⋆.𐙚 ̊ cw — mdni, smut, p in v, unprotected sex, pet names, steve is kinda mean, he’s also very cocky, brat taming, no foreplay, he loves dirty talk, big dick!steve— please lmk if i missed anything
⋆.𐙚 ̊ summary — with your period looming right around the corner and the station’s ac blowing out right before the hottest day in indiana, you were an irritable mess. after hours of snappy comments and tantrums towards your boyfriend steve, he finally decides to show you who really calls the shots.
⋆.𐙚 ̊ authors note — hi guys idk what possessed me to write this but steve just gives brat tamer yk??? so excited to see djo and tame impala on monday so expect to be sick of me. also currently writing sparks and its the little things you do pt 2!!! please send in any smutty or fluffy requests you have :p
⋆.𐙚 ̊ wc — 3.78k
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹ please do not copy, rewrite, or repost my works on any other platforms or pages.
today was undoubtedly one of the hottest indiana has ever seen. and of course, with the luck that your and your friends had, the AC at the squawk went down last night. you and robin had stood outside with flashlights in hand as steve fumbled with the fuses and plugs and such for an hour. no luck.
which meant for the station had an entire night to incubate with the blazing heat. walking in this morning felt like you had literally stepped into hell.
irritated was a massive understatement. you were hot, annoyed, bloated and puffy from your incoming period, extremely irritable, and exhausted all at once. it made for the worst combination in a situation like this.
and steve… oh bless him. he was just trying to be the supportive, sweet boyfriend in a time like this. and he was certainly in an affectionate mood— one where he was all soft and just wanted to cling to you at all times. the two of you had been practically cooking in the heat of the sound booth as you played each tape robin had requested and his idea of passing time meant touching any prt of you possible. and fortunately enough for her, she was out at the gas station grabbing some more ice for your water bottles to help cool you all down.
once you felt the uncomfortable beading of sweat form at your hairline, you stepped out and into the small living area, reaching into the fridge for some sort of snack. you could hear footsteps approaching.
steve slid up right behind you, his chest pressing against your back and his strong arms winding around your hips to hold you close. he buried his face in the crook of your neck and peppered sweet kisses to the skin there. “you smell so good, honey,” his voice a low, deep rumble that typically would make you melt.
but today, you just felt like a ball of raw, explosive nerves. you were so overwhelmed and hot and every single touch— even from steve— brought you closer to your break of overstimulation. the heat of his body against yours didn’t feel romantic like usual, it felt suffocating.
you stiffed and wiggled away from him, shoving his arms off of you in the process with a sharp, frustrated huff. “steve, seriously? get off,” you snapped, not even looking back at him as you closed the fridge and moved to the pile of unorganized records.
he blinked, frozen in the same position as he watched you aggressively shove the sleeves back into their intended place. he looked at you with these big, soulful eyes that made him look exactly like a kicked puppy. “i just wanted to be close to you,” he spoke softly, sounding genuinely hurt.
ten minutes later, he’s sauntered back in to find you on your knees, still organizing records. he leaned down over your shoulder, lips brushing the shell of your ear and his hands squeezing at your hips affectionately.
“stop touching me!” you snapped, practically jumping out of your skin to create distance between the two of you. “can you just leave me alone for a second? it’s a hundred degrees in here and i feel like i’m fucking melting. just… stop!”
steve visibly deflated as he stepped back. he didn’t get mad— he never really did the whole ‘angry’ thing with you— but he looked utterly defeated. he stood there for a moment too long, hands twitching at his sides uselessly, staring at you as if he couldn’t understand why his love was being completely rejected.
“i’m just trying to be sweet,” he whispered, his tone sounding small, guilty, and hurt.
you didn’t even look up from the records. “yeah, well your ‘sweetness’ is making me want to scream right now. just give me some space, steve.”
that was his breaking point. the kicked puppy look shifted into something much deeper. a flicker of tiredness behind steve’s eyes. he had spent the last four hours trying to be the most affectionate, attentive, and understanding boyfriend in a situation like this to lighten your sour mood. even ignoring the uncomfortable drip of sweat from his skin just to put your comfort first and all he got in return was snarky remarks and sharp shoves.
he sighed, a long, heavy sound that signaled a change in his mood. he didn’t move towards you this time. instead, he stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall to watch you for a moment. the warmth in his gaze never vanished, but it was now tempered with a new simmering frustration.
“right. space. got it,” he said, his voice losing that sweet, playful edge and instead becoming dull and flat.
he didn’t try touching you anymore, just stood and watched you with that quiet, disappointed intensity. he wasn’t mad or upset with you, he was just tired of being the punching bag for your changing hormones. the silence that filled the room was suffocating and heavy. for the first time all day, the lack of his touch had felt suspiciously loud.
after another hour of organizing, the two of you were back in the stuffy control room, the space feeling even smaller with the stifling heat. the air was stagnant and the only sound heard was the low hum if equipment and the muffled tune of the song through the headphones.
steve was slouched back in the chair beside yours, entirely too comfortable and his legs spread too wide. his jean clad knee was pressed up against yours, attracting even more heat to your skin. he was playing with a rubik’s cube and failing miserably. after another minute or so of turning it endlessly, he dropped it down onto the desk and let his hand idly wander over to your bare thigh before he could even realize he was doing it.
you picked it up by his finger and tugged him off, letting his hand fall back into his own lap.
he looked at you then. the tight line of your clenched jaw, the way your brows pinched towards each other out of irritation, how your arms crossed over your chest like a physical wall you’ve just put up. he felt that familiar sting of rejection immediately. but he wasn’t ready to give up, not yet. he truly believed that if he could just make you smile a little, if he could crack the shell of your bad mood, everything would revert back to normal.
he shifted a little closer, practically trying to conjoin by your sides, completely ignoring the fact that you’re both almost sweating through your clothes. he leaned in, his voice dropping down to a playful, teasing whisper that always managed to make you giggle.
“you know,” he murmured, a small, hopeful grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “i’ve heard the best cure for a bad mood is a very handsome boyfriend. and lucky for you, i’m right here. free of charge.”
he punctuated the end of his joke with a soft nudge to your shoulder. that alone would’ve been enough to make you crack a smile.
except you didn’t. instead, you sighed and rolled your eyes. “shut up, steve,” you retorted, your voice cold and sharp. “you’re not being funny, you’re being annoying. please, for the love of god, just stop talking and stop trying to touch me.”
the grin vanished instantly. his face fell as he recoiled back slightly as if the words hit him like a physical blow. he looked at you, his expression shifting from hopeful to genuinely bewildered. he wasn’t just feeling like a punching bag anymore, he felt like there was a real resentment towards him. he was trying everything— the sweetness, the humor, the patience— and you were treating him like he was a complete inconvenience.
the door to the booth swung open to reveal robin with two iced coffee’s in hand. “hey, so i got the ice and figured i’d get us something cold to—“ her gaze darting between the two of you, noticing the hard line of steve’s clenched jaw and the way your body was radiating anger. she took note of the immediate tension simmering in the heat of the room. “yikes. did someone die in here orrrr…”
steve didn’t answer, he just looked at her desperately for some kind if support, and then back to you. he tried one last time, a tentative, barely there brush of your hands.
that was the final straw. you pulled away like you’d been burned. “i can’t do this. i can’t deal with you right now!” you snapped, so incredibly overwhelmed and overstimulated that you could seriously just break down and cry right here.
steve’s hand stayed suspended in the air for a heartbeat before he slowly pulled it back. the soft, pleading eyes were gone. the tiredness was too. it shifted into something much colder and harder now. something much more assertive. he didn’t say a word to either of you, just stood and grabbed his keys from the small rack by the door with a sharp clink. “we’re leaving.” there was no room for argument.
the ride home was suffocatingly silent. his hands were practically white-knuckling the steering wheel the entire ride home. he didn’t touch you once. the lack of his hands on you, which felt like an annoyance an hour again, now had the air in the car feeling ominous and heavy.
the moment you guys were in the apartment, the cool air hit the two of you like a truck, yet the tension was still boiling. steve didn’t let you get settled, instead, his hands were on your waist with a firm grip as he guided you into your shared bedroom and shut the door behind him with his foot. it made you gulp.
he was on the verge of breaking. he turned you towards him and stepped back to create distance between the two of you. “alright, you done with your little tantrum now?” he asked, his hands on his hips like an angry father. “you gonna tell me what your problem is now? i have spent the last eight hours trying to be the best boyfriend i could possibly be. i’ve been sweet, i’ve been patient, i’ve tried to make you laugh— and you’ve just been treating me like shit all day. like i’m something you have to tolerate.”
“i told you, i’m just hot! you’re acting like i’m some big villain for not wanting you all over me when it was a thousand degrees in there,” you shot back, though your voice wavered slightly under the intensity of his gaze. “all i asked for was some space!”
steve let out a sharp, mocking laugh, his eyes darkening. “space? you didn’t want space. you wanted a punching back.” he stepped forward into your space, his presence suddenly overwhelming. “it was never about you being hot or wanting space. it’s about the things you said to me and the way you spoke to me.” before you could react, he pushed at your shoulders, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make you fall back. your bottom hit the bed, your palms flying by your hips to keep you upright.
he didn’t give you even a second to breathe. he stepped between your thighs, cornering you against the bed with his large frame hovering over you and blocking out the rest of the room. he reached down, his fingers gripping your chin firmly as he tipped it up so you were forced to look at him.
the sweetness was completely gone, now replaced by a smoldering, dominant heat that made your stomach feel all tingly. he looked so devastatingly hot right now— his hair slightly messy from the day, his eyes narrowed and piercing. he looked like he was done playing nice.
“you’ve been acting like a little brat all day,” he said, his voice dropping to that low dangerous purr that vibrated in your chest. he gave your chin a little shake, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip in a way that was demanding and possessive.
a small, mocking smirk played on his lips, his gaze scanning your face as if he was analyzing every bit of your stubbornness. “you think you can just be mean to me all day and then… what? go to bed like everything is fine?” he clicked his tongue and shook his head. “i don’t think so.”
he leaned in closer, his breath slow and controlled as it hit your skin in warm bursts. his scent was intoxicating from this distance. the grip on your chin tightened just enough to remind you who was in control. “say it,” he commanded, his voice dropping to that familiar octave that was nothing but raw and assertive. “apologize for being so mean to me today.”
even with steve looming over you, clearly in full control, you couldn’t help it. irritability was still humming through your body. you rolled your eyes and tried to pull your face away from him. it was no use. “i’m not apologizing,” you muttered, your voice still laced with that stubborn, snooty tone. “you’re just being dramatic.”
steve’s eyes flared, a dark, dangerous glint flickering behind them as he stared at you. he didn’t argue, didn’t plead. instead, he let out a deep guttural chuckle that sent chills down your body. “dramatic? of honey, you have no idea how dramatic i can be when i’ve been pushed.”
before you could snap back, he was lifting you in one fluid motion and flipping your position so he was sat at the edge of the bed with you straddling his thighs. one hand wrapped around the column of your throat— not squeezing, just resting— while the other tangled in your hair and pulled you into a searing kiss.
you gasped against him in surprise as he tugged on your roots to tilt your head back and gain more leverage over you. the force that he kissed you with was borderline predatory.
it was hungry and messy and completely uninhibited. your mouths moved together with a wet, slapping sound as your tongues tangled in a frantic battle for dominance. steve tasted like strawberries and the gatorate he’d been drinking at the station, a mix that made your head spin. he groaned deep in his throat, a vibration you could feel in your own chest he sucked your lower lip into his mouth, tugging on it hard before letting it snap back.
you fought back, hands roaming across his chest and neck, pulling him in closer as if you were trying to merge your bodies into one. you bit at his lower, a sharp, playful nip that drew a long hiss from him. he responded by deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping across the wet cavern of your mouth, claiming every corner and tasting every inch. his hands moved down to your hips, rolling them into his own.
the sounds each of you made were primal— wet, sloppy noises of tongues sliding against tongues, punctuated by deep ragged breaths for air that you both forgot you even needed. every time you broke away for a second of oxygen, it was only to snap back together with even more intensity, your lips bruising each others in their haste.
steve’s hands left your lips to fumble with the buckle of his belt, quickly shoving his jeans and boxers down to his knees and freeing himself while sucking on the pink muscle of your tongue. he was painfully hard already. he gave himself a few slow strokes while his free hand pulled your shorts and panties to the side, running his tip through your leaking slit.
he pushed into you with a devastatingly slow thrust, hands coming back to rest on your hips to keep you flush against him. you pulled away to let your head fall back in overwhelming fullness. he was fucking loving it.
he smiled up at you with that stupid cocky grin, knowing he was pressed right up against your cervix, making you go completely soft on him. “yeah? this was all you needed? just had to get you all dumb on my cock?” he teased before leaning forward to suck deep purple marks into your skin. “ready to apologize yet?”
you bit down on your puffy lip to suppress a moan, your stomach tensing every time he’d readjust the slightest bit. the stretch wasn’t uncomfortable, but you could surely feel the building pressure from the lack of warming up.
he took your silence as your answer, nodding slowly with that sly grin pulling at his lips. “got it. you still wanna be difficult then?” he asked, pushing up even further into you. your nails dug into his shoulders as you whimpered, feeling impossibly full. “that’s fine, honey. have it your way.”
“fuck you, steve,” you tried to snap out, instead, it just sounded like a pleading beg.
he smiled at you like he’d just received the best invitation of his life. “oh baby,” his hands moved to grab handfuls of your ass, holding you up just slightly as his voice rumbled. “i will.” his fingers dug into your skin with a bruising force as he thrust up into your sopping cunt with a violence that knocked the wind out of you. he buried his cock so deep inside that it felt like he was trying to reach your soul.
“you just can’t help yourself, can you?” he mocked, his voice dark and triumphant as he watched you absolutely eat this up. “you want to be all mouthy and bratty, but you fuckin’ love it when i take over, isn’t that right? love when i put you in your place?”
the moan that spilled from your lips was borderline pornographic as he fucked you with a slow, punishing rhythm that made you feel every vein and ridge of his cock against your gummy walls. he moved his hands to your hips, forcing you to take every single inch as he steered your body to meet his thrusts.
it was embarrassing how fast you could feel the coil in your stomach twisting tighter. he just looked so sexy like this— all dominant and messy and dark. you’d rarely seen this side of him.
every single punch of his mushroom tip against your cervix was a declaration of his ownership. he was driving into you with everything he had, his breath somehow still so slow and controlled while you were falling apart above him.
he began to pick up his pace rapidly, relentlessly pounding up into you. your eyes stung with tears as he stretched you out so perfectly, pulling you down to meet each thrust just to push himself deeper inside of you.
“that’s it, baby. fuckin’ take it,” he gritted through his teeth, his voice strained and raw. “feel every inch of me. want you to remember exactly how it feels when i’m the one in charge.” smack. his hand landed heavy against your bottom, making the unshed tears gush down your cheeks as the pleasure became overwhelming.
he moaned loud and unapologetic at the feel of your cunt squeezing him. “you’re so tight,” he groaned, his cockiness returning full force. “you love this, don’t you pretty girl? you love it when i stop being all sweet and kind and just take what i need.”
you couldn’t even scream. the only sounds coming out were little broken whimpers and cries as he hit that certain spot over and over again while you clung helplessly to his shoulders. “oh! mmph! i’m sorry, stevie! fuck, i’m— i’m sorry! please! oh god, please!”
steve let out a low, triumphant sound, but he didn’t stop. instead, he slowed down just enough to let the friction build, his eyes hooded and shimmering with something you couldn’t make out. he leaned in, his lips grazing your jawline, but he didn’t kiss you. instead, he let out a quiet hum.
“what was that?” he mocked, his voice a teasing and arrogant purr. he leaned in further, letting his lips ghost over the shell of your ear. “i didn’t hear you, sweetheart. are you sorry for being a mean little brat to me? are you sorry for treating me like trash all day?”
he didn’t wait for an answer from you. he began to pull out, slowly, agonizingly, until he was almost completely gone, only to drive right back in with a devastating, slow-motion punch. he wasn’t just fucking you anymore, he was claiming you. pushing deep into your guts, forcing you to feel every single inch of his cock as he stretched you open.
“god, this pussy’s so tight, honey,” he groaned, his voice now a thick, sultry drawl. “so fuckin’ pretty. just look at how she’s gripping me… she’s practically begging for it.”
he gave you a slow, deliberate roll of his hips, making you gasp and arch into him as he stretched you wide. he sounded and looked completely enamored by your body, but his teasing edge still hadn’t left. it was a reminder that he knew exactly how much power he had over you in this moment.
“it’s such a shame, really,” he whispered, his voice dripping with mock sympathy and he stared at the way your lips stretched around him. “it’s too bad you’ve been such a brat today. truly a tragedy.”
his hands slipped under the hem of your shirt to hold you waist, pulling you even closer to him as his cock pulses inside your warmth. “i would’ve loved to get my mouth on her,” he purred, his voice suggestive and dangerous. “i would’ve spent hours between these pretty legs, eating you out, tasting every single inch of you until you were shaking and cryin’ for me. i would’ve made you lose your fuckin’ mind on my tongue.”
he felt your core clench around him desperately, a needy spasm at the mere thought, and he chuckled a dark, cocky sound.
“but since you wanted to be so mean to me?” he pulled out just enough to make you mewl before slamming back into you, a hard, sudden thrust that made your eyes roll back into your skull. “think i’ll just keep you stuffed full of me for the rest of the night instead. think you need to be reminded who you belong to.”
Sinopsis: After years of believing something was wrong with her, you finally confess your deepest insecurity to Clark Kent. Instead of judgment, he offers patience, understanding, and a chance to discover that the people who hurt you may have been wrong all along.
Warnings: Mature content, explicit sexual scenes, oral sex, penetrative sex, strong sexual language.
WC: 4,400 words approx.
When did that "problem" happen? When did that problem decay into the fact that you were actually that problem?
Talking about "it" was uncomfortable. You couldn't tell your mother or your friends. Because how would you just come out and say? You know what? In my two relationships, never, never once did I have an orgasm. And the worst part is that both men told me I was the problem. No, just thinking about it would make you sink with shame. You would want to disappear, to never have opened your mouth. Even worse when you heard everyone saying they had an orgasm with their boyfriend. They commented on it as if it were the most normal thing in the world, as if it were something that always happened. And even though you knew that men only seek their own satisfaction, not yours, you also knew very well, maybe the problem was you. Because two different men repeating it to you, over and over again, had to mean something, right?
"Ah, of course it's not me, you must have problems," one said when you had confessed that you only felt a little warmth, but an orgasm, nothing. He lay there calmly, lying back on the bed, not even looking at you. As if what you had just told him was an annoyance, your own mistake that he didn't have to fix.
"Now you want everything to be dedicated to you, please, you must have a problem," said the other, looking at you with those eyes that you used to like and that now only made you feel small. "I have made thousands of women come," he boasted, crossing his arms as if he were a prize. As if you were the only one who didn't work right.
So you stopped trying. Maybe it was work stress, maybe the nerves of being with someone new, maybe the discomfort of seeing how a man could finish in bed with you, ejaculate and that's it. No more work, no more caresses, no more nothing. Because he had already gotten his part. And you stayed there, looking at the ceiling, wondering what was wrong with you.
But now the fear had returned. You had been two years without a boyfriend, two years without having to worry about this. And when you started dating Clark, you didn't mention it to him. Of course, you were just going on dates, it wasn't anything formal. Besides, he didn't seem like the man who takes you to bed on the first date. He was slow, everything about him was slow: his way of speaking, his way of looking at you, his way of getting close to you. And that slowness also made your heart race. You didn't want him to get annoyed and end up leaving your life like the other two.
Clark was cute. Too cute, even for your taste. You had always said your type were serious men, with few friends, who looked like a block of ice and were intelligent. But you ended up with an intelligent man, yes, but with the prettiest shyness you had ever seen and the loveliest smile anyone had ever given you. A man so tall and so big that to you, who wasn't small, he made you feel protected. You loved holding his hand everywhere, feeling his fingers intertwine with yours. You loved it when he pushed the stray locks of hair behind your ear and smiled at you as if you were the prettiest thing he had seen all day.
But you knew the next step was coming. Or maybe you only thought it one day, while he laughed at something silly you had said. Clark was a gentleman, truly. He wouldn't continue doing something if you told him you felt uncomfortable. Never. That was clear. But interrupting him mid-kiss was awkward. You would make him feel uncomfortable. And he would pull away. Like the others. Or worse, he would stay out of pity.
It wasn't planned. You had only agreed to eat at your apartment, but nothing more. It was after the movie. You kissed him first, almost without thinking, and from there you had been kissing for almost thirty minutes. Your lips were swollen, your breathing uncontrolled, your hands on his chest feeling his heart beat. His curls tangled between your fingers. He was squeezing your waist slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. But then that thought returned. You pulled away to breathe more air. He leaned in as if wanting to let you know he wanted to keep kissing you, but not finding your lips, he buried his face in your neck. You sighed, caressing his curls. You longed to feel him so much, but your fear invaded you. Should you fake an orgasm again? You remembered how ridiculous you felt doing that, those fake moans, that lie that only served to make him finish faster.
"Do you want to stop?" Clark whispered in your ear when he saw that you were only touching his curls without saying anything.
He looked at you. His cheeks were red, but his blue eyes were dilated, dark. Lips swollen like yours. You pressed your lips together. If you were the problem, you repeated to yourself, you'll ruin it. Again.
"No," you said. But you lowered your gaze to his shirt, playing with his button.
Clark tilted his head. He waited for your answer. You knew he didn't want a kiss to continue. He didn't want you to just keep going as if nothing was wrong. He wanted to know why you were nervous. And it wasn't normal nerves, he noticed it. There was something behind your trembling hands, behind the way you avoided his eyes.
"It's just that… I… have a problem," you whispered. And you felt your cheeks burn with shame.
"Problem?" said Clark. He moved on the couch to see you properly. Very carefully, he moved the lock of hair that covered your face and put it behind your ear. "Is it serious?" he asked, and his voice sounded genuinely worried.
"No… no… nothing like that," you said quickly, shaking your head. "It's just… well… I have problems with… that." You made a vague gesture with your hand, not daring to look at him.
Clark frowned, confused.
"I… never… well…," you tried to say, but the words got tangled.
"Hey, pretty, it's okay," he said, and his voice was soft, calm. He caressed your cheek with the back of his fingers. "Do you want to tell me? Go ahead. If you don't feel ready, nothing will happen." There was no anger in his eyes, no contempt. It was just Clark smiling with those dimples that appeared on his cheeks.
"I've never had an orgasm," you finally said.
You watched him blush. He nodded without saying anything. And your heart sank. You thought he would start to hate you. You thought you should have kept quiet and just faked it like you had done so many times before. The silence grew long, too long.
"No… but it's my problem," you blurted out, the words coming out fast, barely breathing. "I really enjoy it, it's just that… I won't reach that point. But we can keep going, don't worry about me." You said all that with the intention of making him forget, of him kissing you again and that's it.
Clark looked at you fixedly. "Not worry about you?" he asked, as if he hadn't understood correctly.
He guided you onto his lap gently. You sat on him. The friction was evident, noticeable, but he was focused on you, not on himself. His hands remained still on your hip, not squeezing, just resting.
"It's not just your problem," he said slowly. "Is it a problem? I mean… why do you say it's a problem? Did a gynecologist tell you that?" he asked, and he said it wanting to understand, not to judge.
"No," you played with his shirt again, not looking at him. "It was the… people I was with before," you said, and the word people tasted ugly in your mouth.
"Or they were the problem," Clark said simply.
You looked at him. How could he say it like that, so easily, as if it were obvious?
"But it's two people saying the same thing," you said, and you felt your throat close up. "Two, Clark. It's not a coincidence."
Clark nodded. He had left his glasses on the table an hour ago, since he started kissing you. Now his blue eyes looked at you without a filter.
"We can try it right now," he said simply, like someone says let's have a drink or let's watch another movie. He looked at you with that calm that only he had. "And we'll check if it's true or if you just had two people with low resistance next to you." He smiled a little. "You know I'm very resistant, don't you?" Clark asked.
And you, despite the fear, despite the shame, smiled blushing.
And then you kissed him.
You didn't think anymore. You didn't give yourself time to think. You just leaned your face in and your lips found his again. Clark made a small sound, a low moan that was lost between you two. Your hands went up to his neck. You felt his hot skin, his rapid pulse under your fingers. His hands were on your hip at first, still, as if he was afraid of squeezing too hard. But then they went down to your thighs and there they did squeeze, with desire. He went back to your neck, stopped kissing your mouth to go down to that soft spot right under your ear. He stayed there for a while. Just kissing, just sucking a little, just breathing against your skin. You felt him so good that you moaned uncontrollably. It wasn't a low or subtle moan. It was a moan that came from deep within, without you being able to do anything to stop it.
"Oh, Clark!" you said. And your hands clenched his curls tightly, as if you were about to fall and he was the only thing holding you up.
You took off his shirt. It wasn't easy because he wouldn't stop kissing you, but you managed. The fabric went up his back and he let go of your lips just long enough to take it off completely. Then you took off yours with his help. His hands were large and trembled a little as they unbuttoned the buttons. You didn't know if it was nerves or desire, maybe both. When your shirt fell to the floor, Clark looked at you for a second. Just a second. His blue eyes ran over your face, your neck, your shoulders. And then he kissed you again as if he had been waiting for days to do it.
Clark took your waist and sat you on the couch. But he didn't sit next to you. He did something strange. He crouched down, lowered his body in front of you. A movement you didn't understand. What did he intend to do? He pulled away from your lips, very slowly, as if it cost him effort. He kissed your neck again. Then went lower. He kissed your chest, the top part, right where the heart beats strongest. Then lower down. He kissed your abdomen, right in the center, and you felt your skin pucker from how soft it was. You looked at him. The living room lamp let you see little, just shadows and glints. But the sighs came out of you as soon as you felt him remove your pants. He unbuttoned them, lowered them slowly, looking at you as he did so. Then he took off your panties. Also slowly. His fingers hooked the fabric and lowered it down your legs. Your hands were trembling. Everything was trembling.
His huge hands parted your legs. Gently but firmly, as if he knew exactly what he was doing. You opened your legs more for him, without thinking. Your pupils were so dilated you could barely see. But when you looked at his face, he was looking directly at your center. You threw your head back. You couldn't look. You were embarrassed and yet you didn't want to stop looking.
"Clark," you moaned. His name came out broken, like a long sigh.
He leaned in. He kissed your vaginal lips as if they were your regular lips. With the same softness, the same calm. Your mouth fell open. You couldn't believe what he was doing. No one had kissed you there before. No one had taken that time. You felt his tongue lick your line, that little opening you had been so afraid to show. Then he opened it more with his tongue, carefully, and even penetrated you a little with it. The sounds coming from below were wet, lewd, shameful. But you didn't want him to stop. Everything was different. Everything was so strange and so good at the same time. Your hands tangled in his curls again. Your hips lifted on their own, as if your body came to life and wanted more from Clark. More of his mouth, more of his tongue, more of everything.
"Do you like it?" you heard him say. His voice came out hoarse, low, and he was still between your legs. "My pretty girlfriend, you taste so good," he said. Then he pulled away slightly. You looked down and saw a line of saliva hanging from his lips to you. You smiled, blushing, and thrust your hip towards him. He understood. He didn't protest. Oh, he never would. Clark found that exquisite, you could see it in his eyes. To see how his mouth could melt you. He just thought how you must have felt when they pointed out that you didn't have orgasms. When they told you that you were the problem. Surely they were the problem, Clark thought. And he set out to do it the second you told him the reason for that fear. He would show you. He would show you they were wrong.
"Oh, Clark!" you said again. But this time it wasn't just pleasure. It was something else. A strange tremor ran through your body, started in your belly and went up your back. Your legs contracted on their own. Your hands in his curls pushed his face further against you, even though he didn't need you to push him. "God, I… no… Clark," you said. And then it happened.
A strange sensation ran through your entire body. It wasn't like anything you had felt before. It was as if something inside you broke but in a good way. As if you let go of something you had been holding onto for years. Slow spasms, undulations that went up and down your legs, your belly, your chest. You breathed as soon as you could, but it was hard. The air didn't come in well because your whole body was shaking. Clark approached slowly. He kissed your thigh, then your abdomen, then your neck. He kissed softly, very softly, while your body still shook a little.
"My beautiful girlfriend was treated so badly," he said. He gave you kisses on your neck, one after another, while you recovered from the previous wave. You didn't have the strength to even speak. Then he kissed you on the mouth. His saliva and your juices mixed with your own saliva and you didn't care. Nothing mattered more than continuing to feel what you had just felt.
Clark pulled away just enough to take off his pants. He lowered them quickly, this time without calm, and kicked them off completely. He looked at you. His eyes were dark, almost black with desire.
"I don't have a condom," he whispered. And his voice sounded almost apologetic.
You shook your head. "It's okay," you nodded. You said it so fast you barely thought about it. You were lost. Needy for him. Not just anyone. For him.
Clark smiled looking at you. "Good," he whispered. But nothing happened. Not at first.
Until you felt something enter you. You moaned, brushing your lips against Clark's. It wasn't what you thought. It wasn't him. It was his two fingers. He inserted them slowly, one first, then another. He needed to stretch you a little more so you would adjust to him later. But the simple position had already warmed you up more than you thought. His swollen lips close to yours. His hand working below, inside, moving with a rhythm you didn't know. His other hand on your waist, squeezing gently. Your hands on his shoulders, clinging to him. The closeness of his face, the warm air coming from his mouth mixing with yours. The dilated pupils of both of you, so large you could barely see the color of his eyes.
You opened your lips to say something but no words came out. He moved closer, their teeth clashed a little, and he kissed you. It was a messy kiss, wet, with both of them breathing poorly. They moaned between kisses. His fingers entering and exiting you, faster each time. Your tongue playing with his. A third finger entered and you felt everything stretch down there. You closed your eyes tightly. You pulled away from his mouth just to breathe, just to not suffocate. He took your neck with his free hand, very gently, and pulled you close again. And then…
"Damn it… again," you said. Your voice trembled. Everything trembled. "I… oh," you said. You couldn't finish the sentence.
Your body shook entirely. A new wave, stronger than the first, shook you from head to toe. Your hands squeezed Clark's shoulders as if you were sinking. Your legs trembled uncontrollably. Clark held you tight, pressed his chest to yours and held you while you shook. You breathed with difficulty, your face buried in his neck. He didn't move. He just held you. With one hand he massaged your leg with fingers stained with you, and that soft caress helped you come back. Little by little. Very little by little.
And then he carried you.
You didn't even have time to say anything. Clark put his arms under your body, one behind your back and the other behind your knees, and lifted you as if you weighed nothing. Your arms circled his neck by reflex, and you pressed your face against his shoulder. You felt his hot skin, his smell, his agitated breathing. He walked towards your room. He knew the way. He had learned every step of your house when he came to visit you and helped you leave something in your room. A jacket, a bag, a book. He always noticed everything, even if you didn't realize it. He knew where the bed was, where the door was, where the lamp was. When they arrived, he entered without bumping into anything. He placed you on the bed gently, as if you were something fragile. The sheet was cold against your back and that contrasted with the heat of his body on top of you.
You felt his member brush against your entrance. Barely touching you. Just a graze. And you, without thinking, lifted your hip towards him. Your body moved on its own. You were no longer afraid. You no longer wanted to hide. You just wanted to feel him inside you.
"That's it," Clark said, his voice hoarse, barely a whisper. His member became stained with your juices as he rubbed against you, barely entering and exiting, just the tip. You moaned every time he brushed against that place that needed him so much. "We're going to show them who the real problem was," he said. And then he gave you a kiss on the jaw, right where your face ends and your neck begins. That kiss was soft, but he said it with a certainty that made you believe him. That was enough for him to insert himself into you. Not all at once. It was slow. Very slow. You felt him fill you little by little, centimeter by centimeter. You opened your mouth but no sound came out. Just air.
Then the thrusts began. Slow at first. Very slow. Every time he entered, your breasts bounced to the rhythm of his movement. They went up and down like small waves. Clark's lips went straight to them. He kissed the tip of your nipple, which was already hard, very hard. He kissed it softly, with closed lips, then with his tongue. His mouth was hot and wet. Your hand tangled in his curls again, squeezing gently, pulling a little. His hot breath lingered on your skin every time he parted his lips to breathe.
"Oh, Clark," you said. Your voice came out choppy, broken by moans. "You feel so good," you admitted. It wasn't a lie. You had never felt anything like it. He filled every empty space you had inside.
"No," Clark said, shaking his head while continuing to move inside you. "You are the one who feels so good." He bit your nipple carefully, barely a pinch with his teeth. "So adapted to me," he said, and then he took your entire nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, playing with his tongue around it.
You stayed underneath him on your back for a good while. Then he turned you over gently and you were face down. He penetrated you again and again, from behind, and you buried your head in the pillow to keep from screaming too loudly. Clark's fingers dug gently into your hip, guiding you, moving you to his rhythm. Then he took you and arranged you on top of him. You sat on his stomach and he looked up at you from below. You set the pace yourself. Your hands trembled as they rested on his chest. You bent down from time to time to kiss him, and he took that moment to grab your buttocks with his large hands. He gently spread them to sink deeper into you. That made you moan louder. But you kept your rhythm. Your hips made slow circles. Your breasts moved in a back-and-forth sway, left and right. Clark squeezed them with his hands, massaged them while you moved on top of him. You moaned, but this time it wasn't just any moan. You were almost singing to him, letting your voice out with each rise and each fall. You felt so close. Clark noticed it because your rhythm began to get slower, clumsier. You were tired but you didn't want to stop.
"I… Clark, help me," you whispered. Your voice was barely audible.
He didn't need you to repeat it. You leaned on his shoulders and he lifted your body with force. Clark began to penetrate by lifting and lowering his hips. He led the rhythm now. Both moaned together, at the same time, as if their bodies were one. They were both so close. Clark grabbed your bottom with one hand, with the other he grabbed your hip, and penetrated deeper. Your eyes became moist. You didn't know if it was from pleasure or something else. You looked at him blurry, because the tears hadn't fallen but they fogged everything up. Clark's senses heated up seeing you like that. You breathed so fast you almost felt dizzy. And then you trembled. In the last thrust, your body contracted entirely. You trembled like a leaf in the wind. And you felt Clark fill you, hot, inside. Enough for you to fall onto his chest without strength. Still trembling. Still shuddering when Clark's arms hugged you tight.
He didn't let you go. He didn't push you away. He didn't turn his face to the wall like the others did. Clark kept you on his chest, with an arm around your back and the other hand caressing you gently. He waited for your breathing to normalize. He didn't speak. There was no need. He just held you. And you sank into his chest tired, happy, calm. Hugging him too. With your eyes closed. With a smile he couldn't see but surely felt.
"Confirmed," Clark said after a while, his voice still hoarse but with a laugh hidden in the words. "You are not the problem."
You laughed. A small, trembling laugh, but real. He felt your laugh on his chest, the vibrations of your throat against his skin. And he also laughed. His laugh was low, soft, like everything about him.
You pulled away slightly, just enough to look at him. You gave him a short, quick kiss on the lips. And then you hugged him again, burying your nose in his neck.
"I really like you, Clark," you admitted. Your voice came out small, as if you were still embarrassed to say it.
Clark blushed. You felt him get warm under your lips. "I am in love with you," he said. He paused, as if thinking the word embarrassed him too. "A lot," he added, so there was no doubt.
You hugged him tighter, not looking at his smile, but you knew it was there. You felt it in how his chest moved as he breathed.
"Let's clean ourselves up," Clark whispered after a while, running a hand through your messy hair. "We'll take a shower."
Clark did it. He got out of bed, took your hand and led you to the bathroom. He turned on the hot water tap and waited for the temperature to be right. Then they got in together. You curled up against his chest, stuck to him as if it were the safest place in the world. He soaped your hair first, carefully, undoing the knots with his fingers. Then he soaped your body, slowly, running the sponge over your back, your shoulders, your arms, your legs. There was no hurry. The water fell over both of them and the bathroom filled with steam. Then he soaped himself, with your eyes watching him. In the end they dried off with a large towel that Clark ran over your body first before running it over his. Then they went back to bed, still with damp skin and the smell of soap.
Clark already had his purpose for every night. He wouldn't let you think again that you were a problem. He would show you whenever necessary. With kisses. With caresses. With patience. With that very way of his of looking at you as if you were the best thing that had ever happened to him. That night, when he turned off the light and hugged you from behind, with his nose buried in your nape and his arm crossed over your waist, you knew you weren't alone. That you would never have to pretend again. That Clark would stay. And you, for the first time in a long time, closed your eyes and felt calm.
cw: obviously free use!clark, clark has a big dick (we all know this), sub!clark (again, we all know this), somnophilia, riding, oral (m & f!receiving), clark is JUST your roommate so like you guys aren’t… dating…?
a/n: I’m back from the dead (for now)
You weren’t exactly sure where it came from, but Clark had been upfront with you the first time you guys had sex.
“You don’t need to ask me next time. Or the time after that. Or… any… other time.” He huffed out a breathy chuckle.
And honestly, you were a bit confused at first. But then when you finally used that brain of yours, you nodded slowly before pressing a kiss to his lips.
“Okay.”
And oh how you love it.
“C-Clark—!” your legs, that were hooked over Clark’s broad shoulders, shook and twitched with his hands wrapped around the back of your thighs.
His tongue expertly swiping side to side as he occasionally wrapped his lips around your puffy clit.
“s’o-okay… jus— c-cum…” He mumbled against your pussy as his fingers tightened their hold on your thighs.
With the vibrations of his voice muffling against your cunt, your orgasm just about hit you like a damn truck. Your walls clenched around nothing as Clark pulled away, his face drenched in your juices as he licked his lips.
And of course, it never stopped there.
“J-Jeez ba-by—! Be c-carefu— oh gosh…” He whimpered softly as your head bobbed up and down his cock.
Some people would think that if you’re sucking this man off, it’s for his pleasure, but no. The way he whimpers, and quite literally shakes in your hands, you’re just about ready to come with him.
“O-oh gosh— M’g-gonna—” His hand rests on the back of your head, but doesn’t push, as his cum fills your mouth.
You pull off of him with a pop as you trail your tongue up and down the side of his length, a sly grin plastered across your lips.
And it didn’t help that Clark was at your every call, no matter the circumstance.
You slowly open his bedroom door and peek your head in, Clark’s large body splayed across his bed as light snores left his mouth. You pressed your lips together before entering and walking towards him, resting your hand on his shoulder and shaking him softly.
“Clark…?” You called out his name softly.
You jumped back as you watched him jolt awake, lifting his head from his pillow as he turned to look at you, the lack of light in his room making his face less visible.
“Hm…What’s wrong…?” He mumbled deeply, moving his body to lay on his back.
“Can’t sleep…” You whisper as you rest your hands on his chest, slowly creeping your way onto his lap.
Clark hummed as he hooked his arm around you before reaching down to pull his pants down just enough to free his cock.
And despite the fact that he was half asleep, the fucker was already hard….
But either way, you wasted no time in sinking down on him, inch by inch making its way deep into your pulsing cunt. A shaky breath leaves your lips as a low groan leaves Clark’s, his hands already gripping your waist tightly as you begin bouncing in Clark’s lap.
“O-oh— Y-you f—eel s-so good—” You breathe out with your hands splayed across his chest, your ass smacking onto his thighs every time you descend down.
Your walls clench around his length tightly, leaning down to cup his face as you crash your lips onto his.
Clark groans deeply into the kiss as his hands trail down from your waist to your ass, gripping the fat as he began guiding you up and down quickly.
“Please…” He mumbled against your lips before you pull away, rested your forehead on his before he sits himself up, his hands running up your back as his arms hook around your torso.
As you felt your climax approaching, you felt Clark begin to thrust up into you, meeting your bounces halfway.
“C-Clark…”
“I k-know, baby…” He whimpered sweetly as he pressed kisses along your neck, his lips warm against your skin.
Your sweet, beautiful, handsome Clark. Always at your every call.
summary// you ended up realizing that making clark your lab rat would simultaneously be the best and worst decision of your relationship.
content warning// conditioning, mating press, doggy style, nasty filthy sex, creampie, clark is feral, clark has an alien dick, clark swears, improper use of x-ray vision, kryptonian breeding kink, squirting, clark is pathetic
2k words whew
with clark kent fucking you like that, you don’t think you’re making it out alive.
well, your fault for trying to experiment on a poor, farm-grown kryptonian.
.
on monday, on the evening, you decided that you could begin your sick little experiment of conditioning on clark. after reading an article about it online, you wanted your alien boyfriend to be your lab-rat for it, and saw no apparent downsides to the experiment, so you went on with it.
starting with the trigger, you decided for it to be a duck emoji. weird enough for clark to be confused, not too weird for it to have him worrying like the sweetheart he is. ten minutes before you arrived home after work, you had sent him a singular duck emoji with no context or follow-up to it, which, as expected, had your poor clarkie as confused as ever. you smiled when he immediately texted back with ‘???’—success. as soon as you arrived home, you barely let him finish his questioning before pouncing on him, interrupting his sentence with a kiss he welcomed with open arms.
that night, you rode the man to the moon and back—gave him such mind-numbing pleasure that he couldn’t even bother to remember his previous confusion about the duck emoji.
and so, with the first day being a success, you repeated the process.
every day following that one, you would do the same thing—no texts or news all day, a duck emoji ten minutes before coming home, mind-blowing sex.
after a few days of repeating the process, you began to space out these encounters, opting to send the duck emoji every two to three days—a great way to keep the man on his toes, anticipating, waiting for the next time you'd send him that emoji.
then came the most awaited experiment—your greatest mistake.
it was on a friday night that you had decided tonight was the night. you had sent clark the usual duck emoji, smirking as he had immediately seen the text. however, when you arrived home, it wasn't like usual. usually, upon sending the emoji, you'd pounce on him and drag him to the bedroom. tonight, however? radio silence. well, not quite, but that's it felt to clark. you didn't give him those bedroom eyes you usually did on nights you were feeling particularly needy, you insisted on taking a shower all by yourself (he almost crumbled at that) and after dinner, you lounged on the couch to watch a tv show without even asking him to follow you! you just did!
the thing about clark kent is, he's a gentleman through and through. his ma had raised him to be one, and for christ's sake, he was superman! how could he not be a gentleman? but, he sympathizes with himself, you can't spell gentlemna without man, and clark was a man before he was anything else. a very aroused and hopelssly in love man, at that.
he stands awkwardly in the doorway of the living room, staring at you. you noticed, of course, but this wasn't unusual. clark has always had sort of weird quirks—you had always found them endearing. "is something the matter, honey?" your sirupy voice cut through his stream of thought, and suddenly his eyes focus again, gaze meeting yours.
clark has his phone in hand, and he brings it up to look back at the duck emoji you had sent. duck meant sex. you wanted this. he can indulge. you want this.
he knows you do. you sent the text, and he feels like he can almost smell your arousal and it's driving him fucking insane because he just wants to dive in it and taste it and fuck you everywhere so the entire place smells like you and-
in the blink of an eye, his phone is abandonned and he's on you, lips smashed against yours. you barely have the time to react but you do, arms now hanging around his thick neck. his hand latches itself onto your cheeks, fingers pressing into both of them, urging you to open your mouth. as soon as you do, his tongue, which was inhumanely long, snaked into your cavern, exploring its depths. he moaned at the taste of your saliva, almost melting into you as if the flavor of you was his ultimate salvation.
noticing the lack of air filling your lungs, he pulled away, his eyes softening at the sight of you catching your breath. "c-clark... what's... whta's gotten into you?" you licked your lips, face flushed. he looks at you like a puppy begging for its treat. "the emoji... you sent the emoji but you didn't... i thought..." his mind is a rush, moving at a thousand miles per hour as his entire body is begging him to rip your clothes off and take you.
he gives up, his head falling into the crook of your neck. "i just... i really need to fuck you, sweetheart." and as he's confessing this, his hand is gliding towards the waistband of your bottoms, sliding swiftly underneath it.
you think you could ascend.
you bite your lip, rendered mute at the sheer tension of the moment. "i know you want it, baby..." he scoffs, eyes closed. "can smell it."
curse him for being such a dangerously hot and multi-abled alien.
his hand makes its way underneath your panties, finger running through your slit, collecting the slick you've been trying to keep to yourself for the past hour. "ah..." you let out a low sound, almost imperceptible but clark was so hyper-focused on you that the little moan made him shudder.
he uses his forearm to push himself upwards, his hand escaping your bottoms to rush up to his mouth, and when you look at him, you gasp, feeling your walls clench.
because clark has never looked this feral.
his eyes were half-lidded and impossibly dark, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallows your juices, eyes nearly rolling back at the taste. he moans, his cock twitching and growing inside his sweatpants.
"you're gonna give it t'me, right sweetie?" he asks in that low, sultry voice that he only allows himself to use when he'd rather die than not touch you.
the eager nod you gave him marked the moment you knew you were done for.
.
how long has it been? you don't know. you don't know anything, actually. your brain is fogged with how clark was pounding you into the fuzzy carpet, your eyes crossing when the buds running along his dick grazed against the ridges of your walls, the added sensation making you spasm. "f-ffuck-! clark- oh my god, ohmygod—" you can barely form a sentence, let alone link two words together when he knocks at your cervix, your tits bouncing in rhythm with every thrust.
and clark isn't even listening to you, his eyes laser-focused on the sight of his cock splitting you open repeatedly, a vein bulging on his forehead at his intense use of his x-ray vision. "look at that, b-baby... look..." and you don't even bother, too lost in the ecstasy. he sees it all though, the strings of your arousal clinging to his tip every time he pulls away, the ridged of your pussy hooking onto his buds, the contractions of your muscles.
he finally manages to pull his eyes away from the sight, only to be met with the even prettier, albeit messier sight of your fucked out face. tears and drool glossed your skin, your eyes rolled back nearly to the back of your skull, throwing your head back when clark's hips stutter against yours, a white-hot wave washing over him over the sight.
he stilled when his buds hardened and hooked onto your walls, pulling him impossibly deep as he shoots buckets worth of cum deep into your womb. "a-ah! holy sh- hmm, fffuck, baby- i- fuck!" he sobs, jerking down towards you and you moan at the feeling of him filling you up once more, droplets of his sweat dripping onto your buzzing skin.
despite his orgasm, he doesn't stop, "n-need m-moree- needa fill you up-! ah, fuck!" his voice jumps up an octave when his buds finally relax again, allowing him to keep pistoning into you. "d-don't stop, clark! please dont- oh-!" he suddenly grabs your thighs, throwing them over his shoulders before beeending down, succesfully folding you in half. his face is now slotted right in front of yours, and the eye contact is so intense you almost feel shy under his gaze.
a mating press. clark kent had you in a fucking mating press.
you get lost in his ocean blue eyes, barely able to keep the eye conatct when he fucks you almost like he hated you, digging in your pussy. "you're... you're so beautiful, honey... so fucking pretty- all f'me, yeah? all f'me?" you nod, hands pressing against the back of his head to bring him impossiby closer to you, "all for you, clarkie," you confirmed being hastily pressing his against you, imprisoning him in a feverish kiss. clark moans into your mouth, eyes closing. you jolt slightly when you feel a tear drip down on your cheek, peeling your eyes open to see clark crying.
he pulls away, gasping for air as his throat restricts. "i l-love you, love you s'much— need you so, ngh, so bad... wanna breed ya'..." he sobs, whimpering for you. seeing clark become such a slave to his love for you had an inescapable effect on you, and your orgasm was almost immediate. you came with a gasp, the pleasure being so heavy that your eyes had given up on their function, unfocusing and leaving you with the blurry image of clark's flushed expression. your back arched as cream dribbled out of your hole, creating a white ring around clark's base.
in the midst of your orgasm, he pulls out, making you whine for the few seconds your face isn't smushed against the carpet because in a matter of moments, your world tilted before you found yourself face down ass up for your boyfriend. he pressed a hand on your back, urging a deeper arch. "m'sorry baby, m'so sorry..." he apologizes for the his unceremonial behavior but his apologies fall on deaf ears as you couldn't be happier.
your hands clutch the fluff of the carpet when he slams back into you, kneading the flesh of your ass. "just... just need this. s'your fault for making me wait... so long.. to have you- ngh, gosh..." he's hypnotized by the rippling of your ass, and the way your back bends impossibly for a second each time he rams back inside you, pressing you further into the carpet.
with clark kent fucking you like that, you really don’t think you’re making it out alive.
well, your fault for trying to experiment on a poor, farm-grown kryptonian.
your moans are rhythmic, matching the pace of his hips. leaning in, he wraps an arm around you to squeeze your tits, massaging them and rubbing your hardened nipples. "so obedient..." his comment makes your walls flutter around his fat cock. he begins to roll his hips, not quite thrusting. he presses against you, making you drool. "nghhh... fffuuuck... love you... so much.. c-clark-!" you slurred, going crazy at the sensation of his buds hardening slowly again, hooking onto your insides.
"w-want your cum-! want you to b-breed me!" you egged him on, "yeah? y'want it, baby? oh gosh, i'm cumming, m'cummingm'cumming-" he gritted, spilling into you once more. "oh my god! oh god, sweetheart!" he whined, your name escaping him as his hips bucked again, releasing rope upon rope inside you. his orgasm triggered yours, drops of your release trickled down onto the carpet before his hand snaked down to your clit, rubbing furiously and suddenly an intense stream released itself onto the now soaked carpet, the intensity of both of your orgasms making the two of you collaspe in a heap.
he layed on top of you, both of you catching your breaths. "i feel so... sticky." he remarked, "shit... i ruined the carpet." you groaned, knitting your eyebrows together.
a silence settled in, before you broke it. "i'm glad my experiment worked." a beat passes before he reacts, "experiment?"
"i tried conditioning you into associating sex with the duck emoji. it worked."
clarks hums, choosing not to react any further.
a few days later, minutes after the end of your shift, you receive a text from clark.
summary: another night entangled in each others embraces, leads to the end of what you had believed to be nothing other than a fling. at least… that’s what Scott made it seem like…
warnings: ooc!scott lwk, lil bit of angst, fluff, SMUTTTTTTUHHHHH but lwk slow burn ig idk, i use a lot of the same gestures and words in this so like please bare with me, cr3ampie, mentions of cvm eating but lwk you gotta use your imagination, on the low jealous scott AND jealous reader (but on the low type), belly bulge and honestly size kink (we fw that heavy in this house), and probably more but idk
authors note: i have fallen for the tall, beefy white man propaganda and i am not sorry. this took me like 500000 years to write (3 days) and most of it was when i was half asleep. i also wrote the last part when i was on call with my friends and had to mute and turn off my camera because of how much i was tweaking. but ENJOY ALSO I LOVE THIS BIG SASSY MAN 👅👅👅👅
You fucking hate Scott Miller. It was a sick game.
This back and forth with him was a sick, twisted game he loved playing. At least… from your knowledge.
‘You awake?’ texts at the peak of midnight, snuck kisses in the shitty gas station restrooms, etc. had almost become routine. And you hated it. You hated that you fucked up your sleep schedule to accomodate to him. You hated that you went against your unspoken rules as a Wrangler for a man. Who worked for StormPAR nonetheless. You hated it.
Yet you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting him.
Your eyes shoot open at the soft ding that came from your phone, turning to your nightstand as the scratchy motel sheets drag across your skin. You wipe the sleep from your eyes as your phone screen shines against your face, the familiar contact mocking you as you internally sigh.
stupid fucker
________
you up?
Me
________
i am now
what do you want?
stupid fucker
________
tf
open the door
Your eyes trailed to your room door before trailing back to your phone to type out a response.
Me
________
just go back to your own room
stupid fucker
________
it’s cold in there
let me in before my balls freeze
You roll your eyes as you groan out loud before trudging out of bed and pattering your way towards the door. Wrapping your hand around the doorknob and pulling it open to find Scott (unfortunately) standing on the other side.
“Yeah take as much time as you need to. Not like my entire body is convulsing from frostbite.” He joked as you slid to the side to let him walk into the room.
You rolled your eyes as you closed your door and turned to face him, wrapping your arms around your body as you looked up to meet his eyes. “I wouldn’t be against it.”
He nodded his head mockingly as he walked towards you, wrapping his large hands around your hips before leaning down, his breath lingering against your lips. Your eyes get lost in his as you stared up at him, waves almost dancing in his blue hues as you smiled softly.
Yeah. You fucking hate him.
You hate him while his lips crash onto yours, you hate him while you wrap your arms around his neck, you hate him as he pulls his cap off of his head and hooks his hands around the back of your thighs, you hate him as he hoists you up and carries you to lay you on your bed… You hate him.
Your legs spread slightly as he leans his body against yours, slipping your tongue into his mouth as he grunts softly. His hands work the buttons on his shirt as your hands run up the back of his neck and through his hair.
You feel him smirk against your mouth as you buck your hips into his, pleasure rolling through your body as he leans closer, his lips still glued to yours with his tongue tying with your own.
You feel his hands on you again, running his palms up and down your sides under your shirt, his calloused fingers barely a comparison to his soft touch.
You both pull away as heavy breaths leave your mouths, your hands raking down his chest and down his toned abdomen with your nails lightly dragging against his skin.
“You’re fucking irritating.” You clench your jaw softly as you look up at him. Sitting up slightly as he pulls at the hem of your shirt and then begins pulling it off your body.
“I didn’t do anything.” He mumbles as he leans down to press kisses along your stomach with you arching into his touch. His right arm hooked around your back as he trails his kisses down your body.
“Exactly. You’re not doing anything.” You grumble as you cup his face to pull his attention to you. “Do something, Scott.”
Scott grins as he grabs one of your hands with the softest touch, turning his head and pressing a kiss to your palm before he pushes away to stand upright, fumbling with the belt around his waist and unbuttoning his jeans.
You lean up on your elbows to watch as he pulls them down and kicks them off to the side before grabbing your thighs and pulling you towards the edge of the bed. Placing one hand on the left side of your head as he hovered over you, his bicep flexing as he leaned down to press a kiss to your nose with his right hand resting on your right hip.
The tenor of the situation was unmistakably gentle. His touch was that of a feather brushing against supple skin. His kisses a taste of nearing heaven. His crystalline need of want coursing through his body as he kneeled down in front of you, spreading your legs as you looked up at the ceiling.
Yeah. You fucking hated Scott Miller.
…
“I don’t think I can do this anymore.” You blurt out as you sit on the bed, the blanket pulled up to your chest as your fingers fidgeted with one another, stopping his movements of buttoning his pants to turn around and look at you.
“What?” He mumbles as he rests his hands on his hips.
“I just really don’t think I can keep doing… This.” You gestured between the two of you before crossing your arms over your chest. “We want… Very different things. And I can’t be what you need me to be.” You lick your chapped lips.
“I deserve… so much more.” You say oh so softly. Regret pooling in your lungs.
And yet you can’t help but want the bare minimum he gave you. You can’t help but expect him to want more.
But you knew he didn’t. You knew he couldn’t. And that’s what made this so much harder.
You stared at him timidly. He stared back.
He nodded slowly as his eyes then trailed to the floor. “...Yeah. You do.” He mumbles softly. His movements start up again as he leans down to grab his shirt, buttoning it up slowly before he walks towards the bed, grabbing his cap that is laid on the bedside table, and turning to face you.
And without another word, he leaned down, pressed the softest kiss to your forehead, put his cap back onto his head, and left the room as if he wasn’t even there in the first place.
That was almost two weeks ago.
Two weeks you’ve gone without a text from him. Two weeks you’ve had to scroll through your text messages and watch as three bubbles pop up and disappear. Two weeks you’ve had to watch him not even spare you a glance from across the field.
Two weeks.
And shit yeah, it was your fault. You ended things and told him that what he was giving you, hadn’t been enough. But you both wanted very different things. He couldn’t give you what you wanted. You couldn’t give him what he wanted.
That was that.
So why the fuck did it hurt so bad?
You sighed softly as you clicked the buttons on the video camera. Boone and Lily conversed in the back of the truck before Tyler turned his head to face you.
“What’s got you so down?” He asked as he zoomed through the dirt road.
“Nothing.” You shook your head softly without looking up, still fidgeting with the camera.
“It’s all ‘cause of that grumpy hunk she’s been messing around with.” Boone teased as Lily pushed him.
You snap your head at him with wide eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh c’mon, sunshine. The motel walls are thinner than a crepe.” He stuck his tongue out as Lily rolled her eyes.
“We saw him walk out of your room the other night.” Lily huffed before she looked at you. “He looked real sad. Did something happen between you two?”
You looked between the two before your head turned to Tyler. “You knew about this?”
Tyler shrugged with a chuckle. “Just ‘bout everyone in a 10 mile radius knows, sweetheart. Y’all aren’t exactly subtle.”
You groaned as you set the camera onto your lap and ran your hands down your face in frustration.
You felt Boone’s hands grasp your shoulders and softly massage them. “You’ll be just fine, girl. He’s an ass anyways.”
You sighed as he pulled his hands away. Hearing Tyler hum as he points to the sky.
“Well lookie here boys and girls. We got ourselves a pretty one.” He laughs as he gestures to you to pull out your camera. You point it at him and press record as he smiles widely. “Welcome back fellow Wranglers. I’ve got my star team with me today to capture this beauty.” He says as you point towards the tornado.
“We got my buddy Boone,” He continues as you point towards Boone, he howls with a smirk, “Favorite smart ass, Lily,” You point the camera to Lily as she waves and smiles, “And my star pupil,” Tyler smirks as you roll your eyes and point the camera towards yourself with a soft smile and small wave. “We also got Storm Fart behind us. But they ain’t getting this one.” He smiled as you pointed to the vehicles behind you.
You smiled sheepishly as you zoomed in on the Storm Par vehicles behind before pointing back to Tyler. He grinned as he took off his sunglasses and spoke, “Let’s make history!”
…
You cheered with your fellow Wranglers as you clinked your glasses together. Tyler hopped onto the table with a smirk, “Drinks on me tonight, ladies and gents!” Everyone cheered once more as he pointed to the Storm Par team that was huddled up in a corner as if they put themselves in timeout. “Yours too!” He winked at them, Kate mostly you assumed as he hopped down from the table.
You shook your head softly with a chuckle as you lifted your beer up to your lips to take a sip. You felt Tyler slap his hands on your shoulders from behind you as he shook you a bit before sitting next to you. “Good work today, gal. We’ll make you the world’s best camera woman yet.” Tyler chuckled lightly.
You smiled at him with a soft nod, “Thank you.” You mumble softly before bringing your beer back up to your lips, refraining from trailing your eyes to the near daggers being thrown at you from the corner of the room.
You hear Tyler let out a noise between a scoff and chuckle as you look at him, “Lover boy’s still acting salty.” He grins as he brings his own drink to his lip with a tilt of his head to the group across from you guys.
Your eyes trail to the one you had been trying to avoid the whole night. His light blue eyes are already glaring at you before quickly looking away with a soft clench of his jaw. You look down at your drink before busying yourself with wiping off the small drops dripping down the sides of the glass with your fingers.
He’s still angry. Understandable. You thought.
But what you didn’t know was how much he ached to see you smile at him like you had just smiled at Tyler. It hadn’t reached your eyes like it would have, but it’s a lot more than he was getting.
You ended things. That doesn’t mean you couldn’t be friends. He thought.
Yeah he might’ve went back to his grumpy and stoic self after all of it, lashing out at the team more than usual. And yeah, maybe he made it very clear to Javi, Kate, and the rest of Storm Par that he was still dangerously in love with you, but that didn’t mean you both couldn’t be friends… Of sorts.
And that definitely didn’t mean Tyler could swoop in and try to rub up on you. Be that shoulder you cry on or whatever he was trying to do.
Fuck he couldn’t stand it.
The night you ended things, he wanted to tell you no. Hell, he would’ve got down on his knees and begged.
Because with every bone in his body, he wanted more too.
He wanted to stop all the sneaking around, he wanted to do all that cringey shit couples do, he wanted to veer off random women who try hitting on him with a simple, ‘Girlfriend. Away.’
He wanted you.
You who ruined the fuck out of your sleep schedule to accomodate his late night texts. You who went against your unspoken rules as a Wrangler to be with him.
So perfectly you in every shape and form. Unforgivingly sweet to him from the beginning despite his near hell he reigned on everyone around him.
Looking back at it now though, he ruined you. In the worst way.
He could tell. When you said it.
“I deserve… so much more.”
You didn’t even believe what you said.
And god did he hate the look in your eyes when you said it. The look of doubt. You didn’t believe you deserved more than what he could barely give you. You didn’t believe you deserved better than him. You did. So much better. He knew it.
But he also knew he could be that better that you needed. He could be that for you.
And fuck if he didn’t try.
“You’re staring, Scott.” Javi’s voice snapped Scott out of his daze with a small smile as he brought his drink up to his lips.
“You’re burning holes into that poor girl’s head.” Kate chuckled lightly.
Scott rolled his eyes with a scoff as he leaned back in his chair. “Shut the hell up.” He grumbled before his eyes trailed to you once more. He watched with a clenched jaw as Tyler hooked his arm around your shoulders, leaning in to whisper something in your ear as you chuckle softly, one of your hands covering your mouth.
Scott huffed softly as he brought his beer up to his mouth and took a large swig of the liquid. Irritation seeping through veins as he set the bottle down and rested his elbows on the table with his eyes still locked on you and Tyler.
Kate grinned as she turned her head to stare at the two of you before facing Scott. “Just go talk to her, Scott.”
Scott’s attention snapped to Kate with furrowed eyebrows. “For what?”
Kate deadpanned at him before turning to look at Javi, both of them chuckling before she looked back at him. “We know you guys were fucking, Scott.”
Scott had been bringing his beer to his lips before he froze at her words, turning his head slowly to look between her and Javi before setting the drink down. “No that’s no-”
“Oh please, Miller. The walls aren’t thick and no one in that damn motel is deaf.” Kate shook her head softly as she took another sip of her drink.
Scott grumbled something under his breath as he leaned back in his chair and spread his legs slightly. He watched her smirk slightly before turning to glance at you and Tyler again before turning back to Scott. “If you’re not gonna go talk to her, I will.”
His eyes widen as he holds his hand out to stop her, “Do no-”
She was already sitting at your table before the words could leave his mouth. Her arms rested on top of the table with a smile.
“Congrats on your guys’ chase today.” She tilted her head with a smile as her eyes moved between you and Tyler. “Your camera work was top notch.” She said as she winked at you.
You smiled shyly with a small chuckle, “Thank you.” Bringing your drink up to your lips and taking a sip as you rested your elbows on the table. “Sorry about the whole… Stealing data… thing.”
Tyler laughed loudly as he stood up from his chair to sit next to Kate. “The Storm Dogs have enough data.”
Kate glared at him jokingly with a small grin as she shoved his shoulder. Tyler smirked as he brought his beer to his lips with his eyes still locked onto her.
You could feel their chemistry like the wind that flows through your hair. Tyler brings out that connection in people. But never like this. You could tell he saw her. Really saw her. And you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you sick to your stomach.
As you watch them literally flirt in front of you, a soft sigh leaves your lips as you turn your head to the side, your eyes scanning the room before they land on him once more. But instead of him sulking in the corner by himself, he stood at the bar, with a woman beside him.
You freeze as you watch her hand grab onto his forearm, his tall figure towering over her as he gestures the bartender over.
You shouldn’t be upset. You don’t have to be. Nor do you have to watch this.
You clear your throat as you smile softly before excusing yourself from the table, pushing the chair back and slightly stumbling your way out the door to get some air.
You lean on the railing right outside the entrance as you exit, burying your head in your hands as a cold breeze runs through your hair.
“What the fuck.” You grumble softly to yourself as you run your hands down your face irritably. Groaning internally as you turn your head to look back in through the window. Neither Scott, nor the woman were standing at the bar anymore.
You close your eyes slowly as you turn back. Covering your face with your hands as you crouched down. You had too much to drink. And it’s slowly starting to get to you. You feel as if your body was melting into the ground as you stay there.
“The fuck are you doing?” That familiar voice irks your dizzy soul as you pull your hands from your face to look up at none other than Scott fucking Miller.
“What d‘you want, Scott?” You grumble lowly as you grab onto the railing in front of you to pull yourself up, turning your whole body around and leaning back as you tilted your head up at him.
“...You left. Wanted to check on you.” He mumbled as he walked to stand next to you, resting his elbows on the railing and leaning against it as well.
You hummed with a soft nod as you watched Tyler and Kate dance to whatever song was currently playing through the window.
You bite your lip softly as you crossed your arms over your chest, “She’s pretty.” You murmur.
Scott turned his head to look at you with furrowed eyebrows. “Who?”
You rolled your eyes as you turned your head to meet his gaze, “That woman. The one you were standing next to at the bar. She’s really pretty.”
You watched as he narrowed his eyes at your words, confusion evident in his gaze. “...And I needed to know that because…?”
You tilted your head before shaking your head softly, looking back through the window as you spoke, “Don’t act like you weren’t gonna take her back to your motel room, Miller.”
A silence filled the air without you realizing it. Scott was staring at you without you realizing it. And you didn’t acknowledge it until you turned your head to look at him again.
“You’re talking like I’m some whore.”
“...I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Then how did you mean it?”
“Not like that!... Just-”
You hear a soft, deep chuckle before comprehending it. A soft smile played along his lips as he covered his mouth with a slightly closed fist. “I’m kidding.”
You scoff as you push his shoulder with a small smile of your own, leaning back on the railing as you looked back into the bar. You bite the inside of your cheek as your eyes trail down to look at the ground.
“I’m sorry.” You say without looking up, your fingers fidgeting with each other, picking at your nails without another word.
“For what?” You hear him mumble softly, turning his body towards you.
“Everything.” You say with a sigh as you turn your head to face him, his left elbow rested on the railing as his head rested in his hand, narrowing his eyes at you.
“I wasn’t offended-”
“Not about that, Scott…” you scoff with a roll of your eyes as you stand upright, tilting your head as you cross your arms. “I shouldn’t have made it seem like… You weren’t… Good. You’re… a good person, Scott. Amazing. And I shouldn’t have said that I deserve better as if you weren’t-”
“I’m not.” He cuts you off as you watched him clench his jaw. He stood upright now, towering over you. “I wasn’t a good person to you. From the very beginning. I never should’ve initiated this whole… Fuck buddies thing. As if that’s all I wanted.” He mumbled as he stepped closer to you.
Your eyebrows furrowed slightly as you stared up at him, the moonlight glimmering in his eyes and shining in his blue hues. “What d’you mean?”
Scott sighed heavily as he closed his eyes, bringing his hand to his face and running it down before stopping at his mouth. His eyes glaring into yours before pulling his hand away.
“I…” He stopped himself before clenching his jaw. Pushing his tongue against the inside of his cheek before straightening his posture. He stood directly in front of you now. His hand grasping yours as he intertwined your fingers. “I want you.”
Your eyes widened at his words, the feeling of his hand in yours so familiar, so real. You hadn’t felt it in almost three weeks. “Scott-”
“No. I was stupid. I should’ve told you that night. I should’ve told you no. I should’ve told you that I want the same thing you do. I… never should have left… That night. I wanted to keep you. With me. I wanted to get on my damn knees and beg you to change your mind… But…” He trails off with a sigh as he looked at the bar through the window, avoiding your gaze.
“I knew you deserved better- I know you do…” You watched as he clenched his jaw before his eyes trail to you…
“But I want to be that better. I wanna do that corny couple shit that corny couples do. I wanna take you on dates to that one Italian restaurant near Pachespi that has that ‘perfect version of spaghetti’ you like. I wanna be able to kiss you–and not in gas station bathrooms that clearly haven’t been cleaned in thirty years, but in the open. In front of everyone. Without shame. I wanna… write your name on my note paper when my uncle is giving a presentation—Actually scratch that. That’s too corny.” He grimaced.
You chuckled softly and so did he. A small smile on his face as he brought your hand up to his mouth and pressed the softest kiss to your knuckles.
“I don’t want to hide you. I don’t need to.” He whispered against your knuckles.
His words were painting your bones. His eyes were enveloping your soul. Warmth was filling your lungs like a flood. You could feel the want, the need in his gaze as he cupped your face in his large, calloused hands, leaning down and hovering over your lips.
“Please.” He whispered as his lips ghosted over yours. Need dripping in his voice.
And without a word, your lips clash against his, your arms wrapping around his neck as his hands move to your waist.
God you fucking hate Scott Miller.
…
“F-Fuck!” You moan breathily in his ear with your hands wrapped around his neck, one of them running up to his hair as he hovered over you.
His right arm was hooked around your back as he arched you into him, his lips pressing messy kisses onto your neck. His thrusts were slow but dangerous. His hips meeting yours as he pulled you into him mercilessly.
You could feel him in your stomach as the tip of his cock presses against your cervix with each thrust. Pleasure coursing through your shaking body as each squelch of your cunt echoed through your moans. Heavy breaths mixing with the soft plap plap plap of your hips meeting his.
His kisses moved to your breasts, lips wrapping around your hardened nipples with his tongue running across the bundle of nerves. You feel him pull away slightly as his breaths linger across your chest. “Missed you… So much…” He mumbled against your skin as he pressed kisses between your chest. “F-fuck you feel s-so good..” He groaned lowly as his thrusts began to quicken, his arm tightening around your back as his hand gripped around your waist.
“S-Scott!” You whine softly as you clasped your fingers together behind his neck. You glanced down at your stomach as a bulge disappears and reappears with each thrust. You look back into his eyes as he lifts himself up to hover directly over your face.
“Fuck I-I know, baby.” He leans down as his breath lingers against your neck, lips ghosting over your skin. “Give it to me, baby. C’mon-” He mumbled as he pulled back slightly to press his lips against yours, his tongue clashing with yours as you felt your climax begin to get dangerously overwhelming.
“I-I’m–” You sob out as your nails drag down his back, your legs tightening around his waist.
His cock began pistoning inside you as he pulled his hand from behind you and rested his hands on both sides of your head. “C’mon baby..” He groaned. Dribbles of sweat ran down the side of his face as he shut his eyes and clenched his jaw.
You whimper his name as your orgasm shutters throughout your body, stars blurring your vision as your body shook through your climax.
You saw him smile softly as heavy breaths left his lips before his eyebrows furrowed slightly, his mouth agape as you felt him paint your walls white. And if you had listened closely, a soft whine left his lips as he tightened his hold on the sheets.
Both of your breaths were heavy as you stayed there, the moonlight peeking through the windows as it shined against your bodies that were sheen in sweat. You watched as he pulled away, the light through the blinds glimmering against his sweat-soaked abdomen as he slowly and softly pulled out of you. His eyes locked on your pulsing cunt that was slowly pushing out the cum he had just left.
Shaky pants left your lips as you slowly opened your eyes, the pillow under your hips keeping your back arched as you stared at him, his eyes dark with unceasing need.
And without a word, he kneels down, grabs both of your thighs, spreads them wide and pushes his middle finger into your sensitive walls, a whimper leaving your lips as your back arched more, your hand quickly grabbing onto his dark curls. “Scott–!” You squeal.
You could tell the fucker was smirking without even seeing his whole face, “Haven’t gotten to have her for two weeks ‘cause of you.” He mumbles softly as you felt his breath against your aching cunt.
*ding ding* did anyone order a scott miller smut oneshot? ;)
wc: ~1.7k
warnings.
SMUT, somnophilia kinda? (you're rlly tired & dozing off), no use of y/n, situationship-type vibe, scott being scott, unprotected p in v sex, fucking you from behind, some good dirty talkin', creampie, mutual orgasms, surprisingly thoughtful scott at the end.
scott miller taglist: @jam1esl0v4 @sullyosully @marvel-hiddles-stark @teeth-sheesh @starlit-whispers @starsmoon @averyhotchner @pinkgirlblogs @x-fanaccount1-x @purple-soldier @pettymaryshelley @rynwritesstuff @froggypoggy222 @ellieberies @marymustdie @arvlr
(interested in joining any of my taglists? fill out the anonymous form HERE!)
When you get out of the shower, you let out a long exhale, knowing you're one step closer to curling up in bed after a long and incredibly frustrating day at work. You pull on a pair of underwear and a big t-shirt, then immediately tuck yourself under the covers, sighing in relief.
Usually, you'd read a bit before bed or watch something on TV, but not tonight. You're way too fucking tired for that at this point. So, after plugging in your phone, you switch off the lights and get comfortable.
You manage to get at least half asleep before you hear the locks on your apartment door flick. One of your eyes opens and you look over at the closed bedroom door. As bad as it sounds, your instinctive mindset right now is that if it's a robbery, your stuff is not nearly important enough to try and interfere. Plus, it's probably safer if you just stay in your room, anyway.
But deep down, you know it's not a robber. There is one person in this apartment building who has your house key, and that person is your across-the-hall neighbor Scott Miller. He's a big shot MIT graduate and is co-founder of some storm chasing startup called StormPar. It's all Greek to you, but apparently, they have some pretty groundbreaking stuff going on.
As soon as you hear the footsteps approaching, you know it's Scott, very familiar with the sound and rhythm of his footfalls by now. This is hardly the first time he's come over late at night, or come over at all, for that matter. You're not really sure how the hooking up started, it just kind of happened one night after a few months of tension building between the two of you.
You're not normally the random hookup type of person, and you still think Scott's kind of a stuck up asshole, but damn...he's really good at sex. Best you've ever had, honestly. You find yourself not wanting to put a stop to it, even though you know it probably won't end well. It's kind of a doomed set up, but you're just gonna enjoy it while it lasts.
The bedroom door swings open and there he stands, still in his StormPar button-up, navy cargo pants, and gray baseball cap. You groan softly and lay your head back down on the pillow, closing your eyes again.
"I'm too fucking tired for this tonight. And I already showered."
He says nothing, instead tossing his hat aside and undoing his belt, soon throwing that to the floor without care. You huff and look over at him.
"Did you hear me?"
"I did," he replies, unbuttoning his shirt. "But I'm leaving for a chase tomorrow and I'll be gone for a week. You'll come over and water my plants for me, right?"
"Why do you automatically assume I don't have anything else going on?"
He shrugs his shirt off, letting it fall to the floor, leaving him in just his black undershirt.
"Because I know you don't."
Yeah, he's got you there. You roll your eyes.
"Whatever. I'm not doing all the fertilizing shit this time, I'll just come water them."
"That's fine. Just make sure you use the mister on the ferns and monsteras."
His eyes linger on your covered form while he steps forward to the side of your bed.
"Come here."
"Scott, I really am tired. I get that you're leaving tomorrow, but--"
Before you can finish, he's reaching under the covers and grabbing hold of your hips, dragging you to the edge of the mattress. You look up at him through the dim street light peeking through your thin curtains, eyes soon falling to the growing bulge in the front of his pants.
"You don't need to be fully awake for this. Your pussy's still gonna be wet for me either way."
He flips you over onto your stomach and grips the backs of your thighs, pushing both your legs up until they're both fully on the mattress, leaving you in a sort of frog pose. You let your front rest on the bed, relaxing into the bit of stretch that this position offers you while Scott gets his pants undone.
A little smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth at your lack of protest.
"I'm not gonna get any pushback from you? Not even a 'fuck off, Scott'?"
You huff.
"Well, I don't really have to do anything except hold myself up, so...it's not a huge imposition."
Scott hums, still smirking as he pushes his pants and boxer briefs, allowing his hardening cock to spring free. He takes a small step forward and pushes your shirt up over your hips, his smirk widening at the sight of you just in your panties.
"It's like you know, making it so fucking easy for me."
His pointer finger hooks around the dampened fabric at your crotch and tugs it aside, then slides his fingers through your folds, quickly finding your clit. He starts to rub in tight, firm circles, and it soon earns him a little sigh from you.
Your hips start to shift and squirm as your arousal builds, and he keeps going, wanting you as ready as possible. Even though you've taken him before, he's still pretty big.
After another minute or so, he pulls his fingers away and wipes your slick off on his cock, then presses his tip to your entrance. He doesn't even ask if you're ready, just pressing himself inside of you with a soft grunt.
"S-Shit," you gasp, eyes flying open for a moment at the stretch. "Oh god..."
He lets out a sharp exhale through his nose once he seats himself fully inside of you, biting the inside of his cheeks and giving your hips a little squeeze just to ground himself a bit.
"You're always so tight," he grits out. "Every fucking time."
His hips start moving back and forth, gradually picking up their pace but not going super fast...at least, not yet. You let out some soft noises and your eyes flutter shut again, the tiredness starting to creep back up on you.
"That's it...close your eyes and relax. I'm gonna fuck you right to sleep."
You hum, starting to nod off as his hips move at a steady rhythm, not too fast and not too slow. Despite being in and out of a light sleep, your walls are still nice and tight around him, just as he knew they would be.
The bed starts to creak a bit in-time with his hips and the sound of skin slapping fills the rapidly warming air around you. Soft sighs and whimpers spill from your lips while deep but quiet grunts leave him. It's a one-of-a-kind symphony of pleasure.
He can feel your legs starting to shake, and he gives one of your thighs a pat.
"Lay down fully. I'll reposition you."
Slowly, your legs relax and they fall flat. His grip on your hips tightens slightly before he pulls you down so that your hips are resting right on the edge of the mattress. In this position, especially with him being so tall and your mattress not being super high up off the ground, each thrust of his hips makes his cock rub against your g-spot.
Even in your half-asleep state, you let out moans of pleasure, unable to help it. Your walls are tightening around him again and again, which is making it hard to stave off his orgasm.
"D-Damn," he groans, head tipping back. "Knew your pussy would grip me like this, just like it does when you're f-fully awake. She's almost gripping me more than normal...god, your body needs it so bad."
His pace gets faster the more your walls grip him, and his restraint is very quickly deteriorating. The bed creaking is far more audible, making it obvious to all the neighbors what's going on, but he's too far gone to even care at this point. They can deal with it.
"If you're gonna cum, I s-suggest you do it soon."
As he says this, he reaches around to start rubbing your clit again.
"C'mon..."
You start to squirm as you wake up a bit more, knowing your orgasm is fast approaching. His touch, combined with the faster pace of his hips, brings you to the edge rather quickly.
"Mm, Scott," you moan. "I-I'm gonna..."
He groans at your words, speeding up his efforts.
"Go on. Give it t-to me."
Just like that, your whole body tenses and you let out a long, audible moan as your orgasm crashes over you.
"F-Fuuuuuuuck!"
His jaw clenches and he closes his eyes, trying to get you through it before letting himself go, but he's too far gone. With a few final thrusts, he presses his hips to your ass and ruts them against you as he falls over the edge.
"Goddamnit," he grunts, filling you with his release. "Fuck."
The two of you take a bit to catch your breath before Scott pulls out slowly and steps back, pulling his briefs and pants back up. He grabs his shirt off the floor and pulls it back on, buttoning it up as he walks to your bathroom.
When he comes back a minute later, his shirt is buttoned up and he has a washcloth in-hand. Your head lifts a bit and you roll over onto your back with a soft grunt, watching him approach.
Gently, he reaches down between your legs and wipes away your combined arousal before pulling your panties back into place. He takes the washcloth back into the bathroom, then comes back out and stands over you, eyes drinking in the sight of you.
Then, much to your surprise, he leans down and presses a kiss to your lips. It's not deep or passionate or anything like that, but it's a kiss from Scott. Practically unheard of.
Your lips turn up in the smallest of smiles when Scott pulls back a moment later. Wow.
Scott gives you one last glance over before grabbing his hat and stepping back out into your living room, closing the door behind him. You tuck yourself back under the covers, your mind replaying the kiss over and over again until you finally fall asleep.
(divider by firefly-graphics here on tumblr!)
>> my scott miller masterlist for all your scott needs! <<
Calling scott “scotty” in public but it’s somewhere professional so he has to save face. Only to absolutely destroy you once you both are alone.
Forcing you to cum multiple times until its too much whilst making you repeat the nickname over and over since you wanna keep sayin darlin.
yeah, YEAH! 😵💫 i have not known peace since this post, so thank u anon for giving me an excuse to elaborate on this <3 hope you all like! as always comments and reblogs are super appreciated xoxo
you're playing with fire
scott miller x reader, scott from twisters x reader
warnings: scott is mean, whats new?, degrading, rough sex. this content is obviously 18+, MINORS DNI
"Hey, Scotty-", you're really playing with fire when you call out for him, all sweet and syrupy and painfully casual.
You don't know why you do it, perhaps it's because you're growing bored of the same monotone routine every day. Perhaps it's because pissing off Scott is coincidentally one of your favorite and most entertaining things to do.
The shocked and puzzled silence that follows in response to your choice of nickname is hilarious.
You could probably hear a pin drop in Tornado Alley.
Well- if it weren't for the sound of Javi almost choking on his sip of water, the bottle slipping from his hands and landing on the pavement.
You dont have to look at the rest of the Storm Par team to know the faces they're wearing, the faces that scream did they really just call him that?
"Would you mind checking on these numbers for me?" you ask with a wickedly deceptive and innocent smile, offering him your work tablet while he stares you down with daggers in his icy blue eyes.
His jaw is twitching and biting harder at his now stale gum, it's releasing a bitter taste on his tongue, all because he's trying so hard to restrain himself from giving you a mouthful of his thoughts.
But he cant- not in a work environment. Not when you're all about to hop inside your trucks and drive around for hours chasing storm after storm.
Scott may be a lot of things, rude, mean, brash, inconsiderate, an asshole even- but unprofessional is not one of them.
Or well, maybe he is- given the fact that you two have been ignoring so many HR guidelines, fucking almost every night since going out on the field.
"Sure" he answers with an insincere toothy smile, abruptly snatching away the device from your hand.
It's a curt gesture that signals just how bad you're in for it.
. . .
Scott waits patiently until you're both alone.
Until the rest of your coworkers have retired to their rooms and he can drag you by the wrist into his. So he can squash you against the shitty motel door, the wood creaking with the harsh impact of it.
"Think you're real fucking cute huh?" he snarls at you with an accusatory nod of his head.
Scott leans down but not nearly enough, taunting you with his incredibly unfair height, not letting you reach his lips as you seek them out.
"Mhm" You agree with a giddy and guiltless smile that makes Scott's blood boil. And it's because you dont give a shit about what he's saying at all, you're too busy grabbing at the back of his neck, trying to pull him down for a kiss.
Fucking Needy. He thinks.
Scott remains as rigid as a log. He smirks at your petulant whine when he doesn't budge a single inch.
"You want them to know how easy you are? letting a guy from work fuck you? and your superior nonetheless?" He taunts and clicks his tongue, shaking his head from side to side in feigned disillusionment.
Even though your insides heat up at his degrading comment, you can't help but laugh.
Because you know deep down he's only saying all this because he can't fucking stand that you look so satisfied from publicly humiliating him like that.
"Oh please-" you roll your eyes dramatically, "my superior?" you repeat, mocking him by imitating his raspy deep voice.
He huffs, an insulted and affronted sound.
But an amused smile still threatens to break his apathetic and angry facade. It's been happening a lot more often lately, only ever with you.
"In case you forgot sweetheart- i am technically your boss" he snaps, twisting his head mockingly.
His eyes grow black, the reminder of the inappropriate nature of your arrangement never fails to make him get rock hard.
"Okay, Scotty" You say again with a teasing lilt to your voice, just to add more fuel to the blazing fire, the nickname rolling off your tongue nicely, eyes glinting with a villainy you only reserve for him.
. . .
You're spent far beyond belief, legs shaking from the effort of keeping them wrapped around his middle so you can remain upright and not turn into a useless fucked out meat sack at his feet.
"Fuck, Scott- I- can't-" You whimper pathetically against his mouth, feeling yourself approach another finish that will most likely drain you of all your remaining energy.
"Come again?" he probes, with a conspiratory raise of his brows, a conniving twitch upwards of his mouth.
And what an ironic choice of words.
His arms keep you in the air by the back of your thighs, pressing you against the door so harshly he begins to wonder if you're gonna get splinters. That doesn't stop him for a single moment though.
"Thought I was Scotty? or was that all for show?" He taunts, nudging his nose against yours. You can barely process his words, let alone what the request will probably mean for the both of you.
"You want me to-" You start but cant finish the sentence, your voice weak and feeble, the idea of using the term of endearment for him is making your insides go taut, your stomach flutter in ways you could never tell him about.
"Yeah, you want to call me that so bad?- fucking do it then. Why'd you stop?" He presses on, his voice going tight with effort, his movements growing ruthless against you, thrusting upwards into you so harsh and abruptly that you keep hiking up higher and higher against the surface behind you.
You hiss at how the wood scrapes at the skin of your back. You moan at the new angle that is forcing any coherent sentence from your brain except one single word-
"S-scottyyyyy" You call him by the nickname again on his request, but it rips out as a high pitched noise you can barely recognize is coming from your own mouth.
And Scott groans, loud, so loud you feel it vibrate all over both your bodies.
"Say it again. Say it when you cum again too." He commands hotly against the skin of your neck.
He's hiding his face from you, so you dont see how his mouth has gone slack, his brows scrunched up. That he's trying his best to swallow down a whole lot of pathetic whimpers in response to you calling him that.
Scott was planning to ruin the nickname for you. He wanted for you to be unable to utter it out loud and in public without thinking about him splitting you open like this.
Ironically- he's ruined it for himself too.
Now he doesn't think he'll be able to hear "Scotty" coming from your mouth without it making his cock twitch inside his pants.
Why Wait for the Best When I Can Have You? - Scott Miller x Reader
Scott Miller x Reader
Summary: After a night of drinking and dancing, you are struck with the sudden realization that there is no man in the world that will make you feel the way Scott does.
Tags: NSFW (18+), drinking, reader is slightly drunk, emotional, love confession, Scott is a douchebag but in a charming way, unprotected piv sex, breeding kink if you squint, nipple sucking, creampie, cockwarming if you squint
Word Count: 3.1k
Taglist: @corens0ups @kryptidfiles @paperheartsdissolve @hotelslutsylvania @marvel-hiddles-stark @jam1esl0v4 @maplestrudel13 (Let me know if you'd like to be added!)
It’s nearly two in the morning when you get back to the motel. Javi is a complete and total gentleman, walking you to your room and ensuring that you get in alright. You appreciate him – he’s such a kind friend, such a considerate guy. When he leaves you alone, you stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror.
Guilt blooms in your chest like clematis growing up the side of a trellis. It engulfs you, holds you, wraps itself around you and stays there like it’s rooted in your soul. The guy at the bar tonight was so kind to you. He bought you as many drinks as you wanted, and didn’t force anything onto you, and acted polite when you told him you didn’t want to go home with him after all.
Part of you wishes you had, yes. God, yes – he was certainly handsome enough; broad and tan with dark curls falling across his forehead. He was tall, but not terribly so. Taller than you, but only by a handful of inches. Not quite as tall as Scott, who is just next door to you.
Scott.
Scott.
Goddamn him. His light was still on when you got here with Javi a little while ago. You press your hands against your eyes and then turn on the water at the sink. You splash your face once, twice, three times, then switch the water back off.
You knew all the way at the very beginning of the night that you weren’t going to go home with that guy. You let him buy you all those drinks, though, and you’d even danced with him, but the moment he sat down beside you with a crooked smile, all you could see was Scott’s angry, jealous face in your head. He didn’t come out with you all tonight, otherwise you probably would’ve been all over him instead. He’s who you want, anyway.
Other guys are nicer, certainly. More polite, more thoughtful – but Scott is yours.
Well. Kind of.
He’s yours in the way stray cats are – they come when they want you, and they take what they need, and then they’re gone until the next time they get hungry. But god, being with Scott feels right. It feels like a little piece of home no matter where the storms take you. He is steady and strong, a constant in your life. Consistently up and down, yes, but a constant nonetheless.
So, when the tears rise in your eyes and your bottom lip trembles, you reach for your hoodie and walk to the door as you pull it on. Your room key is in your pocket, and you switch the lights off before stepping outside. The air is hot and humid and thick. Nauseating.
You’re knocking on Scott’s door before you can stop to think about it, and he answers fast as if he’d been sitting around waiting for you. You like it when he answers fast. He’s too nonchalant most times – too uncaring about those around him. But when concern flashes across his face, you know that there’s something in there that is honest and true. You’ve always known.
Scott has never seen you cry before. Not really. Not like this. Not in a situation where the tears are real and sad and deep, and not tears of pleasure. You sniffle, wiping your eyes, and he opens his mouth but no words come to him. What is there to say? You’re so beautiful and sad, and maybe just a little bit drunk still, and he opens the door wider for you.
“C’mon, kid,” he says, inviting you in. You step inside his room, and the smell of him hits you. It’s warm. Musky. Like cologne that was sprayed several hours ago and has melded with his natural scent. You kick off your shoes, then get on his bed. He’s behind you, concern still etched across his face, but you lean up on your knees to grab the collar of his shirt and yank him forward.
You kiss him. He makes a noise, something soft and surprised, but you don’t care. Scott doesn’t know what to do with his hands at first, but after a moment, he rests them on your sides. He pulls back after a few beats, and when you go in for another kiss, he stops you.
“Hey. What’s going on?”
You shake your head, touching his cheek. You feel the stubble there. It’s prickly, like how it gets when he hasn’t shaved in a day or two.
“Nothing,” you try. Scott shakes his head and you know it hasn’t worked this time. You can’t deny this anymore, and you have a feeling that he knows, too. He swallows. His Adam’s apple bobs.
“Don’t lie to me,” he says. Then, gently, almost too gently: “What’s the matter with you?”
“I just…”
“You just…?”
You swallow harshly, then glance at his lips before meeting his eyes once more.
“You’re the only man on earth, I think,” you say finally. Scott’s initial reaction is to laugh, and he does just that. It’s quiet, half-hearted. Scared.
“What does that mean?” he asks you. His hands are still on your waist, your sides. They’re warm and heavy and firm. Hesitantly, you lean forward and wrap your arms around the back of his neck. You bury your face against his shoulder and breathe him in. You hold him close.
Just like when you kissed him, he’s unsure of what to do with his hands initially. They wrap around you in return a few moments later, though, and you practically melt into him. He’s big against you. Stable.
“You’re freakin’ me out, kid,” he says, voice quiet.
“I just don’t think I want anyone else. That’s all,” you admit. The weight of the statement hangs in the air like a fog, like a storm that is rumbling and booming overhead.
“Did something happen?” Scott asks carefully. You shake your head.
“No.”
“...Are you sure?”
You nod, and he pulls back to look at you. He searches your face. You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen him do something so intentional. He’s afraid of what you mean, of what it could lead to. Scott is a practical man, a logical man. And what you two have? It doesn’t make sense. It never really has. It’s not black and white, it doesn’t follow a pattern. It doesn’t have a label or an answer or a formula.
But now…
Well. Now, maybe it will.
How scary. How finalizing.
He touches your bottom lip with the tip of his index finger, and you part your lips to let him dip it inside your mouth. He doesn’t. He just traces your lip, feels it as if he’s finally noticing that it is there. That you’re there.
“Please kiss me,” you say.
That, he can do. That is straightforward. That makes sense.
So, he does. His lips work against yours like he’s a starved man and you’re what he’s been craving. You moan quietly against his mouth, and Scott’s hands travel down to hold your hips. Your core is hot. You’ve wanted him all fucking night. The guy at the bar that bought you drinks wasn’t him. The man that hit on you at the grocery store last week wasn’t him. Javi isn’t him.
You unzip your hoodie and throw it aside, and Scott tugs your shirt up over your head as he starts to kiss down your neck. You tug on his hair.
“No,” you breathe. He stops. “Kiss me for real.”
He lets out a quiet breath, then presses his lips against yours once more. You nod.
“Good. Mm. Like that,” you hum as he reaches around and unclips your bra. He throws that away too, then squeezes your soft, warm breasts. You moan into his mouth, then press your forehead against his and gasp.
“Fuck…” you sigh. “W-What’re you thinkin’ about?”
“Fucking you,” Scott says. He leans down and sucks your left nipple into his mouth. You let him, your fingers carding through his hair and your head falling back as you moan. “Mmm. Love these. Best I’ve ever seen. Best I’ve ever had.”
His words electrify you, make you feel hot and cold all at once. You try to read between the lines, wondering to yourself if he means something more. Was that him trying to say that this, all of this that the two of you have built, is the best? Is he giving you what he can? Handing you the book and asking you to read between the lines?
You don’t know. You don’t know anything right now.
You just know that his mouth feels fucking excellent, and when he moves over to your right nipple, you moan again. You let him tongue and suck at you for a few moments longer before you pull him away and push your hands up under his shirt to feel his stomach.
“I’m a little drunk,” you whisper as if it’s a secret, something that isn’t obvious. And Scott smiles that pretty, rare smile that only you get to have when the lights are low. You touch his cheek where his dimple is.
“I know, kid.”
“How?”
“Because I know you.”
His words knock you out, send your thoughts running wild. What a thing to say. What a statement to give when you’re in the frame of mind that you’re in. A lump is welling up in your throat. Your eyes are watering.
“Oh,” you say softly. It’s relieved. Happy. A bit scared.
Scott sees the wetness in your eyes and his brows furrow.
“Will you kiss me again?” you ask him. He goes to do it, but stops himself before he does. He glances at your lips, then looks into your eyes again. He is an ocean, and you are a ship sinking down to the sea floor. He is everywhere — in your head, in your heart, in your hands. You wish he would get closer. You wish he wasn’t so afraid, so mean, so noncommittal.
“If I did something—“
“You didn’t,” you say. “You know I’d tell you.”
“Then why are you crying?”
“I’m not.”
Scott gives you a look that says, really?
“I have eyes, you know,” he says. You lean in to press your lips against his, and he leans back. “No. Not until you talk to me.”
“You’ll hate me,” you say, “if I tell you what I wanna tell you.”
“Try me.”
“I don’t want to.”
Scott searches your eyes again, then reaches for your shirt. He hands it over to you, presses it against your bare chest.
“Then you can put this back on. I’m not gonna fuck you when you’re upset.”
So, there is a heart inside his chest. There is compassion somewhere deep down. You suppose that now is certainly the time for it to surface, but god, he couldn’t have done it earlier? All the fighting, the arguing, the bickering, going for each other’s throats over data and numbers and who-did-what…is this what the two of you could have been all this time? Is this what you’ll have when you wake up tomorrow? Is this what things will still feel like when the next storm chase rolls around?
“Scott,” you say sharply. He pauses, lips parting. “You…You are such an asshole. And I don’t like riding with you because you’re bossy, and controlling, and picky. And you…You are so difficult all the time, and I am in-love with you.”
Scott’s breath catches.
“You don’t know what you’re saying—“
“I do, because I’ve thought about it every night for the entire season,” you say. You clench your hand into a fist and bump it against his chest. “And if you want me to go, fine. But I am going to remember this tomorrow, and I am going to stand by it, and I need you to just fucking tell me if I should leave—“
Scott kisses you. His lips are hot and plush, and they know you so well that it almost makes you feel embarrassed. His mouth works against yours in a way that it never really has before. It’s slow and steady and…Soft. Like it’s conveying what words cannot.
“You talk a lot,” he says when he pulls away. “Has anyone ever told you that?”
You exhale quietly.
“Scott…”
“I know. I know, kid. I knew.”
“That’s all you’re gonna say?” You ask with furrowing brows. You yank your shirt out of his hands. He puts his hands on top of yours.
“Stop all that,” Scott tells you. You shove him back.
“Me stop? Me?” You turn the shirt over and go to pull it on. “I shouldn’t have come here.”
Scott grabs your wrists with a grip that is firm but not tight enough to hurt. Never enough to hurt.
“I…”
Vulnerability flashes in his eyes. You stare at him.
“If you have something to say, now is the time to say it,” you tell him.
“I. You know. I feel…”
“You feel…?”
“I feel like everything is better with you,” Scott admits. “And if that means I love you, then I guess I love you too, kid.”
Your lip quivers.
“That was such a douchey way of saying it,” you say. A smile tugs at your lips. “I can’t fucking stand you.”
Scott smiles.
“I know.”
You kiss him then, really kiss him, and he inhales sharply as your lips work against each other. His hands smooth over your hips. They’re large and warm and all-encompassing. They make you want to weep.
Just like that, he is everywhere again. His shirt comes off, and you run your hands over his warm chest. You grab his wrists and guide his hands to your breasts. He squeezes them, pushes them together, and you let out a quiet moan at the feeling. He’s finally letting himself have you, finally giving in to the temptation, and your core gets hot when you realize.
“Want you in me,” you breathe as he pinches and rolls your nipples. You moan into his mouth again, and Scott wastes no time in moving back in order to remove his pants and underwear. Once he’s naked, he shoves you back onto the bed and unbuttons your jeans before tugging them down. He throws them aside, then reaches for the waistband of your panties and yanks those down, too. You spread your legs the moment they are gone, revealing your aching core to him.
“Fuck,” Scott breathes, instantly pressing his leaking cock against your core. His lips are on yours, and you kiss and kiss like it’s the only thing you know how to do. You love him. You love him, and he knows, and he loves you too.
You wrap your arms around the back of his neck as Scott presses into you. You gasp, hot tears springing into your eyes. Your head falls back against the bed, but Scot cradles your head and tilts it back up so that he can kiss you some more. His hips begin to rock, and the bed creaks with the force of it. Your fingers curl and scratch at his shoulders.
“Fuck, yes,” you moan. “Right there…Don’t stop, p-please don’t stop.”
“I won’t,” Scott sighs. He shakes his head. “Couldn’t even if I wanted to.”
“S-Say it again,” you beg, looking into his eyes.
“Say what again?”
“What you s-said earlier.”
“What, that I love you?”
You moan at Scott’s words, core flooding, and you clench around his throbbing cock. Oh, how freeing and beautiful it is to be loved by Scott Miller. He is wild and unpredictable, but you wouldn’t want him any other way. He’s so handsome like this, with his face flushed and curls falling into his face. He’s rutting into you and grunting and groaning, and you let your legs fall further apart.
You think back to how you felt at the start of the night – so lost and confused and scared and a bit out-of-your-mind. Scott has a funny way of making you forget yourself in the best way possible. He is so much more than a distraction – he is a solution. He grounds you, holds you down and lets go right when you need him to. You wonder if he even realizes what it is he’s doing, or if it’s all instinctual.
“Touch me, Scott,” you moan. “God, p-please, need to come…”
Usually he’d tease you and make you touch yourself, but apparently he’s feeling generous tonight, because he brings his fingers down to rub your sensitive bud. You gasp, thighs jerking, and you clench around him again. Scott groans.
“I’m gonna fucking c-come in you,” he tells you. “Fill you right up. Gonna take it f’me?”
You nod immediately.
“Yes,” you groan. “Y-Yes, gonna keep it all inside…Whatever you want…A-Anything.”
Scott grins, then kisses you again.
“That’s my girl,” he breathes.
His girl. You’re his girl.
You reach your orgasm suddenly. It crashes down over you like a wave, a rainshower that is hot and entire. Your body tenses as you gasp, and you shake briefly as Scott plows into you. He chases his own orgasm the way he chases storms – like it’s something that he has to do, something that completes him, something that makes him a man. And you take him right through it when it comes over him. You watch him fall apart for you, for your pussy, and you swear to yourself that the sight will never ever get old. He’s too beautiful for such a thing.
When you’ve both come and your orgasms have fizzled away, Scott leans down and takes your wrists in his hands. He pins you down and positions his mouth above yours. You lean up to kiss him, but he shakes his head. You frown.
“What’s wrong?” you ask.
“You meant it? What you said?” he asks. Dread settles in your chest.
“Yes. Did…Did you not?”
Scott shakes his head.
“Not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“I just…I think we should probably talk about this in the morning.”
You search his face for any signs of hesitation or dishonesty. You find none.
Well, that’s a good sign, at least…
You nod finally.
“Okay. That’s fine.”
“You should clear your head,” he says. You try to reach for him, but he keeps you pinned down by your wrists. Instead, you wrap your legs around his hips to feel closer to him. His cock is still buried deep inside of you, and you clench around him to watch him wince at the overstimulating feeling.
“My head is fine. But okay. I’ll go.”
“You don’t have to go,” Scott says. He dips his head down and kisses you firmly. You hum at the feeling of finally kissing him.
“You gonna keep me?” you ask him. He huffs out a soft chuckle.
summary. what happened between you and scott was supposed to be strictly casual, but when you feelings got too involved, you decided to call it quits. But storms and close calls have a way to bringing out true feelings.
warnings. allusions to smut but no actual smut, suggestive language, a curse or two, injuries, reader gets hurt, medical descriptions. scott is a little bit of an asshole & a sweetheart (he’s complicated, okay?). idk how I feel about this but I’ve been writing it for what felt like forever & I needed to post it so it stops haunting me.
word count. 3.9k || masterlist
Feelings were messy; they always got in the way of things. You weren’t sure when yours changed or why, but they surely were leading you quickly toward disaster. It was supposed to be a casual thing, a no-strings-attached kind of thing. ‘Sleeping with the enemy’ wasn’t supposed to be anything more than meaningless sex in shitty motels after both of your storm-chasing teams went to sleep. And maybe that was a bit dramatic, but the Wranglers had a flare for dramatics and a hatred for Storm Par. You were caught in the mess you made, unsure of what to do.
Scott was not the kind of man who wanted a serious relationship. He had a bad attitude and was one-track-minded. But he was just as lonely as you were, and that had quickly become a recipe for a delicious disaster. You two found yourself entangled in a strictly sex-only relationship, unknown to your two teams, enjoyed in the sanctity of midwestern motels. And for a while, the thrill of something so casual with no real stakes was exciting.
You’d only ever had real relationships, partners you took home to meet your parents, and who bought you dinner. Scott was new territory. He was an asshole, but there was a certain charm that kept you coming back when he called you beautiful while fumbling for the zipper of your jeans or pressing soft kisses to your neck.
Things between you two were good, but at some point, you couldn’t separate sex from feelings. It started to mean something to you. You tried to ignore it, burying it down deep in your gut, but that only worked for so long.
Scott never stayed long; he didn’t want anyone to catch him sneaking out of your room. But you hardly ever got the chance to catch your breath before he was searching for his clothes strewn across the floor. You rolled your lips into your mouth, chest still rising and falling heavily, and grabbed your t-shirt from where it had been tossed onto the nightstand.
“Are you guys following the storms up to Arkansas tomorrow?” he asked, falling back into himself the same way he always did. It was like the moment he stood from the bed, he snapped back into himself, stiff and work focused.
He was a hard man to understand. You supposed you weren’t really supposed to understand him, that was the nature of your relationship. The less you knew about someone, the easier it was to not care. But you cared too much about everything and everyone.
“Uh, yeah,” you replied, toying the itchy motel blanket between your fingers. Anxiety twisted in your gut like a storm, bringing unruly waves that flooded your chest and made it tight. “Scott?”
He hummed in response, tugging on his shoes, not looking at you. It was a band-aid you needed to rip off, but you knew the nasty wound underneath it. You were scoffing it; you couldn’t keep it up.
“I, um, I don’t know if I can do this anymore.” You held your breath after the words fell from your lips. You didn’t want to say it; you didn’t want to mean it, but if you spent another evening with Scott you’d be done for. Feelings for him ached inside your chest, but you had to snuff them out before they grew any more intense and left you heartbroken in the wake. Being heartbroken for someone who didn’t care much for you beyond sleeping together sounded like a nightmare. You wanted to get ahead of it; no hard feelings.
He paused, standing up right as he put on his second shoe and furrowed his brows. “Do what?” he said, confused.
You winced. “This,” you said, pointing between the two of you. “Us.”
“Why?” Scott lingered by the door, crossing his arms over his chest. He wasn’t a man of many words, curt and to the point you had learned.
You sighed, casting your gaze onto your lap. You felt small and a little embarrassed that you couldn’t separate sex from feelings. Scott seemed to do it so easily, but they were too intertwined for you. “What we have is good,” you started. “But I think I need something more…real, I guess.”
“This isn’t real enough for you?” he asked with a raise of his brows.
“You don’t want a relationship, right?”
“Right,” he answered, quickly.
“But I do.”
Scott was quiet for a moment, his face swarming with emotions you couldn’t pinpoint before they vanished and fell back into his usual, stoic expression. “With me?”
You smiled sadly, shaking your head even though it felt wrong, even though you were lying, a little. You knew the idea of you and Scott in a real relationship was purely fictional, completely intangible. You were probably the last person on Earth he’d want to date if he ever found himself able to look past his work. But you were soft-hearted and couldn’t help but think about it, even if it was ridiculous.
“If we keep this up, maybe,” you tried to joke but it fell flat. “But no, I just meant in general. I don’t think I’m really cut out for this.”
He pursed his lips, looking for a moment like he wanted to say something but decided against it and, instead, nodded slowly. “If that’s what you want.” Scott turned and grabbed the door handle, hesitating before he opened it. You tried to say goodbye, but he slipped out quickly, leaving the words lost in the quietness of your motel room.
You sighed, falling back against your pillow and bringing your hands up to your face in frustration. You knew you had done the right thing, and it would have hurt even worse if you waited, but it still sucked. You weren’t cut out for casual.
“Why are you so mopey?” Kate asked, sliding onto the bar stool beside you at the little dinner. You volunteered to grab everyone dinner while they worked on the truck before tomorrow’s storms. Kate followed you, picking up on the sulky attitude you had been trying to hide all day.
You sighed, tapping the countertop and avoiding her eyes. “It’s nothin’,” you said, trying to add a hint of cheeriness to your tone but it fell flat.
“If I tell you something, you promise not to get mad at me?” Confused, you glanced over at her. Kate was too sweet for anyone to be mad at her, you were sure of that. Besides, if anyone got mad at Kate, you were sure Tyler would wreak havoc. “Last night, I left my room to grab my phone charger from the truck and I kind of saw…” she looked over her shoulder at the diner’s company before lowering her voice into a whisper. “Scott leaving your room. That’s not why you’re mopey, is it?”
Your groan answered her. “No one was supposed to find out.”
She frowned. “I won’t tell, promise.”
“It doesn’t really matter anymore, I guess.” You shouldn’t have been sad; you were the one who called it off, but it left a little crater in your chest, a stupid feeling. Scott wasn’t someone you brought home to your parents or who would buy you flowers out of the blue. He was a one-night stand kind of guy; he made snarky comments and called you and your team hillbillies. You should have felt good about your decision, but you just couldn’t.
“We’re not seeing each other anymore,” you said.
“Why? Did he do something stupid? Because I’ll kick his ass.”
You smiled at her offer, tempted to take her up on it for your own sake, but it was unreasonable. “I called it off.”
“Oh,” she said, patting you gently on the shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t know why I’m upset about it.” You wished you could just cross it out of your head, said and done, and wipe your hands clean of it. He was just a guy, but he was stuck on you. “We were just sleeping together; that was it. But…but I’m pathetic.”
Kate shook her head. “You’re not pathetic; don’t talk like that. Do you…like him?” She nearly winced when she said it, like it was a painful idea even for her to swallow. Scott wasn’t some supervillain, but he was a sore spot for her best friend, Javi. The two had started Storm Par together until their butting heads finally cracked. Javi left Storm Par and joined the Wranglers along with Kate, and Scott had to pivot to fill the gap Javi left.
“I was starting too, that’s why I called it off.”
Kate hummed in understanding just as the waitress placed your bags of food on the counter. She helped you gather the takeout with a smile and said, “Well, we’ll just have to find you someone new. Tyler wanted to take everyone out to this bar he and team always stop at during the season. Between all of us, we’ll find you someone even better than Mr. Storm Par.”
That didn’t sound so bad.
Oh, but it was. You’re not sure what happened, but it seemed like every decent, single person was taken or nowhere near Arkansas. Instead, the bar was filled with couples, oddballs, and creeps. You sipped on your drink and sank down in the booth, feeling defeated.
Kate joined you with a huff. “Sorry this turned out to be a total failure,” she said. “I don’t know what happened to all of the hot, decent, single people.” From across the booth, Tyler made a noise as he swallowed his beer and put his hands out in an ‘excuse me?’ manner. Kate smiled and shook her head. “For her,” she said, pointing to you.
Tyler nodded in understanding. “Ah, I didn’t know you were looking.”
You cleared your throat. “It’s, uh, a new endeavor.” Because you’d been so preoccupied with sleeping with Scott for the last couple of months, you hadn’t even thought about seeking someone else out, a real relationship. To your friends, you were simply content in your singleness, but that wasn’t the truth whatsoever.
“Well, I don’t think you’re gonna find anyone here,” Boone said, scanning the bar. The front door opened and in poured more people. His face twisted. “Unless you wanna shack up with one of Storm Par,” he laughed and his friends around the table echoed it, aside from Kate and yourself. Instead, your eyes widened as you turned your head to follow Boone’s gaze. Into the bar walked Storm Par, still dressed in their uniforms and looking out of place. Your staring caught Scott’s eye. He held your gaze for a moment, same stoic expression until he blinked and turned his attention onto the bar as they approached it.
On the other side of Kate, Javi hummed. “Hey, maybe they’re loosening up a bit. I don’t remember the last time Scott willing walked into a bar,” he said.
You laughed fakely along with your friends while Kate comfortingly squeezed your hand under the table.
You sat and drank with the Wranglers for a while, sneaking subtle glances at Scott every now and then, only to find his attention glued to the shelves of liquor behind the bar or one of his teammates. It wasn’t until the smell of smoke and the taste of beer became a little overwhelming did you slide out of the booth and excused yourself to grab some air outside.
The nighttime air filled your lungs the second you stepped outside. You leaned against the brick exterior of the bar, gazing out into the quiet street. People passed in and out of the bar, some laughing alongside their friends, others grumbling under their whiskey-tainted breath. You hardly paid them mind, until you felt someone’s eyes on you. For a moment, a slight worry plagued you, until you turned your head and found a familiar face approaching you.
“Hey,” you greeted Scott with a tight-lipped smile.
He looked a little uncomfortable, his hair disheveled and uniform wrinkled from the rowdy company of the bar. He let out a breath before he said, “Hi," and joined you against the building. He left a wide gap like you were a little more than strangers but less than anything else.
“I’m surprised to see you guys here.”
Scott sighed, somewhere between disgruntled and mocking amusement. “Wasn’t my idea. It’s ruining my reputation as a stick in the mud.”
You laughed despite yourself, and he met your gaze. “Oh, somebody’s got jokes now?”
He half smiled, fixing his gaze out on the street. “I’m full of surprises.” A quiet moment passed between you two. In the fresh spring air, there was still a tension that tugged on you. It felt odd, being so close to him without either hurling jabs back and forth in the company of your teammates or kissing him while your hands roamed.
Scott cleared his throat. “You’re sure about, uh, you know, ending this?” The way he asked sounded casual like you weren’t sharing something intimate.
You nodded until you realized he wasn’t looking at you. “Yeah,” you answered.
He peeled himself off of the brick wall and turned toward you. A rock settled in your gut; that was why he came outside, to make sure you didn’t have a change of heart. You didn’t know why, exactly, that irritated you. Maybe a stupidly hopeful part of you thought maybe he had changed his mind and was looking for something less casual and more real. But he wasn’t.
Then he just left, heading back inside and leaving you to blow air from your cheeks.
The storm had blown in with a vengeance. The town was supposed to be a pit stop on your team’s and other storm chasers' way toward bigger storms developing further east, but it became the hub of a sneaky but violent front. You stumbled out of the truck and into the powerful winds that nearly knocked you up against the door you struggled to shut.
The Wranglers looked for cover, helping some unprepared stragglers along into the nearby buildings. You made a move to follow them, but you hesitated when you saw one of Storm Par’s trucks parked alongside a sidewalk a little way down the road. One of the newest members rushed in your direction, towards the shelter, but the other person beside the truck didn’t. Scott stood there with his phone at his ear, struggling against the wind to be heard.
You sucked in a breath before turning around, bee-lining for the building you saw the rest of the Wrangler rush into. But once you reached the doors, pulling them open for a group of people to run inside, you felt the storm grow stronger, the rain running sideways in the wind that was determined to blow over everything in its path. You weren’t sure what exactly compelled you to spare another look over your shoulder at Scott’s truck, but there was a tug on your gut that you couldn’t ignore. And when you did, your heart dropped violently.
Scott was on the ground, pressed between the sidewalk and a mess of debris. Though it was difficult to see clearly through the rain, you were close enough to notice him struggle as the tornado loomed closer.
It was out of instinct that you abandoned the safety of the shelter and hurried across the road. Storm chasing had created a bad habit of putting others first in dangerous weather, a need to be helpful in the wake of a disaster.
You dodged flying debris as you crossed the distance and arrived to find Scott trying to shove a large metal ladder that must’ve come flying off the top of someone’s van. He looked a little dazed, rain in his eyes and hands cut up from where he probably tried to block the blow that came in too quickly.
You quickly grabbed a rung and started to pull before he groaned in pain. “Shit!” he hissed, blinking away the water from his eyes to clear up his vision enough to notice you. “W-What are you doing?” he yelled above the howl of the wind.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” you said quickly, pulling harder despite your slippery hands. The ladder was heavy, and the conditions only made it ten times harder to get it to budge, but between the two of you, you managed to shove it off of Scott. He rolled onto his side, face contorted in pain as he placed a hand on his ribs where the ladder had been pressed against. “Come on, we’ve gotta go!” You pulled him up by the arm, ignoring his groans of protest.
The second he was standing upright, he stared at you with wide eyes and chest heaving. Your attention fell onto the sky and storm. Not thinking about much other than getting the hell out of the storm’s way, you grabbed Scott by the hand and pulled him toward the building. You moved quickly, despite whatever injuries he possessed, and were almost there when something hurled through the air. Before you could react, duck out of the way, or even attempt to avoid it, the object sliced across your forehead.
Pain bloomed across your skin, stopping you in your tracks. You brought your hand up to your forehead. For a moment, you thought it was just rain that coated your skin, but when you pulled your hand back, it was red-coated.
Scott tugged on your hand, his face twisted in a mix of emotions you were too dazed to read. He pulled you the rest of the way to the building. The world was a blur, a mix of colors that blood seeped into, staining your vision and making panic stretch uncomfortably inside your chest. People were gathered near the back wall, far from the windows. Scott pulled you down, his hand pressed firmly against your forehead.
Glass exploded as the windows shattered. Everyone gasped and pressed themselves impossibly close to the back wall. The pain in your head battled your increasing panic, making it hard to breathe.
Scott noticed, using his free hand to grip your shoulder. “It’s all right,” he said, voice unsteady. “You’re all right.” But you did feel like it. The world grew blurrier by the minute. You felt your eyes flutter against your will. The cut across your head must’ve been deep. Little black dots spotted your vision, despite your attempt to fight it. Your head dropped, falling into Scott. He kept his hand pressed against your cut and used his other to wrap around you, his own breath panicked as you fell unconscious.
The lights were too bright when you woke up, groggy and disoriented. With a disgruntled hum, you lulled your head side to side as your eyes fluttered open.
“Oh, thank goodness,” a voice filled your ears, light and relived. You blinked and Kate stood hovering over you with a small smile on her lips.
“You gave us a heart attack,” Tyler said.
“Sorry,” you managed to say, despite the dryness in your throat. “Everyone okay?”
Kate nodded, patting the top of your hand. “The team’s all right; you were the only one who took a hit.” You wanted to ask about Scott, but Kate must’ve read your mind because she added, “Storm Par was all right too.”
“Yeah, I think you short-circuited Mr. Robot. I’ve never seen Scott so bend out of shape after you passed out,” Tyler said, making your gut twist oddly. “He said you saved his ass.”
You tried to sit up, but pain rippled throughout your head, causing you to wince and sink back down. Kate shot Tyler a look as if to say ‘stop talking’ and he listened. “You got a couple of stitches and a concussion. But the doctor said you should be back to feeling like yourself in a week or so.”
With a sigh, you replied, “Great.”
A soft knock sounded from the door. Tyler opened it and looked surprised as it swung open to reveal Scott. He looked surprised himself like he wasn’t sure he should be there. Nevertheless, he cleared his throat and offered Tyler a look that was different than his usual scowl.
“What’d you want?” Tyler asked, but Kate quickly rushed to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder, telling him to stand down.
“Ty, we should go find the doctor.” She turned her head back to you for confirmation that you were okay with Scott visiting, and you nodded.
Tyler looked confused. “What-” Kate started to drag him out of the room, side-stepping Scott before she gently nudged him inside. She and Tyler disappeared into the hall, leaving you with Scott. He pulled his hand out from behind his back to reveal a small bouquet of flowers.
“Hi,” you greeted, offering him a small smile.
He returned it and moved to your bedside. “Hi,” he said. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been hit in the head,” you answered honestly. There was a light throbbing behind your eyes, dulled by the medication the doctor must’ve given you while you were out. “But it’s not too bad. How are you?”
“Besides a couple bruises, not in too bad of shape.” Scott pressed his lips together in a thin line, hesitating for a moment. “Mostly just been worried…about you.”
A warmness filled your chest, and you were too groggy to fight it off. He was worried about you, which you should have brushed off; you had passed out on him, so it wasn’t a crazy idea. But it felt big.
“I’m okay.” You didn’t know what else you were supposed to say.
He placed the bouquet of flowers on the little table beside the bed. “These are for you.”
“They’re pretty. Thank you.”
For a moment, there was a still tension that pulled between you, like it was waiting for someone to make a tug. You felt your better judgment slip, replaced by the urge to say something you’d probably regret, but Scott beat you to it.
“Uh, I-I know this is bad timing but if I don’t say something now, I probably won’t,” he started, much to your surprise and confusion. “I know you said you wanted to call this thing,” he pointed between the two of you. “Off. But I don’t.”
You sighed, “But-”
“I know,” he cut you off. “You want something real. A relationship. And I don’t. Or…I thought I didn’t. But the more I’ve been thinking about it, I like being with you. I don’t want to…not be with you. I want to be with you more, actually, not just us sleeping together. If you still want something real, then so do I.”
You blinked, stunned by his sudden confession. The heat spread from your chest, up your neck, and to your face. “Really?”
“Really,” he said, his lips quirking upwards in a smile that made the fluorescent lights look dim. “If I hadn’t screwed it up too much already.”
With a quick shake of your head, you returned his grin, and his body shifted in relief. “I like being with you too.”
“When you’re feeling better, let me take you on a real date, somewhere a hell of a lot nicer than those motels.” His hand ghosted over yours and you quickly intertwined your fingers with his before you pulled him down to your level.
“You are full of surprises, huh?” you joked, your cheeks hurting from smiling.
SUMMARY: You were feeling neglected and underfucked. Scott's solution? Taking you across the hood of his car.
WARNINGS: 18+ mdni, smut, rough sex, cursing, degradation, p-in-v, semi-public sex, car sex, choking, no use of y/n
WORD COUNT: 1.3k
MASTERLIST
“Is this what you wanted?”
A whimper leaves your lips as Scott continues to fuck you at a ruthless pace, a hand travelling up your side to wrap around your throat. Your back arches as he places his other hand on your lower back, a moan leaving you as the angle causes his cock to fuck into you deeper.
Scott has been buried in work for the past few weeks, either travelling across the Midwest to chase storms or spending late hours at the office interpreting the data they had gathered. While he had made sure to make up for it by sending you updates while he was on the job and bringing you silly little gas station magnets for your fridge and t-shirts adorned with corny slogans, you still craved more of him, and the distance was starting to get to you.
Until one day, you came home from work to find Scott all dressed and waiting for you on the couch with flowers. You had almost taken him right then and there, but he had urged you to wait a little longer because he had a special night planned for you.
Your frustration died down over the next few hours as you enjoyed your date with Scott. He surprised you with a visit to the state fair, which you had been looking forward to visiting since its first day, but you wanted to wait until Scott was home so you could enjoy it together. Now you were sharing a stick of cotton candy
You were walking hand in hand and sharing a stick of cotton candy until Scott started to take a little too long to reply, and he would pull away from you to type on his phone with two hands. Your jaw ticked with every interruption that came between the two of you, and when you caught a glimpse of Scott zooming into a photo of a tornado radar sent by Javi, it was your final straw.
You had first given him the silent treatment, quietly seething in the passenger seat as Scott drove you both home. That was until Scott said something that triggered your wave of anger, and suddenly, you lost the urge to bite back your words.
Now, here you were – bent over the hood of Scott’s car parked in the middle of the woods, while he fucked into you from behind with enough force to make the car jolt. You were a mess with your dress hiked up around your waist, and the front of your dress pulled down to expose your tits. Your eyes rolled back with every thrust of Scott’s hips, his groans filling your ear with every squeeze of your cunt. He was just as much of a mess as you, with sweat dripping down his temple and his brunette hair falling over his forehead. His lips were parted, moans leaving his lips as he continued to fuck into you, your walls getting tighter and tighter as you got closer to your release.
“Answer me,” He demands. His hand squeezes your throat as a warning, urging you to speak. “Is this what you wanted?”
Your eyes roll back at the pressure on your throat, your head nodding profusely. “Yes, Scott–f-fuck…” You breathe out, taking one of your hands off the hood to wrap around his wrist on your throat. “Please don’t stop.”
His pace grows relentless at your pleading, leaving just the tip of his cock inside before thrusting his full length into you once more. You jolt forward with every thrust, feeling him up to your chest. He continues to fuck into you hard and fast, earning another strangled moan from you, your fingers digging into the hand around your throat as his cock continues to fill you up.
Scott wears a sinister smirk as you struggle to keep yourself up, but this only fuels him further. “You like getting fucked like this? Hmm? Like getting fucked like a slut?” He asks, before he pulls you up by your forearms, dragging you up to hover over the hood. You cry out as he continues to use your arms as handles as he thrusts into you, the pace bringing tears of pleasure to your eyes.
You nod at his words, squirming as your hands mindlessly try to grab his wrists to stabilize yourself. He continues to pull you back into him, fucking you on his cock mercilessly. “Use your words.” He demands, his lips pressing kisses to your shoulder blades, the gentle gesture a stark contrast to the feral way he’s fucking you.
You let out a choked moan as you struggle to speak. “Yes, f-fuck, Scott… love getting fucked like a slut,” You say, weakly. “Please, please.” You beg, but you’re not quite sure what you’re begging for, your brain hazy and cockdrunk as you continue to take everything Scott gives you.
“Yeah, keep taking it like a good fucking whore,” Scott says through gritted teeth. “Always so fucking tight… taking me so well.”
You whine at his filthy praise, your head falling forward as he continues to pull you back on his cock. Before you know it, he’s flipping you around, your back hitting the hood of his truck as you now face him.
You whine at the loss of his cock inside you, your pussy squeezing around nothing. Reading your mind, he immediately slides his cock into you again in a fluid thrust, aided by your dripping cunt, and continues to fuck you hard. He stands over you, his hands gripping your hips as he continues to thrust into your tight walls.
His darkened blue eyes sparkle as his gaze trails down your fucked out state – your lips are parted with drool slowly forming at the corner of your mouth, as your lips never close to allow the constant moans to leave you. Your tits bounce with every thrust of his hips, and Scott can’t resist bending down to take a nipple in his mouth, alternating between sucking and flicking his tongue around the bud. You arch your back into him, your hands gripping his still clothed shoulders, trying to ground yourself from the pleasure.
Scott pulls away from your tits, a string of saliva connecting him to your now swollen and reddened nipple. He gazes up at you with a hooded stare, his pupils blown wide as he pants with every move of his hips. You moan obscenely, nearly cumming at the sight of his fucked-out state.
He stands up once again, hovering over you, as he wraps your legs around his waist. He watches as your back arches as his cock disappears into you, your chest rising and falling, your eyes fluttering closed as you feel your orgasm coming.
Scott suddenly brings a hand to your hair, forcing you to sit up and watch as his cock splits you open. “Want you to watch me fuck you,” He says, his eyes examining how you stare as his cock fucks into your pussy roughly. “See how well you take me? See how good of a slut you are for me?”
You nod at his words, biting your lip as you stare at him through hooded eyes. He uses his grip on your hair to tilt your head upwards, forcing you to meet his gaze. He looks down at you with his darkened blue eyes, a ghost of a smirk on his face. “You’re all mine,” He says, before placing a messy kiss on your lips, pulling away once more to speak. “Say it for me, baby.”
His lips hover over yours, your chin now dripping in a mix of your’s and Scott’s spit. You wear a half-smile as you look up at him. “I’m all yours, Scott.”
He smiles at your words and presses a kiss to your temple.
“Good girl.”
A/N: My very first fic... please be nice! dividers from @/uzmacchiato!
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Scott & you have to take part in a team building exercise — or, you give up halfway and fuck in the nearest ditch.
𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆/𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐘: Explicit/F!Reader
𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: pwp, quickie, established relationship, mentions of sweat, exhibitionism, public indecency, reader gets winded after running, bratty!reader, slight humiliation kink, doggy, unprotected p-in-v, creampie, squirting
𝐖/𝐂: 2.4k
It was ridiculous.
Had you frozen up when you were supposed to sprint back to the truck? Sure. But was there a reason to be doing this? On a Sunday fucking morning?
You'd stopped dead in your tracks mid-pant. Hunched over with your palms pressed on your knees. And your apparent aid? Scott Miller? He'd been far ahead, in that stupid cap, MIT Jacket and ugly shorts.
Fuck. This.
Who even came up with ideas of Endurance Runs? You would've one hundred per cent ditched it if not for the promise of free dinner at the end of Storm PAR's supposed team bonding activity.
Scott stopped a few paces ahead, turning around only to see you having given up. Visibly, he groans with an exaggerated tilt of his head while jogging back to you.
"Hey. Who said you could stop?"
He was annoyed, to say the very least. But the morning sun had reflected on him perfectly, forcing the little squint of his eyes beneath his shades, in the crooked lop-sided scowl denting his cheeks.
You shook your head petulantly, succumbed into a ball. Squatting right down in the middle of the dirt path, with your knees tucked to your chest. Other joggers curiously looked over in confusion.
"Nuh uh. No. Can't do it anymore."
Scott took a few steps closer to you, visibly out of breath himself.
"You're fine," he insisted, stretching his palm out for you, motioning with his fingers. "C'mon now. Up."
You shook your head, stubborn. "Just…go! Leave me in the damn tornado." Sweat glistened from your cheeks, down your neck as you slumped back onto the dirt with an oomph.
Scott's gaze twitches at the show — specifically at the way your athletic shorts had ridden up in a manner that would've practically been flashing the runners adjacent. In a knee-jerk reaction, he bent down to grab your limp wrist, yanking you upright regardless of your will. "1.3 miles left. Quit bitchin' about it."
A loud, pitched whine rips through your throat as he steadies you, fingers sliding off your wrists and up your forearms.
If he thought you would've stood upright, he was wrong. Scott grunts loudly, struggling to hold you up when you'd slumped your entire dead weight onto him. With his arms wrapped tightly around you, he held you against him. As much as he could've, anyway.
At that point, he was sweating even more at the contact of your feverish, hot skin. Baby-powder scented lotion mixing heady with his musk. Scott readjusts his hold on you, voice low and raspy in your ear. "I'll carry you myself if I have to."
"That just defeats the purpose!" You snap in annoyance, uncaring of the built-up wetness plastered against your chest.
"I'll just…wait on that bench."
Scott hauls you upright firmer, and this time, neither of you acknowledged how close it'd put you. Chest to chest, and skin slick, mixing together.
Truthfully, the closeness was getting to Scott. Only further fuelled by his added exhaustion. Despite it, he held you in place, even as a half-hearted attempt.
The slipperiness of your combined sweat, on the other hand, forced his grip to slip, palms hooking underneath your arms, down to your waist instead. "Stand." He warns, breath warmed right against your pulse.
"Quit…feelin' me up," you finally pipe up, a tinge of embarrassment filling you at just how much you were enjoying the feeling of his skin against yours, fingers flexed around his biceps.
His face is entirely flushed now, "get your mind outta the gutter."
There was no bite to his words.
Your body felt incredibly soft, hands having slid down to your hips, the other squeezing the fat around your thighs. The proximity and the skin contact only served to make the heat unbearable.
But then, you feel him still, just as he'd wedged his knee between your thighs. Scott's breath quickens, and you aren't sure why.
You think you must've imagined it at first.
But an inconspicuous shift, followed by the low rumble of his groan, announced the irrefutable press of stiffness against your abdomen.
Oh.
"You…you can't be serious. Are you — turned on? By THIS?"
"That's not —" Scott bites through a hiss, whipping his head around. "Keep your damn voice down." Then, he jolts you once with an unforgiving grip on both sides of your shoulder.
You blink at him confusedly, and then he sizes you with that stupid look of shock. A bead of sweat dripped down the sides of his face, down his reddened sunburnt cheeks.
It was bad enough that he was one nosy onlooker away from turning into a sex offender with the tent he was sporting. You stood there, blinking at him all aggravatingly pretty — cheeks flushed with exertion, with the exact spot he loved to suck hickies into deliciously glistening.
Scott sucks in his breath, forehead slumped forward. Just a few centimetres shy of yours.
Right then, he follows your line of sight to the half-opened porta-potty toward the right. One that hadn't really been there a day prior, likely with the renovation works being done in the park's only bathroom.
You look back at him with a quirked brow.
"……"
"Uh, absolutely not." He grits, nose scrunched up.
"But —"
"It's a shitbox."
"Miller."
"Fucking-A, no!"
You scoff weakly, head lolled to the side. "Fine! Jesus. You're the one who's —"
"—I know." He snaps.
You feel it then. Not his hard-on, but the irresponsible decision he seemingly succumbed to. "Just." His fingertips drum at the back of your thighs. "Don't move."
He goes quiet, lips pursed in a manner that you'd recognise as his thinking face. Though instead of the usual sneakiness you had in place, desire took over. The dimples that peeked through were far too cute.
Cicadas buzzed nearby, battling your combined racing pulses. Then, like a decision made, "I know a spot. Off the trail. C'mon."
Scott doesn't wait for your response; his palm slides to your lower back, nudging you forward with urgency.
You let out an untimely snort when he pushes your head down, artfully ducking beneath a stray branch. "How many times have you used that line?"
He could tell by that stupid, twitchy look you were giving him that you were jumping to your own conclusions. With an eyeroll, he drags you behind him, down a narrow dirt path that leads into a clearing.
"Unlike you, I hike."
You cross your arms, unconvinced after ripping away from his hold.
"And you just happened to know an optimal fuck spot?"
Scott pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out a long-suffering sigh before grabbing your forearms, coaxing you out of your defensive stance, and turning you around abruptly.
Just as you think you might hit the rocky curvature, he tugs you against his chest, firm enough for you to feel the press of his hard-on against your lower back.
"What part of all this makes you think it's optimal?"
"This," he murmurs low, dragging the curve of his nose down to your pulse, "is desperation."
You're rendered mute at the reminder, heartbeat prominent riiight in your cunt. Scott's kicking your feet apart further to slide his leg between unceremoniously, earning an annoyed grumble from you as you quickly support your weight on the surface of a boulder.
"Gotta make it fast, mm?" Scott slides his hands up your belly, to your clothed breasts — you let out a stuttered breath, chills running down your spine when he roughly gropes at the fat there.
"Perfect fuckin' tits." He murmurs, leaning down as he rut into you, mouthing at the back of your neck. You squirm, lolling your head to the side for him to suckle at the saltiness, grumbling low and heady. The sound of it makes you squeeze your thighs in anticipation, but Scott's legs prevent you from doing so.
Instinctively grind against his knee in an attempt to ease the dull throb that begins to spread in your abdomen. If he notices it, he doesn't say a thing until your slick spread past your panties and shorts. Only then does he bark out a derisive laughter.
"Done humping my leg, princess?"
Your cheeks flush, but he doesn't let you turn away, with a firm hold on your jaw. Scott leans down to lock his lips with yours while cupping your core with his large palm. His digits rub you over your clothes, from your clit down to your soaked pussy.
You respond instantly, tilting your hips to grind to his touch. He lets you, all while he's drinking in your moans, that only grow more unrestrained.
Then, you whimper into his mouth all in one breath, " —Mmn…! Scottie," pulling away to nip at his jaw and throat. "Fuck me. Pl—ease."
His eyes roll for a second, and he smiles lop-sided, cock oozing pre just from your begging alone. Scott would never tell you this, but he loved you best like this.
He hums low, tugging at your shorts and panties in one go, your slick arousal leaving a sticky trail on your inner thighs.
"Jesus H…soakin' f'me…" It's a mumble more for himself, but you have to bite back a groan when he gathers the slick, rubbing between your folds and up to your clit in a repeated motion.
You're on your tippy toes, white knuckles grip on the rougher minerals — uncaring of the scrapes that threatened to tear through the gentle skin.
"Scottttieeeee…" you whine, much to his arousal.
"Alright, alright," he placates. Scott eyes his slick-coated palm, though you aren't able to see how he brings them to his mouth, swirling his tongue onto his index and forefingers so he could taste you. He groans audibly at the familiar sweetness, then brings his slick-coated palm beneath his own waistband, pumping himself, mixing his pre with yours.
He's painfully hard, with no intention of waiting any longer.
"Biiig stretch, Princess." He warns, with his other palm situating itself above your mound, while he bullies his hot, pulsing cock into your pussy.
Inch my inch, he stuffs you.
"S-Shit. G-Gotta ease up f'me here." Scott's nearly whimpering, hastily tugging your top higher up your back to force you to relax your hips, a heavy set palm on your spine.
"Fuck! Scott!" Your hand snaps backwards to scratch at his forearms. "W-Wait! Wait, wait!"
Scott winces, letting your scratches turn to a desperate hold around his watch-clad wrists. "Sh —shh. S'enough. You can take me. Mm? Wet fuckin' pussy suckin' me right in."
You bite down on your lips. Eyes unfocused when he jerks you once, feeling the coarseness of his hair grind against the slope of your ass.
"Atttaaa girl…" he coos, sighing softly at the sight of his cock entirely disappearing in you. His palm slides down, thumb rubbing over the puckered hole there. You jump, but don't protest when he plugs you with his thumb.
Soft whines rumble back into your throat, and Scott slowly rocks into you.
"Nmn —haahh…Scott. Fuck…oh fuck."
He doesn't answer, opting to roll his hips into you, letting you get used to the stretch of his cock.
"You can take more, mm?"
You whimper, shaking your head, "s'too much…"
Scott tuts, then lowers his head, squishing your cheeks and making sure his words reverberate low, "too much?" He coos.
For a moment, you think he might be empathetic.
The snap of his hips says otherwise.
You practically shriek out, breathless. When he pulls out suddenly, and drives himself back in.
"Can't take it anymore? Hm?"
The mocking tone has tears prick at the corner of your eyes. When he thrusts again, he angles it just perfectly, rubbing the spot in your gummy walls that has your thighs quivering.
"Maybe I should fuckin' stop, huh?"
As he pulls out, you whimper a hesitant, "no!"
"No?"
You shake your head quickly, lower half shaking.
"M…more. Moremoremore, right th—her—hrk!"
He gets the message, and you feel a gentle tug at the back of your head, pulling your hair away from your face into a make-shift ponytail.
Scott's fucking you for real this time, not like the testing thrusts from earlier, they're decisive, angled, and driving into your g-spot every time. You aren't sure what you're babbling about anymore when the combined slick makes loud, wet schliiicks, followed by the sound of his balls slapping against your thighs.
"Fuckfuckfuck—yes! God, yes!"
Scott's eyes are shut, apart from the tightness and pulsing of your wet cunt, he focuses on your pitch, on the way you get all sweet and honeyed for him. His balls draw tight, fucking you through the thigh, quivering orgasm that takes you without warning.
Your warm juices gush suddenly, and Scott doubles over, the white of his eyes visible when the tip of his cock pushes as deep as it can to release his hot, thick cum.
Neither of you can say a thing except pant into each other's mouths, kissing each other, messily, even sweatier now than before.
He gently turns you over, heavy cock resting against your abdomen as he lifts you, with your thighs secured around his hips — he grinds his still half-hard cock against your abdomen.
You're far too disoriented by then, lazily kissing him back, with your knuckles pushing past the cap he always sports.
The fabric lands in the puddle of water next to your feet. Even as he grumbles low, it turns into a hum of satisfaction when your fingers lock and curl through his longer, brushed back hair.
Later, you're both awkwardly shuffling over to the rest of the crew, who eye you with a perplexed expression. Javi snorts as he walks over, gesturing vaguely at the state of your bare, scraped knees and palms.
"Christ! Did you get mauled by a mountain lion?"
You're pulling the sleeves of a jacket that sat oversized on you, bolded with MIT's logo at the back, over your palms.
"Oh. Got mauled by something, alright." You murmur bitterly. Looking over to Scott, who was deadpan for a few seconds, before grinning and popping a gum into his mouth.
Summary: When you come home from the bar to find your boyfriend doing research at the dining table in his undies, you decide that you need him right then and there.
Tags: NSFW (18+), unprotected sex, degradation, brief name-calling, hittin it from the back lol, creampie, seducing Scott, Scott is grumpy (he likes it), begging, teasing
Word Count: 1.5k
Taglist: @corens0ups @kryptidfiles @paperheartsdissolve @hotelslutsylvania @marvel-hiddles-stark @jam1esl0v4 @maplestrudel13 (Let me know if you'd like to be added!)
A/N: As promised, here's Scott doing research at the dining table in his undies <3 what could represent domestic bliss more than a thing like that?
The house is quiet when you step inside. The lights are off for the most part, save for some soft brightness spilling into the hallway from the dining room. It is late, nearly ten at night, and you’ve just gotten done spending time with a few of your girlfriends. You aren’t drunk, but you had a drink or two an hour or so ago, and you feel delightfully warm.
“Scott?” you call quietly, just in case he’s asleep and somehow left the light on, despite the fact that he would never do such a thing.
“In here,” he calls back. You start towards the dining room, your feet thudding softly against the linoleum. When you reach the dining area, you pause. Here before you is your boyfriend, wearing a t-shirt and his underwear, hunched over his laptop and notebook. Some program is pulled up on the screen, one that you recognize but aren’t in the mood to investigate. You smile.
“This is a nice surprise,” you say, leaning against the table. He glances up at you.
“What?” he asks.
“You in your little undies.”
“My little–?” Scott shakes his head, looking back down at his notebook. “You’re ridiculous.”
You shrug, looking him over shamelessly. He’s got such a nice body, such a handsome figure. You feel yourself getting even warmer as you stare at his crotch and thighs.
“Maybe,” you say. “Or maybe I just know what I like.”
Scott hums in response, then re-focuses on his laptop screen before scribbling down some more notes.
“So. Were you gonna say something, or just stand here and stare at me?” he asks finally. You grin, then walk around the back of the chair and drape yourself over him. You reach down and push your hands up under his t-shirt. He jerks. “Fuck, why are you so cold?”
You giggle.
“I’m not.”
“Get out of my shirt. I’m doing something.”
“Aww, don’t be a grump. Your hot girlfriend is trying to seduce you and you’re complaining?”
You smooth your hands over his stomach, feeling the muscles there, and you kiss at his throat as you do. Scott’s shoulder lowers and his head tilts to the side, quietly giving you permission to keep going. You nip at his skin.
“I want you,” you breathe, pressing yourself further against him. “Fuck, all I could think about was you while we were out…Could barely focus…Just kept thinking about coming home and getting fucked…”
“When are you not thinking about that?” Scott asks, voice strained. His pen is still and his eyes stare straight ahead at the laptop screen that is starting to feel less and less important by the second.
“Mmm, never, baby,” you say. You move around and straddle him, and Scott’s hands immediately find your hips. You rock yourself forward against his clothed, half-hard cock. “Mmm, you like this…You like it when I ask nicely…”
“You’re a fucking brat, you know that?” Scott asks, touching your thighs and then pushing up your dress so that it is bunched around your hips. You practically moan at the feeling, your skin already on fire. You’re burning up for him, and he’s fanning the flames.
“I know,” you breathe, still rocking your hips. He’s getting harder. You reach down and touch him head-on, feeling his cock straining against the material of his underwear. You’re leaning forward to whisper in his ear before you can stop yourself.
“Fuck me, please,” you breathe. “I’ll be good. Whatever you want, it’s already yours.”
It is Scott’s turn to smirk now.
“You’re pathetic,” he tells you. You moan in response. He grips your ass and pushes his hips forward, his erection nudging against the fabric of your panties.
“Oh my god, your panties are soaked,” Scott comments when he looks down. More heat washes over you.
“Fuck, Scott, please…”
He touches his hand to your hot core, and you immediately rock against his palm.
“Take what you need,” he says, rubbing your clit over your panties. “Go on.”
“It’s not enough,” you whine. “Fuck, I need you to–”
He kisses you firmly, his other hand wrapping around the back of your head to keep your lips on his. You moan as he continues to tease you with his fingers. You’re practically shaking, burning up with want and desire. You could cry – you’ve never needed someone so bad in your entire life.
“S-Scott, please,” you whisper.
Only then does he haul you to your feet, turn you around, and bend you over the dining room table. You gasp, legs immediately parting, and he pushes his underwear down and kicks them to the side before flipping up your dress and tugging your panties down. You kick yours aside, too, then arch your back to present yourself to him.
“Fuck, look at you,” Scott says, almost to himself. He takes hold of your ass cheeks and spreads you open to stare. “So wet and I’ve barely done anything.”
“Shut up,” you breathe, eyes fluttering. Suddenly, you feel his mouth on you, brief and hot, and you gasp. Your body jerks at the feeling of him slurping up your arousal, and he hums as he pulls away too soon.
“The offer’s gonna expire, you know,” you try. He pins your hips against the table and nudges his leaky tip against your entrance.
“Don’t even,” Scott says. “It’s too late, I already know how fucking desperate you are right now.”
You push your hips back to meet his, wanting badly to feel him inside of you. He slips his tip in, and you gasp, pussy clenching and spasming in response.
“Don’t tease me,” you tell him.
“I know you like it,” Scott says, pressing in slowly. You sigh, body hot and tense with anticipation. Scott presses in inch-by-agonizingly-slow-inch. Your core spasms and clenches around him, still soaking wet and getting hotter by the second. When he’s all the way inside of you, you let out a soft grunt.
“Please,” you sigh. “Please, Scott, c’mon…”
“Please what?”
“Please fuck me!” you exclaim. You hear a soft chuckle from behind you.
“Why didn’t you just ask in the first place?” Scott asks just to hear you huff. He begins to rock his hips quickly right off the bat, his cock rubbing up against your g-spot over and over and over. You gasp, eyes widening and then closing in pleasure.
“Fuck!” you moan.
“Y-Yeah? Right there?” Scott asks. “Hm?”
You nod.
“Right fucking there, Scott, yes!”
Your body is bouncing, the dining table is scraping against the floor, and Scott is plowing into you like there’s no tomorrow. How wonderful is this? How lucky are you? How lucky are both of you to have overcome your differences.
Now you get to have lovely evenings like this when you come home from girls’ night.
“Touch yourself,” Scott says, his hips moving faster and faster. You can’t bring yourself to say anything as you lower a hand down to rub your aching clit. You moan long and loud, and Scott smirks. “Atta girl.”
“O-Oh…Oh, fuck…I’m g-getting close…” you manage, legs and thighs trembling as you rub your clit. You’re rocketing towards orgasm, and judging by the way Scott’s thrusts are getting sloppy and haphazard, you’re guessing that he is, too.
“Come for me,” Scott says sharply, giving your ass a smack. You moan in surprise, thighs shaking as you struggle to stay upright. Scott squeezes your hips again, holding you firmly against the table, and you moan shamelessly.
“O-Oh fuck, I’m–!”
You fall over the edge suddenly, body tensing and then turning to jelly as heat from your orgasm washes over you.
“Mmm, there we go,” you hear Scott say. “Filthy girl…Coming just for me…Fuck…”
You hardly register his words as you rub yourself through it. Arousal drips down your thighs, and moments later. Scott falls over the edge with a soft grunt.
“Shit!” he sighs, hips working to keep their pace as he spills inside of you. You pull your hand away from your clit and grip the table instead.
“Oh my f-fucking god,” you breathe as he begins to slow to a stop. One, two, three more harsh thrusts come, and Scott leans down to kiss your shoulder while still buried deep inside of you. You reach back to touch the side of his warm face.
“So good,” you manage.
“Yeah? Good enough for the neediest girl in the fuckin’ world?”
You nod, a dopey smile on your face as he pulls out and tucks himself back into his underwear. He rubs along your back and fixes your panties and dress before kissing your shoulder once more. You lean into his touch.
“Did you know that I love you?” you ask as you turn around on quivering legs to look up at him. Scott chuckles.
“I know,” he says, then kisses your forehead. “I love you too. Go shower, you smell like the bar.”
“You don’t wanna…?”
“What?”
“Join me?”
Scott pauses eyeing his laptop and notebook before sighing and closing it all up and turning around to face you.
“Go on. Lead the way.”
*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ
rynwritesstuff - 2026. Do not copy, steal, or repost my work.
Summary : in which you and Scott are arguing after a chase doesn’t go well, normally you fight back, but a change of tone has Scott miller folding and he’s so eager to make it up to you
Reader and Scott have established relationship!!
Just over 1.7k words.
Warnings / content :
Swearing, conflict , slight subby whiny Scott , degrading , use of the word “bitch” , oral (f receiving ), P IN V , edging , praise , unprotected sex , taunting. Excessive use of the word “sorry” , mentions of happy trail, stomach bulge. SLIGHT LEG HUMPING
I REALLY TRIED W THIS ONE OKAY?? First time posting smut 🫵😔
(I hate this, yes there’s probably a few errors I did this in notes)
INCLUDES SEXUAL CONTENT BELOW THE CUT
MDNI.
It was so stupid. So fucking stupid to be arguing over. Half an hour ago you weren’t listening to him , insisting you were right during a storm chase. Unfortunately for you? You weren’t. It happens. So now here you both were in the motel room arguing.
“Why couldn’t you just fucking listen to me! You never FUCKING listen!” Scott throws his hands in the air frustrated, his face slightly red from anger. You scoff at him in disbelief looking at him. “I’m sorry! Nobody is perfect like you! We didn’t all study at MIT Scott.” His eye twitches. Literally fucking twitches.
“That’s irrelevant! All you had to do was Listen to me!” He throws his cap onto the motel bed and goes back glaring at you.
“How DARE you” You cross your arms at him almost challenging him to argue back and you can see the veins in his head bulging with anger. A dangerous glint appears in his eyes followed by “Don’t. Raise your voice at me… you wanna fight? Come on let’s fight sweetheart.” You sigh in defeat pinching the bridge of your nose. Voice back to that sweet sickness he knows so well “no baby.. I .. I don’t want to fight with you” But he’s gone. Oh he’s so far gone in being an asshole.
“Then shut the fuck up and listen to me you dumb bitch”.
He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth.. he looks at you. At first you’re silent. No reply. And then you walk over to him and stand on your tiptoes slightly grabbing him by his shirt. Voice turning to a tone he’s never heard before.
“You don’t EVER. Talk to me like that. Do you fucking understand me Scott?”
His eyes lock on yours .. sees something that actually makes him stop. You were always the one to fight back or just stay quiet.. but this?? This was lethal. He’s fucked. He KNOWS he’s fucked. He doesn’t dare answer back yet.
“Baby-“ He starts.
“Do you understand me?” You challenge him, The arrogance. The shit eating grin normally plastered on his face? GONE. “I.. I understand..” He gulps “crystal clear baby.”
“Awe good! You’re listening” You taunt him and that irritated grin is back. You’re quite literally making him feel like he’s being scolded. He hates it .. he loves it? “Don’t fucking push it” he glares again jaw clenched tightly.
“I didn’t say you could talk back to me did I baby?” He had no idea where this was coming from. Scott miller takes orders from NOBODY. But oh god.. oh god he looks at you .. how you’re literally tiny compared to him and talking to him like this ? His knees are going weak.
“N..no baby I -“ you make a small “tsk” noise that really pisses him off.
“Fuck. y-“ He starts. He knows he’s an asshole. Knows he’s a prick. But you actually calling him out on it makes him sick. What the hell are you doing to him? You look at him again and he’s now pink in the face , tilting your head slowly you look at him again.. voice oozing with sweetness “That’s not very nice now is it baby?”
“Baby- “ It comes out as a whine. He’s fucking gone.. so terrified of what’s going to happen next .. but so excited. He’s getting hard from this.. his sweetheart of a girlfriend talking to him like shit. His palms are sweaty and they move to your waist.
“What do you say Scotty? Hmm” The nickname. Oh you were EVIL. He was about to buckle… swallowing hard .. and with hesitation he barely spits out. “I… I’m sorry.” You slowly let go of his shirt and he lowers himself slightly so he’s level with your eyes and holds your face so delicately. “I .. I really am sorry baby.” He gulps again.
He goes more red. Ashamed. Until you lightly graze your hand across his bulge causing a whiney groan and his hands move back to your waist. "How sorry are you Scotty? Hmm?" You taunt him again and he's a mess. Desperate. Looks like he's going to cry any second or snap back.
"M.. sorry real sorry baby.. please you need to believe me I'm sorry" At this point he's slowly starting to kneel. Begging and pressing kisses to your stomach repeatedly saying sorry. This is a shock even for you. he was never going to be like this again so you made the most of it. Voice taunting. "Show me how sorry you are baby."
That familiar glint is back. The dominant side of him trying to fight through, but at this exact moment. He's exactly where he wants to be. He points to your belt on your jeans which were muddy from the chase. "C..can I ?" You nod giving his hair a patronising ruffle allowing him to undo your shoes, then your belt.. jeans and pressing rapid kisses to your thighs hugging your legs muttering little "sorry baby" every so often almost rutting his hips against them to get friction on his hard dick. You walk backwards to the crappy motel bed laying down and he's quick to follow.
Once you spread your legs, taking off the thong showing him just how soaked you were .. just as into this as he was he gave you a "fuck you" look.
"I'm waiting baby.. show me you're sorry" you beam at him so sweetly and he glares before lowering his head to latch his mouth onto your clit earning a sharp gasp from you and a drag of his tongue along your dripping folds. All it took was one taste. One taste and he turns into a man starved. A man eager to show you just how sorry he is lapping his tongue and humming against you making you arch your back.
A sharp tug on his hair from you and he's groaning even more against you throwing your legs over his shoulder, using his fingers to fuck your pussy while still using his mouth on your clit. "M'shorry baby" Was mumbled against your clit causing vibrations and your eyes roll back.
He laps even faster humming and moaning desperately at the taste rutting his hips into the bed , you were making a mess all over the bed and he didn’t even care. A gentle teasing slap on your clit has you spilling out shrieks and whines. You weren't lasting like this. A familiar coil builds up and you come crashing down with your high gushing into his mouth and he's even more eager to clean up. His head lifts up, mouth covered and glossy from your release and he leans over to reach you and press a kiss to your lips letting you taste yourself on his tongue and a soft hum in response from him. "Sorry baby…please" He begs. Actually begs.
"Take your clothes off and go lay down" You click your fingers at him and he's fast to do it.
But oh you were gonna get it after this. He pulls his boxers off with a glare and his dick springs out leaking over his happy trail, he's big... cut and veiny, the tip swollen and angry. Another click and he's on the bed waiting for you. You slowly take off your shirt followed by your bra letting your tits spill out and he's desperate. "Are you sorry?" You ask again "baby" he warns getting irritated despite how much he was into it and you glare straddling him but not giving in.
"Are. You. Sorry?" You say slowly still in that tone.
"YES! baby please I'm so fucking sorry" It comes out as a sharp whimper and pleased with yourself you slowly drag your soaking wet folds over his oozing swollen tip before slowly sinking down on him stretching you out.. mouth open wide at the sensation and you lean down to kiss him hungrily and he whines into the kiss starving, tongue lashing with yours as you sink down his entire length.. already causing a bulge in your stomach. His hand reaches out grasping your hard nipple and you smack his hand away once again earning a whine.
"Please.. I'm sorry .. let me touch" He gasps as you're bouncing on his dick painfully slow. You nod letting him back on your breast and he's looking at you before he slowly reaches out to kiss a nipple and swirls his tongue around, you whine moving a little faster, the noises of how soaked you were filled the motel. Paper thin walls and probably Javi or Tyler hearing was the least of your worries right now.
"You're so pretty.. I'm sorry baby" He grunt whines again now moving his hands to your hips helping you as you tighten around his dick fucking yourself dumb, complete forgetting about the whole point.
You feel him throb.. getting close .. and you stop completely, a loud pained cry from his lips.
"Baby! I said I was sorry" He grabs at your hips desperately trying to get you to move. A soft Tsk from you before you're moving again, cum dripping out of you and soaking his dick in the process and his eyes roll to the back of his head. You get him close again... and stop.
"PLEASE! I'm sorry! Baby please please I'm sorry" You could almost see tears filling his eyes , one actually rolls down his cheek , he was bucking his hips up and trying so hard to listen and you start again bucking your hips and bouncing even faster trembling on his dick , kissing his neck and moaning tauntingly into his ear at how good it feels. "Sorry for what?" You asked once more getting close yourself.
"Sorry for calling you a bitch baby.." He spits out desperately. And you nod at him.
"Go for it honey" That's all it took. He moves so he's on top fucking his hips into you brutally not holding back and stuttering out noises he's never made before "NGGH! I'm sorry baby you're so fucking good to me but fuck you for this." He smashes his mouth into yours kissing you like a mad man grunting as he fucks deeper into you and making you squeak into his mouth. And you feel the coil again. The orgasm comes crashing down and your pussy sucks him in milking him.
A stuttered grunt and he comes undone rutting load after load into you. He continues his pace making sure he's stuffing his cum as deeply as he can into you. When he's done he falls on-top of you gently, still inside you rolling his hips pulsing. He presses kisses to your neck, face. Lips anywhere he can get.
"Really sorry baby... you know I love you" He pants out. And you look at him mocking his shit eating grin. "I know you are baby.. I love you"
"Good. If you tell anyone I was begging for you like that I swear to fuck- " He starts and you give him that glare again. "Ah ah" You giggle at him. “Hey.. I’m sorry about not listening to you on the chase baby.. you were right”
"Piss off" he grins and presses one more deep kiss to your lips.
Summary: Missing your husband, you surprise Scott by tracking StormPar down to Oklahoma. He now has to literally wrangle you: (1) out of harm’s way when you insist in joining the stormchasers, and (2) away from Tyler Owens, who still tries to shoot his shot with a visibly pregnant woman.
Scott Miller (Twisters) x Pregnant!Reader
tags: mostly crack; pregnant!reader is the #1 scott miller ragebaiter, scott’s blood pressure increases dramatically, tyler flirting with a pregnant woman
david corenswet characters masterlist ♡
The town was the kind of place StormPar passed through without a second thought—one main street, a gas station, a diner, and a couple of weary motels for chasers and locals alike. The team was parked out front of the diner, trucks lined up in the gravel lot while Kate went over radar and Javi and Mike ran through gear checks. Scott had been leaning against his SUV, arms crossed, impatient to move.
And then he saw you.
At first he thought it was his brain playing tricks on him—wishful thinking after days on the road. But no, it really was you, stepping carefully out of a beat-up rental car, your overalls unmistakably snug around the curve of your belly. Your baby bump was on full display, like you weren’t even trying to hide it.
You visibly lit up when you finally met his eye, waving at him excitedly.
Scott pushed off the truck so fast Javi actually muttered, “What the hell—?” as he jogged past.
“Jesus Christ. You’ve got to be kidding me,” Scott said when he reached you, his voice tight with disbelief. His eyes dropped immediately to your stomach, then back up to your face, storm-blue with worry. “What are you doing here?”
You smiled nervously, tugging on one strap of your overalls. “Surprising you. Thought it’d be nice.”
“Nice?” His voice pitched higher, his hands flying up in disbelief before he ran them through his hair. “You’re pregnant. You came to Oklahoma—in the middle of storm season—to surprise me?”
“I missed you,” you said simply, shrugging like that explained everything. “Weeks on end with nothing but phone calls wasn’t cutting it. I wanted to see you.”
Scott’s jaw tightened, his hands flexing as if he wanted to reach for you and hold you still at the same time. “You’re—” He cut himself off, exhaling through his nose. “You’re pregnant. With my child. And you thought the best idea was to walk straight into tornado country?”
Your smile softened, even as you stepped closer. “I thought the best idea was being with my husband. You’re out here every day risking your life, and I’m supposed to just sit at home counting the hours? No. I needed to see you. Needed you.”
That last part cracked through his armor. His shoulders slumped, and he dragged a hand down his face, muttering something under his breath that sounded a lot like unbelievable. When he looked at you again, the irritation had shifted into something more raw—fear stitched with affection.
“You know I’m glad to see you,” he admitted, quieter now. “More than glad. But I can’t have you anywhere near a storm. Not now. Not with the baby.”
You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. “I just want to be nearby. To see you. To remind myself why we’re doing this, why we put up with all the distance.”
For a long moment, Scott just looked at you. The storm-light reflected in his eyes, blue and unsettled, but his thumb brushed over your knuckles in a gesture that betrayed the truth—he’d missed you just as fiercely.
Finally, he exhaled, conceding. “Fine. You stay in town, at the hotel, or with the locals if we’re stationed here. Nowhere near the field. You don’t argue, you don’t negotiate. If I find out you’ve even thought about stepping foot into a chase zone—” He broke off, shaking his head. “You’ll make me lose my damn mind.”
You grinned, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Deal.”
Javi’s excited yells of your name broke you apart from Scott, who sighed before tilting his head towards the team, “Come on,” he pressed a hand to the small of your back, guiding you.
-
Kate was still getting her bearings with StormPar. She’d only been with the team a short while, and though she admired their skill, she couldn’t quite figure Scott Miller out. He was brilliant, sure, and his instincts were sharp—but he was also blunt to the point of arrogance, a man who treated downtime as wasted time and carried himself like the storms bent to his will.
So when she stepped out of the diner with a coffee in hand and saw you standing by the convoy, chatting animatedly with Javi, her brain almost short-circuited.
You were nothing like the picture she’d built in her head of “Scott Miller’s other half.” She didn’t even know that Scott had another half. You were warm, laughing easily, your overalls stretched comfortably around your belly. You nudged Javi with your elbow after some joke, earning one of his rare grins, and then teased him about being the only one responsible enough to keep the equipment dry during lunch.
Kate blinked, staring between you and Scott, who was lurking a few feet away by his SUV, arms crossed, jaw tight, his gaze flicking constantly in your direction like he expected a tornado to materialize beside you at any second.
“You okay?” Kate asked him carefully.
Scott gave her a look like she’d asked if water was wet. “She shouldn’t be here.”
Kate tilted her head. “She seems fine to me.”
“She’s pregnant,” he said flatly, his eyes narrowing as you tipped your head back in laughter at something Javi muttered. “Pregnant. In the middle of Oklahoma. During storm season.”
Kate raised her brows. “And you’re letting her hang around the convoy?”
Scott’s scowl deepened. “I didn’t let her. She showed up.” He ran a hand over his face, muttering under his breath. “Drove halfway across the damn state just to ‘surprise’ me.”
Kate hid a smile behind her coffee. “You don’t sound very surprised. More… rattled.”
Scott cut her a sharp glare, but she noticed the way his shoulders eased slightly when you turned and caught his eye. You waved at him, bright and unapologetic. He shook his head, but his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile.
When you finally crossed the lot to join him, Scott straightened immediately, arms uncrossing as if to make room for you. You slipped easily under his arm, your hand finding its way to his chest.
“Did you eat?” you asked, tilting your head up at him.
“Yeah,” he muttered, though Kate noticed how his voice softened in a way she hadn’t heard before. “You?”
“Half a burger.” You grinned. “Baby’s been hogging all the space.”
Scott huffed out a laugh—an actual laugh—and pressed a quick kiss to your temple before glancing down at your belly. “Figures.”
Kate stared. She couldn’t reconcile it. This was the same Scott who, hours earlier, had snapped at her to recalibrate the radar faster, who hadn’t cracked a single joke since she joined the team. And yet here he was, letting you tease him, letting you lean into him, letting his edges soften like it was second nature.
When you looked over and caught Kate staring, you smiled wide and waved her over. “You must be Kate! I’ve heard about you. Come on, tell me everything. How’s Scott as a boss? Brutal?”
Scott groaned under his breath. “Don’t encourage her.”
Kate couldn’t help it, she laughed. “Oh, I think she already knows the answer to that.”
You winked. “Oh, I know. I just like hearing it from someone else.”
-
Tyler Owens’ trucks came skidding into the lot like they were pulling up for a rock concert instead of storm chasing. His crew piled out—laughing, loud, hyped up on adrenaline and caffeine. Tyler himself hopped down from the driver’s seat, sunglasses on even though the sun was dipping low, grin as wide as the horizon.
You were sitting on the tailgate of Javi’s truck, sipping water and stretching your legs. Overalls on, hair a bit windswept, hand absently resting on your belly. You didn’t think much of the new arrivals—until Tyler’s eyes landed on you.
“Well, hello there,” he drawled, striding over with all the confidence of a man who had never once been told no. “Didn’t realize this town came with its own welcome wagon.”
You blinked at him, caught off guard. “Uh… what?”
He leaned one arm against the truck beside you, giving you his best smolder. “Local girl, right? Figured someone as gorgeous as you wouldn’t let us outsiders just blow through without saying hi.”
For a beat, you just stared. Then you glanced down at yourself—at your very obvious baby bump pressing against your overalls—and then back at him. Surely he had to notice.
“…I’m pregnant,” you said, deadpan.
That only made Tyler’s grin widen. “Hey, I don’t discriminate. Beautiful is beautiful.”
Before you could come up with a response—because your brain had short-circuited at the sheer audacity—you noticed the sudden drop in temperature around you. Not from the weather. From the shadow that fell across both of you.
Scott.
He was standing there, arms crossed, jaw set, looking every inch the brooding storm chaser who’d sooner wrestle a tornado barehanded than let Tyler Owens breathe the same air as you. He didn’t say anything at first—just stared at Tyler with an intensity that made even Tyler falter.
“Uh…” Tyler cleared his throat, shifting slightly under the weight of that glare. “So, uh, this your…?”
“My wife,” Scott said flatly.
The words landed like a thunderclap.
Your lips twitched, fighting a laugh at the way Tyler actually leaned back, like the revelation had physically shoved him. “Wife,” he repeated, the cocky edge in his voice wobbling.
Scott stepped closer, close enough that Tyler had to crane his neck to keep eye contact. He was taller, broader, radiating a quiet, simmering possessiveness that said more than any threat could. “She’s not a local. She’s not interested. And if you ever so much as look at her again like that, I’ll—”
“—buy me a coffee and call it even?” Tyler cut in quickly, his grin snapping back on, though it wavered under Scott’s glare. “Got it. Loud and clear, big guy. Congratulations on the kid.”
With that, he backed away fast, practically jogging to rejoin his crew.
Scott exhaled slowly through his nose, his arm sliding automatically around your shoulders, drawing you into his side. You could feel the tension humming through him, the possessiveness that had spiked the second he’d seen Tyler lean in.
“You okay?” he asked you quietly, his thumb brushing over your arm.
You tilted your head up at him, fighting a smile. “I think I should be asking you that. You looked about ready to flatten him.”
Scott didn’t deny it. His eyes still tracked Tyler across the lot, like he half-expected the man to circle back. “He’s lucky he stopped when he did.”
You snorted, nudging him. “Scott Miller, storm chaser, baby-on-board bodyguard.”
His mouth twitched, almost a smile, but he shook his head. “Not funny.”
“It’s a little funny,” you teased.
“Not funny,” he insisted again, though his arm tightened around you as he steered you back toward the SUV. “And for the record, you’re not talking to him again.”
You laughed outright at that. “Jealous much?”
Scott didn’t answer, but the glare he shot Tyler’s way spoke volumes.
-
The diner lot had transformed into chaos. Radios crackled, gear clanged, engines roared to life—StormPar in full launch mode. The radar lit up with a cell just a few miles west, and Scott was in his element, pacing between vehicles like a general on the battlefield, barking orders with that clipped, no-nonsense tone.
He was so focused, so commanding, that you knew now was your moment.
While Scott stalked toward his SUV, you casually strolled in the opposite direction, aiming for one of the trucks. You even whistled innocently as you went, like you were just stretching your legs. Nobody questioned it; they were too busy scrambling.
You swung the door open, grinning as you climbed—well, waddled—into the passenger seat. The bump made it a bit awkward, but you got there, strapping yourself in like you belonged.
“Perfect,” you murmured. “Front-row seat to science.”
“Alright, Mike, you’re with me! Javi, take the east road with—” Scott turned, scanning the line of vehicles, and his words died mid-sentence.
Because there you were. Sitting like a queen on her throne, buckled in, already reaching for the glovebox like you belonged there.
For a second, Scott just… stared. His jaw worked, no sound coming out. Then his face went red, ears and all, and he stormed across the lot like a thunderhead about to burst.
Unfortunately, you’d barely started rummaging the glovebox for snacks before the shadow fell across the window. A very large shadow.
You froze. Slowly, you turned your head.
Scott.
He stood outside the truck, arms folded, jaw clenched so tight you were surprised his molars didn’t shatter. The vein in his temple pulsed like it had its own heartbeat.
“…hi, honey,” you said sweetly, giving him your best innocent smile.
“What,” he bit out, yanking the door open so hard it nearly swung off its hinges, “do you think you’re doing?”
You batted your eyelashes at him. “Going storm chasing, obviously. Thought I’d keep you company.”
“Absolutely not.” His voice jumped an octave, his hand braced on the frame of the door. “Out. Now.”
“But Scotty…” you whined, patting your bump for emphasis. “Baby and I want adventure. We can’t just sit around eating diner pie all day.”
Scott pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something that sounded a lot like blood pressure, through the roof, gonna kill me early. He reached for your seatbelt, being very careful with your baby bump.
“Oh, come on,” you pleaded, clinging dramatically to the seatbelt. “I just want to observe!”
Scott unbuckled you with one swift, practiced motion. “You are not observing anything except the Weather Channel in a safe, stationary building.”
Then he leaned in, practically scooping you under the arms like you weighed nothing at all.
You squealed dramatically as he hauled you out of the seat. “Scott! You can’t just manhandle a pregnant woman!”
“Watch me,” he gritted, setting you down firmly on the gravel.
“Scott—!”
“No.” He crouched slightly so you couldn’t miss the fire in his eyes. “You think this is funny? That storm could eat this town in ten minutes. You are pregnant. You are not stepping foot in a chase vehicle.”
You crossed your arms, sticking your chin out. “So you’re saying I can’t come.”
“I’m saying you absolutely cannot come,” he snapped, exasperated. “Not now, not later, not ever. End of discussion.”
“Wow.” You gasped theatrically. “My husband, the tyrant. Crushing my dreams of scientific discovery.”
Scott pinched the bridge of his nose like he was begging some higher power for patience. Behind him, Javi and Kate were openly watching, biting back grins.
“Don’t encourage her!” Scott barked at them without looking.
“I wasn’t,” Javi deadpanned, though his shoulders shook.
Kate muttered, “I mean, points for effort,” earning herself a death glare.
You smirked up at Scott, deliberately baiting him. “You know, I read somewhere that stress is bad for pregnant women. Maybe if you just let me come along, my blood pressure would be lower.”
Scott groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re going to be the death of me.” He jabbed a finger at you. “Inside. Motel. Now. Or so help me, I’ll tie you to the bedpost.”
Your eyes widened. “Kinky threat. Noted.”
He choked, sputtering, and you laughed all the way back to the motel while the rest of StormPar looked like they might collapse trying not to laugh themselves.
Behind you, you heard Javi mutter to Scott, “You’re doomed.”
And Scott’s immediate snarl, “Shut it!”
-
The convoy thundered down a back road, dust pluming behind the tires, storm clouds rolling like bruises overhead. Radios chattered, Javi rattled off radar readings from the passenger seat, but Scott’s grip on the wheel was… murderous. Knuckles white, jaw set, every tendon in his forearm straining.
Javi glanced sideways, waiting. Scott didn’t say anything for a solid thirty seconds, and then it all came out like a dam breaking.
“She’s doing it on purpose,” he growled, eyes fixed on the road. “She knows she can’t come with us. She knows how dangerous this is. And what does she do? Sneaks into the damn truck. Straps herself in like she’s about to go joyriding into a tornado. Do you know what that did to my blood pressure?!”
Javi, ever calm, just marked something on the tablet. “Oh, absolutely. She’s doing it on purpose.”
Scott snapped his head toward him. “Thank you! Finally, someone sees it. She’s baiting me, I swear.” He swung the truck around a bend, tires spitting gravel. “She sits there with that little smile, acting like she’s innocent, but I know. I know she’s laughing in her head.”
“She was laughing out loud, actually,” Javi corrected smoothly.
Scott’s nostrils flared. “Exactly. She thinks it’s funny. She—she actually accused me of being a tyrant! In front of the whole team!”
“Mm-hmm.” Javi didn’t look up from the radar.
“And then—” Scott’s voice pitched higher, halfway between outrage and disbelief. “Then she said I was being kinky! Kinky, Javi!”
That was too much. Javi slapped a hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking.
Scott glared. “Don’t you dare laugh.”
Javi failed spectacularly, snorting into his hand. “You—pfft—you’re killing me, man.”
Scott groaned and thumped the steering wheel. “This isn’t funny. I can’t—I cannot chase storms and babysit my pregnant wife at the same time. She’s gonna give me a heart attack before the baby even gets here.”
“Mm,” Javi said, finally pulling himself together, still smiling. “Or maybe she just missed you so much she’d rather risk tornadoes than be away from you.”
Scott opened his mouth to argue. Closed it. Swore under his breath. His ears went red.
Javi smirked knowingly, jotting down another reading. “Thought so.”
Scott muttered, “She’s still never getting near a chase vehicle again.”
The storm had burned itself out by the time StormPar rolled back into town, their convoy pulling into the motel lot like a caravan of the world’s most exhausted warriors. Engines cut off one by one, doors slammed, boots scuffed over gravel. Everyone looked wrecked—windblown, damp, hair sticking in odd directions from hours of chasing down dirt roads.
Scott was the last to climb out of his truck. He rolled his shoulders, exhaustion pressing into him like a weight, but his mind was already on one thing: you.
He walked the narrow hall to your room, keyed open the door, and—
His chest tightened.
There you were, sprawled in the middle of the motel bed like you owned the place, hair mussed from napping, a paperback open but forgotten at your side. Your overalls were unbuttoned at the top for comfort, your baby bump rounding the thin motel blanket. The lamp cast you in warm light, softening the edges of a day that had been nothing but chaos.
You looked up when the door clicked, your face brightening instantly. “Scott!”
You shoved the book aside, bracing your hands to push yourself up—but the bump got in the way. You rolled once, twice, tried to leverage a pillow. Nothing. You made a sound halfway between a grunt and a growl. “Oh, come on—”
Scott leaned against the doorframe, biting back a laugh as he watched you struggle like a turtle flipped on its back. His lips twitched, and then the chuckle slipped out before he could stop it.
You froze, glaring at him. “Don’t laugh at me.”
“I’m not,” he lied, voice rough with fatigue but warm with amusement. “I swear I’m not.” Another laugh broke free. “Okay, maybe a little.”
“Scott Miller,” you huffed, flopping dramatically back onto the mattress, “you’re supposed to help your poor, immobile wife. Not stand there laughing at her suffering.”
He pushed off the frame and crossed to you, that faint smile lingering as he sat on the edge of the bed. “You’re not suffering,” he said gently, slipping a hand under your back to help ease you upright. “You’re just… adorable.”
Your eyes narrowed, suspicious. “Adorable?”
Scott bent down, pressed a kiss to your temple, then another to your bump. “Yeah. Adorable.” His voice softened even more. “And mine.”
You melted into him, arms circling his neck. “Fine. You’re forgiven. But only because you look like you’ve been wrestling with tornadoes all day.”
“Funny,” he murmured against your hair. “That’s exactly what I’ve been doing.”
When you finally managed to sit upright, he stayed close, one hand absently rubbing over your bump, the other tugging you against his side. For the first time all day, his shoulders loosened.
“Stay put,” he ordered softly, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “I’ll get cleaned up and then come back. Don’t you dare try sneaking into a truck again.”
Being in love with Scott Miller isn’t for the faint of heart — especially when you have to watch him fall for someone else.
▸ PAIRING & WC: Scott Miller x F!Reader — 2.6K
▸ WARNINGS: Implied sex (no graphic descriptions), fwb to lovers, idiots in love, un-unrequited love basically, hurt/comfort
▸ A/N: first actual scott fic i wrote (and with plot!), pls go easy on me. thank you dear shay @lunexiax for giving me this opportunity to finally test him out <3 if you see similarities in the miscomm between this and right to love, no you didnt (jk i outlined for that one and thought the vibes would kinda fit scott too). more scott to come!!!
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Scott Miller is not the kind of guy you marry — hell, he’s not even the kind of guy you date. The closest he’ll ever get to wedlock is his marriage with his job. For as long as you can remember, he’s always been the numbers guy. Calculating the probability of success and conducting risk analyses to see if something is worth the effort.
With you, he has determined from day one that, while your friendship is worth investing in, a real relationship with you is not.
Scott is your best friend, your partner-in-crime. The two of you have been glued to each other’s sides for as long as you can remember. He’s a few years older than you and you grew up chasing after his footsteps, and he never seemed to mind. You never curbed that habit.
Not when you ended up graduating from the same university, with a major that complemented his future career. Not when you recruited for StormPAR because he was leading investor relations there. Not when you decided to pack up your life and move to the midwest to chase tornadoes.
In the first week of your three-month research project for the new sensors, you and Scott had a little too much to drink. One kiss led to another and suddenly you’re falling into bed with him.
Scott hesitates initially, his words about how relationships and women are a pain echo in your mind — so you find yourself blurting out we can keep this simple, no strings.
He only grunts in agreement before he slides into you. His mouth is hot, distracting, and the unsaid agreement is signed with the burning ache between your legs.
So you buried your feelings, swallowed your ego, and took what he could give you.
Because, for Scott, you’ll eat the crumbs if it means you get to keep the taste of him on your tongue.
It should be fine — this arrangement. You get him and he gets company every night, particularly when you’re in the middle of nowhere surrounded by crazy weather fanatics. Theoretically, it should be fine.
But you never expected the addition of a new variable — Kate.
Kate is… perfect. She’s gorgeous, sweet, and terribly smart. Within days of joining the team, she’s leading them to the greatest tornadoes, giving them the opportunity to collect prime data they’ve never been able to capture. She’s quick as a whip and she seems to get along with everyone — whether it’s the prissy, uptight StormPAR guys or the wild, free-flying tornado enthusiasts.
Once again, it should be fine, except you’ve never seen Scott so bothered by someone. She’s different, you can see it. The way he watches her, frowns at her. He calls her dandelion. You’ve always only had your name, he’s never had a cute pet name for you. You can’t help but wonder what he thinks about when he sees her.
If she is what he sees now when he fucks you. Even when you’re in bed with him, his mind is sometimes far away. He absentmindedly traces your bare shoulder, keeping you close even if his attention seems elsewhere.
You can’t watch him be silently enamored with someone else so you start leaving at the end of the night.
He doesn’t stop you.
One day, when your friend tells you about an opening for a data analyst position, you entertain it — even if it means you have to move to New York.
Because, while you love Scott, you also can’t bear to watch him fall for someone who isn’t you.
As you’re leaving his room one night, he finally stops you. He’s still naked in his bed, sheets pooled around his hips, as he catches your hand. The look on his face is indifferent when he asks you why you don’t stay; he is asking out of curiosity, not out of desire.
You’re shrugging on your shirt, back turned towards him. “I have to get up early tomorrow. I’ve got an interview.”
Maybe you shouldn’t have revealed that, but you’re exhausted and the honest answer slips.
“An interview? With who? For what?” He sounds more alert now.
“Just a job.”
“You’ve already got a job,” Scott presses, forcing you to face him with a tug of his hand. His brows are furrowed.
“I don’t know. I might want to try something different.”
He blinks at you for a moment, gears turning in his mind. “Something different,” he echoes slowly.
“It’s not a big deal,” you brush him off, “I don’t even know if I’ll get it. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”
Scott, again, doesn’t say a word.
It seems so… easy for him to let you go. You know it isn’t on him to love you the same way you do him; that’s not a fair ask. But you also have enough pride to know when to take a step back.
Creating physical distance is not the challenging part; it’s dealing with the emotional toll. Every time you have to avoid your silently-designated spot next to him at bars or how you opt to take Javy’s car instead of his, a piece of your frail heart chips away. You don’t come over uninvited anymore, instead sliding under your own covers for the first time in weeks.
Scott’s not a fool. Of course, he notices but he still doesn’t say anything.
On the other hand, he actually starts talking more with Kate, private chats in the corner of a bar or early mornings over coffee. Sometimes his gaze would flick over to you, harden, and ultimately return to her. That used to be you, but you left that space empty for someone else to fill.
Then you finally get the call.
“I got the job,” you tell him quietly that night.
You told yourself this would be the last time. One last night with him before — for the first time in your life — you allow your paths to diverge. Scott in Oklahoma, you in New York.
The two of you are side by side in bed, you’ve slipped on his t-shirt, drowning in the cotton and his familiar storm-stained scent. You allow yourself to indulge in your last night.
Scott doesn’t look at you, his eyes zeroed in on the blank television screen of the crappy motel room. “Do you want it?”
No, no, you don’t. You want to stay here — with him and the rest of the team. But this is also a great opportunity, both for your career and the survival of your heart. “I think so.”
He whips around to face you, eyes flashing with what you think is irritation. “You think so? You’re not even sure?”
“Well, it’s a big jump, but I might take it,” you swallow.
“You shouldn’t do it unless you’re absolutely sure.”
You roll your eyes at him. “I’m never absolutely sure about anything.” Except for the fact that I’m in love with you and that it would destroy me if I stay and watch you fall in love with Kate.
“Then don’t go. Stay here.”
His words are cold and stiff. It’s calculated. You are an asset to the team. It would be a pain to hire a new analyst in the middle of tornado season and get them fully trained to do what you do. Maybe you could stay just another month until all this is over, maybe you can get them to postpone your start date.
But could you really do it? Could you stand by the sidelines and swallow your feelings long enough to last until the bitter end?
Sighing, you know your answer. “I’m not going to lie. I don’t think I can do this anymore. I don’t think I can be here anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
It’s now or never. If you’re leaving anyway, you might as well confront him — if you can’t have him, then at least Kate could.
“I’m not stupid, you know. I can see it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re in love.”
The pin-drop silence that ensues is deafening. Your heart thunders against your eardrums; you can hear the hitch of his breath.
“I’m not—” he stops himself, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
With a deep sigh, you extract yourself from his side. Your fingers pick at the worn linen. “I’ve never seen you like this before, Scott. And listen, I get it if you want to end all this, whatever we’re doing.” He frowns. “Kate is wonderful, so I understand.”
Scott’s furrow only deepens. “What the hell are you going on about?”
“You and Kate,” you say, tongue heavy like lead in your mouth. “You guys make a good pair. I’m happy it’s working out, but I just can’t be here to watch that happen so I’m going to take the offer and move to New York. I know it’s tough to replace my work during this time, I’ll try and stay until the end of the season, but afterwards—”
“Fuck that,” he snaps, “like hell you’re leaving. What do you mean you can’t be here anymore? What are you going on about with Kate?”
Maybe he thinks you’re badmouthing her. “She’s great! I’m happy for you. I’m just—” your chest constricts. “I’m in love with you. Shit. I’ve been in love with you, Scott. I can’t do this no-strings thing anymore. I thought I could take it, whatever scraps you’ll let me have, but I can’t. Especially not when you’re falling for someone else.”
Scott pinches the bridge of his nose and he looks more than pissed off as he looks at you. “Who said anything about falling for someone else? Also, you’re in love with me? Since when?”
A groan slips past your lips. “This is so humiliating. Can we drop it?”
“Oh, no, you started this, so you answer my question. Since when have you been in love with me?”
“Forever! Fucking forever alright. Is that what you want to hear?” You grumble, “I was in love with you before… this even started.”
You see his tongue press against the inside of his cheek, his blue eyes sharp. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you’re my friend, Scott.”
“Apparently not if you didn’t fucking tell me,” he glares.
“Would it have changed anything?”
Disbelief colors his face. “It would’ve changed everything. Are you kidding me? You’ve been in love with me all this time and you didn’t tell me?”
Is the thought of you loving him really that repulsive? He’s got his hands balled into fists on the sheets, jaw clenched like he would rather be anywhere but here. While the possibility of him rejecting you has always crossed your mind, you didn’t think that he would have this visceral a reaction. Gone are your chances of maintaining a cordial relationship after you leave.
He’s right. This changes everything.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “I shouldn’t have—” your breath snags in your throat again, your eyes sting with unshed tears. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t want this to change anything between us. We’ll stay friends.”
“We can’t stay friends,” he scowls. Your heart sinks.
You press the heel of your palms against your eyes, praying the tears away. The last thing you want to do is cry in front of him. “I can’t— I’m gonna go. I need to—”
“No, you’re staying right here so I can kiss some fucking sense into you.”
For a second, you can’t hear past the rushing in your ears, the frantic urge to leave. But when his words settle in and your brain slowly digests each individual syllable, you pull your wet hands away from your eyes. Scott swallows thickly when he sees your face.
“You think what — that I was in love with Kate?” He scoffs but there’s no weight to his words. He almost sounds weak. “What gave you that idea?”
You balk at him. It’s your turn to be confused. “You— you’re literally always watching her! You call her dandelion for god’s’ sake! Who gets a cute nickname like that?”
“That’s because I’m bad with names! You know this. You know me. It took me a while to remember her name — and I keep watching her because she’s like this little circus freak. Who the hell guesses storms by looking at goddamn flowers?”
You open your mouth, then promptly shut it again. Speechless.
“And that job? I can’t fucking believe you even thought about leaving. Leaving all this. Leaving me. You know damn well I’d never let that happen. If you really wanted it — and you were leaving for yourself, then sure, do it, but you’re out of your mind if you don’t think I’ll be following you to the ends of the earth.”
Your lungs stutter against your ribs. “What?”
Scott turns to face you, hands sliding up to cup the back of your neck. He forces you to look at him. To really look at him. “I’m in love with you. I’ve been fucking in love with you.”
You feel the desert in your throat when you croak out, “Since when?”
“Forever.”
“Why didn’t you tell me then?”
“You were the one who said you wanted to keep it no strings! I thought you didn’t want to date.”
“That’s because you’re always going on and on about how women and relationships are a pain!”
Scott lets out a frustrated breath, as if you’re the fool in this situation. “Except when it comes to you! Jesus, you’re never a pain. You’re the best part of my day. I think about you all the goddamn time. Sometimes, I want you to stop doing this tornado chasing thing because it’s dangerous and I want you in a safe fucking bubble where nobody, nothing can touch you. But you’re passionate and I fucking love that and I fucking love you.”
“But you— what— this can’t be happening.”
“You’re a goddamn idiot.”
Your lips press together. “You love me and you’re calling me a goddamn idiot? Really?”
“That’s because you are. Fuck. I can’t believe I wasted all this time. I can’t believe I even let you take that interview,” Scott grouses, mostly to himself. “I need you to get it through your thick skull that I don’t want anyone else. It’s always been you. You think I’d let anyone tail me around like you did?”
A pinched pout forms on your lips, mostly to stop yourself from crumbling. “I just thought you felt bad for me.”
“You somehow managed to be the smartest person on this team and the biggest idiot,” he mumbles. “I love you. I’m not letting you out of my sight, you hear me. Need you in my car every day. Next to me every time we go out. I need you in my bed every night and I don’t want you leaving either. We’ll share one room from now on.”
You sniffle, “That’s very fiscally responsible of you.”
Scott chuckles, “Well, I’ll take any excuse to keep you next to me. Can’t have you getting bored with me.”
“Please,” you roll your eyes with a smile, “if we’ve survived this long without getting sick of each other, what’s forever, right?”
The reality of what you’ve just said slams into you like a truck. Heat floods your insides.
“I mean—”
“Is that a proposal?” He smirks. Before you can dig a bigger hole for yourself, Scott leans over and presses his lips against yours.
Sweet, slow, steady.
“Because I’ve got a ring with your name on it back at home. I’ve been itching for a reason to finally take it out.”
“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, cheeks warm.
“Yeah, well, you love me anyway.”
That, you can’t deny.
+ sam: you know how excited i was to write this and i hope it didnt disappoint. ily queen thank you for always matching my freak and my yap mwah!!
scott is yearning for (taglist): @unabashedlyinlovewithyou @eiaf4uwn @thebabykashmere @nbhrhn @w1nchesterfiles @ae1szn @pinksplace @stanmarvelous @coffinlolz
summary: it’s been this way since college—you drink, get drunk, you fight, and then you fuck. and now you’re chasing storms in rival crews, slipping in and out of motel rooms between tornado sirens, swearing every morning after that this time was the last time. but denial gets heavier, tyler gets suspicious, and jealousy hits harder than any storm. and suddenly you’re realising… maybe it was never just sex. (based on this song)
notes: this took so long and it turned into a character study, but oh my goodness, i love it so much. i honestly love this man, this character, with all my heart and writing this was so much fun. you have no idea! i'm sorry it's so long but please give it a chance, it's probably my favourite thing i've written??? and as always, please let me know what you think! (i also made a whole playlist)
warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, italics, mentions of drunk sex, lots of tension and banter, lots of denial, jealousy, a little angst, some likely incorrect storm science (and a lot of lines stolen directly from both twister movies), lots of arguing, it gets a lil dramatic (but in a good way), and SMUT (making out, dirty-ish talk, unprotected p in v, and kind of rough? also don't come for me if some parts get repetitive, smut is hard) 18+ ONLY MDNI!!!
word count: 16668 (28087)
‧₊˚✧ PART TWO ‧₊˚✧
You’ve seen this before.
Your black dress lying on the floor. A few feet away, a white shirt. Pants. Boxers. Definitely not yours.
Your lashes flutter, eyes slowly adjusting to the stream of sunlight spilling through the crack in the curtains, painting the room in warm golden hues of morning—
Shit.
You roll over—and of course, he’s there. Arm slung across your waist, legs tangled with yours, his body taking up more of the bed than you’d normally ever allow a sleeping partner to occupy. His lashes rest dark against his cheeks, a smattering of freckles dusted across the bridge of his nose, full lips parted just slightly as he breathes steady and slow. He’s so pretty—almost unfairly so—but that doesn’t make you want to kick him out any less.
“Scott,” you hiss, tapping his cheek. “Wake the fuck up and get the fuck out.”
He stirs, brow furrowing as he mumbles something low and incoherent.
“Scott, I am so serious right now, it’s like—” You reach for your phone on the nightstand, tapping the screen to light it up. The time flashes back at you, and your stomach drops. You bolt upright. “It’s seven o’clock! You need to get the fuck out of here before my crew start waking up.”
He groans and rolls onto his back, lashes fluttering as his eyes blink against the morning light. “Yeah, ‘m awake.”
The gravel in his voice first thing in the morning always makes your heart stutter. It's ridiculous—really—that a man so irritating, so endlessly infuriating, can be this sexy without even trying. Which is exactly why you don’t blame yourself for giving in. To him. His stupidly sharp wit. His stupid blue eyes. That stupidly talented tongue that never fails to—
“Thinking about round two?” he asks, lips curved into a sleepy smirk.
You roll your eyes and turn away, planting your feet firmly on the grey motel carpet. “Pretty sure we’re well past round two after last night—but for the record? No. I’m actually thinking about the exact opposite.”
The mattress dips as he sits up. “Yeah? And what’s the exact opposite of another round of back-breaking sex?”
“The fact that it’s never going to happen again,” you say, standing and turning to face him. “Ever.”
His brows lift, lips still curled into that smirk. “Ever?”
Your eyes narrow. “Never.”
“Heard that before,” he chuckles, swinging his legs off the bed and stretching his arms out wide.
“Yeah, well—” you pick up his shirt and toss it at him, “—this time I mean it.”
“Said you meant it last time too.” He glances over his shoulder, eyes sparkling—and God, you can’t decide if you want to punch him or kiss him.
“Just get dressed and get out,” you mutter, bending down to scoop up his boxers.
It isn’t long before he’s fully dressed, StormPAR printed across the left side of his chest and a smudge of your mascara staining the collar. He slips his shoes on—doesn’t bother lacing them—sets his cap on his head, and heads for the door, where you’re waiting with your arms crossed.
“Tomorrow night, then?” he asks, hand on the doorknob, lips twitching.
You give him a flat look. “Funny.”
“Oh, I’m not being funny.”
Before you can fire back, he steps in close, fingers catching on the hem of your shirt. He tugs—just enough to pull you off balance—and then his mouth is on yours. Slow, deep, unhurried. The kind of kiss that makes your knees threaten to buckle. The kind of kiss that says he knows exactly what he’s doing.
When he finally pulls back, he chuckles—soft and low and infuriating. Then he’s gone, leaving you alone in the old motel room that smells like sex and mothballs, pulse racing, glaring at the door like it’s the problem.
But it’s not. And neither are you. It’s him—always him. Every time. He’s impossible. Insufferable. With that flat scowl that seems permanently carved into his face, those ridiculously broad shoulders that never seem to relax, and the way his eyes can pin you across any bar, any tavern, any crowded room like you’re the only thing worth looking at.
It’s like déjà vu.
The same damn pattern on repeat.
You drink, you get drunk, you fight—and then you fuck.
Every. Single. Time.
It started back in college. You first spotted him across the lecture hall—head and shoulders above the rest, dark hair catching the sunlight streaming in through the tall windows, blue eyes sharp as they scanned the room. He looked like he was on his way to audition for Superman, not sit through a lecture about the physics of oceanic and atmospheric circulation. There was something about him, something impossible to ignore—something that made your pulse skip and your stomach flip.
Needless to say, you thought he was gorgeous. You fell for it. Obviously. Who wouldn’t?
But that was before he opened his mouth.
He kept to himself mostly, always quiet and serious, never wasting words unless the professor called on him. But with you? It was different. From the moment you first spoke, he was on the attack—nitpicking your storm-tracking analysis, insisting your projections were sloppy. And when you snapped back, he gave you this smirk—small, sharp, knowing. Like he knew exactly how to get under your skin. And maybe he did. Because Scott wasn’t like that with anyone else. To the rest of the world, he was just grumpy, closed-off Scott. With you, though, he was cocky, quick, infuriatingly sure of himself. Like he saw something in you that no one else did, and enjoyed poking at it just to watch you light up.
Maybe that’s why you fell into the rhythm so easily. It had nothing to do with you, not really—it was him, always him, pushing, prodding, picking fights just so he could be the one to watch you burn. That’s why every party turned into another argument, another kiss, another night. Why every time a drop of liquor touched your tongue, you ended up flat on your back with Scott on top of you. Because he always managed to draw that side of you out—the one that wanted to prove him wrong, even when it meant proving him right in all the worst ways.
After college, you thought you’d broken the curse—that you’d finally escaped whatever time loop kept you falling into bed with him. But then StormPAR showed up one tornado season, and just like that, you were right back where you started. Under him. On top of him. In the shower, on the couch, the kitchen counter, sometimes even in the bar bathroom. All his fault. Obviously. But now you have to be careful, discreet, because the last thing you need is your team finding out that you’re sleeping with the enemy.
Not that it’s happening again. Ever. Last night was the last time—you're sure of that. You mean it this time. You have to. You’re not going to let him get to you ever again. You can’t.
“Don’t you look chipper this morning,” Tyler says, grinning like hangovers are a myth he’s never believed in.
You shoot him a look. “How are you not hungover?”
He shrugs. “Years of practice. Healthy liver. Oh—and I wasn’t the one chasing tequila with… more tequila.”
You roll your eyes, even though it makes your skull throb, and turn toward the self-serve coffee machine. The rest of the group are crowded around a table in the middle of the dining hall—all except Boone, who is busy loading his plate with everything the continental breakfast has to offer. He always gets excited when you stay at a motel with complimentary breakfast.
“I’m surprised you were up so early,” Tyler says, leaning a hip against the counter.
You frown. “Early? It’s almost ten.”
He shakes his head. “No—earlier. I heard you moving around at, like, seven.”
Your stomach drops, but you keep your eyes fixed on the coffee machine. Usually you’re more careful than that—if your motel room is too close to someone else’s, you’ll go back to wherever Scott is staying. Or find somewhere in between. But you’d completely forgotten Tyler’s room was directly below yours—which means he probably heard a whole lot more than just footsteps at seven o’clock this morning.
“Oh, yeah,” you mutter. “I—uh, I ran out of toilet paper and had to go down to the front desk.”
He nods, slow and sceptical. “Right. Toilet paper.”
You bounce your heel impatiently while you wait for the coffee to fill your mug. Tyler doesn’t say anything else. He just stands there, waiting, sipping his own coffee like he’s got nothing better to do than silently interrogate you.
When your mug finally fills, you scoop it up and turn toward the table where the others are—desperate for a conversation that doesn’t make you want to throw up... more than you already do.
“Hey.” You drop into the empty seat between Lily and Javi. “How are you guys this morning?”
Kate, Dani, and Dexter are already deep in conversation about today’s chase, but it’s still way too early for you to start thinking about wind shear and hodographs.
“I’m great,” Lily says, smiling. “How are you?”
You exhale slowly and lean back in your chair. “I’ve been better.”
Javi chuckles. “Not gonna lie, I’m impressed you’re even out of bed.”
“Me too,” you mutter into your mug, sipping carefully so you don’t upset your stomach.
There’s a pause—a brief lull where Kate’s voice suddenly carries louder than it should, chatting excitedly about a monster cell forming over the plains.
Then Javi turns to you, amusement still bright on his face. “You and Scott were really going at it last night, huh?”
You choke. On nothing. Not coffee or spit or air. You just choke—breath catching, chest seizing, throat tight.
“Woah.” Lily lays a hand on your shoulder. “Are you okay?”
You cough into your hand, haphazardly setting your mug on the table as you try to breathe. “‘m good,” you manage, waving a hand dismissively. “I—I’m okay. Just—wrong pipe.”
You swallow hard and clear your throat—even though there’s nothing to clear—before turning to Javi, brows drawn tight. “Uh, what do you mean, Scott and—and me?”
He tilts his head. “Last night, at the bar. I mean, I’ve seen you two fight before, but that was—wow.”
You exhale softly, shoulders sagging as relief washes over you. “Right. At the bar. Yeah, it was... intense.”
He’s not wrong. Last night’s argument was pretty bad—but last night’s sex? That was something else entirely. You wouldn’t be surprised if the whole motel had heard you come that third time.
“Why are Scott and his crew even back this season?” Kate pipes up from across the table. “I thought they’d be hiding with their tails between their legs after what happened last year.”
“They're not working with Riggs anymore,” you say, picking up your mug and taking a short sip. “They've got new investors, new funding streams. They're refocusing their whole mission—like, actually doing legit work now. Scott’s got them running tighter sorties, logging wind shear and convective parameters with insane precision. Most of them are still MIT-level assholes, yeah. But they’ve got the equipment, the drones, the timing… they’re terrifyingly efficient. And somehow Scott’s still running interference like it’s a game.”
Silence. The whole team exchanges curious glances.
Javi leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “And exactly how do you know all that?”
You hesitate, holding your mug to your lips for a beat too long before swallowing slow. “I—uh, I spoke to one of them the other night. Don’t remember his name, but he was telling me... stuff.”
Kate frowns. “Stuff?”
Dani leans in. “You had a conversation with someone from StormPAR without yelling, shouting, or throwing drinks?”
You roll your eyes. “Come on, I’m not that bad.”
She winces. “You kind of are, though.”
Your eyes widen. “Well, I’m not violent, at least.”
Javi chuckles. “Pretty sure I heard you tell Scott he wouldn’t be able to walk straight once you were done with him.”
Heat floods your cheeks, and you have to hide behind a generous sip of coffee.
“Not violent, my ass,” Boone says, grinning over his three full plates of food. “I bet you’d throw hands with that StormPAR poser if he wasn’t two feet taller than the average person.”
You don’t know what to say to that, so you just laugh—short, clipped, awkward—and keep your mug at your chin.
Thankfully, the conversation moves on quickly. Kate starts wondering aloud whether StormPAR will be after the same cell as your team today, and soon everyone is talking about the weekend chase. It’s supposed to be a strong couple of days, which is good. You could use the distraction—and so could Tyler. Because right now he’s looking at you across the table with narrowed eyes and a small frown that makes you think he knows more than you’d like him to.
After breakfast, everyone gathers their things and piles into the two vehicles. Dani, Dexter, Lily, and Javi take the RV—Lily and Javi settling in the back with their laptops to monitor live data. Which means you’re in Tyler's truck with Kate and Boone in the back. You don’t always ride up front, but today, Tyler insisted.
It isn’t long before rain starts hitting the windscreen in rolling sheets. The whistle of the wind grows louder outside, and you can see Tyler’s knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. This is when the adrenaline starts to kick in—when the clouds drop low and the sky turns a bruise-dark shade of purple and grey.
Kate snatches up the radio, holding it to her chin. “Talk to me, Javi. Where are we headed?”
The radio crackles before Javi’s voice cuts in. “East-northeast. Storm’s picking up rotation—you’ve got maybe ten minutes before it tightens. Stay on thirty-six, then cut north at the county road.”
“Copy that,” Kate says.
“Hold on,” Tyler barks suddenly.
The truck jolts through a flooded dip in the road, and you quickly brace yourself against the dash.
“Shit.” You squint through the rain-streaked glass. “Is that StormPAR?”
Tyler leans forward, eyes narrowed. “Looks like it. How the hell did they get ahead of us?”
“No idea.”
In the back seat, Boone whoops at a streak of lightning splitting the horizon, while Kate’s got her nose buried in the laptop balanced on her knees. “Shear’s climbing. We’re threading a needle here,” she warns, eyes flicking between graphs and radar.
Tyler grins, wide and wild. “Hell of a morning commute.”
Another burst of static crackles through the radio, voices bleeding over one another as the RV crew calls updates and warnings. When you finally hit the county road, Tyler yanks the truck northward, cutting through a field of tall grass toward the building storm.
You glance over your shoulder at Kate. “How big is it supposed to get?”
“Initially I had it pegged at an EF-1,” she says. “But the velocity’s climbing—it could be an EF-2 if we’re lucky.”
You turn back to face the front, hand flying up to grip the ‘oh shit’ handle above the door. “Looks like an EF-2 to me. Let’s get in there before StormPAR.”
“Atta girl!” Tyler exclaims, slamming his foot down on the gas.
The truck lurches, Boone cheers, and Kate grumbles something about how Tyler better not kill you all before you even make it to the tornado. You glance in the side-view mirror and spot the white StormPAR truck just a few yards behind now, their LEDs flaring so bright they nearly blind you in the reflection.
“Wait,” Kate says, eyes wide as she snatches up the radio again. “Javi, are you seeing this?”
“Yeah,” he comes back quickly. “It’s shifting direction—but I can’t pin the path yet.”
“Stop the truck,” Kate orders. “We need to wait and see where it’s headed.”
Tyler nods once. “Copy. Stopping now.”
He slams on the brake, and the truck shudders to a violent halt. Everyone lurches forward—Boone gasps, Kate yelps, and you throw your hands against the dash to stop the seatbelt from strangling you.
“Jesus Christ, Tyler,” you mutter. “She didn’t mean stop right—”
“What the hell do they want?” he cuts in, scowling past you out the window.
You whip around to see the StormPAR truck pulled up right beside yours—barely two feet of space between your door and their driver’s side. The tinted window rolls down slowly, and your heart stutters. Traitor.
Scott gestures for you to lower your window, and you roll your eyes before cranking it down.
“What?” you shout over the roar of wind and rain.
The corner of his mouth lifts, just a little. “You better turn back—this one’s out of your league.”
You frown, shifting in your seat to lean out the window. “Yeah? I didn’t realise you were moonlighting as a weatherman and my babysitter!” you exclaim, your voice pitching up on the last word, jagged with frustration.
His mouth curves higher—a little closer to that smirk you know too well—and his eyes gleam even under the bleak grey sky. “Somebody’s gotta keep you alive,” he calls back.
And then he's gone.
You barely even have time to blink before the StormPAR truck is disappearing into the distance ahead. You drop back into your seat, wind the window up as fast as you can, then let your—now wet—head fall back against the headrest and let out a long, strained groan.
You roll your eyes. “It wasn’t loaded—he’s just a prick. Now let’s fucking go before we miss this thing!”
Luckily for you, Tyler doesn’t have time to argue—because you’re right. If you don’t keep moving, you’re going to miss the storm. He hits the gas and you’re all pressed back in your seats as the truck starts cutting through the field again. Javi radios in with new instructions, and Tyler follows. Kate leans forward with her laptop, flashing you the screen and asking for your opinion on the rotational velocity she’s reading.
It’s like clockwork—everyone falling into their roles, the chase running through you like instinct. But today it doesn’t matter how well you all work together. It doesn’t matter how sharp Javi’s calls are, how fast Tyler drives, how excited Boone is—it's all useless.
By the time you hit the spot the radar promised, you see it—a thin funnel dangling from the clouds, twisting like it can't quite make up its mind. For one sharp second, your pulse spikes. But then the clouds pull back, and the funnel collapses in on itself, gone before you can even blink. Too high, too short, too weak to count.
Boone groans. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Kate snaps her laptop shut with a sigh. “All that for a glorified dust devil.”
Tyler thumps the steering wheel once, muttering under his breath, and you sink back against your seat, jaw tight. Across the field, just over the crest of the hill, you catch sight of the StormPAR truck, barely visible through the thinning weather. You tell yourself it’s just coincidence that your eyes find it so quickly—but deep down, you know better. It’s like you’ve got a sixth sense for Scott, like your body knows when he’s near even if you wish it didn’t.
The drive back to the motel is quiet, heavy with the disappointment of unpredictable weather—because no matter how much you think you know from hook echoes and velocity scans, the storm always has the final say. It’s that mysterious moment before the funnel drops that one no one can forecast except Mother Nature herself.
Once Tyler parks the truck, you all climb out. Kate’s already talking about tomorrow’s predictions when the others meet you in the parking lot, all grumbling about today’s lack of success—until Javi points out the CAPE numbers spiking and dewpoints climbing into the upper sixties. Then the mood shifts, just a little, because tomorrow could be the real thing.
The rest of the afternoon is filled with talk of tomorrow’s potential and an early dinner at the diner around the corner, then you all head back to the motel. Javi and Lily start tinkering with their latest drone modifications while Tyler, Dani, Dexter, and Boone all settle into their lawn chairs with a beer—but you and Kate both decide to call it a night.
You take a long shower, letting the water run over you until your skin turns red—but it still doesn’t wash him away. The image of him, the memories of last night. They loop endlessly in your head. Even when you try to watch a movie on the tiny TV in the corner of the room, you end up staring through it more than you actually watch.
Eventually, you flick off the lights, sink into bed, and try to sleep. Try. But it doesn’t come easy. You toss and turn, restless, your mind circling back again and again no matter how hard you try to shove it away. Every time you shut your eyes, last night flickers behind your eyelids—the heat of it, the sharp edges, the way he looked at you. And worse? The smell of him is still here, stubbornly clinging to your sheets like he’s burned into the fabric, into you. You hate it. You hate that it makes your chest tight, that it makes you want more instead of less.
And when you finally do fall asleep, your dreams betray you. Because he’s there—always there. His mouth at your throat, breath hot against your skin, his hands holding you in place like he can’t stand the thought of letting you go. The way he touches you—confident, hungry, reverent—burns into you, every brush of his skin making your breath stutter. He groans when you arch against him, a sound that drags heat straight to your core, and it’s unfair, so unfair—how good it feels to have him pressed against you, filling you, claiming you like you belong to him.
You wake in a sweat at three a.m., pulse racing, skin still buzzing. And you’re furious. Furious that he’s invaded your head, your subconscious, the one place he has no right to be. Furious that your body is betraying you, aching for him even now, when you swore last night was the last time. Because you don’t want him. You can’t want him. And that is exactly why it has to stop—why you can’t keep letting him crawl under your skin, into your bed, into your goddamn dreams.
Sleep mostly evades you after that. You drift in and out, caught between restless half-dreams and the stubborn ache of wakefulness, until finally—eventually—you manage to fall under again. But then your phone’s alarm starts blaring and your eyes snap open after what feels like only twenty minutes of actual sleep.
You let out a sigh, rub your eyes, and throw the covers back, dragging yourself into the shower. After a quick rinse and brushing your teeth, you pull on a pair of shorts and an oversized MIT shirt, then head out the door. The moment you step outside, the air hits you—thick and heavy, humidity clinging to your skin—and a spark of excitement flickers in your chest. Because warm, moist air means one thing: today, you're going to chase a real storm.
“Are you feelin’ this?” Boone calls from below, standing beside Tyler and the truck.
You grin. “Oh, yeah, baby! It’s tornado weather.”
You hurry along the balcony and down the stairs, skipping the last few steps with a jump. Tyler is already packing gear into the truck, and Boone is beaming as he slides new rockets into the chutes at the rear of the cab. Javi, Lily, and Kate are crowded around a laptop, murmuring excitedly and pointing at something on the screen, while Dexter quietly finishes his cup of coffee, eyes fixed on the sky.
“We’re gonna get a good one today, I can feel it,” Tyler says as you approach, tightening a bolt on the truck’s cage. “Then I thought we’d head down to Texas tomorrow. Amarillo’s looking promising for the next week.”
You nod slowly, watching the wrench instead of his face. “Sounds good. Is that where everyone else is headed?”
His hand stills, head tilting, brow furrowing. “Since when are you worried about where other chasers are going?”
You shrug, ignoring the heat in your cheeks. “Just asking.”
His eyes narrow and he straightens slowly, mouth opening to press further—but before he can, Boone pops up, saving you from the interrogation.
“So,” he says, eyes bright as they bounce between you and Tyler, “who’s riding in the truck today?”
“Me, obviously,” you reply quickly, eager to change the subject. “And I call shotgun.”
Boone frowns. “But you had shotgun yesterday.”
You lift a shoulder. “Yesterday was a bust. I’m owed a decent storm.”
He turns to Tyler with a pout. “T, tell her she’s being unfair.”
Tyler chuckles. “She called shotgun, Boone. Not much I can do about that.”
Boone huffs but doesn’t argue—he just turns away, sulking as he walks over to the others.
“We should get going,” Tyler says, dropping the wrench back into his poor excuse for a toolbox. “I need to get gas before we head out, and I know Boone’s hungry.”
“There’s a little diner-slash-truck stop about five minutes up the road,” you offer. “Pretty sure I saw a sign that said they serve breakfast burritos.”
Tyler slides his aviators up his nose and grins. “Breakfast burritos it is. Let’s wrangle the wranglers.”
You roll your eyes, biting back a smile as you turn away from him. You can’t give him the satisfaction of laughing at something so dumb—Tyler Owens’ ego is already big enough.
It isn’t long before everyone’s piling out of the vehicles at the diner. Boone and Dani head straight for the door, arguing about hot sauce on breakfast burritos, while Kate and Lily trail just a few steps behind. Tyler parks his truck at one of the gas pumps, and Dexter helps Javi manoeuvre the RV beside another.
“Hey, Ty,” you say as you slip out of the passenger’s side. “Have you seen my sunglasses?”
He shrugs, eyes fixed on the pump. “They’re not in the centre console?”
“No,” you sigh. “I’ve looked all through the truck.”
“Didn’t Lily borrow them the other day?”
“Oh.” You turn toward the RV. “Yeah, she did. Thanks.”
He mumbles something you don’t quite catch as you start toward the RV. Dexter is standing near the rear of the vehicle, holding the pump while Javi rambles about lifted index and dewpoints. You flash them both a quick smile before yanking the door open and climbing up the few steps into the RV that looks more like a meteorologist’s lab than a home on wheels.
It takes all of ten seconds to spot your sunglasses sitting on the dash. You grab them and push them on top of your head, checking your reflection quickly in the rear-view mirror before turning back toward the door.
But then you hear Javi’s voice—and freeze.
“Hey, man, how are you?” he says, too brightly for it to be directed at one of your crew.
“I’m good, how are you?”
You know that voice—almost too well—and you’re not in the mood to get caught in a conversation with the person it belongs to.
“Yeah, I’m good,” Javi replies. “Did you catch that bust yesterday?”
You creep toward the door—ignoring the mix of dread and nausea curling in your gut—and lean closer, peering through a tear in the faded curtain covering the little window.
“Yeah, we caught that,” Scott says. “Watched it collapse.”
Javi sighs. “Yeah, total letdown. But hey—looks like redemption weather today.”
Scott chuckles—softly, but you can still hear it. Hell, you can practically see it. You know exactly what he looks like when he does that little half laugh—the way his mouth quirks, the way his eyes drop like he’s trying not to let it show, but the small shake in his shoulders always gives him away. You’ve seen it too many times, memorised it without meaning to.
“How is it, anyway?” he asks. “Chasing with Owens.”
You lean a little closer to the door.
“Honestly?” Javi says. “It’s great. They’re a great crew. Everyone’s sharp, they’ve got their own things, and we all work so well together. I mean, even the tech—it’s dated, sure, but it works. It’s like a well-oiled machine, man. You should see these guys out on the field.”
Through the tear in the curtain, you can just make out the movement of Javi’s hand clapping Dexter’s shoulder.
“Wow,” Scott says. “Sounds great.”
To anyone else, his tone might sound sarcastic—but you know better. You know what Scott sounds like when he’s really being derisive, and so does Javi—he worked with him long enough—but this isn’t that. Scott’s genuinely happy for his former business partner.
“But what about you, man?” Javi says, voice bright. “I’ve been hearing all kinds of things about StormPAR. You dropped Riggs, right? And now you’re running interference like it’s a damn sport? Sounds like you’ve got that place dialled in.”
Your eyes go wide and your pulse spikes, panic rushing through your veins.
“I—uh, yeah,” Scott says, and you can almost see the confused frown on his face. “We dropped Riggs. Thought we should try doing things the right way. But—um... who—who told you all that?”
Your stomach drops when you hear Javi say your name—and before you can stop yourself, you shove the door open and stumble out of the RV. You almost lose your footing on the last step, but manage to catch yourself on the door handle.
“Speak of the devil,” Dexter chuckles, hooking the pump back into place on the side of the bowser.
You straighten, looking anywhere but at Scott as you slowly shut the RV door.
“There’s my girl,” Javi grins. “I was just telling Scott about what you were saying at breakfast yesterday. How impressed you are with—”
“I never said I was impressed,” you cut in, stepping toward them both.
Javi chuckles, slinging an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side—and you can almost swear you catch the flicker of something sharp in Scott’s eyes. But he masks it quickly, hiding it behind that infuriatingly familiar smirk.
“So,” he says, folding his arms, “how d’you know so much about StormPAR?”
You narrow your eyes. “I had a brief conversation with one of your teammates the other night.”
His brows lift. “Yeah? Who was it?”
“Didn’t catch his name.”
“Describe him,” he presses. “I’m sure I’ll know who you’re talking about.”
Frustration coils hot in your chest, lighting your skin on fire from the inside out.
You fold your arms to match him. “He was tall and obnoxious and completely full of himself.”
He smirks, voice dropping low. “Pretty sure you were full of him too.”
Your pulse jumps, heat flooding your cheeks as your eyes dart to Javi, who—thank God—is too distracted by an alert on his phone to catch what Scott said. When you look back, Scott’s head is bowed, his shoulders shaking just slightly as he tries to hide his amusement behind the brim of his stupid StormPAR hat.
“You’re impossible,” you hiss.
He glances up, blue eyes shining, and opens his mouth to retort—but Javi cuts in.
“Damn, have you seen this?” he says, holding up his phone. “CAPE numbers are climbing fast. Looks like we’re getting a storm earlier than we thought.”
You drag your eyes away from Scott to survey Javi’s phone screen—and he’s right. CAPE values are rising, and the radar’s showing stronger rotation. With conditions like this, you’ll see a cell before midday.
“Should we tell the others to hurry up?”
Javi shrugs. “Wouldn’t hurt to hit the road sooner.”
You nod. “I’ll go round them up.”
You shoot Scott a scathing look before marching right past him toward the diner. You’re so frustrated—and, okay, a little flustered—that you don’t even notice you’re being followed until a hand beats yours to the door handle.
Scott pulls the door open before you can protest, gesturing with his other hand for you to go first. You know it’d be stupid to refuse, especially with how many chasers are milling about—people you know—so you settle for another scowl as you step inside the diner.
It isn’t big or fancy, but it’s clean—and it smells like coffee and maple syrup. There are only four booths in the dining space and a few stools at the counter, which has left most of the clientele on their feet. But your crew, of course, managed to secure one of the booths in the far corner.
“Nice shirt, by the way,” Scott says, voice low but still loud enough to cut through the chatter.
You glance over your shoulder. “Thanks. Are you so self-involved that you forgot I went to MIT too?”
He hums, almost a laugh. “No, I remember.” His eyes flick down, then back up—steady, deliberate. “I remember very clearly.”
You turn to face him, folding your arms as your pulse picks up. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“You know what.”
He tilts his head, feigning innocence. “I’m not looking at you like anything. Just noticed that shirt looks a little big.”
You glance down—and your stomach drops. It’s his.
You school your expression quickly. “Yeah? Well... I bought it oversized.”
“Mm.” His mouth curves. “Sure you did.”
You roll your eyes, opening your mouth to fire back—but he beats you to it.
“It’s just that—” he steps closer, voice dropping lower “—I had a shirt just like that, but it went missing a couple weeks ago.”
Your pulse spikes. A couple of weeks ago, in Dodge City, you’d been stuck in a motel room right next to Tyler’s—so you’d gone to Scott’s instead. The next morning, you hadn’t felt like putting your own clothes back on, so you’d left wearing a pair of his boxers and... an old MIT shirt.
“Look,” you mutter, lifting a hand to press to his chest before quickly remembering where you are and letting it fall. “It’s my shirt now. Because that—” your eyes search his, and you hate the way your heart thuds harder, “—is never happening again. Ever.”
His mouth twitches like he’s about to say something clever, but then his eyes flick over your shoulder—and the playfulness fades. His expression shutters back into that blank, guarded calm he always hides behind.
“What’s never happening again?” Tyler asks, startling you.
You whip around, face burning. “Nothing—I mean, well—yeah, nothing. Because it’s never happening again.” You turn back to Scott, eyes wide. “Right?”
His brow creases just slightly. “Right,” he mutters. “I’ll never ask you for a wind reading ever again.”
You stare at him for a beat, eyes wide, lips parted like you’re about to say something—but all that comes out is a quiet scoff as you shake your head.
“Wind reading?” Tyler echoes.
“Yep!” you reply, too fast and too bright. “Never giving StormPAR any of our data ever again. Now let’s get the others—Javi said conditions are picking up and we don’t want to miss it.”
Tyler frowns. “But—”
“No buts,” you cut in quickly. “Come on, let’s wrangle the wranglers!”
He doesn’t have time to protest again before you grab his arm and steer him through the diner toward the rest of the crew. You quickly fill them in on the changing weather conditions, and you don’t even need to ask before everyone’s scrambling to leave.
You keep your eyes fixed on the clip in the back of Kate’s hair as you make your way out, determined not to look back. You don’t need to know if he’s watching or following. You don’t even care if he is. Because today isn’t about Scott—it’s about the supercell forming east over the plains.
In fact, nothing is about Scott. Not today, not yesterday, and especially not you.
You’re about storms, and chasing, and your crew—not drunk motel sex that you have to keep a secret. No matter how good it is. Because it’s just sex. Great sex, sure, but replaceable. You can find great sex somewhere else. You just need to stop falling for his stupid little traps—like that cocky smirk he saves just for you, or the spark in his eyes when he baits you and you rise to it every damn time. Or the way those same eyes darken when his mouth is on you, when he looks up through his lashes with that lazy sort of focus, his lips slick with—
“Hello?” Tyler waves his hand in front of your face. “Are you even listening?”
The truck jolts and you quickly grab the door to steady yourself. “Yeah,” you lie. “I’m just—just trying to watch for wind direction... and stuff.”
Tyler shakes his head, eyes fixed on the rain-splattered windscreen. “That was a bad lie and you know it. What’s with you today?”
“Nothing,” you mutter. “I’m fine.”
He shoots you a sidelong look. “You’ve been weird since yesterday.”
“No I haven’t,” you lie—again—keeping your gaze focused on the dark grey sky ahead.
“Yes, you have,” he starts, “you’ve been—”
“Speaking of yesterday,” Boone cuts in, leaning forward over the centre console, “I forgot to mention it because I was so bummed about the storm, but I went into the front office when we got back and the receptionist said we had a noise complaint.”
Your pulse stutters.
Tyler tilts his head to look at Boone in the rear-view mirror. “Noise complaint?”
“Yeah,” Boone says. “From room 2C.”
Tyler glances at you. “You’re in 2B, aren’t you?”
Your cheeks flush, your mouth opens—but nothing comes out. Shit.
“Did they say what kind of noise?” Tyler asks.
“Banging, moaning, groaning,” Boone says, brow furrowing. “Apparently they thought the place was haunted until the noises stopped in the early morning.”
“That’s so weird,” you say, a little too fast. “I didn’t hear anything.”
Tyler’s brows lift, his eyes still on the road. “So, it wasn’t you?”
You scoff, but it’s so forced you might as well be holding up a flashing neon sign that says guilty. “No, it wasn’t me. Why—why would it be me? How would I even make all those noises?”
Boone snorts. “Unless you were watching p—”
The truck hits a ditch in the dirt road, and all of you lurch forward.
“Shit,” Tyler hisses, gripping the steering wheel tight with both hands.
The rain outside is brutal now, rolling in sheets against the windscreen and making it almost impossible to see more than a few feet ahead.
“We’ve got hail,” Javi’s voice crackles through the radio, bright with excitement. “Make the next left and hit the gas—the cap’s about to break!”
Tyler presses his foot down, urging the truck faster and squeezing the wheel until his knuckles turn white. Adrenaline and relief flood through you, a thin sweat breaking over the back of your neck. You know you’re not out of the woods yet—Tyler won't let this go that easily—but at least you’ve bought yourself some time to come up with a defence.
By the time the storm breaks, it’s everything the radar promised—a clean cap, perfect rotation, a funnel that almost kisses the ground before pulling back into the clouds. Tyler’s whooping, Boone’s halfway out the window trying to film it, everyone’s cheering over the radio, and for a while, it’s easy to forget everything else. For a while it’s just you, your crew, the chase, and that rush in your veins that feels like purpose.
Hours blur into one another—dark clouds chasing light, wind roaring so loud it drowns out thought. By the time you roll back into the motel parking lot, you’re soaked through and buzzing, boots squelching with every step. The sky’s gone that bruised purple-grey, lightning still flickering at the edges, and the air hums with the heavy, metallic scent of rain and dust. It’s been a good day—a great one, even. Almost enough to make you forget about the twisted feeling in your gut you still don’t have a name for.
“Hey,” Kate calls, jogging across the parking lot to catch you. “You coming out tonight?”
You turn to face her, brows drawing tight. “What’s tonight?”
“A bunch of chasers are going to one of the bars in town,” she says, “to celebrate today’s storm.”
Your pulse quickens. “Oh—uh, yeah, sure.”
She beams. “Great.”
You give her a tight smile and turn back the way you were going, hoping she doesn’t notice the colour rising in your cheeks. “Just let me shower and I’ll meet you back down here at—”
“Six,” she calls after you. “Everyone will be ready at six.”
You glance over your shoulder. “Right. Six.”
The grin on her face is a little too wide to be casual, and there’s a spark in her eyes that makes you think she’s up to something more than just wrangling the team for a night out. Kate doesn’t usually come out when you all go drinking—she’s a special occasions kind of girl—which, you suppose, is something you could label tonight as. It is technically a celebration.
But there’s something more. Something else hiding behind her smile. Something you’ll worry about after you get out of these wet clothes and soggy boots.
You take an extra-long, extra-hot shower, letting the water soak your skin until it’s pink and pruned. Then you step out, dry off, get dressed, and decide to take a little longer than usual getting ready. You do your hair, fix your clothes in the mirror, and carefully apply a red lipstick that matches your top.
You don’t usually put much effort into drinks with the crew—but tonight’s effort has nothing to do with your crew and everything to do with which other crews might be at the bar. Even though you know you’re not going home with anyone other than your friends. Especially not anyone from StormPAR.
“No Scott,” you tell your reflection sternly. “Not too many drinks, no absinthe, and no sex.” You pause, staring yourself down like that’s somehow going to give drunk you some self-control. “No Scott. Got it?”
You nod once, firm, then turn around, grab your purse, and head out the door. Everyone else is already waiting in the parking lot, gathered and chatting excitedly beside Tyler’s truck, the energy still buzzing from the day’s successful chase.
“Finally!” Boone calls. “I’m dying of thirst out here.”
You roll your eyes as you start down the stairs, listening to the rest of them argue about who’s going in which vehicle. When you reach the truck, Kate ushers you into the front seat before she climbs into the back between Lily and Boone—and while you know there’s some ulterior motive, you’re not about to argue.
“So,” Tyler says, turning the ignition, “where’s this bar, Kate?”
“East side of town, just past the strip malls,” she says. “You can’t miss it—it’s got the most insane amount of fairy lights all over the front terrace.”
Tyler snorts. “Sounds classy.”
“Oh, it is.” Kate leans forward over the centre console. “It’s technically a cantina.”
“A cantina in the middle of Norman, Oklahoma?” Boone pipes up.
You glance at Kate. “Is it offensive?”
She tilts her head. “If you’re asking whether they wear sombreros and fake moustaches? No. It’s mostly just Mexican cuisine and some inspired decor. The original owners actually were Hispanic, but they sold it and retired.”
“And how do you know so much about this place?” Tyler asks.
Kate shrugs. “I went a few times with my friends, years ago. Jeb loved it—he said we had to go back any time we were chasing near Norman.”
You don’t often hear about Kate’s late friends—especially not Jeb—but lately, she’s been better. She’s been opening up more, telling stories, less afraid of her past. It’s partly thanks to Javi, because being close again means they’ve been able to work through some shared trauma, but you also know Tyler has a little something to do with it. You’re not exactly sure what’s going on between them, but you know it’s definitely something.
“Anyway,” Kate says, shaking her head quickly before turning to you. “I want to talk to you about something.”
Oh, God.
You lift your brows. “Here?”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, here. It’s not a secret, it’s just...” She trails off, pursing her lips as she tries to think of a way to lessen the blow of whatever she’s about to say. “Okay, don’t be mad.”
You frown. “Why would I be mad?”
“Well, you know how we’re all on YouTube?”
Your frown deepens. “Yeah. I’m pretty familiar with Boone’s camera in my face.”
Boone chuckles to himself.
“Okay, so,” Kate goes on, “I have this old friend from Muskogee State. We occasionally chat about weather stuff—exchange articles, send storm photos, nothing crazy—but when I told him we were in Norman, he asked to catch up.”
You lift a hand to interrupt. “Uh, I’m failing to see how this has anything to do with me?”
She leans further forward. “I’m getting there, okay?”
“Okay,” you mutter, dropping your hand. “Go on.”
She nods. “Right, so—he’s actually a chaser too, kind of—and he watches Tyler’s channel, so I asked him to come to the bar tonight. I thought it’d be cool for him to meet everyone, but—” She hesitates, taking a deep breath. “Then he told me he’s got this, like, massive crush on you—from seeing you in Tyler’s videos—and he asked if I’d set you guys up on a... date.”
Heat floods your chest, panic prickling beneath your skin as your heart starts beating too fast and too hard.
“You set me up on a surprise blind date?”
“Technically,” she says, “it’s not a surprise because I’m telling you right now.”
Your eyes widen. “We’re on our way to the fucking bar, Kate.”
She winces. “I know, I know! I’m sorry, I just—he’s such a nice guy, and I knew if I asked you, you’d say no, but I honestly think you might really like him.”
“You knew I'd say no, so you tricked me?”
“Tricked is a little dramatic,” she mutters.
You drop your head back against the headrest. “I’m allowed to be dramatic when I’m being forced into a date I didn’t agree to.”
She sighs. “It’s not really a date. I just agreed to introduce you, and—” She hesitates. “Well, I might’ve said you were excited to meet him.”
Your head snaps toward her. “Excited? Seriously? The only thing I’m excited about is a shot of tequila and some fucking tacos.”
Tyler chuckles. “This is going even worse than I thought it would.”
You lean past Kate to look at him, brow furrowed. “You knew about this?”
“Of course.” He lifts a shoulder. “I also knew you’d hate it—because you’re clearly hung up on someone else.”
Your stomach drops, breath catching in your throat—and for a second, your lungs forget how to work. Tyler glances at you, his lips twitching, and Kate tilts her head, brows knitting.
You clear your throat. “What—what do you mean?”
“You know what I mean,” Tyler says, his tone almost too casual. “I don’t know who, but I know—”
“We’re here!” Kate cuts in, pointing out the windscreen.
Just like she’d described, the bar’s front terrace is draped with strings and strings of fairy lights—bright enough to light up half the street. Tyler turns the truck into the gravel driveway, tyres crunching as he rolls into the last free parking spot in the lot.
“Damn, it’s busy,” Boone says as he pushes open his door.
You all climb out and start walking around to the front of the bar. You’re careful not to walk too close to Tyler—or even look at him—in case he decides to start interrogating you about whoever it is he thinks you’re hung up on.
Which you’re not.
You’re not hung up on anyone. Tyler’s just misinformed, or overly suspicious. He’s convinced himself of something completely ridiculous just so he has some kind of explanation for your weird behaviour. But he’s wrong. Very wrong. You’re not hung up on anyone. Especially not Scott.
“Ready?” Kate asks, bumping her shoulder against yours.
You narrow your eyes at her. “Ready for the date I didn’t agree to?”
“Come on,” she sighs. “It’s not a date, it’s an introduction. And he’s great, I think you’re going to love him.”
You roll your eyes as she links her arm through yours, guiding you toward the bar’s front door behind the rest of the crew. You have no idea where Dexter, Dani, and Javi came from—or where they parked the RV—but they’re all chatting excitedly as they cross the brightly lit terrace.
Inside is almost jarringly dim, lit only by the warm glow of multicoloured lights casting soft patterns across the terracotta walls. There are dark wooden tables and chairs scattered between small booths, potted plants clustered in corners, and brightly coloured prints that make the whole place feel alive. Behind the bar, bottles of tequila and mezcal catch the light, stacked haphazardly on tiered shelving beside other bottles of liquor you don’t recognise. The air smells faintly of lime, grilled peppers, fried corn chips—and sweat, because the place is absolutely packed with storm chasers.
“Holy shit,” you mutter, leaning into Kate. “How are we even supposed to—”
“Guys!” Lily calls over the music and chatter. “This way—Tyler's got a booth!”
You and Kate exchange a dubious look—brows drawn, eyes narrowed—but then she sighs and starts tugging you toward where Lily had gestured. “That damn Tyler Owens effect.”
You both squeeze through the crowd until you spot your crew crowded around a corner booth, chatting with another chaser you don’t recognise—probably the person who gave up their table the second they saw Tyler Owens walk in.
“I need a drink,” you mutter.
“In a sec.” Kate pulls out her phone and squints at the screen. “Caleb texted saying he just parked.”
You roll your eyes but keep your mouth shut—you’re not in the mood to keep arguing about this stupid surprise date. All you want is good food, a strong drink, and to stay as far away from Tyler as possible. You don’t need an inquisition into your dating life on top of a date you didn’t even ask for.
“He’s here!” Kate announces, looping her arm through yours. “I told him we’d meet at the bar.”
You let her drag you back through the crowd, trying—unsuccessfully—to keep your eyes down. To not search the room for someone familiar. Someone head and shoulders above the rest, probably standing at the edge of the crowd, blue eyes finding you too easily in the overpacked room.
God. You hate that you want to see him here. You hate that right now, he’d be your escape from all this. And you hate more than anything that you’re disappointed when you don’t find him.
“Caleb!” Kate exclaims, dropping your arm.
She moves ahead of you to hug the man before stepping back with a wide grin.
“Caleb, this is—”
“I know,” he chuckles, offering his hand. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
You force a smile, hoping it looks more genuine than it feels. “Hi. You too. Kate’s told me... so much.”
He’s cute, sure. Tall—but not that tall. Nice smile—no dimples, though. Green eyes—you've always preferred blue.
“Do you want a drink?” he asks.
You nod. “Absolutely.”
Kate steps up to the bar first, and you squeeze in beside her. You order a drink and a shot of tequila—for courage, of course, which Caleb laughs at awkwardly—then move aside to make space for someone else. Caleb finds a free tall table, and Kate mutters something about checking on Tyler before slipping away quickly, leaving you with the date you never asked for.
“So,” he says, leaning in slightly, “how's the season been so far?”
You shrug. “Pretty good. Yesterday was a bust, but today made up for it—” you gesture toward the crowd, “—hence the celebration. What about you? What are you doing in Norman?”
He chuckles softly, gaze dropping to the table. “If you feel it, chase it, right?”
You frown. “You’re with a crew?”
“Oh. No, not like that.” He shakes his head. “No, I—um, I’m just trying to get out of my comfort zone, you know? Take chances I wouldn’t normally take. Live a little. Embrace the universe.”
Your brows lift. “Oh?”
Great. Kate’s set you up with a human TED Talk.
“Yeah.” He smiles softly, scratching the back of his neck. “Sometimes I need a little push to do something that scares me.”
You snort into your drink, almost spilling it. “Yeah, right. And that’s... me?”
He lifts a shoulder. “Maybe. I’m not sure yet. You seem… complicated. Dangerous in a very specific way.”
“Dangerous?” you echo, unable to stop the laugh that bubbles up. “Me?”
“Maybe,” he says again, leaning back just slightly, “but I kind of like it.”
You have to look away, drawing a deep breath to push down the laughter building in your chest—and then, out of the corner of your eye, you see him. Stepping through the doorway, scanning the room. Not smiling. Not even close. His eyes catch yours, just for a second, and then he looks away. His expression doesn’t change, he doesn't even blink—he just turns and starts cutting through the crowd.
And you hate it. You hate that your heart starts racing, that heat floods your skin, that you want him to react. You hate that he has such an effect on you—and that you don’t seem to have any effect on him at all.
Caleb nudges your arm. “Are you okay?”
You whip back around, blinking fast. “Yeah—yep, sorry. Thought I saw someone I knew, but—”
“Those StormPAR guys?”
You tilt your head. “You know StormPAR?”
He nods. “Of course. I actually tried to reach out to them last year for a research paper I was working on, but they’re not particularly friendly. Or at least, that Scott guy isn’t.”
You snort into your drink. “Yeah, he’s a dick.”
“You know him?”
“Not really,” you reply—too fast. “I mean, I’ve met him, but I—um, I don't really know him, you know? Just heard things.” You tip your drink to your lips and drain the glass before smacking it on the table. “Anyway, let’s talk about you. What do you do for work?”
It isn’t hard to keep Caleb talking. With the right questions, you barely have to do anything more than nod and hum every few minutes so he thinks you’re paying attention. But really, the only time you are paying attention is when he asks if you need another drink. That’s when you say yes, tell him you’ll go to the bar, and order a shot of tequila alongside your next drink.
By your third—or sixth—drink, you’re feeling a little giddy, and that’s when you try to convince yourself you could go for Caleb. Even just for one night. He’s not unattractive—not that you’re that shallow—and there’s nothing overly off-putting about him, he’s just... nice. Boring. A little shorter than you’d like, with green eyes and no dimples. But you could get past that. He doesn’t have to be your exact type for you to sleep with him. You can always just close your eyes and picture what you want—that’s what you always used to do.
Before Scott.
But Caleb’s looks aren’t the problem. The problem is that even when you try to have fun—when you crack a joke or try to start a bit of banter—he doesn’t get it. He just stares at you, blankly, as if trying to decide whether you’re being mean or if your sense of humour is really that bad.
You honestly have no idea why Kate thought you’d hit it off with this guy, but you definitely plan on asking her what the hell she was thinking the second you see her again.
“Hey,” Caleb says suddenly, nudging your elbow. “Are you sure you don’t know that StormPAR guy?”
You turn to follow his gaze across the bar—and the moment you see him, your breath catches.
He’s standing by the far wall, half-lit by a string of multicoloured lights, blue eyes locked on you across the crowd. His face is unreadable, carved into something calm and careful, but then you see it—the tiny twitch in his jaw, the way his gaze narrows just slightly.
The noise of the bar dulls, everything blurring around the edges until it’s just him.
You know you’re drunk now—or at least halfway there—because now, you want him. And you’re not about to admit it out loud, but you are about to do something stupid just to get his attention.
“Be right back,” you tell Caleb, already sliding your empty glass off the table. “I need another drink.”
You don’t wait for a response—you just slip off your stool and start weaving quickly through the crowd, heart beating too hard behind your ribs. You don’t head for the nearest end of the bar like any normal person would—no, you keep going. Through the noise and across that imaginary line you know you shouldn’t cross. All the way to the far end of the bar.
The end closest to him.
You tell yourself it’s because it’s quieter over here. Less crowded. Easier to get a drink.
It’s not because of Scott. Definitely not. Why would it be?
You squeeze between two guys in denim jackets and plant your hands on the sticky bar top, exhaling hard. The bartender catches your eye, smiles, and lifts a finger—wait.
That’s fine. You can wait. You’re calm. You’re composed. You’re totally not standing here hoping—
A shift in the air beside you makes your skin prickle.
You don’t even have to look.
You just know.
He doesn’t say anything as he steps up next to you—doesn’t even look at you at first—just rests his forearms on the bar and scans the liquor shelves like he didn’t just suck every molecule of oxygen out of your lungs with his presence alone. He’s close—close enough that his shoulder almost brushes yours. Close enough that you can feel the heat coming off his body. Close enough that every cell—every want, every need—in your body turns traitorous.
You keep your eyes forward, and force a breath. You can do that—you can breathe. You've been doing it your whole life. In. Out.
You don’t look at him. You refuse to.
But you want to.
God, you want to.
You’re drunk and you want to.
You want him.
You want him with a hunger that feels stitched into your bones—messy, reckless, selfish—but you still force your expression blank, trying to cage whatever’s clawing inside your chest. You can’t want him. You’re not supposed to want him. Not anymore. Not ever. Because last time was the last time.
Right?
“You move on fast.”
Your pulse jumps at his voice—low, even, almost bored, but edged with something sharp. Something that slides under your skin and makes your spine straighten.
“Didn’t realise I needed your permission.”
He huffs out a quiet breath. “Never said you did.”
“No.” You keep your eyes fixed on a bottle of absinth across the bar. “But you felt the need to comment.”
He still doesn’t look at you. “Just surprised, that’s all.”
You finally glance at him—and instantly regret it. He’s relaxed. Casual. Like this is just another Saturday night and not another stupidly dangerous game you’re both playing. His expression gives you nothing. No irritation. No jealousy. No trace of the last time he had you pinned against his bedroom door breathing your name like a warning and a prayer.
So maybe you imagined it. Maybe you’re just reading into things that aren’t there.
“Why do you care?” you ask.
“I don’t.”
You scoff. “Sounds like you do.”
He doesn’t bite. He doesn’t rise to it. He just shrugs, gaze still on the bar shelves as if he has never once in his life been affected by you. “You can do whatever—whoever—you want. Just didn’t think he was your type.”
“Really?” You lean an elbow on the bar, heat flickering in your chest. “And what exactly do you think my type is?”
That finally gets him to look at you. Slow. Controlled. Like he’s already decided he’s going to ruin you and is just taking his time. His eyes drop to your mouth—just for a heartbeat—but it’s enough to make heat curl low in your stomach.
“You don’t want me to answer that,” he says.
“Try me.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. His gaze drags over you—neck, mouth, eyes—before he leans in just enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek.
“That guy over there? He has no idea what to do with a woman like you,” he says, voice low enough that no one but you could possibly hear him. “I saw the way you looked at him. And I see the way you’re looking at me now.”
Your pulse stutters.
His mouth curves—not a smile. Something sharper. Something possessive. Something certain.
“So no,” he murmurs. “I’m not jealous. Because we both know who you really want to go home with tonight.”
Your skin feels too hot, too tight, like your pulse is lodged in your throat. You can barely breathe. Barely think. And you hate—more than anything—that he’s right.
But he can’t know that. You can’t let him know that.
“You’re out of your mind,” you say, forcing your eyes away from his to find the bartender. “I don’t—” Your voice catches. “I might not want him, but I don’t want you either.”
His gaze flickers—sharp, assessing. He doesn’t believe you. He doesn’t even pretend to.
“No?” he says casually, as if you’re discussing something as menial as the weather.
You meet his gaze again, keeping your expression carefully blank. “No.”
He hums, unconvinced. “Could’ve fooled me.”
You grit your teeth. “Not everything revolves around you.”
“Never said it did.”
“Then drop it.”
But he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. His eyes stay on yours, steady and unblinking, like he’s the only person who’s ever truly seen you.
“Just one question,” he murmurs.
You hate that you answer. “What?”
He tilts his head, voice softening—dangerously so—and lifts a hand, his knuckles skimming just beneath your jaw, light as breath. “Why is your pulse racing?”
Your breath stutters. Heat floods your chest, crawling up your neck until you forget how to breathe entirely. He’s closer now—crowding you in a way that only makes your heart beat harder, faster. Every nerve ending is suddenly awake, aware of him, of the brush of his skin, of how impossible it is to pretend you don’t want this. Don’t want him.
You almost forget where you are. You almost lean in.
But then—
“Sorry, folks. What can I get you?”
You startle, turning toward the bartender too fast and stumbling back a step—right into the man standing on your other side. He grumbles something, clearly annoyed, but before you can mutter an apology, Scott’s hand closes around your elbow, pulling you back to him. Steadying you. Anchoring you. In more ways than you care to admit.
“Two tequila shots,” he tells the bartender. “And two beers.”
He doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t even spare you a glance. He just keeps his hand on your arm, thumb brushing once—absent, thoughtless—while you stand there like an idiot, staring up at him.
Close. Way too close.
Close enough to see the tiny crease between his brows as he watches the beer pour. Close enough to see the faint scar along his cheek—old, healed over—from when he fell off his bike as a kid. He told you the story one night, somewhere between argument and orgasm. You’re close enough to count the darker flecks in his blue eyes, watch his lashes lower as he speaks, trace the shape of his mouth—God, that mouth.
Your gaze drifts without permission—from the curve of his bottom lip to the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw and down the line of his throat where it disappears beneath his shirt collar. You hate that your breath trips. You hate that your body betrays you. You hate that he’s not even looking at you—and somehow that makes it worse.
“Thanks,” he says to the bartender, finally releasing your arm.
And only then does he glance down at you—casual, unbothered—like he didn’t just reach into your chest and close a hand around your lungs. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes, something that feels too close to a promise.
He steps back, mouth curving into that almost-smirk. The one he wears when he can’t help himself. Subtle. Smug. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you and he’s enjoying every second of it.
“Be good,” he murmurs, his arm grazing yours as he turns to leave.
It shouldn’t sound like a warning—but it does.
He doesn’t wait for a response. He doesn’t even look back. He just walks away, cutting through the crowd with ease, drink in hand—and you’re left with both tequila shots and an overflowing pint of beer.
For a second you just stand there, staring at the empty spot where he’d been, trying to convince yourself you’re not actually affected. You drag a hand through your hair and pretend your pulse isn’t still racing, that your body isn’t still tuned to the space he occupied seconds ago. God. You hate this. You hate that one man—that man—can reduce you to static and adrenaline with nothing but a look and a stupid two-word warning.
But you don’t want him. You don’t. Not really. You’re just drunk—and Scott is just being Scott. Cocky. Infuriating. Getting under your skin in the way only he knows how.
You reach for the first tequila shot and knock it back, then the second before you can think too hard about it, heat burning down your throat. Then you grab the beer and square your shoulders, willing your heartbeat to slow as you turn to head back to the table.
You make it about halfway before someone steps in front of you. Someone you’re really not in the mood to deal with right now.
“What was that?”
You look up at Tyler, your nose inches from his chest. “What was what?”
“That.” He nods toward the bar. “Whatever the hell just happened between you and StormPAR.”
Heat creeps up the back of your neck. “Nothing. He was just—you know how he is. Being a dick. Trying to annoy me.”
“You didn’t look annoyed.”
You tip your chin up. “That’s because I’m mature.”
Tyler snorts—loudly. “Mature?”
You narrow your eyes. “Yes. Mature.”
“You and Boone giggle every time the temperature hits sixty-nine degrees.” He leans in, lowering his voice. “And I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you were just looking at StormPAR.”
“His name is Scott,” you say before you can stop yourself.
You roll your eyes, hoping the bar is too dim for Tyler to notice the colour in your cheeks. “I’m not defending him, I just—he has a name. You know his name.”
“And I’d be willing to bet you know a whole lot more than just his name.”
Your stomach drops. “I—what? What’re you—”
“Hey,” Caleb interrupts, his hand landing on your shoulder. “I was looking for you. Thought you’d gotten lost.”
You don’t even look at him. You keep your eyes locked on Tyler. His mouth is quirked into a small smirk—challenging, smug—and his stare is unwavering. He’s looking at you like he already knows, like he doesn’t need a confession to see right through your lies.
“Oh, sorry,” Caleb says. “Am I interrupting—”
“No,” you say quickly, whipping toward him. “Tyler was just offering to buy another round.”
Caleb frowns. “Didn’t you just get one?”
You shrug. “I’m not going to say no to a free drink.”
Tyler gives you a look—one you don’t recognise, which is strange considering how long you’ve known him. But you don’t react. You don’t let him see that he might actually be onto something. You just reach out, grab his arm, and start dragging him toward the bar—assuming Caleb is somewhere in tow.
- Scott -
He’s not watching you. Not really.
He’s just… aware of you.
Aware of the scarlet lip stain on the rim of your beer glass. Aware of the warmth in your skin under the dim glow of the bar lights. Aware of the way the crimson fabric of your top shifts when you move.
You’re still at the bar, with Tyler on your left and Caleb on your right—but Caleb might as well not exist. You’re half-turned toward Tyler, your hand on his arm and your head tipped back so you can meet his gaze. Too close. Too comfortable. You’ve got that same spark in your eyes you get when you’re trying too hard not to care. He knows what that looks like. He’s seen it before.
He takes a slow sip of beer, eyes lingering just long enough to catch your reflection in the mirror behind the bar. You tilt your head, smiling at something Tyler says, clearly biting back a laugh as you lean in a little closer. It’s easy. Natural. A familiarity born of long days, longer nights, near-death experiences, and years of friendship.
He tells himself it’s good. It’s normal. You should be smiling. Laughing. You should be able to talk, touch, lean in to whoever the hell you want.
He doesn’t care.
He really doesn’t.
It’s just—he knows you better than most. He knows what that smile looks like when it’s real, and what it looks like when it’s armour. And the one you’re wearing now? It’s the latter.
He glances away before he can read any more into it, fingers drumming once against his glass.
He’s not waiting for you to come find him again. He just knows that you will.
That you’ll trip back into him by the end of the night.
You always do.
“Who’s that?”
Scott turns to the man standing beside him—Mateo, the newest member of StormPAR.
“Who?”
Mateo nods toward the bar. “The girl in red.”
Scott’s gaze drifts slowly back to you. “She chases with Tyler Owens’ crew.”
“Tyler Owens the YouTube guy?” Mateo asks.
Scott nods. “Yep.”
“I thought you hated him.”
“I do,” Scott mutters, his eyes narrowing at Tyler’s hand resting on your lower back.
“Then what about her?” Mateo presses. “You two seemed kind of... friendly.”
Scott drags his eyes away from you, back to Mateo. “We went to college together. We’re friends.”
Something in Mateo’s expression shifts—excitement, maybe. “Just friends?”
Scott nods again, lifting his beer to his lips and hoping that’s the end of the conversation.
A beat passes. Mateo shifts on his feet. And then—
“So you won’t mind if I talk to her?”
Scott’s jaw flexes. He takes another slow sip of beer, eyes flicking once—just once—back to where you’re standing. Then he looks at Mateo.
“Sure,” he says, voice even. “Go ahead.”
He pauses, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly.
“Try.”
Then he tips his head back, drains the rest of his beer, and drops the empty glass on a nearby table. When he looks back at the bar, you’re gone—but it doesn’t take long for him to spot you weaving through the crowd toward the back hallway.
And then—of course—Mateo moves. Undeterred.
He stops you just before the hall, only a few feet from where Scott is standing. Scott doesn’t need to turn or edge closer—he just tilts his head slightly, listening in. He can hear enough over the hum of the bar—the clink of bottles, the muted bassline, the way Mateo’s voice pitches low and smooth.
“Hey,” Mateo says. “You’re with Tyler Owens’ crew, right?”
You glance up, caught off guard, your tone coming out sharper than you probably mean it to. “Yeah. Why?”
“Just wanted to say hi,” Mateo replies, his grin audible. “Didn’t realise chasers could look like you.”
You pause, staring at him for a moment, your expression flat. “Wow. Original.”
Scott’s mouth twitches.
Mateo chuckles awkwardly, trying again. “I thought maybe I could buy you a drink. Do you—”
“No, thanks,” you cut in. “I’m good.”
Then your gaze flicks over Mateo’s shoulder, meeting Scott’s. Your eyes widen, brows pulling tight, and Scott can’t help but smirk. He knows that look. You’re about five minutes from starting a fight that’ll end with his head between your legs.
“See you around,” you say to Mateo, voice tight, as you step around him.
You head straight down the hall toward the bathrooms, disappearing into the dark—and it takes a lot more self-control than usual for Scott not to follow. Not to take you right here in this bar, in the narrow bathroom stall, his hand over your mouth to muffle your moans. It’s not like the two of you haven’t done it before—just never with both your crews so close by. Never with Tyler’s eyes following you like you’re his.
Scott’s never questioned your friendship with Tyler before. Not once.
He knows the history—how you met in your last year of college, how you started chasing storms together, how you’ve been part of his crew ever since. He sees the way the two of you move around each other in the field—quick, in sync, like a rhythm you’ve practiced for years. He’s always chalked it up to familiarity. Trust built on adrenaline and close calls.
But lately... it feels different.
Everything feels different.
It doesn’t bother him. Not really. Not the way Tyler leans in when he talks to you, or the way you look at him with that easy, practiced grin. The two of you have always been close. That’s all it is.
But one question keeps looping back, uninvited.
Has Tyler ever touched you like he has?
Has he ever had you pinned beneath him, cheeks flushed, lips parted, panting his name?
God. He hates this feeling—whatever it is. This green-eyed, gut-wrenching twist in his stomach that he refuses to name.
He takes a slow breath, jaw tightening as he watches you reemerge from the hallway. You’ve still got that look on your face—head high, mouth set, eyes daring anyone to try again—he knows it better than most. He’s seen it a hundred times. Hell, he’s probably caused it more than anyone else.
Something shifts in his chest as he watches you move through the crowd, and he hates that it feels almost like pride. Like he has any right to be proud of you. Like he has any right to think—even for a second—that you’re his.
It doesn’t matter, though. None of it does. Not Tyler, not Mateo, not any of the other guys whose eyes you’ve caught tonight. You can do whatever you want. Be with whoever you want.
It doesn’t matter.
But... truth is, it’s getting harder to believe that.
Harder to ignore the pull in his chest every time you’re near, the way his thoughts still circle back to you long after he’s told himself to let it go.
It’s not just about sex anymore. He knows that.
He’s not sure it’s ever been just about sex.
But he’s not ready to admit that. Not yet.
Especially not when you’re storming toward him—eyes blazing, shoulders tense, cheeks almost as red as your lips. You stop right in front of him, close enough that he can smell the tequila and salt on your breath.
“What the fuck was that?”
Scott blinks, slow and deliberate. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”
Your brows draw tighter. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“That thing where you play dumb. You sent your little StormPAR rookie over to hit on me.”
He keeps his voice even, almost bored. “I didn’t send him anywhere.”
“Oh, please.” You laugh, sharp and humourless. “He walks up to me not ten minutes after you told me to ‘be good’? Come on. You wanted to see what I’d do.”
Scott exhales through his nose, gaze flicking briefly toward the bar before finding yours again. “You handled it fine.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
“The point is you don’t get to play games with me like that,” you snap. “You don’t get to—”
“To what?” he cuts in, stepping forward. “To see how fast it takes you to lose your shit?”
Your eyes narrow. “I’m not losing my shit.”
“I don’t know,” he says, voice low. “Sure seems like you are.”
You laugh, incredulous. “You’re unbelievable.”
He smirks. “You keep saying that like it’s a bad thing.”
“God, you’re such an ass.”
“Yeah?” His eyes drop to your hands, balled into fists at your sides. “And you’re shaking. Why’s that?”
Your jaw tightens. “Maybe because I’m trying not to punch you.”
His gaze flicks back up, and he leans in—close enough to feel the warmth of your breath on his lips. “Yeah, that’s what you’re trying not to do.”
For a second, neither of you speak. The air between you feels thick and electric, the noise of the bar fading until all Scott can hear is the rush of blood in his ears. You’re close enough that he can feel the heat radiating off your skin, can hear the faint hitch of your breath when he leans in just enough to test you.
You don’t back down. Neither does he. Your gaze flicks between his mouth and his eyes, like you can’t decide what you want—and it’s driving him insane.
He shouldn’t want you this much. Shouldn’t need it this badly.
But he does.
“Hey,” Javi says, appearing beside the two of you. “You two good?”
Scott doesn’t look away—he just shifts slightly, easing back half a step and forcing a breath that feels a little too shaky. “Yeah,” he says, voice smooth. “Just catching up.”
Your cheeks flush even deeper, and a small, smug smile tugs at his mouth before he can stop it. You glare at him, jaw tight, eyes sharp, like you’re daring him to say one more thing—and he almost does, just to see how far you’ll take it.
But then you move. Just a small step forward, close enough that he feels it. Feels something. A faint brush against his hip, the slight tug of fabric. It’s subtle enough that Javi doesn’t notice, but Scott does. His brow furrows for barely a second before you’re already stepping back.
“I’m tired,” you mutter, eyes still locked on his. “I’m heading out.”
You don’t look at Javi. You don’t even wait for a response. You just turn and push through the crowd, disappearing into the noise and haze of the bar. Scott watches you go, something tight pulling in his chest, and it’s only when the room starts to blur around the edges that his hand brushes his pocket—and he realises what’s missing.
Then he sees it.
Your hand, slipping through the last gap in the crowd, his motel key glinting between your fingers.
For a moment, everything else fades—the noise, the lights, the people pressing in on all sides. It’s just that image, sharp and bright in his mind. The curl of your fingers. The slow burn of anticipation settling low in his chest.
Scott exhales, slow and steady. He shouldn’t still be smiling, but he is.
“Damn,” Javi mutters beside him. “Kinda wish I knew what happened between you two.”
Scott huffs out something close to a laugh, shaking his head. “Nothing happened.”
Javi raises a brow. “Yeah, sure. And I’m dating a Victoria’s Secret supermodel.”
Scott looks at him, forcing his mouth into a flat line. “Drop it, Javi.”
“Alright, alright.” Javi lifts his hands in mock surrender, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Just saying, man—whatever that was, whatever it is you two are always arguing about? It’s not nothing.”
Scott drops his gaze to the floor, unsure how to respond. What’s he supposed to say to that? You’re right, Javi, we’ve been sleeping together for years, and every time we’re within fifty feet of each other the sexual tension is suffocating. Oh, and I’m pretty sure there’s something else I can’t admit to myself, so I’m just gonna keep pretending I’m fine with this mess of a situation.
Pfft. Yeah, right.
He drags a hand along his jaw and glances back up, eyes flicking once more toward the crowd where you’d disappeared. “I’m gonna hit the bathroom,” he says, keeping his voice even—casual.
Javi lifts his chin, still grinning. “Go for it.”
Scott meets his grin with a brief nod before turning away, slipping into the crowd before the conversation can go anywhere else. He keeps his pace easy, unhurried—like he’s actually heading for the bathroom, not the back door. The bass thuds through the floor beneath his boots, lights flashing over faces he doesn’t bother to look at.
The noise dulls as he moves farther from the bar, replaced by the low hum of the overhead lights and the echo of footsteps on tile. He’s halfway down the hall when the men’s bathroom door swings open—and Tyler steps out.
For a moment, they just look at each other. Tyler’s brow lifts, curious, maybe suspicious, but Scott doesn’t give him anything—just a single nod, the kind that ends a conversation before it starts—and keeps walking.
He can feel Tyler’s gaze linger on his back as he reaches the end of the hall, but he doesn’t turn around. The exit door pushes open with a low creak, spilling the sounds of the bar out into the night. Cool air rushes in, brushing against his skin and chasing away the heat that’s been sitting under it since you left.
He steps outside, the door closing behind him, and finally—finally—he feels like he can breathe.
The walk to his truck is a blur of gravel crunching beneath his boots and breath fogging the air. His pulse thrums in his ears, alive in every inch of his skin. It’s not that cold. Not really. Scott’s just warm—too warm—and a little flustered.
Maybe it’s the adrenaline. Or maybe it’s that thing he still refuses to admit.
He shakes his head as he reaches the truck, yanking the door open and climbing inside. The cab still smells damp from today’s chase, a mix of rain, sweat, and asphalt clinging to the seats. He turns the key, clips his belt, and lets the engine idle for a few seconds before pulling out of the small parking lot.
He doesn’t speed—he doesn’t need to. He just rolls down the road slowly, eyes scanning the sidewalk.
It takes all of ten seconds for him to find you—and when he does, his stomach flips hard enough to make him feel a little sick.
That’s new.
He slows to a stop beside you, one hand loose on the wheel as the other hits the button for the window to roll down. “You planning to walk the whole way?”
You look at him, eyes narrowed. “Maybe I am.”
He smirks. “Suit yourself. It’s a long walk.”
You roll your eyes, muttering something under your breath as you yank open the passenger door. Your scent hits him the second you climb in—tequila, night air, and that sweet vanilla bodywash that always makes his pulse skip. The cab suddenly feels smaller when you slam the door shut, and for a heartbeat, neither of you says a word.
Then you move.
You lean across the console, grab a fistful of his shirt, and your mouth finds his like you’ve been holding your breath for hours. The impact steals it from him completely. It’s fast, rough, desperate—the kind of kiss that leaves no space for thought. His hand slides up to your jaw, fingers tangling in your hair as you climb over the console, straddling him without breaking contact.
It’s cramped, clumsy—but neither of you care. You taste like salt and adrenaline, every breath a ragged sound against his lips. His hands find your waist, dragging you closer, and you make a sound that goes straight through him. When you finally pull back—just far enough for air—your voice is wrecked and breathless.
“Took you long enough.”
Scott laughs low, voice hot against your lips. “Did it?”
You don’t answer—you just kiss him again, harder this time, and he lets you take what you want, lets himself get lost in the heat and weight of it. The cab feels too small, the air too thick, the world narrowing to the press of your body and the slick slide of your mouth on his.
You gasp against him when his fingers dig into your hips, a sound that makes his control slip another inch. You grind down, desperate, and his hands tighten instinctively, holding you there. Your hands move restlessly—gripping his shoulders, sliding up his neck, tangling in his hair until his StormPAR cap falls somewhere between the seats.
It’s only when you roll your hips again, harder this time, that he pulls back—reluctantly—breathing hard against your lips. “Do you really want to do this here?”
You tilt your head and start tracing kisses along his jaw, your voice muffled against his skin. “Probably not.”
He chuckles, the sound vibrating between you as you lift your head and rest your forehead against his, both trying to catch your breath. The air between you hums—thick and unsteady—the second-hand taste of tequila still sharp on his tongue, the sound of your mingled breathing louder than the low idle of the engine.
His hands linger at your waist, thumbs tracing slow, absent-minded circles against the warm stretch of skin just below that damn crimson top. He could sit here for hours, he thinks, just breathing you in. But reason creeps back in, hazy and reluctant.
He clears his throat. “We should probably move this somewhere else before someone walks by.”
You don’t move. If anything, your weight settles a little more fully against him, the ghost of a smile brushing his lips when you murmur, “You worried about getting caught?”
He huffs, low and amused. “Not really.” His fingers tighten at your hips, keeping you there for one more beat before he exhales. “I’m lucky I made it out at all, actually. Your boyfriend almost stopped me.”
That gets you to lift your head, eyes narrowing. “My what?”
Scott shifts in his seat, trying to play it off like he hadn’t said it just to see how you’d react. “Tyler,” he says, keeping his tone carefully even. “He saw me leaving out the back. Looked like he was going to say something, but I didn’t stop.”
You blink, then let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Tyler’s not my boyfriend.”
“He acts like it,” Scott mutters, jaw tightening.
You tilt your head, searching his face, that same small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth like you can see straight through him. “You jealous, Scott?”
He rolls his eyes, fingers flexing at your waist. “No.”
You hum softly, unconvinced, and finally start to shift off his lap. The movement is slow, deliberate—your hips dragging over his, the slide of denim against denim leaving heat in its wake. Scott’s fingers twitch like he wants to pull you back, but he doesn’t. He just watches you settle into the passenger seat, hair tousled, lips swollen, the faintest smirk playing on your mouth.
The silence that follows feels different now. Not awkward—just taut, stretched thin over everything neither of you is saying.
Scott clears his throat, shifting in his seat to discreetly adjust the tightness in his jeans before gripping the wheel. He shifts the truck into gear and glances at the mirrors—catching your reflection. Your head is tipped against the window, your expression a little dazed—thanks to the tequila, no doubt—but your smile is smug, like you know exactly what you’ve done to him.
The drive to the motel is mostly silent, save for the low hum of the engine and the soft crackle of the radio. Scott’s pulse never really settles—because every time you move, every shift of your leg or tilt of your head, his eyes flick toward you and all the blood in his body rushes south again.
You’re still leaning against the window, lashes low, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. And there isn’t anything he wouldn’t give to know what you’re thinking right now. To know if your pulse is still racing. To know if you’ve got your thighs pressed together for the same reason that his knuckles have gone white on the steering wheel.
God. This is dangerous.
Maybe you were right when you said it has to stop. Maybe you had a point.
Maybe he should put a stop to this before something—or someone—breaks.
But then your reflection tilts toward him again, lips still red and swollen from his kiss, and he knows he’s lying to himself.
The rest of the drive blurs by in flashes of passing headlights and rough-edged silence. You don’t speak. Neither does he. The air feels thick enough to touch, charged with the ghost of every breath you shared in that front seat. When the motel sign finally glows into view—faded neon cutting through the dark—Scott’s grip tightens on the wheel like it’s the only thing tethering him to sense.
He pulls into the gravel lot and kills the engine, the sudden quiet ringing in his ears. You unbuckle fast, fingers fumbling with the seatbelt before you shove the door open.
You’re out of the truck before he can reach for the handle. He climbs out a beat later, rounding the truck in a few long strides until he’s behind you. The space between you hums with static, and when you glance up at him—that’s all it takes. He leans down and catches your mouth in a quick, hungry kiss that’s more breath than contact, a promise of what’s coming.
You pull back just enough to whisper, “Room number?”
“Seven,” he says, voice low.
You nod once, already turning away, the sway of your hips an invitation that makes it hard for him to remember how to walk straight. He follows close behind, eyes fixed on you, jaw tight. By the time you reach the door, you’ve already got the key in hand, fumbling it into the lock while his breath ghosts over the back of your neck.
The second you both step inside, Scott kicks the door shut with a dull thud. The room smells faintly of dust and motel soap, the only light coming from the flickering lamp beside the bed. You barely make it two steps before his hand catches your wrist and pulls you back.
Then his mouth is on yours again.
It’s messy and hungry and too much all at once. You stumble until the backs of your knees hit the bed, his body pressing into yours as you fall back onto the mattress. His hands brace on either side of your head, and he kisses you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he stops.
Because he is. He can admit it now. He’s afraid that if he stops playing the game, you’ll disappear.
Your hands slide up his chest, over his shoulders, into his hair—dragging him out of his thoughts. He mutters something low against your lips, something that sounds like your name, then trails kisses over your cheek, along your jaw. His stubble scrapes against your throat as he drags his mouth lower, teeth grazing your pulse point.
“Scott—” you whisper, but it comes out more like a sigh.
He hums against your skin, the sound low, almost a growl. His hand drifts to your waist, thumb brushing bare skin, and he can feel your body tremble—feel how much you want this. And it’s intoxicating, knowing he’s the reason for the way you’re whimpering right now.
Then, between one kiss and the next, his voice drops low. “Just so we’re clear…” His breath hitches, lips brushing your jaw. “You and Tyler never—” he swallows hard, “—you know?”
You laugh, the sound breathless, your fingers curling in his shirt. “God, no.” It slips out fast, automatic, like the question doesn’t even register as serious. And then—still chasing his mouth, still drunk on tequila and him—you add without thinking, “I haven’t been with anyone since you.”
Scott stills—completely.
You don’t notice. You just find his mouth again, like nothing’s happened, while he’s frozen—heart pounding, brain short-circuiting—trying to decide if he really heard what he thinks he did.
And by the time he can finally breathe again, you’ve already pulled him back under.
- You -
It’s déjà vu.
The kind that settles heavy in your chest before you’ve even opened your eyes. The sheets are twisted around your legs, the air smells like stale sweat and tequila, and your mouth tastes like regret and toothpaste that isn't yours.
You don’t have to look to know where you are. Or who’s beside you.
It’s pathetic, really—how easy it is for you to fall back into him. How easy it is to tell yourself this is the last time while his arm is still heavy across your waist, his breath slow and even against the back of your neck.
It’s not your fault. Not really.
It’s his fault—and the tequila. Because if he’d just left you alone at the bar, you wouldn’t be here. If he’d just let you finish your bad date, you’d be waking up alone in your own motel room.
Not beside him.
Again.
With a heavy sigh, you quietly untangle your legs and slip out from beneath Scott’s arm. He stirs, but doesn’t fully wake—just shifts a little further onto your side and buries his face in your pillow.
For a moment, you just stare. You trace the angle of his jaw, the curve of his neck, the slope of his shoulders. Down the pale expanse of his back until his body disappears beneath the sheets. You don’t realise you’re holding your breath until your chest starts to ache—and only then do you turn away, shaking your head.
This can’t happen again. Ever.
It’s too dangerous.
You find your clothes a few feet from the bed and reluctantly pull them back on. Then you duck into the bathroom, splash your face with water, and try to make your hair look less like you just had your brains fucked out.
When you step back into the room, Scott’s awake. He’s sitting on the edge of the mattress, staring at his boxers—and it takes every ounce of your self-control to meet his eyes instead of letting your gaze drift lower.
“Hey,” you mutter, dropping into the small lounge chair to put on your shoes.
“Hey,” he mumbles, finally leaning forward to pick up his boxers.
This morning feels strange. Different. Like something broke last night, and now whatever it is you two have been doing feels wrong—not just wrong because you’ve been sneaking around, but because something in it has shifted.
You just don’t know what.
“This can’t happen again,” you say, voice firm. “I’m serious this time.”
He glances up at you, eyes wide, expression unreadable. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him not acting like a smug prick the morning after. But today? He doesn’t look smug at all. There’s something else in his gaze you can’t quite name. Something sincere. Something real. Too real.
You clear your throat. “It—it’s too dangerous. Tyler’s already onto us. It’s just not worth it.”
His brows lift, just slightly. “Not worth it?”
“You know what I mean,” you sigh.
He braces his elbows on his knees. “Yeah,” he mutters. “You’re right.”
You almost trip on your way to find your second shoe. “You’re... agreeing with me?”
He shrugs, but something about it’s too tense to be casual. “It’s dangerous. We should stop.”
Something twists deep in your chest—sharp, sudden, gone before you can name it. The back of your throat burns and thickens, as if you’re about to cry. But no—that would be ridiculous. You’re just hungover. Sleep-deprived. Probably hungry.
You swallow hard. “Good. Then we’re on the same page.”
He doesn’t answer—he just watches you, quiet and unmoving, his hands clasped between his knees, knuckles white. His jaw works once, like he’s biting back something he won’t let himself say—and for a heartbeat, you almost ask what it is.
But the look in his eyes makes your chest feel too tight, so you move instead.
You tear your gaze away, slip on your shoe, and start searching for your phone tangled somewhere in the sheets at the bottom of the bed. Once you find it, you straighten, adjust your shirt that doesn’t really need adjusting, and head toward the door.
“I guess I’ll... see you?”
He nods once. “See you around.”
You hesitate, hand resting on the doorknob, your breath caught somewhere between your ribs. For a second, you think he’s going to say something—his head lifts, his brows draw tighter—but the silence stretches, heavy and unbroken.
Why does it feel like this?
Before you can give in to the stupid, aching urge to stay, you force yourself to open the door and step out. And it hurts. For some reason, it hurts.
Your chest gets tighter the farther you walk from his motel room. Your head feels fuzzy, your hands won’t stop shaking, and there’s a voice buried deep in the back of your mind screaming at you to turn around.
You’ve never felt like this before. Not with Scott. Not with anyone. And you have no idea why.
All you do know is that this—whatever this was—really does feel like the end.
summary// you ended up realizing that making clark your lab rat would simultaneously be the best and worst decision of your relationship.
content warning// conditioning, mating press, doggy style, nasty filthy sex, creampie, clark is feral, clark has an alien dick, clark swears, improper use of x-ray vision, kryptonian breeding kink, squirting, clark is pathetic
2k words whew
with clark kent fucking you like that, you don’t think you’re making it out alive.
well, your fault for trying to experiment on a poor, farm-grown kryptonian.
.
on monday, on the evening, you decided that you could begin your sick little experiment of conditioning on clark. after reading an article about it online, you wanted your alien boyfriend to be your lab-rat for it, and saw no apparent downsides to the experiment, so you went on with it.
starting with the trigger, you decided for it to be a duck emoji. weird enough for clark to be confused, not too weird for it to have him worrying like the sweetheart he is. ten minutes before you arrived home after work, you had sent him a singular duck emoji with no context or follow-up to it, which, as expected, had your poor clarkie as confused as ever. you smiled when he immediately texted back with ‘???’—success. as soon as you arrived home, you barely let him finish his questioning before pouncing on him, interrupting his sentence with a kiss he welcomed with open arms.
that night, you rode the man to the moon and back—gave him such mind-numbing pleasure that he couldn’t even bother to remember his previous confusion about the duck emoji.
and so, with the first day being a success, you repeated the process.
every day following that one, you would do the same thing—no texts or news all day, a duck emoji ten minutes before coming home, mind-blowing sex.
after a few days of repeating the process, you began to space out these encounters, opting to send the duck emoji every two to three days—a great way to keep the man on his toes, anticipating, waiting for the next time you'd send him that emoji.
then came the most awaited experiment—your greatest mistake.
it was on a friday night that you had decided tonight was the night. you had sent clark the usual duck emoji, smirking as he had immediately seen the text. however, when you arrived home, it wasn't like usual. usually, upon sending the emoji, you'd pounce on him and drag him to the bedroom. tonight, however? radio silence. well, not quite, but that's it felt to clark. you didn't give him those bedroom eyes you usually did on nights you were feeling particularly needy, you insisted on taking a shower all by yourself (he almost crumbled at that) and after dinner, you lounged on the couch to watch a tv show without even asking him to follow you! you just did!
the thing about clark kent is, he's a gentleman through and through. his ma had raised him to be one, and for christ's sake, he was superman! how could he not be a gentleman? but, he sympathizes with himself, you can't spell gentlemna without man, and clark was a man before he was anything else. a very aroused and hopelssly in love man, at that.
he stands awkwardly in the doorway of the living room, staring at you. you noticed, of course, but this wasn't unusual. clark has always had sort of weird quirks—you had always found them endearing. "is something the matter, honey?" your sirupy voice cut through his stream of thought, and suddenly his eyes focus again, gaze meeting yours.
clark has his phone in hand, and he brings it up to look back at the duck emoji you had sent. duck meant sex. you wanted this. he can indulge. you want this.
he knows you do. you sent the text, and he feels like he can almost smell your arousal and it's driving him fucking insane because he just wants to dive in it and taste it and fuck you everywhere so the entire place smells like you and-
in the blink of an eye, his phone is abandonned and he's on you, lips smashed against yours. you barely have the time to react but you do, arms now hanging around his thick neck. his hand latches itself onto your cheeks, fingers pressing into both of them, urging you to open your mouth. as soon as you do, his tongue, which was inhumanely long, snaked into your cavern, exploring its depths. he moaned at the taste of your saliva, almost melting into you as if the flavor of you was his ultimate salvation.
noticing the lack of air filling your lungs, he pulled away, his eyes softening at the sight of you catching your breath. "c-clark... what's... whta's gotten into you?" you licked your lips, face flushed. he looks at you like a puppy begging for its treat. "the emoji... you sent the emoji but you didn't... i thought..." his mind is a rush, moving at a thousand miles per hour as his entire body is begging him to rip your clothes off and take you.
he gives up, his head falling into the crook of your neck. "i just... i really need to fuck you, sweetheart." and as he's confessing this, his hand is gliding towards the waistband of your bottoms, sliding swiftly underneath it.
you think you could ascend.
you bite your lip, rendered mute at the sheer tension of the moment. "i know you want it, baby..." he scoffs, eyes closed. "can smell it."
curse him for being such a dangerously hot and multi-abled alien.
his hand makes its way underneath your panties, finger running through your slit, collecting the slick you've been trying to keep to yourself for the past hour. "ah..." you let out a low sound, almost imperceptible but clark was so hyper-focused on you that the little moan made him shudder.
he uses his forearm to push himself upwards, his hand escaping your bottoms to rush up to his mouth, and when you look at him, you gasp, feeling your walls clench.
because clark has never looked this feral.
his eyes were half-lidded and impossibly dark, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallows your juices, eyes nearly rolling back at the taste. he moans, his cock twitching and growing inside his sweatpants.
"you're gonna give it t'me, right sweetie?" he asks in that low, sultry voice that he only allows himself to use when he'd rather die than not touch you.
the eager nod you gave him marked the moment you knew you were done for.
.
how long has it been? you don't know. you don't know anything, actually. your brain is fogged with how clark was pounding you into the fuzzy carpet, your eyes crossing when the buds running along his dick grazed against the ridges of your walls, the added sensation making you spasm. "f-ffuck-! clark- oh my god, ohmygod—" you can barely form a sentence, let alone link two words together when he knocks at your cervix, your tits bouncing in rhythm with every thrust.
and clark isn't even listening to you, his eyes laser-focused on the sight of his cock splitting you open repeatedly, a vein bulging on his forehead at his intense use of his x-ray vision. "look at that, b-baby... look..." and you don't even bother, too lost in the ecstasy. he sees it all though, the strings of your arousal clinging to his tip every time he pulls away, the ridged of your pussy hooking onto his buds, the contractions of your muscles.
he finally manages to pull his eyes away from the sight, only to be met with the even prettier, albeit messier sight of your fucked out face. tears and drool glossed your skin, your eyes rolled back nearly to the back of your skull, throwing your head back when clark's hips stutter against yours, a white-hot wave washing over him over the sight.
he stilled when his buds hardened and hooked onto your walls, pulling him impossibly deep as he shoots buckets worth of cum deep into your womb. "a-ah! holy sh- hmm, fffuck, baby- i- fuck!" he sobs, jerking down towards you and you moan at the feeling of him filling you up once more, droplets of his sweat dripping onto your buzzing skin.
despite his orgasm, he doesn't stop, "n-need m-moree- needa fill you up-! ah, fuck!" his voice jumps up an octave when his buds finally relax again, allowing him to keep pistoning into you. "d-don't stop, clark! please dont- oh-!" he suddenly grabs your thighs, throwing them over his shoulders before beeending down, succesfully folding you in half. his face is now slotted right in front of yours, and the eye contact is so intense you almost feel shy under his gaze.
a mating press. clark kent had you in a fucking mating press.
you get lost in his ocean blue eyes, barely able to keep the eye conatct when he fucks you almost like he hated you, digging in your pussy. "you're... you're so beautiful, honey... so fucking pretty- all f'me, yeah? all f'me?" you nod, hands pressing against the back of his head to bring him impossiby closer to you, "all for you, clarkie," you confirmed being hastily pressing his against you, imprisoning him in a feverish kiss. clark moans into your mouth, eyes closing. you jolt slightly when you feel a tear drip down on your cheek, peeling your eyes open to see clark crying.
he pulls away, gasping for air as his throat restricts. "i l-love you, love you s'much— need you so, ngh, so bad... wanna breed ya'..." he sobs, whimpering for you. seeing clark become such a slave to his love for you had an inescapable effect on you, and your orgasm was almost immediate. you came with a gasp, the pleasure being so heavy that your eyes had given up on their function, unfocusing and leaving you with the blurry image of clark's flushed expression. your back arched as cream dribbled out of your hole, creating a white ring around clark's base.
in the midst of your orgasm, he pulls out, making you whine for the few seconds your face isn't smushed against the carpet because in a matter of moments, your world tilted before you found yourself face down ass up for your boyfriend. he pressed a hand on your back, urging a deeper arch. "m'sorry baby, m'so sorry..." he apologizes for the his unceremonial behavior but his apologies fall on deaf ears as you couldn't be happier.
your hands clutch the fluff of the carpet when he slams back into you, kneading the flesh of your ass. "just... just need this. s'your fault for making me wait... so long.. to have you- ngh, gosh..." he's hypnotized by the rippling of your ass, and the way your back bends impossibly for a second each time he rams back inside you, pressing you further into the carpet.
with clark kent fucking you like that, you really don’t think you’re making it out alive.
well, your fault for trying to experiment on a poor, farm-grown kryptonian.
your moans are rhythmic, matching the pace of his hips. leaning in, he wraps an arm around you to squeeze your tits, massaging them and rubbing your hardened nipples. "so obedient..." his comment makes your walls flutter around his fat cock. he begins to roll his hips, not quite thrusting. he presses against you, making you drool. "nghhh... fffuuuck... love you... so much.. c-clark-!" you slurred, going crazy at the sensation of his buds hardening slowly again, hooking onto your insides.
"w-want your cum-! want you to b-breed me!" you egged him on, "yeah? y'want it, baby? oh gosh, i'm cumming, m'cummingm'cumming-" he gritted, spilling into you once more. "oh my god! oh god, sweetheart!" he whined, your name escaping him as his hips bucked again, releasing rope upon rope inside you. his orgasm triggered yours, drops of your release trickled down onto the carpet before his hand snaked down to your clit, rubbing furiously and suddenly an intense stream released itself onto the now soaked carpet, the intensity of both of your orgasms making the two of you collaspe in a heap.
he layed on top of you, both of you catching your breaths. "i feel so... sticky." he remarked, "shit... i ruined the carpet." you groaned, knitting your eyebrows together.
a silence settled in, before you broke it. "i'm glad my experiment worked." a beat passes before he reacts, "experiment?"
"i tried conditioning you into associating sex with the duck emoji. it worked."
clarks hums, choosing not to react any further.
a few days later, minutes after the end of your shift, you receive a text from clark.
