Can we please get more possessive Scott? I love the way you write him!
omg thank u!!! this is for u anon🩷
possessive!scott who always keeps spare painkillers in his truck because you once complained about a headache. carries a charger because your phone is always dying.
possessive!scott who introduces you to people as “his girl” before you can even get your name out.
possessive!scott who’s very good at making things sound reasonable. you’ll call him out for being controlling.
he’ll immediately just say “i’m worried about you.”
and suddenly you’re questioning yourself.
possessive!scott who’s terrible at taking breaks. he’ll be sitting at the little motel desk at 1:37am, baseball cap backwards, staring at weather models like his life depends on it. you’ll wake up and find the bed empty.
eventually you stop asking him to come to bed. instead you just drag your blanket off the mattress and wrap yourself around him from behind. arms around his shoulders, face pressed against his back.
he sighs dramatically, “baby.”
five minutes later he’s still working one-handed because he refuses to make you let go.
think we can all agree possessive!scot just equals bf!scott because it’s just his personality
The low hum of the bar faded into the background as he guided you toward the pool table in the back corner. Dim lights cast a golden glow over the green felt, and the clack of balls from other tables seemed distant now. "Here," he murmured, voice low and smooth like aged whiskey. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his black button-down earlier, exposing strong forearms corded with muscle and faint veins that flexed as he picked up a cue. The fabric strained slightly over his shoulders, and you tried not to stare.
You gripped the cue awkwardly, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he stood behind you. “I’ve never been good at this.”
“That’s why I’m teaching you, sweetheart.” His chest brushed your back as he leaned in, one hand settling lightly on your hip to adjust your stance. The heat of his palm burned through the thin fabric of your dress. “Bend forward a little more.” You did, feeling the cool edge of the table against your hips. He stepped in fully then, his body molding against yours from behind in one fluid motion. Tall, solid, and far too warm.
“Like this,” he whispered. His breath ghosted over the sensitive skin of your neck, sending a shiver racing down your spine. You could smell his cologne; something dark and woody that made your head feel fuzzy. His fingers slid down your arm, wrapping around your hand on the cue to correct your grip. His thumb stroked once along the side of your wrist, almost absentmindedly, but the way your breath hitched told him everything.
“Eyes on the cue ball,” he continued, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Not the pocket yet. You need to feel the angle first.” His other hand moved to your shoulder, pressing you gently into the proper form. You were caged between his arms now, trapped in the most delicious way possible. Every small shift of his body against yours sent sparks through you, the hard plane of his chest, the subtle flex of his thighs behind yours.
You tried to focus on the shot, but all you could think about was how perfectly he fit against you, how his breath kept teasing your neck with every instruction, warm and ragged like he was fighting the same tension you were. “Relax,” he said huskily, his mouth hovering just below your ear. “You’re too tense. Let me help.”
He adjusted your elbow, his fingers lingering far longer than necessary, tracing down to your wrist again. When you finally took the shot, the cue ball struck with a sharp crack, but you barely noticed where it went. All you registered was the way his grip tightened on your hip as he praised you softly. “There you go, baby, you're a natural.”
The words hit low in your stomach. You straightened up slowly, turning in the small space he allowed you. His eyes were dark, locked on your lips for a beat too long before flicking back up. “Again?” he asked, the corner of his mouth curving into a smirk that promised much more than another lesson.
You swallowed hard, pulse racing. “Yeah… I think I need a lot more practice.”
a/n: i saw a video on tiktok about this and had to write it lol
y'all have no idea the sheer horny energy coursing through my veins right now. his longer hair is driving me fuckign crazy. seeing him is like seeing my war husband. i'm feral.
Ngl I didn’t know that posters preferred reblogs over likes!! I’m def keeping that in mind from now on
yess!! unfortunately with the way this app is, the likes dont really do much but just save it for you, the reblogs are like the main function for spreading things on this app.
also reblogs kinda support human interaction a lot more on here bc theres a lottt of bots and a lot of those bots just like your posts
& dont get me wrong im grateful either way, its okay if you only like!! <3
a/n: this has been in my drafts for months oops!! thank u everyone for sending me requests i promise im working on them!!!! 💓💓
he’s busy. he’s working. he doesn’t have time for you.
and you try to be understanding about it.
because this is what he wanted, right? more funding, bigger backing, investors with pressed suits and polite smiles and questions that stretch meetings long past midnight.
this is the part where everything gets real. less dirt under his nails, more contracts on the table. less chasing storms, more chasing signatures.
scott miller, suddenly a man with somewhere else to be.
you sit cross-legged at the edge of his bed, the lamp casting that soft honey glow over the room, and you check your phone again. nothing. no text, no “on my way,” not even a half-assed thumbs up.
your reflection in the mirror catches your eye, silk shorts, oversized tee slipping off one shoulder, just enough to be something. just enough to maybe make him forget whatever spreadsheet or investor call has him tied up.
you huff, flopping back dramatically against the pillows.
it’s stupid, you know it is. he’s not ignoring you on purpose. he’s just… consumed. like when he used to get with storms, eyes locked on the horizon, everything else fading out into background noise.
except now the storm is paperwork. meetings. expectations.
the lock clicks. you don’t move, too wrapped up in your own sulking, but you hear him. the way he exhales like the day’s been sitting heavy on his chest, the soft thud of his bag hitting the floor.
“you awake?” scott asks, voice low, careful.
you roll onto your side, propping your head up with your hand. “barely.”
he steps into the light, loosening his tie with one hand, hair slightly mussed, sleeves rolled just enough to show the lines of his forearms. he looks… tired. but there’s something else there too, something sharper, more focused. like he’s been switched onto a different frequency lately.
his eyes land on you, and they pause.
just for a second.
then again, longer this time.
“…hey,” he says, softer now.
you shrug, pretending not to notice the way his gaze drags over your bare legs, the hem of your shirt, the way it dips just enough.
“thought you were busy,” you say lightly.
“i was.” he steps closer, unbuttoning his cuffs, but his attention isn’t on his hands anymore. it’s on you. “ran late.”
“figured,” you reply, turning your face away just slightly. “important investor stuff.”
he hums, like he’s half-listening, half-thinking. “you’ve been waiting up?”
you don’t answer right away. just pick at a loose thread on the blanket.
“maybe.”
another step closer. then another.
“you didn’t have to do that.”
“i know.”
there’s a pause. thick. quiet.
that familiar weight of his attention when it finally, fully lands on you.
“what’re you wearing?” he asks, voice dipping lower, rougher around the edges now.
you glance up at him through your lashes, feigning innocence. “what, this?”
you tug lightly at the hem of your shirt, letting it slip a little more off your shoulder.
his jaw tightens.
“yeah,” he murmurs, almost to himself.
“not tempting you in the least, right?” you tease, but there’s a hint of something real underneath it.
he stills. then he exhales a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh, dragging a hand down his face before looking at you again, properly this time.
“you’ve gotta be kidding me.”
before you can respond, he’s moving, closing the space between you in two strides, hands bracing on either side of you as he leans over the bed.
“i’ve been stuck in rooms all day,” he says, voice low, eyes locked on yours, “listening to people talk numbers and risk and long-term projections...”
his gaze flickers down again, slower this time, less restrained.
“and you think this isn’t tempting?”
your breath catches, just slightly.
“you didn’t seem in a rush to get home,” you murmur.
“that’s because i didn’t know this is what i was coming back to.” his hand slides to your waist, fingers curling just enough to pull you a fraction closer.
“don’t get it twisted,” he adds quietly, leaning in, his voice brushing warm against your ear, “i’ve got time for you.”
your heart stutters.
“yeah?” you whisper.
his grip tightens, just a little.
“yeah.” he says, while lowering his head to gently kiss your neck. his weight presses against you as you shift your legs to either side of him, finally getting some relief in your core.
"dont be needy sweetheart, only just got home" he chuckles, big hand softly massaging your breast.
you pout playfully, pulling him closer with your legs. you feel his hard on through his work pants, making you giggle against him. he takes your shirt off, discarding it somewhere in the bedroom, and wastes no time before worshipping your bud in his mouth. he mixes between soft sucks and bites, other hand exploring down your shorts.
he quickly finds your clit through the fabric of your underwear, teasingly rubbing tight circles.
you moan against his kisses, fiddling with his belt and trying to push them down. he gives you a hand, freeing himself just enough to get his hard on out. you drag your fingertips up and down his cock, kissing him desperately.
scott pulls your panties to the side, taking a second to admire your glistening clit. “shit baby, so wet for me” he whispers, stroking his length.
his tip nudges against your hole, gathering the slick, before entering deeply.
“mhmm, fuck scott i missed you” you whine, needily rocking your hips to feel more of him. the weight of him on top of you feels intoxicating. your cunt flutters around him, sucking him in deeper. his tip repeatedly hits your soft spot, tightening the coil in your stomach.
“gotta stop squeezing me like that baby, shit, not gonna last long” he mutters, groaning into your ear.
you match each others desperation perfectly. you grip onto his bicep like a vice as you gush around him. “just cum inside me scotty”
after that, scott crumbles, letting his seed fill you up. his eyes never leave yours. he stays ontop of you for a minute, big hand stroking your hair.
from the outside, it looks like scott miller is being sweet for once, constantly stopping at gas stations to pick up drinks for his girlfriend. he climbs back in the truck, passing u flavoured water, pineapple juice, whatever you wanted. his coworkers think it’s cute that he’s making sure ur hydrated!!!!
when in reality, he’s fuelling you up to see how much you can squirt on his cock🩷🩷
he has you on your back, legs to your chest, coaxing another orgasam out of you. his tip repeatedly hits your spongy spot as he rubs tight circles on your clit. “come on baby, just one more. you can do that, right?” he says as u squirm, gushing around him.
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romaincrisis
turnnoffyourmind
origamiaround
pixelskylines
stormborns
