liquor lips, bubblegum bitch
summary: scott miller has had his fill of fleeting nights; now, he buries himself in work, head down, not to be disturbed. that's when you come in; blowing sugar-sweet globes, relentless questions spilling from tinted lips. he knows he shouldn't, can't- but you draw him into your bubble, too bright to resist, fragile enough to pop.
scott miller x slightly younger ! reader
themes: suggestive, slightly smutty so 18+. funny. you are a cutiepie. scott's damaged and broken just how we like them. grumpy x sunshine. slight age gap of about 8 years. references, ofc, to superman. 10k-ish words ok i got carried away so buckle up. enjoy!!
The truck’s headlights sliced through the darkness, their pale glow cutting a path on the slick highway ahead. The tires hummed steadily against the wet asphalt, a constant, rhythmic sound that usually calmed Scott’s nerves.
It was a feeling he’d grown used to over the years- the long hours spent driving through endless stretches of empty roads, chasing storms, chasing destruction, always one step ahead of whatever might tear the world apart next.
But tonight, it was different. There was something gnawing at the back of his mind, some disruption to his usual routine.
The backseat of the truck was too quiet, despite the steady hum of the engine, the occasional swish of windshield wipers keeping the rain at bay. Every few seconds, he heard it- a soft pop.
Nobody else seemed to care. Javi had dozed off hours ago in the passenger seat. Next to you sat Kent and Jim; both in their own worlds, headphones in, music up. Nobody else could hear it. Nobody but the two of you; you, incessant. Scott, irritated.
It was that damn gum you always chewed. The rhythmic sound of it was like an annoying buzz in his ear, always the same, always so loud, so... there. He couldn’t ignore it. He never could.
Scott clenched his jaw, eyes fixed on the road ahead. The storm was coming, he could feel it in his bones. But for some reason, his focus was on the sound of your gum, on the way your lips seemed to work in perfect rhythm, pulling the sticky candy in and out of your mouth like it was the only thing in the world that mattered.
Pink. Bright pink. Obnoxiously pink. He'd seen it wedged between your pearly whites far too many times for it to be considered a normal, healthy, edible shade.
"Can you not?" he muttered under his breath, barely loud enough to be heard over the hum of the engine.
But of course, you didn’t hear him. Or maybe you just didn’t care. Another otherwise-satisfying sound left your lips.
He let out a frustrated sigh. Of all the things that could get under his skin, it had to be something so stupid. It was just bubblegum. People chewed it all the time. Hell, Scott had a pack of his own in the glovebox; mint.
But you? You chewed it like it was the only thing keeping you sane in this insane world. Quick, efficient, popping it over and over like it didn’t matter that you were speeding toward a tornado that could tear apart entire towns.
"Can you... can you not do that?" he finally snapped, his patience wearing thin.
You leaned forward, blinking distractedly. Truthfully, you hadn't actually noticed; too busy watching the wide stretch of Kansas outside of the backseat window.
“What? You don’t like gum?”
Scott didn’t answer at first, just stared straight ahead, wishing he could escape the nagging feeling in his chest.
He hated being irritated by something so trivial. It wasn’t you, not really- it was everything. The storm. The weight of the job. The greasy diner breakfasts and sludges mistaken for coffee and empty, dingy motel rooms.
The isolation. The loneliness. The pressure.
You, on the other hand, seemed to just float through it all. You didn’t care. You were light- and that, more than anything, drove him crazy.
He caught sight of your brows furrowing. Perfect little things, he thought, once oddly noticing the way they framed the rest of your face just right. Then you'd open your mouth and spew out some shit like that cloud looks like a fat skeleton, and Scott would- once again- be reminded of why it physically pained him to pay any attention to you.
"Want me to spit it out?"
It was all he could do not to slam the breaks and reach over to you himself; squeeze your cheeks, let the gum fall, and hurl it out of the window.
"What? No! Just- damnit, just close your mouth,"
"I am closing my mouth," you said back, eyes narrowing at him through the rear-view mirror.
"Stop with the damn blowing," he shot back, knuckles set on the wheel.
A small, amused tug pulled at the corners of your lips. Scott pretended not to notice. "You could have just said," you slumped further into your seat. Next to you, Kent leant his head against the window, eyes shut, completely out of Scott's vision. A pang of jealousy jolted through you.
"I mean it, kid," Scott warned. He'd looked away from you now, steely blue eyes focused on the road ahead. "We've still got a few hours to go, I'm not putting up with it anymore."
Big mistake. Massive mistake; you regretted the words as soon as you said them. Once again, Scott was glaring at you through the rearview mirror.
"I said, drive safely." you lied.
“Are you always like this?”
"What? A gum-chewer?" you mumbled to yourself.
You sulked. Scott paused, waiting for another quirky quip back, but he could see it in your slump that you were done pissing him off for the night. Not that you ever meant to, he realised. This was just the way you were.
She's young, Javi had winced, just one day before your arrival, knowing already that Scott would have a problem with it. Why wouldn't he? Shots were being called regarding internships that he had no say in. But she's good. Apparently.
You came up to him on the first day with a grin so wide, he was scared it'd stretch right off your pretty little face. Sometimes, though Scott would never admit it, it was infectious. Maybe even cute. When you first started, he actually found you quite interesting.
Young, wide-eyed, bright; full of an energy he'd assumed would fizzle out eventually due to the constant pressures of what you all did. But then one month turned into two, and that two bled into five, and you hadn't changed. Not one bit.
You were relentless. You kept finding things to do, ways to keep moving, conversations to join. Though he'd rather die than say it out loud, he found you cute- in the way that people usually do when they see a litter of puppies for the first time.
He kept finding you cute. Kept letting himself find you cute. Then one night- when everybody else was at the bar and he was alone with his own thoughts- Scott allowed himself to find you irresistible.
Thoughts of you sinking down on him flooded his mind, taking up ever vacant corner and making it their home. He'd pumped his length faster than he had in months. Flashes of you moaning, whining, fucked dumb on his co-
"Can we turn the music up?"
Never again, he'd told himself. It was one time.
He should’ve said something. Something sharp. Something mean, like you probably expected him to. Instead, he did exactly what you said; turning the volume up the loudest it would go.
Hoping- praying- it would rid his mind of any and all thoughts of you.
You stayed oblivious to it all, glazed eyes fixated on the road ahead.
When the truck finally pulled into a gas station a few hours later, Scott stayed back, his mind still running in circles. He wasn’t hungry, didn’t need anything. You had all already scattered inside, doing your usual round of stretching, grabbing snacks; whatever else possible to unwind from over five hours of continuous driving.
But Scott? He wasn’t built for that kind of downtime. He stayed in the truck, locked in his own head, trying to prepare for whatever came next.
Javi came back first, a pack of cigarettes in hand that made Scott raise an eyebrow. "What?"
"Yeah. Figured I'd try it out, you know? Don't wanna die without knowing what it tastes like."
He knew it was a joke; could see it in Javi's quirked lip and the fact that he hadn't even bothered to take the film off before opening the glovebox and tossing it inside. Yet something gnawed at Scott's insides, a constant, aching feeling.
The one ahead of you all was predicted to be the worst storm to date. He'd seen what really bad storms did to the people in the towns, sure; mass destruction, uprooted ways of living, profitable expanses. It was all in the name of the game. But what it did to the crew? To the people like him, like Javi, the rest of StormPAR, collecting data and putting themselves right in the middle of it?
Well, he'd lost count of the people he let himself care about and lose. If it wasn't a tragic accident, it was a sudden leave of the team; never to be seen or heard from again. So, he never let himself get too close. Refused.
Javi called him a dick. Scott knew he was just playing it safe.
You were the last one to return, slipping back into the truck with a smile on your face and an enclosed fist. Scott hadn't noticed your giddy expression until he turned the key in the ignition; the engine roaring to life.
Your face popped up between his seat and Javi's. As he turned to face the other man, he was greeted with the sight of your smile instead.
Illuminated in the darkness. Unprovoked. And, to be frank, quite terrifying.
“Gum,” you said casually, holding something out to him.
Scott blinked, confused for a second. If he hadn't been so taken aback, he would have been furious at your lack of warning. “What?”
“You like mint, right?” he saw the glimmer of the little silver packet in your hand.
You shrugged as if it was no big deal, but the little glint of thoughtfulness in your eyes made something stir in his chest.
“It's spearmint, not just the regular stuff that you get. Thought it might be better.”
He reached down and took it without a word, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest of moments. It was a simple thing. A small gesture. But somehow, it felt like the most complicated thing in the world.
You didn't wait for him to register, had no time to. You'd already slotted yourself back into the middle seat, nudging a distracted Kent who'd been watching something on his phone, wordlessly begging him to let you see.
Scott stalled for a bit. A split second. But that was enough to earn a pair of narrowed eyes from Javi, who looked like he was about to come out with a dumbass statement any second now.
“Thanks,” Scott finally muttered, though the words felt strange coming out of his mouth.
Your head snapped up, momentarily, and you smiled at him, “No problem.” immediately, you went back to whatever fascinating thing was on Kent's screen.
Scott put the car in reverse. Backed out of the space. Tires hit gravel, sand and asphalt all at once as the truck began barrelling down that same road again.
For the last hour, he drove steadily, as if the smoothness of the car could calm the hammering in his chest.
In his free hand, his fingers toyed with the little silver packet, mindlessly, wordlessly.
Days blurred together in a haze of data, storm readings, and long hours in cramped trucks and motels. There was always another storm to chase, another reading to capture, another risk to take.
Scott had begun to hate the monotony. He'd always prided himself in being a structured guy, but it was getting harder and harder to stick to a routine when it was slowly but surely sucking the life out of him.
Before, when he'd first started and him and Javi were fresh-faced interns taking on the world together, he found it fun. Exciting, even, a new challenge to brave after years spent pining for a degree at MIT- though even way back then, he was only really in it for the money.
Then, there was the drinking.
He never truly knew his limits. He hadn't been dumb enough to join a fraternity during college- his father would have tied him to a tree and set him alight- but he liked the feeling a few beers and a drag of someone else's cigarette gave him. Scott would let himself fully unwind then; the smile on his face disingenguine but wide, the drink in his hand a hard, dark liquor he would still be able to taste in the morning.
Then- as if smoking wasn't bad enough- he'd developed yet another nasty habit.
Nights out at the bar almost always turned into an extra digit added to his bodycount. It was thrilling, different- and it felt good, so he never really thought twice about it.
But then one night turned into multiple, one body being lost in a sea of tens, and Scott just couldn't bring himself to do it anymore. The drink did things to him, messed with his mind in a way that put a stop to any and all connection. He couldn't even remember half the faces he'd been with. Not that he particularly wanted to.
"Someone had a rough morning," Kate had shrugged one morning, when Scott came to breakfast with tousled hair and a grimace.
He'd shot her a glare, "Shut it."
"I'm just saying," as always, Kate was relentless. "I could hear her from my room. Opposite the courtyard."
"Yeah? Maybe don't listen in then,"
"Or maybe you should give the whole 'cum and go' thing a break. It's getting a little old."
Scott had done nothing but scoff, downing the rest of his coffee with a mutter to mind her own business. But he hadn't ever brought a girl back again after that, knowing there was a lot more truth to Kate's statement than she'd realised.
Though even he knew, settling down wasn't an option. Especially not in his line of work, and especially not after. Nobody wanted to be with a man who always put data first, and he didn't want just anybody; especially not somebody who couldn't grasp just how important his career was to him.
He'd worked far too hard to get to this point. Invested way too much time, money and effort.
Scott sighed, taking his cap off and running a hand through his hair. It had been the worst and best week for the team. Everyone was tired, aching, but every string of data and formulation had been the best they acquired all year.
Through it all, you remained. You were there, bringing that inexplicable brightness with you. You made everyone laugh. You kept everyone sane. He'd never seen Javi so easy-going, and the man was the epitome of easy-going.
Scott, however, couldn’t quite shake you. Every time he thought he’d put you out of his mind, there you were. You were a plague with a pocketful of Hubba Bubba and about fifteen million questions to ask poor Kent. Who, Scott noticed, had never actually given you the greenlight to become his friend, much less his best friend. You just saw the smile on his face one day and ran with it.
If anyone asked Scott, he'd be honest; you were a pest at the worst times, but he knew you never meant to be. Regardless, your dumb questions were met with silence from him instead of the usual narrowed eyes and snarky remark.
"...So you agree?" you'd asked him one morning, eyebrow raised, hand flat on your hip.
Scott kept his gaze on the laptop before him, fighting any and all urges to give into your intiation of a conversation.
"You agree that you look like Superman."
Truth be told, if this was any other time, he'd probably just get up and walk away. If you weren't bodyshaming clouds and forcing your way into other peoples' iPhone screen watch parties, you were coming up with the dumbest comparisons for all of the members on your team.
Scott, unfortunately, included. He'd kept his head down when you asked Javi if he'd ever watched In The Heights, quizzed Kate on some TV show called Normal People. He thought you'd skip past him, maybe focus on someone like Jim instead.
But you hadn't; you'd waited for the right time, the right moment, to corner Scott (metaphorically) and force him to be part of a conversation he never consented to.
He said nothing. Didn't want to give it the time of day, though the way you were currently looking at him- studying him- made the back of his neck crawl.
"Should head back, kid," he'd muttered, not looking you in the eye. You tilted your head to the side, blinking in confusion.
He made a noise caught between a sigh and a grumble. You watched him for a beat longer, eyes narrowed, arms folded. To you, it was pure analysis- for comparison purposes, that was all.
To Scott, it was the reason his brain short-circuited. Still malfunctioning, long after you'd shrugged and walked away, blowing that damn bubblegum and sucking it back into your mouth with an all-too familiar pop.
From then on, he couldn’t ignore it. He couldn’t stop noticing it.
Neon pink sweetness that you'd roll between your tongue and the roof of your mouth, sometimes blowing bubbles big enough to make a mess when you thought no-one was looking. He'd counted once, purely out of boredom; you went through four pieces an hour. Six depending on the brand.
He'd watch it absent-mindedly while you spoke, trying to ignore whatever irrelevant question popped into your head and made a bee-line for your mouth.
Do you have a favourite dish? Not food, a ceramic?
Does your hat have meaning?
Is Max alive? I haven't seen him in days.
Other than the gum and the stupid questions, you were actually quite okay at the job. Sharp at your work, sharper than any intern he'd ever met. You knew your stuff, breathed it, didn't stress over it. Hell, even Kate and Javi were starting to notice.
"She's decent, isn't she?"
"Yeah," Javi had hummed. They both watched you do your thing, Scott unknowingly listening behind them, "Might have to keep her on after the internship. What do you think, Scott?"
He'd just shrugged, gave a slight nod that barely moved. Regardless, Javi grinned; that same, skeptic look he'd given him in the truck days before.
Scott tried to ignore it. He couldn't let Javi get to him.
The man was persistent, but subtlety wasn't exactly his strong suit; he'd given you a bulk of tasks with Scott as the main lead, would redirect all of your questions, and even went so far as to take your spot in the back seat- just so you'd have no other choice but to slot right next to Scott in the truck.
He thought it would be hell. Thought it'd end in a direct threat to his business partner, a hurtful remark to you, and a warning to everybody else to leave him the fuck alone.
Surprisingly, Scott found himself going along with it. Albeit reluctantly, and always with a glare that Javi would answer back with a wink.
But he kept quiet about it, telling himself it'd be easier and that it was only until this season was over. You were young, dumb and excited; Javi was just trying to get under his skin, that's all.
One evening, as the group gathered in the small motel room, you sat next to Scott; an automatic move now that he'd been your point of call for the whole week.
Your face was intent as you pored over the storm data on your laptop. The others were talking in the background, but his attention was solely on you.
Dishevelled hair framed your flushed face, strands poking this way and that due to having the window down whenever you rode shotgun. Your lips always had a fresh coat of tinted chapstick, and he could smell your bubblegum scent from where he was sitting. Odd, because you weren't currently chewing any.
You didn’t even seem to notice, your eyes scanning the readings with an intensity he hadn’t expected. You were quiet, focused, a terribly different contrast to how you were usually.
You didn’t act like a rookie. You acted like you belonged.
“Do you think the readings are off?” you broke the silence, voice calm but serious. You blinked up at him and he cleared his throat, not having expected the disruption in quiet.
He said nothing. He knew you'd add to it eventually.
“The wind speeds are showing a delay compared to the pressure readings. I think there’s a lag in the data.”
Scott’s eyes flicked to the screen, then back to you.
Like it always did, his brain absorbed everything in front of him and tried to slot it all into place. None of it made any sense.
Not the data. Not his heart. Not how when he looked at you now, the feeling of irritance had been replaced by something far, far worse.
But, especially not the data.
You were right. He wasn’t surprised- at this point, he was starting to expect it from you.
“Yeah,” Scott murmured slowly, his tone begrudging but genuine as his eyes flitted over the data- then, without his consent, to the way your perfectly manicured fingers held the edges of the screen. “You’re right.”
You smiled, the satisfaction of being right playing across your face. "Thank god. I just don't want to mess it up."
Scott didn’t say anything, but the beat of something in his chest stayed with him. You didn’t need his approval, but you had it anyway. For reasons he couldn’t explain, that made him feel something close to admiration.
You confused him, everything you did a wonder to the man in the cap and sunglasses. You were childish and annoying and overwhelming, but when it came to the job, you weren't just a kid who knew a bunch of fancy terms and how to use them.
You were competent. You were good.
Evening came fast and with it, a lighter air around the team. Another day had passed; successful in every way due to the simple reason of everyone actually surviving it.
Scott wanted nothing more than to retreat back to his room, a glass of something neat in his hand. Whisky, maybe, if he knew he wasn't going to be the one driving the next morning.
He had no plans of spending any more time with the people he'd been stuck with all day- he was exhausted. Trying not to snap, trying not to be too condescending because four interns had quit already and this was only their second year on the program.
But then Javi cornered him in the lobby, arms folded and eyebrow raised.
Scott raised his own, "Are you?"
"Hm," Javi ignored him, a beat passing between them, "Busy week, huh?"
"Why'd you keep asking me that?" Scott shot back in slight annoyance- though he knew, if there was anyone on the team who could take it, it would be Javi.
Javi shrugged, "No reason. Just making conversation,"
"We've been together all week. Don't think there's much more conversation to be had,"
"You'd be surprised," yet another mischevious glint glimmered in Javi's eyes, "Any plans tonight?"
Scott wanted to laugh as he took a seat in one of the peeling leather sofas. "Does it look like we're anywhere near a place that can have plans?"
Javi smirked, "Good point. Tell that joke again over drinks later,"
Immediately, Scott shook his head.
"Oh, come on! It's a good joke-"
"No, Javi," he interrupted, voice slightly firmer this time. "I don't do that shit anymore,"
"What shit? Hang out with your friends?"
He said nothing, knowing Javi wouldn't take it too personally.
"Come on, dude. When was the last time you had a drink that wasn't in your motel room?"
Scott didn't want to think about it. He was 99% sure it had ended with some girl whose name he didn't even know moaning his, over and over, as the bed banged against the wall and an ache bloomed in his chest.
Over and over and over again, like clockwork. One whisky was all it took to create a lifelong pang of regret.
"That new rookie," Javi hinted gently, eyes on everything else in the room but Scott. "She's gonna be there."
"She even old enough to drink?"
"She's twenty-four," Javi frowned.
"Old enough to know better, then."
"Yeah? And when Tyler Owens leaves tonight to take her back to his room, all gone on rum and coke, you think she's gonna know better then?"
Scott glared, a clench in his jaw he just couldn't unfold. "You're gonna be there, no?"
"Yeah. Not my job to babysit her, though."
Javi chuckled, "Didn't say that. But out of me and you, when someone like Tyler lays it on thick and she thinks it's what she wants, who do you think she'd gonna listen to?"
Silence. Scott's fists unclenched as he stood up from the seat. With a hard shove against Javi's shoulder, he stalked down the hallway; trying to ignore the vivid thoughts in his brain of you being swayed by someone like Tyler fucking Owens.
He told himself to breathe. The walk to his room felt longer than it was.
The bar would be a dive. Small, dimly lit, the air thick with the smell of stale beer and frying food. The kind of place that felt worn-out, much like the people who stumbled in after a long day. The people who didn’t want to think about the storm on the horizon. They just wanted to forget for a few hours.
Scott didn’t care about any of that. He wasn’t going to be there for the small talk, the too-loud laughter, or the way people slapped each other on the back like they’d just survived a war. Because, in his mind, they had.
And the people who didn’t get it? They were just distractions. Bodies to fill the space, white noise.
You weren’t a distraction. Not in the way the others were. You were something else. You were the reason he couldn’t stop thinking, couldn’t stop the cogs in his brain from turning. And he hated it, wanted to hate you, craved the feeling of not giving a single shit about you.
Hours later, he could hear the commotion outside. People were turning in for the night, or just about ready to go out.
He glanced at himself in the dusty mirror of his room, the frame encased in what he duly hoped wasn't mold. Then, he grabbed his cap, pressing it down on his curls.
He placed his hand on the handle, exhaling. He didn't have to go. He didn't want to. He knew Javi was just joking around- if it came to it, it something really happened, he'd have you; he'd be right by your side with a bashful Kent and tipsy Kate in tow.
But something twisted in Scott's mind, something he was unable to shake. You were sweet, so, stupidly, sickly sweet that it wasn't just Tyler Owens he had to worry about.
The man was harmless. Truly. A hillbilly boasting a YouTube channel and tending to his saviour complex with bullshit charitable donations, sure, but he'd never lay a finger on you if it was unwarranted. No, Scott didn't give a fuck about him.
It was the bar he couldn't stop thinking about. The men who'd pulled in for the night, all in their leather jackets and uncombed beards and flannels tied clumsily to their scalps. Bartenders with gall and a packet of something that could knock you out in seconds. Other storm chasers who had never even met you, never met Scott, who knew nothing about the repercussions of messing with a girl on his team.
The rough ones, the idiots with gropey fingers and stale breath and an entitlement to bodies they were nowhere near worthy to have.
His jaw clenched. The thought of you, glassy eyed and helpless, no quirky quip in your mind as one of them reached out for you- it was all he could do not to slam the door.
He wrenched it open, stepping outside. The cold air hit him, and for the first time in a long time, Scott actually felt like he could breathe.
You, on the other hand, were having the time of your life.
You didn't drink much, not really. You'd been to a few house parties here and there- crashed a sorority hazing or two before you graduated- but alcohol never truly held that appeal like it did to some.
There was no reason for it to. It just made you giggly and foggy and the world spun a lot slower. You thought, maybe mushrooms were the way to go; at least you'd get some health benefits.
The drink in your hand resembled one that you'd get in those cheap red plastic cups back in college. They didn't have cocktails here, or dry martinis with the little blue cheese stuffed olives; no, here it was hard liquor and a spat of seltzer if you were lucky and the bartender had been cracked the night before.
Nevertheless, you tipped your head back, feeling the warmth trickle down your throat.
"Damn," a voice behind you whistled, one that you found difficult to recognise above the music.
As you swallowed, you turned your head; eyes catching on the infamous Tyler Owens. They widened in excitement as you wiped your lips with the back of your hand.
"You sure know how to take a drink."
A wide smile spread slowly across your face, stumbling up with your arms outstretched to greet him. "Tyler!"
He grinned- that stunning, charming pull of his lips that seemed to work on every woman in the vicinity of a storm.
But you knew- secretly- that it held it's reservations for one woman and one woman only.
"How are you?" he asked, slotting into the seat next to you. A smirk tugged at your smile.
"Forget me. Tell me about you," you said, hands joining in with the theatrics of your voice. "I hear it's going well for you guys."
"And I hear talks of you being kept on after your internship,"
"Oh, well, you know. A rumour's a rumour," you shrugged, feeling the heat creep up your cheeks.
Tyler watched you with an amused sparkle in his eye, grabbing his own drink from the bar and taking a massive swig. "Very humble of you,"
"I'm a very modest and very chill woman." you said solemnly, earning a chuckle from the man in front of you.
"Sure. Let's go with that."
Then, with a sudden lower of your voice and a lean inwards that had you stumbling slightly, you gestured him to do the same. Of course, Tyler complied.
"Are you..." you started, hand covering your mouth now, hoping to fend off any skilled mouth readers, "Are you seeing Kate tonight?"
Tyler's face flushed. He pulled back from you, ever so slightly, the entertained crease in his eyes indicating that you hadn't overstepped like you feared.
He didn't ask you how you knew. You'd made the assumption that Kate told him a while back, when she gave you her phone to search up her celebrity look-alike and a text from a Mr T. Owens popped up at the top of the screen.
Room 217. I've got the petals, wear something pretty.
You'd screamed so loud that she clamped a hand over your mouth and wouldn't let go until you'd promised to be quiet.
Unfortunately enough for her, you hadn't finished screaming; earning you a second clamp that had her rings scraping hard against your teeth.
"Promise me you won't say anything," she'd begged, palms pressed together.
You just blinked, handing her phone back with a vacant stare. "Scott's going to kill you."
"Then we just won't tell Scott, will we?"
"Come on," she raised an eyebrow, "we both know that's not true."
You ignored her comment, wanting nothing more than the ground to open up and swallow you whole at the slight mention of Scott Miller.
You promised you'd keep it a secret, miming an animated gesture of you zipping your lips and throwing away the key.
For the rest of the day, Kate seemed much more relaxed. She felt happier, lighter. Her face glowed differently. And for once since you'd started at StormPAR, you felt like there was more to it than tornadoes and mass destruction.
That was a full month ago. You'd gotten them both seperate cupcakes to congratulate their sneaky little milestone; delivered right outside their motel doors with nothing more than a janky scrawl; Happy '1'!
Tyler smiled softly, nodding, "Think so. Thanks, again. For... you know."
"No need to thank me," you shrugged casually, holding up your empty glass and willing him to do the same. "I should be thanking you. She's been better since you guys started this thing,"
"Yeah," your eyes glimmered, "She laughs a lot more and she doesn't get as stressed. You've worked wonders, Tyler Owens,"
"Glad to hear it," he beamed, tilting his own glass towards yours. "Couldn't have done it without you and your unwavering loyalty,"
"Mhm, I'll cheers to that," you hummed. Then, with a slight, unsatisfying clunk of your plastic cups, you said, "To secret relationships!"
"To what, now?" your blood ran cold. Immediately.
You didn't have to turn around to know who that voice belonged to.
It was a constant in your life now; in the truck, during a meeting, in your dreams. It was the same voice that terrified you and coursed adrenaline through your veins at the same time; deep, gruff, always with a hint of something rude and unaware.
Tyler wasn't phased. He shot the other man a grin, hand out for a shake, only to be left hanging.
You didn't react. Couldn't. Usually, you'd be able to lie your way out; Kate always said you had a charm that just made people believe you, made them forget anything prior to your smile and topic change.
You wished she could see you now. She'd eat her words faster than Tyler downed his drink.
"I'll... catch you both later," Tyler said, throwing some change down on the counter for both his drink and yours. "Nice seeing you," he said your name but he might as well have pulled you for a 76th annual reaping.
As Tyler turned to walk away, you could see the slight glint in his eyes; apologetic, pleading. The type of look where he had faith in you handling everything yet nothing at the same time.
It wasn't speculation. It was actually a very well known fact; Scott held a certain patience for you that he exercised for absolutely nobody else. Whatsoever. Proven time and time again, so much so that Tyler assumed you'd be able to get through this whole mess all by yourself.
Still, you'd be having words with Kate about her flakey boyfriend later. Right now, you had a much bigger, cap-wearing, sunglasses hooked on polo collar fish to fry.
"Hey, Scott." you tried to sound as casual as possible, but every syllable failed you. Especially the 'Y' that you seemed to drag on for far too long.
"How much have you had to drink?"
Your brows furrowed slightly. You'd expected a harsher tone and a meaner remark about Tyler fucking Owens. Scott said it so much you'd genuinely started to wonder whether that was his actual middle name.
"I had a vodka cran and a double Disaranno and coke. And then whatever this was,"
You tilted your cup towards him. Reluctantly, Scott sniffed the remains, a grimace filling his face.
"Christ. Are you trying to get wasted?"
"Are you not?" you raised an eyebrow. You were feeling it now; the warm feeling spreading across your chest, the hazy lull that meant the alcohol was finally- finally- starting to take effect.
And it only took three shots and four mystery drinks to get there. Not that he needed to know that.
"Come on," Scott muttered, unfolding his arms with a scowl. "You've been here less than an hour and you've had more than half the team."
"Then tell them to catch up."
He said your name, tone dark, blue eyes even darker. "Let me take you back to Javi."
"Javi? I haven't seen him all night," you frowned.
Scott's jaw clenched. That bastard.
"I don't know the number,"
"You don't know the number?" he was looking at you incredulously now, eyes wide in disbelief more than anything.
Here you were, a babbling, tipsy, low-lidded mess of a girl. Your breath probably smelled like Wray & Nephew had a baby with Grey Goose, and your arm was still sticky from accidentally leaning too far across the bar.
And here was the infamous, immovable Scott Miller- actually trying to help you- and the way you showed gratitude was with a string of nonsense and no memory whatsoever about the room you'd spent the past four nights in.
Scott gritted his teeth. He was feeling everything all at once; annoyance, hatred, burning deep in his gut and threatening to spill out of his mouth. He was tired and angry and pissed off because he'd just spent twenty minutes looking for you, twenty minutes wading through bodies and drunkards, just to find you leant into Tyler at the edge of the bar.
Laughing. Whispering. Toasting to something he hoped to fuck he heard wrong.
He hated the way Tyler looked at you. He hated the way he spoke to you like it was easy. He despised that you seemed to like it.
But it wasn’t just Tyler. It was everything.
Because Scott couldn't speak to you like that. He couldn't hear your little quips and outburts and match your energy in the way others could. He just had to sit, and watch, head ducked in the sidelines- as other people beat him to it.
Scott wasn't an idiot. He knew you, had met girls like you before; they didn’t just come around and want guys like him. Girls like you belonged with nice, sweet, wholesome farmer boys- the kind of guys that never swore and wore glasses and blazers two times too big; the goofy types, the Kents of the world.
Probably ones who wrote a lot, and wore button-up dress shirts and doted on your every word. Clever guys who’d tell you they had feelings for you the very second they felt them.
That’s what you deserved.
Scott just… well. He wasn’t that. And you needed that. And he still didn't know what this feeling for you was, whether it was good or bad or dangerous or safe. All he knew was that it was getting harder and harder to act like he didn't give a fuck about you when you were the first thought he had in the morning and the last one he had at night.
You didn't realise what was happening until Scott guided you to your feet. You'd expected a tug, a pull, one you wouldn't necessarily like but could soften with a 'if you wanted it rough, you could have just said'. You were waiting for it, ever since you heard his stunned tone when you were speaking with Tyler.
No; Scott was gentle. He helped you to your feet. You felt his palm press into your lower back, steady and sure. You passed the table of Kent, Jim and Kate on the way out, and you listened as Kate told Scott your room number.
The room swayed as they spoke. The lights shone too bright, the music far too loud.
She looked at you too, wide eyes full of a praise you knew she'd sing in the morning. She appreciated you. You did well.
Unfortunately, every bone in your body had been affected by the essence of alcohol. You walked too stiffly, then too softly, then stopped walking altogether.
Scott didn't say a word. The walk back to your motel room was quiet, but surprisingly not uncomfortable. He kept his eyes ahead, trying to ignore the feeling of your warmth beside him, the way your presence felt like a calm after a storm.
By the time you two reached your room (213- you'd remember that for next time), the tension between you was palpable.
The night had left you both wound up, but neither of you knew how to break the silence. Scott stood awkwardly in the doorway, watching you as you rummaged through your bag for the keys. You found them clumsily, unlocking the door and stunbling inside.
For a moment, Scott’s gaze swept around the room. It was identical to his in that the space was small, but it still felt like you.
A little messy, a little bright. Random gum wrappers littered the side and a couple fell on the floor. You had picture frames. A small golden statue of something abstract. An unattended candle sat burning in the corner and freshly plucked ragged daisies scattered the windowsill. No vase.
It was times like these that he was reminded of the years he had on you; you still found joy in bringing remnants from home away with you.
He couldn’t stop looking. The room, like you, was alive.
"They die quicker in the water." you lied, as he raised an eyebrow at the scattered flowers. Truthfully, you'd just knocked into the table and sent your vase from home flying; it smashed into a million tiny little pieces.
Scott stood there, unsure of how to answer. He wasn’t good at this- at feeling like he had to stay when everything in him was telling him to walk away. It felt strange, intimated now; more than it ever had been. It was like he'd been granted a ticket to enter your world, a safe space he didn't know how to invade.
"Don't you wanna head back?" you slurred innocently. Scott paused. "You haven't even had a drink yet."
You frowned. "Then why were you at the bar?"
"You're weird, Scott Miller."
"You always drink this much?"
"When I'm trying to forget," you gasped dramatically, flopping down on your bed with a sigh. The overhead light shone bright in your face as you laid a lazy arm over your eyes.
He tried- fuck, he tried- with everything in him to look away from the way your skirt rode up; exposing nothing but your underwear underneath. You didn't seem to notice.
"It's a figure of speech."
"Huh," he paused, as if contemplating what to say next. Flashes of your recent conversation played like a reel in his mind. "Want me to go get your little boyfriend?"
You, however, didn't miss a beat. "You can't. Haven't you heard? The guy who plays Superman's out of town."
"You don't have to stay-" you hiccuped, "-you know. I'll be fine. I think,"
“I’m not leaving you alone like this." Scott told you, arms folded as he took short strides around your room. You had picture frames up, and he couldn't stop himself from being nosey and looking at them.
He also wasn’t entirely sure if that was the real reason. The frames did wonders to pull away from the thoughts racing through his head.
You smiled, your lips curling in that way that always made Scott’s heart do strange things. “I’m fine, really.”
Regardless, it felt wrong to walk away now. He just scoffed at your words, not believing them for a second.
Maybe he just needed a moment; just a few more minutes, and then he could go back to pretending that you didn’t make him feel like something was shifting inside him. Maybe he just needed, wanted, you to prove him wrong; to show him you were everything he didn't need, so he could finally stop himself from wanting.
You rolled away, face down on the bed, your legs spread regardless of the mini skirt you were wearing.
Your voice vibrated heavily through the mattress; low and slow, yet clear as anything.
“Tell me why you hate me.”
Scott froze, his breath catching in his throat. In front of him sat your graduation picture; you in the tassel hat and robe, leaning into a woman who looked a lot like you. Your mother.
He didn't hate you. Far from it. He wanted to, tried to, but every attempt was futile.
"You hate me," you spoke into the mattress, "You hate when I chew gum and you hate me."
"Who said- will you get up?"
You didn't listen. He said your name, firmer this time. "Get up. Now,"
"We're off the clock, you can't tell me what to do." you mumbled unhappily, pushing yourself up and resorting to a sitting position on your knees.
Scott swallowed, eyes darting to where the plush of your thighs stopped at the black skirt.
Admittedly, you looked cute. Wrecked by the alcohol, sure, but tousled in the best way.
"I don't hate you." he said, slowly. You folded your arms.
"So you just heavily dislike me,"
"Where is this coming from?"
"So you're scared of me, then."
He wasn’t scared. Not of anything. Certainly not of you.
But Scott couldn’t say that. It wasn’t true. Not when you made him feel things he didn’t want to feel. Not when your presence had a way of breaking down walls and barriers he'd spent his entire life hiding behind.
“I’m not scared of anything,” he said, voice gruff and exasperated, the words slipping out a little too easily. But they were hollow, even to him.
You raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. There was amusement in your gaze now, a quiet challenge.
Scott's eyes narrowed. "No."
"What's with all the questions?"
He couldn't even grasp what he was feeling at this point. Bafflement, maybe. Amusement in the tiniest dose, but most importantly; captivation. He just couldn't look away from you.
"Will you quit it? Get under the covers. Get some rest," Scott muttered.
"I will if you answer me,"
"...No," he gritted his teeth together, "But I'm getting really fucking close."
"So it's not hate, and it's definitely not love. And you say you're not afraid of me?"
His mind stilled at the sly mention of the latter. His words came out rigid, "No."
"Yes. I mean, no- fuck sake. I'm not scared of you. And I don't hate you."
"Then why haven’t you kissed me yet?"
Scott’s breath hitched, his eyes snapping toward you in a way that made your entire body go cold.
You'd said the words, and you couldn't take them back. They were just there now; suspended in the air between you, thick and heavy and such a big risk for you that it felt like all the alcohol left your body as soon as that one question did.
You felt like shoving him out of your motel room and screaming. You wouldn't care if Javi heard next door, or if Kate heard from the other side of the building. Because you'd just said the one thing you should never say to an asshole like Scott and now, everything was on the line.
Your future in storm chasing. Your life at StormPAR.
Your odd, back-and-forth dynamic with the miserable man before you that you believed had actually grown quite fond of you these days.
He hesitated for a moment, heart pounding in his chest. He could see you so clearly- your lips plump from all the nervous biting, that look in your eyes like you were daring him to do something he wasn’t ready for.
You stared back at him. At the simple white tee he wore to the bar, looking so casual, so normal, so unlike Scott that the mix of whisky and vodka in your system had you second guessing if this was a bad idea at all.
Though, not that deep down, you knew the drinks were just a convenient excuse.
"What?" his jaw flexed as he swallowed. You scrambled to get off the bed, standing up with such determination that you'd actually managed to get yourself upright without so much as a wobble.
You bit back the feeling of regret. Scott was looking at you now like a deer in headlights; eyes narrowed yet puzzled, desperation in his gaze as he scoured your face for clues on whether this was a joke or not.
But it wasn't a joke. It hadn't been since you started and first set your eyes on both God's gift and wrath to women everywhere; the mean, short-tempered, glacial being that was Scott Miller.
You took a step forward. He didn't move back.
If anything, Scott went impossibly still; the kind of still that meant every instinct in him was screaming, every careful line he’d drawn suddenly under threat of being crossed by the quiet sound of your breath, the scent of your perfume in his space.
“Careful.” he said, almost a warning. But it wavered as his eyes flickered down to your lips.
You took one more step forward. “Why?”
He didn’t look away. He looked at you harder- as if memorising the exact second his restraint started to fail. His pulse jumped visibly at his throat.
He thought about you, outside of this room, the person you were and were still becoming. Bright, stubborn, funny in your own way with so many quirks it was hard to keep up with them all. You were the sunlight that streamed in through the curtains, never having to ask for permission to enter the room.
Then, Scott tried to think of himself next to you. Right by your side.
All he saw were the things that dragged behind him: the weight, the sharpness, the parts he never figured out how to soften. A man built from the wrong weather- all pressure and warning signs and unspent storms.
He swallowed, voice rough and low.
“You think you know what you’re asking for.”
You lifted your chin. “I do.”
A humourless breath escaped him- not a laugh, but similar to a scoff. He stepped forward just enough that your knees brushed, and the air between you heated.
“No,” he whispered, eyes dropping to your lips and back up again, slow and tortured. “You think you want me. But you don’t. You're young, and you're far from home-"
"You don't know what I want," your voice shook alongside his, "You have no idea what I want."
"I know that you're drunk."
"And all the times before this?" you asked, "I wasn't drunk then."
You stared at him, confusion knitting your brows. yet again, Scott didn’t answer. Didn’t elaborate.
Just looked away like he was bracing for something he didn’t want to feel.
Frustration rose, sharp and hot in your chest. A constant now; born from exclusively from Scott's unique stubbornness and incapability to be anything other than plain-faced or sour.
You shook your head, an annoyed laugh slipping out- one that was tired, hurt, and real.
“You know what? Fine," you stepped back, arms in the air in surrender.
He watched you- just watched you, with that patient, irritating vice of his; all ears and no words, not even a hint as to what he was currently thinking.
“Be that way. Be the thing everyone expects you to be. Push me away like I don't matter. I probably never did, not to you,” it was mainly the alcohol talking, but the exasperation in your words was evident.
His jaw twitched. His eyes finally met yours.
“I already know you don’t feel the same way,” you said, quieter now, but the words carried a soul-crushing weight. “I just wish you’d tell me. Instead of acting like I’m-”
"-nothing to you. Even if it's true. Even if you think everything I've thought about myself since I met you. Just do me the decency of letting me know so I can finally stop trying to get you to like me."
You went to push past him, but Scott’s voice cut through the room; sudden and low, sharp enough to cut through your rambling.
He stepped closer, close enough that you could feel the heat off him, the tension vibrating through him like a wire pulled too tight.
“You think I don’t feel anything?” he asked, voice rough.
You opened your mouth to answer, but he beat you to it.
“Let me speak. You think I don’t notice?”
You blinked, thrown. Scott shook his head once, frustrated, breath unsteady
“You get carsick,” he started. His eyes had been fixated on yours but now, they'd found the floor; unable to look at you as he spoke. “So I drive slower. Smoother. The damn truck's a sports model and I go fifty in an eighty so you don't have to close your eyes every five minutes. Even when I'm bored out my mind. Even when the others bitch about making good time.”
"And when those idiots in the other group called you a useless rookie,” he continued, jaw clenching hard, “I shut them up before you walked in. You said you hadn't seen Max in a while. He packed his shit up the same day."
You stared at him, heart pounding.
"You don't have to say any of thi-"
“When that storm swerved the car and everyone got out too late. The one on Tuesday? Heavy rain and sleet and nothing was going right. I yelled at you more than the others because you’re the only one I was looking out for. The only one I gave a single fuck about watching.”
“I always watch you first.”
Your lips parted to speak, but you couldn't. You assumed he never noticed. That the yelling was typical Scott, even though it had been sterner with you than anybody else. That the guys on the other team all scattered because they simply didn't know how to speak to a woman, much less someone like you.
All this time, it had been Scott.
“So don’t you dare tell me I’m pushing you away,” he breathed lowly, carrying that edge that made everything feel like it could break. “Don’t tell me I don’t 'feel' anything for you. Because you know what it would be like if I didn't. Every stupid, reckless thing you are- every single piece of it- I see it. I stick around it. And I wish I didn't want to. But I do."
You didn’t know when the space between you had vanished, or when Scott had let his hand settle against your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, hovering just short of your lips.
You leaned your head forward. He did the same; resting his on top of yours. Time no longer mattered- you had no interest in it anymore. All you cared about was the man in front of you. Eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed; like opening them caused him pain.
“You are the bane of my fucking existence,” Scott said then, and you could feel the vibration of his words. “You laugh too much. You’re too loud. You find the dumbest shit funny. And you don’t leave me the hell alone on a good day,”
He shook his head, breath rough. “I don’t know if I love you. I’ve never been in love. I don’t have a blueprint for this shit,” his voice fell, raw and unguarded, “And if this is what it feels like, then it’s the most painful thing in the goddamn universe.”
Not even a second passed. Your heart was beating so fast you wondered if he could feel it, too.
“But I’d take it. Again and again, over and over. Gladly. If you’re what’s waiting at the end."
You leaned in, pressing your lips to his before he had a chance to say a word, and the world narrowed to the heat of him, the ragged beat of his pulse, the urgent, raw energy that seemed to radiate from every inch of him.
Scott caught you instantly, arms wrapping around you with a force that stole your breath; holding you in place as if letting go was impossible.
The kiss collided with him, chaotic and desperate, a storm of months of half-said words, tension, and moments that had lingered unspoken.
He responded with the same ferocity, lips moving against yours like he was making up for every second he’d restrained himself, every moment he’d pretended not to notice the way you got under his skin. You tasted like ethanol and strawberry bubblegum, sweet and addictive.
You both collapsed onto the bed, bodies tangling into one another. He put himself between your legs, the kiss still heated, passionate and unbroken. You clawed at his biceps, trying to ground yourself, trying to savour the moment.
Scott’s hand traveled from your waist to the back of your neck, thumbs brushing your skin as if trying to memorise it. You bucked your hips up against him, your skirt bunched up around your stomach now as Scott did the same.
He groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you. Whatever he was doing- whatever movements he was making- felt surreal. The heat was quick to spread between your legs and you began to move, fingers fumbling to undo his belt.
When he pulled back just slightly, you whined, the loss of contact harsh.
"Not like this," Scott muttered, lips finding your sternum. He peppered kisses all up along your neck, savouring the way you moaned, drinking it up like it was the purest water known to man. "I'm not taking you like this,"
"Scott-" you gasped, hands fisting his shirt, "Please."
He'd always been stubborn. That, you knew.
But right now, it was the last thing you needed.
"You don't deserve this," he kissed against your skin, every word painful to hear. You were thinking with that space between your legs, the thing that craved him so badly you thought you might die if you didn't get it. "Not here. Not with the drink in you. Not when you won't be able to feel me, fully, and what I've been waiting to do to you for months."
That alone made you moan the loudest you had all evening. Scott met your mouth with his, tongue finding yours like it belonged there.
When he finally pulled away, you could feel him everywhere. Poking against you, hovering above you, eyes boring into your own.
"You deserve a bed," he whispered, forehead once again resting on yours. "A real bef. Fresh sheets. A clear head. I'm not taking this from you- not now. Not like this. Alright?"
All you could do was nod, chest rising and falling fast, still trembling from the intensity of the kiss. His hands stayed firm on your body, holding you close, grounding you.
Before you could protest, Scott shifted, slowly lowering himself to the mattress beside you. You felt him settle, close enough that his warmth pressed against you, his shoulder brushing yours.
You hesitated for a moment, then let yourself sink into him, curling against his side. His arm came around you, pulling you a little tighter.
You could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath your hand.
Scott let out a low breath, equal parts relief and disbelief. He’d kissed you like the world was ending, like every restraint he’d held for months had finally shattered, but now he let it soften into something real; something serious.
For the first time in a long while, Scott Miller allowed himself to simply stay. No drinking to blur the edges, no reckless mistakes, no transient thrills to dull the ache in his chest. Not like the nights he’d lost himself before; letting his hands and mouth do what they would without care or consequence. Not like the mornings he’d wake up with regret, fumbling around in unfamiliar sheets, disoriented and bitter that he’d let another person in, even for a fleeting moment.
This time was different. This time, there was no regret waiting to crash down on him when the sun came up.
He was here, fully awake, fully aware, and that made it better than anything he’d ever had.
You shifted slightly, nuzzling closer, and Scott tightened his arm around you without hesitation. His hand rested lightly on your hip and you let yourself melt into it, letting go of the tension that had been coiled so tightly all evening.
You closed your eyes, feeling the exhaustion and adrenaline of the night ebb away, leaving only the calm certainty that you were safe here.
Scott pressed his lips to the top of your head, lingering there, as if to reassure himself too. A low, almost inaudible hum escaped him; a sound somewhere between a sigh and a grumble of contentment. He let the moment stretch, basking in the quiet, letting his body unwind in a way he hadn’t allowed it to in years.
Just like yours did, his eyes fluttered shut. The rhythmic ticking of the clock in the corner soothed him, but it did nothing to calm his mind.
He knew it’d be hard. Your jobs meant danger, and with that came loss, panic, stress; the kind of nights where the world felt like it might swallow you both whole. You'd be working together. Be a unit together. You'd have your ups and downs, your quiet days and good days and everything else in between.
His grip tightened around you. You sighed in your sleep next to him. Whatever it was, whatever he was thinking; all of that could wait.
Scott wasn't scared of much. But he was terrified of this.
Yet he knew, without a doubt, that he’d follow you; your trail of laughter, your awful jokes, your sharp, witty remarks- all the way. Into the storms, into the fire, into whatever came next. He'd be there- right by your side.
..... thoughts ? pls ? bc nothing was sounding right and im still not super duper happy with this but i hope you guys enjoyed !! <3
blakekathryn
stormborns
gummygunk
origamiaround
turnnoffyourmind
germansingergirl
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
