my fictional boyfriends and me

18+

[myfictionalboyfriendsandme]

Masterlist

Harry Potter

Theodore Nott

Tell Me I'm Not Dreaming

Draco Malfoy

I Love You

The Mighty Ducks

Adam Banks

Lavender on the Blue Line

The Outsiders

Sodapop Curtis

Such a Gentleman

Star Wars

Cassian Andor

The Power of Seduction

People To Avoid

Bodhi Rook

Defection

Young Guns

Chavez y Chavez

Wuthering Heights

[spacejjunk]

(not so) friendly neighborhood spiderman

pairing: peter parker x reader

w/c: 5.4k

summary: you've been observing your neighbor peter ever since he moved in 4 years ago. hes quiet. smart. painfully nice. oh and hes also spiderman- not that you were going to let on that you knew. not until the noises of a man in pain next door got too much for you to ignore.

warnings/tags: porn w some plot, brand new day era peter!, spoilers equivalent to watching the trailer, smut (oral f receiving, being tied webbed up, rough sex, very much dom! mean! peter, multiple orgasms, squirting, bruising, aftercare) neighbors to something

a/n: zendaya pls dont fight me for this

masterlist // join the taglist

You were stretched out on the couch in a pair of old shorts and a hoodie that you couldn't remember where it'd came from. The TV murmured some mindless afternoon show you weren’t really watching. Outside, Queens hummed its usual Sunday quiet—distant traffic, a dog barking two streets over, the low thrum of the city that never fully slept.

Then the noise hit.

A sharp, wet crack followed by something heavy slamming into a wall hard enough to rattle the shared plaster between your apartments. Glass shattered. A low, guttural sound that didn’t belong to any human throat bled through the wall, half-growl, half-pain.

You were on your feet before the last echo died.

Four years of living next to Peter Parker had taught you the difference between him being clumsy and him being in trouble. You barely knew him after all this time living next to each other. You knew that you liked him. Knew that when you'd both come home late at night— meeting in the shared hallway— you always noticed the dark bags under his eyes and the slight tremor in his hand as he opened his apartment door.

You knew about the man behind the mask.

You didn’t bother knocking. The knob turned under your palm and the door swung open on a scene that made your stomach drop.

Webbing.

It coated everything. Thick, glistening strands stretched from ceiling to floor, across the kitchen counters, over the cracked television, wrapping the furniture like a cocoon spun by something frantic and enormous. The air was heavy with that sharp, organic scent of fresh silk and something darker underneath—sweat, adrenaline, the copper edge of blood.

Peter was on the far side of the living room, collapsed against the wall. His hands frantically covered his ears, hands trembling, chest rising and falling in an unnatural pattern. The familiar blue-and-red suit was shredded across his torso, torn open like something had clawed its way out from the inside. More webbing leaked from his wrists in uncontrolled pulses, sticking to the floor, the walls, his own skin. His fingers flexed and the strands thickened, twitching like living things.

“Peter—”

His head snapped toward you so fast it was almost inhuman.

The eyes that met yours weren’t fully his anymore.

The whites had darkened, pupils blown wide. When he spoke, his voice was rough, layered, like two people trying to use the same throat.

“Stay back.”

You didn’t.

You stepped carefully over a thick strand of webbing that still quivered on the floor. “What- What's happening to you?”

A humorless laugh scraped out of him. One hand mover to press against his temple, webbing still dripping from his wrist in lazy, involuntary strands. “Should've heard you come in. Everything is so fucking loud.”

His gaze flicked over you—hooded, assessing, too sharp. Something hungry and not entirely human lived behind those eyes now. You watched him fight it, jaw clenched so hard a muscle jumped.

“You knew,” he said quietly. Not a question. “About the suit. And you didn't say anything? How long?”

“Long enough.” You kept your voice steady even as another thick strand of webbing shot from his wrist and slapped wetly against the wall beside your head. “Saw you swinging back into your place one night when I couldn't sleep. I never said anything because you clearly needed the secret. But this? This is different.”

Peter pushed off the wall. The movement was too fluid, too many joints working in ways human joints shouldn’t. He stopped a few feet from you, chest rising and falling hard. The torn suit hung off him, exposing pale skin.

“I don't know what's happening,” he admitted, voice dropping. “Instincts. Hunger. Everything feels… louder. Stronger. I almost put my fist through the wall earlier because the neighbor’s music was too much. And the webbing—” He lifted his hand— more silk poured out, wrapping around his own forearm in tight, pulsing coils. “I can’t stop it. It’s like my body is rewriting the rules without asking me first.”

You took another step closer. The air between you felt charged, thick with the scent of him.

“Then let me help,” you said. “You’re not doing this alone. Not anymore.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed, the reflective sheen catching the light. For a second the man you knew was still there—the awkward, brilliant, exhausting friend who’d spent years pretending he was just a guy with bad luck and worse timing. Then something deeper stirred, and the look he gave you turned heavier, more intent.

“You barely know me. You shouldn’t be this close,” he warned, but he didn’t move away. “I don’t know what I’m becoming. And right now every instinct I’ve got is telling me to—”

He cut himself off, throat working.

Peter moved.

Not the familiar, slightly awkward steps you’d watched from afar for years. This was something else entirely—low, fluid, predatory. He circled you in a slow arc, bare feet silent on the web-slick floor, head tilted just a fraction too far. Those dark, reflective eyes never left your face. The torn suit clung to him in ruined strips, and every step made fresh silk drip from his wrists in lazy, glistening threads that stuck to the hardwood like living things.

“Get out.”

The words came out layered, rough, almost a snarl. He stopped a few feet away, shoulders rolling like he was fighting the urge to drop lower. “I’m serious. Walk out that door right now.”

You stayed exactly where you were.

“I’m not scared of you.”

A sharp, humorless sound left his throat. He stepped closer. The air between you thickened with the scent of him. His nostrils flared once, deliberate.

“Liar.”

Another step. He was inside your space now, close enough that you could see every vein, every scar, every time one of his muscles twitched. When he spoke again, the voice was quieter, meaner.

“I can feel it. Your heart’s hammering. Pulse jumping right there—” His eyes dropped to the side of your throat. “And that smell.” He inhaled again, slower this time, and a low sound rumbled in his chest. “You’re getting wet. Standing in the middle of my apartment like a defiant brat while I turn into a monster. You’re fucking dripping for it.”

Heat flooded your face. You didn’t deny it. Couldn’t. The longer he circled, the worse it got—every predatory shift of his body, every dark glance, every warning he threw at you only made the ache between your legs sharper.

Peter’s mouth curved into something that wasn’t a smile.

“Look at you. So much time of being the careful, quiet neighbor and the second I start turning into something that wants to eat you, your body decides it’s the hottest thing it’s ever seen.” He leaned in just enough that his breath ghosted over your ear. “You’re not scared of me. You’re desperate for me. That’s so fucking pathetic. And so fucking hot.”

You swallowed. “I still want you. Not just this— the real you.”

The admission landed heavy between you.

For half a second the familiar Peter flickered back into his eyes—the one who you could hear through the walls tinkering away at two in the morning. Then the arachnid thing surged again and his expression went sharp, almost cruel.

“You want this?” He gestured at himself with a web-slick hand—the torn suit, the dark eyes, the silk still pulsing from his wrists in uncontrolled strands. “You want this version of me that looks at you and only sees prey? That wants to wrap you up and keep you?”

He took another step. You backed up on instinct and your shoulders hit the wall. He didn’t give you space. One hand planted beside your head. The other hovered near your hip, fingers twitching like he was fighting the urge to grab.

“I can smell how bad you want it,” he murmured, voice dropping into something filthy and low. “Your cunt’s practically begging. All that wetness just sitting there, waiting for something dangerous to notice. And I’m noticing, sweetheart. I’m noticing real fucking hard.”

His free hand finally settled at your waist, not quite gripping, just resting there with dangerous weight.

“I’m trying,” he said, and for a moment the struggle was clear in his face—jaw clenched, eyes flickering between human and something darker. “I’m trying so hard not to take what you’re offering. Because once I start, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop. And you—” His gaze dragged down your body, lingering openly between your legs. “You’re standing here like you want me to fail.”

He leaned in until his mouth was almost against yours, breath hot, voice pure filth.

“So tell me again you’re not scared. Tell me while your thighs are pressing together and your pulse is screaming for me to pin you to this wall and find out just how wet you can get for the monster next door.”

The webbing under his hand pulsed once, tightening against the plaster.

Peter’s control was slipping by the second.

And he was still right there, waiting to see if you’d push him over the edge.

“I’m not scared of you.”

Peter’s eyes flashed. The words had barely left your mouth before thick, warm webbing shot from both his wrists. It hit the wall on either side of your head with a wet slap, then snapped tight around your wrists, pinning them high and wide. The silk was hot, almost feverish, and it contracted once—deliberate—pulling your arms taut until your shoulders burned.

He stepped in close, chest nearly brushing yours, and tipped your chin up with two sticky fingers.

“Say it again.”

“Nope.” Your voice came out steadier than you felt. “Still not scared.”

Something dark and delighted flickered across his face. Then his hands dropped to the waistband of your sweatpants. He didn’t bother with the drawstring. He just ripped. The fabric gave like paper under that unnatural strength, the sound loud and final in the quiet apartment. Cool air hit your bare thighs. Your underwear was left behind—plain, nothing special—except for the very obvious dark, soaked patch right in the center.

Peter went still.

Then he laughed. Low, mean, almost delighted.

“Jesus Christ.” He dragged two fingers slowly over the wet spot, pressing just hard enough to feel how the fabric clung. “Look at that. You’re soaked through. Standing here being a lying brat, telling me you’re not scared while your cunt is making a mess of itself.”

He rubbed again, slower, watching your face as the damp cotton dragged over your clit. “This isn’t the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man anymore, sweetheart. This is the version that will treat you like the prey you are. And you’re dripping for it like a desperate little bug.”

His voice cracked for half a second. The mean edge faltered. His eyes flashed back to those rich browns you always got yourself lost in.

“Fuck—I’m sorry. You should still leave. I mean it. I don’t… I don’t know how much longer I can—”

The arachnid thing surged back. His fingers pressed harder against the soaked fabric, tracing the outline of your folds through the thin cotton.

“But you won’t leave, will you? You’re standing here getting wetter every time I open my mouth. Look at you. Thighs already shaking and I haven’t even touched skin yet.”

You felt it happen—the sharp, helpless clench deep inside you, the fresh rush of wetness that soaked through the fabric under his fingers. A soft, involuntary sound escaped your throat.

Peter’s eyes went completely black.

“Oh,” he breathed. “You liked that?”

He dropped to his knees so fast it was almost a fall. Both hands hooked into the sides of your underwear. One sharp pull and the fabric tore straight down the middle, the ruined scraps falling to the floor. Cool air hit your bare, dripping cunt. For one heartbeat he just stared, chest heaving, silk still leaking from his wrists and sticking to your thighs.

Then the last thread of control snapped with an almost audible crack.

A low, animal sound ripped out of him. He shoved your thighs apart with both hands, gripped hard enough to bruise, and buried his face between your legs like a man starving. There was no careful exploration, no soft start. His tongue dragged flat and filthy from your entrance all the way up to your clit in one long, greedy stroke, and the sound he made against you was pure hunger.

“Fuck—taste that,” he growled into your folds, voice muffled and wrecked. “So fucking wet. Dripping down my chin already.” He licked again, deeper this time, tongue pushing inside you just to feel how easily you opened for him. “Gonna eat this pretty cunt until you forget how to speak. Until the only thing you can do is come on my tongue while I decide whether to keep you or ruin you.”

His mouth sealed over your clit and sucked hard, no mercy, while two sticky fingers pushed into you without warning and curled. The webbing around your wrists pulsed tighter as your body jerked.

Peter Parker was gone.

What was left between your thighs only wanted to devour.

He ate you like he’d been starving for days—tongue flat and relentless, dragging over every sensitive inch before pushing deep inside you just to fuck you with it. The wet heat of his mouth sealed over your cunt completely, and the sounds that filled the apartment were filthy and constant— the soft, slick noise of his tongue working you open, the wet suck each time he pulled back just enough to breathe, the low, broken groans that vibrated straight against your clit.

Two fingers joined almost immediately, thick enough that it made the stretch burn in the best way. He curled them hard against that spot that made your vision white out and sucked your clit between his lips at the same time, the combination brutal and perfect. Your thighs trembled on either side of his head. The webbing around your wrists pulsed tighter every time your body jerked. He didn’t give you any time to breathe—just kept going, tongue fucking into you in deep, greedy strokes while his fingers worked faster, wetter, the slick sounds of it getting louder the more you dripped for him.

“That’s it,” he growled against your folds, voice rough and muffled. “Let me feel it. You’re so fucking close I can taste it.”

The pressure built in waves. First a sharp, coiling heat low in your belly, then a deeper ache that made your hips try to roll against his face even as he held you open. He chased every tiny shift, adjusting the angle of his tongue, the pressure of his fingers, until the only thing you could do was take it. Your cunt clenched around him. A broken sound tore out of your throat. The second the orgasm hit, it hit hard—your whole body locking up as you squirted, a hard, pulsing rush of wetness that hit his mouth and chin and dripped down his throat in messy streaks. He didn’t pull back. He just groaned like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted and kept licking through it, messy and greedy, chasing every drop until your legs were shaking and you were whimpering from the overstimulation.

When the last tremor left you, Peter finally leaned back on his heels.

Your release was dripping off his chin, shining on his lips, streaking down his neck. He looked at the mess you’d made of him and laughed—low, mean, delighted.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He wiped his mouth with the back of one hand and then licked that clean too. “You just fucking squirted on me. Look at that. One little push and you made a mess all over my face.” His eyes were almost pure black now, pupils blown wide with hunger and amusement. “I’ve heard you, you know. Through the wall. Late at night when you think no one’s listening. The soft little sounds you make when you’re getting yourself off alone in your apartment. Always wondered what it would take to make you get loud. Turns out all it took was me on my knees with my tongue in your cunt.”

He stood in one fluid motion. The remaining scraps of the suit came off with two sharp rips—fabric tearing like it was nothing. Then he was naked in front of you, cock hard and heavy between his legs, the head already shiny with precum. Every muscle in his body looked coiled and ready.

He didn’t give you time to catch your breath.

Why would he?

One sticky hand closed around your waist, the other around the back of your neck. He ripped you off the wall, your wrists aching at their release and spun you, marched you the few steps to the webbed kitchen counter, and bent you over it hard enough that your chest hit the cool surface with a soft grunt. Your cheek pressed to the webs, sticking you in place. Your ass was up, completely exposed, still dripping from the orgasm he’d forced out of you.

Peter stepped in behind you. The thick, hot length of his cock dragged through the mess between your thighs, slow and deliberate, smearing your own wetness up and down your folds.

“Look at this,” he murmured, voice pure filth. One hand spread you open so he could watch the way his cock slid through your slick. “So fucking wet. You came all over my face and your cunt’s still greedy for more. Is this what you wanted when you walked in here? To get bent over my counter like a little toy? Is this what you think about in bed?”

He leaned over your back, mouth near your ear, the head of his cock catching on your entrance with every slow roll of his hips.

“I can feel how bad you want it. You’re dripping down my cock. Such a messy, desperate little thing.” A soft, mean laugh brushed your skin. “I’m gonna fuck you until you squirt again. Until the only thing you can do is take it and thank me for not webbing you to the ceiling while I do it. And you’re gonna love every second of it, aren’t you?”

The blunt head of him pressed against you, not quite pushing in, just resting there—hot, heavy, promising.

Peter’s voice dropped even lower, rough with the last scraps of the man fighting the hunger.

“Tell me you still want this.”

“I want you.”

The words were barely out of your mouth before Peter drove into you in one hard, unbroken thrust.

The stretch was brutal—thick and sudden and so deep it punched the air from your lungs. Your cheek stuck against the webbed laminate as he bottomed out and stayed there for half a second, just breathing, just feeling the way your cunt clenched around him like it was trying to keep him.

Then he moved.

He fucked you hard and fast, hips snapping forward with a force that made the counter creak under you. Every thrust was deep, relentless, the wet slap of skin on skin loud in the quiet apartment. His hands locked around your hips hard enough that you already knew there would be bruises tomorrow—dark fingerprints where his fingers dug into soft flesh and held you exactly where he wanted you.

“Fuck—look at you,” he gritted out, voice rough and mean. “Taking it like you were made for this. I didn’t even think you could handle getting fucked this hard.” Another sharp snap of his hips drove a broken sound out of your throat. “But you’re dripping down my cock every time I bury it in you. So fucking greedy.”

You hadn’t known either. The pace was almost too much—too deep, too fast, the stretch burning in the best way with every drag of his cock. His blunt head kissing your cervix with every thrust. Your body still hadn’t fully come down from the last orgasm and already the pressure was coiling again, sharp and overwhelming. Peter didn’t slow. He just kept slamming into you, one hand sliding up your spine to fist in your hair and pull your head back so he could watch your face.

“That’s it. Let me feel it. You’re gonna squirt on my cock this time, aren’t you?” His voice dropped into something filthy and delighted. “I can already feel you getting tighter. Do it. Make a mess of me again.”

The second orgasm hit harder than the first. Your cunt locked down around him as you squirted again, a hot, pulsing rush that soaked his cock and thighs and dripped onto the floor between your feet. Peter groaned like it was the best thing he’d ever felt and fucked you through it, chasing every flutter and clench until your legs were shaking and you were gasping against the counter.

Strong hands hauled you up and carried you the few steps to the couch. He dropped onto the cushions and pulled you with him in the same motion, settling you over his lap so you straddled him. Your knees sank into the cushions on either side of his hips. Before you could even try to find your balance he planted both hands on your waist and started fucking up into you.

There was no pretense that you were in control.

Peter used you like a toy, lifting you just enough to drop you back down onto his cock while he thrust up to meet every fall. The angle was devastatingly deep. Every upward snap of his hips forced a wet, broken sound out of you. His grip never eased. Fresh bruises bloomed under his fingers as he held you exactly where he wanted and took what he needed.

“Oh sweetheart,” he murmured, eyes half-lidded and dark with hunger. “Sitting on my cock like a perfect little fucktoy. Can’t even move unless I let you.” He thrust up harder, watching the way your body took every inch. “You’re so wet it’s running down my balls. Still gushing for me like you can’t help it. Such a messy, desperate thing.”

One hand left your hip to wrap lightly around your throat—while the other kept you steady for the relentless pace of his hips. The look in his eyes was pure predator.

Peter’s grip on your hips never eased. He kept fucking up into you in deep, relentless strokes, using your body exactly the way he wanted while his voice stayed low and filthy against your ear.

“That’s it—take it. Look at how easy you open up for me. Sitting on my cock like you were made to get used.” Another hard thrust forced a broken sound out of your throat. “You’re shaking again. I can feel it. That pretty cunt’s about to soak me one more time, isn’t it? Go on. Squirt on me again. Make a mess while I fuck you through it.”

The pressure built too fast, too sharp. Your thighs trembled on either side of his hips. Every upward snap of his cock dragged over that perfect spot until the only thing you could do was just take it. When it hit, it hit hard—your whole body locking up as you squirted around him for the third time, a hot, pulsing rush that soaked his cock and the skin of his stomach. Peter groaned like it was the best thing he’d ever felt and kept thrusting through it, chasing every flutter and clench.

“Fuck—yes. Just like that. So fucking messy for me.”

His rhythm finally stuttered. The mean edge in his voice cracked into something rawer as his hips snapped up once, twice more, burying himself as deep as he could go. A low, guttural sound tore out of him when he came—hot, thick pulses spilling into you. He held you down through every spurt, grinding up into the mess he’d made of you until the last tremor left him.

Your strength gave out all at once.

You collapsed forward against his chest, forehead pressing to the damp skin of his shoulder, body still trembling with aftershocks. His cock twitched inside you one last time. For a long moment the only sound in the apartment was the two of you trying to breathe.

Then the change happened.

You felt it in the way his hands loosened. The bruising grip softened into something almost careful. When you managed to lift your head, his eyes were no longer that dark, reflective black. The familiar warm brown was fully back—wide, stunned, and filling fast with horror as the full weight of what he’d done settled over him.

Peter stared at you like he was seeing you for the first time.

His gaze dropped to the dark fingerprint shaped bruises already developing across your hips and thighs, to the torn scraps of clothing on the floor, to the mess of webbing and come and your own release still slick between your bodies. A shaky breath left him.

“Oh my god.”

His voice was his own again—quiet, wrecked, and already cracking with guilt.

“I—what did I just do to you?”

Peter’s hands were careful now.

He eased out of you slowly, like he was afraid even that small movement might hurt. A soft, broken sound left him at the loss of heat, but he didn’t linger on it. Instead he reached for the nearest blanket—one of the soft ones from the back of his couch—and wrapped it around both of you, tucking the edges in so your bare skin was shielded from the cool air. His arms slid under your thighs and back without asking. He lifted you like you weighed nothing.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured against your hair. “Just hold on to me.”

He carried you out of his apartment and the few steps across the hall to yours. The door was still unlocked from earlier. Inside, the quiet of your place felt almost surreal after everything. Peter walked straight to your bedroom and lowered you onto the bed with a gentleness that made your throat tight. He pulled the covers up over your still-trembling body, then brushed a strand of hair away from your face with the backs of his fingers.

“I’m going to take care of a few things next door,” he said softly. “I’ll be right back. I promise.”

You nodded, too wrung out to speak. The door clicked shut behind him.

For a little while you just lay there, staring at the ceiling, body heavy and aching in places that hadn’t hurt an hour ago. The bruises on your hips already throbbed in time with your heartbeat. Between your legs you were sore and slick and still faintly pulsing with aftershocks. Your mind kept drifting—back to the way he’d looked at you when the black had first flooded his eyes, the mean, hungry things he’d said, the way he’d used your body like it belonged to him. And then the moment those eyes had cleared and pure horror had replaced the hunger.

You could hear him through the shared wall. The soft scrape of furniture being moved. Water running. The quiet, almost frantic sounds of someone trying to clean up evidence of something they couldn’t quite believe had happened.

When the door to your apartment opened again, Peter stepped inside carrying a small bag and wearing only a pair of soft gray sweatpants. His chest and shoulders were still bare, sweat dripped down and cooled along his muscles. He set the bag down and came straight to the bed, kneeling beside it so his face was level with yours.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “I’m going to run you a bath, okay? You’re… you’re covered in me. And I want to make sure you’re not hurt anywhere I can’t see.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He disappeared into your bathroom. The sound of water filling the tub was steady and soft. A few minutes later he returned, scooped you up again—blanket and all—and carried you into the steam-filled room.

The water was perfect, just on the edge of too warm. Peter eased you down into it first, then stepped out of his sweatpants and climbed in behind you. The tub wasn’t really big enough for two, but he made it work, stretching his legs on either side of yours and gently pulling you back until your spine rested against his chest. His arms came around your waist, loose and careful, like he was still afraid of holding too tight.

For a long moment he didn’t speak. He just reached for the washcloth, wet it, and began slowly cleaning the dried mess from your skin—your thighs, your stomach, the places where his hands had left marks. Every touch was deliberate. Tender.

When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper against the side of your neck.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I lost control. Completely. And I hurt you. I can see the bruises already and I… I hate that I did that.” His forehead pressed to your shoulder. “But I’m here now. I’ve got you. Just let me take care of you for a little while, okay?”

The water stayed warm around you both. Peter kept the washcloth moving in slow, careful strokes—down your arms, across your collarbones, along the tender insides of your thighs where the evidence of everything they’d done still lingered. He never rushed. Every pass of the cloth felt like an apology and a promise at the same time.

When he finally set it aside, he reached for the shampoo instead. Gentle fingers worked it through your hair, massaging your scalp with a tenderness that made your eyes sting. He rinsed it just as carefully, cupping water in his palm so none of it ran into your face. Then his arms slid back around your waist and he simply held you, chest rising and falling against your spine.

“It’s been getting worse for weeks,” he said eventually, voice low against the side of your neck. “The webs I can’t control. The strength that comes out of nowhere. The way every sound and smell is suddenly too much. But the instincts… those are the scariest part. There’s this constant pull to claim things. To protect. To take. And it’s getting harder to tell where the spider ends and I begin.”

His thumb traced absent circles against your stomach under the water.

“I’ve liked you for a long time,” he admitted, quieter now. “Longer than I probably should’ve. Four years of living next door, not saying anything to you because frankly— I'm an idiot. And this… whatever’s happening to me… it made all of that louder. Like the part of me that already wanted you suddenly had permission to stop being careful about it.”

You turned your head just enough to catch the edge of his profile. Steam curled around both of you.

“I’ve liked you too,” you said softly. “For a while now.”

Peter went still behind you. Then a shaky breath left him, warm against your damp skin. One hand lifted to brush a wet strand of hair behind your ear, the touch lingering.

“Are you scared of me?” he asked. The question was barely more than a whisper. “After everything I just did… after what I might keep becoming… are you scared?”

You shifted carefully in the water until you could look at him properly. His eyes were so clear again—familiar brown, open and uncertain and so painfully human. You reached up and rested your palm against his cheek.

“No,” you said, and meant every word. “I’m not scared of you. I’m here. For all of it. Whatever this turns into, I’m not going anywhere. We'll figure this out together.”

Something in his expression cracked open—relief and wonder and leftover guilt all tangled together. He leaned in and pressed the softest kiss to your forehead, then another to your temple, before guiding you back against his chest. His arms settled around you again, secure without being tight.

The water lapped gently at your skin. The bathroom was quiet and warm and safe. Peter’s heartbeat was steady under your ear. You let your eyes drift closed, the last of the tension finally leaving your body as the heat and the solid presence of him pulled you under.

You started to doze off right there in the bath, wrapped in his arms, at peace.

[dearwalker]

mask on, fuck it, mask off | sex pollen

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader Word Count: 8.4k

Contains Brand New Day spoilers 🕸️

Description: You’re spider-man’s closest thing to a friend since the world forgot his name. Helping him with gadgets, cleaning his wounds…all without him ever taking the mask off. His true identity has always been a barrier between you two, but what happens when he gets hit with the pollen, and not only him, but the creature lurking inside him fixates on the only person he gets to call home?

Tags/warnings: sex pollen smut, fem!reader, porn with plot, whiny desperate peter >>>, dry humping, piv, riding, oral fem!rec, fingering, dark!peter taking over for a bit, orgasm denial, prone bone, so much yearning, mask stays on…or does it?

Note: You have no idea how giddy it makes me to write him again. He had NO business looking that good in the movie so I had to get this out of my system. Enjoy 🤍

Masterlist

You've seen spiderman hurt many times. When you signed the lease of the first apartment you could afford as a recent graduate, you never thought that would become your new normal. 

The first time it happened was completely accidental. He’d arrived at the building in the middle of the night, bruised, bleeding and too disoriented to realize that the window he’d come through was not his. 

That night, the noise of a heavy body collapsing onto the floor woke you up. For one terrifying moment, you believed someone had broken into your apartment, only to switch on the lamp and find the city’s superhero groaning and pressing his hands to his side. His suit was torn there, and blood soaked through the ruined fabric onto your rug. 

He barely lifted his head when he heard you gasp, the lens of his mask focusing on your figure standing there with wide eyes, wearing only an oversized shirt.

“Wrong window,” he choked, then tried to hold himself up but immediately collapsed again. “Dammit,” he cursed, waiting for you to freak out any second now. 

You could have, but instead you rushed to him and knelt beside him.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” Your hands hovered helplessly over his body, trying to see how bad the damage was in the dark. “You need a hospital–”

“No!” He snapped, trying to turn away but failing miserably. “I’ll be fine, I heal quickly.”

“You still need to stop the bleeding,” you countered, folding your knees under your body so you could rest on your calves. “Listen, I can help you. I took some medical courses last year and I have a kit somewhere.”

You looked at him with pleading eyes. He’d saved the city so many times, the fucking world, it was the least you could do to give something back. 

He considered his options for a second, and to be honest he didn’t have many. His body was betraying him, and he couldn’t even get up to fix it himself like usual. 

The blood loss made him nod, and you wasted no time in getting up and finding said kit. The blood loss also made him drift in and out of consciousness as you tended to the wounds on his ribs as much as you could. 

It did not make him less cautious of you though. When you noticed the rip on his mask over a nasty gash on his neck and reached for it, his hand closed around your wrist and even half conscious, his grip was strong. 

“Please,” he whispered. Pleaded. “Keep it on.” 

The fear in his voice made you promise you would. Even if you couldn’t get to that gash properly. Even when he fell asleep on your floor and didn’t wake up for six whole hours. 

The next morning, he opened his eyes and found you sitting on your bed, still staring at him. 

His hands patted his chest, and confirmed his arachnid powers had done its job and healed him mostly. But most importantly, his mask was still in place. With no warning from E.V of it being removed. He learned that you’d spent the night making sure he was still breathing without seeing his face. 

That had been one year ago. 

After thanking you profoundly for helping him, he’d repaired your window, apologized several times, and disappeared into the apartment next door. He then considered moving into another building, but the thought was brushed away very quickly when he remembered the balance in his bank account. 

So he acted more careful instead. For a while, he only turned back home when your curtains were already closed, or he only left the apartment when you had already left for your job (because yes, he absolutely researched the hell out of you after that night.)

Then he moved to the attic of the building. Bigger space, no neighbors, no risks. No you. Or at least he thought. 

Because some nights…some delirious nights he still found your window a few stories down, and the accidental visits became less accidental. When he was too badly injured to care for himself, he came to you, even after you confessed your degree had nothing to do with medicine. 

When he noticed you understood about his equipment malfunctioning, he’d bring it for you to inspect. When he became too reckless with himself you talked his ear off about how being difficult to kill did not make him immortal.

Somewhere along the way, you became spiderman’s friend. 

Spiderman was safer. With you, spiderman was the only part of him he could let you see. Because that was the thing, you only knew the masked superhero. 

He’d spent so much time blocking away his identity, making peace with the fact that there was no longer anyone in the world who would call him Peter and know exactly who that person was. That name only belonged to the people that once knew him, and no longer existed, so he never gave it to you.

Never showed you more than a sliver of skin when his mask rode up or glimpses of his abdomen when you tended to his wounds. He always kept that barrier and you respected it, even on those nights he was too weak to stop you. Even if sometimes not knowing the color of his eyes kept you up at night. 

A promise was a promise. 

Maybe that’s why he kept coming. Why he trusted you with a certainty he couldn’t understand. Why he eventually showed you his new living quarters in the attic and let you spend time with him. Why half a year ago, he added another chair next to his desk so you could work together, or help him when he was out patrolling and needed an extra set of eyes.

“I’m officially the girl in the chair, spidey,” you joked that time as you sat next to him, spinning around in your chair.

He’d gone quiet immediately, his body tensing up enough to make you frown, but then managed a small smile and said you were. You pretended you didn’t notice him being too quiet as he worked on his inhibitor after that. 

He was wearing a hoodie, sweatpants and the mask. Always the mask that didn’t quite let you see through him. After a moment of quiet, you rolled your chair closer to his and nudged his arm playfully. 

“You know I can’t keep calling you spidey forever, right?” 

He snapped out of his trance, and the chuckle that came from under the fabric was unmistakable. 

“Why not?” He nudged your arm back, but still focused on the device he was hunched over. “I like spidey.”

You put your elbow on the desk, resting your cheek on your hand so you could lean a little closer. 

“I like it too, but it feels ridiculous after having my hands all over your body almost every night.” 

The moment the words left your lips, you realized how bad that sounded. He straightened up, turning toward you.

“Wow.” Even if you couldn’t see the smile on his face, the lenses of his mask were quite expressive sometimes. He was amused. 

“That came out very wrong,” you said immediately, before he bursted into laughter. He had been laughing more since you entered his life. “You know what I meant,” you whined, laughing too with heat flooding your cheeks. 

“I think I know,” he chuckled, making you roll your eyes. 

“I’m being serious though,” you added, a little more quietly. “You don’t have to say your real name. Just give me something.”

“Mmm…” he acted like has considering it, going back to tinkering with the piece of metal between his fingers, but then his eyes drifted to the flowers he’d bought that morning, and the name came out of his lips before he could think twice about it. “You can call me Maynard.” 

“Maynard?” You repeated, suppressing a chuckle. “You don’t sound like a Maynard. That’s like an 80 year old man’s name.”

“That’s all I can give you,” he shrugged playfully. 

You had a feeling it went deeper than that, but you’d also learned not to push it with him. 

“Alright. Maynard,” you nodded, “but don’t expect me to use that name unless you’re dying. Guess I’ll stick to spidey for now,” you chuckled, going back to your own work as he hummed in agreement. 

The conversation ended there. With him trying not to think about your hands all over his body in…different conditions. 

Peter didn’t know exactly when his gratitude became longing. He could not identify the moment the friendship, the closeness, or just your smile, shifted into something he craved everyday. 

Despite the mask and the fake name, he knew that after years of being no one to everyone, he had become someone to you. And you had become everything to him. Even if it was behind walls he’d built, you were the person who knew him better than anyone alive.

Which is why, the night he lost control of himself after an unknown dust was thrown at him in a fight, he chose not to crash land into your room. 

Peter hit the floor of the dark attic with a loud thud, as his senses went overboard. His suit was sticking to his body uncomfortably due to the sweat coating his feverish skin. The fabric was intact, with no visible wounds in his body, just that burning sensation of something running through his veins. 

And that dark part of him he’d managed to lock down with the inhibitor, trying to claw its way out. 

“What the…what the fuck is going on,” he cursed, clutching his heaving chest as he panted against the worn wood floors. “I can’t–I can’t breathe…” 

The computer’s monotone voice broke through the silence. 

“You have arrived injured. I’m letting her know–”

“NO!” He cut the AI off, “EV, don’t tell her–”

“Message already sent.”  

He glanced up at the digital clock on his desk. 2:18 am. 

He groaned, grabbing his head when a wave of migraine hit him. He knew what came after that. The black eyes. The desire to break. To take. But this time something felt different. It was like a pull, looking for something or someone…for…for you? 

Oh fuck. 

You were going to come in and you were going to see him like this. No, no–

“Spidey?” You asked from behind the door, knocking exactly twice before opening it anyways.

The air changed the exact moment you walked in, and that something inside him shifted too. It became aware that the only thing it craved to survive was in the room now. 

He needed to get to you. He needed to pin you down and– 

“Don’t!” He managed to scream, holding his hand up weakly when you scrambled toward him. 

You stopped right in your tracks, eyes wide and running all over him, searching for torn fabric, blood, or anything that would explain why he looked like every breath was painful. 

“What happened?” You frowned, when you couldn’t find any source. “Did you get hurt?” 

You instinctively stepped forward, but he waved his hand in front of him again. 

“Stop, stop, stop,” he said quickly, “don’t come any closer.” 

The harshness in his voice caught you off guard, but what sealed the deal was him dragging himself further away from you. It was barely more than a clumsy, desperate crawl, but he managed to put a decent distance between you before collapsing against the side of his thrifted couch. 

He avoided looking at you. The oversized shirt covering your body, the comfy shorts you were probably wearing, the way your hair looked messy from rolling out of bed as soon as you got EV’s warning even if you had work the next morning.

You stayed right where you were, watching him. His suit had always fit him like it was painted on his skin, but every pant made his chest rise and fall beneath the fabric so violently that you wouldn’t be surprised if it ripped at the seams. 

This reminded you too much of the changes that happened in him months ago. 

It started with a sharpened temper, then the heightened sensitivity to everything, the black covering his eyes, and moments during patrol when his reactions became simply frightening for someone who had as much strength as he did. But you were supposed to have stopped it. 

“Is it the inhibitor?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest, “is it failing?” 

“I–I don’t know…I was hit with some dust out there,” he breathed. “I think it’s tampering with it…my head is killing me. Everything is too much.”

You nodded, turning toward the workstation. 

“I will check the programming. Just hold on.” Not your best attempt at reassuring him, but he groaned in acknowledgment. 

“EV?” 

The computer woke when you touched the keyboard, illuminating the dark attic in a wash of blue light. 

“Online.”

“Please run a diagnostic on the inhibitor and any possible interference.” 

“Beginning diagnostic.” 

You waited impatiently for the results, tapping your fingers on the desk while you watched him from the corner of your eye. 

Over there, he…he was doing his best trying to breathe. 

This obviously wasn't his first time having sensory overload. When the animal tried to take over the human part of him, everything in the city became impossible to escape. Not a single movement, or sound, or simple existence within miles was unnoticed by him. 

But this time? The rest of the city had disappeared. There were no sirens in the distance, or voices coming through the walls, or every heartbeat in the building pounding in his head. 

There was only you. 

Your rapid heartbeat echoing inside him. He felt every tap of your fingers against the wood, every slight catch in your breathing each time he made another involuntary and pathetic sound from his spot on the floor. 

Your scent…God, your scent filled the entire apartment. 

The scent he found himself coming back to so often that it scared him. He didn’t want the attachment. The possibility of having someone again only to risk losing them again. 

That same scent was making every muscle in his body react in a way he didn’t understand. It made him, and the other him, wanna do things to you he had only dreamed of in his wildest fantasies. Things he wasn’t proud of, things he wouldn’t dare to say out loud, even if he looked at you through the lenses of his mask and you couldn’t see the black in his eyes. 

He pressed the back of his head against the couch harshly. 

This was wrong. So wrong. 

His senses were supposed to consume everything when the change came. Instead, they had fixed themselves entirely on you.

He could feel the heat of your body from across the room as though you were still in front of him. Could remember with sickening detail how soft your hands looked when they reached for him. Could almost feel the burn of the touch that had never landed because he stopped you. 

What if he’d let you? What if he’d felt the way your hands ran all over his body? What if you’d moved them lower, and lower, as your mouth–

“Diagnostic complete.” 

Your heads snapped toward the screen. 

“There’s no external damage affecting the integrity of the device. I detected a foreign biotoxin in the bloodstream that may be bypassing the inhibitor, activating the suppressed arachnid hormones.” 

“What biotoxin?” You frowned. 

“Unknown. No matches found in available databases.” 

Great. He thought. He had no time to take a bath with Yelena Belova to find out what the stupid dust was. 

The screen changed, displaying a model of his nervous system. There were yellow bright lines pulsing quickly, running all the way from the base of his brain down the length of his spine. Something unknown was moving through his blood, altering the part of him he had spent months forcing into submission.

He sucked in a breath as he watched you read the screen. Your eyes were focused, and a bead of sweat made its way down the side of your forehead. 

He suddenly felt the need to lick it off. 

Wanted to run his tongue from the base of your neck to the back of your ear. Wanted to fist your hair and make your heart beat out of your chest from how good he knew he could make you feel–

“The effects remain within his enhanced tolerance. However, prolonged exposure to certain hormones can cause extreme distress without relief.” 

“What hormones?” Your voice, worried and unknowing of his thoughts only made him feel guiltier. 

It took him a second to realize what you asked, but EV threw him under the bus before he could say anything. 

“There’s a significant rise in reproductive hormones. The unknown toxin is inducing a strong mating response in him.”

Mating response. He stopped breathing. 

Your eyes slowly moved from the monitor to him, and he saw the moment your attention dropped lower to the tent of his pants. 

That suit concealed nothing on a good day. On one like this? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck–

He shifted almost immediately, but the movement only worsened the pressure, pulling a helpless groan from his throat that made your pulse jump. You looked away at once, turning back to the computer. 

“Is there a way we can…umm…stop it?” You asked hesitantly. 

“The subject is experiencing severe sexual arousal with a fixation on a nearby individual,” she explained, because fuck him if he wasn’t the unluckiest individual on earth. “Acting upon it can be a positive option to relieve sexual tension.”

He wished the floor would open beneath him, swallow him, and never ever EVER spit him back out again.  

Your pulse was absolutely hammering after that. He caught the sudden change in your scent. There was a sharp spark of surprise, nervousness, and something else beneath it that his altered senses fed on immediately.

You kept your eyes fixed on the monitor, although the data had stopped meaning anything the moment you heard fixation on a nearby individual. 

“Is that what you really feel?” You asked softly after a moment. 

His head fell forward, catching it between his gloved hands. He didn’t know how to answer without making everything worse.

Although, after what EV said, could it really be worse? 

“…Yes.” The word came out rougher than he expected. Yet still not enough for what was happening inside him. “It’s like…I can only feel you. All of you.”

Heat rose to your face once again. 

“What does that mean?” 

Don’t say anything, don’t–

“I can smell you.” Great start, idiot. He cleared his dry throat before continuing. “I can smell your shampoo…the lotion you use…the ink on your hands from your favorite pen.” 

He chose not to mention he could also smell the adrenaline on you. The heat gathering slowly beneath your skin. 

Your eyes dropped to your hands, and under the dim light of the computer, you caught the ink stains in them from your journaling session before bed. 

“I can hear your heartbeat changing every time I speak,” he added. Okay, that one slipped out.  

You swallowed. And god, he felt that in his own throat. 

The suit was suffocating him at this point. He wanted to rip it off as much as he wanted to rip off the fabric covering the goosebumps on your skin. 

“Is it only because I’m nearby?” You asked, gathering the courage to turn your chair to him.

White lenses met you across the room. He dragged in another shaky breath of oxygen made of you as he thought about his next words. He could’ve lied. He should’ve lied. But instead, chemically overwhelmed and stripped of every defense he possessed, he gave you the truth. 

“No.”

His voice was firmer this time. No hesitation in it despite the thousand red alarms pounding in his head telling him to shut up. 

“It picked you–no, I picked you for a reason,” he added. “And it’s not just me. The other…the other me wants you too.” 

His voice went lower on the last part, that told you how much it cost him to admit that. 

The silence following his confession was heavy. For a moment he wished he could read your mind. For all he could feel of you, your thoughts were unreachable. 

His own mind was a mess. The impulses didn’t feel like thoughts anymore, just his body feeding him instructions. 

Get up. Cross the room. Touch her. Breathe her in.

His palms shook with the urge to close around you. His teeth ached with the need to graze your skin. His eyes burned with the desire to see beyond fabric. 

Every part of him seemed convinced that the small distance between you was a mistake he needed to correct. That he needed to breathe you in until his lungs burned. Drag his mouth along the inside of your wrist and taste the pulse there.

He hated it.

He hated that something inside him could look at the person he cared for the most and reduce her to an answer for his pain. 

“EV, how long is this state going to last?” He asked the computer, followed by a weak cough as he clutched his side. 

“Your enhanced physiology is struggling to break down the toxin’s structure. I estimate a time between ten to twelve hours before it’s metabolized. However, neurological collapse is expected before that timeframe.”

“What?” You looked at him. “There’s no way we’re letting that happen. Maybe I can–”

“Don’t even start,” he cut you off, shaking his head profusely. 

“So what? I’m supposed to sit here betting on whether your body collapses on hour three or hour six?” 

“I’ll just pass out, big deal. I’m not putting you in danger because of this. I can handle it.”

“You’re barely handling it now. There’s no danger in trying–”

“You don’t understand what’s happening inside me right now,” he argued, raising his voice. “This other thing, the one the inhibitor controls it’s…awake. That part of me doesn’t think like I do. It doesn’t care if you're scared, or hurting–”

“You wouldn’t hurt me–”

“You don’t know that!” He snapped, his fist struck the floor next to him, hard enough to make the worn wood crack beneath his knuckles. 

The sudden noise made you flinch. He smelled the flash of fear moving through your body for only a second. 

One second enough. 

“Fuck–that is what I mean,” he cursed, covering his lenses with his hands. “I don’t…I don’t know if I’d be gentle. I can’t risk this, I can't…shit, I can’t risk you.”

The words, said with so much pain, and honesty, seemed to settle somewhere deep in your chest. 

“Okay,” you nodded, settling deeper in your chair. “But I’m not leaving you like this. I can’t risk you either.”

He shuddered a painful exhale. His head dropped to the couch again, shutting his eyes in preparation of what the next hours of torture would be. 

Except…he didn’t even last ten minutes. 

The suit was killing him, so he decided he’d be better without it. He reached desperately behind his back, clumsily undoing the zippers that tied the suit together.

He could feel your wide eyes on him as he tugged the fabric off his shoulders, peeling it off his sweaty arms. He groaned when he lifted his hips and the suit grazed his swollen crotch. In a matter of seconds that felt like eternity he managed to break free from the spandex, and threw it away somewhere in the room. He’d undressed down to his dark boxers, mask still in place, revealing the marble sculpture of his body.

You let out a shaky breath from your spot, eyes raking over a body you’d only seen partially. He was covered in wounds most of the time, but this time, he only had faint bruises from the night before decorating his chiseled abs. 

His tight muscles flexed with every rise of his chest, his bulge straining harder the more you devoured him, pressing against his pants, making him curse quietly. 

You noticed, and returned your eyes to the screen to track his vitals. 

He felt grateful that you’d given him that grace, but just you being in that room made it very hard for him to think of anything other than your existence. 

Too hard. 

Before he knew his hand drifted down the growing ache in his crotch, trying to feel some relief, but every rub he made over the fabric of his boxers sent a jolt of pain through his body instead of pleasure. 

It only made it worse when he realized you were tense at the desk, trying very hard to keep your focus on the screen and not on the whines he was letting out. 

“…I’m sorry,” he apologized instantly, breathlessly, moving his hand away. “I didn’t–”

“Don’t apologize,” you shook your head quickly, eyes still on the screen. “You…you can do whatever you need.” 

He didn’t say anything, just whined in pain again, so you took it as a chance to say it before you regretted it. 

“But my offer still stands, spidey.” 

What a polite way of saying ‘I’d let you fuck me into next week so you can control your horny arachnid hormones, spidey.’

Fucking hell. 

“I’m okay I just–God I didn’t–I didn’t think it would feel this way…” He laughed humorlessly, staring at the ceiling. “But I–I got this. Yes.”

You kept quiet, hearing him mumble to himself about a hundred times about how he had this.

“I’m okay…I’m good…it’s fine…” 

He wasn’t. 

“Fuck I don’t…I’m going to die…”

For God’s sake. 

“I think I can help.”

By the time he registered the words and looked back at you, you had already moved from your chair and shortened the distance between you, kneeling in front of him. 

His senses went from one thousand to one million. He forced his hands behind his back, trying to keep the animal from grabbing you and getting it over with. 

“What–what are you doing?” He stammered nervously, the lenses of his mask going wide. 

“Maynard,” you said quietly, ignoring the way his body tensed up at that name. “Would it make you feel better if I put my hand here?” 

You placed your hand right in the center of his chest, and your cold palm met his overheated skin. He gasped, feeling every individual fingerprint on his skin. He wanted them marked on him. Tattooed. 

His back arched from the couch, with a strangled gasp breaking from beneath the mask. The relief hit him all at once, through a simple contact that felt like salvation. 

Your hand steadied him for only a glorious second, but now that you had touched him, his body knew precisely what it had been denied.

It wanted more.

His own hand closed around yours so suddenly that you almost pulled back, but he loosened his grip the instant he realized how tightly he was holding you. 

“Sorry–”

“Don’t apologize.” You pressed harder. 

He was burning.

The heat beneath your palm scared you, but what scared you more was the violent pounding of his heart beating against your hand so so quickly. 

“Better?” You asked quietly, trying not to bite your bottom lip at the image of him crumbling under your palm. 

“So fucking better,” he said breathlessly, pressing your hand tighter against his chest. “I…dammit–”

“Breathe,” you reminded.

His head fell back against the couch. Chest rising up and down, up and down, up and down. 

Just take her, man, she’s right there–

Your free hand accidentally brushed his neck, right where the border of the mask started, snapping him right back. He grabbed your hand, not harshly, but firm enough to make your breath hitch. 

“Please.” Was all he said. 

Leave it on. 

It brought you back to that first night he’d crashed into your life. 

“I wasn’t planning on removing it,” you whispered, leaning closer. “You can keep it on. But let me help you…I really want to.”

See? She wants it. She needs it so bad. 

He hated that the other guy was right. He knew you meant what you said because he could smell the proof pooling between your thighs.

Fuck it.

In a sudden movement he reached for your waist, dragging you forward so you were straddling his lap. The bulge you landed on made you gasp, hands instinctively grabbing onto his sweaty biceps for balance when he let out a broken groan that vibrated against your core. 

His hand cupped your jaw, bringing it closer to his face, and your dilated pupils reflected on the white of his lenses. 

“I can feel that you want this,” he mumbled, tilting his head to the side. “Please, say it again…”

You shifted your hips, barely, so minimal yet he felt it travel through his whole body. He hissed, tightening the grip on your jaw. 

“I want this,” you repeated firmly, moving your head closer to his ear. “You can take whatever you need…”

You moved your hips again, more deliberate this time, pulling a broken whine from him. The toxin made every contact feel like electricity racing down his spine, straight to the heavy, aching weight of his cock under you. 

“Yes…yeah just like that…” he panted. “Just let me…”

His hands landed on your waist, moving you back and forth at a quicker pace over his bulge. You gasped at the friction, fingers digging into his shoulders, while he let out a collection of muffled words you could barely understand. 

“...M–more…” he whined, throwing his head back against the couch. “I can’t–I need…”

“What do you need? More what?” 

“More contact.”

His hands left your waist to grab the hem of your shirt. 

“Can I?” He whispered.

You nodded eagerly, gasping when his hands shifted to the collar of your shirt instead, ripping it off your body with a sharp pull. 

“Oh fuck,” he cursed when he realized there was nothing under that shirt, and saw your nipples hardening instantly under the cold air. 

He resisted the urge to bite them through the mask. 

His hands, however, wasted no time to cup your breasts with a broken whine. His thumbs played with your nipples, tugging at them as hard as he could allow himself to without hurting you. 

“Fuck you’re perfect…you’re so perfect…” he whispered, more to himself than you, pulling some soft whimpers out of you when he tugged a little harder. His hands drifted to your lower half, to the hem of the last piece keeping your body from his greedy eyes. “These too,” he said, “please, can I? I want to feel you.”

“Yes,” you nodded, already out of air. 

You didn’t even know why you tried to get off his lap to take the shorts off properly, when he just did the same as the shirt: ripped it in half where it rested on your hips, yanked it off from your body and threw the ruined pieces far away. 

You weren’t wearing anything underneath. 

“I can smell you. God, I can smell you. You’re so–oh God…”

Now he could feel your wetness drenching his boxers, dripping onto the fabric. He could almost taste it in his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to drown in it for hours. 

“Can–can I–?”

You didn’t even let him finish, you grabbed his hand and placed it right between your legs. 

Water. He found water in the middle of the dessert. 

His hand moved carefully through your wet folds once, twice, delighting in your warmth, the way you felt, the way you let out the prettiest sound he had ever heard in his miserable life. 

“Fuck…” you cursed softly, moving your hips eagerly when he kept stroking slow. Too slow. “Touch me, please.”

He obliged, fingers finding your clit in movements that had you gripping his shoulders tighter, eyes fluttering shut so beautifully he had to bite his lip to not let out a pathetic sound. 

“Been wanting this,” he mumbled. “Longer than today. Longer than tonight.”

His finger slid inside of you, making you moan when he curled it just right. 

“There were…there were nights I thought about you riding my hand,” he kept going, voice cracking as he added a second finger, stretching you more. “I’ve wanted you for so long–not just because of this shit in my blood. Because it’s you.”

Every word made you clench around his fingers. Every admission pulled another shaky moan out of your throat. You were a mess already, breathless, hips rolling down to meet the thrust of his fingers. 

“Oh my God–don’t stop, please don’t stop–”

“Not stopping, baby.” 

He kept working you open, the white lenses of the mask never leaving your face. His free hand slid up your chest, settling between your breasts. 

“I’m–I’m close,” you managed. “I’m so close–”

“Come on…you’re perfect. You’re so fucking perfect like this.”

The heel of his palm lifted to press against your clit. You were right there, right on the edge, about to come on his hand and drip down his boxers–

“Please,” he begged, unable to keep it in. “Let me fuck you after this…please. I need to be inside you. I’ve needed it for so long–just let me, after you come, please, please–”

The plea undid you.

You came with a broken cry, stopping your movements as your walls pulsed around him. The sound you made against his shoulder nearly finished him right there. 

It took you a second to just breathe again, your chest synching up with his in the search of oxygen. He kept rocking his hand slowly, not just to work you through the aftershocks, but because the friction of your pussy in his hand brought the tiniest relief to him. 

You just stayed there as the last soft waves rolled through you. 

Once you were able to see clearly again, you let out a breathless chuckle and straightened back up. 

He needed you. He needed you so badly you really thought he was going to die if you didn’t help him. 

You placed one hand on his chest as the other reached under you, slipping inside the fabric of his boxers without breaking eye contact. 

The second your bare fingers brushed him, his hips jerked hard under you. 

“You said please,” you whispered breathlessly. 

You wrapped your fingers around him and pulled him free.

His cock sprang out, heavy and flushed between your bodies, so thick and hard and painful. The head was red and shiny, with precum dripping down the vein that ran along his length. The tip brushed the skin of your stomach, leaving a warm, wet patch that made the hair on your arms go up. He could smell the small flicker of intimidation sparking inside you, but the want that followed was stronger. 

You stroked him a few times, slowly just as he’d touched you at first. 

“Oh my God, your hand–your hand–”

Another thick bead of precum welled up and spilled over your fingers. Whether it was the toxin or just his enhanced physiology, he was dripping for you.  

Flustered wasn’t enough of a word when you had his leaking cock in your hand. 

His hands slid down to your hips, gripping tighter, guiding you up as if he was about to lift you then pulling you back down immediately. 

Fuck her. Fuck her right now. 

“Please, I need–I need to feel you…” he cried out. “Let me…let me…”

You nodded just as desperately, lifting yourself up as he helped, steadying you with shaking hands until the thick head of his cock nudged against your entrance. You both exhaled hard at the same time when you started to sink down, taking him inch by inch.

He was big. Almost too much. The burn of it made your breath hitch, but the way he cursed under his breath multiple times, completely at your mercy, made you keep going until he was buried balls deep.

You sat there for a moment, breathing heavily, and so full of him. 

When the initial sting faded away, you started moving. He let you set the pace as you adjusted, holding back his need of thrusting up. His fingers dug on your skin, not lifting just holding you, but the more that you moved, the more that control started to waver. 

He could feel it coming. The change. 

You kept moaning, bouncing on top of him, completely unaware of his self restraint crumbling away. 

His grip slowly tightened when his eyes began turning completely black under his mask. That careful, pathetic boy who’d been begging disappeared beneath something more…primal. 

Fuck. Whatever had been holding him back finally snapped.

The next thing he knew, his hands slid under your thighs with sudden strength. He lifted you up in one motion until only the thick head of him remained inside you, held you there for a second as the last part of him tried to remember how to be gentle–then snapped his hips up hard.

That first thrust pulled a sharp moan out of you, but there was no chance to adjust this time. He set a relentless pace almost immediately, using pure strength to bounce you on his cock while he drove up to meet every drop of your body, buried so deep it stole your breath every time he bottomed out. 

“Oh my–May…Maynard–” the name you barely used on him slipped out in the middle of the frenzy, but his hand reached behind your head to pull your hair back slightly as he kept thrusting up. 

“Don’t call me that,” he snapped, his voice so different from just minutes earlier. “It’s Peter. Call me Peter when I’m inside you.” 

He didn’t even give you time to process, still lifting and dropping you onto his cock at the exact hard rhythm he wanted. The only one that satisfied the need inside of him. Your hands instinctively reached for the edge of the arm of the couch he was leaning against, fingers digging into the worn fabric as he hit that spot inside you over and over again. 

“Of fuck…Peter–fuck…yes…”

“That’s better,” he approved. “I was right, you’re so so perfect…taking every inch like you need it as bad as I do…”

A desperate sound slipped out of you at the praise, he could feel your walls clenching tight around him as your body went for that second orgasm, your eyes were fluttering shut, almost there–

“Nuh–uh,” he denied immediately, stopping mid thrust, holding you pressed against him as you gasped, surprised and confused. 

“What–what happened? I was about to–”

“I want you to hold it for me. I know you can.”

That twisted part of him enjoyed the slow realization on your face. 

Even if you couldn’t see his eyes, you knew the same spiderman he’d been without the inhibitor, was the one with your body at his mercy now. 

Good. 

He stayed buried to the hilt for a moment, breathing hard behind the mask. When your breathing finally slowed down and accepted that the high never came, he stood up. Still inside you, he walked you to the bed in the corner of the room. 

His bed.

He pulled out with a wet sound that made both of you groan, then laid you down roughly near the edge of the mattress. He kneeled down, strong hands hooking behind your knees and dragging your legs over his shoulders, folding you open for him completely.

“Look at the ceiling,” he ordered. “Don’t look at me.”

You obeyed, staring up at the wood beams high above you while he tugged the bottom of the mask just high enough to free his mouth. 

Peter leaned down and pressed a few soft kisses to your swollen folds. He wasn’t necessarily eating you out, just giving a few loud smooches that felt good enough to make you grip the sheets. 

“M’sorry, you were so perfect there…” he mumbled condescendingly against your most sensitive spots. “But I need you to hold on a little longer. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?” 

You nodded, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. Maybe too eager. Maybe too pathetic. Just like he’d been. Had he pumped that toxin into you? 

Either way, you didn’t care. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like this version of him. 

He laughed right over your clit when you moaned loudly, after he moved his tongue in a slow, torturous swipe over it. 

“Was back there too much?” He cooed. “Maybe I just need to stretch you more...”

Two fingers slid inside you, so easily, but the sudden stretch still dragged a whine out of your throat. He curled them immediately, finding the spot that made your hips jerk. 

“Peter…” 

“Huh?” He acted coy, pumping his fingers with a rhythm that kept you right on the edge without letting you tip over. He added a third finger, making your back arch from the mattress. “Keep holding it in.”

Every shake of your body fed the stupid toxin inside him. Having you like this…really trying to keep your body from coming apart because he said so. 

God. He was never going back. 

“You just took my cock. I think you can take three fingers with no problem.” 

He kept the same relentless pace, chuckling when your body started twitching again. 

“Shhh, you’re perfect, absolutely perfect…”

“Peter…” you called out again, hand dropping the sheet to find his shoulder instead. “I need…need…”

“Need what?”

“Need you inside me…please I won’t–I won’t hold for much longer just–fuck me.”

He stopped altogether, a smirk you couldn’t see stretching the corner of his mouth. He pulled his fingers out with a wet pop, licking them clean before tugging his mask back in place and standing up. 

“Yeah?” 

Your legs dangled off the edge of the bed for a moment before his hands gripped your hips and turned you over. He moved you higher up the bed, grabbing one of the pillows, and shoving it under your hips, tilting your lower body up for him. 

He then climbed onto the bed behind you and knelt between your spread thighs, the mattress dipping under his weight as one hand stroked down the length of your spine. 

But something made him stop. 

“This fucking mask–” he cursed under his breath. “It’s suffocating me.”

The sweat on his forehead had pooled under the mask, making it so sticky over his eyebrows that it was affecting the lenses he was trying to see you through. 

“I need you to be a good girl for me,” he added breathlessly, yet still commanding enough. “Keep your head on the mattress. Ass up. Don’t turn around.”

You nodded. Too eagerly again. Couldn’t care any less again. 

He didn’t think twice, just yanked the mask off and tossed it aside. It landed near you, making you bury half your face on the sheets as if staring at the mask alone would be disobeying his commands. 

The sound he made when the cool air hit his face was pure relief. He swiped the sweat off with his forearm, finally seeing you clearly. Face down. Eyes squeezed shut. Already clutching the sheets. 

“You look so pretty like this,” he mumbled. “All spread out for me…waiting.”

“Peter…” you whined, lifting your ass slightly from the pillow. 

“I know, I know. You’re okay.” He couldn’t keep the smirk away when he added, “you said please.”

He reached between you, guiding the thick head of his cock between your thighs until it nudged against your entrance. You were still soft and ready and perfect. 

Peter pushed in slowly, letting you feel every inch as he sank deep and deep and deeper. 

He braced one hand beside your head and kept the other on your hip, pushing you into the mattress as his thighs hit the back of yours. Slap. Slap. Slap. The position left almost no space between your bodies, with Peter pressing his chest against your back. 

“Fuck…you feel so good like this…so pretty taking me.”

He kept going, making the mattress creak and the base of the bed hit the brick wall repeatedly. Your desperate moans ran through his body like electricity, making something inside him crack open again. 

What? What is–

The moment his rhythm stuttered, he shook his head, trying to clear it. Beads of sweat flew from his hair to your back. 

“God–you…you’re making me–” The roughness of his thrusts slowed down immediately, inhaling a sharp intake of air as he felt the change again. “I can’t, I can’t…”

He lifted his gaze to the window behind the bed and noticed his eyes had turned back to its original color. 

“Oh my god,” he gasped, stopping altogether. He straightened up, still kneeling and inside you, but panicking. “I’m…I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened I–“

“Peter!” You cut him off, pushing yourself back, closer to him, without turning around. “Shut up and fuck me.”

The order left your mouth breathless, pushing back against him even more to make the point clear. His hands twitched when they gripped your hips again. 

“Okay, okay…” he panted, groaning when you dropped back on the bed and his cock almost left the warmth of your pussy. “I’m sorry–if I was too rough, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

He picked up the pace again, but the words tumbling out of him now were pure pleading Peter again. 

“Don’t turn around–don’t turn around–fuck, fuck…” slap, slap, slap. “You can come now. Please. Please, I want to feel it–you’d come apart so pretty on me, I know you would…pleasepleaseplease–”

His final permission and the desperate way he said it made you crash harder than the first time, crying out into the mattress. The second he felt you coming around him, he knew he couldn’t last much longer either.

“Can I–inside…please, can I??…let me fill you up–”

“Yes–inside, Peter, do it inside me…” 

He buried himself to the hilt with a strained groan and finally came. The orgasm tearing out of him was harder and longer than anything he’d ever felt, holding you there, filling you up. 

You gasped against the sheets, breathless, as the waves of cum seemed to go on forever, flooding you with warm and thick ropes in every spurt as he emptied himself inside you. 

“Thank you…thank you…” His forehead dropped between your shoulder blades, sending broken gasps against your skin as he kept coming. “You are so perfect–fuck…so perfect…thank you…”

The pollen wrung him dry until he could barely breathe, and even then he kept rolling his hips weakly, chasing the last of it while he slowly softened inside you. 

When it finally eased, the pain, the need, the hunger…he pulled out slowly with a whine, and half collapsed over you. His arms held most of his weight as he planked above you, but you could feel every ridge of his muscles brushing your sweaty skin. 

Peter’s eyes fluttered shut, feeling exhausted and aching in the best way, almost lulled by the sounds of your agitated breaths. 

You both felt the warm trail of liquid leaking out between your bodies and neither of you moved or said anything for a while. He could’ve stayed like that forever, really. With your naked body under him, no masks, no barriers, just your swollen pussy leaking out his seed–

“Successful ejaculation brought down the arachnid hormone levels immediately. Inhibitor working within regular parameters now. Congratulations, Peter.” 

EV’s monotone voice cut through the silence. 

It took two seconds of shock before you both broke into breathless laughter. His teeth grazed your back as your bodies vibrated in sync from the amusement and overall flustering after everything that happened. 

“Thank you, EV,” Peter muttered. 

“You’re welcome. I gathered data and the released semen volume exceeds standard parameters by two hundred and twenty six percent due to the high hormonal concentration. Hydration, clean up and rest are advised.”

“For fucks sake…” Peter cursed under his breath. 

“Oh god…” you mumbled against the sheets. 

That was your call back to reality. 

Peter felt you move under him, reaching blindly to the side until your hand found the mask. You lifted it over your shoulder, offering it to him without looking. 

“I don’t want to,” he said, too quickly, then cleared his throat. “I…I don’t want to put it back on.” 

“Then I’ll close my eyes,” you offered instead. 

“No–I mean…you don’t have to. I don’t want to wear it around you anymore. Not after…all of this,” he admitted sheepishly. 

“But you told me to not turn around,” you reminded him, dropping the mask on the mattress again. “And that was you, not the darker you.”

He chuckled, nodding even if you couldn’t see him yet. 

“Yeah, because if I saw your face while I was balls deep inside you I would’ve busted before you came.”

There it was. He said it. No turning back now. 

At least it got a chuckle from you too. 

“Listen I…I meant everything I said. Everything. The wanting, the nights I thought about you,” he confessed. “I don’t want you to feel like I just used you when…when there was always a reason why I needed you like oxygen tonight.”

Your breath hitched, and his hand found your waist, pulling you closer to him, and when you didn’t push away…he exhaled in relief behind you. 

“So maybe…you can turn around now. If–if you want to. Know the real me.”

“I would really like that,” you whispered without hesitation. 

You tried lifting yourself up to turn around, but he did most of the job, moving away the pillow he had placed under you and helping you roll onto your back. You closed your eyes, at least until you were facing him completely, and took a deep breath. Holding onto his biceps for moral support, you finally opened them again. 

Seeing his face for the first time felt so intimate, even after everything you just did. 

There he was. The same guy who just fucked you into next week, looking more shy and boyish than you could’ve ever imagined. 

Brown eyes. Dark, curly hair sticking to his forehead. A nervous smile tugging at the corner of his gorgeous mouth. 

So young. So earnest. So yours. 

Not spidey anymore. Just Peter. 

Your Peter. 

Thank you so much for reading 🤍 I used to write Peter so much back in the day (shoutout to my starktonyx era) and I’ve missed him dearly.

Feedback is always appreciated 🕷️

Divider by @andromeda-graphics

Tags: @johnnyfuckingsexystorm @harryplzruinme @jellyfishjpeg @tatumrileyslover @kg0626

[bitchinbarzal]

Jealous, D? | D Di Laurentis

summary: it’s casual, dean is a little less than casual when he sees someone elses hands on you.

—

Dean had never been jealous a day in his life.

Possessive? Sure.

Competitive? Absolutely.

But jealous? No.

At least that was what he told himself while staring so hard at the guy sitting beside you on the couch that Logan physically leaned over and took Dean’s beer from his hand before he crushed the can.

“You’re being weird,” Logan muttered.

Dean didn’t look away from you. “I’m not being weird.”

“You’ve looked two seconds away from murder since we walked in.”

Across the hockey house living room, you laughed at something the guy beside you said, head tipping back slightly. His hand rested on your knee like he belonged there.

Dean’s stomach twisted violently.

Garrett followed his line of sight and immediately groaned. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

“You’re jealous.”

Dean scoffed loudly enough to earn a glance from you across the room. “I’m literally not.”

“You absolutely are,” Garrett laughed. “This is incredible. I’ve never witnessed such a sight.”

Dean ignored them both, taking his beer back before shoving himself off the kitchen counter. He needed another drink. Or maybe twelve.

This was ridiculous.

You were single.

He was single.

That was the whole point.

From the beginning, the two of you had agreed this wasn’t serious. No labels. No exclusivity. No clinginess.

Just sex.

Really good sex.

The kind that had somehow turned into movie nights and late-night drives and you stealing his hoodies and Dean memorising your coffee order without meaning to.

Except now there was some finance major touching your thigh like he’d earned it, and Dean suddenly felt borderline homicidal and violently ill.

“You good, D?” Tucker asked as Dean grabbed vodka this time instead of beer.

“Fantastic.”

Tucker looked toward the couch.

“Oh,” he said carefully. “That bad?”

Dean glared at him. “Shut up.”

The worst part was that you looked good tonight.

Dean knew exactly what your skin felt like under his hands. Knew what you sounded like when he got you alone.

And now some other guy was making you laugh.

You spotted him hovering near the kitchen and smiled automatically.

That smile almost made it worse.

You excused yourself from the couch a few minutes later, weaving through the crowd toward him.

“There you are,” you said easily. “You disappeared.”

Dean leaned back against the counter. “You seemed busy.”

One eyebrow lifted immediately.

Uh oh.

“Why are you talking like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like an asshole.”

You folded your arms over your chest. “Dean.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’ve been glaring at Evan all night.”

“Evan,” Dean repeated flatly. “Jesus Christ, even his name sucks.”

You stared at him for a second before realisation slowly crossed your face.

“No way…”

Dean took another drink.

“Oh my God,” you laughed quietly. “You’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“You absolutely are.”

“I’m annoyed.”

“Because I’m hooking up with someone else?”

The directness it was harder than he expected.

Dean’s jaw tightened. “I just think you could do better.”

You blinked at him slowly. “Dean. You literally sleep with half the female population of Briar.”

“Not anymore.”

The words slipped out too fast.

Your expression shifted slightly.

Dean immediately regretted opening his mouth.

You stepped closer, voice softer now, your fingers grazing softly over his shirt covered abdomen, “What’s going on with you?”

Dean didn’t know when this had happened.

Didn’t know when you’d become the first person he looked for at parties. Or when his bed started feeling empty without you in it. Or when hearing another guy make you laugh started feeling like someone scraping a knife against his ribs.

He was fucking Dean Di Laurentis.

He didn’t do this. Relationships were messy. Feelings complicated things. Casual was supposed to be easy.

But watching another guy touch you all night had made him feel insane. And maybe worse than insane was hurt.

“You said casual,” he said finally.

Your face softened slightly. “Hey, we both did.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you acting like this?”

Dean laughed once, bitter under his breath. “Because apparently I’m an idiot.”

You went quiet.

He scrubbed a hand over his jaw before looking at you directly for the first time all night.

“I didn’t think I’d care.”

There it was.

Ugly and embarrassing and completely unavoidable now.

Your lips parted slightly.

Behind you, the music blasted and people were yelling.

Dean barely noticed any of it.

Because you were just staring at him.

“You care if I hook up with someone else?” you asked carefully.

Dean gave you a look. “That obvious?”

“A little.”

“Fantastic.”

A small smile tugged at your mouth before you shook your head. “You know what the crazy part is?”

“What?”

“I only started talking to Evan because I thought you were losing interest.”

Dean actually frowned. “What?”

“You stopped sleeping with random girls,” you said quietly. “You started acting weirdly domestic with me and then pulling away after. I figured maybe you were getting bored.”

“Bored?” Dean repeated like the word offended him personally.

You shrugged slightly. “You never said anything.”

“Because I was trying not to turn into a psychopath!”

You laughed softly.

Dean stepped closer before he could stop himself.

“You think I liked watching him touch you?”

Your breath caught slightly.

Dean noticed immediately because of course he did. “I almost put him through a wall, baby.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“I’m serious.”

Silence settled between you both, your fingers gripping his shirt a little tighter. The space between you was closing.

He knew he had no right to feel this way when he’d been the one insisting on casual from the start.

But standing here now, looking down at you with your mouth slightly pink from the drink in your hand and your eyes fixed on his, Dean realized something horrifying.

“You wanna know something pathetic?” he asked quietly.

You looked wary already. “Probably not.”

“I have your coffee order saved in my notes app.”

You blinked.

Dean pushed forward before he could lose his nerve.

“You leave hair ties all over my apartment and I don’t throw them out anymore. Tucker asked why there’s strawberry yogurt in our fridge because I don’t eat strawberry yogurt but you do when you’re studying. Garrett says I smile differently when you text me.” He paused. “And apparently seeing another guy touch you makes me physically ill.”

Your lips twitched despite yourself. “Oh my God.”

“Yeah,” Dean muttered. “That’s pretty much how I felt too.”

For a second neither of you moved.

Then quietly, “So what now?”

Dean looked at you for a long moment.

Then his eyes flicked toward the living room where Evan was still sitting on the couch waiting for your return.

“Now,” Dean said calmly, “I’m gonna walk over there and tell him to stop looking at my girl.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Your girl?”

The corner of Dean’s mouth lifted slightly.

“You can yell at me about the wording later.”

[briarpilled]

pairing: dean di laurentis x reader

summary: you and dean have been best friends since forever, there was hardly anything you could ever keep from each other, so it's not surprising all it takes for you to confess your feelings is a very short-tempered dean and his excessive urge to defend your honor.

content/warnings: fluff, childhood friends to lovers, cursing, brief description of fighting, also brief mention of blood, the good old tend-to-his-wounds trope, love confession because it's cheesy like that, making out.

word count: 1.7k

a/n: this was inspired by this ask. i'm so excited to post my first off campus fic on this blog, hope you guys enjoy it!

Dean Di Laurentis wasn't one to throw punches—not without a good reason, at least. You know this with the conviction only someone who knows him since childhood could have. Being his best friend since before you could learn how to walk meant you became awfully familiar with all of his flaws and never once looked at him wrong for any of it.

Yes, he was annoyingly vain and could act like a total prick when he really wanted to. Yes, he was thick headed enough to chose one of the most intense—and agressive—sports to play and still manage to be ridiculously good at it. And yes, he was intense and aggressive about it most times, as you eventually grew accostumed to throughout the years.

Still, you've never seen Dean act the way he did on tonight's game.

You've learned to expect the worst when it came to hockey. By now, you'd just sit on the edge of your seat every time you came to watch one of Dean's games—as you naturally did, every single one of them since he started playing—and pray that it didn't end up like that one time he got his head banged so hard against the glass that he got a concussion, your legs bouncing restlessly beneath you and your heart leaping in your throat.

Maybe that kind of acceptance had been the reason why you were so caught off guard when, seemingly upon hearing something a player from the opposite team said during the game, Dean abandoned his stick entirely and launched himself at the guy like an animal out of a cage. You watched completely frozen in place as he grabbed the player by his collar and shook him with such intensity they fell onto the ice, not wasting a second before he was lifting his arm in the air and then lowering his closed fist to collide against the guy's face, still protected by his helmet.

Dean punched him again. Then again. Then one more time before Garrett finally got to him and managed to lift him by the back of his jersey. By then, the crowd was audibly gasping behind the glass and you were suddenly on your feet, clutching your chest and willing your lungs to work, to breathe in some air before you passed out from sheer shock and worry.

Your hands are still shaking an hour later, your fingers trembling slightly as you lift a piece of gauze and press it directly against Dean's bloody knuckles. The disinfectant liquid drenching the material makes him hiss audibly under his breath.

"Shit, that thing stings." He complains, reflexively trying to pull away his arm upon the harsh contact against split skin. You grip him tighter, pulling him back by his wirst with more force than probably necessary.

"Yeah, that's what you get for scaring me like that," You retort, and the pointed look you send him makes Dean's scowling expression morph into something that might as well just be remorse. "And it's only getting worse. I've got a lot of frustration to take out on your pretty hands right now, so you better start talking. What the hell happened?"

Your pulse has a rapid rhythm to it now, irritation rising as a response to the feeling of being scared half to death by the last person you want to see put himself in danger. When Dean doesn't immediately respond, the anger only grows hotter inside you, your eyebrows lifting in a silent command for him to talk.

"He talked about you." He mumbles, so quietly you almost miss it. His eyes won't find yours while he speaks, but you can still sense the tension radiating from him at each word Dean manages to spit out. "That fucker said he would pick a prize after winning the game, then looked right at you through the glass. I saw it."

You stay silent for a long moment then, your fingers stilling where they had been wiping the blood off the back of his hand because there's something in the way he says it that makes you stop and look at him—really look at him.

His shoulders are so stiff with tension they're practically reaching his ears, his free hand closed around one of your ankles with a sort of defensiveness that suggests you might as well be pulled away from him if he doesn't hold you hard enough. You can't put together how something so small has managead to leave him like this.

"That's hardly a good excuse for what you did in there." You manage to say after a few seconds, your voice sounding smaller than you intended when it cuts through the silence that fills your dorm room. "I can take care of myself, you know that better than anyone else."

Dean releases a short chuckle that has anything but humor in it. A muscle in his jaw jumps like he's holding back something that presses just behind his teeth, threatening to come out. "Yeah, I do."

"Then why, Dean? Why would you take a risk like that?"

"Because I wanted to."

It's your turn to scoff now. "You're gonna have to do better than that."

"Because I couldn't help it." He finally shatters, and it's probably the most genuine, unguarded tone you've ever heard coming out of his mouth. Your jaw slackens, mouth falling open in surprise. "Because he fucking talked about you and it made me want to do something about it. Because he had the audacity to think he had some kind of right over you and I just couldn't stand there—couldn't stand there and hear him talk like that about someone I love and do nothing."

Your heart drops to your stomach so suddenly a choked out sound escapes past your lips, the words hanging impossibly heavy in the air between you. Sure, he has said I love you before. You've been best friends since you were children, you've been saying it for years like it's basically second nature.

But it's different now. Even before the words can finish leaving his mouth, you know it's different.

"Dean." Is the only thing you can manage to say. Just the four letters, something familiar to keep you grounded while the whole world seems to bend around you.

Dean looks anywhere but at you, blue eyes darting between his fingers securing your calf and the gauze you're still holding against his knuckles, the white fabric now turned pink with his blood—he searches for any other thing that isn't the look on your face after he has finally released the words he's been trying to hold back for way too much time now.

"Dean Di Laurentis, if you don't look at me right now—" You start arguing, but the words stop right there, because Dean does look, and his eyes are doing this unfamiliar thing that makes it seem like he's handing you something precious and begging you not to break it.

Your heart gives a sudden squeeze in your chest, the words punched out of you before you can help it. "I love you too."

Dean startles like he didn't expect you to say it—like he didn't expect you to say anything at all. You watch his expression change from surprise to expectation and then back to that face he makes when he thinks you're only doing something to make him happy, even when you can still see a hint of hope flickering behind his eyes.

"You don't have to—"

"Don't," You cut in sharply. "Don't say anything. Just kiss me."

The moment of hesitation is barely more than a split second. Dean blinks once, maybe twice as his brain works to register the words, and then he's already surging towards you. His hand flies to the back of your head, a gentle but firm grip settling on your nape. He uses it to guide your lips to his with such confidence you nearly yelp under his touch, your hands lifting to close around the fabric of his shirt before you melt into the kiss.

You feel the change in him when Dean finally feels your mouth on his. His whole body turns toward you, his free hand lifting to your waist like something has finally clicked into place inside him and he knows exactly where to touch you and exactly how much closer to pull you so your body fits perfectly against his.

It's unbelievable and utterly insane—how natural it feels when his tongue darts out to slip inside your mouth and how you barely think before tilting your head back to grant him better access, the way Dean makes a sound deep in his chest when your tongue meets him halfway, a satisfacted rumble that also seems to demand more.

Not enough. Your body seems to chant it under the thrum of your heart, some dormant instinct willing you to pull him impossibly closer, to adjust your position against him so you're lifting yourself just enough to straddle his hips.

Dean catches you immediately, both hands shifting to secure your waist and pull you onto his lap effortlessly. His arms circle tightly around you, bringing you flush against his chest as his tongue continues to explore your mouth like he's trying to reach parts no one has ever reached before.

It isn't until your lungs start gasping for air that you finally register the need to pull away. Dean allows you to pull back just enough to catch a glimpse of your now flushed face, his eyes lowering to your lips and staying there as he studies the way your mouth parts to catch some air.

His voice is hoarse when finally speaks, low and slightly frail at the edges from how wide he's smiling against the words. "There's no going back in this, you know that? You're mine now."

Your lips curl against Dean's mouth, your breath shallow against his equally weak one. You take in the slight flutter to his eyelids, the way his pupils are fully blown behind them as he looks up at you like you're the only thing to ever exist for him, your gaze then shifting to where his heart beats rapidly under your palm. That's how you realise you're exactly where you belong.

"I think I can live with that."

[acdeaky]

tornadochas3r is typing…

summary: you and scott matched on a dating app one evening and you could have never predicted how quickly you fell for him

warning: sexting, suggestive content and mentions of sex, swearing, scott being a flirt and a little shit all at once (so nothing new??), use of dating apps (but legit just messaging), mention of drinking/being tipsy, the start of phone sex 🤭, (over?) use of pet names

note: randomly had the thought of meeting scott on an app and having a long distance relationship with him while he’s busy chasing tornadoes and i got all hot and bothered and had to write this

word count: 3.9k

tornadochas3r

have you ever thought about doing something you’re really not supposed to?

notincali

is this your way of flirting…? or is this a genuine question you have?

tornadochas3r

i mean, i was trying to flirt, but now i feel like it should have been a genuine question

notincali

and how on earth would that question come off as flirting?

tornadochas3r

i don’t know, maybe you’d say something naughty like getting off in a public restroom or something?

notincali

naughty?

tornadochas3r

don’t question my use of adjectives

just answer the question

notincali

the question of if i’ve thought about getting off in a public restroom? or if ive thought about doing something im not supposed to?

tornadochas3r

i wouldn’t mind the answer to either

before you could stop yourself, but found yourself giggling at his messages, being seconds away from kicking your feet up and down under your covers like a schoolgirl. tornadochas3r had messaged you first, having matched on one of thousands of dating apps earlier in the evening after doom scrolling to cure your boredom.

you really didn’t expect anything worthy of a relationship from the app your friends made you download the other week after a few too many drinks, but you were looking for something to do and had swiped left on way too many boys until you found him. tornadochas3r. like every other profile, there was one vague photo and a few facts about him in the short bio underneath.

his face was obscured by a grey hat perched upon his head, but the way he held himself and posed for the picture was attractive. you couldn’t make out the logo on the front of it, but he was dressed smartly in a pressed white shirt and cargo pants. maybe he’d taken it with haste at work, hiding away somewhere as to not be spotted by his colleagues creating a profile. he seemed like a stubborn person who got his way, but in a hot, ‘i’ll do it because i’m horny’ way and it should have been the perfect boredom buster.

but you didn’t expect him to flirt so easily and ask you questions about getting off in public restrooms and what you spent your evenings doing so quickly. he was interested. he was interesting. and it became more than a fun little fling for you after a couple of days of messaging. he’d always start with a question, something you now knew he would class as flirting and wanted a bit more of a dirty answer than normal, and you would reply with an answer that always prompted an answer from him about the same thing.

it was exhilarating; the back and forth was easily, effortless. you always had something to say to him, and he always had something to say back. the topics of conversation had been vast, literally talking about anything with each other and you’d finally mustered the courage to ask about his handle. tornadochas3r. you didn’t know whether it was a genuine career he had, a hobby or he just had a death wish.

you’d seen twister, like ten years ago, you’d heard the horror stories on the news about tornadoes and their devastations to homes and towns. it only slightly terrified you that the one guy you’d finally found that was worth talking to might be wrapped up in all of that. you didn’t know whether to be terrified or turned on.

notincali

so do you really chase tornadoes?

tornadochas3r

are you really not in california?

notincali

i asked first

tornadochas3r

and i asked second

notincali

would you please just answer the question? i wanna know if you chase tornadoes and if i should be worried that you’ll end up in Oz one day

tornadochas3r

😂

notincali

did you really just use that emoji and not answer my question?

tornadochas3r

yes, i do chase tornadoes. we’re out in oklahoma at the moment

notincali

you’re kidding

tornadochas3r

erm no?

i answered your question, what more do you want?

notincali

no no no, it’s just i’m in oklahoma at the moment visiting a friend

and also think you chasing tornadoes is kinda hot

tornadochas3r

a female friend?

notincali

jealous already, tornado boy?

tornadochas3r

just asking a question

that’s usually how this works

notincali

omg, i forget how sassy you are

it sometimes makes you hotter

😳 tell me i did not just send that message

tornadochas3r

you did just send that message.

notincali

brb while i get whisked away to Oz

scott couldn’t help but smile at your compliment and your embarrassment. he’d been smiling a lot lately, either openly by himself in his shitty motel rooms or trying to hide his smile in the cab of his truck whilst quickly checking your messages. javi had seen him a few times, not that scott realised, too caught up in you, but javi had noticed something was different about his friend.

but scott still did his job. he was good at it; it was what he’d been studying and working towards for his whole life and he enjoyed doing it. knowing that you found him and his career hot was just a bonus.

your question had found him in bed, having just woken up moments before and thinking of his own question to ask you before you beat him to it. it felt like his mornings had some purpose now, instead of merely being routine: wake up, get dressed, brush teeth, face the day. now he had an added step - wake up twenty minutes sooner, flirt with you, get ready, face the day.

a silent admission, something just for him, but your little messages made waking up in shitty motel beds with a bad back worth it. he only wondered how long it would be until you could join him. when you mentioned you were also in oklahoma, he felt his heart skip a beat. yes, it was a large state, but he could sneak off one afternoon, drive to you, do everything he’s imagined doing to you and be back before the first storm the next day. right?

shaking his daydream from his head, scott got up and started to get ready for the day. he didn’t usually put music on in the morning, but you’d sent him a playlist of yours that he obsessively listened to. knowing you were potentially listening to the same thing at the same time as him made his stomach twist in a funny way. it was a new feeling, but knowing you were the cause made it more welcoming.

tornadochas3r

you up?

notincali

you did not just send that

tornadochas3r

i was only asking a question

notincali

oh you know what you’re doing miller

that’s not just a normal question

if i was any closer to you right now, id be in your bed after sending that message

tornadochas3r

how do you know how close we are?

notincali

i mean oklahoma is pretty big so god knows where you are

in my head, you’re on one side of the state and i’m on the other

tornadochas3r

is this your way of asking where i am right now?

notincali

i mean, it wasn’t

but if you’re going to reveal your location, i’m not about to stop you

tornadochas3r

i don’t know whether that’s a good or bad thing

notincali

want to find out?

not even a minute after sending that message did you phone start to ring, a call through the app from none other than scott miller. your smile got even wider and your feet involuntarily kicked up and down under your covers just at his name. heart racing, you took a deep breath and answered the call.

“well, good evening.” you teased, sliding further down into your sheets.

he said your name softly, almost breathlessly, sending you a similar greeting that you gave him. “so where exactly are you?”

“i thought i asked that question first?”

“you did, but i’ve asked it in person so i immediately get the rights to know first.”

“you’re a cocky bastard, aren’t you?” it was meant as a little dig at him, but you really found a lot of things about scott attractive, such as his sarcasm and attitude. maybe it was toxic to an extent, but God if he didn’t turn you on.

“it’s been said once or twice,” you could almost see the smirk on his face at that moment, imagining him in a similar position to your own. shirtless in bed, the covers bunched around his waist as he grips his phone next to his ear. “you gonna answer my question, sweetheart?”

you roll your eyes before answering, hearing a short, non-committal hum from the other end of the phone when you did, “is that a good hum, or a bad one?”

“i’m just checking,” there was rustling from your speakers, almost preventing his words being clear. “i think we’re only a few miles away from each other, the drive looks doable in an hour or so.”

“really?” your voice squeaked a bit, clutching your phone tighter at the news.

“you seem happy about that, huh?” the rustling stopped before his question, and for the second time in a few minutes, you could see that smirk again.

“it’s just good information to have if there’s ever a bad tornado in the area.”

“oh, that’s all i am to you? and here i thought you felt something for me.” he was teasing. you loved it.

“i think you’re getting ahead of yourself, rockstar. it’s pure lust right now.”

“is that how you feel, baby?” somehow, his voice dropped an octave, sex dripping from his tongue.

“and if i said it was?”

“i guess i’d feel obligated to help you out.”

“is that what you want to do?” you didn’t mean for it to come out in a whisper, but scott really had made you feel hot in the past few minutes, thighs rubbing together under your covers to relieve some tension.

“sweetheart, you have no idea what i want to do to you,” you couldn’t help the sigh that left your parted lips at his words. “what are you wearing?”

you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his words, even though it did nothing to ease how you were feeling. “i’m so tempted to say something really sexy like panties and nothing else, but really i’ve just got-” a gasp interrupted you as your hand brushed over your chest. “-just got an old t-shirt and shorts on.”

“i can work with that,” the rustling came again, followed by a slap of elastic and a light groan. “you laid in bed, sweetheart?”

“mhm huh.”

“you touching yourself for me?”

“almost.” another sigh, your hand trailing lower and lower as you reached towards your stomach.

“good.”

notincali

so can i get your actual number so im not cumming over a dating app again ?

tornadochas3r

you didn’t like it, sweetheart?

notincali

oh, darling, i loved it

but id love it even more if i could see your face

tornadochas3r

i’m sure we could arrange something

notincali

you thinking of making the ‘doable hour drive’ ?

tornadochas3r

i’m thinking of driving over to your sassy ass, having my way with you and then bringing you back so you can stay in my room ready and waiting for me after work every day

notincali

oh fuck

tornadochas3r

sounds like something you’d want?

notincali

i’m gonna be so fucking real right now and say yes

i find it difficult to lie to you

tornadochas3r

that’s some very useful information

send me your full address and i’ll be there in an hour

notincali

i’ll be expecting you in exactly an hour btw

i’m counting

tornadochas3r

i don’t doubt that, baby

and true to his words, fifty-nine minutes later a loud knock came from your friend’s front door, scott’s impatience bleeding into the sound. you grabbed the handle with a shaky hand, your stomach twisting with the knowledge that what happens next could change your life. when you made your profile, you only expected a bit of fun. now, you have the most attractive, sassy, infuriating, smart, god-like man on the other side of this door and you were just waiting to wake up.

another knock startled you out of your thoughts, finally pushing the handle down and pulling the door towards you with such force.

“oh, fuck.”

“i can return the sentiment.” scott was looking you up and down like you were the most beautiful thing in the world. to him, you were. stood in an old t-shirt and shorts, just like last night.

he’d seen the best and worst of natural weather and the disaster it caused. he’d seen hundreds of sunrises and sunsets. he’d seen beauty blossoming after a storm, when the earth finally recovered from its own misery. but you were ethereal, cosmic, a vision he never thought he’d be lucky enough to see in his life time.

nothing else was said between you as scott moved forward, completely filling the doorway as his hands reached out to your hips to pull you flush against his body. he was drenched from the rain, his white shirt almost see-through and his trousers uncomfortable, but it didn’t stop you from grabbing the cap off his head, throwing it haphazardly into the hallway and grabbing a fistful of his hair.

that earned you a heavenly groan and you had finally realised your purpose in life.

scott walked you backwards away from the door, closing it for you as he tangled his body in yours and shoved his face into your shoulder. lips ghosting over your skin, he traced the column of your neck with the tip of his nose, inhaling your scent as you pressed your hips into his body. your hands couldn’t find the perfect resting place, choosing a new favourite the more you explored his broad back, strong arms and damp waves.

your name was delicate as it fell from scott’s lips, his head coming up to whisper in your ear before resting against your forehead. “tell me this is real. tell me i can kiss you and you won’t fall away.

“it’s real, baby, so real. i’m not going anywhere.”

“thank fuck.” scott barely breathed out before he smash his lips on yours. it was messy, teeth and tongue against your own as you tried to find a rhythm without missing a second of each other. it was desperate, both of your hands grasping at scott’s clothing as his own squeezed your hip and pressed your chest to his by a hand on your back. you were so glad that your friend had a last minute date this evening because you were not going to be quiet.

“scott-”

“mhm.”

“scott, please-” you muttered between kisses, your hands cupping his cheeks to get the leverage to pull him away for a moment, even though you thought you would combust in the mean time. “just- hi, by the way.”

“hi, sweetheart,” he smiled sweetly, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your nose and then another one on your lips. “you’re more shy in person.” he teased, lips brushing yours with every word.

“and you’re somehow more forward.”

“i’d call it desperate.”

“oh, i love a desperate man.” you smiled, pulling his face back to you and kissing him square on the mouth. this time felt less rushed, less crazed as you took your time to taste him, spearmint and all. scott followed your pace, hands dropping to the back of your thighs before grabbing them and standing up straight. you squealed into his mouth, letting his tongue back into one of the places he wanted it to be while your legs wrapped around his waist.

“room?” a short question that was muffled heavily by your skin.

“down the hall.” you replied, managing to pull away from his lips long enough to answer and then begin to press hot, wet kisses across his cheek, jaw and down his neck. scott tried so hard to keep his eyes open as he navigated the new space, looking for a bedroom whilst you doted on him so sweetly.

after finding what he hoped was your temporary room, he looked at you for confirmation. you nodded quickly, arms wrapping themselves around the back of scott’s neck as your back crashed against the now closed door. a soft groan left you, head falling backwards to give scott the perfect view of your neck, red patches and light bite marks covering the skin.

“look at you, all blissed out for me already,” he cooed sweetly, one hand leaving your thigh to lightly brush away some hair from your face. you could only nod, eyes closed, another groan tumbled from your lips. “you like it, baby? knowin’ i’ve barely touched you and this is how good you feel?”

“yes, scott,” you whispered, desperately clawing at his back to close the impossible gap. “been wantin’ you for so long, too long. please.”

“please what?” soft lips grazed your skin.

“please touch me.”

“i am touching you.”

“more, scotty.” god, you sounded so aching for him.

“tell me what you want, i’ll give you everything. everything.” the last word was dipped in a promise, one scott definitely wasn’t going to break.

“i want you,” you used your strength to lift your head forward, eyes opening to look into scott’s as one of your hands came back round to rest upon his cheek. “i want all of you and i want everything you’re willing to give me. please, scotty. please.”

“i’ll give you the fucking world.”

so he did.

after a couple of hours, you’d lost track of everything; the time, where you clothes were, if you still had four pillows on the bed, how many kisses you’d shared. scott was underneath your hot body, spread out on his back, one arm around your shoulders and the other grasping at the bare skin of your thigh, keeping it across his own. neither of you were asleep, even though it looked like scott was. the only way you knew he was still conscious after three rounds was the soft circles his thumb was making on your skin.

his dark lashes kissed his cheeks as he breathed gently, not yet ready to sleep, only wanting to bask in the haze of you and what you’d just done together. your head rested against his right shoulder while your left hand traced the soft lines of his chest, your right arm completely trapped underneath your side. sleep was tempting you, but the view of scott beside you was enough reason to fight it for a little bit longer.

after a particularly delicate stroke of your fingers, scott shifted slightly. his leg came up to rest on top of yours, tangling your limbs together in particularly difficult puzzle, one you didn’t want to solve just yet. with the move, he turned onto his side, his left arm curling around your waist as he pulled your chest flush to his, faces now only inches away from each other on the pillow. he still hadn’t opened his eyes.

your nose involuntarily scrunched at his hot breath against your skin, a content sigh leaving him when he was finally settled. since he’d trapped your arms between your bodies, you struggled to rest a hand on his cheek, having to move more than you would have liked to touch him.

“stop jiffling.” scott muttered, lips barely moving as you cupped his face.

“sorry, just wanted to touch you.”

“mhm.” he just said, eyes still not opening for even a second.

“you okay?” you whispered, brushing a curl of his hair off his forehead that has stubbornly fallen down.

“so good, sweetheart,” voice delicate as his pressed a kiss to your lips. “you okay?” his eyes finally opened.

god, they were so bright and blue. you swore on your life that you’d never seen any eyes as bright as his. when you first opened the door, you had the smallest chance to actually look at him properly in person. of course, you’d both sent photos to each other, but seeing him in the flesh was a whole new experience. he was there, real, right in front of you and looking so ridiculously attractive and you couldn’t keep your hands off of him. all you wanted to do was touch him, taste him and commit every groan and murmur to memory as he fell apart above you.

and you got that. you got all of that and more, and you swore every time he looked at you, your heart skipped a beat and you knew you were in danger. if he acted like this all the time, you were going to combust. if he touched you for the rest of your life like he had tonight, you’d die a happy person. looking into his eyes, you’d give him everything, anything he asked for. he just had to say the word and you’d be down on your knees hanging on to each word.

even in the dim light of your room, they still sparkled as scott looked over your face for any unspoken signs of discomfort at your new position.

“so good, baby.” you giggled, returning the kiss as scott rolled his eyes.

“you’ll be the death of me.” he whispered against your lips, hands moving down to grab the flesh of your backside to hear you squirm one more time.

at his actions, you gasped, face falling forward into the space between his shoulder and the pillow while scott chuckled and kissed your neck. “and you won’t be the death of me?” you words were muffled.

“i guess we’ll both just have to be careful with what we do, then.” he commented, his hand coming back up to lightly grab your hair and pull your head out of your hiding spot.

“where’s the fun in that?” and you pouted. fucking pouted, and scott knew he’d be the one to die first.

tornadochas3r

i’m still thinking about last week, by the way

notincali

i thought i gave you my number ??

tornadochas3r

no, you did

notincali

so why are you still using this chat?

tornadochas3r

sometimes it’s fun to rehash old memories

notincali

okay ?

like…

tornadochas3r

you were so down bad for me

notincali

oh, scotty, i still am down bad for you

i’ve never had phone sex with someone i’ve never met before

i’ve never had phone sex period

tornadochas3r

fuck, really?

you were really good at it

notincali

why thank you

so were you

tornadochas3r

i like to think we’re better at the real thing though

notincali

oh fuck yes

i could feel you for two days

tornadochas3r

when can i see you again?

notincali

i’ve got two days off coming up

i could always come to you?

tornadochas3r

the others would be all over you

i want you to myself

notincali

but what about work?

tornadochas3r

i’m finding a different hotel right now

i’ll hide you away there

notincali

i love when you talk dirty to me

tornadochas3r

i can do better than that, trust me sweetheart

notincali

i’ll be waiting, tornado boy

masterlist

© acdeaky - please do not copy/repost/translate my works as your own! but feel free to reblog and support writers on this platform!

scott oomfs: @weemswife @rhettsunshine @supremian @bbaengtan @fluvsof @urlitttlevenicebitch @bellaswanreincarnated4 @luvagirlsworld @ilsm-i-love-superman @djarinova @xreader1989 @maydayfigment @keiralovesmoony @supermanficreblogs @inbred-eater @justdontidlwhattodo @bl00dstained @suaes @thedepthsofmybasement @withemilia @whathebuck @imapunkr0cker @mrderbaby @clarksweetheart @alexxavicry @whimsyblooms @illicithallways @ellaspidey @lucysgraybird @finco99

[marwrite]

babydoll

summary: scott miller is all sharp edges and short tempers, a man built from long days and clenched teeth. and yet he ends up with you- warm, bright, goodness personified- and suddenly he’s saying things like babydoll, his disciplined hands forgotten, greedy for every inch of the only softness he ever lets himself have.

scott miller x girlfriend ! reader

themes: fluff ! super short this one, more of a drabble. scott's fav petname is babydoll haven't you heard! super domestic, he's adorable really but only for you. no use of y/n as always. not proofread so sorry, but enjoy!xx

Nobody really knew how somebody like you ended up with somebody like Scott Miller.

To be fair to them, from the outside, the pairing just didn’t make any sense. You were just so different; you, sunshine in human form- bright, excitable, warm, full of optimism in a way that reminded everyone (painfully and endearingly) of Javi. After all, you were his childhood best friend; the one who grew up climbing wind turbines with him, sending each other stupid memes at 3 a.m., and believing storms could be beautiful, not just dangerous.

It had been your dream to enter the same world he did, but fear and life got in the way and you'd ended up on the route of hard-hitting city journalism instead. Which was why, as soon as the silly little notion of "come with me for the summer, see what I get up to!" came about, you'd jumped at the chance.

And Scott… even you couldn't deny it; Scott was Scott.

Blunt. Rude, sometimes. Some people liked to call him an asshole, though you'd never paid too much attention to what everybody else had to say. He was sharp around the edges and allergic to anything resembling emotional vulnerability.

Before you really got to know him, you thought he had the personality of a literal thundercloud and the patience of someone who had long accepted his job was a perpetual war. Which honestly, wasn't too far off.

It was no wonder why the others grew puzzled over the same thing; how could Scott Miller, StormPAR's Golden Boy and every intern's worst nightmare, go from yelling at everything that moved, scolding a wall on a good day- to a man capable of placing a soft hand on your lower back, a gently whispered I've got you, babydoll in your ear?

When you first met him- standing beside Javi at the start of the season, your hair wind-tossed, your laugh bouncing across the fields- you didn't know what to think. And Scott legitimately found himself forgetting how to speak. He’d seen tornadoes tear apart silos with less force than the smile you threw at him.

That was the exact moment his world tilted.

He pretended it didn’t, of course. Acted like he wasn’t staring. claimed that his pulse didn’t jump when Javi said, "This is my best friend, as you're all aware. Don’t scare her off, Miller."

He'd just grumbled something unintelligible in response, willing himself to look away from you.

But that night- after the chase, after the hotel check-in, after everyone else had peeled off into their cheap motel rooms with exhausted waves and mumbled goodnights- you’d shown up at his door with a small paper bag of takeout from the diner he hadn’t bothered to visit.

He opened the door expecting Javi or a weather update.

Instead, there you were, backlit by the flickering hallway light, holding out warm food with both hands and that soft, devastating smile that should’ve come with a warning label.

"You didn’t eat," you said simply, like it wasn’t the most disarming thing he’d heard all week.

Your fingers brushed his when he took the bag- barely, a whisper of contact if that- and it was ridiculous how much it rattled him. You didn’t linger. Didn’t fidget or wait for thanks.

You just smiled again, bright and gentle, the kind of expression that hit him right in the chest, and turned on your heel to head back down the metal steps.

He watched you go, the rhythm of your humming drifting back up the walkway like it had all the space in the world.

And when you disappeared inside your room, the hallway went quiet. Scott stood there staring at the closed door for fifteen solid minutes.

Frozen. Silent. Completely undone; the takeout bag still warm in his hands. Your laugh echoed nonstop in his head, faint but heard. That fleeting brush of your fingers replaying over and over like a scene he wasn’t ready to let go of.

He didn’t move until the food started to cool- and even then, he wasn’t sure which warmed him more- the dinner you brought him, or the way you’d walked away without needing anything back.

And that was it.

The beginning of the end.

Because once Scott let you in- once he let himself orbit your bright, steady warmth- nothing could pry him out.

Everyone else still couldn’t understand it. Couldn’t figure out how the grump of the century had ended up with a girl who practically sparkled.

But if they’d paid attention, really paid attention, they’d notice the little things; the tectonic shifts in Scott Miller that only you could cause.

Like, the way he ate breakfast now.

Scott never used to bother with mornings. The man ran on caffeine, stress, and sheer spite. Javi swore he once saw your boyfriend go three days without consuming anything solid.

But the moment you two got together, Scott became a breakfast man. A loyal, devoted visitor of every diner attached to every run-down motel; no matter how greasy or unhealthy or unappealing the food looked.

You'd remind him, gently, through a crackly phone call or the previous night's Facetime session- that he needed to eat. That he wasn't invincible, wasn't Superman- and that starting off the day right meant setting himself up for the rest of the week.

So naturally, he listened, like he always did when you had something to say. And after that, he made a point of texting you every single morning, even knowing you were probably still dead asleep back home.

He could picture it so easily: you tangled in those plush cream sheets you loved, mouth slightly open the way it always was when you fell asleep on his chest, overheating under that double duvet that swallowed you whole. A blanket meant for two, even when he wasn’t there to share it.

Scott: Waffles today. Scott: The crispy ones you like.

You always responded with something sweet. Always. Even half-awake, fingers clumsy, hair a tangled halo on your pillow, you somehow managed to send him a message that could melt steel.

And Scott- notorious stone wall of the entire chase team- would pull his hand up to his mouth, thumb brushing over his lower lip as he tried to hide the smile tugging at it.

Not because he was embarrassed of smiling- but because it was yours. Something private. Something he didn’t feel like sharing with anyone else.

He kept your locket in his pocket, too. It was old-fashioned, delicate, a little scuffed from years of being carried around. It had been yours originally, something you wore as a sentiment. No one but you knew about it, of course- and Javi, but only because he had been the one to force Scott into not being so miserable.

You’d forgotten it on his nightstand the day you headed back home for the season, the chain curled like a question mark beside his lamp. Scott hadn’t meant to take it with him, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave it behind either. It was yours. A piece or you. He promised himself he'd get it back to you one way or another.

For a while, it stayed empty. Just a tiny brass shell he thumbed open whenever he missed you- which was embarrassingly often- and snapped shut again before anyone noticed.

But after weeks of Scott growing quieter, more irritable, pacing rooms like he’d misplaced something vital- Javi had finally sighed, muttered something about him being 'pathetically in love' and taken matters into his own hands.

He drove into town on a supply run and came back with a tiny printed photo of you- one he’d pulled from his phone, you smiling at some joke he’d told, sunlight in your hair. He didn’t even hand it to Scott gently; he just tossed it at him across the truck and said, put this in your damn necklace before you make the whole team raise a grievance.

Naturally, it perked Scott up just enough to ignore Javi's tone.

From then on, he kept it with him everywhere he went, no longer leaving it in the safery of his motel room with the routine evening checks to see if it was still there.

He’d brush his fingers over it whenever a storm loomed too close, or the night got too quiet. He opened it when the road stretched long and lonely beneath the wheels, and he swore it made the miles feel easier.

Because it wasn’t just an old locket anymore.

It was you- right there with him, even when you were hundreds of miles away.

Before, Scott would have hated how sentimental it made him look. But now, he couldn't care less; the tiny photo of you inside had quickly become sun-faded from how often he took it out on long drives.

It made him feel safe. Anchored to the world instead of afraid of it. Like even in the middle of all the mess, there was one single, unshakable thing he could hold onto.

You’d never taken him for someone who feared much of anything. Not storms, not danger, not even death- but all it took was a couple of weeks away from you, a storm that looked meaner than usual, and suddenly everything he thought he knew about being invincible felt fragile.

And no one else knew: Scott Miller had a habit of sending something to you before things went sideways.

A short text. A clipped voice note. Nothing long or sentimental, just enough to make your stomach flutter, to make your chest tighten in that way that told you he was thinking of you even when he was too far away to say it out loud.

Headed in. Talk soon.

Storm looks rough. Thinking of you.

Love you, babydoll.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t poetic. It was just him. Scott's quiet way of tethering himself to you, of reminding both of you that no matter how dangerous the next few hours might be, you were his constant.

He wasn’t superstitious. Wasn't one for the spiritual happenings in the world, and he most certainly didn't believe in luck.

But he believed in you.

You pretended it didn’t make you cry sometimes. He pretended he didn’t hear your voice wobble when you’d FaceTime him after. Scott was a lot of things, but oblivious wasn’t one of them.

Javi teased him constantly about how he softened when he talked to you- how he’d slump down in the driver’s seat, how his voice got low and warm, how he’d say doll in a tone that had the entire team doing double takes.

But Scott would just roll his eyes, mutter something about minding their own damn business, and turn the screen so the storm trackers stopped trying to wave at you. He was protective like that. Possessive, even, but not in a dramatic way. Just in that quiet, instinctive, I love her more than I know how to handle way.

Which became very obvious the moment you joined them near the end of the season. Just to visit, you'd said. Just to watch them all in action, again.

He'd been hesitant at first, wanting nothing more than to keep you away from all the danger. But you'd insisted, and even Javi hadn't seen you in months, and Scott was starting to get really damn tired of falling asleep to your picture and not the real thing. So, the second you agreed to hang back whenever he asked (mostly just to keep you safe) he'd booked you a ticket on the next available flight.

Unsurprisingly, Scott was ecstatic.

Not that anyone would have guessed it from the way he just hummed when he saw you walking toward the trucks- his hands shoved in his pockets, expression carefully neutral even as his entire soul came to life. But you knew better.

You knew by the way he grabbed your bags before you could protest. By the way he kissed your cheek in full view of the crew. By the way he rested his hand on your back the whole walk to the truck like he needed to keep you within arm’s reach.

You climbed into the passenger seat without him asking. He didn’t hide the grin that tugged at his mouth then. From that moment on, Scott refused to be more than ten feet away from you.

Laptop? He set it across your thighs. Your legs? Draped over his lap. Your hand? Held. Always held. Thumb brushing the back of your knuckles while he typed one-handed because he couldn’t stand not touching you, not even for a second.

Even in the truck, while the team reviewed radar data, Scott would call out something about wind shear while absentmindedly tracing shapes on your knee. You’d lean your head against his shoulder, humming a soft reply, and he’d melt a little more every time.

"Y’good, baby?" he’d murmur whenever you got quiet.

"Always," you’d say, because being with him never felt like anything less than home.

He pretended not to beam. Which, of course, fooled absolutely no one.

Javi had once whispered, "I don’t know whether to tease him or cry," after catching Scott tuck a blanket around you during a long drive.

Everyone else was just baffled. Because Scott Miller wasn’t gentle with anyone- had no time, space or energy for anyone- except you.

You were the only one who made him soften. The only one he’d share his fries with at rest stops. The only one he let fall asleep on him during radar watch. The only one he trusted enough to rest his forehead against after a close call, his breath shaky, his fingers gripping your waist like he feared he might float away if he didn’t anchor himself to you.

"Thought about you the whole time," he’d whisper into your hair. And you’d wrap your arms around him, warm and soft against his storm-tired body.

"You always come back to me." you’d whisper back.

He didn’t reply to that, not verbally. He’d just hold you tighter.

The team had long accepted that you were Scott’s centre of gravity. The only thing that calmed him. The only thing that made him smile without realising it. The only thing that made him human in a job that swallowed people whole.

And Scott- he didn’t question it. Didn’t pretend he didn’t love it.

He just took your hand while the truck rumbled across endless Kansas fields, brushed a kiss to your temple, and whispered the softest, quietest, most content words anyone had ever heard him say:

"Glad you’re here, babydoll."

Because nobody really knew how someone like you ended up with someone like Scott Miller.

But Scott knew exactly how.

You walked into his life with sunshine in your smile, love in your laugh, and hope in your hands- and he’d been better, softer, happier ever since.

You were the calm after the storm.

And he’d go through every season, every chase, every raging tornado on the planet, just to make his way back to you.

guys this is literally just one long headcanon lol anywayssss finally watched twisters all the way through and i had no idea what everyone was saying!!! but it was a lot of fun and i love daisy edgar-jones!🤧🫧🫦

[acdeaky]

cargo pants pocket

summary: your relationship with scott is one of your best kept secrets, but when he gets injured during a storm, all that effort goes out the window

warning: fluff and angst (heavy on the angst but the fluff is filtered throughout and it ends real sweet), secret but established relationship, mentions of drinking and reader being tipsy, reader being kinda mean but it’s to hide her and scott, heavy petting/making out, scott being anxious, lil bit of swearing, small detail of a cut, mention of blood and minor injury, brief mention of nudity

note: the people wanted scott, so i present thee with scott. also, i absolutely love this gif and i imagine that it’s scott being enamoured by reader in this

word count: 12.0k (buckle up, i clearly had a lot to say)

the stingy motel room had a lingering scent of musk, scott’s cologne and your shampoo. it was still early, far too early for you to think about getting out of bed, especially since the sun hadn’t even shown itself yet. but scott was up and dressed, just doing up the final buttons on his shirt before making the short trip back to his motel room that’s been unoccupied for the last two nights.

it’s a sight to see: he’s yet to put on his grey hat, his cargo pants high on his hips with his favourite belt holding them up; you can just see the sliver of his black undershirt from the collar of his white one and he tucks it into his waistband. his broad shoulders fill out the two shirts perfectly, the sleeves straining over his biceps as he adjusts the top buttons. you can only see the back of him, but your view from the bed of him facing the mirror is enough. enough to see his little freckles from the sun, enough to see his tongue peek out slightly from his lips as he sorts his shirt.

you smile at the sight, knowing he’s leaving in a few minutes, but you absolutely love watching him get ready to go.

when he’s happy, he turns around to face you, grabs his hat, phone and wallet off the opposite bedside table and makes his way around to your unofficial side of the bed. he stands tall beside you, waiting for you to lean up slightly before bending down and pressing a short kiss on your lips. you both smiled, faces only centimetres away from each other before kissing him again.

and, as always, you slip something into his cargo pants pocket. today, a new stick of gum; he was starting to run out of his cinnamon flavour.

“i’ll see you in a bit, okay?” he whispers, not moving away from you at all.

“okay. i’ll see you in a bit.” you smiled, pressing one last kiss on his lips before pushing his chest away and laughing at his laugh.

“menace,” came one last whisper, “breakfast at 7:30, yeh?”

“7:30, got it.” you threw him an exaggerated thumbs up as he opened the door slowly, watching left and right for anyone there and leaving without a trace.

you fell backwards onto the bed, a smile never leaving your face as you turned and pushed your head back into the pillows. the sheets still smelt like him. hell, the whole room still smelt like him. and you really couldn’t complain because those moments that you have at night and the moments you have in the morning are all you have to get you through the day.

it’s not that you didn’t want to let people know you were with scott, you weren’t worried about what they’d say. but it was still early. it’d only been a few months and you were completely enamoured with each other. the only worry was your jobs, and what it would mean if people knew. his uncle was the main investor, so scott was kind of like the leader of the group. you weren’t. and that could cause issues.

so you kept it quiet, taking any and every moment you could get with each other in the quiet of your motel room, stealing glances at each other across parking lots and watching as he drove head first into some of the worst tornadoes you’ve ever seen. but if that’s how it had to be, that’s how it was.

you staked your claim on him last night under the cover of darkness and this morning with a new pack of gum.

just as scott asked, you were down for breakfast on time. there were a few little groups of the team chatting away with each other and you said morning to each of them as you passed. it didn’t take long to spot javi, kate and scott by the lion truck, both of the guys leaning against the bed as they went over the plans for the day. as much as you wanted to join him, you left them with just a good morning and headed over to the small group of girls of the team, missing only kate, but she was busy doing her job.

scott couldn’t describe how difficult it was to just nod at you each morning, watching as you walked past him like he was just another colleague and joined your friends. he had to stop himself from reaching out to you, wanting nothing more than to pull you into his arms and show everyone exactly how he felt about you. but he didn’t. he couldn’t. not yet, anyway.

after everyone had eaten, you had the normal debrief from javi and scott went over the plans for the day. it was the same as usual: storms coming from the west and the east, moving to and from different places to wait for when a tornado formed and actually looked like it would stay instead of suffocating itself. the group dispersed, heading to their designated vehicles and it wasn’t long after that you got your usual text from scott. a short ‘be safe’ was all you got, just in case anyone saw, and you text back the exact same with a little heart after it.

it's a slow day of chasing tornadoes, a lot of standing around parking lots and waiting for the weather to turn bad. you don't mind days like this, it was a nice difference compared to constantly being on the move and driving into storms. it gave the whole team a chance for some down time, even javi and scott who always seemed to be on edge when working, and also allowed you a chance to actually see scott, instead of hearing his voice over the ear pieces everyone wore.

you could situate yourself to face him, still talking in whatever group you joined whilst having a perfect view of him leaning against the truck, either talking to javi and kate or typing away on his laptop. some days you felt like you could stare at him for hours, watching as the little vein in his neck popped out when he was stressed or thinking hard about something, watching as he shifted from one foot to another after standing up for too long. seeing the outline of whatever gift you'd slipped into his cargo pants pocket that morning appear and disappear as he moved.

and those moments when he looked over and caught you staring? they were the best moments, because he always gave you a knowing smile, letting his own eyes cast up and your body before looking away and focusing back on his work. it's like he knows when you're staring, like he has a sixth sense that's honed directly on you. but he also knows when you're not looking at him, when you're so focused on your conversation with someone that he has the freedom to study you, take all of you in and hold himself back from closing the gap and taking you in his arms.

by the time the evening came around, everyone was still wired from the day. having few tornadoes to chase meant everyone still had some energy, and it was decided that the team would head to the bar across from the motel to have a few drinks, get some food and relax before heading back to their rooms. javi and scott stayed behind with the trucks, having the excuse of needing to talk to riggs about the day and adjust the plan for tomorrow. a few heads nodded as others had already turned towards the bar, naturally falling into similar groups from earlier in the day and strolling towards the welcoming lights spelling out HENRY'S TAVERN.

you were in that small group that nodded at the guys, scott's gaze meeting yours for a second as he raised his eyebrows, tilted his head slightly and patted the side of his leg. it had become your little sign of him saying 'save me a seat', so you just smiled and walked off with the others, catching up with kate, samantha and tilly as they had begun chatting away about something.

it wasn't long until javi and scott joined you all. the group occupied a few tables in the far corner of the bar, further away from the other noisy patrons with the hope of being able to hear each other more clearly without shouting over the noise. you and the girls were engrossed in conversation, back to the door and not realising that kate was moving her chair over to make space for javi and scott to sit in between you two. as soon as you felt scott's presence next to you, you shifted your seat and welcomed him into your space, smiling up at him as he tipped his cap towards you. as he pulled his seat forward, you shifted again, the few drinks you've had before him getting there giving you the confidence to move a little too close than what could be considered co-worker behaviour.

but no one noticed. no one says anything or calls you out on it. so you stay where you are, feeling immediately more at ease now that scott was beside you.

only then do you remember what you were wanting to say to kate before being interrupted, so you lean over the table and invade more of scott's space, calling out kate's name and getting her attention.

"hey, i forgot to mention earlier, the special they have here is great, you should try it!" you smiled, watching kate nod her head enthusiastically and agree with your idea. beside you, scott is frozen, shocked at how close you are to him after being so careful around everyone as to not reveal your relationship. he tries to school his face and keep it neutral, but he can smell your perfume and your hand is so close to his and if he just moved the tiniest bit then he could-

but you pulled back, happy with what you'd said to kate, so much so that javi had now joined in and livened up the conversation. you're back to being by his side instead of in front of him now, taking another sip of your drink as javi asks what the special is and if it's any good. you're nodding fast in agreement, explaining the liquor inside of it and how they make it, and scott can't help but use this time while his friend is distracted to look over you properly.

he's seen you a lot today, but there's still moments when you're not near each other and they're the most dangerous times; being out in the open with tornadoes. he took the chance to look over you, starting with the curves of your face, your lips moving fast and hands flying animatedly in front of you. it gave him the perfect opportunity to look over your bare arms, checking for any cuts and bruises he may have missed that he'll want to take care of later. you seem fine, and he has to remind himself of that (he also needs to stop checking you out before someone realises, but he can never tear his eyes away from you).

it isn't until he feels your hand on the outside of his right thigh, your delicate fingers tracing the seams of his cargo pants pocket, dancing across his thigh in a rehearsed move, that he comes out of his trance. you always did this whenever he sat next to you and your hand was hidden, he just didn’t realise you would do it tonight in such close quarters with others and whilst staring kate and javi straight in the eyes. almost like you were teasing, like you were saying ‘come get me’, to whom, scott didn’t know. but if no one else did, he’d take you out of this place and straight back to his room.

your hand shifted towards the outline of the now-opened gum packet; it was strawberry flavour, and if there wasn’t so many people around you, you’d be begging scott for a taste. it takes all his strength to keep listening to your conversation, adding a nod or a uh huh here and there to show he was listening. javi asked him something and he was almost sure he was going to need it repeating if it wasn’t for your attention being pulled away, your hand off scott’s thigh and his mind free.

samantha had grabbed your arm, taking you out of your conversation and pulling you close to her. you giggled, hand leaving scott and picking up your drink to take a sip before hearing what she had to say.

“girl, scott was totally just checking you out as you leaned over him!” her voice was quiet against the sounds of the bar, like she only wanted you to hear the secret that clearly wasn’t a secret if people had noticed scott looking at you.

you just rolled your eyes and blew out a puff of air, a hand lifting to waft through the air in a dismissive way, “no way would scott miller ever check me out!” you scoffed, completely ignoring the fact that scott could hear you. “have you seen him? mr big arms with his grumpy attitude and scowl and freckles and sunglasses that he never takes off.”

samantha’s jaw dropped, clearly not believing what you were saying and adamant that scott was most definitely looking at you. “i swear on my life, he was looking you up and down like a sheet of data, you know how he gets hot over sciencey things like that!”

“a sheet of data? way to make me feel good about myself.” you laughed, thinking the comparison was hilarious in your inebriated state. “out of the entire team, i’m sure scott would be the last person checking me out, he’s like so married to his work. also, he’s like hot and mean? and he gets away with it? how could i get past his rudeness even for just one night?”

you might have been going over board to convince samantha that there was nothing going on between you two. you could believe that scott had looked at you when you leaned over him, he always did in the privacy of your rooms, swearing up and down that he was checking you for cuts, but also using it as an excuse to kiss you all over.

he made you giggle when he did that, his big, warm hands so gentle as they ran over your skin, pushing your - his - shirt up your stomach to kiss as much of you as possible. he’d have you spread out on your sheets, lips grazing your skin inbetween kissing old scars, new cuts and all your beauty marks. your face was always the last place he explored, kissing along your jaw first before kissing both your cheeks, your temple, then forehead, then nose and finally your lips. first it would be a chaste kiss, then he’d linger longer on the next kiss, and longer on the next one and the next one until you were sharing breaths, panting slightly as you both became hungry for more.

his hands would be all over your body, sharing their time between your hips, thighs and cheeks as your own stayed on his face. your fingers ran through his messy waves that were usually hidden from everyone else, pulling at the strands to get him to groan and bite your lips in retaliation. you’d always giggle at that, something scott would swallow down as he kissed you again, pinching your skin to get you to thrust upwards into him, this time pulling a groan from you.

you felt like a teenager with him, sneaking around to not be found out, sloppily making out on top of and under covers as you lost sleep for each other. both of you could not get enough of the other. which made it so difficult to lie to samantha and make out like you could never want scott.

“…and the gum thing? so not attractive.” you finished, your hand coming up once again to brush off one of his quirks (which you so adored), pulling a face to make it more believable.

“oh, my god, tell me about it! i’ve been waiting for someone to agree with that, but everyone just shrugs it off like he’ll fire them if he ever heard it.” samantha giggled as you took another drink, not wanting to agree or disagree with her. sure scott could be mean and a bit harsh, but he wouldn’t do anything like that.

scott was still listening to everything you said, eyes stuck on kate and javi as he chuckled under his breath at your words. he knew you loved his grumpiness, his scowl, his freckles and his sunglasses. he knew you loved that he was ‘hot and mean’ and that he liked his gum; you’d been giving him at least three new packs a week since you’d gotten together.

honestly, he’s surprised that no one’s ever realised that he never buys gum, but is always chewing it, and that you always buy it, but never chew it.

even after what felt like hours, samantha is still adamant that scott was checking you out, all your rebuttals being tossed out for her plans to seemingly get you together. and scott can only try to hide his laugh, not wanting to give away that he’s totally engrossed in your conversation and not the one he’s meant to be involved in.

it isn’t until your final comment that he zones out, finishing off the rest of his drink and fully returning to kate and javi.

“sam, girl, nothing’s happened between us and nothing will. we’re so different, and as hot as he is, i can’t get over his attitude.”

he knows it’s not true, he’s repeating that mantra over and over in his head until it sticks like glue, but hearing those words come from you hurt more than he’d care to admit. without knowing how, his heart hurts, a hundred little needles having worked their way through his skin and made a home in his chest. he can feel his body physically slouch, anxiously wanting to grab a piece of gum from his cargo pants pocket.

but your hand’s there again, tracing the seams and the gum packet, your conversation having changed from all the reasons you can’t be with scott to something about a new film out next week. you were soothing yourself with your own touch on him, but his skin underneath the material was burning. it was only adding to his big feelings that he didn’t know what to do with.

usually when he’s alone with you, it’s easy to let them out with you, it’s easy to talk to you and kiss you and feel you and tell you how he’s feeling. but with your hand on his thigh and the bar loud and crowded, everything feels warm and suffocating and, fuck, he needed to get out.

javi offered to grab another round, picking up any empty glasses before heading across the room to the bar, leaving scott with you and the other girls. you were all engrossed in some conversation about a couple of the other guys; scott didn't know who or what about, he'd zoned out a while ago and hoped that javi would soon save him with a distraction.

you glanced over towards kate as you spoke, seeing scott in the corner of your eye looking disinterested and seemingly deflated. you just assumed it was because javi had left, so you rubbed his thigh a bit harder, hoping to get his attention before tracing the outline of the pocket again. he either didn't want to seem too obvious that he was staring at you again, or his mind was elsewhere because he didn't even respond to your touch, his gaze not meeting yours for even a second. you brushed it off, your brain reminding you that he was fine and he was next to you and that’s all that mattered.

scott wasn't fine, but he wasn't about to tell anyone that.

the team stayed in the bar for a couple more hours, getting rowdier and louder the more drinks everyone bought and downed. your little table had ended up playing drinking games, kate and javi desperately trying to get scott involved, who ended up doing the bare minimum as to not be called boring by the others. you just laughed at him and the comments people were saying, knowing it was completely untrue and scott could genuinely be so fun, he just saved it for the right people.

it was about an hour before the bar closed that everyone made the short journey back to their rooms, almost as if a few people remembered they had work tomorrow and dragged the crowd back across the road. you walked alongside kate, samantha and tilly again, still gossiping and giggling as scott and javi brought up the rear. goodnights were called across the lot, some people stumbling up the stairs to their room and others tripping up the curb to get to the lower floor. you waved to the girls as you opened your door, subconsciously watching for scott to enter his, but finding his door already shut and no sign of him. you knew he'd seek you out, he always did. you just needed to wait a little bit and you’d have your man in your arms once again.

half an hour later, your door slowly opened, revealing scott in his white sleep shirt, sweatpants and a pair of socks. if you were any sober, you'd be all over him, dragging him to your bed and forgetting about the others next door to you. but scott looked softer tonight, a little more subdued than normal, so you took the opportunity to be gentle with him.

he shut and locked the door, making his way the few feet to where you were sat on your side of the bed waiting for him. his touch was gentle against your cheek as he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, whispering a quiet 'hey' as he did so. you smiled at his touch, looking up at him properly as he pulled away from you. as one of his hands reached around to hold the back of your neck, both of yours found his hips and traced the waistband of his sweatpants.

"hey," your voice quiet and mind running a hundred miles an hour as you looked at him. no hat, no sunglasses, no gum, just scott in his purest, softest form and you couldn't be more grateful to have him. "did you have a good time tonight?" you asked, hands shifting from his hips to run up and down his stomach and chest.

"yeh, it was okay, you seemed to have fun." he replied, his touch shifting from your face to your shoulders as he pulled away from you.

"yeh, it's always nice to have a chill night and just talk to everyone." you seemed to miss the emptiness of his words, following behind him as he grabbed your sleepwear (which consisted of an old pair of shorts and scott's grey MIT t-shirt) and walked towards your bathroom.

"i'll be out here if you need anything." it came out in more of a mumble than he expected, but you didn't realise as you pressed a kiss to his cheek and just closed the bathroom door.

as you got changed and brushed your teeth, you thought back to your conversation with samantha, realising that scott wasn't the same as he is other nights and feeling as if you'd cracked the code that is scott miller. you felt bad about what you'd said, of course, but you also agreed to keep things quiet and not let everyone know about the two of you, so why would he be like this?

regardless, you finished in the bathroom, opened the door and flicked the lights off before finding scott sat at the end of the bed waiting for you. he's usually under the sheets, shirt off (depending on the weather) with open arms ready to settle down with you. so, you took in his hunched form, his gaze turned down to his hands in his lap as you stepped towards him.

"you know i like you, right?" you said plainly, two fingers hooking under his chin to lift his head up towards your gaze. "like, really like you, scott. and everything i said to samantha was to throw her off us because you decided to check me out." you giggled, trying to get him to smile, but your own smile dropped when scott didn't even react to your comment.

only then did you realise you'd have to try something else, so you held onto his shoulders, pressed one knee into the space next to his thigh and sat on his lap, hands moving to his cheeks to hold his gaze with your own. you looked over his face, his expression not changing, but his hands came to rest on your hips, so you knew he was comfortable. the blue in his eyes was unwavering, still shining brightly as they looked at you, regardless of how he may have been feeling earlier.

"scott," you whispered, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his nose. "we both agreed to keep this quiet, and i'm sorry if what i said upset you earlier, but surely you know how i feel about you by now, no? huh?" you smirked slightly, knowing that you often tell him how he makes you feel and you try to show it as much as possible; maybe he just needs a reminder.

"i love your big arms," your hands moved down his neck to his shoulders and then over his biceps which were half covered by his sleeves. "i love your attitude," you lightly nipped at his skin, tracing a couple of marks on his skin. "i love your scowl and your freckles," your hands moved back up to his face, one hand staying on the side of neck as your other danced across his cheeks and his nose. "and i love your little obsession with your sunglasses." you giggled, shifting on his lap to press your body closer to his (if that was even possible) and started to run a hand through his hair.

"i like that you're hot and mean, i like that you're so dedicated to your job and you're so smart, and, in all honesty, with me you could probably get away with murder." that pulled a chuckle from him, shaking his head as he scoffed and looked down at his lap again. his hands moved under your (his) shirt and rubbed against your bare skin, sending shivers down your spine as your own hands moved from his hair to his face yet again. you could touch scott forever; he was always so soft and warm and your hands fit perfectly on his body and in his own.

"and the gum thing?" you whispered finally, watching as his head lifted up on its own to look at you again. "so attractive."

and with your last comment, his eyebrows raised slightly, his head titling to the side as he kept his eyes on your own. you could only smile, the closed-lip kind you always seemed to wear when looking at scott (and the kind you have to stop yourself doing when others were around). the two of you just sit in silence after that, the only noise being the hum of the air conditioner as you kept close to scott, both still touching each other and eyes still locked.

without warning, scott stood up, bringing you with him as he moved around the bed and dropped you down onto the sheets. you giggled at his actions, pulling them out from underneath you and throwing them open to let him get into bed from his own side. after he got comfortable on his back, you were immediately by his side, one leg thrown over his thighs and your hand on his chest over his heart. your head fit snuggly on his shoulder, turning your face slightly to press a kiss on his neck and under his jaw.

you shuffled around a bit, getting comfortable before whispering a small 'goodnight' to him, "i wish things were different, baby," you added, moving your touch from his chest to around his stomach, holding him close. "i wish we could tell everyone and not have to lie about it. i want to show everyone how i feel about you an' show you off, but i know it's not the right time."

before he had a chance to reply, your eyes were shut and your breathing had begun to even out and fall into steady, deep breaths. he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, a hand landing on the side of your knee as he whispered the same sentiment back to you.

his heart felt a bit lighter in that moment. his anxiety was somewhat settled, especially now with you in his arms and wrapped around his body.

in that moment, the chipped paint of the ceiling seemed more interesting than closing his eyes. scott's mind was still reeling and going over everything you'd said earlier and everything you’d just said whilst next to him. he wanted the same thing; he wanted to hold your hand and kiss you and show you off to everyone and make them all see how much he cared about you. he wanted to be able to check you out without comments from other people and he wanted to be able to pull you onto his lap in dingy bars and stake his claim on you like you did with your gifts in his cargo pants pocket.

but you were right, it wasn't the right time. and maybe while you were still in this line of work and still in business with his uncle, maybe he couldn't do all those things. but it didn't mean he'd stop thinking about it, or you, when he should be focused on chasing tornadoes.

the sun was starting to rise outside your motel room, waking up scott as a reminder that he needs to leave you before anyone sees him walking out of your door at this hour. somehow, he manages to slide out from underneath your body, feeling guilty as he looks over your sleeping form now hugging a pillow as a poor replacement for his warmth.

as much as he wants to, scott doesn't linger long. he grabbed his phone from the table next to the bed, briefly forgetting that he's forgone shoes in his haste to get to your room last night and stopped searching for them after a moment or so. the shitty bed frame creaked slightly as you adjusted your position, rolling over to face the door and releasing a sigh before settling into the sheets again.

as he walked to the door, scott looked over at you one last time, mourning the loss of your usual routine together, already missing your smile and the soft kisses you'd usually press all over his face before even giving him a chance to get out of bed. but it was already late, and there was bound to be someone awake by now, so he needed to leave before he jeopardised your relationship more than he already may have done last night.

he ignores the heaviness of his heart, pained by the usual feeling of leaving you behind. god, what he wouldn't give to wake up with you every morning, getting ready together after the sun was up and walking down to meet the group together instead of separately. luck must have been on his side that morning as he didn't see anyone else, making the short walk three doors down to his own assigned room unnoticed and slipped through the door.

the room was almost completely untouched, the bed having never been slept in and the sheets only disturbed by his suitcase which he threw on it haphazardly about three days ago. the ironing board was still out by the window, his clothes from yesterday folded neatly on the flat surface and his shirt for the day hung above it. the cargo pants thrown over the chair next to the door mocked him, a harsh reminder that today would be different because he didn't have you the way he wanted this morning, he didn't get his kiss and he'd be missing one of your little gifts he loved so.

somehow, everyone made it down to breakfast on time. albeit some looked worse for wear and would have probably appreciated a little longer in bed, storms don't wait for anyone, and after the lack of bad weather yesterday (and to ignore his feelings), scott was itching to get out on the road and chase some tornadoes.

the sky was dark already, so breakfast and the debrief was hastened along, javi calling for people to get ready to leave as soon as possible whilst scott was already typing away on his laptop in the front of the scarecrow truck. you barely managed to catch his eye this morning, having already missed him when you woke up, you felt backwards and apprehensive about the day ahead. unbeknownst to you, you were feeling the exact same way as scott; your heart was heavy and your normal routine had been disturbed, a bad start to any day. he'd been up and gone by the time your alarm went off, and you knew that he hadn't even attempted to wake you before he snuck out.

as you headed to join your group, you managed to look over at scott, hunched forward in his seat as he was glued to his laptop. his glasses were hung over his shirt pocket, hat sat straight on his head. you loved watching him work, watching him concentrate so hard and use his brain to work out the storms and the best course of action. it was one of the things you'd forgotten to mention last night as you reminded him of why you were with him, not just then in the moment, but why you wanted to be with him.

sure, you'd mentioned about his smarts, but there was so much more to it with him. it was how easily he calculated things, how quickly he was to make or change plans at a moment's notice. how he could choose the right tornado from the wrong one and be so confident in it before the storm had even formed. you were constantly in awe of him and his brain and every time he said something smart or smart-ass (which was very often), you just wanted to grab his face in your hands and kiss him all over.

but all you could do was stare at him, watch as he typed away, his eyebrows creasing slightly as he figured something out. he was so handsome in times like this, and you couldn't do anything about it.

your name being called dragged you away from scott, missing him looking over in your direction as you headed to your truck and hopped in the front with samantha. it wasn't long before pete joined scott and got into the driver's seat, both pulling on their seatbelts before heading out of the parking lot. javi and kate followed behind in lion, whilst you, samantha and tim pulled out in tin man.

just as the team were hoping for, the weather kept turning from bad to worse as storm and tornado followed after each other. you all kept on moving from place to place, trucks getting dirtier at each rest stop and barely having time to dry off before the chase started again. since the day before was poor for data collection, scott and javi wanted to be on the road as much as possible, which meant fewer and shorter breaks, only stopping for as little time as possible to keep going.

usually you can sneak down an aisle of the gas station convenience store to see scott, even just for a minute or two to share a short kiss. you were wanting to give him his little gift, today a note with a few reminders on it for him, hoping the small gesture would soothe something in you and make you worry less than you already were. but you didn't get that chance. he barely left the truck, only hopping out to go to the bathroom and grab a quick drink, never being in the same place as you were at the same time. it was only then that you realised he hadn't even sent you your usual text, your phone falling silent, void of any important notifications.

little did you know, scott had been looking out for you. he had watched as you got in and out of the truck at each rest stop, he had watched as you walked through the automatic doors of the gas stations, shortly leaving with your arms full of snacks and drinks for the rest of your group. he followed after you a couple of times, keeping his distance, and headed over to the shelves of gum packets, waiting for you to turn down the aisle and properly look at him. it wasn't unknown to scott that you glanced over at him at any opportunity; he did exactly the same and would be a hypocrite if he tried to hide it. all he could think about was you, you, you. all he wanted was to see you and say hi and take in the presence that was you.

but scott has always struggled with words. he struggled to convey his feelings, preferring to be the silent and brooding type than let feelings and emotions get involved. but it was different with you. feelings were always involved with you, and he couldn't get over his pride or bruised ego to even just talk to you today. he really should. he had regretted not sending you your usually text, he had regretted not waking you up when he did, he had regretted leaving you alone, but that's what he'd done. he needed to own it or get over it. so he brooded and practically ignored you, and it pained him as much as it pained you.

it was a long day. a long day of driving and storms and getting wet and not seeing scott. you never really realised how much you saw him when you weren't busy and how much you actually missed him in the day after not seeing him first thing in the morning. the note that should be in his cargo pants pocket burnt a hole in your own and it was the only thing you could think of on the drive back to the motel.

the rain was still coming down heavily, windscreen wipers flying back and forth with such speed you thought they'd fly off any minute. tim was driving again, this time with samantha in the front and you in the back. all of you were so tired that the truck was silent, only the downpour of the rain providing a background noise to your thoughts. you loved weather like this, that's one of the reasons you took this job, so being able to stare out over the open fields and watch the rain and clouds dance together was what you needed today.

you were probably only five minutes away from the motel when the truck started to spin, sliding on the standing puddles of water on the road and causing tim to lose all control. the three of you just gasped, grabbing onto whatever you could to steady yourself as you let the truck do what it needed to do to battle the weather. after a few rotations the truck stopped suddenly, its side crashing into a fence which had ran parallel to the road for the past few miles.

the three of you looked between you all, still not saying anything as you all fought to catch your breath and give a nod of ‘i’m okay’ to each other. the others had kept driving, your truck bringing up the rear, so your only option was to keep going back to the motel, take it slow and hope that no one noticed the massive dent in the truck. easy enough, right?

by the time you got back, the parking lot was almost empty, only the storm par trucks occupying a few of the spaces and a couple of other random cars dotted around the lot. it was still pouring it down, and the first thing you all saw as you pulled up was scott stood under the cover of the second floor's walkway, stood directly in front of your truck's space with his arms cross and a scowl painting his face.

the three of you got out, grabbing your bags before quickly joining him underneath the cover and away from the rain. none of you said anything, just stood in front of scott like you were waiting for either a lecture or permission to head to your rooms. he just looked between you all, expression not changing even as he looked straight in your eyes and spoke directly to you.

"what took you so long?"

"we just got caught up in the weather, didn't want to rush getting back." tim replied, his voice wavering slightly as he noticed the intensity of scott's gaze on you.

"i wasn't asking you." he bit back, not even looking over at tim as he spoke to you. "what took you so long?"

"erm, we jus-just got caught up, scott, like tim said." your reply was quiet, knowing he would be upset with you for lying especially after he found out the real reason why you guys were late.

"then why is there a dent in the side of my truck, hum? get caught up in a tornado i didn't see?" your cheeks heated up, face scrunching as you winced at his words. of course he'd realise, truly nothing got past him. but he still didn't look away from you as he waited for a reply, even if it was another excuse. tim and samantha looked shocked at scott's behaviour, knowing he could be intense, but never having singled you out for something before, especially not for something you actually hadn't done.

you kept staring at scott, trying to think of something to say that wouldn't make him any more angry than he already was. tim was trying to think of how to explain how he damaged the truck, and samantha was trying to hard not to scream 'i told you so', still adamant in her theory that scott had a thing for you. the only thing saving you from an awkward silence was the rain, that was until javi came out from his room and saw the four of you stood together.

"hey, you guys are back- what happened to the truck?" he cut himself off with his own question, looking over the dented side with his hands in his hair before turning back to you. "is everyone alright?"

the contrast between their two approaches was like whiplash. you wanted to blurt out your apologies and throw in an 'i'm okay' to stop javi worrying, but with scott still staring you down, you were too worried to look away from him. you'd missed his presence and his face all day and thought that if you looked away, even for a minute, he'd turn around and walk away from you. and after what had just happened, it was taking everything in you not to grab him and hold him close.

"we're okay," samantha said, looking at javi with apologies in her eyes. "we're sorry about the truck, we just caught some water and spun out a little. this shitty fence broke our spin and dented the side, i'm so sorry, javi."

"it's okay, we can get that fixed, as long as you guys are ok-"

"who was driving?" scott's voice was even, asking you another question that you really didn't want to answer.

"scott, i-"

"who was driving?" he said it slower, in a tone that suggested he knew the answer already, interrupting whatever you were about to say.

"it was me." tim spoke up.

"pack your shit, you're going tomorrow."

"scott, you can't just-"

"sir, it was an accident, i really didn't-"

"well, your 'accident' could have killed three people tonight," scott finally looked away from you and you felt like you could breath again. "i'm here to do my job and keep everyone safe. you pulling shit like this doesn't help, so i want you gone by the morning. this job doesn't call for liabilities, and currently you're the only one i'm looking at."

(was it bad that this was kinda turning you on and you thought it was incredibly hot of him?)

"scott, man, let's just all get some rest, cool off and come back to this in the morning." javi tried to bargain with him, moving forward into scott's space and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"i'm cool, javi. i've made my decision and it's final." he insisted, turning back to look at you, eyes softening at the tired look on your face. god, he just wanted to pick you up, take you to bed and just be grateful that you're still with him. "you all could have died, i don't take that shit lightly."

he shrugged off javi’s hand, his hand dropped into his cargo pants pocket and pulled out a set of keys before pushing past his best friend and storming towards the scarecrow truck. it made a high-pitched beep as scott unlocked the doors, pulled open the driver’s side and got in. before he had a chance to shut the door, you’d managed to drop your bag and head out into the rain, a hand grabbing the door before scott was able to close it fully.

“what are you doing? you can’t go out in this!” you almost screamed at him, the rain drowning out your voice to the others still stood under the cover as they watched you talk to scott.

“why not, huh? nothing happened to you guys, just got caught up!” he replied, his tone dripping with sass as he replayed your own words back to you.

“come on, don’t be like that! i didn’t want you to worry, and we’re fine!”

“you could have died!” his voice dropped, eyes looking right into yours as you noticed some tears starting to well at the bottom of them. you couldn’t stop a gasp from leaving your lips, hoping that you were shielding scott’s expression from the others behind you; javi would never let him live it down.

“oh, baby,” you reached out to his face. “i’m okay, really, i’m fine. just please don’t go, not like this. i know you’re upset, but anything can happen in this weather. please, don’t go.”

your touch seemed to snap him out of his thoughts as he grabbed your wrist and brought it back down to your side.

“i’ll be back in a bit.” he said plainly, watching as you stepped back and let him slam the door, turn the engine over and drive out of the parking lot.

“what the fuck was that?!”

“i’ll tell you when you grow up.” samantha patted tim on the back, picking up your bag as you made you way back under the motel, absolute drenched and visibly panicking.

“javi, you- we have to go. we have to follow him and get him back here, now.”

"in this weather? you guys have already had an accident, with two more trucks out there, who knows what'll happen. we need to get inside and-"

"we need to go get him, javi!" you shouted over him, samantha and tim realising this isn't their fight anymore and leaving to go back to their rooms. "please, javi, you're his best friend, you know how he gets, and his temper and this weather and driving is not going to end well."

"you're real worried, huh?" he asked, no teasing, no harshness to his words. he only needed to take one look at the anxiety on your face and your heavy breathing to realise how you felt about the man in question.

"yes, i am worried." your words were plain, and said quite matter of factly. "i can go on my own-"

"no, no way, scott would definitely kill me then." javi looked back at the motel, seemingly trying to end his internal battle of either going back inside or coming with you.

it took him a moment before he looked back at you, his hand diving into his trouser pocket and pulling out the keys to the lion truck, "come on, let’s go."

javi leads you as you both step out into the rain again. you're completely drenched by now, but you couldn't care less as you wait for him to unlock the doors and hop into the passenger side. the engine rumbles and javi's quick to put it in to reverse, pulling out of the motel parking lot without looking back. the road is completely empty, windscreen wipers working overtime as they battle against the heaving downpour that hasn't let up in the past few hours. you don't even know if you're going in right direction; you definitely saw scott turn left out of the lot, but there were so many side roads coming up that he could have turned down, so many turns off of them meaning he could be anywhere.

both of you scan the road, looking left and right for any sign of headlights or the distinct white truck, anything to give you a hint as to where scott could be. you knew you should have stopped him. you should have grabbed onto his hand and pulled him out the of truck, should have dragged him towards the motel and into your room and straight in the shower, wanting nothing more than to warm up and forget about the day.

but scott was stubborn. once he set his mind to something, it was difficult to stop him. you knew he didn't verbalise things, you knew he found it difficult and would rather be rude and stand-offish to other people, but never to you. he was frustrated about today, you could see that from a mile off, but doing this was dangerous and when you got him, you didn't know whether to scold him for being so reckless or kiss him after ignoring you all day. maybe both.

probably both.

you don't know how long you've been driving for, constantly on high alert for anything that looked vaguely like a storm par truck. a fence started to run parallel to the road, and you recognised it as the one you drove into earlier. it gave you a sick feeling in your stomach, your insides twisting as if they knew something was wrong.

and something was very wrong.

"javi, stop!" you shouted, seeing the tail end of a truck a few feet above the ground, the front stuck half in a ditch and half through a fence. the truck hadn't even fully stopped by the time you were out of it, leaving the door wide open as you ran over to the drivers side and peered into the cab.

and there was scott, body slumped forward over the wheel, hat thrown to the side.

"shit." you mumbled, hand grasping at the door handle and pulling to get it open. javi joined you within seconds, both tugging at the metal to try and pry it away from the truck. the front must have been badly bent out of shape because it takes you a bit to do so, taking it in turns to pull the handle and push the inside of the door to reveal scott.

when the door was at its widest, you pushed past javi to get to him. he was breathing slowly, his body moving the tiniest bit as he groaned and tried to sit up. your hands immediately reached out to him, your right grasping onto his shoulder as your left found his chest. you helped him to slowly move, eyes darting over his face and arms to check for any bad cuts or wounds that he may have. there were a few little ones dotted across his forearms, the biggest one being a cut just above his eyebrow. it didn't look too deep, but it was enough to make you worry and want to get him out of this truck and into the other one as soon as possible.

"scott, honey, it's okay, i'm here. we're here." your voice was quiet as you called out to him and got him set back against the seat, a hand coming to rest on his cheek to turn his face to your own. "you're okay, i'm here."

one of his eyes opened, taking all of you in; your soaked hair, your drenched shirt, the loving look you had in your eyes and the relieved look on your face. seeing you now, javi just a foot behind you, he regretted running off and leaving the motel. he had regretted it about five minutes after he'd left, but it wasn't much longer after that that he crashed, wheels sliding over the surface water and spinning him into the same goddamn fence you'd crashed in to.

"hey." he smiled at you, a wide-toothed grin directed only at you as you gave him one of your own. without even thinking, you cupped his face in both your hands and brought him towards you, placing a short kiss on his lips, then his nose and his forehead. he winced slightly, making an apology tumble from your lips as you lightly brushed over his new cut. luckily, it wasn't deep, but it was going to sting like hell and would definitely need some steri-strips to pull it back together.

javi just stood back as he watched the two of you, glad that his friend was okay, but still reeling in the new information that he'd just witnessed in front of him. before he knew it, you were pulling scott out of the cab, one of his arms falling around your shoulders as he ran to scott's other side and helped you take him over to the not-damaged truck.

you pulled open the back door, twisting around so you could sit scott backwards onto the seat. pulling away from him, you reached into the passenger seat, door still open from you rushing out, and grabbed the first aid kit that was all of the glove boxes. when you'd first joined, the guys hadn't even thought of keeping one handy in any of the trucks, so you took it upon yourself to compile some together and keep them updated. right now, you're thanking your past self for the idea, rushing back to scott's side to fix him up, throwing the box in his lap before opening it.

javi went to the ditched truck and pulled out whatever was important that was still lying in the footwells, grabbing scott's abandoned hat and sunglasses before he doesn't hear the end of it. you started cleaning up the cut on scott's face, trying to shield him and yourself from the rain that was still pouring, albeit slower now than earlier, but you really didn't want get any plasters wet before pressing them onto his skin.

the sterilised wipe turned red quickly, the blood from his cut still flowing slowly as you tried to stop it as much as possible, "hold that there." you grabbed one of scott's hands, pulling it up towards his forehead and pressing it onto the cotton above his brow.

"yes, ma'am." he teased, loving how you had practically ignored javi's presence for the past few minutes in order to take care of him. you pressed another kiss on his lips before wiping around the cuts on his arms with a clean wipe, feeling his eyes on you constantly as you did so.

"you're so reckless, you know?" you mumbled, taking care with your actions. "driving off and leaving me at the motel in a storm like this. this is so much worse than just a bump into a fence, you could have been seriously hurt, scott." you glanced up at him quickly, watching as his smile dropped and head dipped slightly.

"m'sorry, sweetheart, i didn't mean to scare you."

"i know, i'm just glad you're okay. i don't know what i would have done if anything had happened to you." you finished tending to his arms and shifted your attention back to his face. the cotton had soaked up most of the blood, now just needing a clean and something to keep it together. javi was still stood behind you, not wanting to get in the middle of whatever argument you may be having. it didn't seem like one, but javi just wanted to get back into the truck and head back to the motel; he was getting colder by the minute.

you grabbed another wipe, throwing the cotton into the growing pile of blood-soaked fabrics. "can't believe you've marked up your pretty little face, at least your hat'll hide it while it's healing." with the blood now gone, you grabbed some steri-strips. "i'll have to change these in a couple of days, we'll grab some more when we leave tomorrow to replace them in the box." you'd place one on already, pinching his skin to set the other one. "thank God i put them in the trucks, you'd be bleeding out on the backseat if i hadn't. on that note, you're so stupid for coming out here in this rain-"

"i know, i shouldn't have-"

"you don't understand how worried i was when you drove off and how scared i was to find you dead somewhere. i shouldn't have even let you get in the truck at the motel. i wish i'd pulled you out then and there and dragged you back to my room and shoved you in the shower before you even thought about leaving me. and i'm sorry for lying to you about the accident. i love you, but i knew you'd be angry and do something stupid so i was trying to stop it before anything happened, but you still went off and-"

that's when scott zoned out. you kept talking as you busied yourself with placing the last sterile-strip on his forehead, checking the rest of him for anymore cuts or blood that needed cleaning and shoving all the used wipes and rubbish in a bag and closing the first aid kit that still laid open on his lap. he caught javi's eyes from behind you, both the men staring at each other with wide eyes as they registered what you had just said. he's not thinking of anything, no rebuttal or teasing remark, the only thing on rotation in his head being 'i love you. i love you. i love you.’

scott doesn't know whether you're still talking or cleaning his blood off of your hands, he doesn't care as he grabs your chin and pulls your forward, his lips immediately finding yours as he puts all of his energy into kissing you. everything drowns out in that moment: the rain, your anxiety, scott's injuries, the wrecked truck behind you, javi behind you. the only thing you can hear is the big, bright, blaring sound that is scott and his touch and the way his hands are tugging on your hips to bring you closer to him. you stumble forward, catching yourself on his shoulders, ignoring the wet fabric of his shirt and the blood that's probably staining the pure white.

his lips are soft and the feelings he's pouring into the kiss make up for the missed moments this morning and the events of the day. his hands are still on your hips, fingers tracing the waistband of your trousers as your own hands run down his chest, resting on his thighs as you lean closer to him and press yourself further into the kiss. your fingers trace the seams of his cargo pants pocket.

"i should have known you guys were doing it." javi eventually called out over the rain, making both of you pull away from the other and giggle slightly as scott's forehead rested on your own. neither of you argued, realising the secret was well and truly out by now and it wasn't something you could, or wanted to, hide anymore.

you leaned away from him, looking over his face and feeling the hearts in your eyes as you did so. he was smiling up at you, the same gaze reflecting back at you as you looked into his baby blues that you loved so much.

"guess it's out the bag now, huh?" he commented, making you shake your head at his little joke.

"guess it's out the bag now." you agreed, pulling away from him to get into the front of the truck, making sure he'd pulled on his seatbelt before closing the door.

"how long?" javi asked, no malice in his voice.

"only a few months," you smiled, seeing the knowing look in his eyes as he stood with his arms crossed in front of you, rain still falling around you both. "thank you for coming with me."

"someone's gotta save his ass when he gets all grumpy, i'm just glad i've got a partner to do it with now." you just laughed at that, moving towards the passenger door as javi walk around to the drivers side. when you both got in, scott leaned forward from the backseat, one hand on both of your seat shoulders.

"i heard that."

"and i meant it."

you couldn't help the smile on your face, looking between javi and scott as they stared each other down. javi turned over the engine, still glaring at scott before pulling away and looking ahead at the road. it was still raining, but not as heavy as earlier. the road ahead of you was clearer than on your way out, just puddles and standing water covered the ground.

you looked behind yourself, watching the wrecked truck get further away before looking over at scott. he was still leant forward slightly, already showing a closed-lip smile as he caught your eye. your face mirrored his expression, moving forward to place a light kiss on his lips and then his cheek then shuffling around to face forward again. his right arm reached forward towards you, his hand grasping yours as he squeezed it three times. it was a comfort having him touching you, even in such a little way, and you cradled your joint hands in your lap.

the drive back was quiet, javi no longer having any jabs to make at the two of you and just wanting to go to bed after such a long day. he didn't realise that it was going to end with saving his friends life and finding out that he had a partner. but anyway, you were clearly happy with each other, so what more could javi want?

as the motel came into view, you could see that the majority of the group were stood outside, all in various states of undress as they waited anxiously for the three of you to get back. kate was the first person to run over to the truck, pulling open the passenger door and looking you over before turning her attention to javi getting out of the driver's side.

"i'm okay," you nodded at her, jumping out of the truck and closing the door. "it's scott you want to be worried about." she grunted slightly at that, moving back from you to let you head towards the motel. however, she did look over in scott's direction and see his bandaged forehead and blood over his shirt. at that, she gave him a sympathetic smile as he made his way over to you.

without warning, scott grabbed your hand, pulling you away from javi, kate and the rest of the team, up the stairs of the motel and towards your room. everyone just gawked at you as you passed, some stunned to silence and others muttering as they noticed your linked hands. kate looked over questioningly at javi, who replied with a shrug of his shoulders and a quick, "i had to watch them make out, be grateful it's just that."

scott ruffled around his pockets for the spare key card he had to your room, allowing you enough time to shout a 'goodnight!' to everyone before (literally) being dragged into your room and hearing the door lock.

at the end of the day, the only place you wanted to be was either with scott or in his arms. after the hectic day you'd just had, you ended it with your back against your room's door, scott towering over you as his hands grabbed at your hips, forehead falling onto yours. you were definitely breathing in the same air, but in that moment you didn't care; you were both alive, with only a few scratches, and you couldn't be more grateful for that in your line of work.

"thank you," voice only above a whisper as he broke the silence. "thank you for coming to save me. i should have said it earlier: i love you. i know it's only been a few months, but i felt like this before i showed up at your door that night." his hands came up to cup your cheeks, your own resting on his chest where you could feel his rapid heartbeat. "i've never felt like this for anyone, and i don't want to feel like this for anyone else but you."

"scott-" you gasped, your next sentence being cut off by his lips on yours. it was soft and gentle, something scott had been with you before, but this was different. it was a show of his love and adoration, his lips moving perfectly with yours as you tasted everything that was scott. he took over your mind and filled your senses and you wouldn't have it any other way.

"let's shower, hum?" he barely moved away from your lips as he spoke, quickly closing the gap again and kissing you once more.

"yes please." you managed to respond between his pecks, feeling scott's smile as he pulled you backwards and towards the small bathroom.

the only noise in the bathroom was the humming of the motel lights and the running water, heating up as you and scott undressed each other carefully. leaving your wet and dirty clothes in a pile together, you were cautious of his cuts and the plasters on his face, pealing his black undershirt off his body with the upmost care. before stepping under the shower, he cupped your face and kissed you again, holding his lips against yours for a few seconds. you grabbed his wrists in response, stepping towards the shower and pulled him along with you.

both of you were gentle under the water, lathering shampoo into the others' hair and trying to not get any suds in your eyes. you laughed at each other intermittently, watching as scott put on too much product and ended up with bubbles all over him. you took care in scrubbing his body clean, watching over his scratches as you kissed each new one you saw. scott could only watch, mesmerised by your kindness and love. he did the same for you until you were both clean and rinsed of the day.

after stepping out, you wrapped each other in the white towels, your hands tracing scott's chest as you stared into his gorgeous blue eyes. how lucky were you to have this man in front of you? despite his attitude sometimes, he could have been plucked straight from the angels and you'd be none the wiser. the amount of love you had for him was immeasurable, and it was only going to grow the longer you were together.

like the shower, you both got changed in the quiet, stealing glances as you dressed yourself in one of scott's t-shirts you'd stolen previously and he found some shorts he didn't realise he'd left the other day. you slipped under the covers first, settling down into the sheets as you waited patiently with open arms.

"come to bed, baby." you cooed as he started to sort the clothes in the bathroom. you could see how tired and drained he was, and you were desperate for a cuddle with him.

"the clothes, sweetheart-"

"leave them, they'll be there tomorrow."

"but-"

"scott," you pressed, sitting up to look at him. "i don't care about the clothes, i want you to come to bed and rest. please." the puppy dog eyes that you flashed him worked yet again. he dropped the clothes, turned off the lights and made his way over to you.

he laid on his back, sheets covering him as you shuffled into his side, wrapping around his body like a koala and resting your head on his shoulder. it was peaceful, safe, warm. you could lightly feel scott's heartbeat, hear him breathing, feel his warmth, all as a reminder that the was here with you and not in a ditch two miles down the road.

"i think it was your missing gift that did this." he muttered, still staring at the ceiling as you sat up slightly.

"my what?" you giggled, not realising what he was saying.

"your gifts, the little things you put in my cargo pants pocket each morning. i think they mean more to me than i realise, and the one day that i don't get one, all this shit happens."

"so, you're saying this is my fault?" you smirked, watching as his head whipped around to look at you with a worried expression.

"what? no, no! i didn't- you're messing with me." he saw your face and stopped his rant before it started, having should have realised that you'd tease him like that. "i just mean that i love your little gifts and i love that you think you're sneaking them without me realising. but i do. i have everything you've ever given me in my bag. did you want any of those lip glosses back, by the way? i think you've staked your claim on me now."

you laughed loudly at that, head falling between his neck and shoulder as your whole body shook at his words. scott just smiled, wrapped his arms around you tighter and pulled your body on top of his own.

"well, i'm glad you like them." you managed to get out between giggles, pressing a kiss onto each of his cheeks.

"i love them. i love how obsessed you are with my cargo pants pockets." his words made you blush, wanting to bury yourself back into his skin, but also not wanting to look away from his beaming smile and bright eyes. up close like this, you realised how much emotion was hidden in his eyes, something only you get to see, everyone else be damned.

you ran a hand through his damp hair, the waves and curls that he usually hid coming out in full force without the restriction of his hat. his hands traced up and down your sides, dipping under the hem of your shirt every so often to feel your soft skin there. you explored in your own way, clinging on to the back of his neck and shoulders as you confessed one last thing for the night.

"i love how obsessed i am with you."

scott oomfs: @weemswife @rhettsunshine @supremian @bbaengtan @fluvsof @urlitttlevenicebitch @bellaswanreincarnated4 @luvagirlsworld @ilsm-i-love-superman @djarinova

masterlist

requests are open! pls send me any thoughts or big feelings you have <3

© acdeaky - please do not copy/repost/translate my works as your own! but feel free to reblog and support writers on this platform!

[rubyin-wonderland]

Forever Eternally

Sanji x reader

Summary: You've been searching for "the one" for as long as you can remember, but he never seems to appear. Until a strange pirate crew comes into your life.

WC: 2.8k

Warnings/tags: soulmates fic, emotions, being used, forced proximity, fluff and a dash of angst because of course

Note: wrote this for a special Sanji fan of mine, enjoy your soulmates fic pookie

The necklaces were delicate, two dainty metal curlicues  embracing blue teardrop gemstones. You had seen it on couples around your hometown, worn by soulmates. They glowed when they were together, signifying the completion of a match, together, as they should be.

"They are tethered to your soul, and when it senses your match, they will glow for you." Your grandmother had told you, before you set off on your own.

It had been her wish for you to find your soulmate on your travels, and admittedly, you wanted it too.

You would be lying if finding your perfect match hadn't been a factor in your decision to leave home. It was a big wide world after all, and there were only so many people on your island.

So, the sea awaited, brilliant blue and beyond enticing. You found your way across several islands, stumbling into several people, but none of them were right.

When you finally ended up joining a pirate crew, you found yourself in a new home, with a rambunctious family that never spent a day without a little trouble.

The Straw Hats might have been a little crazy, but you fit right in, allowing them to nestle into your heart, feeling nearly satisfied with the life they had been able to provide you with.

And yet, you still clung to your necklaces, neither of which had ever glowed on any island you visited, the only void left to be filled.

You wore one necklace yourself, the other always tucked in a pocket, never away from your side. Once you knew who it was, you needed to be able to make it official, clasping it around their neck for the whole world to see.

Unfortunately, finding "the one" was not as easy as you had thought.

Every island you docked at was another opportunity to find out who it could be, but as weeks of searching turned to months, with not even the faintest light from your necklace, you had begun to give up hope.

You sat on the deck of the ship, legs crossed in front of you as you looked out into the starry sky, asking them for an answer to your troubles.

Perhaps you were doomed to never find your match. That wouldn't be awful. Just devastating. Wherever they were, they seemed to be evading your grasp.

You heard footsteps on the lower deck, focusing your eyes in the moonlight, catching the silhouette of the ship's cook in the dark.

"I'd say you should be getting your beauty sleep but it seems you're gorgeous enough without it." His voice carried in the night, the flirtatious comment soaking into your skin, making your heart pound in double time.

Sanji was possibly the most wonderful man you had met on your travels, with a million different lines, each one bringing a smile to your face, so long as they were directed at you.

His charm was attractive, and you found him incredibly handsome, the only problem was, he wasn't your match.

If he had been, you would have leapt eagerly into his arms, asking him to love you forever, but it seemed fate had a different plan for you.

Your darkened necklace sat on your chest, not even a faint gleam to indicate the presence of whoever had been tied to you.

"Hello Sanji, I see you're up late as well." You mused, your cheeks warm with Sanji's flattery.

"Thought you could use some company. All alone up there." He walked towards you, sitting down right next to you. "You've been sad lately, what's wrong?"

Leave it to Sanji to notice. You sighed. "It feels like I'm missing something." You lied, having kept the nature of your necklace hidden from your crew.

You had no reason to hide it, but you had just done so anyways, not wanting to feel their judgement on your status as well.

"Did you leave something at the last island? We could go back and get it!" Sanji said quickly, squinting to see if the island you had left hours ago was still in sight. It was not.

"No, I didn't leave anything. It's more something I'm missing on the inside." You sighed. "I can't explain it. It's just empty."

Sanji nodded. "I understand. I feel like that too. Are you hungry? I could whip something up, it might partially fill the void."

You laughed at the suggestion that food would solve your problem, but didn't deny his request, instead following him to the galley, where within minutes, Sanji had prepared a small snack for you.

You had no idea how he did it. So giving, even as the world kept trying to take. It was a generosity that never waned, and that made you like him even more.

It struck you as you picked at the food presented to you that your soulmate must be incredible, for a man as wonderful as Sanji to not be the one.

When you and Sanji parted ways, heading off to bed, you clasped your necklace in your hand, as you pondered a subject that had been brewing in your mind for a while.

Would it be that much trouble to ask Sanji out? While you waited for your real match to come along? Plenty of people dated around before finding the people they stayed with forever, why should you be any different?

The only problem was, that once your necklace started glowing, you would have to leave Sanji behind, and that would ruin him. After a relationship that long, it would likely ruin you too.

But you could not spend your days wasting away, waiting for someone who seemingly never appeared. Sanji was always there, a helping hand or a gentle comfort. You had no idea who your soulmate was, but you knew plenty about Sanji.

And that was the day you decided it would be worth it to try being with Sanji, until your true match showed up.

When you asked him the following morning, Sanji was overjoyed. He gleefully said yes and promised that you would never have to feel empty by his side.

It felt good to be with him. His kisses peppered across your face, his neverending compliments drowning out your doubts. He loved you, and you loved him, which is why you started to hate the idea of finding your soulmate.

You stopped checking your necklace in every town you were in, not when your hand was laced with your boyfriend's, proudly displaying your love for him.

You never removed the necklace, however. You knew one day it would happen, and when it did, you needed to be ready. You had been waiting your whole life to find the one, and even with the new developments in your life, you needed to remember your priorities.

Sanji lay next to you one night, his body curled around yours in a secluded spot the two of you had claimed as your own. His one arm was draped over your side, held against your chest, fingers playing with the chain around your neck, the soft clinking of the metal being the only sounds the two of you were making.

Then, Sanji spoke up. "You always wear this lovely necklace. Wherever did you get it?" He asked, breath warm against your neck.

You tensed at the thought of him learning he was only there to tide you over, guilty about using him to fulfill your fantasies.

"My mom gave it to me." It was the truth, but only half of it.

"It really is lovely, though not as pretty as the one wearing it." And Sanji pressed a kiss to the back of your neck, not asking for any more information.

You suddenly became paranoid, worried that at any second your gemstone would glow, revealing the truth.

You worried that he would find out, but were even more worried that it would mean separating from him.

You wanted to be with Sanji. You were happy with him. So why couldn't he be your soulmate? He was perfect. The universe was making a mistake, it had to be.

However, the will of the stars held higher than yours, and you regretfully accepted your fate.

Though it was not your intent, you withdrew from Sanji, hoping that would ease the heartbreak when you had to leave him.

Of course, Sanji noticed. He was too attentive, too caring. You despised it as much as you admired it. He began to ask if there was something wrong. If he had done something to hurt you, say something that upset you. All you could say was that everything was fine and hope that he would believe it.

He did not. If anything, Sanji grew more suspicious, day after day, until he had enough.

One day, as the crew was exploring a nearby town, you decided to stay back. Sanji stayed back as well, and with no reason to send him away, he was stuck with you.

You tried to avoid him, but it was near impossible. Every room was big enough for two. It was an inescapable conversation.

You walked hurriedly to a storage room, hoping it would be too cluttered for the both of you to fit, but Sanji squeezed in, asking if you needed help with the task you had made an excuse about.

You said that you were fine, but you tripped and fell forwards. An arm wrapped quickly around your waist, stopping you from colliding with a pile of boxes taller than you.

Damn it Sanji. Too attentive, too caring. He pulled you up, setting you back on your feet and you turned to face him, wishing you could just ignore your problems, but as Sanji took a step back to give you space, the door shut behind him, trapping you inside the closet with a simple click.

You stood in shock as you realized there was nothing you could do to escape the conversation. Sanji turned around, this development clearly not being a part of his plan to get you to talk.

His fingers tried to pry the door open, but from the inside, that was a lost cause.

After a minute of desperate scrabbling, Sanji turned to face you, clearing his throat. "It looks like it's just the two of us." He said, trying to sound confident and looking anything but.

"While we're in here, I'd like to ask you a question." You cursed under your breath. You were going to have to tell him the truth. The whole truth.

"What is going on?" He asked, genuine concern covering his face. "Please, tell me. We're partners, right?"

You backed away, trying to find some miraculous way to escape the situation, but it was no use. You were trapped, and the truth must come out.

"Sanji, I'm sorry I've been distant, it's just that things are so complicated and it's my fault for getting you involved." You stammered out, nervous.

"If you don't want to be with me anymore, that's fine, just say the word, and I'll leave you alone."

He sounded so hurt by the thought of you leaving him, but he bowed his head. He would respect your decision, no matter how badly it shattered his heart.

"No, Sanji. It's not that I..." You tried to stall, but found there was no use. "I'm sorry. I want to be with you, but..."

Your hand found your necklace. "I have a soulmate." Sanji looked at you with confusion. "I don't know who it is, but I don't think it's you."

You could see his heart break through the windows in his eyes. "I see."

"But I still love you. I love you so much, and I want it to be you. I really wish you were, but you aren't."

Sanji nodded, but he no longer met your eyes. "So what were we?" He asked, not angry, just saddened.

You felt shame flow through you. "You were so nice, but finding my soulmate was taking so long and I didn't want to be alone anymore."

"I don't understand." Sanji protested, as if his lack of understanding could somehow rectify the situation. It could not.

You held your necklace, squeezing the gem in your palm. "This was given to me by my mother. When it senses my soulmate, it will glow. I've been told this story since I was a child, about how the universe picked my perfect match and I would find them some day, but it never seemed to happen."

You squeezed your eyes shut. "It's not an excuse, I used you, but now I have doubts about my soulmate too."

You tensed as the words that had been floating around your mind let themselves out.

"I don't want to find my soulmate anymore. I want to stay with you."

Sanji continued to look conflicted. "The universe must have been wrong." You protested. "And even then, I'm still making my own decision." You took a deep breath, and put your hand into your pocket.

You removed the second necklace from it's place, always at your side. For too long it had dictated your life, what you did or didn't do. You wanted to be with Sanji. You were making your own choice. The universe would have to suck it up.

"I'm sorry I lied to you Sanji. But no matter what, I'm done looking for my soulmate. I've found you."

You looked at it in the dim light of the closet, and you saw Sanji inspecting it as well.

"When we get out of here, I'll throw them both overboard." You promised. "I don't need to know who it is. I never want to meet them. You're enough for me."

Your head dipped down, hand still outstretched, holding the necklace like an offering.

"I'm sorry." You apologized again. "For pushing you away, for lying, for using you. You don't have to forgive me, but I want you to know that I am. I am so sorry."

Sanji put your hand down, holding it at your side, bringing his hand up to gently hold your chin.

"I think the universe knew the risks of putting someone so perfect in front of me." He said quietly.

"I'm sorry." You said again, but he cut you off with a kiss, directing your face to his lips with his hand.

"Enough of that." He murmured. "You shouldn't have done that, but I forgive you. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. Please, just don't keep secrets like these from me anymore."

You nodded, tears shining in your eyes. "I love you, Sanji." "I love you too."

You didn't hesitate to kiss him this time, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him close. The distance you had put between yourself and him was bridged within seconds as his free arm wrapped around your waist, tugging you closer.

For a second, in that closet, you felt the way you always imagined you would with your soulmate. Complete. Two halves of a whole sliding together, perfectly happy. The feeling filled you up, and only fizzled out long after you separated from him.

You looked down at the dull gemstone, shoving it back in your pocket as you heard a commotion from the deck. Your crew had returned, and both you and Sanji immediately started yelling in an attempt to be found.

With only a few suspicious looks from your crewmates, you were freed from the closet, and allowed the liberty of seeing the sun once more.

Despite Sanji's insistance that he didn't need you to prove your dedication to him, you led him to a railing that night, beneath a blanket of stars, the eyes of the universe staring at your decisions.

You removed the necklace from your pocket, dangling it over the edge of the deck, above the dark blue sea.

It swung like a pendulum, reminding you of its prophetic powers. You no longer cared what fate held. Sanji was your soulmate now, the two of you would weave it into the fabric of reality yourselves if you had to.

You opened your palm and the necklace dropped into the water, the answer to your eternal question now forever lost to the deep. But you were not done. You unhooked the necklace from your neck. At the very least your necklaces would be together, if you and your soulmate never would be.

Another soft sound and the second necklace dropped into the sea, gone forever.

You set sail the next day, away from the harbour where you had dropped your necklaces, beginning a new chapter, one where you and Sanji were together, no matter what.

And at the bottom of the ocean, while you and Sanji lived out your happy lives, two glowing stones illuminated the sandy floor.

[scarletttries]

Write A Kiss Request: Sanji (One Piece) x Reader ...a kiss to shut them up

(prompt list here) & 2025 Request List - requests open

...a kiss to shut Sanji up

You really could listen to Sanji talk about cooking forever. From the way he danced effortlessly around the kitchen as he described the flavour profile he intended to build, to the way his eyes sparkled as he so beautifully presented a bowl of heartfelt sustenance in front of you day in and day out, it was a joy to be a part of his whole creative endeavour. The only problem with Sanji's ability to take non-stop about ingredients, techniques and far-off cuisines, was sometimes he almost seemed to forget to cook as he spoke.

You really thought you could listen to the blonde-haired, lovesick chef talk about cooking forever. But sometimes you just really need him to focus on making you breakfast.

You had just passed a grueling night keeping watch from the crow's nest, near countless waves appearing on the horizon just tall enough to need adjustments to the vessel's steering. You had been concentrating for the full ten hour stretch before finally only one thing stood between you and your well-deserved rest; breakfast.

Sanji was alone in the ship's kitchen as you dragged yourself through the heavy doors, the hour still too early for any of the rest of the crew to have risen from their hammocks. His face lit up the moment you appeared, watching you eagerly as you retreated to the furthest corner of the room to settle in while he worked. It wasn't long until his usual parade of comments came your way, describing the dish he intended to cook in the utmost detail. However you couldn't help but notice that as he described each ingredient he intended to use, his hands would dance around in front of him, rather than doing any of the tasks required in the meal's preparation.

"Sanji, I usually love your recipe chat, but it's been a really long night. Any chance you could make me something a bit quicker than usual?"

"Right, of course, I won't be more than a moment sweetheart." He shrugged off the comment, finally taking a pot of the shelves behind him, getting your hopes up, only for him to spend the next ten minutes debating the pros and cons of each of the shiny copper pans.

"Sanji, please! Breakfast?" You tried not to be short with him, your usual affections for the chef quickly getting shrouded by the growing hunger and exhaustion taking over your frame.

"Almost there my love." He lied, immediately launching back into his excitable monologue about how each dish requires an immense amount of thought, as you deserve only the finest of meals because you are the absolute finest of company. Normally his sweet talk and compliments were music to your ears, but today all you could focus on was that the more that he moved his mouth, the less progress he made in cooking. Finally you knew you needed to resort to truly desperate measures if you wanted to get to bed before the kitchen filled with the rest of the crew, and your chance for an hour of quiet to fall asleep in, went straight out the window.

Letting out an audible sigh of exhaustion, you rose from your seat, taking slow and deliberate steps towards Sanji, who had not stopped talking, even as he eyed you intently. As you drew closer to the chef, you kept your gaze solely fixed on his ever-moving lips, so much so that by the time you stood just a step away from him he was starting to trip over his words, cheeks getting flushed at the unusual, but not unwanted, attention.

"Is, uh, there something I-" You cut off his mumbled offer by placing one hand lightly on the nape of his neck, the other combing the blonde locks out of his eyes so you were sure his vision wouldn't be obscured for this. With his lips finally still, parted slightly in disbelief, you pressed our own gently against them. It was just a light peck, lingering for a moment longer than you had planned to, enjoying the welcoming warmth that his mouth seemed to offer but stepping away from his now dazed expression.

After a moment of processing that on this random Tuesday morning, all of his dreams had suddenly come true, a huge beaming grin broke out on Sanji's face. He leant forward to chase your lips again, looking like a sad puppy when you placed a hand on his chest to stop his getting close enough to taste you again.

"You can kiss me again," his eyes lit up,"as much as you want", his jaw dropped "but only after you've given me breakfast."

He scanned your intense gaze for any sign of joking or hesitation, but in realising the gravity of the situation he nodded like an army general given new orders and immediately got back to work, only letting himself steal the occasional lovestruck glance your way as he focused on his mission. You relished sitting in that comfortable silence as he worked, enjoying every manic smile he threw your way until your morning's peace was interrupted by an intruder to the tension between the two of you.

"Good morning Sanji! What are you working on today?" Usopp was cheery and chatty as he strolled into the kitchen, sitting directly opposite Sanji for their usual morning discussions.

"Shush!" Was all the frantic chef could dignify as a response as he finally plated up the dish he'd been working on for you, tossing his apron aside the moment he was done and dashing over to your table to set the plate in front of you. He squished himself onto the bench at your side, letting his arm lean against yours as he watched you take a first bite, almost trembling with excitement at the satisfied hum you let out in response.

"Can I have that too?" Usopp asked awkwardly from his seat, wondering why he was getting the feeling he had interrupted something.

"Feed yourself, I'm going to be very busy today." Sanji spat back, eyes never leaving your lips as you tried to savour every bite. Afterall, you probably weren't going to get much rest after this anyway.

***

If you enjoyed this, check out my one piece master list for more Sanji!

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine jumping into Sanji’s arms…

This was his element. Dinner for the crew was steadily cooking away and their desserts were cooling to the side. With the extra time that he had, Sanji chose to do something special for you. He placed the finishing touch on a small cake and smiled at his work. He’d have to hide this from the rest of the crew (namely Luffy) but it would be worth it.

“Sanji!” Your bright voice bounced off the ship walls and struck his heart.

He turned away from the bench and was pleasantly startled when you launched into his arms. Sanji laughed as your legs wrapped around his waist. He held on to you firmly and breathed in. By the seas, did he love it.

“Miss me so soon?” He teased. You, Usopp and Zoro had only been away for a few hours to find some materials to repair the ship.

He felt you nuzzle against his neck, “Always.” You whispered. Then he felt you go rigid and heard a gasp. “Is that a cake?”

Immediately, you scrambled down and Sanji watched as you moved behind him to stare at the dessert. He chuckled and wrapped his arms around you. He rest his chin atop your shoulder.

“Made for you.” He said and pressed a kiss to the column of your neck. Your hand raised to settle against his cheek and the cook hugged you tighter.

Quiet moments like this were rare so Sanji liked to soak them in every chance that he could. After all, you were the sweetest thing in his life.

~ More imagines here ~

A/n: A parting gift for 2025 x

[frost-queen]

The cook & the crown (Princess!Reader x Sanji)

Requested by: Anon Forever tag: @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr,  @sweetheartlizzie07,  @floatlosers,  @vviolynn,  @evilcr0ne, @melsunshine

Shoving the small window open, your body lunged forwards from the force. Needing to restrain yourself from dipping down. The thundering knocking, stammering on the door right on your heel. Time was ticking. It was now or never. Picking up the hem of the dress, you stepped onto the bed. Setting a foot by the nightstand. 

Swallowing hard as you tried to find a grip. Shoving a foot out of the window. Dangling, searching for grip when there was none. Loud stammering on the door made you gasp startled. Turning your head briefly to the wooden door.

Seeing how the chair you had shoved in front of it was barely holding it together. Muttering voices shouting from across with orders to barge in made your heart race up. Shoving another foot out of the window, you held on tight. 

Calling it out softly when your hand nearly slipped. Finding hold just in time. Carefully you turned around so that you could lower yourself with some control. Chest leaning over the railing of the window. Body almost out. The wind knocking hard against you. Eyes widening when the door crashed open with a thunderous sound. The hinges flying off. The first two men stumbling inside, shoved aside by a man. 

His eyes locked on you with a murderous glare. “Y/n!” He roared out, moving forwards to step over the fallen door and chair. With a gasp you let go. Falling into the unknown. Your uncle rushed to the window, sticking his head out seeing the final splash into the water. Turning around, he grabbed a man firmly by his collar. “Find her and bring her to me!” Tone as chill as the night. Making his way with fury. 

Re-surfing with a loud gasp, you sputtered out water. Arms and legs kicking to remain upwards. Needing a moment to orientate. Hearing numerous shouting from up on the ship. Knowing the fleet was in havoc for your little stunt. The dress you were wearing weighed you a bit down.

Trying to rip it off under water. When it was no use, you scratched the idea. Swimming to the small boat you had dropped earlier. Having drifted a bit further away than you anticipated. If only you hadn’t been such a scaredy cat when jumping out of the window, you might have been able to reach it sooner. 

Taking in gasps, you forced yourself forwards. Your freedom on your mind as a motivation. Exhaustidly you reached the boat, grabbing on tightly. Pulling yourself up as the wet dress added the extra pounds you didn’t require. Exhausting you more to even get on.

Tipping over, you fell in the boat. Panting loud to fill your lungs with deep air. The splashing in water made you grab the edge to pull yourself up. Eyes widening when more smaller boats got loaded in the water with guards. Panicking, you grabbed the oars. Fighting with whatever strength you could muster to stay ahead of them. 

Cursing at yourself wasn’t any good, you could do that later when you were in the clearing. Trying to keep a steady pace, you faced the waters with hope. Hope that you would make it. Eyes on the guards, you squeaked softly. Wind spiking in your eyes that brought you to tears.

Muscles tensing with every strength you mustered up. Breathing quicker than you ever had experienced. Quick fuel to your lungs. The hastened feeling crawling over your skin. A rush for survival. Teeth gritting. If you had to row till night, you would even if it meant a small chance of getting away. 

Your fuel was still going, but not sure how much longer you could muster up extras. On the horizon peaked vast ground stranded in the middle of the ocean. You could burst into tears, but you weren’t there yet. Clinging onto the hope, you kept rowing till you reached it.

The moment the boat knocked against the wood, you jumped out. Barely glancing at the sign. With your last strength, you pushed the doors open. Stumbling inside, nearly knocking yourself over. Catching glimpses of tables left and right. Leaving a trail of wetness, you hurried forwards. Venturing into forbidden areas. 

The smell of spices and prepared food knocked in your wind. Voices giving out orders. From your left a pan caught fire, startling you. Making you hurry and eventually drop down behind a counter. Panting exhaustedly for you had no strength left. “Excuse me, this area is off-limits.” The voice made you jump out of your skin.

Making you look upwards to the young blonde guy, staring down at you. Flopping the towel over his shoulder. “Please…” You begged. “They…can’t find me…” Getting on your knees to bow pleadingly. Sniffling loud as the young man turned his gaze to the small round windows on the door. 

He removed the towel from his shoulder, slapping it down. The doors opened as two men stumbled inside, pantingly. The guy set his hand on the front of his counter. “Area is off-limits.” He called out. One of the men was already trying to look around. “Just looking for a girl.” The other one said with a dismissive wave.

The young man approached them, setting his hands on his hip. “The only girl in here is Yuki.” Gesturing over his shoulder at a girl wearing an apron and cooking hat. “Now, I’m not asking again. Area is off-limits unless you are a cook or do the dishes!” Tone hardening with a fair warning in his voice. 

Both chuckled with arrogance. Yuki whistled loudly, throwing her towel at him. He caught it, laying it over his shoulder. “Last warning.” He made clear. “Listen here…” One of the men said with a point. His eyes widened when the towel got wrapped around it. Stumbling forwards from the pull, greeted by a kick in his stomach.

The other one joined in as the young man fought them off without a sweat. Making them crash into each other. Release the towel and wrap it around one’s throat. Making him gag. As the other one approached, ready to throw a punch, he set himself off against his chest, stumbling back with the man he was choking. Releasing grip and sending him down with a flick of the towel against his behind.  

With only the use of a towel, he had easily overmastered them. Out of breath, they got kicked out of the kitchen. He received a small round of applause before returning to his cooking station. “All taken care of, milady.” He gestured with a cheeky smile. “Thank you.” You breathed out. Carefully pulling yourself up to look up from the edge of the counter, you knew they wouldn’t just leave.

Sighing loud, you fell back down. Pulling your knees up to your chest that despite the small win, your freedom might be short due. “Stay as long as you like.” He responded upon seeing your defeat. He bend down, offering you his hand. “Sanji.” He introduced. “Y/n.” You replied, shaking his hand.

Sanji continued to cook as you suddenly widened your eyes at the bowl appearing before your sight. Offering it to you. You hesitantly accepted it, taking the first bite. Like heaven on your tongue. Humming satisfied by the flavours. “Look like you took a tumbling in the waters.” He chuckled out, taking out a wooden spoon to stir.

“Took a dive.” You answered between bites. Sanji adding a bit of more meat in your bowl. His surprised glance made you explain more. “I swam away from an arranged marriage. My uncle had set it up. Fool of him to do it on a boat.” Looking down at your wet dress, you laughed a bit. “This is my wedding dress.” 

“And now I am wettening your floor with it.” Mumbling shyly out when you saw the small puddle underneath you. “Wasn’t the guy to your liking?” Sanji asked. “He’s a mariner.” You responded in a dull tone. Sanji cracked up a smile, already knowing enough. He took your bowl, reflilling it. Kneeling down to hand it out to you personally.

“Stay as long as you like…” Quirking his eyebrow intriguingly up at you. “Princess.” He added from noticing your attire. Dress bejeweled with gems he rarely had seen. It made you crack a shy smile. Picking at a pearl, you tore it off. Holding it out to him. “As compensation for your food…and floor.” 

Sanji closed your hand, refusing the pearl. “Your smile will do.” He spoke without an effort. Simply rolling off the tongue. The smile he flashed at you made you fluster. Hours went by as Sanji stayed true to his duties. In the meantime you had received dry clothes.

The Baratie reaching closing hours. Sanji ventured into the dining area, seeing the guards were still there. Needing to shove them out as the Baratie was closing and they couldn’t stay. Lights dimmed after the doors were shut tight. Exhaling softly, you sat down at a table in the dining area. Knowing they would lurk around and take you the moment you would step foot outside. 

Your expression furrowed when a dessert got slides closer to you. Sanji pulling a chair back to come and sit in front of you. Two spoons laying on the small plate. Sanji nonchalantly scooped at the dessert with his spoon. “What’s on your mind, princess?” He asked. You sighed loud, scooping at the dessert as well.

“Like, I can’t escape his clutches.” You answered. “Your uncle?” Sanji questioned making you hum loud. “I think he just wants to get rid of me through this marriage.” Scooping more as the dessert was over the moon. “I only knew hours ago that I was set up to marry. The moment I was forced into that dress, I knew I needed to escape.” 

“Which was very brave of you.” Sanji complimented, leaning over the table with a warm smile. “I…If I am to be married, I’d like it to be out of love.” Explaining. “Not with a mariner.” Sanji teased with a chuckle making you laugh. “You left the poor boy alone at the altar.” Sanji added with that extra tease.

Scooping at some whipped cream with your spoon, you wiped it on his nose as a response. Knowing perfectly well Sanji was laughing with you for your poor choice of groom-to-be. Sanji’s eyes twinkled as he scooped whipped cream with his finger. Wanting to wipe it down your cheek. You squeaked loud, holding his wrist firm. Going in protest as much as you could. Sanji got up, coming closer. 

Fighting with his hand, you tried to keep it at bay. The laughing not making it easier. Going back and forth to keep his hands away from your face. With your foot, you blindly swung at him. Knocking against his leg as you hooked your foot at it. Sanji lost his balance, stumbling down. Taking you with him. Landing on his chest, both of you laughed loud.

Sanji wrapping his arms around you as he rubbed his nose with the whipped cream against your cheek. “Sanji!” You cried out in laughter. Gaze caught his as they remained. Taking in every detail of the colour of his eyes. Sanji breathlessly tucked some hair behind your ear. The moment seemed to last forever, yet it faded with the blink of an eye. Yet it had already lingered in your heart. 

Then came the plan. Get away. It was all you ever talked about. Never finding a steady plan to keep you out of your uncle's grip till one came landing on his lap. An offer to join a pirate’s crew. The straw hat pirates. Sanji was tempted, yet under one condition.

His princess needed to come along. Before he knew it, both of you were packed and boarding the ship. Right from under your guard’s noses. Sailing to far-away seas. A month of constant fear washed away by a single wave. Helping Sanji with the cooking. Going on adventures as a crew. Throwing a punch here and there. 

One had ended again successfully. The sun setting on the horizon. The straw hat pirates all on deck. Luffy sitting on a barrel. Slapping his hands on it to create a beat. Usopp joined him. Whistling along. Zoro bobbing his head.

Nami stomping with her feet on the deck to match the rhythm. Sanji took your hand, pulling you to him. Both stomping your feet on the deck with steps. Hopping to switch places. Moving on your heels to the side with a smile. Taking your skirt, you swayed it from side to side. Enhancing your steps with the loud stomping of your heel on the wood.

Sanji doing the same, clapping with it. Laughing loud you neared him. Sanji moving his hand on your lower back, making you spin around with him. Throwing your arms around him to be closer to him. Sanji moved away, taking your hand to let you twirl underneath his. 

Right here and then this was your entire world. A crew like a family and the man you couldn’t imagine a life without. Holding each other with one arm stretched, you spun around. Slowly lowering your hand on him as he took you by the waist and hand.

Hopping all dancy around. An upbeat waltz. Unable to stop smiling, he used the space on the deck to dance with you. Luffy cheering loudly. Sanji taking your hand, let you twirl again. Bringing you closer his chest out of breath. Panting softly you admired him.

Sanji curling up a smile upon seeing the fondness in your eyes towards him. “Princess.” He whispered out, brushing a hand up your cheek. Getting on your toes, you pulled on his tie to kiss him. Sanji caught by surprise for a moment. 

“I am no prince, Y/n.” Sanji said, breaking the kiss. “I don’t need you to be. Sanji is just enough.” Replying that he was enough. That all you ever wanted was him, despite status. The hell with it. For Sanji was who you wanted to spend your life with. Sanji smiled, cupping your cheeks to share another kiss.

------------------------------------------

Read more on my masterlists.

[myfictionalboyfriendsandme]

Lavender on the Blue Line

Pairing: Adam Banks x Portman!reader

Word Count: Around 1,200

Warning: Nothing really, just an AU where Dean Portman has a little sister. No Adam in this one, but he'll come soon.

Author's Note: This is just the introduction. I have always loved Adam Banks and I have always loved Dean Portman. This is what happens when I decide to start writing again in the middle of my The Mighty Ducks hyperfixation. Hope you enjoy!

The chill of the Chicago ice rink was prominent, the air thick with the scents of popcorn, sweat, and the faint, floral trail of lavender. (Y/N) Portman sat on the worn wooden bench of the locker room, her hair matted to her forehead with perspiration. She was meticulously unlacing her skate, her eyes focused on a stubborn knot.

Across from her, the room was a whirlwind of chaos. Dean Portman, a head taller and twice as loud, was currently celebrating their win by blasting a heavy metal cassette and shouting over the lyrics.

“We crushed ‘em, (Y/N)! Did you see that guy hit the boards? I thought the glass was gonna shatter!” Dean roared, shoving his jersey into a duffel bag with zero regard for organization.

(Y/N) looked up, a small, patient smile tugging at her lips. “I saw, Dean. I also saw you take a two-minute minor for roughing when we were already up by three, You’ve got to learn to breathe.”

“Breathe? I’m a Portman! We don’t breathe, we conquer!”

The locker room door creaked open, cutting through Dean’s bravado. A man in a sharp, somewhat loud suit stepped in, looking wildly out of place against the damp concrete walls and the smell of hockey equipment. He held a briefcase like a shield and wore a grin that screamed “salesman.”

“Dean Portman? (Y/N) Portman?” the man asked, smoothing his tie.

Dean stopped mid-shout, narrowing his eyes. “Who’s asking? You a scout or a cop?”

“Neither. Don Tibbles, Senior Vice President of Hendriv Hockey Apparel,” he announced, stepping further into the room. He looked at (Y/N), noting her calm demeanor. “I’ve been watching you two.” His eyes moved to the older Portman. “Dean, you’ve got a power that can’t be taught.” His eyes moved to (Y/N). “(Y/N)... your dedication on the ice is surgical. You’re patient, you’re stubborn, and you never miss a back-check. How would you like to trade the Windy City for the California sun?”

(Y/N) stood up, pulling an oversized sweater out of her locker. “We’re flattered, Mr. Tibbles, but we have a season here in Chicago. We don’t plan on playing for anyone else.”

“Forget the season.” Tibbles said. “I’m putting together a team. A team to represent the United States of America in The Junior Goodwill Games in Los Angeles.”

Dean froze, a skate dangling from his hand. “Team USA? Like… the olympics?”

“It could definitely lead to that, yes.” Tibbles confirmed. “Everything’s paid for. Top of the line equipment, travel expenses, all accommodations. All you need to do is play.”

(Y/N) swapped a look with her brother. She saw the raw excitement in Dean’s eyes - the hunger for a bigger stage. For her, it was something else. She thought of the history she could be a part of, the new places she’d see that are beyond the neighborhood rink and the gritty streets of Chicago, and the people she’d meet. She’d have a chance to show the world what she could do.

“What’s the catch?” (Y/N) asked, her stubborn streak surfacing. “We’re a package deal.”

“Absolutely no catch. Tibbles promised. “I need the muscle, and I need the heart. You two are both.”

Dean let out a guttural yell of victory, slamming his locker shut. “Pack your bags, (Y/N)! We’re going to Hollywood!”

(Y/N) laughed, the sound bright against the industrial hum of the rink. She reached into her bag, pulling out her water bottle and taking a swig.

“I guess I’d better find my sunglasses.” she mused, her mind already drifting to the adventure ahead. “And Dean? Try not to get arrested before we get to the airport.”

The flight from Chicago to Minneapolis was exactly what (Y/N) expected: two hours of Dean vibrating with restless energy as she tried to get through her copy of Little Women.

When they stepped off the plane, the Minnesota air was crisp, but the atmosphere inside the terminal was buzzing. Standing near the baggage claim was Don Tibbles, holding a “PORTMAN” sign and looking even more frantic than he had in Chicago.

“The Portmans! Fantastic, you made it!” Tibbles beamed, checking his watch. “We’ve got the shuttle waiting. The rest of the out-of-state recruits are at the hotel. We’re going to head there for a quick briefing before the full team unification tomorrow.”

The hotel was a grand, bustling place, but (Y/N) barely noticed the architecture. She was too busy making sure Dean didn’t accidentally knock over a bellhop with his massive hockey bag. As Tibbles led them into a suite that had been reserved for the out-of-state kids, (Y/N) smoothed out her skirt and adjusted the collar of her favorite knit sweater.

The communal living area was already occupied by a handful of teenagers who looked just as out of place as (Y/N) and Dean did.

“Alright, everyone, listen up!” Tibbles clapped his hands. “These are the final additions to our Team USA puzzle. Meet Dean and (Y/N) Portman from Chicago.”

A boy with dark hair and a bright, mischievous grin was the first to spring up. He moved with a grace that suggested he was fast even when he was just walking.

“Luis Mendoza,” he said, offering a hand to (Y/N) with a wink. “Miami, Florida. I’m the fastest thing on two skates, señorita. If you need a tour of the hotel at high speeds, I’m your guy.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” (Y/N) smiled. “I’m (Y/N). This is my brother, Dean.”

Dean just grunted, dropping his bag with a heavy thud that made a smaller, more poised boy jump.

“I am Ken Wu.” He said politely, giving a small nod. “San Francisco.”

(Y/N) had heard that name before. “Ken Wu, the Olympic figure skater?”

Ken blushed and nodded again.

“Figure skating, huh?” Dean leaned over, looking Ken up and down. “You gotta show me how to do one of those spins so I can confuse the defense before I steamroll ‘em.”

In the corner, a girl with a sharp gaze and a calm, stoic expression was leaning against a chair. She looked like she could stare down a freight train.

“Julie Gaffney,” the girl said. “Bangor, Maine.”

“(Y/N),” she replied, noting Julie’s quiet confidence. “I hear you’re the best goalie on the East coast. I’m looking forward to seeing if I can actually get a puck past you.”

Julie gave a rare, small smirk. “Good luck.”

Finally, a boy in a cowboy hat and a western-style duster stepped forward, looking like he had just stepped off a ranch. He had a thick Texas drawl that filled the room.

“Dwayne Robertson,” he said, tipping his hat toward (Y/N). “Austin, Texas. I’m handy with a puck and even handier with a rope. It’s a pleasure to meet a lady with such fine taste in perfume. Is that lavender?”

“Thank you, Dwayne,” (Y/N) laughed, “it’s my favorite.”

The group stood in a semi-circle, a strange mix of personalities. The speedster, the cowboy, the figure skater, the goalie, and the two powerhouses from Chicago. Dean was already eyeing the snack table, specifically looking for anything salty, while (Y/N) looked for a place to set her bags.

"So," Dwayne asked, looking at the Portmans. "What’s the word on you two? You look like you play heavy."

"We play to win," Dean said, cracking his knuckles. The raw, unfiltered Portman energy was radiating off of him.

(Y/N) looked around at her new teammates. She felt a flicker of excitement in her chest. Tomorrow, they would meet the rest of the Ducks and the Team USA adventure would truly begin.

[astraljedi]

The Bolter (Scott Miller - Twisters)

Warnings: Angst, natural disaster, survival situation, anxiety, implied PTSD. A bit of sexual content but not really.

Pairing: Scott Miller x Female OC

Word count: 4,510

Song: The Bolter by Taylor Swift

A/N: This is for the loml, that requested that I write for her boo from Twisters. Hope you like it, babes

Splendidly selfish, charmingly helpless Excellent fun 'til you get to know her

“We’ve known you for about a year now. How do we not know what got you into storm chasing?” Boone practically shouts, his excitement spilling over as he realizes he’s about to hear a good story.

I roll my eyes, tossing the bag of snacks I just bought from the convenience store into the truck. “You never asked, Bones,” I say, mimicking his twang.

“Come on, you love talking about your storm-chasing days before we found you. I feel hurt you’ve kept some from us.” He teases, reaching for my spicy chips. I slap his hand away. He never learns.

“It’s not personal. I just have so many, I tend to forget them.” I lie. I remember every single one—every reckless, adrenaline-fueled moment. I live for this. The chase. The science. The wild unpredictability of it all. Storms make most people freeze in place. I can’t help but lean in.

Boone narrows his eyes. He’s not buying it. “Alright, well, you gotta tell me one now. What’s the story, Lucy?”

I lean against the truck, scanning the horizon as if I can see a storm brewing in the distance, even though the sky is clear. This chasing season feels different. Ever since storm chasing went viral last year, we’ve been expecting a live audience.

“Alright, fine.” I shrug, cracking a grin. “I’ll tell you the one that started it all.”

“Hey, guys! Lucifer is telling another story from her vault!” Boone shouts to the rest of the group. They’ve heard a few of my wild tales over the past year, and they know they’re in for a good one.

I smirk. “It all started on the last day of my junior year, when a bunch of kids from my class decided to raid a creepy abandoned house on the edge of town, right in the middle of some random-ass field. We were drinking, dancing, celebrating the beginning of summer and becoming seniors.” My voice dips slightly as I slip into the memory, like it just happened yesterday.

The crew gathers around, familiar faces in the mix, but a new one catches my eye. He stands out from the rest. Clean white shirt, beige hat, dark blue jeans that fit his tall, broad body too well. I look away before I get caught staring.

“The perfect place to mark the end of the year. Typical teenage shenanigans.”

“Typical Lucifer shenanigans, you mean.” Tyler cuts in, making everyone laugh—except the new guy.

I flip Tyler off. “Hey, this is my origin story, not yours.”

“This was before my nickname, though. We were drinking cheap beer someone’s older brother bought, and I was dancing with my girls when the sirens went off. My gut clenched, but everyone ignored it. ‘No tornado has ever touched down here,’ they said. ‘We’re fine.’”

I pause for a second, remembering the sharp shift in the air.

“They were wrong.”

The group quiets. Even Boone leans in.

“The wind picked up. The ground started shaking. And then—boom—a tornado touched down. I was the first to react. The buzz disappeared, and suddenly my entire class was frozen. My first thought was to get everyone inside. I pushed them toward the house, led them down to the basement, and we waited it out. That tornado passed barely a foot from us. The howling wind, the walls shaking, my best friends hanging on to me for dear life. It was terrifying. But no one got hurt.”

I let out a dry chuckle. “Then, of course, the sheriff showed up and called all our parents.”

Groans and knowing laughter ripple through the group.

“Everyone was even more scared of their parents than they were of the tornado.” I shake my head. “Mine were pissed, but I was still riding the high. The next day, I started looking up meteorology programs. And now, here I am, chasing storms for a living.”

That part of the story always makes me smile. Tyler and his crew are the best thing that’s happened to me. They’re my family.

“One more story before we hit the road, Lucy.” Lily calls from where she’s perched on the truck bed.

I glance up at the sky, feeling the shift in the air. “A short one. The winds are picking up.”

I grin. “This is the story of how I got my nickname.”

The group perks up. Even the new guy is listening.

“It was after college. I was on a date with a rising bull rider. Dinner, a movie, and then a steamy makeout session in his car.” I smirk. “Everything was going great, but something felt off. The air was wrong. Heavy. I could feel a storm coming, but he was too busy—well, with his face buried in my chest.”

Boone howls. Even Tyler shakes his head with a grin. The new guy? Nothing.

“I heard that familiar boom and knew we had seconds. I shoved him off, jumped into the driver’s seat, and floored it in reverse. He started screaming when he saw what I was actually saving us from. We crashed into a barbed-wire fence, wrecked his paint job, but at least we got out.”

I glance at the new guy again. This time, I catch him rolling his eyes. Rude.

“Anyway, once we were safe, he called me the devil. Told everyone in town. And suddenly Lucy ‘Lucifer’ was born. But I didn’t care, I was already planning on leaving that sad little town.”

A gust of wind kicks up dust, making the air feel electric.

“She’s a witch, I’m telling you.” Dexter points at me, dead serious for a second before breaking into laughter.

“She’s just reckless. None of that sorcery crap.”

The new guy speaks up for the first time. His voice is steady, dismissive. My head snaps toward him.

“Reckless? I call it intuition and knowledge.” I shoot back. I’m not about to get lectured by some neat freak. “Oh, looks like you’ve got a stain on your shirt.”

His eyes widen, immediately checking his spotless white shirt.

I smirk. “My bad. It’s just your fragile masculinity.”

His jaw tenses. “This isn’t a game. It’s childish.”

“Scott, we need to go.” Javi steps in, motioning toward their pristine white trucks, all loaded with high-tech gear.

I dust off a nonexistent speck from Scott’s sleeve and flash him a grin. “Good luck storm chasing.”

Then, just as I climb into the truck with my crew, I throw one last parting shot over my shoulder.

“If you see me run, then you should worry, Scott.”

A few hours later

The chase winds down, and we all gather in a motel parking lot with other storm chasers. The place is packed, trailers and trucks lined up in every direction, but no one’s inside. Everyone’s out in the open, sharing food, stories, and drinks—one of the things I love most about this community.

The storm has passed, the sky calm now, fading from fiery oranges and pinks to deep navy. Laughter and music blend with the smell of grilled food and the clink of beer bottles. It’s nostalgic in a way. After every chase, I take a moment to ground myself. It’s part of my routine—standing off alone, watching the constellations appear as the sky darkens, letting my body flush out the high from earlier.

From where I stand, I can see my crew sprawled around a few foldout chairs, swapping stories over pizza and beers. But my eyes drift elsewhere—toward Scott, standing with his team and a few other chasers, their attention locked on whatever new toy he’s showing off.

“We’ve got the latest radar system. The forecast models were damn near perfect today. We’re predicting shifts with a level of precision we’ve never had before.” His voice is steady, confident. I’m not even trying to listen, but something about the way he talks about that machine rubs me the wrong way.

I roll my eyes, pushing off the side of the truck. Without thinking, I stride toward the group, my boots crunching against the gravel.

“Oh, great, the radar system saved the day again,” I drawl, crossing my arms. “Can’t wait to see it predict the next storm for us. You guys really put all your faith in technology, huh?”

The group turns, but I only look at Scott.

He lifts his gaze from the tablet in his hands, his expression shifting—softer for a second, but guarded. He knows I’m challenging him. I want him to push back.

“It’s not just about the technology,” he says, straightening. “It’s about using every tool we have to stay ahead of the storm. You can’t always trust instincts.”

I huff a quiet laugh, and he looks at me like I’m crazy.

“Tools, sure. But no tech is gonna save you when you’re out there in the field, Scott.” I drop my arms, tilting my head. “Technology can’t feel the wind shift or sense the pressure drop. It’s all numbers and lines on a screen. Your radar won’t help you when your gut tells you it’s time to move.”

Silence stretches between us. The guys around us watch, barely breathing. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Boone shifting in his seat, but Tyler’s hand on his shoulder keeps him put. I’ve got this.

Scott’s jaw tightens. “So what, you’re saying we should just toss the tech and chase by feel? That’s reckless.” His voice is lower now, but I hear the challenge beneath it.

I narrow my eyes. He’s stubborn. He doesn’t want to admit that when the storm strips everything away, it’s instinct that keeps you alive.

“Not reckless—real,” I shoot back. “It’s about knowing the storm, like it’s a part of you. Out there, all that equipment? Just backup. The real decision-making happens here—” I tap the side of my head. “And here.” I tap my heart. “If you can’t trust those, you’re already dead.”

Scott exhales sharply through his nose. For a second, he clenches his fists—then forces them loose. He steps closer, just enough that I have to tip my chin up.

“Maybe,” he mutters. “But ignoring the data just because you feel something? That’s not smart. Tech works, whether you like it or not. I’m not about to throw it out just because you say so.”

Something flickers in his eyes—something hesitant, like a sliver of doubt cracking through his pride.

I smirk. Gotcha.

“You keep clinging to that radar, Scott,” I say, voice light, teasing. “But you’ll never outsmart a storm if you don’t understand it first. You’ll see.”

I spin on my heel, heading back toward my crew, feeling their eyes on me. When I reach them, they all scramble to look busy.

“Enjoy the show?” I ask, pulling a beer from the cooler.

No one answers, but Boone hides a grin behind his bottle.

A Few Days Later

We don’t do this just for the adrenaline or the content. We do this because people lose everything. Homes vanish, memories scatter, lives upend. We may never fully understand these storms, may never stop them—but we can try. We can warn people. We can offer food, shelter, clothing, whatever support we can.

I’m not supposed to be here. I should be halfway to town, ahead of the storm before it tears through everything in its path. The small town up ahead is about to get hit with the worst twister I’ve ever seen. But instead, I’m parked on the side of the road, watching whatever the hell just went down between Scott and Javi.

And it isn’t pretty.

Javi’s truck tears off down the muddy road, hitting a puddle on the way out, drenching Scott in filthy water before disappearing toward town.

Scott just stands there, soaked and seething. Red to the ears. Hands on his hips, shoulders tight, muscles flexing under his drenched shirt.

Stop it, Lucy. Not the priority right now.

I pull up next to him and kill the engine. Lucky for him, I have one of Tyler’s spare shirts in my glove compartment. Grabbing it, I slide out of the truck and let the door slam shut behind me, tugging my jacket tighter as the wind presses against my skin.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you stranded on the side of the road,” I say, tucking the shirt behind my back. Might as well tease him before pulling him out of his misery.

Scott exhales sharply through his nose. “Not now, Lucy.”

Oh, the way my name leaves his tongue. Focus, Lucy.

I snort. “Oh, especially now.”

Scott shoots me a glare, but there’s no real hatred in it. Just exhaustion, frustration, maybe a bruised ego. He scrubs a hand over his face, biceps flexing as he drags it down.

“Lucky for you, I have a clean shirt.” I hold it out, for once without any mind games.

Scott hesitates, then takes it, unbuttoning his muddy shirt and flicking it off.

I look away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of catching me staring. But before he pulls the new shirt on, I catch a glimpse of what that awful Storm Par uniform has been hiding.

I open my mouth to say something—because pushing Scott’s buttons has officially become my new favorite hobby—but then something shifts.

A shiver runs down my spine. Subtle, but unmistakable.

The wind isn’t just moving. It’s changing.

Scott is still watching me, but I’m not looking at him anymore. My gaze lifts to the sky, then west. Something about it is wrong. Not dark. Just wrong.

My stomach lurches. Shit.

“Fuck,” I mutter.

Scott frowns. “What?”

My pulse picks up. The sky. The wind. The way the cornfield around us sways first one way, then another.

I hold up a hand, signaling him to shut up. And then I hear it—the low rumble of the monster growing stronger, ready to take everything in its path.

“We need to move.” My voice is firm.

Scott doesn’t budge. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“I mean move, Scott!” I snap. “The twister’s shifting course, and we’re in its way.”

“No, it can’t be. The model said—”

“Fuck the models!” Now I’m yelling. “I know these storms. And if we don’t move now, we’re so fucked.”

Scott hesitates. How the hell can he hesitate right now?

“Lucifer, you can’t just—”

I don’t let him finish.

I grab his face and kiss him.

It isn’t soft. It isn’t sweet. It’s a distraction. A way to shut him up before he wastes any more time arguing about my gut feeling. And maybe—just maybe—I’ve wanted to do this for a while.

Scott freezes, breath hitching, then melts into it.

The second I feel him break, I yank back and pull him toward my truck. Shoving him into the passenger seat before he can argue, he slides into the drivers side as I shut the passenger door next to me.

“Drive, Scott!” I shout, throwing the truck into gear.

He’s too stunned to argue.

“We have to go through the field!” I yell over the roar of the storm. I’m ready to fight him on it, but then he takes a sharp left, nearly knocking me into the door.

“Jesus,” I hiss, gripping the dash.

“You said go through the field!”

“I know, but I didn’t think you’d listen on the first try.” The blur of yellow and green whips past us as Scott grips the wheel tighter, knuckles white. The twister is a hungry animal, and we are its prey.

“Left!” I brace myself as he swerves.

“We’re not gonna make it,” Scott mutters, jaw clenched.

“We will if you drive faster, Grandpa!” I shoot back. Then, spotting something ahead, I make a split-second call. “Get us to the barn!”

Scott floors it, but the wind fights us. The twister is right on our heels.

“Brake!”

He slams the pedal. Before I can process it, he grabs my arm and drags me out his side, just as the truck gets sucked into the storm.

“Go!” he yells.

We sprint for the barn, throwing the doors shut behind us. My gaze darts around until I spot what we need. Grabbing a few horse leads, I yank Scott toward the farthest stall.

“Hold on to that door!” I shout.

He doesn’t question me. He wraps a lead around me first, then his own, bracing against the wind.

The barn groans, roof rattling as debris slams into it. The force nearly knocks us off our feet.

I press against the door, hands shaking as I grip the wood. My heart pounds. I risk a glance at Scott—his eyes are wide, muscles straining.

He hasn’t been this close before.

The wind rips at the barn, and my knees buckle.

I try to hold on, but something sharp slices through my leg, tearing my jeans. Blood blooms, but I barely register the pain.

Scott grabs my wrist, yanking me into his chest.

“Lucy!” His voice is raw, panicked.

I barely hear him. My heart is about to explode, ears ringing from the high-pitched wind. I look down at the gash, blood trickling down my calf. The barn groans, shaking with the fury of the storm.

Scott’s grip tightens. I got you.

I fist his shirt with one hand, bracing against the door with the other. The barn shakes harder. My mind screams, Please hold. Please hold.

And then—

The howling wind stops.

The twister, which had been an unstoppable force moments ago, retreats into eerie silence.

I let out a shaky breath.

I’ve been through tornados before. But this one was a beast. And for the first time, I think—maybe—my gut failed me.

Maybe it’s been luck this whole time.

Scott loosens his grip, but not much. My legs threaten to give out, and he catches me, lowering us both to the floor. I straddle his waist, forehead pressing against his. His touch is steady, grounding.

“We’re safe,” his voice rasps.

I don’t even realize I’m shaking until his hands soothe me.

For a moment, everything is still. The world outside has been ripped apart, but in here, in his arms, I can breathe.

“We need to get that leg checked,” he murmurs.

But neither of us moves. Not yet.

After the storm

We manage to get up and walk out of the barn almost unscathed, Scott spots a shelter pop up from the ground, with an elderly man struggling to climb out. Scott helps him and his wife, and as a thank you, the elderly man offers us a ride into town.

I know my crew has to be here. I need to find my family and make sure they're okay.

Once in town, we thank the elderly farmer before Scott helps me out of the truck. “Careful,” he murmurs, his hand steadying my waist as he helps me onto my feet.

“Jesus, Lucy.” I jerk my head up and spot Tyler limping over, relief written all over his face. His eyes dart to my leg, then back to my face, concern flooding his expression. “We need to get that checked out immediately.”

Scott’s face tightens, but before he can react, Tyler is already guiding me away from Scott’s grip and toward the medic tent. “Wait, Scott needs to get looked at too,” I say, turning to look at him.

I’m not sure if Tyler hears me, as he’s already talking to the medic, helping me sit on a stretcher. Tyler turns to Scott, who has quietly followed us. “Is it just the cuts?” Tyler asks. Scott nods, and Tyler gestures toward the next tent. “Minor cuts are being treated in the other tent. Someone will get to you soon.”

I’m about to argue—don’t want to be left alone—but the medic cuts off my jeans at the knee. The gash is on my right leg, just below the knee, and it’s starting to hurt now.

Man, these were my favorite jeans.

I wince as the medic cleans the wound, gripping the stretcher’s handle. “You had us worried sick, Lucy,” Tyler says, stepping back into the tent.

“Not now, Ty,” I grit through my teeth. Every time the medic dabs the wound, it feels like hell.

“We don’t have morphine on hand, so we’ll need to stitch it,” the medic says, looking for my approval.

“God, this is going to hurt,” I mutter, covering my face with my hand and nodding for the medic to go ahead.

“Now you’ve got a matching scar to your new story,” Tyler jokes, but before the medic can pull the needle through, I punch him in the stomach. The moment the needle goes through, I scream. The pain is worse than the damn cut.

I don’t want to feel that type of pain again.

I don’t even remember how I got into my motel room after being treated. I look around—at least this room is nicer than the others we’ve stayed in. White walls, beige bedding, and the smell isn’t too bad. I spot the crutches beside the bed with a note.

“Medic says minimal moving, or you might open your stitches. Only use these if you need to actually move. Call me if you need me, we’re handing out dinners for the town. -Ty.”

Great. I’m all alone.

I don’t even have my phone; it’s in my truck, which got sucked away by the storm. I turn on the TV for a while, but I can’t stop thinking about Scott.

I sigh, carefully grabbing the crutches. Thankfully, my room’s on the first floor, so I don’t have to deal with stairs. I recognize the area from last year when we visited, and I know there’s a bar nearby—if it didn’t get blown away.

It’s only a four-minute walk, but with the crutches, it’s closer to ten. What if Scott’s not there? Part of me knows I’ll find him, but what if I’m wrong again? What if I defy the medic’s orders for nothing and my gut fails me?

The sky is gorgeous—reds and oranges painting the sky, the twister already seeming like a distant memory. A soft wind lingers, cool against my skin, reminding me I didn’t even grab a jacket.

I spot the bar. Immediately, I see Scott. He’s showered and changed into a casual look I haven’t seen him in before. He’s a little further off, leaning against a brick wall, phone pressed to his ear. His posture is tense, but when he sees me, he straightens immediately, hanging up the phone.

“What the hell, Lucy?” he mutters, not believing I’m on my feet. His eyes soften, but I can see the flicker of disbelief in them.

I bet he thinks he’s seeing a ghost. I catch a glimpse of myself before leaving the room—pale, still in the same clothes from earlier—no shower, no change. “I’m fine,” I insist, but even he knows I’m lying. I sit down on one of the benches outside and lean the crutches against the brick wall.

“You’re not fine,” he says softly, crouching down in front of me. His gaze flicks to my leg, where the gash has been stitched closed.

“Like my new jeans? The medic thought the cropped jean on one leg was a fashion statement,” I joke. He doesn’t laugh.

“I needed to get out,” I admit quietly.

Scott places his hand gently on my good leg, tightening his grip briefly before pulling away. He stands up, running a hand across his face, like he’s wondering what to do with me.

“You need to rest. You’re not invincible.”

“I didn’t want to be alone!” I try to yell, but my voice comes out rough. His soft expression makes my words fall flat.

“I get it,” he mutters. “Let’s get you back before your friends find out you disappeared again.” He grabs the crutches with one hand and helps me up, guiding me back toward the motel. Even though I have the crutches, Scott stays close, making sure I don’t fall flat on my ass.

When we make it to my room, I glance over my shoulder and find Scott still hovering. "I’m not leaving you alone," he says.

A smile tugs at my lips as I unlock the door and let him follow me inside. He faces me, his hands on my waist as he carefully helps me sit on the edge of the bed. My body protests as I relax, exhaustion from the storm already catching up with me.

I lock eyes with Scott, and his expression softens, like he’s studying me, as if I’m something delicate about to break.

"You need a shower," he finally says, breaking the silence.

"Jeez, nice way to say a girl stinks, Scott," I tease. "But you’re right." My body feels used and broken, but I’m too tired to move anymore.

Scott scratches the back of his head, hesitating. "I’ll help," he offers, his voice softer than I expect.

I look up at him, about to protest, but I stop myself. I don’t want to be alone. The thoughts in my mind scare me too much.

Scott pulls my bag from the floor and helps me find something comfortable to sleep in. Of course, the only set I have is my small black tank top and booty shorts. I blush as he lays them on the bed and helps me get undressed.

The tension in the room skyrockets. He stands so close, like he’s shielding me. First, my shirt comes off, but he leaves my sheer bralette on for now. His hands hover over my jeans, waiting for my nod of approval.

"I need your words, darling," he murmurs, his voice low and steady.

"Yes," I whisper, my voice soft, vulnerable.

He hums, kneeling down to carefully lower my jeans. "You don’t have to do this. I can manage," I try to say confidently, but my shaky voice betrays me.

Scott stands up but doesn’t pull away. He throws the ripped jeans into the trash and rests his hands on my hips, his thumb brushing over my skin. He leans closer, and my breath catches in my throat.

I whine in desperation as his lips hover over mine, teasing. When his lips finally meet mine, the kiss is slow, tentative. I open my mouth for him, deepening it, feeling the heat between us build. His hand grips the side of my neck as his tongue meets mine, and I moan softly. One of my hands travels from his shoulder to the back of his neck, fingers curling into his hair.

I open my legs to pull him closer, but I cry out as my leg hits his. He pulls away, fear flashing across his face. "Shit, I’m sorry," he says, still holding my waist but looking at my leg.

"Maybe another time," I whisper, pressing kisses to his jaw. "When I don’t have a gash on my leg and we’re not running from a twister." I feel Scott relax at the sound of my laugh. He brushes my hair from my face.

"You got it, darling."

[abbotscontroversiallyyungwife]

Love is Golden—Enjolras x reader

The chant is thunderous and bounces off of every surface in the square until it is deafening. I’m walking with my basket of bread from the baker when my feet slow to watch the spectacle unfolding in the street.

The group of men--small at first but growing with every chorus of the cry--stride purposefully among the crowd, waving our flag and handing out fliers for their cause. They look to me as if they are about my age, rather young to be so committed to this coming revolution that could very well mean their deaths.

And yet, there is something so mesmerizing about their call to arms that makes me turn on my heel and wander closer, feeling something stir deep in my chest I have no name for:

Hope.

As I approach I start to single out the definite members of this group, to find their leader. I find him quickly, standing proudly atop some barrels in front of the cafe they’re fanned out in front of. He’s radiant. There is no other word that can encapsulate this man. He’s probably twenty-one or twenty-two, with broad shoulders and a trim figure. His dirty-blonde hair falls in wild curls to his shoulders and his dark blue eyes are blazing with a fire reserved for passion.

“Who will join in our crusade, who will be strong and stand with us?” He calls, scanning the crowd for more volunteers to join their number. “Beyond this revolution, is there a world you long to see? Then join in the fight that will give you the right to be free!” He finishes strongly, raising the flag in his hand above his head to the roar of cheers from the surrounding crowd. Already young men are stepping forth to join these boys in their fight for freedom. “Je m’appelle Enjolras et nous sommes Les Amis!”

Simply hearing his name brings a tingling sensation down to my fingertips. Just this small bit of revolution and I already yearn to be a part of this group, but my flare of hope quickly dies at the reminder that I will never be allowed to join as a woman.

I hold my ground a moment longer, telling myself it’s because I support their cause and not to spare one last look at the charismatic leader they call Enjolras. He is now talking vehemently with some of the boys, one with dozens of freckles dusting his cheeks and another with long, dark hair framing his young face. They laugh at something the last one says, and the sight of Enjolras’ previously stern expression melting away the years on his face endears me to him even more.

Continuing their conversation, they turn and enter the cafe. Now alone again in the square, I heave a sigh and start once more on the familiar path to my apartment in the Rue Armee. My head swims the entire way home with thoughts of revolution and a fierce urge to protect that golden boy Enjolras.

I wonder what he would think of me asking to join his fight, what he would say. I imagine he would feel flattered and vindicated in his cause, but sympathetic and firm in his denial of my entry. A barricade is no place for a lady.

My cheeks flush at his imagined refusal. “Being a lady will not keep me from oppression by our king.” I mutter to myself as I finish washing the few dishes from my breakfast, drying my hands angrily.

Suddenly an idea flashes in my mind like a bolt of lightning. If the barricade is not fit for me, I must make myself fit the barricade. With a determined stride I make my way around my home, searching for the materials I will need to make this work.

It takes me a couple of days to get the material and sew the clothes, but looking into the mirror now, triumph blazes in my heart. I now wear trousers, a bard shirt, and a woolen blazer to match the rebels from the square. My hair is pulled back and under a cap. The layers are enough to mask my chest and keep my secret. I have made myself look enough like a man to get me through the door and into the fight.

In the morning, I leave my home for the small cafe where Les Amis are already gathering. I follow them into the warmth of the building and up the stairs where they have set up their headquarters. I instantly search for Enjolras and find him with the freckled boy again, peering over a pile of maps on a table and lowly discussing strategy for the fight to come.

The room quiets instantly as the men notice my presence--an outsider to their party--and the leader notices in the same moment, looking up with furrowed brow and spotting me near the window.

“Good monsieur, may I ask your name? What brings you here?” Enjolras inquires, approaching warily as he waits for my answer. I can see on his face that he is sizing me up as an opponent if I turn out to be a spy and I swallow hard.

“Alexandre LaFleur.” I reply easily, having created this false name days ago to become comfortable answering to it. “I heard your speech in the square the other day and wish to join your ranks.” I explain, glancing around at the others’ gazes before meeting those sapphire eyes staring so intently at me again.

Enjolras’ face softens at my answer and he allows himself to lift one side of his smile. “Very well then, LaFleur. Welcome to the revolution!” He cries, holding out his large hand for me to shake. The others echo his sentiment and return to their previous conversations without fanfare.

“Come, you can follow me until we find a place for you.” He offers, gesturing for me to follow as he moves back to his spot at the maps. “This is my friend, Marius Pontmercy.” He waves to the freckled man and meets my stare again. Though I’m expecting it, his own introduction brings the same rush of emotion it did three days ago. “I am Enjolras.”

After introductions are made, the men continue their planning for the coming fight. They are discussing ideal locations for their barricade and tentative dates for their strike. I earn their trust quickly, returning each day and learning more and more about their ideas and goals. It does not take long for their company to grow on me, and by the end of the month, I know I would lay down my life for any one of them as they would for me.

Of course, one rebel holds a higher rank in my affections than the others. Enjolras becomes the center of my world, the person I turn to for direction and advice. Every day is filled with his rants against our king, and I learn more from him then anyone else.

One night I stay behind after the usual meeting when he asks for someone to help him make more ammunition, eager to have this time to know this passionate man beyond his role in Les Amis.

We work in silence for a time, the quiet comfortable as we work side by side and eventually he speaks softly. “Alexandre, do you think I was too hard on Marius tonight?”

I bite my lip softly. Marius had arrived late tonight to the meeting, remarking that he had met the love of his life today in the market. The other boys began teasing him for being so smitten before Enjolras reminded Marius harshly that while he obviously meant well, he needed to remember the big picture and that his own personal problems were nothing now. As one may imagine, that went over like a body into the river.

“I think you were right to remind him of the importance of our cause,” I begin slowly, careful not to look at my leader’s piercing gaze while I work. “But I also believe that love is never something to turn away from. It can go as quickly as it comes, one should embrace it fully whenever they can.” I finish, finally forcing myself to meet Enjolras’ eyes and thank the heavens above it’s dark enough in the room to conceal my blush.

Enjolras hums in thought, nodding once and turning back to the gunpowder in front of him. “It’s not as though I am without pity.” He defends, nimbly pouring the powder into a leather pouch. “I, too, saw a girl in the square that has stirred my soul from its mooring.”

Pain--sharp and instant--pulses in my core and I have to fight to keep my expression neutral as I look again to him in mock curiosity. “Say it isn’t so! Stone hearted Enjolras, in love?”

He smirks at my teasing, nudging me with his shoulder. “As I said, I’m not without understanding. I am only a man after all, same as Marius.” He flushes lightly. “I have the same hopes and desires he does.” His face hardens slightly. “But that is the difference. I am only more devoted to my cause, to make this world better not only for myself and my people, but for this girl who haunts my dreams.”

I feel my heart shattering into smaller shards with every declaration he makes. “Does she share your affection?” I ask softly, meticulously sorting through silver pieces for melting to avoid watching Enjolras’ expression soften again at the thought of his love.

“I do not even know her name, but she feels so familiar to me. I only saw her for but a moment before she was swallowed by the crowd.” His voice is forlorn now and I am kicking myself for even volunteering to stay and assist him tonight. “All I know is that she is the only thing I find myself thinking about in the moments I am alone. When this is all over, if I survive, I will scour Paris to find her again.” He vows, tightening the leather cord of the pouch and standing in the same moment. “That is enough ammunition and confessions for one night, friend. Let us go and get some rest for the days ahead.”

I nod distantly, quickly straightening up my station. His reminder of Lemarque’s funeral tomorrow is enough to distract me for the moment. Tomorrow will be the day our movement truly begins, and my mind is racing with adrenaline and fear. We leave the cafe together and walk the cobblestone streets side by side.

When we reach his apartment, Enjolras places a hand on my shoulder firmly. “Thank you, Alexandre.”

I return his stare, puzzled. “For what?”

“For reminding me that there are other things in life worth fighting for.” He replies simply, smiling softly and bidding me good night as he goes inside.

I stand motionless for a moment, staring after him dumbly before crossing the street and down the last three blocks to my own home. The wind cuts through my clothes sharply and I clench my fists tightly to keep myself from crying. I was foolish to believe--even for a moment--that my feelings for Enjolras were no more than those of admiration. Clearly I had not been able to trick my heart the same way as my mind and the proof was in this incredible throbbing threatening to rip me apart.

What did you think, he would never find someone to love him? I thought to myself harshly as I finally stumbled through my door, locking it behind me and pulling my hat off roughly. That you would make it through the war together and reveal your true identity and live happily ever after? He would laugh in your face, probably even be mad that you’d lied the entire time. Forbid you to ever come around again on threat of reporting you to the police. I shudder, falling into my bed and letting the floodgates crash down hopelessly.

Best accept it now, all you will ever be to him is a fellow rebel and friend on the barricade. I wipe at my cheeks endlessly. If you can never admit your feelings, you can at least support him now, keep him safe in the days to come. I feel my eyes getting heavy with this acceptance, heartbreak exhausting me enough to finally fall asleep. As I am slipping into the dark waves of unconsciousness, I find myself remembering the way it felt to walk beside him tonight and surprise myself with a weak smile as I drift to sleep.

Fast forward twenty four hours and we are perched on our barricade, anxiously listening to the soldiers marching toward us across the square. An older volunteer offered to find out their plans and tricked us into believing they would not attack until morning, but Gavroche recognized him as Inspector Javert and foiled his plans to see our group ambushed and slaughtered yet tonight. Enjolras, Grantaire, and Combeferre dragged the man into the tavern before beating him unconscious and tying him up for later execution.

Now, we take our places on our makeshift fortress, muskets loaded and already aimed at the approaching enemy coming now to bring us to justice. I am staggered behind Enjolras at the top of the barricade, praying fervently that we stay safe and live to see a world after tonight.

“Hold your fire.” He murmurs, only loud enough for our group to hear as the soldiers begin to come within killing distance. “Wait for my signal.”

The air is thick with silence, and it feels like I will never breathe again before he cries out, “FIRE!”

The flash of gunfire transforms the ebony sky into day, the light as blinding as the roar of the shots is deafening. I can’t hear what everyone is screaming, all I can do is keep aiming at the men trying to kill me and taking them down one by one with the metal I melted only a night ago with the man beside me.

I hand my empty musket to someone behind me to be reloaded and turn to check on Enjolras. He is completely in his element, taking aim with his own musket as he shouts out orders to the others. He is so enraptured in the moment that he doesn’t see a soldier who has managed to scale our barricade in his periphery until he is nearly upon us, pulling his musket back in preparation to bring the bayonet swiftly forward into my golden boy.

Before he can finish the movement that will certainly kill Enjolras where he stands, I push my friend to the side and leap into his place as the blade is thrust forward and into my abdomen to the hilt. My body erupts into the worst pain I’ve ever felt and I cannot help but cry out in agony as I collapse in a heap.

“No!” Enjolras screams from somewhere far away, and then there is a struggle above me that ends in another cry of pain. I try to lift my head when I fear he’s been injured after all, but let my head fall back hard when I see the soldier tumble lifelessly backwards toward the street.

The pain is as intense now as the moment it began and my hands are slick with my own hot blood as I clutch my gushing wound. Enjolras dives down to my side, yelling to the others to cover us while he lifts me swiftly and scurries to the street. “Combeferre! I need you, he’s losing too much blood!”

Once we are safely in the cafe, away from the gunfire and screaming, I faintly dread the rapidly approaching moment when they learn I’m a woman, but the feeling passes quickly when I remember darkly that I’m dying anyway. Instead of dwelling on my pain or fears of death, I try to focus on Enjolras’ face as he pushes my hair out of my eyes and puts his own hands over my wound for more pressure.

“Don’t worry, Alexandre, you’re going to be fine. It’s not that bad!” He assures me, stormy eyes flitting from my own to my wound so quickly it makes me dizzy.

Even through the pain, I manage a weak laugh. “Come now, Enj, we respect each other too much to start lying now.”

His face twists in agony and he looks like he may say more when Combeferre finally enters, already ripping a sheet into strips that he grabbed outside. “What happened?!”

Enjolras sighs in relief. “He pushed me out of the way of a bayonet.” His voice breaks slightly. “He saved my life.”

It’s getting harder to keep my eyes open now but I focus hard on his face, wanting my last thoughts to be of my Enjolras.

“He’s losing a lot of blood, but I think the blade might have missed any--” Combeferre’s assessment cuts short when he peels my shirt open and sees the cloth I’ve wound around my chest to keep everything flat.

“What are you doing, why did you st--” Enjolras snaps, his harsh tone losing all force when he follows his friend’s eyes and sees the truth for himself. There is nothing for a fraction of a second, and then Combeferre is back at work, frantically flushing out the wound with water and trying to gauge the damage.

“‘It missed her organs but she’s hemorrhaging, we need something to cauterize the blood flow.” He explains quickly, grabbing a fistful of the strips he brought and pressing on the gash, forcing me back to the moment roughly.

Enjolras is staring down at me strangely, a mixture of betrayal and horror and despair and something I can’t recognize covering his face. “He’s….a woman?”

Combeferre slams his fist on the table. “Enjolras, she’s dying! Quickly now, heat up a blade and bring it to me so we can save her!”

This seems to bring Enjolras back to the moment and he nods automatically, rushing away urgently out of my sight. Shame rolls through my body in waves and I know I’ve destroyed his trust in one clawing stroke. The memory of his betrayed expression is enough to double my pain, and I find myself wishing for death.

As quickly as he left, Enjolras returns with something bright orange, handing it to Combeferre as though his life depends on it. I realize dimly that it’s actually my life in the balance and try to remember what it was he was grabbing when he forces me to look at him.

“Alexand--” Enjolras stops suddenly, lips clenched together. “Whomever you are, don’t look anywhere but in my eyes, this is going to be painful.”

Before I can respond, blinding agony blooms in my gut and I only manage one short scream before blissfully falling into the blackness of my mind.

I’m not sure how long I am asleep, but eventually I feel myself drifting back to the surface of the dark pool I’m in and become aware of a warmth in my hand as well as a dull throbbing in my stomach.

My eyes flutter open to what seems to be a house I’ve never seen, and I panic briefly when I don’t recognize the room I’m in. I whip my head to the side to see who is holding my hand and my fear vanishes when I see Enjolras sitting beside me.

His face is weary, but relieved. “You’re awake.” He murmurs, leaning forward and his other hand goes to my forehead tenderly. “You have no idea how worried I was that we were too late.”

Blood rushes to my cheeks at his words, and I wonder if I am still asleep and just dreaming. “You’re still here?”

He arches an eyebrow. “Where would I go, this is my apartment?”

I shake my head lightly. “No, I mean you are still here with me…” I trail off, confused. “You aren’t furious with me?”

He chuckles. “Make no mistake, I am angry that you lied about your identity and almost got yourself killed.” His blue eyes are blazing with that familiar burning again. “But how can I be mad when you saved my life?” He grins smally. “When I am so happy you are alive.”

“So this is not a dream then? I’m really okay?”

Enjolras laughs again. “Yes, we managed to get your bleeding under control in just the nick of time according to Combeferre.” He replies, his handsome face contorting in pain at the mention of his friend, and I don’t need him to tell me why.

My voice catches on the words. “The others…”

Enjolras winces. “All...all but Marius were lost.”

I suck in a pained gasp, the grief for my friends so sudden and intense that I’m reminded of the wound throbbing in my core. After a moment, I decide to meet Enjolras’ waiting stare again. “I’m sorry, Enjolras.”

He doesn’t respond, staring back at me fiercely. “Why? Who are you, really?”

“My name is Y/N Montreuil.” I whisper, looking to my hands to avoid the pain in his face. “I saw you in the square when you were asking for volunteers, and I wanted so badly to fight for the world you spoke of but I knew you’d never let me fight as a woman so I…” I trail off there, realizing he could fill in the missing pieces from there.

I finally look up to check his reaction, pleasantly surprised that it is only slightly angry. “Silly girl, all this deception just to get yourself killed like a man.” He mutters, running a hand through his wild hair in frustration. He sees my shame then and softens, sitting again by my side and grabbing my hand. “I should thank you, it is because of your bravery that I am here.”

I smile weakly. “We couldn’t afford to lose you.” I paused, stumbling over the next words clumsily. “I couldn’t.”

Enjolras’ eyes light up with that fire again, which confuses me due to the context. “Why me?”

I blink, stunned. “All I thought was, Not him. Please not him.” I reply simply, blushing deeply at this admission. While I haven’t professed my love, the sentiment is there between my words.

Enjolras does not miss this, his own cheeks growing pink. We sit in silence for a while, my words settling in the air like smoke, and I wait until the tension becomes unbearable to speak again. “So now you can find your girl, the one from the square. You must be happy for that, yes?” I offer, plastering on a smile to hide my heartbreak.

Enjolras’ peaceful expression morphs into bewilderment. “Who?”

I stare back at him with my own confusion. “Now Enj. You haven’t forgotten the girl just days ago you were bewitched by?”

His features hold their shock only a moment more before he begins to laugh heartily, growing red in the face. I watch him with wide eyes, wondering briefly in the back of my mind if this is his shock from the traumatic night before catching up with him. “What in the world are you laughing at!?”

Enjolras begins to calm again, wiping at a tear on his cheek. He places his hand on my own tenderly. “Y/N, don’t you see? You were the girl I saw in the square.”

My mind goes completely blank. “Pardon?”

He chuckles. “The day you saw me in the square making my speech was the day I saw you in the crowd.” He explains, that glow that I first noticed on his face present now. “We clearly only saw each other when we ourselves weren’t looking.”

Hope balloons in my chest, and I try to ignore it. “But, you never recognized-”

“I only saw you for but a moment, and then I was looking for a woman, you silly thing.” Enjolras tsks, grinning goofily at my slower understanding of the connection.

I feel my own smile pulling at my lips. “So all this time, you were looking for me?”

He nods softly, cradling my face in his hands. “And, as it usually is, love was directly under my nose.” He murmurs, leaning in slowly and gently pressing his mouth to mine. The kiss is soft and sweet, only lasting a moment before he pulls away with a laugh.

“What?”

“I’m just thankful I don’t have to walk all of Paris anymore.” He teases, brushing his thumb over my lip. “I finally found you.”

[bookloover35]

The Revolutionary Tango, Enjolras x fem reader.

The café hummed with subdued chatter, the air thick with the smell of cheap wine and a faint haze of tobacco. You weren't meant to be there—your world of soft whispers and careful curtsies clashed with the fierce voices rallying for liberty. Yet, here you were, drawn to the sharp fire that burned behind his eyes, to the resolute man whose presence commanded the very air around him.

Enjolras stood by the window, golden hair haloed in the light of the flickering streetlamp. His arms were crossed, his usual air of determination etched into every line of his profile. But tonight, there was something else in his gaze—a spark of mischief, perhaps, or the faintest shadow of exhaustion.

Grantaire's voice rang out across the room. "A dance!" he declared, already tipsy from one too many glasses. "We speak of revolutions, but tonight, my friends, let us live! Come, Enjolras, our fearless leader, surely even you know how to tango?"

Enjolras scoffed, shaking his head. "I hardly think—"

"You will," you said, surprising yourself as you stepped forward. His eyes snapped to yours, pale blue meeting your determined gaze. "Every leader must know how to command a moment. Dance with me."

The room fell silent. The others exchanged glances, half in shock, half in awe of your audacity. For a moment, you thought he would refuse, his prideful stubbornness outweighing any curiosity. But then, with a slow, deliberate step, he moved toward you.

"As you wish," he murmured, his voice low and smooth, and your heart stuttered at the sound.

The musicians scrambled to life, pulling a lively tango from their strings. The first notes slithered through the room, bold and commanding. You extended a hand, and without hesitation, Enjolras took it. His grip was firm, his touch electrifying.

He guided you to the center of the café. You placed your other hand lightly on his shoulder, his settling at your waist, drawing you closer than propriety might allow. The music surged, and you stepped in unison, bodies moving in perfect counterpoint.

The tango was a conversation of defiance and passion, every movement a battle. His gaze never wavered, his piercing eyes fixed on yours, as if daring you to falter. But you didn't. You met him step for step, your foot sliding between his as you spun together, your dress whispering against his coat.

"You're not afraid," he observed, his breath warm against your cheek as he dipped you low.

"Of what?" you countered, voice steady despite the flutter in your chest.

"Of being seen. Of losing control." His hand tightened at your waist as he pulled you upright, twirling you in a swift motion that left your head spinning.

"I could say the same of you," you shot back, a teasing smile curling your lips.

For a moment, his mask slipped. There, behind the stoic resolve, was a man who wanted more—more than revolution, more than glory. Perhaps, for a fleeting second, he wanted this, wanted you.

The final notes of the tango echoed through the room. Enjolras held you in the finishing pose, his hand still firm on your waist, your bodies impossibly close. You were both breathless, the world reduced to the space between you.

The room erupted in applause, but neither of you moved. His eyes searched yours, and for once, the fiery orator seemed at a loss for words.

"Perhaps," he said at last, his voice softer than you'd ever heard it, "you've taught me something tonight."

"And what is that?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"That there's more to life than revolutions."

His lips curved into the faintest smile before he released you, stepping back into himself. But as he walked away, you knew that something had shifted between you—a dance that would echo far beyond the café walls.

[storiesbyshadow]

Say You'll Stay With Me

Fandom: Jurassic World: Rebirth

Pairing: Dr. Henry Loomis x Reader

Rating: Mature

Tags: Angst, Eventual Fluff, Major Character Injury, Blood, Field Medicine, Needles, Broken Bones, Barely Conscious, Crying, Cuddling

Word Count: Around 1000

Written For: @fluffyjuly

Squares/Prompts Filled: Day 18 - "Are you sure you're not a dream?"

Dividers By: @/saradika-graphics

Requested By: This lovely anon

The jungle was hot, heavy with mist, and the cries of distant creatures. You could still hear the echo of rushing water behind you where you and Henry had been following a dried riverbed, one lined with ancient footprints fossilized into the stone.

You’d been so focused, so excited about the implications of what you’d found, that neither of you noticed the rustling in the underbrush until it was too late.

The ambush came fast, figures in masks, shouting in a language you didn’t understand, waving machetes. You had barely enough time to scream Henry’s name before something sharp sliced across your side, and another impact sent you tumbling backward down a slope of jagged rocks and moss.

When the world finally stopped spinning, all you could hear was your ragged breathing and the distant roar of Henry shouting your name. Then there were footsteps, heavy ones rushing towards you.

“Sweetheart-” His voice cracked as he slid down the incline beside you, breathless and wide-eyed. “Hey, hey, look at me...don’t close your eyes, don’t you dare!”

You tried to speak but your mouth was full of copper. You couldn’t move. Not with the way the pain screamed down your left side and through your thigh. You blinked slowly, your vision swaying in and out of focus.

Henry’s hands were already on you, trembling as he pulled your bag from your shoulders and tossed it aside. “Shit,” he hissed, pushing up the hem of your shirt. His breath caught in his throat when he saw the wound.

The long, curved gash just beneath your ribs was deep. It bled freely, staining your clothes and the mossy floor beneath you.

“Alright. Alright. It’s okay,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “Just a laceration. No exposed organs, thank god. No punctures. But we need to stop the bleeding-”

You whimpered when he pressed a compress against it, your hands scrambling for something, anything, to hold on to.

“I know, baby, I know, I’m so sorry.” Henry’s voice cracked again as he tore open the first aid kit from his pack. “You’re doing amazing, just breathe for me, okay? Focus on my voice.”

You felt his hand in yours, strong and grounding. With the other, he worked quickly, sterilizing the wound, wrapping gauze, his jaw clenched tight with every pained sound you made.

Every time you whimpered, he flinched.

“God, I shouldn’t have brought you here...fuck, I never should’ve let you out of my sight.” His eyes were wet, stormy with guilt. “You could’ve died. You still might if this gets infected.”

“I’m not… gonna die,” you slurred, barely conscious, lashes fluttering.

“You better not,” he whispered fiercely. “Because I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The sun had dipped below the canopy by the time he’d finished tending to you. He’d used up half the gauze, both syringes of antibiotics, and most of his water supply. But the bleeding had stopped.

You couldn’t walk. Hell, you could barely sit up. The wound on your ribs hurt too much, and your leg…he was worried you might’ve cracked something when you fell.

So he made camp right there on the jungle floor. Just a thin tarp between you and the soil, your packs stacked to make a makeshift wall between you and whatever else might come out of the dark.

He sat beside you, cradling you carefully in his lap, the scent of antiseptic mixing with the damp, earthy smell of the rainforest. His arms were around you, one hand brushing back the sweat-damp strands of your hair, the other wrapped protectively over your stomach, just above the bandages.

You could feel the tension in him, the sheer control it took not to fall apart. His breath tickled your temple.

“You’re incredible,” you mumbled, fighting the sleep the pain meds were dragging you into. “Brilliant and strong and...so fucking beautiful.”

You blinked up at him, the trees above you swaying gently, filtered moonlight catching the edges of his face. His chiseled jaw was dusted with sweat and stubble, his brows furrowed in pain that wasn’t even his.

You reached up, fingertips ghosting along his cheek. “Are you sure you're not a dream?”

He froze. And then his lips parted, voice low and raw. “I should be asking you that.”

Your hand dropped, too heavy now. Your eyes were closing. But you felt it, his breath catch, his head dip, the gentle press of his lips to your forehead.

“Sleep,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Hours later, in the still dark, Henry stayed awake. He listened to the chirp of night creatures and the hum of insects, but mostly he just watched your chest rise and fall in his arms. Every wince you made, every shift of discomfort, he responded, whispering to you, soothing you with gentle touches and kisses to your hairline.

He was a scientist. A man of facts, data, and discipline, but none of that had prepared him for the terrifying, beautiful reality of almost losing you.

So he held you closer. Pressed his cheek against yours.

And swore that no matter what else lurked in that jungle…he would protect you with everything he had.

You woke with a gasp.

Pain flared through your ribs. Your leg throbbed, sharp and insistent. But the first thing you noticed wasn’t pain, it was warmth.

Henry.

His arms were around you, cradling you close. His shirt was off, and he had wrapped you in it during the night. His own body was arched protectively over yours, shielding you from the morning dew and wind. There were tear tracks down his face.

“Henry…” you rasped.

His eyes shot open. Panic first, then immediate relief. “You’re awake.” His voice cracked. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I’m still here,” you whispered. “You didn’t lose me.”

He swallowed hard, then leaned down to press a shaking kiss to your forehead. “Don’t say that like I didn’t come this close,” he said, holding his fingers a breath apart. “You have no idea what it did to me. Seeing you bleed. Seeing you broken.”

Tears filled your eyes. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“You were only here because of me. You got hurt on my dig, chasing my lead. I should’ve kept you safe. I should’ve-”

“Stop,” you begged. “Please. I need you to stop blaming yourself and just…hold me.”

He didn’t hesitate. He pulled you closer, arms strong and sure despite the tremble in his hands.

“You’re everything to me,” he murmured against your hair. “I didn’t realize just how much until I saw you lying there. I thought I was going to lose you. And the idea of going back to camp without you…” His voice broke. “I would’ve burned this fucking rainforest to the ground.”

Your fingers curled weakly in his shirt. “You’re not a dream.”

“No,” he whispered. “And neither are you.”

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