instead already in the pool, helping the mother and daughter get safely situated, holding onto the pipes in a cutout area of the wall.

You quickly climb down the ladder, waiting at the bottom for him to join you. The employee jumps into the pool a second later, further toward the shallow end, and is immediately followed by a vending machine that just barely misses him but cuts off his direct path to you.

The three of you all make a move to go for him, but Tyler tells you and Kate to stay back with the mother and daughter and his tone leaves no room for argument. You both manage to safely drag your way along the bottom of the pool back to the cutout. You check on the mom and daughter, who are both still secure, and turn back to watch Tyler.

The employee gets blown back by the wind, and you can feel the all too familiar pit of dread once again. When he gets on all fours instead of staying flat on the ground like Tyler’s shouting at him to do, it gives the wind the perfect opportunity to sweep under him, and you just… stare as he’s tossed into the air as well. 

As soon as he’s out of sight, a mangled trailer comes crashing down in his place, landing so close to Tyler it makes him bounce. You start shouting, not even able to hear yourself over the wind and rain that’s now starting as the tornado gets closer and closer, trying to tell him to hurry up! He drags himself along the bottom of the pool, using the drain cover as leverage, but the trailer is being blown towards him.

You and Kate each keep one hand on the pipes and reach out your others. He grabs onto them both as soon as he’s close enough, and you haul him forward just as the wind sends the trailer slamming against the wall. If it weren’t for the cutout, you’d all have been crushed.

Tyler crouches over you and Kate, holding onto the pipes above your heads. You can hear the mother next to you, repeating over and over to her daughter that they’re okay, that she’s got her, that she’s safe.

They’re safe. You’re safe.

Realistically, it should make you feel better, too.

Your grip on the pipes doesn’t cease even when the wind gets quieter and everyone else moves around to you. You don’t open your eyes, don’t even breathe, because you’re not sure you can trust that it’s actually over.

It’s not until Tyler places a gentle hand on your shoulder that you finally dare to peek one eye open, letting out a sharp breath. “Hey… hey. It’s over. We’re okay.”

You slowly turn your head over your shoulder to see the trailer leaning precariously over the cutout. It’s acting as a sort of shield right now, but if it slips, you’ll be trapped. Your rational brain knows that you need to get out, that the tornado is gone and you’ll be safer out of here.

But your body doesn’t seem to get the memo. Your hands are trembling–whether from how tight your grip is or the adrenaline, you’re not sure. Your breathing is shallow and your entire body feels like it’s on fire.

But you still don’t move. Still don’t react. 

When Tyler can tell that you’re not getting up on your own, he carefully pries your hands from the pipes, hooks his arms under your armpits, and drags you out himself. You don’t bother trying to fight him on it.

When you’re out of the cutout, he hauls you to your feet and wraps one arm around your waist, the other around your shoulders. “Come on, you gotta help me out, here.” You move on instinct, forcing your feet to stay planted on the ground despite the fact that your legs feel far too heavy. When you look around over the pool edge, it’s like you don’t even recognize where you are. Entire buildings are flattened, vehicles are flipped over, the ground is almost completely covered in debris. “You still with me?”

You blink at him. “What?” Has your voice always sounded like that?

“I asked if you’re still with me. Can you move?” His voice is so gentle it makes you even more nauseous.

You nod, but don’t put much thought into the action. Slowly–very, very slowly–you drag your feet under you, unintentionally forcing Tyler to carry most of your weight, until you make your way up the pool steps on shaking legs.  

Once you’re out of the pool, Tyler gently seats you next to Kate and the mother and daughter on the ground before he pulls out his phone. First he calls 911. His voice sounds too far compared to his actual distance from you, but your attention sharpens slightly at the mention of medical assistance. You glance at the others and don’t see any visible injuries and are about to ask why you’d need an ambulance, but then you look down and see you’re covered in cuts that are still bleeding. 

Oh.

Then he calls Boone, letting him know what happened and that he’s okay. By the sounds of it, the rest of the Wranglers don’t waste a second before coming to meet you guys.

You fumble in your back pocket for your phone, fingers too clumsy to get a grip on it. You turn to Kate when it slips back into your pocket once more, your breathing growing slightly heavier when you can’t grab onto it. “We need to call them–Javi and Scott. Kate, we need to tell them where we are.”

She places a hand on your arm and it instantly steadies your breathing again. “I already did. They’re on their way.”

You nod for too long, staring straight ahead at the pile of wood you’re pretty sure used to be the motel. Your eyes catch a glimpse of white. You stare at it for a moment before registering that it’s Javi’s truck, the one you guys took here, now thrown into the walls. But it’s upright and still looks functional from what you can tell. Good. Less money, less paperwork, less delay in work. 

You’re not sure how much time passes before the whirring of helicopter blades overhead breaks your blank stare, a spotlight shining down on you all as it scans the area, and the arrival of multiple emergency vehicles and the Wranglers in very quick succession. It’s enough to disorient you, not sure what to focus on first. 

Tyler unknowingly makes the choice for you when he brings a paramedic over to where you’re sitting. The woman crouches down in front of you, doing a brief visual assessment before asking if you can stand. You nod automatically, so she calls over her partner, and they both manage to get you upright and over to the ambulance on the other side of the pool. 

The walk is short, but every step feels like your legs are going to give out from under you and your clothes stick uncomfortably to your skin with each movement due to the rain. When you finally make it to the ambulance, they help you get seated on the back and immediately wrap a warm blanket around your shoulders. They look over your body and work on removing the small glass shards in your arms and back. You’re lucky, they tell you, that you didn’t get any in your face. You don’t feel lucky. You don’t feel much.

You think it should hurt more than it does, but you’re thankful it doesn’t. Once they’re done removing the glass, they work on cleaning up the cuts that litter your body and try to stop them from bleeding. It’s a long process. Too long. Long enough that they’re still doing it when the rest of your team shows up. 

You watch as Javi gets out of the vehicle quicker than you’ve ever seen. He spots Kate first where she stands with Tyler, Lily, and Ben and you watch as they run toward each other, pulling each other into a tight hug. That should make you smile. But it doesn’t.

You don’t notice Scott until he’s coming up right behind the paramedics, walking faster than normal. His gaze is locked on you over their heads and you just… meet it.

“What the hell were you thinking?” He snaps as soon as he’s close enough. The paramedics continue their work. 

You blink at him, hearing the question, but you don’t have an answer. Instead, you slowly raise one of your hands and jab your thumb to your left. “Javi’s truck is over there. Didn’t try to start it yet, but it looks okay.”

He visibly falters, taking a half step back. He blinks a few times, then lets his eyes roam over your body, taking it all in. The blood, the broken skin, the soaked clothes and hair sticking to your face… the blank look in your eyes. His jaw tightens. “Wh–,” he cuts himself off and draws his eyebrows together. “I didn’t ask about the truck.”

You don’t respond to him. Just continue letting the paramedics clean you up. Your eyes drift from him, toward the scene of Kate, Javi, and Tyler in the background. Maybe this will bring your teams closer together.

Scott says your name sharply, hoping to get any reaction from you, but all you do is slowly bring your focus back to him, and that makes him break. He turns toward the paramedics now, barking out, “Is this normal? Did she hit her head or something?”

One of the paramedics glances at him briefly before returning her focus back to a particularly nasty cut on your bicep. “The others she was with reported no head trauma. This just seems like classic shock.”

He scoffs, “Classic shock?” “Yes, sir, classic shock. She just went through a traumatic event, this is–”

He cuts her off. “I know what she just went through. This is our job, she has never been this… this–detached after a storm. Something is wrong.” He’s speaking frantically now. He turns, his eyes rapidly flicking around the chaos before he spots Tyler and shouts his name. Tyler rushes over immediately, his expression concerned, and Scott doesn’t even let him get a word out before he’s pressing him. “Did she hit her head?” Tyler shakes his head, frown deepening. “No, I already told them.” He gestures toward the paramedics, who are putting a bandage over the cut on your bicep. “I even made sure when she fell. Why?”

Scott’s eyes widen, his voice rising. “She fell?”

Tyler reels back slightly at the intensity of his voice but keeps his own voice even. “Yeah, a siren flew through the window, that’s what the cuts are from. It missed her, but she fell. I watched, though, and she never hit her head. Why, what’s going on?” His eyes snap to you as the paramedics step back, deciding to give you all some more privacy now that you’re cleaned up. 

“What’s going on?” Scott echoes incredulously. “Look at her!” He throws an arm out, gesturing at where you’re sitting, hunched with the blanket wrapped around your shoulders, watching them blankly. “She’s, like, broken!”

Tyler keeps his voice gentle. “Scott, man, I’m pretty sure this is just–”

“If you say shock, I’m going to punch you.”

Tyler softens, letting his posture drop slightly, becoming less defensive. He gently puts his hand on the back of Scott’s shoulder and turns him away from you, lowering his voice. “Look, I get that it’s scary, but this is a normal reaction. I was with her the whole time. She didn’t get seriously injured, but it was… it was bad, man. I mean, really bad. Three people died right in front of her.” He glances at you over his shoulder for a beat before turning back to Scott. “That’s not something you can just bounce back from right away, you know that.”

The breath that comes out of Scott feels like it was punched from his lungs. He was prepared to come here, yell at you, maybe get a quote on the property. He didn’t expect to find you so shut down, not bothering to snap at him even when he intentionally tried to get you to. He has no idea what to do–how to handle you like this. But he can’t say that.

So instead he lets out a humorless laugh and shakes his head, pulling out of Tyler’s grip. “She doesn’t–” He pulls his baseball cap off and drags a hand through his hair, turning to glance at you for just a moment. “She doesn’t do this. My team doesn’t do this. They’re professionals–she’s a professional.” “They don’t do this because they chase in a controlled environment, normally,” Tyler reasons. “This was not a controlled environment. Look around you, man. What rating would you give it based on what you see right here?”

Scott opens his mouth to tell him he’s being stupid, but he stops short when he actually processes the damage for the first time since arriving. You wouldn’t have been able to tell this used to be a motel if you didn’t already know. The rodeo isn’t recognizable anymore either, the only familiar structure being the bull pens. “EF4, maybe.” “Yeah, that’s what I’d say, too. You guys chased an EF4 while she’s been on the team?” When Scott shakes his head, Tyler nods slowly. “This was probably the scariest moment of her life.” He exhales, shaking his head. “Hell, it was the scariest moment of mine, and I’ve been chasing way longer. Give her some time.”

- - - -

When you wake up in an unfamiliar motel room, it takes a moment to remember how you got there. You sit up too fast, looking around frantically. When you spot your phone on the nightstand, you unlock it with shaky hands. One of the most recent notifications is a text. 

Kate (11:19 am): In case you wake up while I’m gone, I’m running a few errands. The others should be around if you need anything.

You glance up at the time–11:34 am–and let out a relieved exhale. And then the pain hits all at once. Your skin feels like it’s been torn open, because it has, every muscle feels heavy and sore, and your head throbs. 

Seeing as Kate still isn’t back, you call the next best person–Javi. He answers on the second ring. “Hey, Sunny! You’re awake!” His voice is far too cheery for how shitty you feel.

“Yeah, I’m awake,” you croak out. Jesus, your voice sounds like shit.

“You sound like shit,” Javi said, echoing your exact thoughts. “How you feeling?”

“Fine.” It’s a lie, and you’re sure he knows it, too. “I don’t even know where I am. Are you here, too?”

“We all are. Kate just left to run a few errands, but the rest of us are here. You need anything? Food, water?” He doesn’t call you out on the lie, but the concern in his voice makes you wince. 

You hadn’t even processed how you feel besides the pain, but your stomach answers for you at the mention of food. “Food sounds great. And anything with caffeine. And pain meds.”

He chuckles and lets you know he’ll be at your room shortly before hanging up. In the sudden silence, everything from yesterday comes rushing back full force. The argument, the destruction, the visceral fear that was unlike anything you’ve ever felt. And then the way your emotions just… turned off. 

That part almost scares you more than anything else.

You don’t realize how heavily you’ve started breathing until a knock at the door makes your breath catch. Your heart pounds against your ribs, racing in time with your thoughts. You place a hand on your chest, force in a deep breath, slowly let it out, and stand.

You answer the door with a small, closed smile, and Javi’s hopeful expression immediately becomes one of concern. He gently pushes into the room, closing the door behind him while you stand awkwardly. “You lied.” You furrow your brows. “What?”

“You are not fine.” It’s not accusing, just said like a casual observation–like he’s not calling you out on something you’re desperately trying to hide. You don’t say anything as you grab the paper bag out of his hand, setting it down on the desk near the door. He pulls a plastic water bottle out of his pocket and holds it to you. “You can have your caffeine after you finish this.”

You stare at it for a beat before grabbing it with a small huff, taking a seat in the desk chair as he sits on the edge of your bed. You open the bag and pull out a breakfast sandwich–your go-to kind–and slowly take a bite. You both sit in silence as you chew and swallow the first bite before you mutter, “Thank you.”

He lets you eat a bit more, watching you fiddle with the wrapper in between bites, before he hesitantly says, “You scared the shit out of us last night.”

Your posture stiffens, chewing slower before roughly swallowing the food in your mouth. “Sorry.” Your voice comes out rougher than before.

“Why are you apologizing?” You just shrug, staring down at the desk. “Hey, Sunny, you know nobody’s mad at you, right?” He sounds genuinely confused.

You shrink–just barely, but enough for him to notice–starting to wrap up the rest of the sandwich. “Scott sounded mad.”

Javi’s eyes soften. “Look at me.” He gives you a moment, but when you don’t move, he scoots further onto the edge of the bed, bending forward to get into your peripheral. “Look at me, please.” You finally drag your gaze to meet his. “I know he sounded mad, but he’s not. I promise.”

You scoff. “Yeah, right.” You put the rest of the sandwich back into the bag and take a sip of water. “Have you seen Kate or Tyler? How are they?”

Javi watches you closely, opening his mouth then closing it, choosing his words carefully. “Kate is okay. Haven’t seen Tyler, yet, but they’re here too… He’s seriously not mad.”

“Did your truck survive?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Yes. Can you please stop changing the subject?” “There’s nothing to talk about, Javi,” you snap, harsher than you mean to. You take a deep breath and pinch the bridge of your nose. “I’m sorry, I just–it was a long day, okay?”

“I know. And I’m sorry. Scott didn’t really go into specifics, but he told me that you guys had a big fight after the chase. And when we saw the size of the tornado later on radar, and where it was headed…” he trails off, swallowing thickly. “He freaked out, Sunny. I mean, I have never seen him that scared. Ever.”

You freeze, feeling a sinking pit in your stomach and like the breath you’re attempting to take is cut off. Because surely Scott Miller wasn’t scared. He was mad. Mad that you were about to become a huge liability if you were injured. Mad about the possibility of Javi’s truck being damaged beyond repair.

…Or maybe he was scared. 

Because Kate was there, too. 

Maybe he’s been nicer to Kate than he’s ever been to you because he likes her. 

Not just tolerates her–but genuinely likes her. She’s competent, educated, attractive.

Your stomach twists further at the thought. You’re not jealous–that would be insane. You just–

Your thoughts are interrupted by a hand on your shoulder. “What just happened?”

Your head snaps up to look at Javi. “What? Nothing.”

He shoots you an unimpressed look. “You just completely zoned out after I said Scott was scared.”

You chuckle, looking down as you start to pick at your fingernails. “Yeah, I was thinking about how badly you misread that.”

He frowns and he tightens his grip on your shoulder. “I didn’t misread it.”

You pull out of his grasp, standing abruptly and moving to put the bag into the mini fridge, avoiding eye contact the entire time. The thought worms its way into your mind–what if he was scared for you–but you shake your head, dismissing it immediately. You can’t afford to get your hopes up that he cares about you–not again. It makes you wince. “I promise you did. And if, somehow, you’re right, he must’ve been scared for Kate. Maybe he has a crush on her, or something, who knows.”

He tuts, standing now as well, a disbelieving hint in his tone. “A crush?”

You shrug, crouching down to dig through your bag for clothes to change into, grimacing at the burn in your legs. “Yeah. You’ve seen how he is with her. I’m sure he’s writing their names together in little hearts. I mean, can you blame him?” You can’t stop the bitter edge to your words.

It’s silent for a moment as he watches you with concern. “Okay, no more of that.” He stands in front of you, arms crossed, waiting for you to look up at him. When you don’t, he crouches down as well, getting directly into your line of sight. “Hey.” It’s sharper than before.

You sigh deeply and roll your eyes, looking up at him. “What?”

“Stop. I’m serious. Nobody is mad and Scott was scared for you. I’m not just guessing, I’m not just trying to make you feel better, those are facts.”

“How can you possibly know that, Javi?” Your voice rises in both pitch and volume.

“Because he told me,” he says your name with finality.

You scrunch your brows together, shaking your head. His words sit between you for a moment, then, before you can stop yourself, “What did he say?”

He takes a breath, his tone softer when he says, “When we saw the storm forming on radar, we decided to chase it. We knew you and Kate were both tired and upset so we wanted to let you rest. As it grew and shifted paths, I freaked out, told everyone that you and Kate were staying in Stillwater–right where it was headed. We tried to call you, but the cell towers were down… when I told him that, he got more mad than I have ever seen him. Started yelling, saying we shouldn’t have let you go off on your own, told me that if anything happened to you it would be on him and he wouldn’t be able to live with that.” He lets you process the words for a beat, clenching his jaw, before adding, his voice barely above a whisper, “He never mentioned Kate once.”

Your breath catches in your chest and your ears feel like they’re ringing. “He– I–... He yelled at me. When he got there, after, he was pissed! And then he started yelling at the paramedic and at Tyler because I was in shock…” You trail off and shake your head once again. You squeeze your eyes shut, digging the heels of your hands into them. “No. No. You’re lying.”

“Why would I lie about that?” You can hear the hint of frustration layered under the genuine question.

You snap your hands back down to your lap, tilting your head accusingly. “I don’t know, Javi! Why would you?”

He holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay. Look, I get this has been a very difficult 24 hours for you, and I’m sorry about everything that’s happened. But I know that you know I have no reason to lie to you–especially not about this.” He slowly stands and you track him with your still narrowed eyes. “I’m going to give you some time to think about what I said, all right?”

You keep your eyes locked on him for a beat, your breathing more ragged than before, before nodding too quickly, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just think about what I said, yeah?” He’s back to using his soft tone–the one he uses when he can tell you need a friend, not a boss. You give him another nod and he steps around your bag, giving your shoulder one more gentle squeeze on his way out. 

As soon as the door shuts behind him, you can feel the burn in the back of your eyes and lump in your throat. You didn’t cry at all yesterday. Not over the argument, not over the aftermath of the Crystal Springs tornado, not even after the tornado at the rodeo. The one that–by all reasoning you can think of–should’ve killed you.

You try to swallow down the lump and squeeze your eyes shut, but it’s really no surprise the tears are suddenly streaming down your face with a choked sob–hot and impossible to stop. You take a deep, shuddering breath, pressing a hand to the middle of your chest as if that will help you take in more air.

You continue to sit on the floor for a few minutes, letting yourself break down. Every ragged breath and salty tear on your lips is another reminder of the fact that you’re alive.

Once your breathing finally starts to even out again and the tears slow to a more manageable pace, you gather your clothes and push yourself off the floor, groaning at the way every muscle in your body seems to protest. You make your way into the bathroom, and your first look in the mirror is like a shock to your system.

You look like shit. Your hair is a mess, the bags under your eyes are a deep purple, and your body is littered in cuts and bruises. You barely even recognize yourself…

The hot water of the shower does wonders for your aches–enough that you forgive the stinging of the cuts. You stand under the weak stream until it runs cold, and by the time you step out, you feel just a little less hollow than you have in almost 24 hours. 

You get changed into a pair of loose shorts and a t-shirt, brush through your hair, and slide on your shoes. At the door, you pause with your hand on the handle to take a deep breath and give yourself a sharp nod before opening it. The immediate difference in brightness has you squinting as the sun hits your face, but you bask in the warmth for a moment. 

“Hey, there she is!” Peter calls, snapping you out of your moment of relaxation. 

You open your eyes to find the rest of the team in the parking lot, seemingly doing a more thorough lookover on Lion, now all focused on you. You give them a small, closed smile and force one foot in front of the other before you can talk yourself out of it. 

Javi pulls you in for a side hug when you approach him, leaning close enough to mutter so only you can hear, “You feel better?”

You give him a small, almost imperceptible nod before pulling away and straightening up. “What’s the damage?”

“Surpisingly, it’s all cosmetic!” He says, clapping his hands together once and moving to the front of the truck that looks even more banged up in the daylight. “Everything’s fully functional. We’re not even gonna bother with a body shop right now–not when there’s still so much of the season left.”

You nod, looking over the truck as the others go back to their own conversations. The hood is dented and it’s covered in mud, but all of the equipment is intact. You take what feels like your first real deep breath since before the rodeo. 

Your focus is pulled from the truck when you hear someone clear their throat behind you. You turn around to find Scott standing closer than usual, arms crossed over his chest. “Can we talk?” He nods once to the side, gesturing somewhere more private.

You pause, then stumble over your words. “Oh–uh, yeah, sure.”

He starts walking and your brain takes a second to catch up with the action before you’re following him. He stops once he’s around the corner of the building, just out of sight from the rest of the team, then turns to face you. “They rated it an EF4.”

You look down, picking at your fingernails. “Oh.” 

He watches you for a few silent moments. “I’m…” He trails off, rubbing at his jaw, but you wave your hand before he can continue.

“You don’t have to say anything about it. The truck is fine, Kate’s fine, I’m fine. We can just move on, yeah?”

He draws his eyebrows together. “What? No, we can’t just ‘move on.’ You could have gotten hurt, Sunny.”

The nickname he rarely calls you makes you pause, but your defenses come back up in full force. “But I didn’t, did I?”

“You could have died,” he snaps, voice tight, eyes burning into yours. “Do you understand that?”

“Of course I understand that, Scott!” You snap back, throwing your arms out. “I was there. Not you,” you point at yourself and him respectively, maintaining eye contact. “So don’t lecture me on how it could’ve gone.”

He lets out a humorless laugh and looks away, shaking his head, before snapping his gaze back to yours. His eyes flash with anger. “You’re right, I wasn’t there.” He points back at you. “That’s the problem. I had to sit there and watch that thing grow on radar knowing it was heading in your direction and I couldn’t do shit about it.” He rips his hat off and runs a hand through his hair before putting it back on. “I didn’t know if you were okay–then I get there and you’re– you’re a fucking shell of a human!”

You scoff and cross your arms over your chest, raising your eyebrows. “Oh, you want me to believe this is concern?” You drop your arms, turning slightly away for a moment with clenched fists before turning back to him with an incredulous laugh. “That’s funny, because this seems a lot like you being pissed I became a potential liability.” You tilt your head, your tone becoming condescending. “Or is that not the story you’re trying to sell to everyone else?”

His expression hardens instantly and he takes a step forward. “Why is it so fucking hard for you to understand that people care about you–” he huffs and clenches his jaw for a beat. “That I care about you? Do you think pretending not to care makes you brave? Because, in reality, it’s just sad.”

You scoff and grit your teeth . “Maybe it’s so ‘fucking hard’ because all you do is tell me how incompetent and annoying I am. You have made it abundantly clear that you don’t want to work with me and don’t think I deserve to be here, so cut the bullshit.”

Something in his expression softens–almost unnoticeable–at that, but his tone is still just as insistent. “It’s not bullshit. And I have never called you incompetent, so don’t put words in my mouth. Okay, you’re right, I didn’t want to hire you. And yeah, I think you’re annoying sometimes. But do you seriously think I want you dead?”

“I don’t know what you want, Scott!” You feel the burn behind your eyes once again and squeeze them shut for a moment to keep the tears from falling. “Every time I think we might finally be able to work together without a screaming match, I manage to piss you off somehow and we’re back to square one.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead he looks at you–really looks at you–and seems to be turning something over in his mind. You squirm a little under his gaze. “I don’t think you’re incompetent. And I don’t think you’re a liability.” His voice is quieter, but no less firm. He takes a deep breath and chews on his bottom lip before continuing. “Look, nothing like that has happened before. Nobody on the team has been in something like that. So I don’t–” he huffs. “I don’t know how to not sound like an ass when I’m worried, okay?”

You watch him closely as he talks, trying to decide if he’s being honest or just trying to end the argument. You sit with his words for a moment, letting them sink in. He was worried. And he just admitted it. “You could try not yelling at me, for starters.”

His mouth twitches, just barely. “Noted.”

“Maybe therapy, too.” You can’t stop the corner of your mouth from lifting as you say it. 

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, but the smirk he was hiding is more visible now. “Shut up.”

“Seriously, though.” You cross your arms over your chest loosely. “I can’t keep doing this–arguing and being made to feel like I don’t belong here. I’m sure it’s not much of a threat to you, but I don’t know how much longer I can stay on this team if something doesn’t change.” You avoid his eyes, not wanting to see the confirmation that he wouldn’t care if you quit.

You’re pleasantly shocked when he says, “It’s a pretty big threat. Unfortunately, you generally seem to know what you’re doing.” The words sound physically painful for him to say.

Your eyes snap back to his, unable to hide the hopeful expression on your face. “Did you just admit that I’m useful?”

“I will never say it again.” It’s flat, which makes you chuckle. After a moment of silence that’s not heavy for once, he looks pointedly back towards the parking lot. “We should probably get back before they assume we killed each other.”

You snort, walking past him as he steps aside to let you pass. This time, walking back to the team, he falls into step with you.

Scott Miller is still a Grade A asshole.

At least now you know it’s not because he doesn’t care.

As Boone’s younger sister you’ve obviously met Tyler countless times before, although you’ve always been a little too shy when it comes to him almost as if you’re trying to keep your distance from him. But you practically *begged* your brother to take you along this tornado season even if it meant being cramped in a car with Tyler for countless hours on end. 

You’ve been trying to make it as a photographer and capturing a storm is a beautiful opportunity. You keep your attention trained on everything but him, desperate to keep your infatuation with him a secret. 

Tyler has become restless when it comes to you, ever since he’s met you he has been overly flirtatious and yet you seem immune to his advances. While on the road he figured he would finally have his opportunity to make a move on you, but you’re still not budging. 

As you sit in the backseat of his truck his eyes are constantly shifting from you and the road, Boone shoots him a knowing grin. His shoulder brushes Tyler as he warns him to keep his eyes on the road. 

Tyler glances at you one more time, taking in your beauty before returning his eyes to the road, gripping the steering wheel tighter and giving a quick side eye to Boone.

He was a fairly impatient guy and the fact that a beautiful girl was sitting in the seat behind him and he hadn’t gotten her to look at him twice is beginning to frustrate him. You flip through the pictures you took earlier, gaze trained on the camera, oblivious to his gaze. 

“Hey,” Boone waves his hand in front of your face, catching your attention. 

“Yeah? What's up?” you look up at him, a soft smile playing on your lips. Tyler’s body tenses when he hears you speak. A simple and basic sentence but it sounds absolutely angelic coming from you. His eyes glanced up into the rear view mirror, watching your soft smile.

He didn’t know why he cared so much about getting your attention but he did. He just wanted to hear you speak again, the sound of your voice already making his heart beat a little faster.

“Wanna trade seats with me?” he smirks in Tylers direction. “You can get a better view of the sky up front.” you nod in response, a soft tinge of pink painting your cheeks at the thought of sitting next to Tyler. 

Tyler’s ears perked up at Boone’s words. He couldn’t help but smile a little at the thought of having you sitting right next to him. He could already imagine the look on your face as you gushed over the beauty of a fresh storm in the distance.

“Good idea.” He replied, his eyes once again locking with Boone’s in the mirror. He could tell his friend was up to something but at the moment Tyler couldn’t care less. He pulls over at the gas station so he can get more fuel and so you can switch seats. 

You settle down in the passenger seat as Tyler fills up his tank, camera equipment set on the floor next to your feet. “Boone?” you glance back at your brother. “Are you up to something?” 

Boone turns to look at you from the backseat, a smirk plastered on his face. “Me? Up to something?” He chuckled and ran a hand through his messy brown hair, knowing full well what he was doing.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He teased. He leaned back in his seat again, pretending to be engrossed in his phone.

You chew on your bottom lip, silently cursing yourself for the drunk confession where you told him how you felt about his best friend. Your crush on Tyler has kept you more reserved and silent this whole trip because everytime he talks to you it sends a shiver down your spine. 

Tyler hops back in the driver's seat, starting the ignition. Tyler notices the conflicted look on your face as he buckles his seatbelt. He raises an eyebrow at you, curious about what you were thinking about so intently.

As he starts the engine again, he steals a quick glance at you, his eyes roving over your form. He couldn’t help it, you were just so damn pretty.

“Everything alright?” He asks in a soft tone, trying not to be overly flirty just yet.

“Mhm.” you glance out the window, reaching for your camera to flip through your pictures once again. Tyler’s eyes remain on you as he begins to drive. There’s a brief silence in the car, broken only by the sound of Boone’s music playing softly through the speakers.

Finally, Tyler breaks the silence with a question. “Can I see the pictures you’ve taken so far? I’m curious.”

“You're driving.” you brush him off almost effortlessly, eyes still glued to the device. Tyler bites his tongue, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He couldn’t tell if you were completely ignoring him on purpose or if you were too obsessed with your camera.

“You can just pass it to me, ya’ know doll.” He says, trying to hide the slight annoyance in his tone. You shake your head, setting the camera in your lap, words caught in your throat at the pet name. 

“I.. I can show you later.” you murmur, eyes wandering out the window. His lips curled into a smirk as he saw your reaction to the nickname. He knew he was getting close to his desired goal of unraveling you.

He let out a sigh as you once again dismissed him. “Later, huh?” He glanced over his shoulder to look at Boone, who looked amused by the interaction.

As the day comes to an end, Tyler stops in front of the motel. You both watch as Boone quickly exits the truck, leaving the two of you alone in the cab. Tyler watches as Boone leaves the car, a smirk on his face when he realizes his friend purposely left the two of you alone.

He turns back, eyes locking onto you again. The atmosphere in the car suddenly felt heavy, the silence almost deafening.

“You never showed me those pictures, doll.” His voice was low and a hint of mockery laced his tone.

“Oh, right.” your hands tremble slightly as you lean to him, showing him the camera. “I got a few good shots..” He leaned in closer as you held the camera up for him to see. A flicker of excitement shone in his eyes as he looked through the pictures sending a rush of desire down your spine.

“These are pretty good.” He said, and he was being honest. Not that he knew much about photography, but the photos looked great to him. 

His eyes flicker down to your lips for a second, watching you take your full bottom lip between your teeth in a manner that’s more tempting than you realize.

He tears his gaze away from your lips and back to the camera, making it very apparent that he was trying to stay focused on the pictures.

As he continues to try to flirt with you, you feel your heart sinking into your stomach. It feels like he’s unknowingly teasing you, leaning into your fantasy of him wanting you the way you want him. 

“You’re..” you trail off, eyes falling to your lap. “Tyler stop messing with me please, you’re starting to hurt my feelings” you *knew* he was just being friendly but he was giving you false hope. His frown deepens as you say that and his eyes widen in surprise. 

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. You really thought that he was just messing around with you, that he didn’t have actual feelings for you.

“Dammit woman, can’t you see how much I want you?” his hand cups your cheek, bringing your face to his. 

He moves your face gently, using his thumb to tilt you up towards him. He can’t help but notice how soft your skin is under his touch and he almost sighs at just how right you feel in his hands.

His voice comes out as a gentle whisper, his eyes searching your face. “What do I have to do to make you understand?” You notice the desperation in his eyes, finally realizing that he's *always* been trying to flirt with you.

“Oh,” you practically gasp out the word, reaching out to pull him to you by the collar of his shirt, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. 

He nearly groans at the sensation of your lips against his. The feeling he had been so desperate for was finally becoming a reality. He responds to your gentle kiss immediately, his hands finding their way to your hips and pulling you so you’re almost in his lap. 

His lips move hungrily against yours, needing you to understand just how truly desperate he was for you. He deepens the kiss, wanting to taste more of you. He feels like a starving man trying to get as much as he can. You move to straddle his hips, hands going to his shoulders as you settle on him. 

He groans at your change in position, his hands immediately moving to your hips to keep you in place. He had to bite back another moan as you settled down onto his lap, the feeling of you being so close to him was almost too much to handle, his hips shifting up against yours.

“Doll..” He pants out against your lips. “Finally starting to understand now?” you nod, leaning in for another kiss intoxicated by his taste. He eagerly returns it, his tongue running against your bottom lip, searching for entrance. 

He wanted more, needed more.

He pulled you tighter against him, his hands gripping your hips almost possessively. He could feel himself growing hard with you sitting on his lap, he had to force himself not to moan at the feeling.

He nipped your bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth as he spoke. “You have no idea how much I’ve dreamed of this.” you moan, hands sliding down his chest as you look at him dazed. 

He lets out a low, guttural growl at the sound of your moan, the noise was like music to his ears. Hearing you make those sounds for him was the best thing he had ever experienced.

He couldn’t get enough of you.

He leaned forward, attaching his lips to the soft skin of your neck, sucking and biting gently. He wanted to leave his mark, wanted anyone to know that you were his. You moan again at the feeling of him leaving soft hickeys on your neck, head leaning back to give him better access. 

“Tyler,” you whine his name, hips moving against his in desperation to feel more of him. He growls again, the sound low and guttural as he feels your hips grinding down against him. It was all too much.

His hands move from your hips to your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh between his fingers. He can’t help it as his hips roll up, desperate to feel you against him.

His teeth graze over your neck, leaving a trail of dark marks as he sucks gently. “Doll.. you’re torturing me.” His voice is a low, desperate moan against your neck. Your hands move to his belt, pulling it away, working to free him from his jeans. 

“Ty, I want you..” your eyes are darkened with desire as you kiss his lips hungrily. 

He nearly moans at the feeling of your fingers on his belt. Hearing you call him ‘Ty’ in that desperate tone was driving him crazy.

He can’t help himself as his fingers dig into the soft skin of your thighs, his grip almost bruising. He knew he was going to leave marks but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Say it again..” His voice is a low rumble against your lips, hips moving to press up against you. He was coming undone under your desperate touch. 

“Ty, please..” You slip out of your panties, your skirt bunched up at your hips as you pull his jeans down. He moans again at the sound of you begging in that desperate, needy tone that he loves. 

He could barely focus through the fog of lust and desire as he watched you move. “God-“ His hips bucked up involuntarily against you as he groaned out your name, “-you need to stop doing this to me.”

You slide his erection out of his boxers, thumb sliding over his tip, spreading his precum around. ”What am I doing?” you feign innocence, loving the way he's just as desperate as you are. He could barely speak, your soft thumb against him had him writhing in pleasure. The feeling of you wrapped around him was almost too much.

He groans out a curse as his hips buck upwards once again. “You know exactly what you’re doing..” He manages to say in a strained tone, “Don’t act all innocent.” he groans. 

Tyler’s eyes flutter shut at the exquisite sensation of your hand wrapping around him, his breath hitching as you stroke him with a gentle, teasing touch. “Fuck, doll...” he murmurs against your ear, his voice thick with need. 

His hands tighten on your thighs, urging you closer as he feels the warmth of your body surrounding him. The way you touch him is like a sweet torment, each stroke sending jolts of pleasure through his veins. His hips buck up into your soft hand, his body begging for more. 

With a groan of pure desire, Tyler’s hands guide your hips to his, aligning himself with your slick entrance. His eyes lock onto yours, the intensity of the moment setting every nerve in his body alight. 

Slowly, oh so slowly, he lowers you onto his throbbing length, watching with rapt attention as your eyes widen and your mouth falls open in a silent gasp. The sensation of you taking him in, inch by inch, sends waves of pleasure crashing through him, and he has to fight the urge to slam you down and claim you fully. 

Instead, he lets you set the pace, savoring every moment as your warmth envelopes him. The truck's cabin feels like it's on fire, the air thick with lust as you both hover on the precipice of release. 

Each time you move down, the pressure builds, and he can feel the head of his cock stretching you, filling you up in a way he’s dreamed of for so long. His eyes never leave you, the connection between you palpable as you both begin to rock in a silent symphony of passion, the leather seats of the truck creaking in rhythm with your muffled moans and his labored breaths.

With a whimper of need, your head falls to Tyler's shoulder, your body trembling with each gentle movement. His fingers dig into your thighs, urging you on as he feels your inner walls tightening around him. Your breath is hot against his neck, silently begging him to take over. 

Tyler understands the unspoken plea, his own need burning like a wildfire within him. He takes control, his hands moving to your hips and guiding you up and down his length with a rhythm that makes you gasp. 

His kisses turn fiercer, his teeth grazing your earlobe as he whispers, "Ride me, doll. Show me how much you want this." Your nails bite into his shoulders as you obey, the pressure building with each stroke. 

The tightness in your stomach coils tighter, your moans growing louder as you chase the release that seems just out of reach. Tyler's grip on you is like steel, his hips meeting yours with a force that speaks of his own desperation. 

He can feel your body tensing, the sweet tremble of your thighs telling him you're close. "Come for me," he groans, his voice a rough command that sends you spiraling over the edge. Your orgasm crashes over you like a wave, making your body convulse as you cry out his name. 

He follows you, his own release hot and powerful, his hips jerking upwards as he empties himself into you. Your bodies come to a rest, hearts pounding in unison, the storm outside forgotten in the intensity of the one you've just weathered together.

As the aftershocks of your shared climax subside, you bury your face into Tyler's neck, gasping for air as the pleasure washes over you in warm, delicious waves. His hands are gentle on your skin, stroking and caressing as he holds you closer, savoring the feeling of your body against his. 

You can feel his heart pounding against your chest, a wild drumbeat echoing the passion that still thrums through your veins. The storm outside seems to have quieted, as if it too has been sated by the electricity that crackled between the two of you. 

Tyler's grip on your hips loosens slightly, but he makes no move to let you go, his arms instead wrapping around your waist to keep you nestled in his embrace. 

His breathing is ragged, matching the erratic rhythm of yours, and you can feel the warmth of his breath against your neck as he whispers, "God, I've wanted this for so long." The admission sends a shiver down your spine, making you realize that maybe, just maybe, this isn't just a fleeting moment of passion. 

Maybe there's something more here, something that could last longer than the brief, fiery lifespan of a tornado. But for now, you're content to simply exist in this moment, wrapped in the arms of the man who has held your heart hostage for far too long.

With a gentle yet firm grip, Tyler pulls you off his lap and sets you back in the passenger seat, his own breathing still ragged from the intensity of the moment. You watch, slightly dazed, as he tucks himself away, your own body still humming with the aftermath of pleasure. 

He turns to you, his eyes dark with desire, and whispers in a gruff voice, "Come back to my room with me?" The question lingers in the air, thick with unspoken promises of more passionate moments to come. 

You nod, your cheeks flushed with excitement and anticipation. Tyler's eyes never leave yours as he opens the door and helps you out, his hand firmly grasping yours. The rain patters against the pavement, mimicking the pounding of your heart as you walk towards the motel room, ready to explore the depths of your desires together.

Once inside the motel room, Tyler's hunger for you only grows stronger. He tugs you into the bathroom, his eyes never leaving yours as he impatiently strips away the layers of clothing separating your skin from his. 

Each article that falls to the floor feels like a barrier shattering, revealing more of your beauty to his eager gaze. When you're both bare, he takes a moment to drink you in, his eyes raking over every inch of your naked body. His hands come up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples, and his mouth follows the trail of kisses down your neck to your collarbone. 

You whimper under his touch, your body arching into his as he whispers sweet nothings that feel like poetry against your skin. The heat of his touch is a stark contrast to the coolness of the tiles beneath your feet, but it's a delicious sensation that makes you crave more, he pulls away quickly stripping out of his clothes. 

With the shower now a steamy cocoon of warmth, Tyler guides you inside, the hot spray cascading down your bodies, mingling with the warmth of your shared passion. He kneels before you, his eyes filled with an insatiable hunger that mirrors the way your heart races in your chest. 

His kisses begin at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, sending a fresh wave of shivers through you as he worships every inch of your body. His tongue traces a path upwards, his teeth gently grazing the soft flesh, until he reaches your stomach, where he places feather-light kisses that make you quiver with anticipation. 

He cups your breasts in his hands, his thumbs flicking over your nipples, making them peak and your breath hitch in pleasure. Then, his mouth is back on yours, the water rushing over your entwined forms as he kisses you deeply, his tongue dancing with yours. 

With a gentle yet firm push, he pins you against the tiles, the heat of the water a stark contrast to the coolness of the wall, adding another layer of sensation to the mix. His touch is demanding, his body pressing into yours, leaving no doubt about the depth of his desire. 

With a growl of need, Tyler lifts you off the floor, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. His erection presses against you, the intensity of his desire unmistakable as he pins you against the tiles. His mouth claims yours in a searing kiss that leaves you breathless, his tongue delving deep as if he can't get enough of your taste. 

The feeling of his bare skin against yours is electric, sending bolts of pleasure through your body with every touch. Your fingers dig into his hair as you kiss him back with an urgency that matches his own, your legs tightening around his hips, silently begging for more. 

His cock nudges at your entrance, the promise of what's to come making you whimper with anticipation. Tyler's eyes never leave yours as he lowers you, inch by inch, onto his thick length, the sensation of being filled by him once again sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. 

The water streams down your faces, mingling with the sweat of passion as you both gasp and moan, lost in the throes of a desire that seems to have no end. Your movements become more frantic, your hips rolling and grinding against his, the need for release building like a storm ready to break. 

Tyler’s hands grip your ass, guiding your rhythm, his own hips driving into you with a fierce need that makes you feel wanted and cherished in a way you never have before. The sound of the water and your muffled cries fill the small bathroom, a symphony of passion that seems to echo the tempest raging outside.

Tyler's grip on your ass tightens as he lifts you slightly, his hips driving into you with a fervent need to feel you come apart in his arms once more. His movements are powerful and relentless, each thrust hitting that perfect spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back in your head and your nails dig into his shoulders. 

The water from the showerhead cascades down your bodies, creating a steamy haze that obscures the rest of the world outside of your entwined forms. His eyes never leave yours, watching the pleasure build in your gaze as your moans grow louder, your breaths coming in shorter gasps. 

He whispers filthy encouragement into your ear, his voice a gruff growl that sends shivers down your spine. You can feel the tension in his body, the strain of his muscles as he holds you up, fucking you with a passion that's as intense as the storms he chases. 

His strokes become faster, deeper, until you're riding the edge of a second orgasm, your body begging for release. And just when you think you can't take it anymore, your walls clench around him, and you scream out his name as you shatter into a million pieces, your climax sending waves of pleasure crashing through you like a tempest. 

Tyler's eyes darken as he feels your contractions around his cock, and with a final, powerful thrust, he follows you over the edge, filling you up with his hot cum, his body shaking with the force of his own release. 

The only sound in the room is the steady patter of rain against the window and the harsh beating of your hearts, a testament to the intensity of the moment that has forever changed the dynamic between you and Boone's best friend.

As your orgasm subsides, Tyler carefully pulls out of you, his eyes filled with a tenderness that takes your breath away. He holds you by the waist, keeping you steady as your legs threaten to give out beneath the weight of the passion that's just overtaken you. 

The water from the showerhead runs in rivulets down your bodies, mixing with the remnants of your shared release. He turns you around, placing you under the warm spray, and begins to wash you, his touches gentle and full of love. 

His soapy hands glide over your skin, washing away the sweat and passion as if he's trying to cleanse you of the barriers that once stood between you. He lingers on your breasts, his thumbs caressing your sensitive nipples with a tender touch that makes you shiver anew. 

His hands travel down your body, over your hips and thighs, his gentle strokes feeling like a declaration of adoration. You lean into him, letting him support your trembling body as he worships you with his hands, his eyes never leaving yours in the steamy embrace of the shower.

It's a moment of pure connection, a silent promise that this isn't just a fleeting affair but the start of something beautifully tumultuous, a gentle, loving rain that nurtures the newfound bond between you. The world outside the motel room seems to melt away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of the water and the heat of your love.

With trembling hands, you turn around to face Tyler, pressing a gentle kiss to his chest, which is heaving with the aftermath of your shared passion. His skin is warm and slick from the shower, his heart thundering beneath your lips. 

As you reach for the soap, your eyes meet his in the steamy haze, and you see the love and adoration reflected in his gaze. He kisses your forehead, a tender gesture that sends a fresh wave of warmth through your body. You begin to wash him too, your hands gliding over his defined muscles. 

Each stroke feels like a declaration of your own desire, a silent promise that you're in this together. His eyes never leave you, his own hands coming up to cup your face, holding you in place as if he's afraid you might disappear. 

The water runs over his body, washing away the soap, but the connection between you remains unbroken, as strong as the storm that brought you together. The intimacy of this moment is more potent than any kiss, more profound than any touch. 

It's a silent confession of feelings that have been simmering just beneath the surface for far too long. And as you stand there, naked and vulnerable in the warm embrace of the shower, you realize that no matter what the future holds, this night has changed everything.

The steam from the shower clings to your bodies as you both step out, the cooler air of the motel room sending a shiver down your spine. Tyler takes a towel, wrapping it around his waist before approaching you, his eyes dark with desire. 

He takes another towel and gently begins to dry your skin, his touch lingering on your curves, as if committing every inch of you to memory. His eyes never stray from yours, and the intensity of his gaze makes your heart race anew. Once you're both sufficiently dried, he takes your hand, leading you out of the bathroom and to the king-sized bed that seems to call out to you both. 

He pulls back the covers with one hand, his eyes never leaving yours, and guides you to straddle him as he lays back, the softness of the mattress giving way beneath his weight. Your legs are on either side of his hips, and you feel his erection pressing against your thigh. 

The warmth of his skin against yours sends a thrill through your body as he runs his hands up and down your thighs, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His eyes are locked onto yours, searching for any sign of hesitation, but all he sees is the same fiery need reflected in your gaze. With a soft smile, he pulls you down, his mouth claiming yours in a kiss that's as gentle as it is demanding. 

The passion that burned so fiercely in the shower is now a slow, simmering heat that promises to consume you both as you begin to explore each other once again, the storm outside now a gentle reminder of the tempest you've just ridden together.

With a seductive arch of his eyebrows, Tyler silently begs you to ride him again, his thumbs brushing into your hip bones, urging you to take control. The tender touch sends a shiver of anticipation through your body, making you eager to comply. 

You lean down to kiss him, your breasts pressing against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palms. With a knowing smile, you straddle him once more, feeling his erection nudge against your folds. His eyes never leave yours as you position yourself, the connection between you palpable and intense. 

As you sink down onto him, Tyler's eyes roll back in his head, a low groan escaping his lips. Your bodies meld together as if they were made for this very moment, his thickness filling you completely. The storm outside seems to echo the passion that swells within the confines of the motel room, the thunder a testament to the power of your desire. 

The rain taps a gentle rhythm on the window, setting the pace for your lovemaking as you rock your hips against his, both of you lost in the symphony of pleasure that you've created together. Each movement sends a jolt of electricity through Tyler, his eyes never leaving yours as you set the tempo, grinding down on him with a need that matches his own. 

His hands glide up your body, caressing your breasts, his thumbs flicking over your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure to your core. Your breath hitches in your throat as his hips rise to meet yours, the friction building into an unbearable crescendo. 

With a gasp, you arch your back, pushing your breasts towards the ceiling as you take Tyler's length fully inside you. Your hips bounce with an increasing tempo, each movement sending a wave of pleasure crashing through your body. Your hair cascades down your back, sticking to your skin with the heat of the room. 

Tyler’s eyes are glued to the sight of you, his jaw clenched as he watches you ride him. He can’t believe this is happening, that you’re finally his, that you want him just as much as he’s always wanted you. His hands glide up your torso, supporting your weight as you move faster and faster, the sound of your skin slapping against his echoing in the room. 

His eyes darkened with lust as you lean back, giving him an unobstructed view of your bouncing breasts, the pink tips of your nipples peaked with desire. He can feel himself getting closer to the edge, his body tensing beneath yours. 

But he doesn’t want this to end. He wants to savor every second, every touch, every moan that escapes your lips. So he grips your hips, holding you steady, and thrusts upwards to meet you, pushing deeper, harder, driving you both closer to the precipice of ecstasy.

Your eyes roll back with each of Tyler's deep, powerful thrusts, your moans growing louder and more desperate as his thumb finds that sweet spot between your legs. He circles your clit with a gentle yet insistent pressure, expertly building the tension within you. 

Each touch feels like a spark igniting the flames of your desire, pushing you closer and closer to the brink of release. Your hips rock against his hand, matching the rhythm of his strokes, the friction driving you wild. His eyes never leave yours, watching as the pleasure overtakes you, a smug smile playing on his lips as he feels your walls tighten around him. 

The room is filled with the sounds of your passion, the storm outside seemingly in sync with your shared ecstasy. Tyler's breathing grows ragged, his own orgasm approaching as he feels you getting closer to yours. He whispers your name in a gruff voice, urging you on, his eyes filled with a fiery need that sends shivers down your spine. 

Tyler’s thumb continues to circle your clit, his eyes locked onto yours as he watches the ecstasy build in your expression. Your breath hitches, your body tightening around him, and with a final, powerful thrust, you cum hard, your muscles spasming as waves of pleasure crash through you. 

Your orgasm seems to trigger his own, and with a guttural groan, he fills you up with his warmth, his body stiffening beneath yours. The sound of the rain beating against the window is the only thing that pierces the quiet of the room, the only indication that there’s anything in the world beyond the two of you.

With your body still trembling from the intensity of your climax, you collapse onto Tyler’s chest, your heart racing in time with his. His arms wrap around you, pulling you tight against him as if he’s afraid to let go. 

You'd never know scrutiny like you came to know when his entire crew of both teammates and fans turned to watch you, and he seemed to realize that you weren't up for all of the attention.

"We're breaking for ten," He'd called, and evidently that was enough to let his gaggle of fans disperse until their leader was ready to rev his engine again.

He'd hopped down from his own red truck with the stomp of boots on concrete, and you turned back to the pump desperately hoping he wouldn't talk to you. Unfortunately, a group of three people, him and two of his crew, started for you. You'd felt your heart rate pick up but the second they started to move with him he'd shoved them away, a playful maneuver but one that clearly said back off. That's how he'd gotten you alone, ducking his own head to speak with you instead of looking down his nose at you.

"Sorry if I freaked you out there. Didn't mean to get'cha all that attention if you didn't want it. This yours?"

He had whacked the side of the truck so hard you'd been unsure whether the rental agency was going to return it without hassling you for damages.

After a short conversation about the perils of emergency oil changes on a Monday morning, you'd left with Tyler's number that you'd been too scared to text until three days later, as well as a nagging feeling that you were the wrong sort of person to be talking to him.

You still feel it now, when he turns over in his bed to stare at you with his pretty eyes. You feel so terribly bashful even though you've been looking into the same eyes for three months now. You feel your face heating up against his pillow, and even in his barely-awake state he knows you're getting shy when you start adjusting yourself beneath the blankets.

"You're starin' at the sheets again," He observes, a soft smile on his face, "You're tappin' out already? We just woke up."

"I'm just cold," You lie, shifting the blankets around until you can handle meeting his eyes again. When you look up they're even more intense for the grin he's giving you, kind-hearted but all-seeing.

"You're still shy, even when it's just us, darlin'?"

"I'm more shy when it's just us," You laugh, just as honest as it is shaky, "Then there's no one else you're looking at but me."

"I'm starin' at you no matter who else is in the room." He murmurs, and when it only makes your bashfulness worse, he laughs gently and reaches out to pull you across the sheets towards him.

"C'mere. Can't have you runnin' away from me this early in the mornin'."

You allow yourself to be nestled quite snugly into his chest, but before you can relax you must allow yourself a moment's more mortification when you remember that he's bare-chested in bed.

"I can feel your cheeks burnin' up," Tyler laughs, and you feel his words more than you hear them as his chest shakes with laughter against your face, "Oh, baby, you're such a sweet little thing. How long is it gonna take for you to stop blushin' when we kiss?"

"How long are you gonna stay so handsome for?" You ask meekly into his chest.

You're gently, but unceremoniously pulled from his chest as he cups your face, dipping down to nudge his nose against yours.

"You're a flirt." He accuses, grinning from ear-to-ear, "You're a bold, brazen flirt and you're hidin' behind that shy demeanor, aren't you? Shit, now you're makin' me blush, darlin'."

"It's true," You breathe, laughing along though yours is more air than sound, "I just get shy. Like I forget just how handsome you are until you stare at me and then I get all shy again."

"Can't be nearly as handsome as you are beautiful, sweet thing." He murmurs, dipping down even further to press his lips to yours, morning breath and all, "But I've got enough boldness for the both of us. So if you need to hide after every kiss," He fondly notes the way you've planted yourself back in his chest, face ablaze, "Then I'll always be there to coax you back out afterwards. Deal?"

"Deal." You decide, but you're speaking into his chest so it's muffled.

You had grown up alongside Tyler Owens, never as friends but as friends of friends. After you both split off for school to study meteorology, you returned to your hometown for very different reasons. Tyler started in the business of storm chasing, live streaming his adventures to people all across the internet who sensationalized the dangerous weather, and you scored a job as your hometown’s Weather Woman. Your job was to warn people about the threat of tornados while his was to drive head-on into them. 

That was where you two drew your lines in the sand when it came to each other. He thought you were scared of taking risks while you thought his thrill-seeking was stupid and would eventually get him or one of his team members hurt. Those opinions on each other's job led to you two butting heads every time you encountered one another. His mere presence was enough to annoy you, especially at your favorite event of the summer, the fair. 

“Look who it is,” Tyler’s voice sounded near you and your friend nudged your arm in the direction of it. You looked away from her just as he approached you, tipping his hat and flashing his teeth in a smile. “Didn’t know they still let you out of the newsroom these days.” 

You crossed your arms over your chest, as the air of arrogance surrounding him nearly choked you out. “Don’t you have a tornado to chase?” you asked, wanting to end the conversation before it fully started. Unfortunately, he never seemed put off by your jabs, but he was assumed by them. 

“I took the night off,” he replied. “I wanted to see if there was anything worth my while here tonight.” 

You raised your brows. “Oh really?” He nodded, smiling brightly at you. “Find anything yet?” 

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “It’d be easier if she answered my phone calls.” 

Tyler disliked you a whole lot less than you disliked him. After you graduated and he started storm chasing, he tried at every given opportunity to get you to join his team. Even years later he still tried to, no matter how many times you told him the risk he was putting himself and his team in every time they barreled into a storm cell. He was relentless but you were happy where you were at. You wanted to help people when it came to severe weather, not make the storm look enticing for internet audiences. 

“I already told you, I’m not interested.” Storm chasing was a dangerous game that you had no intention of playing. Being from the Midwest, you had lived through your share of tornados. Chasing them was not in apart of your career path.

His smile faded slightly before he seemed to snap back to himself. “All I’m saying is, we could use a mind like yours out in the field.” The compliment was nice, you could admit that to yourself, but it wouldn’t win you over. He knew that too. “But suit yourself.” And with that he walked off, meeting up with the rest of his team that joined him at the fair that night. 

Your friend whistled lowly. “I don’t know how you do it,” she said. 

“Do what?” 

“Say no to a man like that.” You rolled your eyes once more as the line you were in moved. As she stepped forward to order, you threw a quick glance over your shoulder in the direction Tyler had walked off in. You saw him happily chatting with his team before glancing back at you for just a moment before you returned your gaze forward.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of colorful lights, sticky heat, and enough fried food to make your stomach ache in the best possible way. Your friend left after a couple hours of roaming the prize barns and laughing at the kids screaming their heads off on the carnival rides, but you stuck around for a little longer, relishing in the sweet nostalgia the fair brought you. 

Before you had taken a couple of well-deserved days of work, you and your team had predicted a storm front moving. Later that night was supposed to bring rainfall and a thunderstorm or two popping up around the county and neighboring areas. You thought you’d have plenty of time to roam the fair for a little longer until it hit, but you noticed the shift in the weather almost immediately. The sudden uptick in wind pricked the back of your neck as the distant rumble of thunder echoed above the fair chaos. 

It was difficult to predict everything, that you had learned early on in your career. It also was hard to predict how quickly weather could change from bad to deadly. One moment you’re gazing up through the lights into the night sky, trying to gauge the incoming storm, and the next, the sirens are blaring across the fairgrounds. 

The crowd of people running in every direction made the walkways hazardous. You were knocked into and jostled around as you tried to run toward the restrooms that doubled as storm shelters. They were clear at the opposite end of the walkway, but they were your closest option. You dodged and weaved through the swarms of people, trying to stay on your feet. 

You only made it halfway to the shelter when you were stopped by the awful cries of a little girl who sat under the counter of one of the carnival games. She hugged her knees to her chest and called out for her mom, but no one who rushed by stopped. You didn’t think twice before you sidestepped the fleeing crowd and crouched down in front of the little girl. The wind picked up significantly, blowing the cheap prizes right out of the booths and sending everything flying around and knocking into people. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” you raised your voice above the howl of wind and frantic people. 

“My mom!” she cried harder. “I lost her. I don’t know where she is!” 

You glanced back up at the sky. The lightning strikes illuminated the massive, dark mass moving in quickly. “Come with me, and I’ll help you find her, okay?” 

The noise all around grew louder, frightening the little girl, along with yourself, but as you outstretched your hand, she took it, and you quickly pulled her to her feet before you both took off running. The speakers urged everyone to seek shelter immediately, but you watched as people raced in the opposite direction of the shelters, probably bee-lining to cars in an awful call. They’d never out race it. 

“Charlotte!” Someone screamed and the little girl whipped her head around before she tugged hard on your hand. From behind you, the little girl’s mother appeared, immediately scooping up her daughter in her arms. “Oh my, God. Thank you!” she said, looking at you with teary eyes. 

“We have to take cover,” you told her, gently pushing her forward. “The shelter’s just up that way.” She thanked you again before she took off with her daughter in her arms. You wanted to follow, it was stupid not to when the wind gusts became more powerful, rattling everything dangerously and making it hard to think. But there were more people unsure of where to go and what to do. Groups of kids who had been dropped off for the evening stumbling frantically out of the rides and still dizzy. You stepped from the path and tried to direct people as best you could, shouting in tune with the speaker and the sirens for them to hurry into the shelter. 

It wasn’t until larger objects were plucked from the ground and tossed into the air like paper did you abandoned your aiding. The tornado screeched to life, ripping apart pieces of the show barns and rides with ease. You tried to close the distance between yourself and the shelter once more, but it wasn’t people in need that stopped you, it was a sheet of metal pried from the side of one of the food trucks. You tried to dodge the hurling objects, but the sheet came at you hard and fast. 

It sliced your shin, sending a wave of pain up through the rest of your leg. You stumbled, determined to stay upright, but the wind was too strong for your limping figure, and you toppled against the concrete, slamming your knees against the ground before you rolled over into the lousy shelter of a game’s tent somehow still standing. 

Panic started to set in as the storm raged around you, loud and monstrous. You covered your wound with your hands, unsure of where the blaring of the tornado ended and the fast-paced beat of your heart started, drumming in your ears and beating against your skull. You knew you couldn’t stay there, but leaving was just as dangerous as every attraction of the fair swirled around in the air. The cut from your leg painted your hands red and throbbed; it would only slow you down if you tried to run, creating even more of a risk. 

You didn’t know what to do. All of your life, the storms you had faced you’d always been lucky enough to find shelter in plenty of time, from the cellar in your backyard to your high school’s basement created just for such an occasion. 

Through the freight train sounding winds and your thundering heart, you heard a couple of voices that had to be close. Tearing your eyes away from the cut on your leg, you watched as another group of people sprinted down the walkway as someone yelled behind them to run. 

In all of your life, you’d never been so relieved to see Tyler Owens’s face standing just a few feet away; he hadn’t spotted you, and for a terrifying moment you thought he’d be unable to hear you yell out above the screaming storm. But somehow, he did. His head snapped in your direction, rain-coated and windblown, looking both out of sorts and in his element. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he yelled as he ran over to you, dodging flying debris that grew larger by the minute. The second he crouched down in front of you, his eyes flickered onto your legs, and the blood seeping out between your fingers as you tried to keep pressure on the wound. 

“I thought I’d just hang out here,” you said, your sarcasm watered down by the fear clear in your teary eyes.

His brows furrowed, deep in thought for a moment as he looked between you and the distance there was still to cross to the only close shelter. Without saying a word, he peeled off his wet flannel, leaving himself in a shirt that was already nearly soaked through as the sideways rain beat down against the both of you. “I’m gonna tie this around your leg and then we’re gonna run, okay?” 

You shook your head frantically. The ache in your legs was intense and you had already lost a good amount of blood, not enough to make you woozy but you were well on your way. It felt like your heart had crawled up your throat, making it hard to breathe as panic soaked you to the bone along with the rain. Everything around you seemed to be ripped from the ground, even the anchored tent you were under was seconds away from being picked up. 

“Hey,” he said, grabbing a hold of your shoulders, shaking you slightly. “It’ll be alright. You gotta trust me, though.” The sincerity shined in his eyes, bright as the rest of the power around you flickered wickedly. With a nod of your head, you dropped your hands from your leg and let him tie the flannel around your cut. As he pulled it tight, you cried out in pain. “I’m sorry,” he kept repeating until it was knotted. Quickly, he jumped to his feet and helped you up, looping an arm around your waist as you slung an arm around his shoulders. 

“Ready?” You didn’t get a chance to respond as the tent you were under was plucked from the ground, anchors and all, and flung backward into the tornado as it tore through the front entrance of the fairgrounds. Tyler took off, giving you no choice but to follow. 

You two stayed low, trying desperately to avoid the flying objects. With each step your leg burned, but Tyler’s hold on you was strong, not giving any room for you to lag behind or slip away. It felt like hours of running, but it was no more than a minute or two before you reached the shelter. The only major injury between the two of you was your leg, otherwise, you both collected a series of little cuts and bruises from your journey. 

Stumbling into the restroom, you were met with a hoard of scared fairgoers. You two managed to find a spot to slot yourself in with everyone else. He helped you lower yourself to the floor back in the corner just as the tornado was fully on top of you. You brought your knees up to your chest and covered your head. Tyler sat flushed against your side; you felt his hands rest over the top of yours as the building rattled violently. Squeezing your eyes shut, you refused to see the damage until the howl of wind subsided and people started to stir. 

Once it was over, everyone stumbled out of the shelter, getting jumbled together as police and ambulances rushed to the scene. Amongst people pushing and shoving to find their loved ones and get the hell home, you and Tyler were separated and before you could look for him, an EMT caught sight of your bloodied leg and ushered you to one of the ambulances. 

You sat on the back after the EMT stitched up your leg, looking over the torn-apart fairgrounds. Debris was littered everywhere, food trucks and carts overturned and some demolished, and rides were dislocated and strewn about in pieces. 

You clutched the bloodied flannel to your chest, shivering in the loss of adrenaline and temperature drop, and watched the sea of people until a familiar face popped into view, looking a little frantic as he stumbled through the crowd looking like he was in search of something. His eyes finally settled on you before he quickly pushed his way through the crowd until he reached you. 

“Hi,” you greeted, smiling tiredly. 

“I was looking for you everywhere,” he said, sounding slightly out of breath. “I looked away for a second and you were gone and-” You continued to smile, and he stopped himself. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“Nothing,” you replied quietly before clearing your throat. “I, um, I just wanted to thank you. And I’m sorry for ruining your flannel.” You gestured to the ruined piece of clothing resting in your lap. 

Tyler was quiet for a moment, looking at the large bandage around your shin. “Don’t mention it,” he said, brushing off your thanks like he hadn’t just pretty much saved your life. “What were you doing out there anyway?” 

You sighed, feeling a creep of embarrassment up your spine. You should’ve known better but at the moment you just wanted to help people and had little regard for your own safety, until your leg was sliced open, that was. “There were people still out there, trying to figure out where to go. I was trying to help.” 

“That was stupid,” he said. “But brave. Stupidly brave, maybe.” 

“Funny. I think I’ve said the same thing about you a time for two.” 

His signature smirk slowly fell onto his lips. “Not to my face.”

“Oh, no. Never.” 

Tyler laughed, gently patting your knee, lingering for a moment before he dropped his hand back at his side. Someone called out your name, and you spotted your friend running back through the crowd. She had called you as soon as you had made it to the ambulance and told you she’d come back to take you home. 

“You should get some rest,” he said. “I’ll see you around.” As he turned around to walk away, you called out to him. 

“Tyler, wait.” He paused. “You should try calling me again. Maybe I’ll answer this time.” Breaking out in a grin, he tipped his hat in another goodbye, leaving you with a new feeling stirring inside your chest. 

Bonus! 

Hours later, after you had cleaned yourself up, you were tucked into bed, reading by the lamp light knowing sleep was probably far off after the events of the night. You didn’t expect your phone to ring that late into the night, and when you glanced at it, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the caller ID, but that time it was something besides annoyance that you felt. 

You answered, discarding your book on your nightstand. “You don’t waste any time do you,” you teased. 

the first time you had ever encountered a tornado was a memory you were sure to never forget. growing up in new york meant rain and snow but no tornadoes. so when traveling to nebraska on a field trip in high school, you were unprepared when the sirens sounded, sending everyone into a frenzy. you had watched as the rain pelted from the sky, a funnel forming up above. you were mesmerized as your teacher pulled you to safety, a sort of thrill tearing through  your body. from that moment on, you knew what you wanted to do. you went to college for meteorology, graduating near top of your class before going onto to work at a local news station. but it never quite settled the feeling that something was missing, until you stumbled across tyler owens’ youtube channel. 

tyler owens had become a sensation, a daredevil who did more than just chase the storms, he rode into them. and that seemed to heighten that need of a thrill. so, you hit him up and to your surprise, he replied. and what had started out as a week off of work to storm chase with the daredevil, turned to going part time at your job and joining him on the road.

that was a season ago, and now you were sat at a dingy bar, sipping a beer with tyler and the team. the man himself was sat on the stool next to you, nursing his own beer and listening to lily speak. you ignored the slight butterflies that entered your stomach as he laughed. you had learned to never mix work and love, but something about tyler had you questioning that lesson. he looked mighty fine in his blue jeans and button up, supporting a cowboy’s hat on his head. you noticed your beer was gone, standing up you turned to your crew.

“i'm gonna get another beer, can i get anyone anything?” no’s were murmured around the group except for one.

“i could use another, how ‘bout i come with ya?” you shrugged, tyler getting up to walk with you. lily let out a low whistle, stopping at your glare. 

“be my guest.” you two walked over to the bar top, signaling the busy bartender. “can we get two more, when you get a sec?” the bartender nodded, going to make a few drinks before he could grab their bottles. 

“so, miss city girl, how you likin’ riding with us? ready to go back to the big apple yet?” tyler questioned, turning to look down at you slightly. damn the height difference.

“don’t think you’re getting rid of me that quick, i have a lot more storm chasing left in me, cowboy.” you winked, tyler laughing. you debated for just a moment before reaching up and taking the cowboy hat from his head.

“the hell you think you’re doing?” tyler questioned as you placed the hat on your own head, admiring your reflection on your phone.

“you wear this hat all the damn time, i just wanted to see if there was something special about it? maybe it has some magical powers or something.” the bartender came back around, beer bottles in hand. you thanked him, handing him some cash before turning back to tyler, who had an odd look in his eye. you quickly took off the hat, worried you had pissed him. you went to hand it back to him, when tyler shook his head:

“keep it on, it suits you.” tyler picked up his beer, beginning back to the table. the comment caused a light blush to dust your cheeks. shaking your head, you hoped it didn't show too much as you followed him back. you sat in your seat, confused by the odd looks you received from the crew. nobody said anything about the hat as the night went on, but that didn’t stop the odd looks.

by last call, it was you and tyler left of the crew. thankfully the bar was across the street from the motel, tyler paying the tab much to your protest, before setting off back to the motel. you had forgotten you still wore tyler’s hat upon your head, only remembering when you went to brush your hair from your eyes, your hand bumping the rim. “hey, do you know why everyone kept giving me weird looks after i put your hat on? and why boone and dani wouldn’t stop snickering?” tyler looked over to you as you climbed the stairs of the motel.

“you don't know?” you shook your head in response, tyler holding a bewildered look. “you don't know the hat rule?”

“there’s a hat rule?” tyler stopped at his door, which neighbors your’s and lily’s. “what?”

“you wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.” he deadpanned, your eyes widening and a heavy blush coating your cheeks. 

“oh my god! i promise i wasn’t trying to imply that or anything. not there’s anything wrong with you, because you’re– well you’re you, and–”  you fumbled over your words, stopping mid sentence when tyler laughed.

“hey, it's fine. if you weren’t trying to insinuate that, that’s fine. but if you were, well, now's your chance. and i’d be more than happy to show you how that rule works.” tyler walked closer, a minimal amount of space between you, just enough to allow you to choose whether you close that gap or leave. 

you stood there for a moment, stunned at his offer. and without much thought, you closed the gap, hands going to grip his face and pull him closer to you. his hands moved to your hips, fingers digging into the fabric of your shorts. the kiss was feverish, all unspoken feelings surfacing. tyler began to pull away much to your dismay, one hand leaving your hip to fish out his keys from his pocket as he moved his other arm to hold your waist. he unlocked the door with ease, pulling you inside and shutting the door before pushing you up against it, the hat falling as he did so. he went to town on your neck, enticing soft moans and whimpers from your lips. the way he sucked at your neck and how he had previously handled you had conjured up a pool of wetness in your panties. 

your arm wrapped around his neck, holding him to your throat, as your fingers tugged at his hair. he groaned against your skin, biting down ever so softly when you tugged on his hair. he gripped at your leg, pulling it up to give him better access to your cunt. he rubbed his clothed cock along you covered cunt, pleased with the moans that escaped your mouth.

“god, keep moaning like that and i might have to take you right here.” you blushed once more, pulling tyler to meet your lips once more. you pushed off the door, lips still connected to tyler’s as you blindly pushed him back to the bed. his legs hit the edge of the bed, tyler breaking the kiss as he pulled off your shirt, both of you kicking off your shoes and socks before lips were reattached once more. 

you pulled back, tyler unbutton his shirt as you began to work on his belt buckle. “woah, easy, pretty girl. you’ll get a taste, don’t worry. the night’s still young. but for now, i gotta show ya what happens when ya wear the hat.” tyler pulled off his shirt, walking to pick up the forgotten hat, placing it on your head. “this stays on.” you nodded, eyes hooded as tyler pulled your shorts and panties down. “you’re even more perfect than i had imagined.” before you could question him, tyler pulled his jeans off, his boxers next as his cock sprung up. tossing them to the side tyler pulled you onto his lap as he sat on the edge of the bed, “you sure ‘bout this? i don’t have any condoms.” tyler asked, different from how he just was. you nodded, kissing him softly.

“i’m on the pill, and i trust you.” tyler nodded, holding over his cock as he slowly guided it along your pussy. you held yourself up as tyler’s thumb rubbing your clit, enjoying your whimpers. “please, tyler.” you begged, tyler aligning his cock with your entrance before guiding you down. you hand went your hat as your head rested on tyler’s shoulder, almost pornographic moans escaping from your lips. “oh my god.” he slowly eased himself into you, whispering praises as he did so.

“god, feels like you were made for me.” your cunt hugged his cock beautifully. when his cock was fully in, he allowed you to get used to the stretch, “tell me when you're ready.” you stilled for a moment, adjusting to his size. you kissed and sucked on his neck, slowly beginning to rock your hips. “fuck, let’s get this off of ya.” tyler’s hands skillfully unclipped your bra, tossing it to the side, fingers ghosting over your perky nipples. you pulled off his shoulder, giving him better access to your tits. “you’re fuckin’ beautiful, darlin’.” tyler attached his mouth to one of your nipples, enticing a soft moan. you continued to ride him, hips moving faster as you chased your incoming orgasm. your left hand gripped tyler’s shoulder, fingernails digging into his bare skin as your right hand held onto the hat that adorned your head. 

as your orgasm inched closer and closer, your movements became more erratic, chasing your high. tyler moaned, whispering praises as your walls clenched around his cock. he knew you were close, mouth moving to your pulse point as he pounded into you, taking over. tyler clapped a hand over your mouth as your orgasm hit, muffling your screams so you didn't wake up your neighbors. his movements however did not slow as he worked you through your orgasm, chasing his own high. your legs trembled as he continued to pound into you, your second orgasm of the night approaching quickly. “fuck! fuck, ty-” you cut yourself off, body shaking as you hit your climax once more. tyler began to huff and moan, pulling you impossibly closer as he reached his own high. you blubbered, unable to form actual words as tyler’s hands roamed your body. you pulled back, kissing him roughly.

“goddamn,” he helped you off his cock, helping guide you onto the bed, “think you’ll be able to handle a round two?”

The twister had been small, barely an EF1, but it was wondrous. There was something dangerously beautiful about it that drew you in just as it had your parents when they were younger. From that point on, you knew you wanted to be just like them, chasing storms up and down Tornado Alley. 

And with the stubbornness passed down by your mom, that is exactly what you did. You were damn good at it to. 

“It’s lookin’ like a big one to the southeast,” a member of your team said, slugging an arm around your shoulder as she looked up at the sky, squinting slightly at the sun. “But the radar says we’ve got another brewin’ west. She's pickin’ up speed but it’s still developing.” 

You hummed in response, gazing up at the sky too, judging which one was your best bet by observing the clouds in either direction. “Let’s hang back and go for the one to the west, I like her chances better.” Your teammate, Frankie, grinned as she nodded and headed off toward the other three members of your small, but mighty team. 

As you waited for the storm to flesh out a little more, you sat on the bed of your truck, dangling your legs off of the tailgate. The fresh air filled your lungs and the faint smell of incoming rain brought a smile to your lips. Every time you got ready for a chase, you felt ten years old again, giddy and excited for the thrill of the storm. You thought back to the photo albums you’d looked at a hundred times over of your parents and their numerous storm-chasing adventures. They never pushed you into storm chasing, as it was a dangerous line of work, but from a very young age, it was clear that your fascination with storms wouldn’t be quelled with a simple meteorology degree and a job behind a desk. 

Storm chasing was in your blood, and your knack for it was known among other storm chasers. 

“Well, if it isn’t the doctor herself,” a familiar voice filled your ears, belonging to the one and only Tyler Owens. He approached your truck, hands on his hips and a certain cockiness that excited you. You liked a challenge, and you loved showing cowboys up. Tyler was good at what he did, but you were just a little bit better, and it both irritated and impressed him. 

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” you said, earning a light chuckle from him. 

“You don’t look in a hurry. That storm to the southeast won’t last forever.” You shrugged and he narrowed his gaze just slightly. “You’re not going after that one, are you?” 

“Damn,” you sighed. “You’re getting harder to trick, Owens.”

He laughed, light and sweet. It was easy to see how he garnered such a large online audience. Tyler was easy on the eyes, drove straight into tornados with a grin on his lips, and had the knowledge of storms to back up his insane behavior. You’d never admit it aloud, but he did impress you, even if you thought some of his actions were reckless even for a storm chaser.

The two of you had an interesting rapport. It toes the line between rivals and friends, the odd territory in between. You loved teasing him, and he tried to outsmart you even if it never worked. 

“Maybe you’re getting too predictable,” he said, a teasing tone in his voice. 

“Och.” You faked hurt, placing a hand over your heart. “What is it you always say? If you feel it, chase it. If you think the one to the southeast is gonna show her face, go for it.” 

Tyler studied you for a moment, contemplating what kind of game you were playing with him. All you did was smile at him in return, which led him to roll his eyes. “Unfortunately, you’re rarely wrong,” he sighed. 

“It’s a blessing and curse.” 

“You’re impossible,” he said. “But the west it is. It better not let me down, Dr. Harding.” You only used that title in more professional settings. That had been a condition of your mother. She had gotten her PhD and believed you could too. It was tough, but you earned it; only, you didn’t expect some cowboy to use it to lightly mock you when you proved him wrong.

“You have my word,” you said. 

And you were right. The storm to the west produced a beautiful tornado. You and Frankie got close while the rest of your team hung back. Rain pelted the windshield as you grew closer, watching the dark funnel tear through the expanse of fields, picking up speed on the ground. Somewhere along the way, Tyler’s unmistakable red truck ripped past you, heading into the heart of the twister, which you rolled your eyes at. 

“She’s a beauty!” Frankie hollered, holding her camera at the ready. 

It was a great chase, but the thing about tornados that was both thrilling and dangerous was their unpredictability. You knew the storm would be big, and the closer you grew the more power you saw that it had. The other truck carrying the rest of your team had communicated the growing intensity of the storm via the radio. But it looked to be on a steady path west, so you saw no issue tailing it while Frankie snapped pictures.

The rain only grew heavier and heavier, almost completely obstructing your view. It wasn’t until a tree crash landed directly in the middle of the road did you realize the tornado had changed directions suddenly. A startled scream torn from Frankie lips and you slammed on the breaks, narrowly missing the tree. 

“Holy shit,” she whispered, leaning up against the dash and trying to see through the rain wrap. “It’s right there. It’s right there! We gotta go!” 

You quickly threw your truck in reverse and backed up, but you didn’t get far. A lone semi that had been traveling skidded to a stop just a couple hundred feet behind you. The way they had stopped at the sight of the tornado left its trailer sideways across the road before it was abandoned by the figure hunkering down in the ditch that lined the backroad. 

You hissed under your breath, trapped between two objects and a tornado that shook your truck. There wasn’t enough space to fly around the semi. The ditches on either side of the road were too deep to take quickly and another minute trying to maneuver around the semi would only lead to your truck getting swallowed by the storm, picked up, and tossed around like a rag doll. 

Your parents had prepared you for a kind of situation like that, but that didn’t shake your panic. With a rapidly beating heart, you put the truck in park and yelled at Frankie to get out. You both stepped out into the storm as the tornado loomed closer and closer. Wind whipped all around you along with debris. You grabbed Frankie’s hand and together you sprinted toward the ditch. 

Frankie lay on her stomach, and you lay beside her, covering her head the best that you could. Whatever happened, you had always told yourself your teammates' safety came first. You were the one who talked them into storm chasing with you. So, when danger arose, you felt the responsibility of keeping them safe. 

The screeching of winds was so loud in your ears that it almost disoriented you enough to miss the sharp piece of debris that swooped down at the tornado that passed along the field just opposite of the ditch, not directly over top of you but much too close for comfort. Something smacked against the back of your head, but you closed your eyes and held onto Frankie in hope of shielding her from any other flying objects. 

You weren’t sure how long you two lied there, but it felt like a lifetime until the tornado traveled further away. The winds died down but your heart beat stayed quickly pounding against your chest. 

Sitting up, you felt the sharp sting settling in the back of your head, but you ignored it at the sight of Frankie’s cut leg. 

“Shit,” you muttered, grabbing her knee to examine the clean slice down the back of her shin. 

She wiped back the wet pieces of her hair and let out a shuttered breath. “Holy shit, that was crazy.” You pulled off your sweatshirt and wrapped the wet fabric around her shin. “What’re you doing?” 

“You’re bleeding.” 

“It’s fine,” she said, trying to brush it off, but you heard the pain in her voice, along with the tremble of lingering fear at your close call. You knew the dangers of storm chasing and the possibilities of injuries, but it always felt different to you when it was a member of your team, one of your friends. 

A couple minutes after you tied your sweatshirt around her shin and helped her up from the ditch, the truck carrying the rest of your teammates rolled up, hooting and hollering at the size of the storm until they saw the state the two of you were in. 

“Take her back to the motel. If the bleeding doesn’t stop take her to the hospital.” Frankie opened her mouth to protest, but you cut her off. “I’m serious.” 

“What about you?” another member of your team asked. 

You looked down the road at your overturned truck, sighing sadly to yourself as the pain in the back of your head throbbed. “I’ve gotta call someone for my truck. I’ll meet you back at the motel later.” 

They were hesitant to leave you but eventually agreed. Down the debris-littered road, you hobbled back to your truck. It had been a gift from your parents after you graduated college; it was special to you, but it was totaled thanks to the tornado. 

With a groan, you heaved open the door and tried to gather your belongings, but a wave of dizziness washed over you. You staggered backward, reaching up to touch the tender spot on the back of your head. Something wet coated your fingers and when you pulled your hand back, it was painted red. Frustrated, you tried to take a deep breath and calm yourself down enough to find your cell phone. Unfortunately, the cut was a little worse than you wanted to admit, and you felt blood drip down the back of your neck. 

Dizzily, you sat down on the road, blinking back the pain and wooziness. A slow creep of panic started to take hold as the pain intensified and the world started to spin just slightly. 

With one hand placed firmly on the back of your head, you rubbed your temple with your other, trying to think clearly but it became increasingly more difficult. You missed the hum of an engine nearby, but a slam of a door startled you. 

“Harding!” Someone yelled and you blinked slowly, keeping a hold on the back of your head as you looked up to see Tyler Owens bee-lining right toward you. He kneeled in front of you, brows furrowed and lips pulled in a small frown. “Hey, are you all right?” 

“Yeah,” you said quickly, once again trying to push away the dizziness that plagued you. “I’m, uh, just looking for my phone. I gotta call someone for my truck.” The words felt heavy in your mouth, which couldn’t be a good sign. Whatever struck the back of your head hit it hard and the blood that leaked from the wound wasn’t helping. 

He studied you for a moment, his gaze landing on your hand pressed against the back of your head. “You hurt?” You started to shake your head, but that only caused little black dots to temporarily pepper your vision. Tyler wasn’t an idiot; he reached up and carefully pushed your hand back, stopping when he saw the blood that started to drip down your arm. He cursed under his breath and yelled something at whoever sat in the passenger seat of his truck. 

“Hey.” His voice became soft, comforting even. “We’ve gotta get you to a hospital.” 

“I’m fine,” you inisted, even though every thing you felt inside your body proved that to be untrue. You just hated not being able to do something yourself; you hated needing help. Your father said you interited that from your mother, while she said you got it from your father. Truth was, they both had their air of stubbornness and you was born with double. 

Tyler shook his head. “No, you’re not.” He stood to his feet and gently tugged on your arm in an attempt to help you stand. Begrudgingly, you let him help you. Standing up, the world spun faster and you felt panic swell uncomfortably in your chest. You swayed catching yourself on Tyler’s arms as they grabbed your shoulders. “I’ve got you,” he said. Maybe it was your slightly disoriented state, but his assurance and hands firmly holding onto your arms made some of your panic recoil. As much as you wanted to be okay, you knew that was not the case. 

He knew that too, and helped you into the passenger seat of his truck before he instructed one of his fellow Wranglers to keep pressure on the back of your head with whatever they could find in the backseat. You winced as a crumbled up shirt was held against your head, but the moving truck overwhelmed you with dizziness that made the physical pain of your wound the least of your worries. You didn’t want to pass out but your eyes felt heavy. 

Tyler noticed it too, and placed a hand on your knee, giving it a squeeze and a shake. “You gotta stay with me, okay? You gotta stay awake.” 

“M’trying,” you muttered. 

“You were right about the storm,” he said. “But aren’t you always?” 

A pained smile fell across your lips. “Was that a compliment?” 

He laughed, driving quickly down the road with one hand gripping the wheel tightly. “Yeah. You’re hard to say something bad about. You know your stuff, better than me, that’s for sure.” 

“My parents taught me,” you said, desperately trying to keep yourself consciousness, but it grew more difficult by the minute. 

“Do they still chase?” he asked. 

“Not much anymore. Sometimes if a storm’s close, they’ll take a drive. But they always say they’ve had their fun.” They also said they shared enough close calls to know it was time to hang it up. You know they worried you’d find yourself in one too, but you’d always been careful and rarely got yourself into a situation you couldn’t get out of, until now, that was. 

Darkness encroached on your vision, threatening to force your eyes closed. Some the backseat, you heard one of the Wrangles call Tyler’s name. He turned his head, but you couldn’t see the concerningly red-soaked shirt that made his stomach churn and caused him to press down on the gas harder. Your head lulled to the side and your eyes fluttered close. Vaguely, you heard Tyler call your name and felt him shake your knee, but you couldn’t open your eyes or open your mouth. Everything fell dark. 

-- 

Tyler had spent his fair share of time in hospitals. He’d been bucked off a bull more than once, resulting in his mother dragging him to the hospital and threatening to make him quit. Eventually she held to her threat when he shattered his nose and gained a nasty concussion. 

Being at the hospital for himself was one thing, being there for you made him realize why his mother used to be drenched in worry. He nervously drummed his fingers against the arm of the chair in the hospital room. You were asleep, a fresh bandage wrapped around your head and with a minor concussion. The cut on the back of your head required a couple stitches; you were lucky, all things considered, but Tyler really hated seeing you like that. 

To him, you’d always been unreal. A second generation storm chaser so accomplished. Not only did you know your stuff, it was clear how much you enjoyed it. You lit up at the sight of storms, and Tyler couldn’t help but be in awe. There was a competitive nature to storm chasing and as much as he wanted to be annoyed by you always being two steps ahead of him, he couldn’t. He was just impressed. 

Tyler wasn’t sure how or when that admiration turned into something that teetered on affection, but it felt more than it had been before seated at your hospital bedside. He’d never felt his stomach drop like that before, when you passed out in his truck, Boone holding a bloodied shirt to you head. Even after the doctor said you’d be just fine, he felt on edge. 

The door to your room was pushed open by a nurse who led in two more people, who he instantly recognized: The Hardings. 

He stood up quickly and watched as your mom rushed to your side, brushing a hand across your cheek with a deep frown. “Oh, baby girl,” she sighed.  

The nurse offered your concerned parents a polite smile. “As the doctor said, the concussion was minor so all she need is some rest for the couple of days to a week. She should wake up soon and we'll see how she’s doing, then the doctor will let you know when she can be discharged.” 

You dad rubbed your mom’s back like he was trying to ease the heavy worry that shined in her face, but he too looked just as worried with a crease across his forehead. 

Tyler lightly cleared his throat, gaining your parents’ attention. "Hello, ma'am, sir," he greeted them.

“You must be the one who brought her in,” Jo said, and Tyler nodded in response. “Thank you. We’d been trying to call her, after we saw that storm, but she never answered and I…I just had a bad feeling.” 

Bill rubbed the light stubble on his chin. “No wonder she’s knocked out; I don’t think you’d get here otherwise. Stubborn, that kid.” 

A found smile spread across Tyler’s lips. “She kept saying she was fine until she nearly passed out on me. We only got a couple miles before she did pass out; scared the life out of me,” he said, running a stressed hand through his hair freed from his hat. The second you passed out in his truck, he nearly broke every traffic law. He wasn’t sure he’d never been quiet that scared, which was something he wasn't sure how to feel about.

Your mom furrowed her brows at Tyler’s words, something glinting behind her eyes until it shined in recognition. “You’re that storm chaser she’s always talkin’ about,” Jo said. “The one online.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Bill said, nodding in Tyler’s direction. He couldn’t tell if it was disdain or indifference in the man’s voice, but Tyler was too hung up on the fact that you talked about him to care much. He didn’t know that filled him with an odd sense of pride and warmth. You two weren’t exactly friends but you were more than acquaintances. It was more like a nice, workplace rivalry that he enjoyed a lot more than he’d admit. 

A small groan sounded from the bed, and everyone turned as your eyes fluttered open. Your mom was quick to your side, speaking quietly under the hum of fluorescent lights. 

You started to mumble something about your truck that Tyler couldn’t quite make out, but your dad seemed to understand immediately. He said he’d take care of it, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before he headed out into the hall with his cell phone in hand. 

Tyler felt like he overstayed his welcome; you were in better hands with your parents there. He collected his things from the chair, garnering your attention. 

“Tyler,” you said, pushing yourself to sit upright. “Thank you.” 

He smiled. “No problem, doctor. I couldn’t let one of the best chasers be out of the game, now could I?” 

“So you admit it? I’ve got you beat.” 

“I said one of,” he joked. “But you may have one or two legs up on me. Not for long though. I’ll catch up.” 

Something in your smile made him want to sigh in relief, but he held it back. “Not a chance.” 

“Then you better rest up; I’ll see you back out there.” 

Bonus!

It took a little longer for you to bounce back, but the second you felt like yourself again, you were right back at it. Morning was supposed to bright a slew of storms to Kansas, so you and your team hightailed it to the state, finding a cozy little motel already occupied by other storm chasers. You spotted Tyler’s truck instantly, followed by a strange turn of your stomach. 

You hadn’t seen him since you woke up in the hospital, slightly surprised that he stayed with you until your parents arrived. Since then, your mom had managed to bring him up at every opportunity, not so subtly hint at what a pair the two of you would be. You brushed her off, but a small part of you wondered what would happen if you hung around the cowboy a little more. 

“Look who’s back!” Tyler’s voice sounded the second you hopped out of Frankie’s beat-up but sturdy truck; you were saving up for a new one, something even nicer that you could doctor up for chasing. 

He approached you with a beaming smile, flashing his teeth. “I just couldn’t stay away,” you replied. “I didn’t miss anything too crazy, did I?”