stuffingbuttsandshit - Tumblr blog

stuffingbuttsandshit · 3 days ago

Note

I'm not too sure if you're still taking requests but I was wondering if you can do a Scott from twisters and a super shy reader one? Like it could be Scott is her boss or something and he notices that she's super timid and shy and takes care of her. It could be fluff or smut but mostly leaning towards smut lol

I absolutely love all your work and you are such a talented writer!

Pairing: Scott Miller x fem! Reader

Genre: Romantic smut with fluff at the end

Word count: 5 k

Warnings: a little bit of roughness, p in v sex, fingering, semi public sex

a/n: Omg, I’m actually so excited you requested this bc I’ve been thinking of writing something similar for a bit. I’m always happy to take requests as well 😝 Also thank you so much! I hope this lives up to what you were expecting <3

You’ve been working at a small publishing company for the past couple months. It’s all been great, aside from the *strange* interest your boss Mr. Miller has taken in you. He seems to thrive on pushing your boundaries and putting you in situations that you would usually try and avoid. But at least he doesn’t yell at you or get on your ass about every small detail like he does with the rest of his crew.

The office buzzed with the usual cacophony of clicking keyboards and hushed conversations, but your desk remained a bubble of relative calm. That was, until James, the office chatterbox, perched himself on the edge of your table, his elbow propping up a paperback novel and his legs swinging carelessly.

He had a way of invading personal spaces without so much as a knock. "Hey, could you just...?" he began, dangling a manuscript in the air expectantly. It was the third time that week he'd asked you to cover for him. His eyes sparkled with the hope that you’d once again take the bait.

Your heart sank, knowing you couldn't refuse him without causing a scene or damaging the precarious office dynamics. But before you could utter a word, Mr. Miller's sharp voice sliced through the air like a hot knife through butter. "James," he barked, his stern gaze sweeping over the room and landing on the manuscript in James' hand, "this is the third time I've caught you offloading your work. Do it yourself or face the consequences."

The room fell silent, and James, caught in the act, had the decency to look sheepish. He scurried away, muttering something about deadlines and coffee. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of gratitude towards Mr. Miller, despite his mysterious intentions.

Your eyes brightened as you smiled up at your boss, giving him a silent “thank you”. Mr. Miller's gruff expression did little to hide the smug satisfaction that briefly flashed across his face before he turned away, the tension in the room dissipating as swiftly as it had appeared.

He marched back to his office, the heavy door swinging shut behind him with a decisive thud. You watched him go, feeling a mix of relief and curiosity about the enigmatic man who had just come to your aid. The silence was broken by the resumption of whispers and the shuffling of papers, but your thoughts remained fixed on the peculiar exchange.

You chew on the cap of your pen as your mind continues to wander to your boss. The tall and buff man who never lets a single hair get out of place. You couldn't deny the undeniable attraction you felt towards Mr. Miller, despite his brusque demeanor. His piercing blue eyes, chiseled jawline, and the way his tailored suits hugged his broad shoulders had not gone unnoticed by the female staff, or anyone with a pulse for that matter.

Yet, his rough around the edges personality kept everyone at bay, except for you. The way he'd occasionally drop a curse word in the middle of a meeting or roll up his sleeves to reveal strong muscles was oddly charming. You found yourself eager to learn more about the man behind the stern facade, hoping that there was a softer, more approachable side to him that the office hadn't yet discovered.

As the lunch hour begins, Mr. Miller steps out of his office, his gaze sweeping over the bustling office. He spots you, diligently working at your desk, and saunters over. He leans against your cubicle, arms crossed, emanating a mix of authority and nonchalance. His eyes lock onto yours, a subtle smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“So,” he drawls, his gruff voice a contrast to the ambient office chatter, “busy day, huh?” Your gaze meets his.

“Yeah, I guess so.” You give him a soft smile before looking back at your computer screen, trying to ignore the way your heart rate picks up in his presence.

“Uh-huh.” He lets out a low, contemplative hum, his eyes studying you, making you feel almost exposed. His gaze lingers a beat longer than necessary before he glances away.

“You look... stressed,” he comments, his tone casual but his observation astute. He leans in just a bit closer than what would be considered appropriate for coworkers.

You gulp as you lean back in your seat, trying to create distance between the two of you. “I’m not stressed.” Your pitch becomes slightly higher as a soft flush paints your cheeks.

Mr. Miller notices your shift backwards and the subtle rise in your voice, his smirk growing as he pushes himself off the cubicle wall and stands tall over you. He towers over your sitting form, the intensity in his gaze increasing.

“You sure about that, sweetheart?” he drawls, the last word rolling off his tongue in that way that always makes your heart skip a beat.

“Uh, Mr. Miller?” Your voice cracks a little as you shoot out of your chair. “I’ve got to go grab some things from the storage room.” you mumble as you slide past him.

Scott watches as you dart out of your seat, his smirk still firmly in place. He allows you to brush past him, his eyes following your every step. He waits a beat, letting you gain a small lead, before he slowly starts to follow you, his footsteps nearly silent. His eyes never leave your form as he continues to walk a few feet behind, his hands shoved into his pockets.

You open the door to the storage closet, taking a deep breath as you walk inside. An annoyed sigh leaves your lips as you notice the stapler you need is on the top shelf. You stand on your tippy toes, which doesn’t get you close enough so you begin to jump, not noticing your boss standing against the closed door.

Mr. Miller stays back, silently leaning against the door as he watches you attempt to reach the stapler on the top shelf. A hint of amusement dances in his eyes and a slight smirk tugs at the corners of his lips. He remains quiet, a silent observer of your struggle.

He lets you jump for a few moments, enjoying the way your body rises up and down, before he finally makes a sound. “Need some help there, sweetheart?”

“Oh shit!” Your eyes widen as you turn around, startled by his voice. He chuckles, the sound low and rough, as you inadvertently collide with his chest. He leans down, reaching easily over you and plucks the stapler from the top shelf. His other hand lands on your hip to steady you, his grip firm but not unwelcome.

“You’re a bit jumpy, aren’t you?” he teases, his voice a low rumble. He looks down at you, his eyes glinting with amusement.

You clear your throat as your eyes fall to the floor. “I didn’t expect you to be in here,” you fix your skirt as you shift awkwardly.

Mr. Miller takes a step closer, closing the distance between the two of you, effectively trapping you between his body and the wall. He looks down at you, his eyes darkened with something you can’t quite place.

“You didn’t expect someone to walk into the storage closet?” he asks, his smirk turning into a small, sly smile. He raises the stapler in his hand, still grasping it just above your head, his forearm mere inches from your face.

“Well,” you look up at him, chewing on your bottom lip. “Everyone else went to lunch, so I didn’t expect anyone to come in…” your voice trails off as you glance past him at the closed door.

Mr. Miller notices your gaze flicker to the door, his smirk widening as he leans closer, his free hand bracing against the wall beside you, effectively caging you in.

“So you thought you’d be all alone in here, did you?” he drawls, his voice lower and more intimate, the scent of his cologne filling your nostrils. He shifts his foot, his legs now bracket yours, trapping you even more effectively.

“Mr. Miller?” You press your hand against his chest, pushing his body slightly. A dark blush paints your skin as you gaze up at him.

Scott feels your hand push against his chest, but he doesn't budge. Instead, he leans in closer, his body practically flush against yours. His eyes roam over you, taking in the way the blush colors your skin.

“Yes, sweetheart?” he responds, his voice a deep rumble. His hand on the wall moves to your waist, his fingers splaying out across the thin material of your blouse.

“What are.. are you doing?” You gulp as he pulls you closer to him. Scott lets out a low chuckle, his smirk still firmly in place. He continues to press you against the wall, his body almost enveloping you completely.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he drawls, his hand on your waist shifting slightly, his thumb starting to trace small, infuriating patterns across your hip bone.

You lean into his chest with a soft gasp at his touch. “This isn’t very, uh, professional…” you groan out as his hands trail over your skin.

Scott lets out another deep chuckle, his touch growing more purposeful as his hand continues its maddening journey across your skin. He can feel your body responding to his touch, your gasp of pleasure feeding his growing desire.

“Professional…” he echoes, his voice a low rumble in his throat. “It’s lunch break, sweetheart. There’s no one here but you and me.” He leans closer, his lips hovering just above yours, his breath hot against your skin. “And I don’t feel like being professional right now.”

Scott’s smirk turns into a full-fledged smile as he reads the clear invitation in your eyes. Before you can fully process his intentions, he pulls you into a passionate kiss, his hands sliding your skirt up as he does so. Your body responds instinctively, your arms wrapping around his neck as his lips claim yours.

His touch is surprisingly gentle, yet firm, leaving no room for doubt or denial. You can feel the heat from his palms as they graze the bare skin of your thighs, sending shivers down your spine. His kiss is demanding but not aggressive, a silent declaration of his desire that you find yourself unable to resist.

The sound of your breath mingling with his fills the small space as your hearts race in tandem, the line between professionalism and passion blurring like the ink on a freshly edited manuscript.

Mr. Miller's hand slides down further, slipping under the hem of your skirt and brushing against the silk of your panties. His touch sends a jolt of excitement through your body, making you squirm against the wall. He chuckles against your lips, feeling your wetness through the thin fabric.

His fingers trace the edge of your panties, teasing the sensitive skin before hooking them and sliding them down your thighs. His palm flattens against your bare mound, the heat of his hand sending a rush of pleasure through your core. You gasp into his mouth as he massages you, his thumb circling your clit with a masterful pressure that leaves you trembling and desperate for more.

The storage room suddenly feels much smaller as your world narrows to the feel of his body pressing against yours and the sensations he's coaxing from your body. Your thighs instinctively squeeze around his arm as he expertly works his thumb against your clit, his movements growing more insistent and deliberate.

His other hand moves to the small of your back, pressing you harder against the wall, his body pinning yours in place as his kiss deepens. His tongue delves into your mouth, mimicking the rhythm of his thumb, and you can't help but moan softly. The pressure builds within you, your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps as you feel the beginnings of an orgasm coil in your belly.

Your hands grasp his shoulders, nails digging in as you try to anchor yourself against the overwhelming sensations. The room is filled with the muffled sounds of your moans and his groans, the only music to the illicit dance of your bodies. His fingers continue to explore, slipping one inside of you, stretching and filling you with a delicious fullness that makes your knees weak.

Your hips buck against his hand, desperately seeking more friction as he whispers dirty words into your ear, his breath hot and heavy. The walls seem to close in around you, and all you can focus on is the exquisite torment he's inflicting, the promise of a climax that seems just out of reach.

You pull away from the kiss, moaning out his name. “Scott..” you bury your face in his neck. Mr. Miller's thumb continues its relentless circles around your clit, his hand curling into a fist as he feels your wetness soaking his fingers. His other hand squeezes your ass, pulling you even closer to his growing erection, which presses against your stomach.

He seems to enjoy the way you're responding to him, the way your body moves with his touch. His teeth graze your neck, eliciting a shiver that runs down your spine, as he whispers in your ear, "You're so fucking wet for me, aren't you?" His voice is thick with lust, his breath warm and heavy against your skin.

Your moans become louder, muffled by his mouth, as he brings you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. The storage room feels like it's spinning around you, your body a taut bowstring ready to snap. And just when you think you can't take it anymore, Mr. Miller's thumb presses down hard on your clit, and you shatter in his arms, your orgasm ripping through you like a wildfire, leaving you boneless and panting against the wall.

As the intensity of your climax subsides, Scott’s kisses turn tender, pressing against your cheeks and neck as he supports your trembling body. He gently sets you on your feet, his strong arms keeping you upright as your legs wobble like jelly.

With a satisfied smirk, he withdraws his hand from beneath your skirt and brings it to his mouth, licking his fingers clean with a wolfish gaze that sends another wave of heat through your core. His eyes never leave yours as he tastes you, savoring the sweetness of your arousal.

The intimacy of the moment is almost overwhelming, leaving you breathless and utterly exposed in the dingy office storage closet. You stand there, panting and flushed, unable to look away from the raw hunger in his gaze. The air around you feels thick with unspoken desire, the silence only broken by the distant hum of the office outside the door, a stark contrast to the passionate scene playing out in the shadowy confines of the room.

Your body feels alive, every nerve ending still singing from his touch, and your mind is racing with the implications of what just happened between you. His fingers move to pull the hem of your skirt down, fixing your clothes as he pulls away from you.

He runs a hand through his tousled hair, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his lips as his eyes roam over your disheveled form. The sight of you, leaning against the wall, looking utterly spent, fuels his inner dominance, his primal desire to possess and claim.

He takes a step back, putting some distance between you, but his gaze remains fixed on you like a predator studying its prey. He runs a hand along his jaw. "You taste even sweeter than I imagined," he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly.

Your skin turns a deep red as you cover your face in embarrassment. “We should probably go back to work now…” You mutter while trying to change the subject.

Scott lets out a throaty chuckle at your sudden change of topic, his gaze still locked onto every move you make. He can tell you’re feeling embarrassed, flustered by what just took place between you, and he can’t help but find it amusing and adorable.

He takes another step back and leans against the door, arms crossed over his chest now. "That’s the last thing on my mind right now," he responds with a smirk, his eyes raking over your body.

Your hand grasps his arm as you push him away gently. “Mr. Miller,” you bite your lip, “We *should* go get back to work before…” your voice trails off.

Scott’s smirk deepens as you push him gently, his eyes darkening with a mixture of desire and dominance. He doesn’t budge, his body tense and unyielding under your touch. His arms remain crossed over his chest, his muscles corded and taut.

"Before what, sweetheart?" he murmurs, his voice a low rumble in his throat. He takes a step closer, invading your personal space again. "You want to act like nothing just happened in here?“

“No. That’s not what I meant,” your tone is soft as you gaze up at him. “But, we have to go back to work before anyone notices..”

Scott’s smirk softens, his expression gentling a bit as you gaze up at him. He can see the genuine concern in your eyes, and he understands the logical reason behind your words. It’s true that you can’t stay in this storage closet forever, not without the risk of someone discovering what just happened.

He uncrosses his arms and reaches out, taking your chin gently between his fingers. “You’re right,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing a lazy path along your lower lip. “We do need to go back eventually.”

Standing on your tippy toes you pull him into a gentle kiss. Your hand trailing down his muscular chest. Scott melts into the kiss, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you flush against his body. He returns the kiss with equal gentle passion, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips, seeking entrance.

His hands move over your body, pulling you even closer, his muscles tense and taut beneath your touch, as if he’s holding himself back from losing control.

When the kiss breaks, he rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as he tries to regain his bearings. "We should really go back, sweetheart."

“Mhm..” you murmur, “We really should.” You step away with a sigh not willing to leave his embrace. Scott lets out a small huff of laughter at your reluctance to leave.

He understands the feeling, the desire to remain in this intimate bubble you’ve created together, away from the outside world. But he knows just as well as you do that it’s inevitable, you have to go back to work eventually.

"Come on," he says, his voice gruff but gentle. "Let’s get out of here, before we get ourselves into more trouble.” You follow close behind him groaning when you sit back down at your desk, your eyes following him as he returns to his office.

Scott returns to his office, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. He can feel your eyes on him as he walks away, and it takes everything in him to resist the urge to turn around and pull you back into that small storage closet.

He takes a seat behind his desk and lets out a deep breath, trying to focus on the paperwork in front of him, but his mind keeps wandering back to the taste of you and the feel of your body against his.

The rest of the work day drones on endlessly, your eyes constantly flicking between your boss and the clock. You spin in your chair while chewing on your pen again. As the day comes to an end, James finds his way back to your desk this time with a sweet smile as he grabs the back of your chair, turning you to face him.

James approaches your desk, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his lips. He gently grabs the back of your chair, spinning it around to face him.

"Hey there," he greets, his smile widening at the sight of you. "Got any plans for tonight?" You gaze up at him with an awkward smile.

“Uh, actually I need to stay late tonight..” you turn your attention back to your computer, fumbling with a few scattered papers on your desk.

James tilts his head as he watches you mess with the papers on your desk, a small frown creasing his forehead.

"Stay late?" he repeats, taking a small step closer to your desk. "Why do you need to stay late tonight?"

Just as you're trying to come up with a response to James' question, Scott's deep voice calls out from his office.

"Ms. Y/N, can I see you in here for a moment?" he calls out, sounding casual but firm. You hurry towards Scott's office, your heart pounding in your chest as you step through the door, Scott is seated behind his desk, papers spread out before him, but his eyes are fixed on you as you enter.

"Close the door," he instructs, his voice low and commanding. The door shuts with a soft click, enclosing you and Scott in the quiet solitude of his office. He watches you move towards him, his gaze intently fixed on you.

"Come here," he commands, beckoning you forward with a crook of his finger. You bite down on your lip as you walk to him, sitting on the desk in front of him.

As you perch yourself on the desk in front of him, Scott's hands come to rest on your thighs, his palms hot even through the fabric of your skirt. He leans back in his chair, his gaze roaming over your body, taking in every detail.

"We need to talk," he murmurs, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your thighs. Your feet hook into the arms of his chair as you pull him closer to you, your arms wrapping around his neck.

“Mhm, we need to talk.” You look at him with eyes full of desire. Scott's lips curl into a smirk as you pull him closer, his hands sliding up your thighs to rest on your waist. He lets you pull him in, his chair rolling easily as he comes to a stop right in between your legs.

Scott chuckles lowly at your brazen move, a sly smirk tugging at the corner of his lip. His hands slide up your thighs, pushing your skirt higher up your legs until they're resting on your hips.

He looks up at you with a dark, smoldering gaze, his hands squeezing your hips tightly. "Is this how we talk now, sweetheart?"

You pull him into a passionate kiss, Scott grins against your mouth, his hands sliding around to cup your ass as he kisses you back with a fervor that takes your breath away. He stands up from his chair, pressing you back against the desk as he deepens the kiss, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth.

You wrap your legs around his body pulling him tight against you. Scott groans into the kiss, his body molded perfectly against yours. His hands grip your thighs, holding you in place as he rocks his hips into you, his hard length pressing against the thin fabric of your panties.

He breaks the kiss and moves to your neck, his teeth and tongue nipping and soothing the sensitive skin. "You have no idea how badly I've been wanting to do this all day," he whispers hoarsely.

“Show me how bad,” you moan out, your hands moving to his belt as you fumble with the buckle. Scott grins at your demand, watching as your shaky hands struggle with his belt.

"Impatient, are we?" he teases, his hands covering yours, aiding you in undoing his belt and the button of his pants.

He presses you back against the desk, pinning your hands above your head as his hips grind against yours, his teeth nipping at your earlobe. "I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this eager before, sweetheart."

“Scott I need you,” you moan quietly, “please.” Scott's smirk turns into a full-blown smile at your needy whimper, his eyes darkening with desire. He quickly pulls your panties aside, revealing your wet, swollen sex to his hungry gaze.

His own arousal is palpable, his cock straining against his briefs. With a swift motion, he releases himself and sheaths it with a condom he's had in his pocket, anticipation making his hands shake slightly. He lines himself up with your entrance and with one powerful thrust, he's inside you, filling you completely.

You gasp into his mouth as he starts to move, his strokes deep and measured, his hands holding you down on the desk as he takes you over and over again. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure crashing through your body, making you arch into him, desperate for more.

The sound of your moans mingles with the rustle of paper and the slap of skin on skin, creating a symphony of passion that echoes through the otherwise silent office. The urgency in his movements grows, his hips slamming into yours with a rhythm that matches the racing of your heart.

You can feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your muscles tightening around him as you whisper his name like a prayer. His grip on your wrists tightens, his hips moving faster, more insistent. You know it won't be long before you both succumb to the overwhelming desire that's been building between you all day.

As the tension between you reaches a fever pitch, Scott's hips begin to move with an erratic rhythm, his breathing heavy and ragged against your neck. You can feel the head of his cock hitting that perfect spot deep within you, sending shudders of pleasure through your body with every stroke. His grip on your wrists tightens even more, his movements becoming more forceful as he nears his own climax.

Your eyes flutter closed as you lean back, arching your body into him, silently begging for more. His teeth graze your skin, his tongue tracing a wet path up to your ear, where he whispers a string of filthy words that only serve to stoke the fire burning within you.

You tighten your legs around his waist, urging him deeper, faster, the pressure building until it's almost unbearable. And then, with one final, powerful thrust, he groans deeply, his body tensing as he releases inside the condom. The wave of your own orgasm follows almost immediately, a powerful crescendo that leaves you gasping for air. Your bodies remain intertwined for a moment, both of you panting and trembling from the intensity of your shared release.

As the tremors of your shared climax subside, Scott pulls out of you gently, the feeling of emptiness making you whimper. He quickly disposes of the condom in a nearby trash bin, his movements swift and practiced, not wanting to break the spell that's woven around the two of you. He then presses soft, delicate kisses along your neck and collarbone, his breathing still heavy with desire.

Each kiss feels like a whispered promise of more to come, a silent apology for the roughness of his earlier touch. His hands glide over your body, smoothing out your rumpled clothes, his eyes never leaving yours. The air in the office is thick with the scent of sex and the unspoken understanding that everything has changed between you. You watch him, your heart racing, as he takes a step back, his gaze lingering on your swollen lips and flushed cheeks.

He helps you down from the desk, his hands lingering on your waist as you stand unsteadily on wobbly legs. He pulls his pants up, his eyes never leaving yours, as he tucks in his shirt and re-buckles his belt. With a soft smile, he leans in to kiss you, his hands moving to fix your skirt and panties. His touch is gentle, almost reverent, as he ensures you’re put back together properly.

You watch him, still dizzy from the passionate encounter, as he straightens his tie and runs a hand through his hair. The smell of sex lingers in the air, a potent reminder of what just transpired. He pulls you into his arms, pressing sweet kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, and finally your lips, his breath warm and comforting against your skin.

Scott wraps you in his arms, pressing gentle kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, finally your lips. You shiver slightly, still a bit flushed and breathless from the passionate encounter. "You alright, sweetheart?" he murmurs, his voice gruff yet gentle.

“Yes, more than alright.” A soft smile paints your lips as you press your face into his chest, breathing in his cologne.

Scott grins as you bury your face in his chest, his arms holding you close. He revels in the feel of your body against his, the warmth and softness of your skin.

"Good," he murmurs, running a soothing hand down your back. "Because I have a question for you." You hug his waist cuddling into his warm and muscular body.

“What is it?” You pull back a bit, looking up at him. Scott keeps you snug against him, enjoying the feel of your body cuddled into his. His arms tighten around you, reluctant to let you go just yet.

"I was wondering," he begins, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. "If you'd like to go out to dinner with me tonight?" You smile at him sweetly.

“I’d love to.” Scott's smile widens into a full-blown grin at your acceptance. He gently cups your chin with his thumb and forefinger, looking down at you with a gaze that holds a hint of possessive intent.

"Good," he says, his voice low and husky. "Because I can't stand the thought of letting you out of my sight for too long."

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stuffingbuttsandshit · 4 days ago

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superman: Being a superhero is an every day thing. 😎💪

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stuffingbuttsandshit · 6 days ago

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HE LEANS DOWN TO KISS HER AND THEN PICKS HER UPPPP

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stuffingbuttsandshit · 6 days ago

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"I'll destroy you. And, of course, that reporter you always do interviews with."

*SCREAMS* *SCREAMS* *SCREAMS*

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stuffingbuttsandshit · 6 days ago

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Betrayal

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: When a mission goes sideways, the Avengers are left reeling from what appears to be a devastating betrayal, yours. Believing you've turned on them, the team cuts you off. But the truth is darker than they imagined.

And when you came back, bleeding and broken to warn them of the threat coming… they still turned away.

⚠️ Warnings: → Heavy emotional angst → Team betrayal / abandonment → Offscreen torture (non-graphic) → PTSD and trauma aftermath → Guilt / grief / emotional neglect → Slow trust rebuilding → Hospital recovery scenes → Regret-heavy

The static had long since faded, but the echo of your voice still lived in the compound. It had been three months since the mission. Three months since Bucky had replayed that final communication over and over, clinging to the dissonance between your words and everything he knew about you.

"Y/N, we're not seeing the files come through. What's going on?" with Natasha on the other end of the line she asks.

"…I was never on your side." The silence that followed was like the pause before an avalanche. "Hail HYDRA." The words crackled through the comms and shattered everything. Then nothing but static. You disappeared. No trace. The intel was never recovered. The facility was destroyed. And every trail went cold.

The team tried to convince themselves it was a trick, a ploy, a forced hand. But evidence piled up. Footage, grainy, but damning, of you walking through the ruins with known Hydra operatives. A bodycam snippet of you smiling. They tried to deny what they were seeing. Bucky didn’t sleep for days, then he stopped talking about it altogether.

No one ever expected you to come back. You stood outside the gates of the Avengers Compound three months later. No weapon. No backup. Just your hands trembling at your sides.

Your voice over the intercom was ragged, uncertain. “It’s me.”

There was a long pause before Friday replied coolly, “They don’t want to see you.”

“I need to expla—”

“They don’t want explanations.”

The gate remained shut.

You didn’t leave. You couldn’t.

They called you a traitor, though never to your face. You heard them whisper. Natasha’s cold stare sliced through you. Steve wouldn’t even meet your eyes. Sam avoided you entirely. But Bucky was the worst of them all.

Because he didn’t yell. He didn’t glare. He didn’t do anything. Just looked at you like he didn’t recognize the person standing in front of him. Like you were a ghost with a stranger’s voice.

You told them you never wanted to hurt them. You told them it wasn’t what it looked like. You begged them to let you explain. But every word that left your mouth just made the wound deeper. So eventually, you stopped talking.

And that’s when Hydra found you again. It happened fast. An explosion rocked the south wall of the compound. Sirens blared. Automatic lockdown failed. Hydra soldiers flooded the halls, and the team jumped to action. They thought it was a coordinated assault. A revenge strike.

Bucky spotted you first. You were dragged into the hangar, struggling against restraints, blood on your temple. Rumlow held the gun to your head, grinning with smug satisfaction.

“You’ve got one shot to back down,” he warned the team, “or I paint the floor with your little agent.”

No one flinched. Not even Bucky. You saw it in their eyes. That fractured trust. They believed this was what you deserved.

"You think we care?” Tony called, his voice sharp but unsteady. “She’s HYDRA. Your kind.”

Rumlow’s laugh was cruel, his gun pressing harder against your temple. You winced but stayed silent. “Oh, sweetheart,” he said, his voice dripping with mock pity as he looked down at you. “You tried so hard, didn’t you? Begging us to release you, fighting with what's left of your energy, and all those struggles to escape... for this. They really thought you turned.”

Steve’s shield lowered slightly. “What are you talking about?”

Rumlow’s eyes gleamed, still talking to you, his tone taunting. ascended “That little comms stunt? Wasn’t her. We had her locked up, screaming, while our mimic played her voice. You really think she’d join us willingly?” He shook his head, smirking.

"Hail HYDRA" a voice similar to yours was heard. but it didn't come from you. A woman Appeared behind the team as she chuckles. "My my, I guess my mimicking really pulled off." she said still with your voice.

Bucky froze. You weren’t the voice. You never were. His mind reeled. That voice he memorized, clung to, wasn’t even you. It never was.

Rumlow cocks his gun ready to shoot you as you look at Bucky. “And they bought it. Hook, line, and sinker.”

You don’t know what hits the Avengers harder. Rumlow’s confession, or the horror dawning in their eyes as they look at you with new clarity. The betrayal wasn’t yours. It never was.

Steve’s shield is already in motion before the Hydra soldiers can even raise their weapons. It slices through the air with a thunderous clang, knocking two operatives off their feet as if they were nothing more than bowling pins. In the space of a single breath, everything erupts.

Gunfire crackles around you, sharp and stuttering.

Shouts echo, orders, names, warnings.

Metal screams as it collides with metal, the high-pitched wail of blades meeting armor. Somewhere behind you, Wanda’s powers surge like a pressure wave, knocking another Hydra unit into the wall.

But none of it feels real.

The world fractures. Blurs. Tilts sideways.

Your hearing distorts until all you can make out is a high, keening ring inside your skull.

And then you felt the cold, hard ground.

A terrifying, creeping cold that starts in your fingertips and crawls up your arms, settling like a weight in your chest.

Your breath catches.

You look down.

There’s blood.

A startling amount of it. Blooming like a grotesque flower across your abdomen. You don't remember falling, but suddenly you're on your knees. You press a hand to the wound and feel the warm, wet slick of it soaking through your fingers.

So much blood.

Your name is being called, shouted somewhere. Maybe Sam? Maybe Bucky?

But the voices sound so far away now.

The battle rages on around you, but all you can see is the red soaking into the concrete beneath you. All you can hear is that endless, bone-deep ringing.

And all you can think is, they weren’t supposed to shoot.

Then darkness edges in from the corners of your vision, and the world begins to slip away. Spilling from your abdomen, spreading across your clothes, pooling beneath your body in warm, sticky waves. Your legs feel numb. Your fingers tremble as they try to press against the wound. They slide through blood instead.

You didn’t even feel the shot go off.

Rumlow must’ve fired just before Bucky got to him. Maybe on purpose. Maybe not.

But it didn’t matter now.

From the ground, you can hear the crunch of boots. The thunder of fists against armor. Someone screams. Probably Rumlow. You think Steve just knocked out three men at once. Maybe more.

But you can’t turn your head to look. Your body won’t obey.

Your vision tunnels.

You blink slowly, trying to hold on. The ceiling lights flicker above you, too bright. Your breathing is shallow.

You hear a voice, one that cuts through everything else like a sharp blade.

“Y/N?”

It’s hoarse.

Disbelieving.

Then it says your name again, more frantic this time. Closer.

You manage to turn your head just enough to see Bucky drop to his knees beside you. Blood stains his gloves. You’re not sure if it’s yours or someone else’s.

Maybe both.

His face is pale. Like he’s seeing you for the first time again. Like he’s realizing something awful too late.

“No, no, no—stay with me,” he breathes, pressing down on your wound. You choke on a gasp as pain explodes through your side.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asks, voice cracking.

You try to laugh, but it comes out wet. You can taste copper. “I did,” you whisper.

And you did. You tried. Again and again. They just weren’t ready to hear it. The others gather around slowly, cautiously.

Steve lowers his shield, his entire body tense with grief and disbelief. Natasha’s expression is unreadable, but her jaw is clenched tight. Sam curses under his breath, pacing like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Wanda sinks to her knees opposite Bucky, her eyes wide and shining.

“What the hell did we do,” she whispers.

And then, Tony. He pushes through the crowd, scans the scene, and when his gaze lands on you, everything shifts. His hand twitches like he wants to do something, build, fix, create, but this isn’t something blueprints or tech can undo.

“She needs a med team. Now,” he says sharply into his comm. But even you can hear the doubt in his voice.

Your fingers weakly brush Bucky’s arm. He catches your hand instantly, both of his closing around yours like he could will your blood to stay in your body through sheer force.

“I didn’t betray you,” you manage to say, your voice paper-thin. “I tried to come back.”

He nods frantically. “I know. I know now. Just hold on.”

You offer a faint smile, the kind that costs too much energy. “You hated me…”

He shakes his head hard. “No. No, I didn’t. I hated—what I thought happened. But not you. Never you.”

It’s enough. You close your eyes. Not to give up, but because staying awake is getting harder.

“You’re not going to die,” he growls, like he can order the universe to listen to him. His fingers tremble where they press into your wound. “You’re gonna wake up and yell at us. And I’ll take it. All of it. Just—don’t go now.”

Darkness curls around the edge of your vision. But just before it takes you, you hear the sirens of the emergency med team racing down the hall. You think maybe, just maybe—it’s not too late.

The med bay was quiet, dimly lit by the steady glow of monitors and the occasional flicker of diagnostic screens. The air felt heavy, like the walls themselves were holding their breath.

You lay in the center of it all, silent, unmoving, pale. A tangle of wires and tubes connected you to machines that beeped steadily, marking the fragile rhythm of a life that was barely clinging on. The ventilator hissed every few seconds, a mechanical echo that filled the space between heartbeats.

Wanda stood at your bedside, unmoving, her eyes locked on your face. You didn’t stir. Not even a twitch of your fingers. The only movement was the rise and fall of your chest, aided entirely by the tube down your throat.

Behind her, Steve paced. His jaw was tight, arms folded across his chest as he walked the length of the room for the hundredth time. He didn’t speak.

And Bucky hadn’t left.

He sat beside you, hunched in a chair that looked too small for his broad frame, as still as a statue. His metal hand rested on his knee, twitching with restrained energy. But his other hand, his flesh hand, was wrapped tightly around yours. There was no mask on his face anymore. No stoicism. Just raw, open desperation. The kind that didn’t need to be said aloud.

No one had spoken in hours.

Until Wanda finally stepped forward.

“I can try,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. She glanced at the others, eyes wide with something like hope, but tinged in sorrow. “If I go into her mind… I might be able to see what really happened.”

Steve halted mid-step, turning to face her. “You sure you’re strong enough after the fight?”

Wanda nodded once, her gaze never leaving your face. “They can’t speak for herself right now. But her mind might still remember.”

Bucky’s voice broke the silence next, hoarse and low. “What if it hurts her?”

She turned toward him, slowly, and said, “I won’t push. I’ll be gentle.”

Steve looked between them both, then at you, and after a beat of silence, he gave a single, solemn nod.

Wanda stepped closer, her fingers trembling slightly as she reached down and placed two fingers lightly against your temple. She closed her eyes.

And the world shifted.

Inside Your Mind

The moment Wanda connected, she was overwhelmed by a tidal wave of emotion. Pain. Desperation. Terror.

There was no peaceful entry. No gentle memories or quiet landscapes to guide her in.

Just screaming.

Searing pain, hot and endless, ricocheted through the mental space like a wildfire. She staggered instinctively, feeling it almost physically, but forced herself to push deeper.

Through the chaos, images began to claw their way to the surface.

You—dragged roughly down a metal corridor by two Hydra agents. Your body limp, bruised, bloodied.

You—thrown into a dark cell, the clang of the door shutting behind you like a gunshot.

Then a room.

Bright lights seared Wanda’s eyes even in the memory. A metal chair. Restraints. You, strapped down.

And Rumlow.

His voice slithered into the scene.

“The comms are still active. Let’s give your little friends a message.”

Wanda flinched as she watched a Hydra tech approach you. A woman. The woman they saw during the fight.

“Target secured. Uploading the data now.”

The sound made Wanda’s stomach turn. It was uncanny. Flawless. There was no distortion. No artificial cadence. Just you.

“Y/N, we’re not seeing the files come through. What’s going on?”

The imposter responded again, using your voice, calm, steady, terrifyingly cold.

“I was never on your side.”

And then Rumlow stepped into frame, smirking as he delivered the final blow,

“Hail Hydra.”

From your position in the chair, Wanda saw your eyes go wide with terror. You tried to scream, but the gag was already back in place.

You screamed anyway.

But no one could hear you.

The team wasn’t listening to you. They were listening to your ghost.

Then came the torture.

Wanda felt it. Not just as an observer, but as if her own body endured every lash, every cut, every jolt. The Hydra agents kept the comms channel open, using the mimic to keep up the ruse. It was all planned. Coordinated. Cruel.

In your thoughts, Wanda saw you praying they'd notice the difference. That someone, anyone, would realize that voice wasn’t you.

But no one had.

Memory after memory cascaded around Wanda, too fast to stop:

You—curled in the corner of your cell, body broken, blood drying on your skin.

You—scraping at a vent cover with trembling fingers, whispering over and over, please… please…

You—dragging your mangled body through an air duct, escaping only to collapse in the snow outside.

You—waking in a stranger’s clinic, delirious, desperate to get home.

You—standing at the gates of the Tower.

Begging.

Screaming your name into the intercom in the pouring rain.

They never answered.

You waited outside all night.

And they never came.

Wanda tore herself free with a sharp gasp, stumbling backward from the bed. Her knees nearly gave out. One hand caught the railing beside you, the other pressed to her heart as if it might stop it from tearing itself apart.

“Wanda?” Steve asked, stepping quickly to her side.

She didn’t respond at first. Her throat worked silently.

Then she looked up, and when she finally spoke, her voice was a whisper.

“She didn’t say it,” she breathed. “That voice on the comm... it wasn’t her.”

The room went still.

Steve froze. Sam’s brow furrowed. Bucky’s hand on yours turned white-knuckled.

Wanda’s voice shook as she went on. “They were already captured. Hydra made a voiceprint clone. They listened to everything through the comms and used it against us. While they tortured Y/N… we were listening to a machine pretending to be her.”

No one spoke.

Not a breath passed between the others.

And then Bucky stood. Slowly. As if rising from the grave.

His face was unreadable, locked in a silent battle between anguish and rage. His fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles split, blood trickling down his palm.

He didn’t say a word. He just turned and walked out.

He didn’t make it far.

Just two halls down from the med bay before the weight in his chest crushed him.

Bucky staggered into an empty sparring room, the lights flickering to life with a soft hum. He didn’t even notice. His breath was ragged, shallow. His vision tunneled.

The door hissed shut behind him.

And then—silence.

It rang louder than gunfire.

Louder than that damned voice he’d replayed a hundred times.

"Hail HYDRA"

He slammed his fist into the wall.

The plaster cracked. Bone didn’t.

Again.

This time, the drywall caved. Dust rained down. The pain helped. For a second. But it wasn’t enough.

Nothing would be enough.

They’d told him to stop listening to the audio logs. Said it was messing with his head.

But he had to. He had to. Because he couldn’t believe you said those words unless he heard them himself.

Again. And again.

Because maybe this time he’d catch the lie.

Maybe this time he’d hear the hesitation, the wrongness.

But it never came.

So he believed it. He let himself believe it.

You were the one person who never flinched when you looked at him. Who never held the Winter Soldier against him. Who fought beside him and chose him and saw the man behind the metal.

And he threw you away.

Not with a fight.

Not with rage.

But with silence.

He didn’t say a word when they shut the gates on you.

Didn’t move when you begged for five minutes.

Didn’t look at you when you cried in the hallway outside his room one night, curled up against the door like maybe, just maybe, you’d get through to him if he waited long enough.

He waited.

And you stopped coming.

Bucky dropped to his knees in the center of the room.

His hands trembled.

His breaths came out in short, choked gasps.

He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the floor, forehead pressing into the mat.

He couldn’t breathe.

Not because of the guilt.

Not just that.

But because for the first time in decades, he’d trusted someone completely.

And when that trust was tested, he failed you.

He failed you worse than anyone had ever failed him.

He saw your face again, bloody, fading, your voice shaking with your last words before you passed out.

“You hated me…”

And he didn’t say the one thing he should’ve said.

“Never you.”

His fist hit the ground again. And again.

Until he was curled around himself, shaking.

Until the grief crawled out of his chest like a scream with no air.

He wasn’t crying.

Not at first.

But then, He broke. Silently. Violently.

And for the first time since the war, Bucky Barnes sobbed like a man who had nothing left to lose.

Time passed. He didn’t know how much. Minutes. Maybe hours.

Eventually, footsteps came. A pause in the doorway.

Steve’s voice, quiet. “Wanda told us everything.”

Bucky didn’t lift his head.

Steve stepped in carefully, kneeling beside him.

“You couldn’t have known,” he offered.

Bucky barked a broken laugh. “I should have known. I knew her. I knew her voice. How did I not hear it?”

Steve didn’t answer. Because what answer was there?

Bucky looked up at him finally, eyes red, jaw clenched.

“I didn’t lose her when she disappeared, Steve. I lost her the moment I stopped believing her.”

The conference room was too quiet.

Not the usual silence before a mission briefing. Not the kind of silence filled with anticipation or focus.

This was the heavy, suffocating kind, the kind that followed ruin.

No hum of computers. No tapping keys. No rustling papers. Just the cold, hard absence of sound, and the weight of everything they hadn’t said.

Wanda stood near the tall windows, arms crossed tightly over her chest. She stared through the glass like she could will time to reverse, like maybe she’d see your figure walking toward the compound, smiling, alive, not a ghost made of their guilt.

Steve sat at the head of the table, the spot usually reserved for leadership. But today, it felt like a place of judgment. His posture was rigid, hands folded tightly in front of him, eyes fixed straight ahead like he was bracing for a verdict he already knew.

Sam leaned against the far wall, jaw set, arms folded like a barrier against the blame, though it did nothing to hide the tension locked in his shoulders. His eyes flicked between the others, waiting for someone to speak first.

Natasha sat at the table, nursing a mug of coffee she hadn’t touched. Her eyes were dark, fixed on the faint ripples in the black surface, like they might reveal some alternate version of the past where they hadn’t let you down.

Bucky didn’t sit.

He stood just inside the doorway, arms stiff at his sides, his face carved from stone. The kind of stillness that meant he was barely holding himself together, that sitting still might shatter what little control he had left.

Tony was absent. Whether by accident or choice, no one asked.

No one wanted to say the first word. Because words meant responsibility. Meant facing it. All of it.

Then Wanda exhaled, a sound that broke the tension like a snap of wire.

“She was awake during all of it.”

The words landed like a blow.

Bucky’s jaw clenched.

“She heard Rumlow fake her voice,” Wanda went on, her voice trembling. “Heard us. Heard us believe it.”

Steve flinched visibly. “Wanda—”

“She screamed for us,” she said, cutting him off. Sharper than she meant to. Her breath caught. “She screamed. And no one came.”

Sam opened his mouth, stopped. “Because we thought—” His voice cracked. He didn’t finish.

“You thought she betrayed us,” Bucky said flatly, his eyes staring somewhere distant. “So did I.”

He dropped his gaze to the floor. His voice came quieter, tighter. “I listened to that comms feed every night like it was proof. Proof she lied. That she turned on us.”

A breath shuddered out of him. “I made myself believe it.”

Natasha finally spoke. Her voice was quiet. “We all did.”

Wanda nodded slowly, once. “We didn’t just turn our backs. We exiled her. Left her alone. Let her believe she deserved it.”

Steve’s head shook slowly, his expression tight. “She’s not dead. She’s going to wake up. We’ll make this right.”

Bucky let out a bitter sound. It wasn’t laughter. It was what you got when you tried to laugh with a broken rib, dry, painful, wrong.

“Make it right?” he echoed. “How? There’s no mission plan for this. No clean op. We left her bleeding outside our door. And she still came back to warn us about Hydra.”

His voice grew louder, rawer. “And the worst part? She didn’t stop trying.”

Sam’s shoulders sagged. He let out a breath, shaking his head slowly. “I heard her outside the hangar. That night after the mission. She was asking to talk. I turned up my music to drown it out.”

“You’re not the only one,” Natasha murmured.

Wanda’s gaze swept across the room. “Do you think she’ll want to stay when she wakes up?”

The silence returned, heavier than before.

Because none of them knew.

Because the version of you they remembered, the one who laughed in the kitchen, who stitched up Steve’s side mid-mission without blinking, who fought like the team’s safety was more important than your life, that person was gone.

And the one lying unconscious in the medbay?

They didn’t know if she’d come back.

Didn’t know if she even wanted to.

Steve finally stood, his hands braced on the table. His voice was steady, but low.

“We owe her more than apologies.”

Across the room, Bucky didn’t lift his head.

He just said, quiet and firm, “We owe her everything.”

Darkness wasn’t empty.

It pressed against you, not with silence, but with pressure. Thick and slow, like sinking into a dark ocean where sound bent and meaning vanished. You couldn’t tell which way was up. Couldn’t find the edges of yourself.

Then, a sound. Dull, distant, and familiar.

Beeping. Slow, steady, rhythmic. Life.

A flicker sparked in your fingers. A twitch. Then breath, shallow and dry against the raw scrape of your throat.

Voices emerged from the dark.

“…any change?”

It was rough. Worn thin. But you knew it. Bucky.

A pause.

“No… but she’s breathing on her own now.”

Sam. Steady. Tired, but hopeful.

You weren’t alone.

The darkness began to thin, shadows peeling back from your senses. You floated there, tethered by their voices, by the familiar sound of machines and distant footsteps and something soft beneath your spine.

A bed.

And then, a touch. Not pain. Not intrusion, just a hand.

Calloused. The cold edge of metal across your knuckles, softened by the warmth in his grip.

Bucky.

You didn’t open your eyes. Couldn’t. But your chest lifted just slightly, breath slow and steady beneath the faint weight of blankets and time.

You were alive.

And you weren’t alone.

When you finally stirred again, daylight filled the room.

The sun spilled golden through the wide windowpanes, painting the medbay in soft light. Your body ached. Not just from wounds and muscles unused, but deeper than that. Bone-deep. Soul-deep.

But you felt.

That mattered.

You blinked slowly, vision fuzzy.

The scent in the air was familiar. Warm, subtle. Aftershave. Bucky’s. He’d been there. Maybe only just left.

The door creaked.

Wanda stepped inside, the soft swish of her coat marking her approach. She froze the moment she saw you, your eyes cracked open, barely, but open.

Her hands flew to her mouth, tears rising fast.

“Y/N?”

You couldn’t speak, not yet. But your fingers twitched. Enough.

She crossed the room in a heartbeat, her movements careful but urgent. She reached you, brushing your hair back gently with trembling hands.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice thick and bare. “I didn’t see you. I should’ve. I should’ve known.”

You blinked once.

And still, she smiled, a sad, grateful thing through her tears.

“You’re safe now,” she said. “They’re all waiting. When you’re ready.”

She stayed a moment longer, her thumb brushing your cheek with the lightest pressure. Then she stood.

At the door, she paused.

“Bucky’s been here every day,” she said. “He never left your side.”

And then she was gone.

Time passed in fragments.

Moments of awareness. Fleeting conversations. Familiar faces hovering above you like dreams.

Natasha. Sam. Steve.

Each came alone, quiet and hesitant. Each one carrying guilt they didn’t know how to put into words, but they tried.

You listened.

You didn’t have the strength to answer. Not yet. But you heard them.

And every time they left… you waited.

Until one day, your voice cracked through the stillness like a match to dry tinder.

“Is Bucky here?”

The nurse didn’t answer. Just smiled and stepped out.

And within minutes, he came.

The door opened softly.

Boots scraped lightly on the tile, hesitant. Then he appeared, shadowed by the doorway, like he wasn’t sure if he had permission to step inside.

You looked at him.

His eyes widened at the sight of yours open, focused.

“Hey,” you rasped.

The sound shattered something in him.

His jaw clenched. He nodded once, stepped inside.

Closer.

He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. Like guilt had been carved into his ribs and he’d learned to breathe around it.

You tried to sit up. Pain flared down your side.

“Don’t—no, it’s okay, I’ve got you.”

He moved instantly, metal fingers adjusting your pillows with a gentleness that nearly undid you. His other hand hovered near yours, waiting, not assuming.

When you finally settled, you turned to him.

“Everyone’s already said their piece,” you whispered. “I figured you were avoiding yours.”

He flinched.

“I wasn’t avoiding it,” he said quietly. “I just didn’t… I didn’t know if you wanted to hear it from me.”

You studied him, the lines in his face deeper than before. “I wanted to explain. The night I came back.”

“I know.”

“You wouldn’t even look at me.”

“I couldn’t,” he whispered. “Not because I hated you. I just… I couldn’t see your face and not think of that moment in the comms. Your voice. Telling us you were Hydra. That you’d been playing us.”

You looked away.

“I heard it too,” you said. “While they hurt me. While they let that voice pretend to be mine. I listened to myself destroy everything I cared about.”

His hand twitched.

“I kept hoping… someone would figure it out. That you would.”

He stared at the floor.

“I failed you,” he said, voice rough.

You looked back at him.

“I didn’t question it,” he said, breath hitching. “I didn’t ask for proof. I didn’t listen to my gut. I just assumed the worst.”

A pause.

Then you said it. The truth that still ached.

“You loved me. And you still didn’t trust me.”

His eyes shone, red-rimmed.

“I never stopped,” he whispered. “That was the problem.”

You looked down at his hand, still hovering near yours.

“If I had trusted you,” he continued, “then believing that voice would’ve broken me. I think I was trying to protect myself by not believing in you. But it cost you everything.”

Silence.

And then slowly, painfully, you turned your hand, laced your fingers with his.

“It’s not your forgiveness you need to ask for,” you said. “It’s mine.”

He looked up.

“Do I have it?”

You squeezed his hand.

“You’re going to have to earn it.”

He nodded, fiercely. “Then I will.”

And in that moment, something shifted.

No more silence.

No more pretending.

Just the truth, bruised and raw, between you.

A beginning.

Together.

See my other stories here >>> Masterlist <<<

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stuffingbuttsandshit · 7 days ago

Note

Are you still taking requests 🤔 if so I got one for you it's more of an idea to start and you can build on it.

Anything with jealous Scott! Him and the reader flirt hes nice to her she drops hints he's to dumb to see them right away. Tyler sees how hard she is trying sees the looks Scott gives her but knows it's all going over his head so he makes a plan with the reader to make Scott jealous and JEALOUS he gets and end it with fluff smut just happiness and maybe some humor!

All the little details are up to you have fun with it. You are a very talented story teller I always failed my creative writing in school🤣

Pairing: Scott Miller x fem! Reader

Genre: Smut, fluffy and romantic

Word count: 5k

a/n: Thank you so much! I really enjoy writing jealous Scott and writing like romantic smut so hopefully you guys like reading it. As always let me know if you have any requests and I hope you enjoy <3

Working with Tyler has its perks, one of which is being able to travel around the states while chasing storms, another is getting to see Scott. You have a *small* thing for him, something that isn't well hidden.

However, it seems that no matter how obvious you are with your flirtation, Scott is entirely oblivious to it all. He really is oblivious. The man has an uncanny ability to turn everything you say into something platonic.

What makes things worse is that you can tell he likes you too. You’re the only person he shows his caring and soft side to. He goes out of his way to talk to you as much as he can and worries over your safety when Tyler drags you too close to a tornado.

Today is another day on the road as you’re chasing storms, the crew is together having breakfast at a diner. But your gaze stays trained to the dark haired man sitting with Javi and his team.

You sigh softly, poking at your food with your fork, a pout on your lips. The conversations of your friends stays in the background as the only thing on your mind is how you can make it *any* more obvious to Scott.

Tyler leans to you, bumping his shoulder to yours in an effort to catch your attention. “Y/N?”

“Hm?” You look over at him, eyes a bit unfocused, your cheeks pink from being caught staring at Scott.

“Y/N,” He leaned a bit closer, and spoke in a low voice so the others wouldn't hear. “I have an idea.”

“Yeah? What is it?” Your head cocks to the side as you turn your body to him.

Tyler glanced briefly at Scott before turning his attention back to you. He kept his voice low.

"You've been trying to get Scott's attention for a while, but he's as oblivious as ever. I have an idea that might work, but you'll have to play along."

“Okay..” your voice is suspicious, eyes narrowing at him, “And what exactly is your brilliant idea?”

Tyler flashed a sly grin. "Well, I know that Scott is protective of you, and a bit possessive at times. So, if he sees me, or anyone else, getting a little too close to you, he might just get jealous."

He leaned back in his chair, looking casual, but you could tell he was up to something. "Trust me on this, okay? Just play along."

You nod along as he speaks, “But what’s in it for you Ty?”

Tyler smirked, enjoying this little plan. "Oh, nothing much. It's just that I like stirring up a bit of chaos, and seeing Scott get jealous would be entertaining as hell."

You giggle at his response, leaning forward to whisper in his ear. “Then let’s do it.” Your gaze falls back over to Scott noticing his shift in his seat.

Tyler smiled devilishly. He knew you were on board with his plan. He glanced over at Scott, noticing his obvious discomfort at your closeness to Tyler.

He leans to you, making sure to keep his voice low enough for only you to hear. "Alright, here goes."

He casually placed his hand on your thigh, patting it gently. "You enjoying the food, Y/N?" You squirm slightly under his touch.

Scott can’t help a scowl that comes over his face as he watches Tyler’s hand gently pat your thigh. His eyes narrowed, and his grip on his fork tightened. He tried his best to listen to Javi and the others engaged in conversation, pretending to focus on their words. But his mind wandered back to the sight of Tyler's hand resting comfortably on your thigh.

Your conversation with Tyler dies down as Javi interrupts to ask about where you’re going to chase today. Tyler’s hand moves to your waist, pulling your body closer to his.

Tyler chimes in, "You know, I was thinking we should head north today. There's a storm system that's brewing up there and it looks pretty interesting." He presses a kiss to your temple gently.

Scott’s jaw clenches tight at the sight of Tyler’s lips touching your temple. His eyes flicker with a hint of jealousy, but he maintains his composure, taking a sip of his coffee to hide his reaction.

He clears his throat and looks at the rest of the group. "I looked at the weather reports this morning, and there's more potential for storms further south."

Tyler noticed Scott's reaction, and it confirmed that his plan was working. He could see the slightest hint of jealousy in Scott's eyes and the way his jaw clenched tight. He couldn't help but feel satisfied with himself.

He turned to Scott with a smirk. "Oh, you're right, south does sound like it has better potential for storms. But by the time we’d reach that area they might already have died down.”

You glance between the two men who are sharing strong glares, you look down at the app you had pulled up. “There does seem to be a lot more storms popping up in the northern region at the moment..”

Scott's eyes narrow further as you chime in, backing Tyler's suggestion. He can see the growing smirk on Tyler's face, and it only adds to his annoyance. He takes a deep breath and looks over at you, trying to keep his cool.

Tyler gave your thigh a gentle squeeze, enjoying the effect it had on Scott. "Yeah, north looks like the better option today. Plus, I bet Y/N would want to see some more tornadoes today, huh?" You smile up at him with a small nod.

Scott's grip on his coffee cup tightens as he sees Tyler's hand on your thigh again, and the mention of you wanting to see tornadoes only irritates him more.

He takes another drink, trying to hide his annoyance. "Well, if that's what *you* want to do.." He mutters under his breath, his eyes flickering between you and Tyler.

__________

After a long day of pretend flirting with Tyler and storm chasing you’ve found yourself relaxing with your team at the bar. The ding of the door captured your attention and your gaze lands on Scott. He’s dressed in a casual shirt and jeans, looking so much more attractive than when he’s in his storm par suit.

Tyler, noticing your interest in Scott, takes it as an opportunity to continue with his plan to make Scott jealous. He leans closer to you, draping his arm around your shoulder.

"You're staring again," he says with a playful smirk. "You just can't help but admire Scott, can?"

“It’s hard not to,” you murmur, taking a sip of your drink as Tyler pulls you closer.

Scott's gaze briefly flickers to Tyler's arm as it wraps around your shoulders. He feels a pang of annoyance at the sight, but he tries to keep his cool. He orders a drink from the bartender before turning to face you.

He moves a bit closer, standing beside you with a stoic expression on his face. He gives Tyler a cool glare before looking down at you. "Having a good night?" He asks, his tone neutral. He takes a step closer to you, his body practically sandwiching you between him and Tyler. A slight blush raises on your cheeks as you gaze up at Scott with a smile.

Feeling the tension build, Tyler decides to take things further, playing into his role as your 'boyfriend'. He leans in, his arm still around your shoulders, and places a gentle kiss on your temple. "Yeah, great night so far," he replies, meeting Scott's cold glare with a smirk.

“Mhm, yeah. Great night.” You shiver at the touch of Tyler’s lips on your skin, unconsciously cuddling closer to him.

Scott's jaw clenches at the sight of Tyler's lips touching your skin. He can feel a spark of anger rising within him, but he tries his best to keep his expression neutral.

He takes a step forward, his body now almost pressed against you, effectively sandwiching you between him and Tyler. He looks down at you, his eyes locked on yours, and reaches out to gently brush some wayward strands of hair behind your ear. "That's good to hear," he says, his voice low. "I hope it stays that way."

Your grin grows at Scott’s affection. Tyler, sensing Scott's growing possessiveness, decides it's time to ramp things up even more. He tightens his arm around you, pulling you closer to him. His hand rests on your hip, his fingers gently tracing small circles.

"Oh, I'm sure it will," he responds, his smirk widening. "We're all enjoying ourselves, aren't we, Y/N?" You nod while taking another sip of your beer.

Scott's eyes narrow as he watches Tyler's hand linger on your hip, the gentle touch making his blood boil. He can feel his possessive instincts starting to take over, and he takes another step closer to you, his body now practically pressed against yours.

He reaches out and places his hand on your waist, gently pulling you towards him and away from Tyler. He looks down at you with a stern expression on his face. Your blush grows as your eyes widen at Scott’s sudden gesture.

Tyler’s eyes flicker with amusement as Scott pulls you closer to him. He bites back a smirk, enjoying the effect his plan is having on Scott. He takes a step back, giving you a bit more space, but his eyes remain fixed on the pair of you.

Scott's hand on your waist feels possessive and firm. He continues to fix you with a stern look, his expression intense. "Y/N,” he says, his voice low, “we need to have a word. Alone."

“Okay,” you bite down on your lip, Scott leads you out of the bar, across the street toward the motel. You follow close behind, without a word. Once you reach his room, he unlocks the door pulling you inside.

He turns to face you, his expression serious and intense. His hand, still on your waist, tightens its grip ever so slightly, anchoring himself to you.

“What do you want to talk about?” You relax in his grasp, enjoying every second of his touch.

Scott takes a deep breath, looking down at you with a mixture of frustration and desire in his eyes. He takes a moment to collect his thoughts before speaking, his voice low and rough.

"I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me," he says, his grip on your waist tightening slightly.

“I’ll be 100% honest,” you nod with a sweet smile. “I promise.”

Scott seems to relax a bit at your words, his shoulders visibly untensing. He takes another deep breath, his gaze locking on yours.

"What's going on with you and Tyler?" He asks, his voice firm. "Because it seems to me that you two have gotten a bit too close lately."

“Too close?” You question, your head cocking to the side as you feign ignorance.

Scott crosses his arms, a stern expression on his face as he gazes down at you. He notices the cheeky glint in your eyes and the subtle bite of your lip, sensing that you're not quite as oblivious as you're pretending to be.

"Don't play coy with me," he mutters, taking a step closer to you. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. The way he's always touching you, always standing close to you... I've noticed it, and it's driving me crazy."

“Driving you crazy?” You wrap your arms around his waist pulling him flush against you while looking up at him. “And why is that?”

Scott's eyes widen slightly as you wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him closer. For a moment, he is taken aback by your audacity, but he regains his composure quickly.

He places his hands on your hips, his grip firm as he stares down at you with an intense gaze. “I can't stand seeing him touch you like that, it's like he's marking his territory." Your tongue darts out to wet your bottom lip as he continues.

Scott's eyes are glued to your tongue, watching as it darts out to wet your bottom lip. His grip on your hips tightens involuntarily, the primal desire within him taking over.

He takes a deep breath, trying to suppress the primal urge to pull you closer and claim you as his own. "The way he puts his hands on you... it should be me."

You smirk, “Then why isn’t it?” Your fingertips dig into his back softly.

Scott's breath hitches as your fingertips dig into his back, sending a shiver down his spine. The smirk on your lips is driving him crazy, awakening a primal urge within him.

He steps closer, his body now pressed flush against yours. His eyes darkened with desire as he gazes down at you. "Because I don't want to push you away," he mutters, his voice low and hoarse.

“Scott, you're so dense.” You groan.

Scott's expression turns to one of mild offense at your words. He takes a moment to collect himself before responding. "I'm not dense," he retorts. "I just-"

He falters, his mind still stuck on your words and the fact that he's been oblivious to your feelings this whole time. He pauses for a moment, his eyes locking on yours. "Wait... You're telling me you..?"

You roll your eyes, pressing your head back against the wall. “I’ve been flirting with you for weeks.”

He takes a step back, looking at you with a mixture of disbelief and embarrassment. "You...flirting with me?" He repeats, his voice a mixture of sheepishness and confusion. "I don't…"

He stops to think for a moment, his mind replaying all the interactions he'd had with you over the past few weeks. Suddenly, it all starts to click. Another groan escapes your lips as you squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment.

Scott's eyes flicker with a mix of realization and arousal as he takes in your reaction. He takes a step forward, closing the distance between you and pins you against the wall.

He gently grabs your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze, his blue eyes darkened with desire. "You've been flirting with me for weeks?" He repeats, his voice huskier than before. His gaze flickers down to your lips before he leans in, capturing them in a rough, hungry kiss.

You pull him closer to you, responding to his hands with a quiet moan. Scott's arms snake around your waist, pulling you closer against his body. The sound of your moan fuels his desire, and he deepens the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with an urgent fervor.

He pins you to the wall, his hands roaming over your body, desperate to feel every inch of you. His grip on you grows tighter, almost possessive, as if he's afraid you'll slip through his fingers.

You pull away, gasping for air as his touch sends desire through your body. Scott's lips trail down your jawline, his breath hot on your skin. He nibbles gently at your earlobe, his hands still roaming over your body, exploring every curve and contour, until they come to rest at your hips.

He pins you against the wall, his body pressing against yours, creating a delicious friction between the two of you. "God, you drive me crazy," he mutters, his voice hoarse. "I need you."

Your arms move to his neck, pulling his lips inches away from yours. “I need you too Scott.” His hands grip your thighs, hoisting you up onto him with ease. He pushes you against the wall, his body pressing you into the cool plaster and his heated frame.

His lips are a breath away from yours, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this," he mutters, his gaze locking on yours.

He presses his hips against yours, his desire for you evident in every movement. Your head falls back as you moan out his name, grinding your hips down on his.

Scott's breath hitches at the feel of you grinding against him. The sound of his name on your lips sending a jolt of electricity through him.

His grip on your thighs tightens, his fingers digging into your flesh. "Ah, God," he mutters, his voice rough and ragged. "You're making it damn near impossible to hold back. You know that, right?"

“Please don’t hold back anymore,” you whine out as you gaze into his eyes. At your request,

Scott loses the last shred of restraint he was holding onto. He crushes you against the wall, his lips crashing against yours in a passionate, hungry kiss.

His hands slide up to your ass, grabbing hold and pulling you fully against him. He grinds his hips against yours, wanting to get as close to you as possible.

"I won’t hold back anymore," he gasps, breaking away from the kiss for a brief moment. "I want you. All of you."

The heat between you and Scott is palpable, filling the room like a heavy summer storm. His hands slide from your thighs to your ass, squeezing and lifting you closer to him, your legs wrapping around his waist. You kiss him back with a passion that matches his own, your bodies moving in a rhythm that speaks of a long-denied attraction.

The walls of the motel room seem to close in around you, the rest of the world fading away as your focus narrows to the feel of his mouth on yours, the beat of his heart against your chest, and the unmistakable pressure of his hardness against your core.

With surprising strength and urgency, Scott hooks his fingers into the waistband of your pants and underwear, tugging them down with one swift motion, leaving you exposed and vulnerable against the wall. He steps closer, aligning his clothed erection with your slick heat, and begins to rock his hips against you.

The friction sends sparks of pleasure shooting through your body, making you whimper and cling to him tighter. His hand remains firm on your ass, keeping you in place as he grinds into you, the fabric of his pants the only barrier between you and his dick. The pressure builds, your breath hitching in anticipation of what's to come.

Scott's hips move with a fierce rhythm against you, the rough fabric of his jeans providing just the right amount of friction against your sensitive clit. Each stroke sends a jolt of pleasure through your body, making you moan and arch your back, silently begging for more. The pressure builds, your breath coming in ragged gasps as the tension coils tighter within you.

You can feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your body tightening around him like a vice as the pleasure reaches a crescendo. The room is filled with the sound of your muffled cries and the harsh grunts of his own need. His grip on your ass tightens, his movements becoming more erratic as he feels your climax approaching.

The anticipation is unbearable, your nails digging into his shoulders as you hang on the precipice of release, desperately seeking the sweet oblivion that you know is just within reach.

The friction becomes too much, and with a loud moan, you cum onto Scott's pants, leaving a wet slick stain on the fabric. The intensity of your orgasm surprises even you, your body convulsing and shaking in his arms. Scott's eyes widen, his own arousal reaching new heights as he feels your wetness coat him.

He groans into your mouth, the sound muffled by your desperate kisses. His hips don't stop moving, instead, they pick up speed, driven by the need to feel you come apart around him. The sight of you, lost in pleasure, only makes him want you more, his movements becoming more erratic and urgent. He's so close to the edge himself, and the feel of you pulsing against him is driving him wild.

He pulls away from the kiss, panting heavily, his eyes never leaving yours as he watches the aftershocks of your climax play out on your flushed face. With one last, deep, grind, he whispers, "Fuck, Y/N," his voice a mix of amazement and desire.

Without wasting another moment, Scott carries you over to the bed, setting you down gently. He kisses a trail down your body, leaving a fiery path in his wake. His eyes are dark with lust as he settles between your legs, his gaze lingering on your still-quivering core. You watch, breathless, as he spreads your legs, revealing your glistening sex to his hungry eyes.

He takes a deep breath, inhaling your scent, his pupils dilating with desire. He kisses the insides of your thighs, the soft skin of your stomach, and finally, his mouth hovers just above your most sensitive spot. You feel the warmth of his breath against your folds, and your body responds with a shiver of anticipation. He looks up at you, a question in his eyes, seeking permission to continue. You nod eagerly, your hands sliding into his hair as you pull his face closer.

With a groan, Scott dives in, his tongue licking and teasing your clit with a gentle touch that sends shockwaves through your body. He explores you with a passion that's both tender and fierce, his mouth worshiping every inch of your sex. He nibbles and sucks, his tongue flicking and curling in a way that makes your toes curl and your back arch off the bed.

You're lost in the sensation, your breath coming in short gasps and your hips moving in time with his mouth. His hands grip your thighs, keeping you in place as he devours you, his eyes never leaving your closed ones, as if he's trying to memorize every twitch and gasp of pleasure that passes over your face.

You're on the edge again, and you can feel him pushing you closer, his tongue swirling and dipping into your wetness, his teeth grazing against your swollen bud. It's all you can do to hold on as the storm of sensation builds inside you, threatening to break.

As the second orgasm hits, you cry out, your body writhing under his skilled touch. Scott doesn't stop, his mouth working tirelessly to draw out every last bit of pleasure from your quivering body. He laps up the evidence of your climax. You're lost in the feeling of his tongue on your skin, his breath hot and moist against your sensitive flesh.

He's thorough, not stopping until every tremor has subsided and you're left panting and boneless on the bed, your legs shaking. Only then does he pull away, licking his lips with a smug smile, his eyes dark with satisfaction. "You taste so good," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "I could do this all night."

With a whimper of need, you pull Scott back up your body, capturing his mouth in a desperate kiss that tastes of your desire. Your hands shake slightly as they fumble with the button and zipper of his pants, eager to free his hard length and feel him inside you.

He helps you, his own hands trembling with anticipation, and soon enough, his pants fall to the floor. He pulls his shirt off, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. Your eyes rake over his sculpted abs and the bulge in his underwear, making your heart race even faster.

"I need you," you breathe against his lips, the urgency in your voice unmistakable.

Scott groans, his hands moving to your shirt, pulling it over your head and tossing it aside. His eyes devour your bare breasts, the peaks pebbled with desire. He leans down to kiss and suck on one nipple, sending waves of pleasure through you. You grip his shoulders, arching into his touch.

With trembling hands, you push his boxers down, freeing his erection. It stands proudly, the tip glistening with precum. You stroke him gently, feeling the velvety softness of his skin over the steel of his arousal. He gasps, his hips jerking in response.

"Please," you whisper, your eyes pleading with him to fill the ache that's been building inside you for weeks.

Scott's eyes darken with need as he takes in your naked form, your body laid bare before him. He reaches for his wallet, fumbling for a condom, his need for you overriding all else. He sheathes himself, then positions his cock at your entrance, his hand on the back of your neck, holding you in place.

You nod, your eyes never leaving his in a silent beg, your legs wrapping around his waist in silent invitation. With one slow, torturous thrust, he enters you, filling you completely. You gasp into his mouth, the sensation overwhelming. He stills for a moment, giving you time to adjust to his size, then starts to move, his hips rolling into yours in a slow, sensual rhythm that builds the tension all over again.

You moan, your nails digging into his back as he sets a pace that's both gentle and demanding. His eyes never leave yours, the connection between you intense and all-consuming. With each stroke, the pressure builds, coiling tighter and tighter until you feel like you might burst.

"Fuck, Scott," you murmur, your voice shaky.

He responds with a grunt, his own pleasure etched on his face. He kisses you deeply, his tongue mimicking the rhythm of his hips, as he moves inside you. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, along with your muffled cries and his guttural groans.

Your hands clutch at the bedsheets, your body moving in sync with his, the intensity of your emotions is like nothing you've ever felt before.

With a deep, guttural groan, Scott's hips stutter to a stop, his cock pulsing inside you as he reaches his peak. The feeling of his release sends a fresh wave of pleasure crashing through your body, your pussy clenching around him in a vice-like grip. His eyes squeeze shut, his face contorted with the sheer force of his climax.

You hold him tight, feeling the warmth of his seed fill you up as he empties himself into the condom. His body relaxes slowly, his breathing heavy and erratic. As he opens his eyes, you see the look of utter satisfaction and disbelief, as if he can't quite believe what just happened. He kisses you softly, his forehead resting against yours. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice filled with a hint of embarrassment. "I didn't mean for that to happen so quickly."

You smile up at him, stroking his cheek gently. "It's okay," you reassure him. "It was perfect." Your voice is a breathy whisper, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your own pleasure. Scott's eyes searched yours, the intensity of the moment washing over him.

He pulls out slowly, his cock still half-hard, and removes the condom before collapsing beside you on the bed. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, your bodies tangled together in a mess of limbs and sweat. You both lay there, panting and spent.

Scott's lips curve into a weary smile as he finally regains control of his breath and finds enough strength to speak. "That... that was..." He shakes his head, struggling to find the words to describe what just happened. "That was incredible." His voice was laced with both ecstasy and disbelief.

He turns his head to look at you, his eyes tracing the lines of your face like an artist admiring his canvas. "You're,” he pauses, searching for the right word, "god, you're beautiful," he finally whispers, his hand lifting to cup your cheek.

“You’re not so bad yourself.” You grin and press a kiss to his lips. His smile widens at your playful quip, and he returns your kiss with a soft hum.

He takes a moment to appreciate the view, his eyes sweeping over your bare form with an appreciative gaze. "You know," he muses, "I have no idea how I've been able to keep my hands off you all this time. You're addictive."

“Addictive, huh?” You slide onto his body, straddling his waist.

Scott's eyes darken with desire as you straddle him, his hands coming to rest on your hips, holding you in place. He bites his lower lip, a small smirk playing on his lips.

"Addictive," he repeats, his fingers digging into your flesh slightly as he speaks. He gazes up at you, his eyes roaming over your body, taking in every curve and contour. "I can't get enough of you," he murmurs, his hands beginning to wander. You lean forward, grasping his chin, bringing his lips to yours in a gentle kiss.

Scott’s hands run up your side, his eyes fluttering closed as you press gentle kisses onto his face.

Scott's heart thumps loudly in his ears as you shower his face with gentle kisses, his breath hitching with each touch of your lips. His hands continue to explore your skin, tracing the curves of your hips, your waist, your back, as if he can't quite believe you're really there.

He groans softly, his body responding to your gentle touch. He tilts his head back slightly, giving you better access to his neck, the pulse point of it fluttering rapidly. "Keep doing that," he murmurs, "Please."

You slide off his body, cuddling into the crook of his arm as you continue to press sweet kisses to his neck.

Scott's arm wraps around you, pulling you closer to his body. He shivers slightly as your lips touch his neck, his skin tingling with each kiss. He closes his eyes, his hand coming up to thread through your hair. He turns his head slightly, nuzzling your hair as he basks in the feeling of your gentle affections.

His other hand gently strokes your back, tracing soft patterns across your skin. "You're going to kill me," he whispers, a hint of both pleasure and torment in his voice.

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stuffingbuttsandshit · 8 days ago

Text

to be known - scott miller (twisters) x reader

synopsis: scott can't grapple with the fact that you've ended your tornado chasing fling with him. content: fluff, angst, argument, scott's an asshole duh, mentions of smut but nothing detailed, drinking/bar environment author's note: niche character time yayyyyy

the past year has been nothing but record outbreaks of tornadoes across the alley. for a month, you've been jumping back and forth between oklahoma, kansas, nebraska, and arkansas, chasing the storms that you had spent your life studying, understanding, learning, loving. your family hated what you did, going out and researching these things on your own, collecting enough data to begin your doctoral study on them. but each time you pulled into gas stations and motels collected with your little community of chasers, you felt at home.

of course, you liked some groups more than others. it was natural. tyler owens and his tornado wranglers were rather tolerable, using their money towards supporting broken towns and families. that group out of florida who drove around some rigged subaru were friendly, offering you to sit with them at dinner. then there were the tourists from england who were way out of their league, but kept to themselves mostly.

and then there was storm par. the corporatized storm chasers who collected data not to understand the weather phenomenons that so often wrecked southern america, but to profit from them. to sell land to their millionaire investors. to use their highly advanced equipment to take advantage of vulnerable people.

you ran into them more often than not, much to your dismay. you sat a reasonable distance from the tornadoes, jotting down notes from the bed of your truck about the striations of clouds and the conditions of the sky that led to the dark funnels forming. and then, four storm par vehicles would speed by, nearly sending your truck toppling each time, kicking up red dust on you.

assholes was what they were. especially scott miller, their co-leader next to javi who was essentially his exact opposite.

at the beginning, he looked at you with a smug confidence painted on his face, gum snapping in his mouth annoyingly. he thought your research would never get off the ground. when you came back the next year with a fully funded program in your belt, he shut up, but still watched you from afar with a look on his face you hated.

and then one night, something changed. it was like a tornado. perfect conditions that all equaled to something explosive. life-changing. it was a bottle of wine that had been sitting in your fridge that made you release the grip your hatred for him had on you. it was heavy winds outside the motel that drug every chaser out to their balconies. it was you looking over to see him in the room next door. it was the seltzer javi convinced him to have with him at a bar. it was the way his eyes glanced down your figure in nothing but a university t-shirt and shorts. it was the way his biceps looked in some god damned muscle tank top.

you still hate him, rest assured. but he was so good, you couldn't only see him once. you saw him throughout the rest of the year when your motels lined up.

it's a simple transaction between the two of you. he gives a faint knock on your door, leans against the frame, and gives you this stupid smirk that has your thighs clenching together. and then he crowds you onto the bed, fucks you till you're shaking and he's spent, then he leaves with little more than a goodbye. it was that easy. or, it was supposed to be that easy.

you caught yourself at the tail end of last tornado season thinking about him more. and when you drove from oklahoma to your hometown, all you could think about was him. he's been plaguing you since then. months have gone by where you've thought him at night time, hands working yourself to a half-assed finish, disappointed that it wasn't his skilled precision doing it.

this time, you knew you had to end it. you had to stop things with him. he was an asshole. he made it abundantly clear that what he wanted from you was a casual fuck. he wasn't a relationship man. he was too married to work to worry about commitment. but if he fucked you and kissed you like he always did, you worried you wouldn't let him leave so easy every night.

and that's an embarassing, scary thought.

luckily for you, storm par got a late start this season. they hadn't arrived until weeks into the season. you overheard one of their members in the gas station grumbling about scott putting off going, claiming it was a budget thing, a prototype thing, a timing thing. it made you wonder, if just for a fleeting moment, that he was putting off seeing you again.

the first day you saw him was in the field. what seemed to be an ef3 was forming in the farmlands of enid and everyone rushed out, hoping to catch a glance at the large funnel forming in the sky. you parked your truck about a mile from the path, watching with calculations already forming in your mind about the wind speed and the duration. dopplers beeped on a computer next to you, but you didn't bother to look at them.

and then, like it was something out of your nightmares, scott's truck pulled up next to you in a rush. he and another member jumped out, funny goggles on their face and white polos getting blown with the red dust of the road. you watched with disinterest as they pulled out their machines and locked them into the ground.

and then, as the tornado chugged along the road, scott looked back and connected your eyes. your stomach dropped. he got a haircut, that was for sure. and had his arms grown in the last year?

he didn't bother to greet you, but instead turned around, watching as the funnel slowly dissipated, turning into nothing but a few extra gusts of wind. with a slam of his hand against the trunk of the car, he hoisted the par into the back on his own. it was a view almost sinful.

he, nor his partner, said anything as they got back into the car. he did, however, give you a final glance before he drove off. it said something, you were certain. but you didn't have time to question it as he drove off too fast and too reckless.

that night, you heard the familiar sound of his knuckles hitting your motel door. you took a breath, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you debated even answering it. how he had even figured out this was your door, you'll never know. you tried to disconnect from his smirk, tried to forget about how good he made you feel. how he had shown up in your daydreams and fantasies since seeing him last.

you had made the decision to call it weeks ago. but seeing him made that action a lot harder. he knocked again and this time, you got up from the bed.

"hello?" you asked as you pulled the door open. he stood away from the door, eyes roaming the expanse of motel rooms all booked with sleeping chasers. he turned around at the sound of your voice and you could've swore his lips almost turned upwards in something more akin to a smile. like he was glad you answered.

"can i come in?" he asked, his deep voice sounding almost unfamiliar in your ears.

you didn't answer him, but opened the door wider, allowing him entry into your room. he was wearing some worn t-shirt from a sports team you didn't recognize and sweatpants. gray ones. his hair was still damp, like he had just gotten out of the shower and the smell of his body wash flooded your nose. it was masculine, warm, hot.

ending this would be a lot harder than you thought.

"you got a late start this season," you said, attempting to break the thick tension in the room.

he turned to look at you, eyes half-darkening. he popped his gum in the back of his mouth. you knew it was cinnamon from the scent alone. "yeah," he answered simply. "had to wait on some new prototypes. better ones."

you nodded, pursing your lips a little. you glanced around your room awkwardly, bouncing on the balls of your feet. you could feel his eyes roaming your body clad in pajamas. you were sure he could smell the floral scent coming from your shower.

your feet were planted, bolted to the rug, unable to move while the weight of your next words played over and over in your head. you watched with bated breath as he stepped closer and you knew you had to do it soon. like now. now. now. now.

just as he lifted his arm to brush your hair back from your shoulders, you spoke up. "i can't do this anymore," you said.

he backed up, looking at your eyes with confusion lacing his expression. his eyebrows knitted together and he stopped chewing his gum. "what do you mean?"

you shook your head at his question. "i mean i can't do this anymore. meet up with you. these flings. these one-night stands. i don't want it anymore."

his feet took him back a few steps, creating healthy distance between the two of you. "okay," he said, dragging out the last syllable. "are you gonna give a reason why?"

you shrugged, unable to give him the real answer. the answer of "yeah, i've been thinking about you and your stupid muscles and stupid attitude and stupid lips and stupid body and i worry that if i keep fucking you, i'm going to want to be your girlfriend and get heart broken when that's not what you want from me." you opted instead for, "i just don't like hook ups. it was fun, but it's not me."

he nodded and you could've swore there was some kind of disappoint that flashed across his eyes. maybe you imagined it, you weren't sure. "that's fine," he said deadpan. he started to leave and wrapped his large hand around the doorknob. he pulled, then looked back to you. "see you out tomorrow." then he walked out and shut the door behind him.

you practically deflated as he left, feeling that well-known lump rise in the back of your throat. you thought it wouldn't affect you like this. but then some cruel thing in your mind reminded you that you'd never feel his touch again, or his lips on yours again. you wonder if you would rather have him in some superficial, heart-clencing way, or never have him again.

you think it might be the first. it's too late now.

when scott goes back to his own room, he slams the door a little too loud, surely waking up the person next door. it came out of nowhere. just hours ago he had seen you in the field, your hair blowing in your face, eyes locked on the threatening clouds high in the sky. he admired your lack of fear and it was a thought that kept recurring in his head since he last saw you.

and yes, there were problems with the prototypes. and riggs was on his ass about getting the data right this time or else he'd pull several hundred thousand from the budget. scott had to deal with that, all while grappling with the fact that he'd be seeing you again and that was scarier than the ef5 tornadoes promised for tornado alley this year.

he felt so stupid for letting himself develop feelings for you. he was usually so disconnected. he could separate his life from his flings. every hookup he's ever had has been passionate, but done once he left the house. with you, it was different.

with you, he had to push himself to leave your bed. he had to push your floral scent out of his head. he had to remind himself that this was supposed to be a casual thing and that you shouldn't like each other.

and then you appeared in his thoughts when he jerked off and realized he was done for. he just hadn't gathered the courage to end it like you did.

he fell back on his scratchy, uncomfortable motel bed, hands on either side of his head in distress. why was he so torn up about this? it shouldn't matter.

he turned off the bedside lamp and pulled the comforter over his lower half. he shut his eyes, desperate to forget about the night and especially forget about you. but every time he got close to sleep, he was plagued with images of your smile in the gas station or your focused gaze out on the road. he thought about how good you were and how awful he was for what he was doing.

scott miller was screwed and he knew it too. he didn't sleep much that night.

some random chaser out of texas invited you out to a bar with her friends the next night. was your moping truly that noticeable? you said yes, of course you did. you needed scott out of your head. really, you needed him miles away in the distance, but until the season ended, he'd only be a short drive from you every day.

you hadn't bothered with really trying to dress well, considering it was just some local dive bar filled with tourists. what you wanted was some drinks, a little socialization, and go home.

you'd only been there for thirty minutes, only one shirley temple in deep, when javi and two other storm par members came in. a minute later, scott came in, clearly disinterested by the environment javi no doubt drug him into. you were really positive at the moment that the world had it out for you. you really hated storm par.

you also hated just how good he looked tonight. having really only seen him in his work clothes or pajamas, you felt as though you unlocked a new facet of scott miller. he was in some jeans on top of boots. instead of a storm par polo, he put on a t-shirt with some beer logo on it and it carved him out perfectly. heads turned as they walked in and you knew eyes were on him.

just as the group found some booth in the corner, scott looked up and for a second, your eyes met. your breath hitched and you turned around immediately, desperate for another drink from the bartender.

over on the side of the bar, scott's heart thumped in his chest, both from the loud country music coming from a jukebox and from seeing you at the bar. you looked effortless. you caught attention. you took sips from your drink with the soft lips he thought about kissing last night. jesus, he needed this season to be done with.

the whole day, he was distracted. he couldn't call out orders or focus on the data they were out there to get. he replayed last night in his head. all he could feel were your hands on his body. he hadn't known, until that moment, that this was what he wanted. he wanted you.

he wanted you and your passion. you and your witty remarks. you and your specific diner orders. you and your sweet snacks and energy drinks. you with your clipboards and computers in the bed of your truck. he wanted you and everything that came with that. javi noticed he was distracted, maybe a little sad, and thought it was a good idea to go out. it was a good idea, sure. he could have found someone else to flirt with a little at the bar, but now you're here and his heart is on the floor.

"man, you've been looking like a kicked puppy all day," javi said, bumping into his side. "which is saying something since you always got this superman stoic look."

scott glanced sideways at him, shaking his head. "i'm fine," he said, though his curt tone said a little more. javi, ever observant, followed scott's previous gaze to the bar where you sat, the bartender looking at you with a smile as he handed you another mixed drink.

"hmm," javi hummed. "don't you want a beer?"

scott glanced back at the bar, then to his partner next to him. "you getting them?" he asked.

javi shook his head and scott could see gears connecting together in his head, slowly turning. "no, can you? you know, my back just hurts so bad from hitting that ditch with the truck today."

scott sat there frozen, unwilling to head to the bar.

"unless, there's a reason you don't want to head to the bar."

scott looked at javi, his eyes widening just a fraction. he got it. he knew he did. "jesus, javi, don't you stop worrying about other people?" he asked, that same mean tone he usually carried slipping through. javi didn't take it personally, though, just leaned in more to scott so their conversation was quieter.

"she's a good girl," he said. "what's going on with that?"

scott stood up quickly, adjusting his shirt in the process. "nothing," he said. "i'll get the damn drinks." his large frame pushed through the crowds of people till he reached the bar. unfortunately for him, the only spot free was just a few stools down from you. he could smell your perfume, hear the ice in your drink clinking around. in some other world where things were easier and he wasn't so complicated, he'd go up and confess everything and head home with you.

in this world, though, he stood there quietly, trying so hard not to look in your direction.

you were trying to as well, focusing on the cherry in your drink that kept swirling around with your straw. scott, in his casual clothes and gelled hair, stood just a few feet from you and you couldn't give him that look that told him to come to your room later. you'd never get that again. you took a sip of your drink as scott ordered a couple beers for his group.

as he left, your eyes betrayed your mind and you watched him. he looked back, feeling eyes on him and he paused. he stood for a second, looking at you, and then walked away.

"jesus," you whispered, putting your head in your hands. with a wave of your hand, you called the bartender over and paid your tab quickly. you stood from the bar and headed outside, desperate for some air to clear your thoughts.

several minutes passed of deep breaths and watching the night sky. clouds formed and very distantly, thunder clapped. you knew tomorrow would be a busy day and that you should head home, but something kept your feet planted on the ground.

you knew what it was when the door to the bar swung open suddenly and you could've laughed when you saw scott walk out, rubbing a hand down his face like he was just as frustrated as you. when he turned around, he laughed, he really did.

instead of going back inside, he leaned against the wall across the door, keeping a far distance from you. the two of you played a stupid game of looking up, then looking down, then looking up.

unable to tolerate it anymore, you pushed yourself from the wall and went to head to your truck parked down the way, but then a firm hand wrapped around your wrist and you looked back, connecting eyes with scott.

"yes?" you asked, ripping your wrist from his grasp.

"i-uh," he started to say something, but stopped. "i'm sorry."

you looked at him shocked, as if you thought he'd never been capable of saying the words sorry. like he was too self conceited to do so. his jaw clenched and he took a short breath in and out.

"what is it, scott?" you asked, tired of his glances and looks. you thought in that moment that maybe you'd make it a point to never go to the same storms and locations storm par was. maybe you'd find tornadoes further north. maybe you could change your research purpose and find something new. just to be able to leave the grip he had on you.

"what are you doing tonight?" he tried. his voice was as casual as he could make it, as if he didn't want to convey through his voice the hope that you'd come back to him and forget your words. that he would be what you want.

you shrugged, finding his words out of character. "i don't know," you said honestly. "go to sleep. get an early start for tomorrow."

he nodded, glancing down at the ground. before you, scott would never act this way. he wouldn't be shy or unconfident or a beat around the bush kind of guy. he'd ask if you wanted to come back to his room still. he'd put on that smug smirk and his muscles would flex a little and he'd brush hair from your face with gentle, but firm hands. you changed him and god, he hated it.

"i'm gonna go," you told him, stepping away with an attempt at resolve.

"wait!" he said before thinking about it. he winced at your quick turn around, at the frustration clear on your face.

"what is it, scott?" you asked, biting down on your lip hard to keep from a tear slipping down your cheek at the way he looked at you then. you wondered what was going through his head. you noticed the break in his rough exterior and breathed out. "are you gonna say something or-"

"jesus," he breathed out, wiping a hand down his face roughly. he took strong steps towards you, his face set strong. "are you oblivious?"

you looked at him in shock, offense written on your face as clear as day. "excuse me? just because i broke it off doesn't give you a reason to be an asshole to me again."

"that's not--i'm sorry. okay? i didn't mean to say that," he said, hands reached out as if that would placate anything. "this is just fucking hard for me."

"what's hard, scott?" you ask.

his blue eyes bore into you and you were sure that a minute longer, you'd have a hole straight through your chest. "this! this is hard. talking to you. being around you. trying to be honest with you because i haven't felt this way for anyone else, yeah? so just bear with me for a damn second."

your heart dropped straight through your body and you were sure that if you looked on the ground, it'd be beating there, quicker than the winds you'd been dealing with for the past weeks.

"i don't know why you called this off," he started. "but i don't like it. i've been thinking about this and about you since last year. you keep making your way into my thoughts and i keep trying to push you out, but then i see you on the side of the road and i short circuit and i forget everything i'm here for. i don't want this to end."

"scott, i told you that i don't want to hookup anymore. i don't like it. i don't want that with you."

"then what do you want?" he asked, hands wrapping around yours that were hanging lazily by your side. "what can i do?"

"scott, just stop. this isn't what we need-"

"i know what i need. i need you," he said, voice breathy and frustrated. his jaw tightened and his eyes were practically unblinking. his chest rose and fell quickly. if you looked close enough, you could see the faintest shake in his fingers. he might've been scared in that moment.

"you don't know what i need. you don't need me, scott."

"i know you. i know you like sweet tea in the diner and you like it extra sweet with sweet-n-low packets. i know you keep cough medicine in your hotel room because the dust makes you sick every year. i know you watch sitcoms on bad storm days that shake you too much. i know you're scared your grant might lose funding if you don't get good results this year. i know you like hotels with balconies so you can read at sunrise before going out. i know that lightning scares you. i know you hate storm par and everything we do. i know you hate our polos and our stupid trucks and sometimes me."

he took a big breath, as if he had just torn out his heart straight from his chest and placed it in your hands.

"i don't hate you," you whispered, your voice heavy and full of emotion. "do you really notice that much about me?

he nodded. "you're all i've been able to look at and think about for the past year."

you smiled a little, just the corners of your mouth tugging upwards. instead of fighting back the lump in your throat, you let your eyes water and one tear slipped down your cheek. you wiped it quickly and sniffed, looking up at scott with a kind of renewed sense of love. "i didn't want to end anything," you confessed. "i was...i was having feelings for you. i never wanted you to leave when you came over. i wanted to wake up next to you. i wanted to see outside of all this. but i thought you'd never want that. so i ended it before i got hurt."

he let out a dry chuckle. "yeah, i used to not want that. but god, you just had to come in and change everything, huh?"

you smiled at that, copying his small chuckle. you breathed out, glancing to the side, then back to his bright blue eyes. "i do hate storm par. you're right. and i hate those polos. and your stupid trucks."

"i'll make sure we don't kick up any more dust in your way, okay? and i'll switch to the t-shirt more."

you nodded. "and you'll spend the night with me? not run off?"

"i don't think i ever want to leave your side again," he said, the grip he had on your hands tightening. "let me drive you back to the motel?"

you eagerly nodded, giving him a wide smile that he actually returned. his eyes roamed over you, not with the lust they used to, but with adoration, with the knowledge that you wanted this too. he moved one of his hands down to interlace your fingers together and he led you over to the stupid storm par truck to take you back home. to that motel with scratchy sheets where he could show you the things he'd been dreaming about for months.

you'd come get your truck in the morning, but for now, you could only focus on scott's firm grip on your hand, even as he drove. things felt a lot easier now. you glanced sideways at scott to see a permanent, small smile on his lips and you copied it with your own.

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stuffingbuttsandshit · 9 days ago

Text

Teacher

Frank Castle x Inexperienced F!Reader

Summary: Frank's a part of your friend group and invites you to hang out one day, unaware of your massive crush on him. During the visit, you let it slip that you're very inexperienced, and he offers to teach you everything you've missed out on.

Warnings: age gap (reader is in her early 20s), mentions of sex, drinking, and smoking

Author's Note: Oh my god! It's finally here, my first fic series! I've had this idea for months now and I've finally got the courage to write it out and post it. I wanna say a huge thank you to @chellestrash and @suitsofwo3 for their continuous support on this series! Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated :) Leave a comment or shoot me an ask!! I'd love to hear what you think!

Word Count: 5k

To say you had feelings for Frank Castle would be a gross understatement. It was truly nothing short of a schoolgirl crush, an all consuming infatuation that made you want him even more. Being anywhere near him made you feel like you were back in grade school with an uncontrollable flutter of butterflies in your stomach, and you knew you had to at least try and attempt to cease their movements.

But knowing and acting are two very different things, and you weren’t even sure if you wanted to stop them. Not when every smile he flashes your way makes them beat their tiny wings so fast that you feel weak in the knees. You knew logically it couldn’t end well, not with him being in your friend group, but you had a feeling you could keep up the friendly facade and not let it slip that your feelings for him are much more intense.

After all, he’s confident, handsome, and much older than you. How hard could it be?

“How hard could it be,” you repeat, whispering to yourself in the car. Your eyes are trained on the road in front of you as you listen while your GPS navigates you through the city. Frank had invited you over to his place after the last get-together the group had, where you admitted to the fact that you hadn’t seen his, apparently, favorite movie from the ‘80s. It was almost too perfect of a setup and you curse the universe for planning it all. Of all the movies you haven’t seen, you had to confess to this one?

In your defense, it was nearly impossible to decline his offer when his charm flared up like it had that night. Boisterous laughter, crinkles by his eyes when he grinned, and a, “Come on, you’ve gotta see it!” that was so warm and welcoming it had you agreeing before you thought about the implications of that damn nod you gave him.

Thinking back on that night, you nearly miss your turn onto the road that leads to his apartment. You catch it just in time though and as the automated voice informs you that he lives on the left, the anxiety sets in. You begin to focus on your breathing and you find an open parking spot right next to his black van, exactly where he said there would be. Mentally thanking him for eliminating some of the pressure of finding where to park, you pull into the spot and look towards the door with the metal numbers of his address bolted on the plaque beside it.

Once the car is parked and the ignition is off, you close your eyes and inhale enough air until your chest puffs out. “It’s just Frank,” you reassure yourself, attempting to slow down your heart rate. It does little use as his face flashes in your mind when you speak his name, so you decide not to delay the meeting any longer.

With a dry mouth and fidgeting hands you make your way to his apartment, giving yourself one last full breath before raising your hand to knock on his door. Your knuckles sound out against the wood, and there’s only a second of silence before you hear a muffled, “Coming!”

The brief moment to plaster a relaxed smile on your face passes all too quickly and you’re suddenly met with Frank’s warm grin. Failing to ignore the way he’s leaning against the doorframe, you can’t help your eyes immediately glancing at his bicep as it stretches the fabric of his sleeve. You quickly force your gaze back to his face and give yourself a mental shake.

“Hey, kid, glad you could make it,” he greets you kindly. You’d be lying if you said the nickname he reserved for you wasn’t bittersweet. It made you feel special that it only left his lips in reference to you, but logically you knew it was because you were the youngest in the group. The truly bitter part was hearing it and feeling your heart sink that little bit lower; you wondered if he ever saw you as more, if you’d ever be able to satisfy your steadfast crush.

But those spiral sessions are best had at home, so you push away the thoughts and focus on spending time with him. All you’ve ever wanted was time alone with him and you’re not sure when you’ll get the chance again after today.

“Yeah, of course,” your genuine smile takes over, ”I had to see what all the fuss was about.” He chuckles at your joke before stepping aside, gesturing for you to come in. Squeezing past his body, you step into the living room of his home. It’s bigger than you expected, housing a sectional couch and wooden coffee table in the center. There’s also a large television mounted to the wall that’s clearly the main focus of the room. One sweatshirt and a lone blanket are draped on the back of the couch, making up the only clutter in the space. You don’t realize Frank is watching you take it all in until he gently clears his throat.

“Is it as glorious as you expected?” His voice sounds out from behind you and you turn to face him. There’s a smirk on his face and you find yourself chuckling to avoid shrinking into yourself.

“Just… different than I pictured is all,” you gesture vaguely to the open space of the room. There’s a scoff before he walks past you and towards the light grey couch.

“‘Clean’, you mean?” There’s a huff surrounding the question as he plops down onto the couch.

“Well…” you trail off, tilting your head to the side. A smile slowly takes over his face as you tease him.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he says as he pats the cushion of the couch. You follow his instruction, opting to keep one seat between the two of you. There’s a pause for a moment and you let your eyes wander to his thighs. His legs are slightly spread on the couch and it’s hard to ignore the way the fabric of his denim jeans are struggling to make room for the muscles of his thighs.

“So you really haven’t seen the greatest film of all time?” He begins again, disbelief clear in his tone. His voice makes your line of sight shoot back up to his face and it’s now your turn to wear a smile.

“You sure are creating a lot of hype for this movie. I hope it doesn’t disappoint,” you laugh softly. His eyes grow wide as a look of shock takes over his face.

“‘Disappoint’? You kiddin’ me? I’m pretty sure this movie paved the way for cinema.” He gets up excitedly, walking towards one of the thin bookshelves that frame the television. His fingers scan the titles quickly, trailing down the rows until he finds one. He pulls the case out from where it was sandwiched between the others before turning around to show it off with a wave of his hand.

“Made sure to rewind it for you yesterday.” You try to ignore the way your brain jumps to conclusions at those few words. The thoughts are loud, however, and you hear them despite your wishes. He really thought this ahead? Was he actually looking forward to seeing you?

Frank pulls the tape from out of its case and kneels down in front of the television. There’s a large, grey VCR lying on the ground and he gently pushes the tape past the small hinge, a tiny whirring sound escaping as it accepts the tape.

“God, I’m really showing my age here, aren’t I?” He nods towards the old technology on the wooden floor.

“I mean, I’ve seen my parents use them before,” you answer honestly.

“Jesus Christ,” he grumbles, bringing his palm to cover his face before dragging it down his cheeks. The giggle that escapes you is involuntary, he looks so cute each time you tease him. You love these moments and how effortless it is to joke around with him, unlike when your usually constant bashfulness is present.

Once the tape is in, the static on the screen crackles to life and there’s a few seconds before the black fades into a dusty orange sky. As the opening scene begins to play, you feel like you recognize the actors’ names as they appear over the footage. Nothing immediately comes to mind though, so you ignore the nagging feeling of trying to place them and focus on the film.

That proves to be more difficult than you intended. Admittedly, all you can think about is his scent lingering in the space around you. It’s almost as if the couch is bathed in his smell and it feels as though you’re drowning in it in the best way. You halfway register the dialogue sounding out and decide to at least entertain the idea of paying attention. There’s a shot of the inside of an airport, and you watch as the word Diehard comes across the center of the screen. Chuckles erupt from you and Frank’s immediately turning to face you with a confused pout.

“You think Diehard is the greatest movie of all time?” Your words are unintentionally soaked in disbelief and you swear you can see his defensive guard come up.

“You tryna’ tell me it’s not?! Cause it’s clearly up there!”

“I don’t know, Frank,” you start. Each time the film is brought up around you, you hear that it’s either the best or it’s overrated. You just didn’t expect him to be this much of a fan.

“That’s right! You don’t know!” He seems proud of his argument and even laughs towards the end of his sentence. You shake your head as your smile begins to hurt your cheeks due to how long you’ve been wearing it for. He reaches for the old remote, its buttons faded with its age, and the screen halts to a stop as he presses pause.

“I’ll be right back,” Frank explains with a grunt as he pushes himself off of the couch. You turn and watch him walk to the kitchen, your eyes lingering on his broad shoulders and how they almost brush the open doorframe as he passes through it. Not wanting to let your thoughts continue any more down the path they’re already on, you force your attention back to the television and wait for him to return.

“Here you are,” his deep voice sounds out a moment later and you look up at him. He’s sitting down onto the couch cushion with the fingers of his right hand wrapped around the necks of two beer bottles. He stretches his arm towards you, offering one of the drinks and you’re distracted by the veins running up the inside of his forearm.

“What? S’there somethin’ wrong?” he asks confusedly, his own gaze glancing between your clasped hands and the bottles. You snap out of your trance and stare at the beers again, racking your brain for any excuse to use to decline the drink.

“No, thank you, I’m all good,” your voice comes out stiff. Real smooth, you curse yourself as you see Frank’s expression change. His eyebrows pull together as he tries to understand your sudden and strange behavior.

“So what’s your deal, huh?” he begins, setting the bottles down and leaning back into the couch. His entire body is turned towards you and it’s clear that you’re the new subject of the conversation. You swallow thickly, your nerves already acting up.

“Never seen you drink, never seen you smoke… Hell, I haven’t seen you do much of anything,” he continues, listing his examples off on each finger. “Why is that? You some goody two shoes or something?” he finishes with a raspy chuckle. He reaches for his beer, popping the lid off with the opener from the coffee table and taking a long sip as his eyes meet yours over the glass in his hand.

You wish you could come up with something, anything, to get you out of this situation before you’re forced to confess to him. You open your mouth, expecting your tongue to string the words together for you, but there’s nothing but silence in the room. Quickly, you begin grasping for an explanation, only to be left stuttering over your words. Frank’s eyebrows raise and there’s an amused smirk tugging at his lips as he puts his drink down again.

“Uh oh,” he laughs quietly, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. He squints at you, tilting his head to the side as his eyes flicker all around your face. “There’s somethin’ else there,” he whispers mostly to himself, “gotta tell me now, sweetheart.”

If none of this was enough to make your face grow warm, it certainly is now that you’ve heard the pet name leave his mouth. You feel as if you’re curling inward on yourself and you hate that the ground won’t show you mercy by opening up and swallowing you whole. Fidgeting with your fingers, you wonder if there’s any lie you can try and deliver confidently this time. But who are you kidding? You were never good at it, and it’s best to just rip off the bandaid.

With one last glance up at him, you see he’s not going to budge until he gets an answer, so you give him what he’s looking for. “Yeah, that’s… ‘my deal’,” you phrase his words in air quotes. “I haven’t really done, well, anything, and I don’t really know where to start,” you admit, still not looking him in the eyes. Frank nods as he lets your voice fill the air and you notice him making another curious face.

“When you say ‘anything’, what exactly do you mean?” he asks in a softer tone this time, no hint of teasing in his words. It’s then that you finally meet his brown eyes and see the kindness in their warm color. You bring in a deep breath and prepare yourself for the worst possible reaction to your following words.

“Um—,” you cut yourself off with a sigh, letting out all the air in your lungs and attempting to stall the embarrassment a moment longer. “Okay, like drinking, smoking, drugs…” you continue the list and watch him nod after each addition. “Never had sex, never—,”

“Bullshit,” his rumbly voice interrupts you, shaking his head in disbelief. The pout that forms on your lips is involuntary; you feared he wouldn’t have believed it, but you suppose it’s better than him teasing you. From the corner of your eyes you watch his lips part and his jaw go slack as he realizes what you said was the truth.

“Christ, you… you’re serious?” he questions as he looks at you in shock. You only nod silently, not sure how to continue from here. There’s a long pause where Frank is still as stone, remaining silent but seemingly trying to process the new information he’s discovered. The air feels so thick you worry that if you open your mouth to speak you’ll only choke.

The sound of a rumbly chuckle fills the air and you look up to see his wide smile. He’s dragging his palm down his mouth and rubbing his jaw as he shifts his hips forward and leans back into the cushions once more. You feel anger bubbling up and it quickly replaces the mortification that had been consuming you for the past few minutes.

“Screw you! I knew you wouldn’t have taken it seriously.” You cross your arms over your chest as you turn away from him. You felt stupid for sharing this with him, and now he has the audacity to laugh? Over something this personal?

“No, no, sweetheart, hey—,“ the pet name again does nothing to dull the burning under the skin of your cheeks. “I wasn’t teasing it’s just…,” he sighs heavily and shrugs his shoulders, “it’s a surprise, y’know?”

As much as you want to stay upset with him, you’re not sure your resolve can last that long. You attempt to maintain your defensive position and don’t dare soften the angry glare you’re shooting at him.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” he starts, but you don’t budge. “C’mon, I’m sorry. I just wasn’t expecting it, s’all. Kinda hard to believe, honestly.” Your head perks up at the last sentence and you shoot him a look of pure disbelief.

“Yeah, well… you’re obviously the only one who thinks that,” you mumble, the self-deprecating words falling past your lips before you even register them. Frank sighs deeply and you notice the way his eyes are flickering all around your face, presumably trying to gauge how upset you are.

“It’s not like I want this,” you huff, deflating into the couch, “but now it’s like even if I want to try stuff, I don’t know what I’m doing.” You begin picking at your fingers as the insecurity grows with his silence. “It’s like everybody did the crash course in high school and they have experience. I don't even know where to start…” As you trail off, the silence becomes deafening and you find yourself missing his laughter because at least that was something.

“Aaaaand I said too much. Sorry, it’s just something that’s frustrated me for years and… yeah,” you decide it’s better to end the conversation than wait on a reply that won’t come.

“You didn’t say too much,” he finally speaks up, and the weight on your chest begins to dissipate. “Was lettin’ you get it all out,” he explains. He holds his chin between his thumb and index finger, grazing his jaw lightly and tilting his head as he thinks over your confession. You find yourself subconsciously holding your breath as you prepare for the worst possible response he could give you.

“Said you didn’t know where to start, right? Why don’t we start with something small, hmm? How about that beer?” Frank nods his head once in the direction of the abandoned bottle he had grabbed for you. You eye it hesitantly and think over the worst that could happen. Coming up with virtually nothing, you nod back to him, deciding it would be one small victory to deal with today.

As you wrap your fingers around the bottle, you raise your hand and turn to Frank. He mimics you, lifting his own in the air before clearing his throat.

“To…” he trails off, trying to come up with something as a cheer. His eyes drift off to somewhere else in the room, his lips parted as his eyebrows pull together. You can’t help the giggle that escapes you at his very serious thinking face. Not wanting him to hurt himself from racking his brain much longer, you speak up.

“To trying new things,” you say confidently, and the second the words leave your mouth you’re already regretting them. You physically wince at your word choice and now it’s Frank’s turn to stifle a laugh. “Yeah, that was pretty lame,” you admit to him. “Sounded better in my head.”

“Think it sounded perfect,” he replies before tilting his bottle towards you. You follow his lead as he brings the drink to his lips and you don’t think twice before tilting your own head back. The second the flavor hits your tongue you can feel your face scrunching up involuntarily. You bring the bottle away immediately and your lips purse at the taste in your mouth. Frank’s laughter rumbles out deep from his chest and you watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows it down with no reaction.

“Attagirl, one thing down. That wasn't too hard now was it?” he speaks once he’s brought the glass bottle away from his mouth. Thankfully, the nasty beer is enough to distract you from reacting to his praise.

“You didn’t tell me it tasted like piss!” you exclaim, wiping your mouth off with the back of your hand.

“This is actually one of the good ones,” you watch as he takes another swig. “But you’re right, it’s not all that great,” he admits before licking his lips and looking at you.

Any residual awkwardness you felt only moments before has all but vanished and you feel comfort just being here with him. You smile softly to yourself as you brush your thumb along the curved glass of the neck of the bottle.

“Thank you for this,” you speak up, “it feels nice to get something crossed off the list.”

“Any time, kid,” his voice is raspy and you try to dissuade your stomach from doing flips at his tone.

The smile on your face grows wider in the silence, feeling a small amount of pride bubbling in your chest knowing that you tried something new. It doesn’t seem like such a big feat once you’ve climbed over the hill, but there’s always been that fear that keeps you paralyzed and unable to even attempt to move forward. You truly meant your words, you’re thankful that he gave you that little push.

“Y’know, I could help… with the list, I mean.” You’re almost certain you’ve never felt your heart beat quite this hard before. Frank waits until your eyes have locked with his before he speaks slowly, carefully chooses his words as he continues. “O-Only if you want, obviously. Just… said you wish you knew how to do it the first time, right? So it wouldn’t be such a big deal?” You hesitantly nod, still not wanting to assume what he’s proposing until he explicitly says it.

“Yeah, so I figured we could have you practice? Make sure you know what you’re doing before you get out there,” he ends his sentence with a shrug, as if it’s the most nonchalant offer.

“What?” you desperately try to ignore the way your words shake slightly. “Like you’d teach me?” You can’t even help the incredulous tone your words are soaked in. You can hardly even fathom the idea of Frank Castle being the one to show you the ropes, much less actually acting those things out with him.

“Yeah? If that’s alright?” He smiles gently and you feel your body beginning to relax some. “Just… I saw how much it meant to you and I wanna help,” he explains further, and you swear you’ve never seen sincerity like the way it’s shining in his warm, brown eyes.

You swallow thickly as you think over his proposition. It feels like this is some sort of dream; you’re waiting for your alarm to ring out as your vision slowly fades, waking up in your bedroom alone. But no amount of pinching your skin will rip you from this moment. It feels too good to be true, but it’s happening regardless. He’s waiting on an answer and it’s honestly the best offer you could think of being handed to you on a silver platter.

“And hey, you absolutely don’t have to say—”

“Yes,” you finally decide. You can’t even believe you said it.

“You sure?” he asks again, his eyes flickering between your own. You think it’s sweet how he tries to make sure you’re certain of your decision. You smile widely as you nod at him, the butterflies returning to your stomach once again.

“Also, we don’t, like, have to have sex… just so you know. I know that’s a lot, but I can help with the stuff leading up to it?” You grin and nod again and Frank laughs lightly at your response. “Just wanna make sure you’re comfortable with it.”

“I am! I’m just excited, sorry,” you fidget with the hem of your shirt in an attempt to channel all the newfound energy elsewhere. Frank’s chuckle grows louder and you wonder if you imagined the soft “cute” that was muttered under his breath.

“So…” he speaks up and you turn to face him completely. “How would you feel about crossin’ something else off the list?” You nod immediately as all the nervousness from before switches to excitement while it courses through you.

“Okay…” he laughs softly at your quick reaction. “Let’s see,” he pauses for a moment as he thinks before his eyes light up with an idea. “You ever been kissed?” You feel the familiar shyness creeping up again, but you choose to push it back down. Instead, you just softly shake your head and watch as he nods in understanding.

“You want to try it?” he asks, his lips curling into a smirk. You hum an agreement and watch as he moves a bit closer to you on the couch. Once again you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, for this to be some sort of joke. But Frank only waits for you to take the initiative to close the space between the two of you.

Now that you’re facing each other on the couch, you can feel your heart pounding against your ribcage as you wait for him to make the first move. He smiles reassuringly before raising his hand and cradling the side of your neck. His thumb brushes your cheek as his long fingers curl around the back, holding you gently in place.

“You sure you want this?” he confirms. Again, you nod eagerly.

“I gotta hear you say it, sweetheart. That’s my rule,” he explains.

“Oh…” you whisper as you glance between his eyes and his lips, “yes.” You feel your heart swelling at the fact that he wants to make sure you truly want what he’s offering. His eyes are fixed on your mouth, muttering one last, “Okay,” before leaning forward.

The second his lips touch yours, you’re surprised at how soft they are. He’s gentle with his movements and softly sucks your lower lip between his own. It only takes a moment for you to kiss him back, careful to only mimic his actions and still let him lead. The kiss is warm and sweet and you feel the blood rushing through your cheeks and tingling down your neck. His thumb catches your bottom lip and pulls it down slowly, breaking the kiss. Frank breathes gently as he licks his lips, his eyes flickering between yours.

“How was that?” he asks, his breath fanning over your mouth as he speaks.

“It was good. I-I liked it,” you smile sheepishly, subconsciously pulling your bottom lip between your teeth to savor the feeling.

“Yeah?” he tilts his head as the question leaves his mouth, his eyes squinting as he glances from your eyes to your mouth. You once again nod before you even think to do it.

“Alright, now I wanna give you a real one.”

“A real one?” you pout and stare at him confusedly.

He only smirks before leaning forward again, pressing his lips to yours harder. This time, his palm guides your jaw to tilt your head back as he deepens the kiss. The stubble lining his jaw scratches at your cheeks, and the prickling has you melting under his touch. You try your best to keep up, but his scent feels like it’s truly suffocating you now; you can hardly kiss him back with how overwhelmed you are. The next thing you register is the wet heat of his tongue brushing along your bottom lip, slowly tracing the shape before he pushes it inside your mouth. His tongue glides against your own and there's a small moan that escapes from your throat.

All too soon his lips leave yours and you open your eyes at the loss of contact. Frank’s own eyes are still shut and you watch as he clenches his jaw, almost as if he’s holding himself back from something.

“Are you okay?” you ask gently, worried you messed up somehow.

“Yeah… just, that was the sweetest god damn thing I’ve heard.” His voice is so deep it sends a shiver down your spine. Out of all the times you’ve dreamt of having your first kiss, you never thought it would’ve been that good. And to think, an impulse decision to watch a movie with him led you to this plan to gain experience. You find yourself already missing the feeling of his tongue, of the scratch that his stubble gave when he deepened the kiss.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” he knocks your knee softly with his own, attempting to grab your attention. “You’re being too quiet.”

“I just, well, I wanna do it again,” you admit, looking away nervously. In one sudden motion Frank tugs you into his lap and you yelp as you wrap your arms around his neck. He laughs softly as he stares up at you but doesn’t waste a second before kissing you even quicker than before. There’s only a few chances you can take to catch your breath because he hardly breaks the kiss. You never thought someone as attractive as him would want to kiss you this much, but confidence rushes through your body as his affection continues.

Frank’s mouth begins to wander, his lips finding new space that had otherwise been untouched. The corner of your mouth, your chin, your jaw—he never stops kissing you until he gets to your throat. From there, his lips part and he begins sucking on your neck. A shaky gasp leaves you as his teeth make purchase on your skin, softly biting before brushing his tongue over the mark.

“Done two new things,” he mutters, his lips moving around the words but never leaving your body. “How’s it feel?”

“I really like this,” you say breathlessly as you feel his teeth gently graze the sensitive skin of your neck. He hums into your throat, the vibration setting your skin alight before you finish your thought, “You can keep the beer though.”

Frank’s chuckle gets caught in his throat, resulting in the cutest snort you’ve ever heard. He presses soft kisses along your collarbone and looks up at you with sweet, brown eyes.

“Sure, kid, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

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